I am convinced Damian says he expects a lot from his future partner. They must speak Arabic, be smart and able to stand up to their own, cook well, look great, have money and generally match what he is.
But when he really brings someone home, it turns out to be human manifestation of a street kitten. Kind, clumsy, a little naive, cute in a way and maybe a bit dirty.
The batfamily is like: "Where did 'they will be no less than my equal' go?"
To which Damian will huff and say that they are perfect the way they are.
On November 7, 2024, Denmark used a racist, culturally biased "parenting competency" test to remove a 2 hour old baby, Zammi, from her loving indigenous Greenlandic Inuit mother, Keira, because her native language, which uses minute facial expressions to communicate, will not be able to "[prepare] the child for the social expectations and codes that are necessary to navigate in Danish society." This test had been recommended not to be used at the federal level before this happened but certain municipalities, including the one this happened in, chose to continue to use it regardless. Not only is this blatantly racist but also violates multiple declarations and conventions that Denmark has signed that protect the rights of indigenous people.
Please sign this petition to help Keira to get her baby back.
Hey, it's really important for Keira to get 50,000 signatures on this petition before her court date in early April 2025. Please sign if you haven't already to help a mother and a people stand up to colonialism and for indigenous rights.
description: you take care of a drunk spencer and inebriated, he happens to let certain things slip.
tags: fluff! alcohol consumption (on spencers part so a little ooc), jealous spencer, confession? sorta, dilaudid briefly mentioned, r and spencer sleep in the same bed.
a/n: idk how much i like this, i had this done and dusted months ago but i hated it and left it in my google docs... anw lmk what you think, happy reading!
wc: 1.9k
spencer reid doesn’t drink, or at least he limits himself to two glasses of wine or a beer. the numbing effect alcohol provides faintly reminds him of dilaudid, and that’s enough to keep him from indulging when he goes out for drinks with the team.
instead, he often plays designated driver, guiding an intoxicated penelope or derek to the passenger seat before taking the wheel himself. he doesn’t mind this role; while he isn’t fond of driving, he enjoys taking care of people, regardless of whether they remember to thank him later. plus, it gives him some incredible blackmail photos of derek passed out—ammunition, for whenever he needs it.
tonight is different though, the team is out for drinks, but you’re with him. scott, jerk, bitch boy, butt face–whatever his name is. you had declined, you never decline, saying that you and scott had plans. and in a desperate attempt to not think about you, he gave in.
what's in his cup, he's not entirely sure off. penelope had handed it to him earlier, elated that he was joining them, and that he won't taste the alcohol. he stares at the blue fizzy drink in the cup, and although he likes how sweet it is, he could say with certainty that the taste was distinguishable.
a hand slaps him on the back, “that's gonna give you the worst hangover, pretty boy,” derek says, arm now across spencer’s shoulders. “why’d you let penelope get you that?”
“because,” she interjects out of nowhere at the mention of her name, her own colourful drink in tow, “he doesn't like bitter.” she waves her hand dismissively, “now, leave him alone and go drink your scotch” she says, her face twisted in distaste.
the two of them waddle off together, leaving spencer victim to his damn thoughts. what are you doing with scott? you should be with your friends instead. this is a time to unload and relax together, not be away with your ratty boyfriend. maybe if he could convince hotch to make these outings essential to team building, you’d be less likely to cancel-
no.
he is not doing this. he needs to not think.
he takes a long sip from his drink, swallowing fast so the taste doesn't linger. he works on it like this, long and fast, until he moves on to his second and third. it doesn't take long for him to get drunk, tolerance being next to nothing.
-
the bar is dim and loud when you walk in, greeted with a whiff of something too strong when a stranger walks past you. you scan the place, looking for familiar faces. your fingers twitch nervously by your leg, you're not supposed to be here, or atleast thats what you told them. but you couldn't stand the eerie silence of your apartment any longer. your eyes screech to a halt when you spot the back of a head of curls you know oh so well.
-
“hey.”
you slide into the booth beside him, and he freezes. where did you come from?
“hi,” he says curtly. suddenly overly aware of himself, he straightens.
“what are you…” you trail off, eyebrows creased in amusement. he's so frigid, almost guilty. your breath catches and you lean in, nostrils flaring slightly, is that gin? you peer at him, confused. “have you been drinking?”
as if on instinct, spencer drags his drink further away from you on the table. your eyes dart down to the half-filled glass you had previously thought was a mocktail, and snap back to his.
“wait, really? you're drinking?” your tone a mix of surprise and concern.
“so what? i can drink, i’m allowed to drink,” he retorts, defensiveness bubbling up.
taken aback, you look down for a moment, then meet his gaze again, seeing the apology in his eyes. “it's okay. you can do whatever you want. so… how are you feeling?”
a lazy smile creeps up as he leans his head back against the wall, “drunk.”
you chuckle, “it tends to work that way.” you pause, scrutinising him before repeating your question. “how are you feeling?”
your emphasis on the word eats at him, he knows you know why he doesn't drink. you'd been on the team only a year and a half, yet you knew him better than anyone. he concedes, incapable of not giving you what you want.
“good, fine, okay. i'm okay, i’m… okay,” he stammers, as if convincing himself along with you.
a quick flash of apprehension passes through your face, eyebrows momentarily creasing, “yeah?”
“yeah.”
it's quiet for a minute, as quiet as it can get in a bar blasting 90s hip-hop. you're leaned against the heel of your hand, elbow to the table and body angled his way. he’s fidgeting with his fingers on his lap. you're trying to figure out what's different about tonight, itching to ask him but you don't. he’ll tell you, you hope. letting out a sigh, you cease your analysing.
before he can stop it, he starts speaking again, “so where's scott?” he drags out the ‘t’ sound at the end, words slurring together.
you briefly tense, but he doesn't notice, circumstances rendering spencer’s profiling abilities inept. “um, he's home.” no he's not.
“didn't you guys have plans?”
“yeah,” you respond shortly.
“so why are you here?”
“plans ended early. i wanted to stop by.”
you hope your answers are enough for spencer, enough to stop the interrogation. you didn't want to tell him that you and scott had broken up, 2 weeks ago. by the way spencer’s attentions drifts to a piece of lint on your shoulder, you conclude that he's content.
“are you not getting anything?” he asks, referring to your lack of a drink.
“nope, pulling a spencer tonight,” you chirp, he smiles. “want me to take you home? i brought my car.”
your face warms as he nods eagerly, taking a sip from his abandoned cup. you tuck a piece of hair behind his ear, determined to make sure he gets taken care of, and exhale slowly. your eyes glint mischievously, “okay, talk to me, pretty boy. i wanna see how much more unfiltered you get when you're drunk.”
-
the night goes on, you and spencer holed up in the corner, deep in conversation though it's more giggly than normal, very giggly. your teammates pass by the table now and then but get pulled back to the excitement eventually. spencer's expressive hands become languid, aimlessly waving around in the air as he rambles on about whatever comes to mind; the fibonacci sequence, the golden ratio, nautilus shells, speaking of shells, one time a hermit crab pinched me when i picked it up. the fact itself isn't funny but the way he raises both hands to imitate claws is and you start laughing again, and he realises he wants to make you laugh like that for the rest of his life.
your eyes drift to the clock on the opposite wall, it's something past midnight though it's too far away to tell. you decide to call it.
“c’mon, let's go.”
“but-” he protests.
“spencer,” you press, softly, “it's late, i wanna take you home.”
he puts up no further protests as he lets you drag him out of the bar, hands laced together, can he even complain when your hand feels like it does in his. you say goodbye to everyone as you leave, penelope pulling you in for a tight hug. the drive to spencer's apartment is fairly silent, the sleepiness taking over. he leans his head against the window, watching the streetlights, you steal a glance at him, smiling to yourself.
you walk spencer upstairs, reaching your destination. you wait in his living room as he changes into his pyjamas, a matching dark blue set, and tucking him into bed when he's done. you brush a piece of hair away from his face again, his eyes are barely open. pleased with the state he’s in, you feel ready to leave. you begin to walk away when you feel his hand weakly grab onto your pinkie.
“stay,” he whispers, more a breath than anything, he's afraid you don't hear it.
you don't. “what, baby?”
baby. he repeats himself, louder. “stay.”
“i gotta go home.”
“i want you to stay, it's not fair that he gets to have you all the time,” he slurs, the drowsiness makes him sound a little petulant but you find it endearing.
“spence-” you lightly tug your finger from his grasp, though it would be easy to pull away, he's hardly holding on.
“no,” he retorts, firmly. “it’s late, you're not driving back this late.”
you contemplate for a moment before letting out a sigh, cementing your place for the night. he lets go and you walk over to his dresser, looking for something to wear. finally, you settle on a t- shirt that seems too big to be owned by him and a pair of shorts with drawstrings that you can adjust to fit you. you change in the adjoined bathroom, the getup has you smelling like him.
“i hope you don't mind, i took your clothes,” you say, slipping under the covers after turning off the lights. you lay on your back, looking up at the ceiling.
spencer only hums in response as he turns to face you, legs curled up. he feels unbearably close but you know there's a good 2 feet between you two. you listen closely to his breathing, a slow inhale and an even slower exhale, you find yourself trying to sync your breaths with him. you think he’s sleeping, only you're proven wrong when he quietly says your name.
you take this as your sign to turn on your side too, facing him. “yeah?” you respond, maintaining the quiet.
“how come you can stay like this?”
“cause you asked me to.”
“i know i did but you have someone waiting for you at home.”
he waits expectantly, though it wasn't phrased as a question, it felt like one. why didn't you go home?
“we broke up,” you answer, meekly. “a few weeks ago.”
he immediately dreads his curiosity, opening his mouth to apologise but you stop him, “it's ok, i’m fine.”
his eyes search for yours in the darkness. he can’t find them. he settles for holding your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, you squeeze back.
you're wrapped in silence for the umpteenth time that night, a comfortable weight that settles over you. there's something so impossibly easy being with spencer. the mattress dips as he scoots closer, knees brushing against yours. your thumb glides over his knuckles in slow passes.
“go to sleep,” you say softly, almost a coo. “i'll be here in the morning.”
spencer lets his eyes fall at your reassurance. the haziness drowns out any instinctual hesitation, maybe there's lingering alcohol too, which is why he feels compelled to say it.
“i love you,” he murmurs, a barely there whisper that hangs in the air around you. the words tug at your heartstrings, you feel a little pained by his drunken admission. you know it's anything but platonic when he says it, because he's not one to say it often. you’re silent for a minute, unsure of what to say. does he mean it?
“tell me again when you wake up,” you respond, though you're not sure whether he heard it before he dozed off.
hi hi hi! if I have put your work on this list and you'd like it removed please let me know! But these are a bunch of authors and fics that I absolutely adore and you should definitely give them a read/follow ❤️
Note: This list was so long I've had to split it into 3 parts. I will link parts 2 and 3 here once I have posted and uploaded them. Parts 1 & 2 will be Spencer fics and part 3 will be for Hotch!
If there are any mistakes you spot please let me know and please like and reblog to share these fics! thank you :)
Spencer Reid:
@pastanest - Heaven Sent... A Smile... Mean It
@sundrop-writes / @tenpintsof-sundrop - The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes... Careful (series)
@strawbeerossi - You Think, Genius?... Just Know I Love You
@violetrainbow412-blog - Decoy... White Lies...Emergency Room
@lechemoon - The One Where Spencer Reid Doesn't Want To Just Be Your Friend
@incognit0slut - All I Need... Hypothetically
@springtyme - Sticky Evidence... Checkmate
@cherriemi - Trivia Night
@rebelliousstories - Jasmines and Vanilla
@avis-writeshq - Sparks Fly (series)
@pathologicalreid - No Sign of Danger... A Father's Daughter... Puzzling... Work Song...Separation Anxiety... Stepping Up
@astrophileous - A Well Kept Secret... Every Single Day
@reiding-writing - Forgiven... Melatonin and Oxytocin
@shewroteaworld - I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't
@mindfullycriminal - Third
@sweatervest-obsessed - Second Chances Are For Winners p1 & p2
@irndad - In Every Other Life
@michelle-is-writing - Wedding Mornings
@alwaysmoncheri - Say Don't Go
@imagining-in-the-margins - Different Dialects... Impromptu... Not Your Backup... My Angel... My Only Chance... From The Tree... Passing in the Night...Studious Shadow...Appalachian... Pipsqueak
@foxy-eva - Morning Cuddles... Heart Language
@babymetaldoll - Spilling Drinks on My Settee & p2... Birthday Wishes & p2 ... Stargazing... The Carnivals Challenge... Baby Reid
@weird-is-life - Here For You
@boldlyvoid - Hypothetically (series)... Amethyst You So Much & p2 & p3... Professional Hair Dresser (PH.D)... Wisteria (mini series)
@mcntsee - Her Voice
@donald4spiderman - The City
@eideticmemory - Darling and Dandelion
@007reid - Coffee Caramels
@fortheloveofwonderland - A Memory Locked in the Heart
@halsteadlover - Shattered Love... My Safe Haven... First Steps
@waywardxrhea - Hearts Desire
@cookiescribble - Take Me Home
@queerpumpkinnn - Lover Boy
@reidsaurora - The Office Party
@tacticaldiary - Revelations and Reverence p1 & p2
@dreamwritesimagines - Twisted (series)
@luvingspence - His Picture In a Gold Locket
@rynbutt - Pierced pt 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
@sinfulspencer - Made of Stone... Last Breath... The One That Got Away... Coincidences
@writer-in-theory - Tell Ourselves a Good Lie... Holy Ground... To Know You... I'm Feeling 22
Ah... I have not written anything on this blog for two years. It's weird that the last thing I posted was an Ellie Williams one shot since I started with Anime and MHA. However, I don't think the writing was actually bad.
And now I'm back with a Spencer Reid one-shot.
Authors Note: HIGHLY self-indulgent. I do not care. I'm writing what I want to read and maybe, just maybe, using these characters to try to heal inner trauma. If you say or have any criticisms I'm open but do not attack the obvious signs of mental health issues in this one shot. It's me. It's a self-insert. I'M NOT SORRY. But I am, please like it, and I hope that if anyone feels the same way I do that you one day find peace.
WARNINGS: Anxiety, rumination, mentions of self-deprecating thoughts, past trauma, and over all the reader has poor view of self and a poor outlook on life. Mentions parts of Avoidant Personality Disorder, shows that within the text.
Powder blue in color, star in shape, and yellow centered. These flowers are known as Forget Me Nots, known for the meaning of true love and respect, representing a promise of remembrance from the giver. It’s not like you don’t think you would ever get flowers in such a way, but you also know that a random person, or anyone, most likely wouldn’t gift you these flowers.
What about you doesn’t attract people? People who want to be with you, who can accept the way you act, react, what you like to do in your free time. It’s not easy to be open-minded in a close-minded world. Everyone tells other how to think, how to react, or they try to tell them how to react.
Love sucks, unconditional love is worse. And reading the poem If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda is like a knife to the gut, and with each line read, another twist is added to the blade.
I want you to know one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log
everything carries me to you
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me
Those lines sound like a Hozier song. One of longing, crawling back to a person that you know you love, hoping to be loved back. It reminded you of customers that are regulars at your bookstore. A small little thing in the corner of Quantico Virginia, filled top to bottom with books, plants by the big windows, and homey, used furniture.
It was Tuesday, and as usual, a slow day. Tuesdays were slow for a multitude of reasons, mostly because there’s less travel in town, around town, and the fact that school is out for the winter season. College students returned home, giving you time to restock on textbooks or notebooks, journals, and planners that usually sell out when a new semester rolled around.
But another thing always happened on Tuesdays. At least, most of the time.
You were on your phone, staring at the lines of the poem once again when the bell on the door rings. Glancing at the clock on your phone, you huff and look up from the table where the register was, having leant on it to read from your phone. Every Tuesday, usually, at five in the evening, an hour before close, Dr. Spencer Reid would visit your store.
Thanks to him, your stock of books in other languages got bigger. Mostly by request, since you knew how to order directly from the source and the fact that it was a homey space. You even got a coffee pot for you small store just for him.
“Dr. Reid,” You smiled at him as he walked up to the register.
“Hello, I’m sorry I’m here when you’re about to close,” He presses his lips together, adjusting his messenger bag. He got a haircut, you note, realizing that his length in hair changed to a shorter, more boyish look.
“As always, I have an hour left,” You reply. Spencer shrugs, tapping the table with his index fingers.
“Well… would it be too late to ask you if you’d like some coffee?” He asked, voice soft as he stared down at the table.
“I can brew you a pot—”
“No, I mean, after you close. We can go somewhere,” He replies quickly, cutting you off.
Silence enveloped the small shop as you looked at him, then back down at the dark screen of your phone, where Pablo Neruda’s poem resided.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land
A few months pass after the coffee date. It was nice, knowing that Spencer actually liked you for you. Nothing seemed to phase him. Not your lifestyle, not the melancholic thoughts you got, not the way you obsess over your favorite forms of media. Nothing scared him away from you.
Spencer liked everything about you.
Or so he says.
You can’t help staring down at your phone, sitting alone on the couch in his apartment. He had only left you for a moment as you look at the same poem that you had the day he asked you out for the first time. What if he got bored of you? Forgot about you? Yeah, sure, he has an eidetic memory, but it’s easy to forget for a while.
He may not forget the way you looked when you laughed, your smile, the glint in your eyes when you got excited, but he could stop caring about those things. That’s what scared you the most. Knowing that you were easily forgettable. Hell, you were forgotten your whole childhood, it’s not like Spencer couldn’t jump on the same train your family did.
It would be easy for him. To forget you. What about you was memorable? Your true worth was only connected to the way people used you.
But Spencer states that he doesn’t want to use you, a small voice in the back of your head shot back, pushing through the anxious thoughts and the onset rumination that was starting to build. He had figured you out easily, a perk of like a profiler you guess. But it made being with him annoying to you. You liked privacy, but he liked knowing how to make you comfortable.
Was it always so hard to like someone? To fear that they will hurt you one day. Knowing that they will, that one day they will fit the pattern of everyone who’s hurt you before.
The door to the bathroom opened and you turned your head, clicking off your phone screen and pasting a fake smile on your face. Spencer was wiping his hands on a towel, raising his eyebrows at you. However, before you could get one word out, he was walking over to the couch, a knowing look on his face.
“I’m not going to hurt you like the others did,” Spencer said almost immediately.
Liar, you thought.
“I know,” You say instead and he frowned, knowing that you were lying, but not pushing you.
You knew you would have to leave him first, before he would ever have that chance to hurt you. But it hurt already, knowing that you would have to hurt him. So, you endure the anxiety of knowing those patterns, just to try to sit with him and enjoy what little time you allowed yourself to have.
But
if each day
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
Three more months later and you sat in his bathroom, the door locked, your arms shaking as you leaned over the sink, trying to quell the rising panic in your chest. But you couldn’t. He was sitting in his bedroom, after having told you he loved you for the first time.
You couldn’t say it back. You tried. But all you could do was open your mouth and close it, fear flashing over your face. And before you knew it, you had stood up and left him sitting there, watching you as you ran into his bathroom, shut the door, and locked it.
It hurt, knowing that you loved him back and yet you couldn’t say it back. It was wrong with you. Something that hurt, hurt more than the constriction of anxiety around your heart, gripping it with such force that it hurt to breathe. The pain in your chest, in your gut, the twist of each anxious thought, of each piece of truth that you weaved for yourself, and the knowledge that you needed to leave.
Hot tears fell from your eyes, large drops finally streaming down your cheeks.
And a knock on the door. You flinched at the tentative sound, the perpetrator obviously nervous.
“Hey,” Spencer’s voice called out softly. “I-I know this is hard for you, you don’t have to say it back. I just wanted to tell you.” He was begging. Not truly begging with words, but with his tone for you to understand him.
How could you tell him that it was the fact that you loved him back that was causing this? You didn’t know how, but you knew that by the blurring of your vision that you were crying even harder. Barely any noise but choked gasps left you, your body trying to get air into your lungs as you held your breath from the fear of everything crashing down.
“Can you open the door?” Spencer’s voice was quiet, meek. He was begging his time.
Slowly, with all your strength, you turned the short distance and shakily unlocked it. That was all you could do before you sat on the floor and backed up until your lower back hit the bathtub. Your knees hit your chest, and you hugged them tightly, pressing your forehead into your knees.
The door slowly opened but didn’t shut. He was giving you a way out if you needed it. It was obvious. Soft footsteps inched towards you and stopped just in front of your shaking body.
“You don’t have to say it back,” He whispered.
It took a while for you to be able to regulate your breathing and emotions. Slowly, you managed to uncoil your body just enough to peek up at him. Spencer was crouched in front of you, his eyes facing down, hands clasped in front of his own knees.
“I—” You hiccupped, flinching as he looked up at you. You forced yourself to keep talking, “I love you.” You finally whispered, his eyes widening before he schooled his expression.
“I know that already, that’s why you didn’t have to say it back,” He leaned forward, gently rubbing the knuckles on one of the hands gripping your knees. “I’m not going to abandon you or hurt you that way you had been hurt in the past. You’re…” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he licked his lips, glancing down and then back up at you with glistening eyes. “You won’t believe me, but I don’t care how many times I will have to say it to get past your traumatic past, to get past the words of those who hurt you in the past.” He squeezed the hand he managed to pry from your knees. “I love you, and I’m not just going to leave.”
Was it the wind that blew through the trees or the singing of birds that caught your eye? Or was it the first time that you had a partner on Valentine’s Day that kept your thought’s light, now able to appreciate the little things this life had to offer you.
Maybe, it was Spencer. Spencer and the bouquet of flowers he held out to you, on the other side of the register in your empty bookstore.
It wasn’t a Tuesday.
But that didn’t matter.
Forget Me Nots adorned your living room that night in a pale yellow vase.
Sonic is such a disaster bisexual I love him. Bro’s type is just people who can put him six feet in the ground. I mean c’mon both Amy and Shadow have those power inhibitor bracelets, they could kill that little blue bubblegum cutie. Even the Sonic and Knuckles shippers can get in on this idea.
Sonic sees Amy for the first time and it’s an immediate “Oh she’s preeeeettttyyyy.”
Meanwhile Sonic finds out he likes Shadow and it's just "Huh… that's new. Should've known after watching John Wick."
(On the other hand Shadow finds out he likes Sonic and it's just "Oh no. God damnit—- WHY!?!? HIM??!? SERIOUSLY!?")
Yk i think itd be really funny if movie sonadow had different ways of processing their crushes on each other.
Like Sonic is extremely giddy, excited, and a little nervous to be in love. He starts daydreaming about Shadow and spaces out more often until he forgets whats happening or what hes been doing. Tails is exasperated, Amy and Maddie tease him relentlessly, Knuckles thinks its hilarious, Tom is happy that Sonic is growing up and has someone he loves but is also extremely concerned about his taste
Meanwhile, Shadow is crashing out and utterly confused as to why his face is heating up so much and why his heart is beating so fast around Sonic. Why does he find his corny jokes endearing? Why does he feel so warm inside whenever Sonic smiles at him? He has no idea what these feelings are and it gets to the point where he thinks he’s sick or caught some sort of virus. Which is ironic when you remember that he kinda watches telenovelas
I also think that it’d be more interesting if Shadow was the one who felt first while Sonic falls harder later
Id add more to this but its almost 2 am so im going to sleep gnight
“god, he’s just so…ugh fuck…you know?” you curse through gritted teeth, hands held before you in a choking motion.
jayce stares at you from across the room, brows furrowed in confused concern. “I-“
“it’s like he does it on purpose. he knows what he’s doing when he walks in all good morning lásko, how did you sleep?” you voice drops a few octaves as you imitate your lab partner. “it’s infuriating, i just want to grab him and shake him but i’m scared he’s gonna break.”
“hey, maybe-“ jayce unsuccessfully tries to pipe up again.
“and i get it, it’s not appropriate but it’s either gonna end with me kissing or choking him out next time because i can’t do it anymore.” your rant ends with a huff as you drop your head to the table on defeat.
“you can kiss or choke me, either way i don’t mind but please, do not be gentle” the accustomed accent floats through the room and you feel the weight of the universe crash down upon you at the realisation viktor had heard everything. “i will not break but i’m touched to know you are concerned.”
you feel a hand brush against your shoulder as he passes, the familiar patter of his footsteps and cane simultaneously calming and quickening your pulse. the heat of his body warms your bare arm as he leans over, lips now at the shell of your ear. “good morning lásko, how did you sleep?”
Hello! Could I request hcs about Stiles Stilinski and touchstarved gn reader? Thank you in advance!
Headcanons - Stiles Stilinski x gender neutral reader
Warnings: none i guess, if you notice something let me know and i'll add it.
Summary: headcanons about Stiles with a touch starved s/o. (requested)
A/N: sure you can! I really hope that's good enough and thanks. ^^
Look at this boy, do you really think he wouldn't love to just cuddle all day? Because you're damn wrong if you think so
Honestly, he really likes all the small reactions he can get out of you by simply stroking your hair from time to time or taking your hand under the table of your kitchen in the middle of a meeting with the pack
Like that one time he just rested his hand close enough to yours to be able to feel the warmth radiated by each others skin, your eyes widened and looked straight ahead of you the whole time
Until he understood to be doing the right thing and finally hold your hand, you stared at the small gap between your palms for a lot of time and then moved a little closer, just to let him know you liked the attention
He felt like he had won the lottery
Not being used to it, you often find yourself melt in his arms during hugs and sometimes a small giggle leaves your mouth when he suddenly grabs your hand while walking down the school hallway
And he'd be lying if he said he didn't absolutely fell in love with that laugh
When the two of you started dating he mostly was the one initiating any type of affection, always making sure you were ok with that
But after some time you took enough confidence to do your part
And, honestly, the first time you kissed him first, he went crazy
He was so excited that you felt this comfortable around him that you could gave him just a small peck before he almost screamed, he begged you to not tell this to anyone tho
Since then, cuddles weren't really common, he just didn't want to overwhelm you
But once you opened up with affection you and Stiles started spending entire days on his couch, sometimes sleeping, sometimes watching the entire Star Wars series all over again
After the second marathon, you grew to prefer sleeping over that
I feel like Stiles wouldn't be really great on PDA, like, you sure hug and hold hands a lot in public but really nothing else
So, the first couple of times he kissed you in front of someone, you overloaded from affection
He was genuinely worried and had to calm you down
When you ended up saying you didn't want him to stop doing that he playfully shook his head, maybe following a sarcastic remark about how he wouldn't want his s/o to crash like a computer
He didn't actually regret his decision anyway
At your first sleepover he almost appeared more nervous than you but, at the end of the day, you thought it wasn't much different from the cuddles on the couch
You clinged towards him a lot and he didn't mind at all, at the contrary, he wished your scent could be less calming, allowing him to stay awake and fully enjoy the cuddles
