#sorry this was long winded and likely overly repetitive but. i hope i made my point
Note
Regarding the ‘flower project’ thing, most people are very simple in that they think other people share their interests and what they like. They are also the people who bring you a gift that they would have loved to get themselves instead of considering what you would have actually liked to get or need. I’m sure we all know those ppl and have them around, they don’t do it with malice but it’s pretty short sighted/ self centred..
just having been around here so long i think it’s maybe more so the case that SOME of the people who do this or act similarly in general are often just plaintively unaware of how these best intentions for other peoples’ sake are unintentionally self serving at their core—at least partially—OR based off assumptions of character and likes that aren’t intentional but also, in turn, prove to be at least partially self projected, and considering when things are said or done, may be inappropriate/unnecessary.
so even when it seems the answer to these hopeful/nice somethings done is ‘okay but whyyy did you think this was the time/place for this etc.?’ because it seems so obvious, for whatever the reason, these people may simply need the push, reminder, call-out to recognize a sound counterpoint as to why they should not do/say the thing they were well-intending to do.
and i DO think that’s something a lot of people may do unintentionally, if only from time to time, case specifically. and if it’s a true issue they have that’s additionally pushing boundaries, making others uncomfortable, etc. it’s good to communicate that to the person doing it directly so they’re aware and either an understanding can be made, the behavior can be altered, what have you.
BUT all benefit of the doubt being said, in the direct case of these parasocial relationships of fans and artists, and specifically here in the case of louis and his fans, there have been several instances of the fans just blatantly ignoring things he’s said about himself, or ways he personally portrays himself, to fit their self-satisfied image of him. including doing things he has plainly asked them NOT to do, such as throwing flowers onstage, intentionally throwing things AT him (denver nugget incident last year, anyone?), and to not carry on this pity party Poor Louis :( charade because he doesn’t like to be pitied.
enough of us have spoken on why we think it’s ignorant/tone deaf/whatever you want to call it that some fans insisted on having such a pity project for LOUIS after the red rocks incident when it was the affected FANS who truly deserve any aid others have to spare, so i’m not going to rehash all that here. but given your point, anon, whether the intentions put in place were pure and hence some of these people trying to organize or encourage such a project fall within the group i mentioned earlier, the fact that after what happened, they still put the joy of an artist over the actual wellness of fans directly affected by such a scary and poorly handled (by the majority of the venue staff; so far i’ve heard nothing but good things about louis and his team helping out) incident…. it just boggles my mind.
tldr; this all being said though, anon, i do agree with you! some people just don’t realize how their good intentions can come off when they’re actually misplaced, ranging from being incidentally selfish to fully ignorant, tone deaf, and even harmful (and ofc, this is all circumstantially based on all/both sides). but i do also think that when it comes to specific situations, perhaps even specific people, one needs to be EXTRA aware of what these good intentions actually hold.
if someone has said they don’t like x thing, or don’t want you to do x thing, it’s not up to you, especially when you have a indirect and parasocial relationship with them, to go ‘well i think this time you WILL like it/want me to do this, so i will do it anyway :)’. it’s both a very simplistic and very complex topic, depending on surrounding circumstances and people involved.
and if you so badly want to cheer louis up, if he even NEEDS cheering up—like idk i think the focus should be on helping affected fans regardless here—be a good crowd! learn the lyrics! when he’s speaking, don’t scream at or over him. don’t punt shit at him or on the stage when he’s walking around. be respectful of other fans at your shows and if someone needs help, help them! make it a good experience for everyone!
#sorry this was long winded and likely overly repetitive but. i hope i made my point#it’s just. i think benefit of the doubt should be considered but seeing all the background and extenuating circumstances#in this paritcular situation it’s just irritating to see such blatant like. ignorance? selfishness? if those are the correct words#discourse#faith in the future tour#fift23#(also sidenote dk why i have fitf tagged as ltwt23 but i will fix it… eventually)#anon#answered
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my all ; spencer reid
pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader
summary: “hey could i do a fic request for an x spencer? could u maybe do something with really touchstarved spencer (bc germaphobia) and him being at first too awkward to go n cuddle and then as he gains more confidence he gets much more touchy and huggy and stuff? and reader being shocked by how cuddly he is? plzplzplz? its totally ok if u dont write it but just wanted to send in the request!” 2689 words
a/n: i hope i did this justice! i love spencer reid!!!!!!!!!
masterlist
Spencer first realised how much he loves your touch after a case where he put himself directly in danger.
You ran up, flung your arms around him and pulled him against you so tightly he felt winded.
He was shocked, stunned, and everything in between, but the most important thing is that he hugged back. It felt natural, the right thing to do, and his arms felt so snug and perfect around you his heart stuttered.
You pulled back, noticed his expression, and winced despite his reciprocation, “Sorry. I just. You could’ve died, you moron. You scared me.”
All he did was give you a breathless smile and with a squeeze of his shoulders you let go, allowing him to get checked by a medic.
Spencer struggled to sleep on the jet home, plagued by the thoughts of you - you with your arms around him, how much he enjoyed how it felt.
It felt… wrong to like it as much as he did. Like, in theory, enjoying your physical touch went against his moral code – as a germaphobe, the thought of having to come into contact with anyone in any way makes him want to vomit. But, with you?
You smelt so good, even after running for God knows how long. You were so soft, yet so firm, so warm and welcoming and dear God Spencer has never wanted to touch every inch of someone so bad in his life.
The case was a rough one, so Garcia was waiting for you all with loving eyes and a pitiful smile, arms wide open for whoever may need it. Spencer instantly decides no thanks, but you swoop in and cuddle up to Garcia within seconds of seeing her.
You even place a series of kisses against her cheek, and Spencer is transported back to your hug.
If he was more like Garcia, open to any form of love as long as it’s love, would you have kissed him like that?
His pulse quickens, palms get sweaty and he has to clear his throat to bring himself back to Earth.
He can’t afford to think like that.
But your lips…
No. Paperwork? Let’s do that and not think about a colleague’s lips.
+++
You’re furious.
You told Spencer to wait for backup, to not do anything stupid or irrational and definitely do NOT go in there alone, genius!
And what did he do?
He didn’t wait for backup, did something very stupid and irrational, and definitely went in alone.
And now he’s dealing with a hefty concussion and flurry of other injuries; cuts, scratches, and bruises alike all dotted over him like he’s a connect-the-dots drawing.
The second he wakes up, you’re gonna kill him.
For the time being, you’ll gently thread your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp, and watch his chest rise and fall to ensure he’s alive and breathing.
“Mmm,” A groan, “That feels nice.”
His eyes flutter open. You lean towards the table next to him, pick up the bottle of water and the jello cup, and offer him both.
“Thanks,” He says, hoarsely.
You sit back in your chair. Spencer doesn’t take his eyes off you once. Not when he drinks the whole bottle of water, or when he cracks open the jello and inhales it with one slurp.
Your brows furrow.
“You’re banned from work until you’re fully healed.”
“I’m suspended?!” He guffaws.
“No,” You shake your head, “I’m personally telling you you’re not welcome back until you’re okay.”
“I’m okay now.”
“Do a backflip, genius.”
Spencer giggles, “I can’t do that in peak physical condition, Y/N.”
“Sounds like a cop out to me. So, again, you’re banned from work until you’re fully healed.”
He considers fighting back, but then he remembers what you were doing when he woke up, what he felt when he woke up.
He was confused and, you know, in pain, but there was this tender and soft, repetitive touch that immediately eased him. His subconscious knew it was you, in all your glory and sweetness, that had stayed with him for however long, looking after him even when he wasn’t conscious to know it.
So he just keeps staring at you, spoonful of jello in his mouth.
+++
When you get to Spencer’s place, he looks around like it’s his first time seeing it – awe and wonder painted on his face.
Everything he’s doing, everything he’s going through, you’re putting it all down to his concussion.
On the way here, he told you the whole history of car air fresheners after taking a good five seconds to get a good sniff of the cherry blossom scent you have.
“Let’s get you settled in, huh?” You say quietly, guiding Spencer to his bedroom. He walks a little like a mummy, kinda stumpy and heavy, and he flops on the bed.
You give a lopsided grin as you watch him. He’s mumbling incoherently, shuffling up to the top of his bed to fall flat on his back.
He moans.
“Alright, alright,” You placate, “Let me go… gather some things.”
You don’t know Spencer’s place all that well, so it takes you a while to find even the simplest things like a glass, a flannel, a snack. You get lost in snooping around, trying not to profile him, and the one thing you deduct is his apartment is so him. So Spencer, so lovely and comforting and a little odd.
You can’t get enough.
There’s a weak call from his bedroom: “Y/N?”
“Coming!”
He hasn’t moved an inch from where you left him. He looks so pitiful, bruised eyes and a cut right through his lip, and you almost coo at him.
“I’m not a good cook, so I thought we could order some food later.” You hand him the water and gesture for him to drink. “In the meantime, you need to rest. Mind if I borrow a book while I keep you company?”
You turn to leave, but Spencer’s voice makes you pause.
“Could you play with my hair again?”
A part of you wants to say no, like this is some overly intimate thing he’s asking, but then you remind yourself that he’s injured, which has reverted him to acting like a sleepy child.
“Please?” He looks at you with glassy eyes and he looks adorable, “Only for a little while.”
You say nothing, sliding into bed next to him. He scoots over a little to make more room for you, curling into you before your back hits the bed entirely. One hand rests above the covers, naturally placed on his arm, thumb smoothing him back and forth. The other, the one wrapped around his head, cards through his lightly tangled hair, all warm and loving.
He falls asleep instantly and, not long after, you fall asleep, too.
You both dream of eachother and wake up blushing.
+++
Spencer’s back in work within four days. You’re working a new case the second you arrive.
There’s been a shift in your dynamic and everyone’s noticed it. No one questions it, however, because they’re all aware you looked after him while he was away, and they witnessed how worried you were when you found him, but they can’t help but ogle and whisper.
They might be federal agents, but gossip is gossip and they love it.
You’ve noticed it, too, obviously. JJ tried to tease you about it, after Spencer bought you your favourite coffee and morning muffin on the way to the precinct, but you shut her down (and yourself from thinking about it too much) by reminding her you spent several days caring for him. He’s repaying you, even though you’ve told him he doesn’t need to.
Ever heard of transference, JJ?
A shiver runs through you as you look into the interrogation room. It’s not because of the suspect, though, it’s because the AC has been turned up – a tactic Hotch promises will be worth it despite your chattering teeth.
Something’s wrapped around you, suddenly, light but cosy and adds some heat to you that you need.
It’s a cardigan. Grey, much too big for you, the sleeves falling way beyond your arms and length reaching your mid-thigh. There’s a little red heart with eyes stitched on the left breast.
It’s Spencer’s.
“You’re shivering,” Spencer chastises, seemingly appearing from nowhere, “You know, when we shiver, it’s our bodies doing the opposite of sweating – it tightens the skin and shakes the muscles, a process that conserves and generates heat. We shiver to get warm. Do you not have a coat?”
“Alright, dad,” You tease, “It’s in the conference room. I wasn’t prepared for Hotch to make the unsub an icicle.”
Spencer breathes a laugh, moving closer to reach an arm around you. His other hand presses against your bicep, his grip sturdy as he vigorously rubs up and down your arms to generate heat.
Whoa.
It certainly works. You feel hot, suddenly, but not because of the cardigan or whatever the hell he’s doing, because Spencer has voluntarily touched you and is standing so close you feel like you’re on fire from the inside out. You’re sure your heart skips a beat and you stare at him in bewilderment.
He shrugs, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, “My mom used to do that for me when I was young and got cold. I thought you’d appreciate it.”
You give a shy smile, “Yeah, I appreciate it a lot, Spence. Thanks.”
When Hotch leaves the interrogation room, he half-halts when he sees you in Spencer’s cardigan. It’s the perfect Hotch reaction, combined with the rise of an eyebrow as he walks past you to reconvene with the team.
You don’t take it off when you all walk back to the conference room, and Spencer doesn’t ask for it back.
Everyone notices. A lot of eye contact is made with many questions silently asked.
You and Spencer pretend not to notice.
+++
There’s a knock on your door at precisely 10:12pm. You check because your first instinct is if I’m about to get robbed, I’m making sure the timestamps are correct.
It’s not a robber. It’s Spencer – frazzled, wrapped up all nice and warm like a pretty present, Spencer Reid.
His nose is slightly red from the biting cold outside.
Leaning against your doorframe, you say, “Hey there,”
“Hi,” He waves.
You stare for a couple of seconds, then remember the polite thing to do is invite him in: “Come in, come in! Do you want some tea? You look cold.”
“Coffee would be great, thank you.”
You move to your kitchen, not very far from your front door, but Spencer stays put and awkwardly glances around your place. He loves it, he decides. Very you.
You notice he hasn’t moved, “Make yourself comfortable, Spence. My cat is somewhere if you want to say hi.”
He slowly moves to your couch, removing his coat, scarf and satchel as he does it. Two drinks in hand, you join him and fling your fluffy sock-clad feet onto your coffee table.
“So what can I help you with?” You ask.
Spencer takes a sip of his burning drink, “What makes you think I want something?”
“Why else would you be here? You wanna watch Grey’s Anatomy with me?”
Spencer laughs lightly. You’re right. He’s here for a reason that isn’t to watch TV that he loves to correct with you.
He’s quiet, then, and does that thing where his tongue flicks out to lightly wet his lips in nervousness.
“Something’s been going on.” He starts, ambiguously, “And it’s left me asking a lot of questions.”
Your brows furrow. It’s not like Spencer to be cryptic like this.
“Did it mean anything?” He asks, finally, turning to look at you. “Any of it?”
“Did what mean anything?”
“The.. the playing with the hair, the over-all gentleness, the cuddling.”
Your shoulders tighten up and you hope he doesn’t notice.
He does.
“Spence,” You give a fake laugh, “You were hurt and I was comforting you. Looking after you. You know, like a friend does.”
“No one else did as much as you.”
“You wanted comfort, and I’m more than happy to provide that, Spence. Everyone else was busy.”
“You took time off for me.”
You don’t have an answer for that.
You’re trying to keep the conversation light and breezy to not show your true feelings. You’re not ready for that kind of conversation, but he’s right. You used your vacation days to stay with him and care for him.. and you know you didn’t do it platonically.
“You’re my friend, Spence,” You say, voice soft.
“That’s it? That’s all it was?” He doesn’t sound angry, or hurt, maybe peeved. He won’t look you in the eyes, though.
“What else would it be?”
Spencer scoffs.
He moves away from you, hands running through his hair in exasperation when he lets out a breath.
“We cuddled, Y/N. I haven’t done that with anyone in-in years! The last person was my mother when I was ten years old!”
“That’s supposed to mean something?!”
“I-I don’t know,” He sounds exhausted, as if the complications of his emotions are taking way too much energy out of him, “But I really liked it. And I really like you.”
You look at him, then, and he’s staring back. He looks… hopeful.
“I really like you, Y/N.”
You swallow deeply.
“I tried to show you with the uh, the cardigan thing,” He scratches the back of his neck, a laugh to mock himself leaving him, “But I’ve never been good with that stuff.”
He moves closer, shifting to face you, eyes remaining locked with yours.
“Say something.” He whispers.
“I-I-“ You stutter, “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. I’ve spent the last week thinking about it non-stop.”
“Really?” You laugh in disbelief.
“Yeah!” He gives a small smile, “I-uh.. wrote to my mom about you, too. She told me that if I’m this caught up on you, you must be special. Which you are, by the way.”
“I’m special?” You grin teasingly.
“Very special.”
There’s a moment where you think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he shyly asks, “Do you feel the same?”
You bite your lip. “I do. Really, I do. I’m just.. a little apprehensive, I guess.”
“Of what?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Nothing is stupid when it comes to you.”
God, he’s so infuriatingly sweet. You wish you could kiss him all over.
You might be able to, if all this goes well.
“I don’t want things to be weird if we don’t work out.” You admit, adding a shrug to appear casual. It’s not like you’ve worried about this since you realised you liked him.
Spencer tilts his head at you, “You’re already thinking about a breakup when we haven’t even gone on a first date?”
You giggle, which he returns with a smile, “I mean- I like you, Spence, and have for a while. I’ve thought about all outcomes.”
“All?”
You roll your eyes as he gives you a look, “Yes, all. I’d want us to work out but.. what if we don’t?”
He places a now warmed up hand on yours, “Well, we won’t know unless we try, right?” His hold tightens, “I’m willing to give it my all if you are.”
You look from your hands to his face, and decide yes, if there’s one risk you want to take in your life, it’s a risk that could possibly result in you spending the rest of your life with your favourite person on this planet.
So you nod.
“I’ll give you my all, and then some.”
He grins, “That’s quite the promise.”
You don’t reply, instead swinging your legs over his lap and leaning into his side to cuddle up to him. He reciprocates like it’s second nature, hand slipping from yours to wrap around your waist and tug you closer.
“Wanna watch Star Trek as a mini first date?” You look up at him through your eyelashes.
You really are perfect for me, Spencer thinks.
“Yes. Yes I do.”
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x you#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fanfic#mine#thank u to everyone who has sent a request i promise ive seen it#i kinda hate how the confession is written but im tired n feeling d*pressed and anxious#so take it pls
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Leonie/Marianne - 5+1- 3/6
5 times Marianne and Leonie handle each others hair, and 1 time they don’t have to. (This is part 3 / 6) (part 1, part 2, or altogether on ao3).
Marianne sighed. She had wanted to go over to the stables to groom Dorte, but it was raining much heavier than she had anticipated. She drew back, biting her lip. The weather had been dreary already, and getting out of bed had taken more energy than she cared to admit, but anything was worth it for Dorte. But now… It really did seem like the goddess herself was personally sending her a message.
The bag full of brushes and ribbons and combs felt heavy on her arm. Well, it hadn’t been that long since she’d last braided Dorte’s tail and mane. It was maybe a little overzealous of her to do it again so quickly…
“Ow! Shit!”
Ah, right. Marianne was right outside the ground floor rooms. That had sounded a bit like Leonie. Marianne had never actually been to her room. Or anyone’s room, really. She had seen Mercedes leaving her room when they were both on the way to the cathedral for their daily prayers, but that was about it.
That door was Mercedes… so one of the other two must be Leonie. She took a hesitant step towards the doors. Would she really be of use? Or would she just be bothering her? She had said she was never a both, but she couldn’t always know that would be the case.
There was another burst of cursing. Whatever was going on in there, she could at least tell Leonie to go see someone who could handle it.
She knocked before she could second guess herself. There was a pregnant pause, the only noise the rain pattering down onto the wood above. Then Leonie’s door swung open. She was rubbing one ear with a cloth, and looked a bit ruffled.
“Ah, is this a bad time?”
“Marianne! Not at all! I mean, I was doing something, but I had to take a break anyways. You’re always welcome to visit.” She gestured awkwardly and stepped back from the door.
Marianne now faced the dilemma of where to sit. She felt embarrassment crawling up her neck as the seconds ticked on. This was such a silly idea.
“You can sit on the bed, it’s comfier. My desk is kind of cluttered right now.”
Leonie didn’t strike her as the kind of person to be overly messy. She carefully made her way to the bed and sat down, back hunched, hands folded in her lap, her bag nestled beside her feet on the ground.
Leonie shut the door and moved to her desk, pushing aside a pile consisting of oil, scissors, and a towel.
“I was trying to give myself a trim, but I nicked myself instead. We usually traded haircuts for haircuts back in the village, so I’m not as good at using the mirror to coordinate it. Not the wisest circumstance to wield pointy things by your ears in, I know.” She rubbed at the back of her neck, where her hair was indeed shaggier than what Marianne was used to picturing when she thought of Leonie.
“I-I hope your ear’s okay.”
Leonie grinned. “It’s definitely seen worse. I’ve had my ears boxed and wet willy’d plenty.” She settled back into her chair, seemingly satisfied with the new placement of her haircutting set-up. “What’ve you been up to today? Bit slow without any classes, huh?”
Marianne shuffled one foot, nudging the bag at her foot. “I was on my way to groom Dorte, but it looks like the goddess didn’t permit it…”
Leonie chuckled. “I guess she figured the crops needed rain more than Dorte needed brushing. She’s always the prettiest horse in the stables, you know. Ferdinand and Lorenz were both jealous when they saw her the other day. Serves them right! If they spent less time prattling on about nonsense and spent more time with their horses, maybe they’d stand a chance. You have a good eye for that kind of thing.”
“Um, Lorenz probably has a better fashion sense than I do…”
“Even if he does, he doesn’t apply it like you do!” Leonie pulled the cloth from her ear and glanced down at it. “Do you mind if I finish up with this? I don’t want to end up with hair as messy as Sylvain’s.”
Marianne looked up at that. What if Leonie cut herself again?
“M-Maybe I could do it?”
Leonie blinked but then beamed. “Really? I’d definitely appreciate it!”
Marianne rose and shuffled over, carefully surveying Leonie’s desk. Leonie picked up the towel, which was already speckled with bits of orange hair, and slung it around her neck.
“Most of it should be taken care of already. Even though you have to cut it more often, short hair really is just easier to manage.” Leonie settled her arms on the desk, propping her head up with one hand. Marianne cautiously picked up the scissors. Just like trimming Dorte…
“I actually used to have it long. My parents just never bothered to cut it. And then one day I was out messing around in the woods and got stuck in a bush! I was trying to follow a rabbit trail. My hair was so tangled they had to come and cut it all off to free me. I was kind of upset, but more about losing the rabbit than the hair. And I just haven’t looked back since. It takes less water and soap to clean and it never gets in my eyes.”
Snip. Snip. Marianne ran the fingers of her free hand through the strands to hold them up and comb out any spare hairs. Leonie’s hair was a bit bristly, like straw. She couldn’t imagine it curling everywhere like Sylvain’s even if she did grow it out.
“Ah, sorry if I’m rambling. You’re free to talk, too. No conversation is bad.”
“That’s alright. I don’t think I have much to say today… But it’s nice to hear someone else talk.”
Snip. Snip. Brushing her fingers against Leonie’s neck to clear it of any itchy hairs.
“Well, that’s definitely in my wheelhouse. You have a free pass to tell me to cram it and shut up some other day, though! Now, where was I.. Ah, right. No one in the village would let me live that down until a few months later, when I did something even more fun to gossip about. I was out on one of my first real hunts…”
Marianne made sure to listen, but she kept her focus on Leonie’s hair. If she messed something up, Leonie would have to wear uneven hair or go bald. Better to not have either of those happen. Clipping hair was at least something she could do, and something her Crest couldn’t interfere with. It was simple and repetitive.
When Leonie seemed to falter in what to say, Marianne managed to pipe in.
“Um, how are things with your mare?”
Which led Leonie down another winding rant. Her and that mare had more in common than either of them would ever say. The thought made Marianne’s lips curl upwards in a small smile.
When she was finally done, she drew back as Leonie craned her neck to examine her hair in the mirror.
“Hey, that looks great! Maybe I should get you to help out with all my haircuts.”
Marianne wasn’t sure if that was a good idea. Leonie seemed to notice and cleared her throat.
“At the very least, I owe you one. If you ever need a favor, just let me know, alright?”
Marianne nodded, though she wanted to insist Leonie had done her a favor. The day certainly seemed better now than it had an hour ago. Maybe if she was lucky, the rain would even stop by the evening. Dorte would be excited to hear the update about Leonie’s horse. Maybe she’d even have her own gossip to share from the mare’s perspective.
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