#touch starved fanfiction

[elysianightsss]

Delivery guy Simon pulls up in his piece of crap ford car, grabs his bright orange just eat bag from the car, slamming the door shut as he walks up to your house. All black attire and sporting no mask, never does during deliveries after being told by his boss it unnerves people you can’t wear that man.

You’re already there before he rings the doorbell, opening the door and giving him a bright smile. Eyes full of hunger, you stomach growling as you inhale the smell of McDonalds. After a shitty week at work you just wanted some junk food to binge on and there was no way you were cooking.

Simon clears his throat out of his temporary freeze, “Here y’a go love.” His deep gravelly voice has your focus off the food he’s picking up and holding out to you in an instance.

You actually look at him and fuck he’s gorgeous. He’s got a couple scars and his nose is crooked, like it’s been broken one too many times for it to be fixed. 6ft 7 at least, he’s built like a damn ox, there are scars on his arms too. If you could even call the both of them that, they’re just as huge as the rest of him. Graced with veins and stretch marks from where the muscles have grown bigger.

He’s a whole ass meal, forget the McDonalds. You’d happily eat him for dinner, just as the thought crosses your mind your gaze shoots down to the giant bulge in his trousers. Your mouth waters at the sight and you swear you see it pulse behind the fabric.

Simon happily stands there letting you, fuck you gorgeous little thing in a tank top and short shorts, eye fuck him. A smirk growing on his face as he watches your hungry eyes dart all over his body.

“Hungry love?”

You blush so deep at his words, cheeks and ears burning hot as you mumble out, “Starved.”

[casually-eat-my-soul]

Can someone please write a fic about that one scene where stiles grabs Derek’s face in magic bullet.

Where although he was out of it Derek could feel stiles fingers trail across his face. He could feel how softly and careful stiles was in that one moment. It had been the first touch from a human, from anyone, that did not cause Derek pain.

And when Derek wakes up he’s just obsessed with being touched by stiles again because he remembered how good it felt, how finally someone touched him and it didn’t hurt. Derek refused to wash his face for like three days after this because stiles had unknowingly scent marked him, and he couldn’t make himself get rid of the scent. How it made Derek feel like he wasn’t alone.

This action makes Derek’s wolf believe that stiles is pack, (stiles is the first pack Member!!) and he just keeps ending up in embarrassing situations trying to get stiles attention and his hands and him.

He probably just ends up blurting it out at stiles one day. Or maybe after killing Peter, he just get handle the weight of being alone, of killing the last member of his family, of being touched by Kate, of being hurt.

So he drags his body to stiles house and just gets on his knees and begs stiles to touch him, to make it stop hurting.

And stiles knows how hard it is to lose a family member so he does. He doesn’t think this will happen again, he just understands that Derek needs comfort. But Derek comes back over and over again and every time begs stiles to touch him. And stiles does, every time.

It becomes a comfort thing for the both of them, stiles running his fingers over the planes of Derek’s face. Derek gets to relax in the one place he’s safe, listening to stiles humming or muttering and the beat of his heart. It becomes a need, but soon stiles touching Derek isn’t enough, Derek wants to touch stiles. He wants to return the favour, he wants to scent mark stiles back. So everyone will know that stiles is claimed, that he is protected by an alpha who would kill for him. And he gets the chance to on the anniversary of stiles mother’s death.

Stiles is just so tired, his dad is working, will be all night. Scott is with Allison, and stiles doesn’t have the energy to beg him to pick him tonight. So he goes to Derek; Stiles isn’t really sure what this arrangement that he and Derek have but tonight he is the one who needs. He drives to the hale house and ends up sobbing by the time he gets there. He’s just sitting in the jeep in front of the hale house and he can’t move. And suddenly Derek is there.

Derek was already worried when he could hear the engine of the jeep pull up but when it turned off and all Derek could hear was stiles crying, he moved without thinking. He yanked the driver side door open and his heart broke. Stiles was sitting there trying to calm himself down, rubbing the tears from his face but nothing was working. So when stiles turned his head to him, eyes pleading and whining, Derek picked him up and carried him bridal style into the house. Derek just holds him for hours, memorizing the way stiles feels under his fingertips.

In the aftermath Stiles makes one joke about being a blushing bride (due to the blush on his face and being carried bridal style) and Derek is just hit with a vision of being married to stiles. Of being about to always be allowed to touch stiles and blue screens. Unfortunately Derek wolf takes this as expressed agreement that stiles is mated and married to them.

Derek buys rings the next day. Sure it takes him a few more years to propose but it’s the thought that counts. (Cocky Derek hale who flirts with stiles by calling him his pretty little wife, just to see stiles blush a pretty pink for him. But one day stiles responds that he doesn’t have a ring, so Derek just gives it to him.)

[justaz]

merlin gets sick. like. bad sick. maybe its a curse maybe its natural idk all i know is that merlin gets sick. he has a fever so high he is somewhat delirious. his whole body hurts. he feels like death. he ends up traversing the castle to enter arthur’s chambers and climbs into bed next to him. he was in pain and felt like shit and in his delirious state, he went to the one person who could always offer him comfort. arthur wakes to find merlin curled up next to him, his tunic fisted tightly in his hand as if to keep arthur where he was. gaius quietly walks in and extracts merlin from the bed, apologizing and explaining that merlin was ill and delirious with the fever. merlin is being tugged out of bed, away from arthur.

he’s fighting as best he can which, considering he’s sick, isn’t that good as gaius doesn’t even blink. then merlin is being dragged across the room, away from arthur and his body heat which was chasing away the chills and his touch was easing his pain. merlin starts complaining, whining more like, about how he wants arthur. gaius apologizes again and says he’ll send for a replacement to serve him before finally getting merlin out of arthur’s chambers and back to his own bed. gaius steps out for an hour to retrieve herbs from the town and returns to finds arthur curled around merlin in his little cot in his room, merlin fisting arthur’s tunic and arthur’s hand rubbing up and down merlin’s back.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Snuggle Company

Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Can be read as platonic ((because platonic love is valid!))

Summary: Umbridge has been giving everyone nightmares. You especially, given she is well aware how close you are to the twins. Has you paranoid she will hurt you in your sleep. So, who better to keep you safe than the twins themselves?

Warnings: Anxiety, Umbridge, stress, sleepy snuggles, and it’s very short 😣 Going through ALOT right now. Pls forgive me

Here you were again. Standing just outside the dorm doors that belonged to the seventh year boys. A pair of boys would be in there that you needed. Needed badly, because you had yet another nightmare. A nightmare about her.

You worried they would be getting annoyed by this. By you waking them up again, just to climb into bed with them. Would it be better that you just straight up moved in there with them? Would the other students in their dorm be annoyed by your presence? This wasn’t your assigned bedroom after all.

You tried to power through those worrying thoughts, as you pushed the door open. You were too scared of Umbridge to give a care about what others thought. She hated you. Hated you because those twins liked you. You were the enemy by association.

You would tip toe across the room, and would hug yourself tighter. Just worried about being a burden, and a bother. Something she would often say you were. Just attacking your insecurities. She was good at that. She was good at making people hurt. Oh she was damn good at hurting people, and getting away with it.

Finally, you reached the familiar bed. Fred’s bed. Well, Fred and George’s bed. They never really out grew sharing a bed. George’s ended up being a make shift work shop table for their inventions. You found it utterly adorable how they would hold each other. They had a special bond. Magic tended to play a heavy role in that, but you still found it sweet. How that no matter how old they get they would still make sure to be there for each other. No matter what. Was comforting to see that guys don’t always worry about masculinity.

“Psst….Guys-“ You gently shook George’s shoulder, as you tried to wake them up. Didn’t want to wake the other students up, but you also didn’t want to just climb into bed either. Could startle them. Or worse. They didn’t want you to, and you invaded their personal bubble. Consent is important after all.

“Hm-?” George would rub at his eyes, while Fred yawned. They were annoyed as hell, until they saw it was you who bothered them. George gave a comforting smile, before scooting away from his twin. Fred, in turn, lifted the blanket up. You gave a sigh in relief, before climbing between them. Snuggled safely between them both.

“Thanks.” You whispered, as they would wrap their arms around you. A tangled of limbs, just like that. Was so warm. So warm, and safe. No one could get to you now. Safe between a pair of tricksters. Just like that. The smell of fire crackers, and cinnamon. That was such a comforting scent to you. Baked goods, and fire.

“No pink toads will get you-“ “Not on our watch.” The twins would tease you, as they gave you a tight squeeze. A reminder that they weren’t going anywhere. Not without you, at the very least. That had you smile, and feel a weight lift off your body. Safe. Safe again.

“We’ve got plans for her. Don’t worry.” George would reassure you, as he would nuzzle into the back of your neck. Enjoying the warmth you gave him, as his arm reached over to keep physical touch with Fred. The two most important people he has, right in his arms.

“And it’s going to be utterly spectacular. Just you wait and see.” Fred would echo, as he rested his head on yours. Forcing your nose into his neck, as his arm did the same thing. Keeping George close, as you were all safely hidden under the blanket.

“Promise.” They would share, as you were already drifting to sleep. Safe in their strong arms, and knowing you’ll be safe by morning all the same. No scary toads to haunt your dreams. Just a pair of pranksters to defend you. No matter what.

Safe snuggles. What a dream come true.

[chaosgremlinmunson]

For @steddie-week prompts

July 2: touch starved

Eddie was fascinated by Steve, he saw the micro expressions Every time anyone touched him gently, how he'd melt into the touch. How his eyes would droop happily, his shoulders relaxing, and then he'd catch himself and pull the mask back with everyone except for Robin. Robin, who would look at him with a knowing glint in her eye, she wasn't cuddly, but she'd stay in Steve's space, their arms always touching or ankles hooked together on the couch while they gossiped.

Eddie saw all of this and his own heart yearned to reach out, to touch, to hold and to never let go. So Eddie made a plan, he started small, tiny leanings into Steve's space who'd smile at him and push back, but those walls were still up.

Then, there was one night when it came to a head, Eddie had been watching Steve work on a model car for one of the kids, it was a newer hobby he'd picked up after the upside down and Steve seemed to revel in it, relaxing as his capable hands built something lasting for the people he loved. Eddie was watching as he noticed Steve's hands trembling and stopping, him flexing his fingers a pinch in his brow and Eddie reached out taking Steve's hand between his own fixing his gaze on those fingers. Rolling the digits and massaging the meat of his hands as he felt the muscles loosen and warm. He was so lost in his ministrations that when he remembered to look back up at Steve he was caught off guard by those rich full lips parted in surprise, those hazel eyes staring at him in surprise and adoration.

He let Steve's hand go and reached now, carefully, slowly for the man's cheek and caressed him cataloging every line, every scar, every mole and leaning in and placing a kiss to his forehead.

Steve melted into his touch before strong hands came up and cupped his cheeks leaning into softly kiss him on the lips, a whispered prayer between the two to please, love me, see me, touch me, need me as I need you. The air surrounding them was electric with blooming of the knowledge that their love was reciprocated, they had no need to hide, to worry. Should they fall the other would always be right there to capture them again.

[thenerdykneazle]

Her Touch

Summary: Ominis had never been fond of being touched. Or, at least, he had few positive experiences with it. That changed with the arrival of the new fifth-year.

Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

Warnings: 18+ (only very mild spice here but I do want to do a time jumped part 2 that would be explicit), mentions of Ominis's abusive family, touch-starved Ominis

Word count: 3004

The first time you touched Ominis, he hadn’t been expecting it. It was in the Scriptorium, after he had commanded the door to open in Parseltongue. You had excitedly grabbed his shoulders as you said, “Ominis! You possess a rare ability, indeed!”

He had jumped at the sudden contact. Though, fortunately, you hadn’t seemed to notice. Your attention was quickly monopolised by Sebastian. Ominis was glad for it, as he wouldn’t have wanted to offend you, especially after his outburst at you outside the Undercroft. He still marvelled at how understanding you had been – how quickly you had forgiven him. He wasn’t used to such mercy. Certainly not from his family, and even Sebastian had a tendency to hold a grudge. Ominis definitely did.

Down in the Scriptorium, it had caught him off guard when you grabbed him, as he couldn’t see it coming. Besides, he didn’t generally like being touched. He hadn’t had many positive instances of others being in his personal space.

Most often, it involved accidentally bumping into other students. Other times, it was someone grabbing him to lead him off somewhere without bothering to get his permission first. Growing up, it had included a lot of being dragged by his ear by his mother or his older brother shoving him out of his way. The consequence of all of it was that Ominis did not associate being touched with positive experiences. They were jarring, often painful encounters.

However, already by the second time you touched him, it was different. Still in the Scriptorium, you had rested your hand on his arm as you told him you had found his Aunt Noctua’s remains. You didn’t grab his forearm; you just rested your hand gently on it. Not even your whole hand – just the tips of your fingers, really. It was a whisper of a touch, but you let it linger there. It was oddly comforting – like you were trying to communicate that he wasn’t alone. It kept him grounded to reality as he reckoned with the fact that his aunt truly was gone.

The third touch was when you agreed to tell Ominis if Sebastian was going to pursue dark magic further. You’d rested a hand on his shoulder as you vowed to tell him. He could tell you were sincere in your promise from your steady hand. That was verified when he received your owl alerting him that Sebastian had gone to the catacombs in search of Slytherin’s relic.

Though he always tried to take note, Ominis couldn’t remember every time you touched him. As your friendship grew, he quickly found out that you were what Sebastian called a “touchy-feely type.” You would hug him hello and goodbye, often multiple times a day. At first, you’d just sling one arm behind his back with your sides pressed together. After several months, you would wrap both arms around him as you held him chest-to-chest. Those hugs always left his face warm and his heart beating faster.

You also started to rest your head on his shoulder when you got tired. You always asked if it was all right. Ominis was surprised with himself the first few times, because he found that he quite enjoyed the weight and warmth of your head on his shoulder. You seemed so vulnerable when you leaned against him, trusting him to support you and not let any harm befall you should you give in to sleep. He even, on rare occasions and only when he felt completely secure in his environment, rested his own head back on yours. That usually resulted in him taking a nap, as well. He found that, despite the crick in his neck that he always awoke with, those were his most satisfying naps.

More recently, the back of your hand kept brushing against his when the two of you would walk together. He had jerked his hand away the first time, not anticipating the contact. He regretted it instantly when you muttered an apology. Ominis insisted that it was quite all right, though he was keenly aware that his actions had undermined his assertion. As it kept happening, Ominis’s reaction changed over time. He started to keep his hand very still so that yours might keep brushing against it. Now when it happened, his instinct was to extend his fingers toward you – though, he never actually did what he really wanted, which was to take hold of your hand.

Your touch had become a comfort for him. You held him when he cried, rubbed soothing circles on his back when he was anxious, and sat with your side pressed into his when he was lonely. Ominis had never known the multitude of problems a simple touch could solve before he met you.

Nor, however, had Ominis known the particular torment that such a touch could inflict. Just having you near him was enough to make his palms sweaty and his breathing shallow. If you rested a hand between his shoulder blades or, even worse, against his thigh, it sent his brain into a fit. He would get sweaty everywhere, and his tie would suddenly feel too tight. Just before the summer holidays, you had reclined on one of the sofas in the Room of Requirement as you read a novel while awaiting your exam scores. You invited Ominis to join you and promptly bridged your legs over his lap when he sat down. That had vexed him most of all. You hadn’t even rested them on him, just sort of over with your feet planted on the cushion to his right and your bum against his left thigh.

Ominis hadn’t known what to do with his hands. He didn’t want to accidentally rest them somewhere inappropriate, but he didn’t want to be awkward, either. Eventually, he settled on resting his left arm on the back of the sofa and his right hand on your stocking-clad knee. His thumb began absently stroking back and forth just above it, and he had blushed furiously when he grazed the hem of your skirts. It had brought, unbidden, the idea of sliding his hand underneath the fabric, trailing it up your thigh. That had a sudden heat building in his abdomen – and spreading across his cheeks.

“How is your book?” he had asked, hoping for a distraction.

“Erm…yeah. It’s…it’s good,” you had replied.

Ominis spent entirely too long trying to analyse your odd response. Had you been uncomfortable? Or perhaps just absorbed in your book? Could you have been as affected by the proximity between you two as he had? He couldn’t be sure, and he certainly wasn’t about to ask, “Are you finding this as stimulating as I am? Because I’m feeling quite randy.”

That would’ve gone over well.

He pondered the possibilities frequently over the holidays. Two months spent apart from you were horrible. Not only did he have to deal with his family, but he missed you something dreadful. At least, he had been accompanied by Sebastian, who spent the entire time at Gaunt Manor given he had no guardian in Feldcroft to look after him.

Ominis didn’t realise how much he’d been brooding until his friend called him out for having “resting sad face” and demanded to know what was bothering him. They had been lying in their beds, and Ominis shifted to his side to face Sebastian before admitting that he missed you.

“I think I’ve grown to have quite strong feelings for her,” he confessed.

Sebastian snorted out a laugh. “Oh, you think so, do you?” he asked, sounding thoroughly amused.

“It’s not funny!” Ominis groused, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“It’s funny that you think it isn’t abundantly obvious that you fancy her, mate,” Sebastian retorted.

Ominis’s eyes widened. “What?” he asked, horrified at the thought of everyone knowing his feelings for you. He wasn’t ashamed of them, but he was quite a private person. The idea of everyone knowing such personal feelings of his was mortifying.

“Well, maybe not to her. People tend to be a bit thick about other’s feelings toward them, but I expect that anyone who knows you two can see it. You turn into a mushy little crup when she’s around,” Sebastian explained.

“I do not!” Ominis replied indignantly.

“Sure,” Sebastian said sceptically, clearly trying to avoid a fight.

They fell silent for several long moments.

“She fancies you too, you know,” Sebastian stated.

Ominin’s pulse jumped. “You can’t possibly know that,” he argued, trying to temper the hope bubbling up in his chest.

“I knew you about your cush, didn’t I?” Sebastian retorted. “Besides, she told me she does.”

“She did?” Ominis said eagerly. “Wait, you can’t tell me this, Sebastian! You’re betraying her confidence!”

Sebastian let out an exasperated sigh. “She never said I couldn’t tell you,” he replied.

“I’m sure it was implied,” Ominis said. “But…she really has feelings for me, too?”

“Without a doubt,” Sebastian said confidently.

That gave Ominis a lot more to think about before school resumed. He flipped back and forth between being elated at the idea that you reciprocated his feelings and panicking that the separation would change that.

All his fears melted away the instant you hugged him on the platform at King’s Cross station. It was the best hug he’d ever gotten. You clung to him like you never wanted to let go again, and Ominis would’ve been all right with that.

“Gods, I missed you two!” you said before giving Sebastian a hug, leaving Ominis to mourn the loss of your arms around him. “How was your holiday?”

“As good as being around my family can be,” Ominis replied. “How was yours?”

“Brilliant! Though, I wish you two could’ve visited!” you said.

The boys both agreed, though Ominis knew his parents would’ve never let him stay with a family they didn’t know. Or, rather, who were of unvetted blood status. He wasn’t about to subject her to experiencing his family in their own domain, so he hadn’t invited her to come to him.

Ominis had a lingering worry that things would be different between you two – that spending the summer apart would make things awkward between you. But when you rested your head on his shoulder and fell asleep as the train rattled down the tracks, he felt confident that you’d fall right back into how things were at the end of the last term.

Indeed, things seemed the same if not better. You often invited him to study in the Room of Requirement. His fear that he had made you uncomfortable the last time you’d been on a sofa together was eliminated when you took to putting your legs over his more often than not whilst you did your assigned readings. You only opted for one of the desks in the room if you had to write an essay.

It was a beautiful sort of torture to have you so close to him. It drastically decreased Ominis’s reading speed, but he found himself looking forward to studying now. He’d rest one hand on your knee while his other held his wand to let him read his tome. Sometimes you’d read aloud to him. Sometimes he’d hug your closer leg to his chest and rest his chin on your knee. It was like having his childhood stuffy but warmer and attached to someone who genuinely cared about him.

In the safety of your embrace, he shared his more intimate thoughts with you. Not the one about running his hand up your skirt, but about his hopes for the future, his frustrations with his family, and even his insecurities. You, in turn, opened up to him, as well. And as the weather got colder, you kept him warm in the draughty castle. Though, he was prepared to conjure a thick wool blanket over you if you ever seemed to be chilled.

After a month of being back a school, Ominis decided to admit his feelings to you. He was certain yours couldn’t have vanished over the summer given how you had only gotten more comfortable around him. However, when Ominis went to voice his feelings, he found that he didn’t know how. He knew how he felt about you, but he had spent his whole life suppressing how he felt to keep from stirring up trouble at home.

“I need to tell you something,” Ominis admitted during your daily study session.

He could hear you close your book and set it on the coffee table, giving him your full attention. “What is it?” you asked, sounding concerned.

“I…Well, I…” he tried, but his words were failing him. He usually fancied himself a rather eloquent individual, but he felt thoroughly uneducated as he stammered at you.

How was he supposed to tell you what was in his heart? Just say, “I like you”? Of course he liked you. You were friends. Close friends. “I fancy you” seemed so juvenile. “I want to court you” was too impersonal. It could be for your talent or station, but he wanted you to know how taken he was with who you were as a person.

You rested a hand lightly on his arm. “You can tell me anything, Ominis,” you said earnestly.

His heart swelled at your kindness. He wished he could say what he felt, but he didn’t have the right words. He moved to hold the hand you’d rested on him, lacing his fingers with yours. “I really like this,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze.

You squeezed his hand back. “I like it, too,” you replied.

“Good. I…I had hoped you do,” he said clumsily.

You stayed like that until dinner, your studies forgotten as you just basked in the closeness of each other. It hadn’t been exactly what Ominis had tried to accomplish, but it was definitely progress.

Ominis started taking other opportunities to hold your hand. He’d hold it during classes, giving up his dominant hand in favour of your warmth. Besides, he knew you’d share your notes with him later. He’d also search it out while you studied. He’d graze the backs of his fingers up your leg until he found your arm, which he’d follow down to the hand resting in your lap.

Sometimes, you’d take the initiative, taking hold of his hand while it still rested on your knee. Usually, you’d pull it down to rest it your lap or on your stomach, so you could relax your own arm. It always made Ominis’s heart flutter to know you wanted to hold his hand – and he found your occasional impatience quite endearing.

Then, one day in November, you pulled his hand to your lips, instead. His breath hitched as you placed a gentle kiss on his knuckles. Your lips were soft and warm, and Ominis had the impulse to reach out and brush his fingers over them.

“Is that okay?” you asked cautiously, your warm breath hitting the back of his hand.

“Y-yes, of course,” Ominis replied breathlessly. He could feel his face flushing with heat.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, sounding grave.

“Anything,” Ominis replied without hesitation despite the pit of worry in his stomach.

You shifted on the sofa, moving to sit up. Your knees pressed against his leg as you sat with your legs tucked under you. Ominis could hear you take in a deep breath before you spoke. “What are we?”

Ominis’s brows pulled together. “What?”

“To each other,” you clarified. “I mean, do you like me?”

“Most ardently,” Ominis admitted with conviction. It was only after the words had passed from his lips that he worried he’d been severely mistaken about your feelings.

“Oh,” you breathed out, sounding surprised. That only heightened his anxiety. “Do you not want to court me?”

“No, I do,” Ominis replied earnestly, wondering what reason you could have to think he wouldn’t.

“Then, why don’t you?” you asked. You didn’t sound upset, just curious.

“Well, I…I wasn’t sure if you’d want to, and…I didn’t know how to ask, I guess,” he said.

“I do,” you said before adding, “want to, I mean.”

Ominis felt like he’d just eaten a handful of Fizzing Whizbees. His whole body felt light, like he might float right off the sofa. “Really?” he asked eagerly, before trying to force himself to be rational. “Are you certain? I’m…not very good at this sort of thing. Clearly. I’m sure you could find someone much better suited to the task.”

“I don’t want someone else,” you said. “I like you, Ominis.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Sebastian told me you did over the summer, I just…didn’t know how to tell you that I felt the same without it sounding ridiculous,” he admitted, not wanting any secrets between you.

“Sebastian told you?” you asked.

“I scolded him for betraying what you had told him, but he said you hadn’t asked him to keep it secret,” Ominis explained.

“I never told Sebastian that I have feelings for you,” you stated.

Ominis’s jaw dropped. “That lying rat!” he said, his anger swelling.

You chuckled. “Well, he wasn’t wrong,” you pointed out.

“I suppose not,” Ominis said, still irritated with his best friend. It was hard to stay upset, though, when he realised you had all but agreed to court him. “So, to make it official, would you do me the honour of letting me court you?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation.

Ominis was beaming. Even knowing your answer ahead of time, he still felt overjoyed to hear it.

His singing heart began pounding hard in his chest as he felt your palm rest gently against his cheek. Your breath ghosted over his face as you leaned in, and he tilted his chin up to meet you. Your lips met his in a soft embrace. As they interlocked, it was a confession of your budding affections. A tender pledge of future bliss. You were his – your touch, your love, your loyalty. And he was yours, wholly and truly.

A/N: The line "a tender pledge of future bliss" is from the poem "To A Kiss" by Robert Burns

[ao3-shenanigans]

When. when th- when the, when the touch starved, the touch starved then the ao3 and then they-

[lilozzzyo3569]

Stay Still

Summary: Bucky Barnes comes back from a mission, and instead of going straight to the shower decides to come see you first Warnings: MDNI, female reader is smaller then Bucky, I don't own this man (but I guess I wasn't meant to be happy), General fluff, Bucky is touch starved, you got this man in the palm of your hands *wink*

Bucky had just made it back to tower and was just happy the "mission that wouldn't end" was finally over. The mission ended up being successful but not before he damaged his arm. He was covered in god-knows-what and all he wanted to do was see your face.

You and Bucky have only been together for a short while but originally became close in Wakanda. You are friends with Shuri and helped her with her manipulations of Vibranium. She was actually the one that asked you to help her work on Bucky's arm as well as to reprogram him. That was how the two of you met and after spending so much time together decided to date.

When he decided to move back to the tower he begged you to come with him and how could anyone say no to those eyes. So fast forward to now you are in your shared king bed trying stay awake wearing his dog tags and one of his shirts and a tiny pair of shorts waiting for Bucky to come back to you when you hear your door open. Bucky calls out "Doll? Are you awake?" You smile and jump up out of the bed to go hug him, when you stop dead in your tracks after seeing him. "What the fuck happened to you?" He sighs deep and says "what didn't happen, I messed up my arm and I just Ugh-" you interrupt him saying "hey it'll be okay, we can fix your arm but first lets get you into a hot shower, while I fix your arm"

Bucky is in the shower when you finish fixing his cleaning his arm before you start to fix it when you hear him grunt in frustration. You put his now clean arm down and run into the bathroom. "Baby what's wrong?" you stand on the outside of the shower curtain when he responds with irritation "I can't wash my hair with one arm UGH!" he sounds angry so you gently tell him "well how about you just finish showering and then I can wash your hair?" He is quiet and happy that you can't see him start to blush when he says "Are you sure?" making you giggle "Of course plus it's going to take me a minute to fix your arm, so this way you won't have to wait."

Bucky finishes his shower and puts on a pair of soft low hanging grey sweats. Now you're the one blushing, you and Bucky had only gone as far as cuddling, holding hands and a forehead kiss now and then. With his past trauma you didn't want to ever make him feel pressured to do anything physical. Upon seeing him you smile as he still looks a bit frustrated as he comes back into the bathroom. "So how do we do this?" You smile as you sit on the edge of the bathtub advising him to sit in the bathtub and rest his head in your lap as you start to detangle his hair with a comb. You take the shower head down and rinse his hair before gently massaging his scalp and shampooing his hair. You spend maybe a bit longer than necessary doing this because this is the most physical contact you two have ever had and it is clearly affecting you both.

Bucky does his best not to moan at the feeling of your nimble fingers massing his scalp and washing his hair. Due to all of his time at Hydra Bucky had issues interacting with the world around him physically which was not a problem until he met you. You were so kind and understanding of him and were always so patient, he doesn't know how he got to so lucky to have you. He does feel a bit self conscious when it comes to anything physical with you. He doesn't want to scare you away, but he wants to be closer to you but has trouble telling you what he wants. But now here he is with his head between your soft bare thighs as you massage his scalp. He worries you will notice his sweatpants getting tighter, but you seem too focused on his hair.

Bucky can barely hold you at night without feeling overwhelmed by your soft skin, your delicious scent, your little hums in your sleep. Bucky always feels so conflicted, he wants to touch you, to feel you, but it has been so long since he has felt this feeling that he doesn't know how to handle it. You gently move his head from side to side to effectively clean his hair, but by doing this it forces his head deeper in between your thighs. You feels him wrap his arm around your thigh making you gasp as he nuzzles into your skin to deeply inhale your scent. You feel his lips press against your inner thigh as you blush and continue to massage his scalp. "Bu-uughh-Bucky are you alright?" He finally lets out the moan he was holding in due to hearing your sweet voice, "I'm sorry doll, you just smell so delicious, especially from down here" Bucky's arm moves up and down you leg as you notice the a very large tent in his sweats. You bite your lip, "Well if I had known that all I had to do was wash your hair to get you nice and relaxed I would've done this months ago. How about we finish washing your hair and then we can go to bed? How does that sound baby?" Bucky nods against your thigh feeling drunk off your scent, as you work to finish his hair.

I have had this stuck in my head since I saw this man long hair! Just had to get this idea out of my head, hope you all enjoy :D

[jasmines-library]

Hiii!! Firstly, I love your writing and I hope you’re having a great day!! I was hoping to request a Winchester sibling fic where the reader is really comforted by physical touch but is really observant and receptive to the fact their brothers are emotionally constipated and touch starved so the reader has never really asked for it but then one day either just a bad day or bad hunt and the reader just asks the boys to hold them or one of them to sit in the back of the Impala with them? Thank you so so much and I hope you have a lovely day!! 🫶

So close, yet too far.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Summary: You just really need a hug.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Touch Starved, character death mentioned, swearing

p.s. Sorry for the long wait! I've got exams at the moment so they're taking up a lot of my time.

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Life as a hunter was never still. You were constantly moving. Constantly looking over your shoulder. Constantly chasing what could be your last day on earth. And you wouldn’t ever have said you regretted it. No. In fact, you wouldn’t have changed it for the world. Hunting creatures and saving the world? It was all You couldn’t have imagined a better life…

But sometimes you found yourself wanting life to just slow down for a minute. It was so hectic and you just needed a breath. A hug. With such a busy life, there was no time for just spending quality time with your brothers. Or anyone for that matter. It was an endless cycle: Wake up. Research. Hunt. Drive. Sleep. There was no time for sitting on the couch and watching cheesy movies together. Nor was there any time for curling up together like you used to do when you were smaller. You found yourself yearning for it. For a hug or simply just a gentle arm around your shoulder. It used to bring you so much comfort. But times were tough with all that had happened recently. The three of you were even more on edge than ever before. 

Your brothers had always told you that you could ask them for anything. That you could tell them whatever you wanted… but this wasn’t just something you could ask them for. You had seen how they often shunned away from touch. From relationships. Having seen so much pain and having lost so many people…they struggled to allow themselves to let their guard down enough to enjoy a tender moment. Even with you. So no matter how much you yearned for it you could never bring yourself to push the want from your mind and into words. 

So when the hunt went worse than you could have imagined you kept quiet. 

Dean’s hand was right there; peeking out from the hem of his flannel. His fingers were bloody and calloused, scarred and covered in small cuts and yet his touch was still tender. You felt your own fingers itch to reach out and lace them between his. You wanted for him or Sam to wrap you up in their arms and hold you close. To squeeze your hand. Or a shoulder. But you knew that they had much more pressing matters to deal with that overshadowed “needy little sister”. 

You trailed behind them, dragging your feet ever so slightly to kick up the dirt and leave trails between the orange leaves. You did not look up at your brothers because you knew you would see Dean's set jaw and Sam’s pinched eyebrows as they too mourned the hunt. 

A small boy had been caught by a shtriga. He had been no older than 5 or 6 with these big, blue eyes that got impossibly wider as the creature stalked toward him. And his scream…it pierced through the air like a beam of light: clear as day yet providing no clarity. No safety like light should bring. Instead it was cold and filled with a gripping terror. 

The three of you had been too slow. No matter how hard you dragged your stubborn limbs you couldn’t get to him fast enough. So now you trudged along in silence. 

The sight of Baby did not, in fact, provide you with the relief you thought it would. Instead the gleaming of the bonnet against the moonlight just made your stomach churn. You knew that you would all try to bury the memory in a box, deep in the back of your mind. But it was never that easy. They tried hard, but you would hear them late at night. Dean hardly slept as he tried to drink his troubles away and Sam barely left his room. And then there was you who lay awake staring blankly at the ceiling as you wept softly, wrapping your arms around yourself to curl up in a ball. It didn’t bring the same comfort as theirs did, like it had done when you were small and naive when you crawled into their bed after a nightmare. When things weren’t so fucking complicated. 

Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes as you reached for the metal handle. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t sit in silence to be left with your own thoughts. You couldn’t be alone. Not right now. 

“Sammy…”  Your voice was quiet. Hushed. Barely a whisper pushed out on cracked lips that trembled. 

Sam paused, his hand halfway between where he had been picking at the hem of his jeans and the handle of the passenger door. He lifted his head, humming softly in acknowledgement. 

“Sit with me… Please.”

“Of course.” His face melted and he moved in one swift movement. 

He slid in the backseat, leaning against the door frame and stretching out across the seats. He pulled you in to lean against his side, wrapping his arms around you. You lay your head on his shoulder, snuggling into his side. And began to weep. 

“Kiddo?” Sam asked gently. “What’s up?” His hands traced small circles on your arm.

Dean reached over the back of the seat with a concerned look, though part of it could be easily mistaken for fear. “It’s not your fault, Sweetheart-” He started.

“Just…hold me. Please.” You clung onto Sam, your other hand reaching out to settle atop of Dean’s. Their touch was comforting, yet you couldn’t help the wavering as you wept. “I don’t want to be alone right now.” 

And so they did. Sam nestled you further into his side, tucking your head beneath his chin and Dean clambered out of his seat to join the two of you in the back. He settled down on your other side, sandwiching you between the two of you. And they held you. They ran their fingers through your hair, held your hand and spoke to you. They held you tight and the three of you stayed close together, with no intention of moving any time soon.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

SPN TAGS:

@defonotashleyr

@aestheticdaisies

@xxrougefangxx

@hell-o-kittys

@inlovewhithafairytale

@harleycao

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 71

The other witchers at Kaer Morhen have always grown tired of Geralt's random moodswings and bouts of gloom and grumpiness during the winter. He'd be happy and carefree, safe in his home, and then some dark thought would crest in his mind, and for a few days straight, he'd be in a horrible mood. When one year he brings his bard with him, they realize the moodswings have disappeared completely. That is, until Jaskier starts trying to "bond" with them all and spends less time with Geralt. Then all of a sudden the snarls and snaps from Geralt are back. One day, Lambert gets tired of Geralt's sass, and shoves Jaskier at him, and they're all amazed when Geralt loses his bad mood and instead chooses to carry his bard off to cuddle in front of the fireplace. Nuzzling him and purring the whole time. Thus commences a new rule of Kaer Morhen. If you spot Geralt being pissy, you chuck the bard at him. Jaskier has been taken away from a meal, a game of gwent, his chores, his bed while asleep, and one especially embarrassing time he was taken from a bath. Jaskier is quite alright with the new rule, as it always ends in deligthtful Geralt cuddles, but sometimes he wishes Geralt would just find Jaskier instead of moping when he misses him.

[ronearoundblindly]

'Hideout' Masterlist

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel emplyee!Reader

Grant, a guest at your middle-of-nowhere motel, has needs not covered by the usual turn-down service.

Romance 🔥 || Smut 🦆 || Angst ⛈️ || Fluff 🌼 || Dark Fic 🌘

Puppy 🌼

Sweet Baby 🌼🔥🦆

Sensitive Boy 🌼🔥🦆 Part I; Part II

Horny Teen 🔥🦆⛈️ Part I; Part II

[[Dirty Headcanon Ask; Two; Three; Four]]

Desperate Man 🔥🦆 snippet

Husband Material 🌼🔥🦆

**Slow burn Nomad Steve during rare and random stays at your family's motel. Appearances by Sam, Nat, Wanda, and Viz. Follows the setup/development of this Valentine's Ask and these THOTS. It'll be cute. It'll be loving. I'm absolutely going to die of excitement. Join me in the happy death!

Ongoing PLAYLIST!

Interlude: A Special Visit Birthday Fluff 🌼🔥

{{Endgame ⛈️🔥🦆🌘}}

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[shaylogic]

Anyone else hung up on the part where Esther captured the ghost boys in that glass box?

What were they feeling/thinking in that state?

Forced proximity, raw souls touching, scared but together just before being separated in peril, already emotionally tender from Crystal leaving.

Knowing the last time they survived Esther, it was only because Crystal was there to save them, and for all they know in that moment, she's gone and unaware of their plight

"This is it" Edwin may be thinking, unable to articulate it verbally

Charles desperate to break out and protect Edwin, unable to move or speak, utterly helpless again, and heartbroken that he just lost Crystal, and now he's going to lose Edwin, too

~~~~~

Omg can you imagine Charles somehow gets out and reforms, but Edwin is still stuck as a soul orb, so Charles has to grab him up and run with him

Charles is so protective and caring but scared and baffled and sometimes rough and clumsy

Edwin is the one who comes up with the plans and Charles is the one who takes risks and swings the bat

Charles: *cupping Edwin's soul to his heart, hands shaking* it's gonna be okay, mate, I swear! I'm gonna fix this

[magiccath]

Hold Me Tight (Or Don't)

The Doctor x Reader (written with 10 in mind, but works for any Doctor if you squint)

Summary: In which you just need a little physical affection from your favorite Time Lord

A/N: yeah the title is a Fall Out Boy song, what about it?

By most standards, the Doctor was a fairly touchy individual. It wasn’t something he did consciously, or even a habit he was generally aware of. He wasn’t ever overwhelming about it; touches from the Doctor usually came in the most casual of manners. His hand tangling in yours, dragging you along as he sprinted away from (or more often, towards) danger. Or he’d gather you up in his arms, lifting your feet off the ground with pure enthusiasm as he murmured how incredibly brilliant you had been. 

As time went on, the touches became more frequent - his hand found its way into yours and his arms found their way around your middle more often. You’d never thought of yourself as particularly ‘touched starved’ before the Doctor, but you found that quickly changing. 

You started to crave his gentle touches in a way you never had before. It was like a bug bite - a tantalizing feeling deep inside of you that you longed to itch. Technically, you could, you were completely able to, but the outcome tended not to be advisable. While you knew you had an affliction for the alien’s touch, you didn’t have the faintest clue where he stood on the matter. If he knew just how much his minor affections meant to you, he might stop them altogether. You found that sometimes, it was better to have a little bit of something than not to have it at all. 

Subconsciously, you started to seek out his touch in the smallest of ways; a brush of your pinky against the back of his hand, a gentle tug on his coat sleeve, an adjustment of his constantly wayward tie. Sometimes, your hand almost clung to his, only reluctantly pulling away when his fingers untangled themselves from yours. You clung to his frame tighter, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in the crook of his neck when he hugged you, clinging to him like a lifeline. 

If he noticed, the Doctor chose not to comment on your affliction for his physical touch. Honestly, it made sense that the Doctor didn’t notice. He didn't notice a lot of things, especially for someone who claimed to notice all things. Sure, he knew the important stuff, but he wasn’t always the best with subtle emotions or social cues. Sometimes his obliviousness was borderline painful (and at the worst of times, dangerous), but other times it saved you from embarrassment. 

Regardless of the reasoning, you were glad that the Doctor remained oblivious to your longing touches. You didn’t know how he would react to it all. Even more, you didn’t know how to approach the subject at all. “Will you let me just hold onto you for 3-5 business days? For some reason, I feel the need to be constantly touching you. Please and thank you.” 

So, you stayed silent. You found yourself laying awake in bed at night, longing for the secure feeling of his hand in yours. You watched him work on the TARDIS console, constantly fighting the urge to walk over and hug his slender middle as tightly as you could manage. He handed you things and the momentary brush of his fingers made you want to cry with complete and utter need. 

The thought of him wormed its way inside of your brain, nestling deep inside until it was borderline impossible to ignore. Your heart ached for him - for the gentle and loving way that he held your hand, for the caring brushes of his fingers against your cheeks, for the feel of his arms snaking around you, pulling you closer and closer to his body. You ached for him. 

Some days were worse than others - when you had a bad day the aching need burned inside of you, threatening to boil over. On those days, you sought comfort in any way you could, oftentimes hiding away in your bed, clinging to your pillow like a small child. In contrast, the good days were easy. Those days that you spent running around the cosmos with the Doctor, your hands firmly intertwined. At the end of those days, you fell asleep with a smile on your face, the phantom feeling of his hand in yours etched into your memory. 

-

The Doctor knew that you considered him oblivious. Most times, he wouldn’t even bother to argue with you. It wasn’t that he was oblivious per se, but rather that he was selective in his attention. He cared very little for pears or people who talked tantalizingly slow, but he was rapt when it came to puzzles and you. 

You were his favorite companion, of course he paid attention to you. He knew that you bounced your leg when you were anxious, he knew exactly how you took your tea, your favorite kind of biscuit, and the name of your first pet. Most notably, he was starting to notice a shift in your behavior when it came to him. 

Whenever he touched you, you seemed to tense against him before relaxing and practically melting into his touch. Your fingers would twitch when he held your hand, or your arms shook when he hugged you. The first few times it happened he attributed it to other things - nerves, too much caffeine, hunger, etc. As it continued to happen, the Doctor started to worry. 

Maybe you were touch adverse and he was just now realizing. He mentally kicked himself for being so stupid and oblivious. He wasn’t oblivious when it came to you, he wasn’t supposed to be. You were one of the few things in the universe that could hold his attention for ridiculously extended periods of time. 

As he worked on the TARDIS machinery he felt your eyes on him, the weight of your gaze boring down on him. A sudden dread filled him, the fear of you being cross with him enough to send him crawling into a deep, dark cave. With a frustrated groan, he tossed the tool he had been using to the side. He brushed his hands against his trousers and stood up, crawling out of the hole in the grating he had been down in. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asked curtly, deciding it was best to not beat around the bush. 

Your eyes widened quickly in response, shocked by the sudden question as well as the content of the question. “No?”

“You’d tell me if you were, right? We’re best mates you’re supposed to tell me when you’re cross.” 

“I’m not cross,” you retort, your brow furrowed. You wondered where the Doctor got such an idea. He was known to misread social cues, but he had gotten pretty good at reading yours. “You’d know if I was cross,” you added.

“If you don’t like physical touch you could have just told me,” he grumbled quietly, his tone reminiscent of a sulking toddler. He was hurt and almost offended that you hadn’t just told him. You could tell him anything, surely you knew that?

“Who told you that?” Your frown deepened. The Doctor was very good at being wrong, a lot better than he would ever admit to. Still, this was a new kind of off-base, even for him. 

The Doctor tilted his head to the side slightly, “You’ve been acting weird about it lately.” 

“No, I haven’t,” you say, almost too quickly. 

“You-” he struggled to find the exact word, his big Time Lord brain whirling away. “You twitch when I touch you,” he tried, but it still didn’t seem to express his thought process. “It’s more than that, it’s like you tense for a split second when I touch you.”

“Do I?” 

The Doctor nodded, “It’s like my touch burns you, but you’re too nice to tell me.” 

“I’m not too nice to not tell you anything. I will proudly tell you that your hair makes you look like a cockatoo on drugs.”

The Doctor practically pouted, his hand subconsciously flying into his unruly hair, “It does not- That- that’s not the point,” he frowns. 

“I’m not mad about the touch, Doctor. I’d have no problem telling you if I was.” At least that was true. The whole situation would be a great deal easier if you were severely averse to his touch. He wouldn’t think twice if you told him you didn’t like to be touched, so why did it feel like such a big deal the other way around? 

“But you’re mad?” 

“I’m not mad,” you sigh. Now it was your turn to grapple for words. Why did it have to be so hard to explain emotions? 

“It’s not that I don’t like your touch. Really quite the opposite,” you started rambling, looking more at the floor than the Doctor himself. “It’s not that I want you to touch me less, it’s that I want you to touch me more.” 

He raised an eyebrow, slightly stunned by the confession. 

“Not like that!” you say quickly, realizing how it sounded. It wasn’t like that, not at all. 

“I wasn’t even thinking about it like that,” he frowned, finding your comment defensive. 

“I just mean-” you groan, hiding your face in your hands, “I find myself wanting more hugs, more hand-holding, stuff like that.” 

“Why didn’t you just ask?” 

“It seemed weird,” you murmur, still not looking up from your hiding spot. 

“It’s perfectly normal to crave affection,” the Doctor shrugged, clinical as ever. No matter what you said, he always found a way to make it sound ‘perfectly normal’. Somewhere, someplace, sometime, it most likely was.

“It’s not something that I experienced before,” you admit, finally looking up from your hands. You still don’t meet his eyes, your gaze finding it more comfortable to look at your trainers. “I didn’t need it like I do now, it didn’t eat at me.” 

“You should have told me sooner,” he sighed, his voice closer to you now. Your eyes flitted upwards, meeting his. “I don’t like seeing you in pain, you know?” he said, resting his hands on your arms. His thumbs rubbed soft circles against your skin, the gesture so painfully caring it made you want to cry. 

“I didn’t know how,” you admit, finally looking into his eyes. They were always so soft like his default setting was puppy dog. It was hard not to get lost in those endless pools of chocolate brown. 

The Doctor pulled you into his arms, holding you close to his chest. You could hear the steady sound of his hearts beating, the twin organs just barely out of sync with each other. The four-beat rhythm reverberated through your head, the sound oddly calming and familiar to you. 

You gave up on acting strong, pretending that this wasn’t exactly what you needed. Instead, you just melted into his touch, wrapping your arms around his waist in return. Your fingers tangled in the fabric of his suit jacket, clutching onto the garment like your life depended on it. 

The familiar smell of the Doctor flooded your senses. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what the smell was, but it was trademark Doctor to you. Not quite a sandalwood musk, maybe an alien version of it? A strange mix of cinnamon, cloves, and vanilla - a combination that strangely did not coincide to create the smell of a Snickerdoodle. Sometimes he smelled like fresh linen after he did his laundry or switched out his suit. It didn’t matter what the exact scent notes were, you could recognize his smell anywhere. 

You held on a little tighter to his suit, pressing your face further into his chest. The Doctor grunted slightly in surprise as you squeezed him, making you ease up a little bit on your grip. His hands run up and down your spine, rubbing soft and gentle circles. 

It was a bit of an awkward position, the two of you in a tangled embrace on the floor. Your back was starting to hurt, but you didn’t dare move. What if this was your only chance to hold onto him like this?

“Do you wanna get off the floor?” the Doctor murmured, his hand still rubbing up and down your back in a comforting rhythm. 

“Yeah,” you whisper back but remain entirely stationary on the floor. You felt glued to him, unable to move even if you wanted to. 

“You’re gonna have to let go of me for that,” he chuckled, also making no moves to let go of you. When you also showed no signs of moving, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He started to let go of you, moving to get up from the floor. In protest, your arms tightened around him. 

“If you want to move off of the hard metal floor, you’re going to have to let go of me,” he whispered, stroking the back of your head reassuringly. “I promise we can go back to this, I’d just prefer somewhere more comfortable.” 

Reluctantly, you complied, untangling your arms from around his middle. The Doctor got up first, extending a hand down to help you up from the floor as well. Even after he pulled you upright, he didn’t let go of your hand, a small gesture that you were immensely grateful for. 

Silently, he led you down the hall and into the library. The room was a vast rotunda with seemingly endless shelves of books spanning multiple floors upwards. Gentle light came from vintage lamps and cream-colored candles that never seemed to burn out. Several worn-out pieces of furniture were littered around the room, many of which you had fallen asleep in at one time or another. 

The Doctor selected the largest seat in the room, a plush L-shaped couch with a garish but faded floral pattern. Unceremoniously he flopped into the corner, opening your arms in invitation for you to join him. 

Without hesitation, you practically fell into his arms. You curled up against him, resting your head back against his chest. In turn, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you against his frame. 

“This better?” he asked, brushing your hair away from your face, his fingers tickling your cheek. You nodded in response, nuzzling yourself further into him. Your face found its way into the crook of his neck, your nose slotting perfectly against the curvature of his shoulder. The Doctor sighed in contentment and rested his cheek on top of your head. 

You felt like nothing more than a puddle in his arms, finally able to melt against him like you had wanted for so many months. Now that you were snuggled against him, you weren’t sure you would ever be able to let go. 

As if reading your thoughts, he broke the silence, “We can stay here for as long as you need.” 

“Thank you,” you exhaled quietly, your heart fluttering at his compassion. 

The two of you stayed like that for the rest of the day, snuggled up in the TARDIS library together. The Doctor made a conscious effort to make this a regular thing, especially on days when you weren’t feeling your best. All you had to do was say the word and he would drop everything to comfort you. After all, you were his favorite companion. 

[mothofmyth]

I'm sure it's been said before but Steve who doesn't care about his hair that much per se, but he needs to take good care of it and pretend a little so that nobody bats an eye about him frequenting a salon rather than a barber, because the only time anyone ever touches him gently or with care is when the hair techs wash his hair for him before a trim...

[leighsartworks216]

In The Moonlight

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Lowkey wrote this for @niermortem bc the Astarion hyperfixation goes hard

I've never written for Astarion before and I'm still not 100% comfortable with his speech patterns and stuff but I had to write this or I would not be able to sleep tonight. Tbh y'all are lucky he even spoke at all. I was going to have Tav shush him lmao

Warnings: Cazador, mentions of past abuse, mentions of biting, vague implications of sex, like one swear

Word Count: 1,110

Masterlist

AO3

He’s so beautiful, just like this. The moon reaches through the window and caresses his hair, turning already-bright white into pure starlight. His pale skin glows. And when the sun rises and casts beams of yellow-orange over him, it’s almost as if blood flows through him once more.

You cannot sleep. Despite how tired your body was, your mind couldn’t sit still. It pondered over the day’s events - if you made the right choices, what you could have done better, your companions - endlessly spiraling out of sleep’s embrace. And you would still have been going over these questions and concerns, if Astarion did not look so damn pretty.

He fell asleep a while ago. With a gentle kiss to your cheek and a whisper of thanks, he’d tucked one arm under his head and draped the other across your waist, and drifted off. A hint of a smile still lingered there. Creases by his mouth and eyes proving a simple joy that followed him into his dreams.

It felt wrong to watch him like this. Like studying how his curls fell across his forehead and the flicker of his eyes behind his eyelids was in some way betraying his trust. The thought alone - of ruining this beautiful foundation of trust and patience and understanding - should have been enough to have you close your eyes or turn away. And yet, something inside you yearned for more. An ache in your chest that urged you to touch him, to be closer to him.

And the urge was stronger than your perceived guilt.

Slowly, you raised a hand to his face. At first, all you did was brush the curl from his forehead. The stubborn thing only bounced right back.

Your eyes trailed from his hair to his eyebrows. So often did a crease find its way between them, pinched in frustration or confusion. Your hand followed. With the barest brush of your thumb, you smoothed out the imaginary crease. Astarion breathed in deeply - causing you to hold your own - before sighing softly. His face relaxed even more, shoulders easing into the pillows that cushioned him.

You focused next on his eyes. Deep, bloody red irises hidden behind thin lids that held so much worry and uncertainty and joy and hope. Hope. It had taken so long for the vampire to actually be optimistic about the future. He had no idea what would happen next - between Cazador and the tadpoles, there was little to be optimistic about. When you helped him, despite his original plans to manipulate and use you, he realized things did not always have such awful outcomes. Even your first encounter, with his blade to your throat, had somehow brought you here, together and warm and safe.

Despite being an elf, he had such deep bags beneath his eyes. Even the crows feet and laugh lines that appeared with his smile were unusual. He’d told you sparingly about his life under Cazador. The things he fed on, the poem carved into his back, and the horrible things he did. Undoubtedly, the lines came from that time. Barely eating enough to survive, luring people in with his charms for an uncaring master, being tortured in the dark. Yet, you couldn’t imagine Astarion without them. He was so pretty when he smiled.

You move on to his nose and his cheeks. His features are all well defined, sharp. It makes him seem dangerous, even at a first glance. Like a snake, hiding fangs behind shimmering scales.

Beckoned by the analogy, your eyes flicker to his lips. They’re so soft, despite the way he chews his bottom lip. Where before his kisses were rough, demanding, now they’re slow, careful. He no longer kisses you like he has to woo you over and get you to play his game. He kisses you like he’s savoring the last drop of wine. Even his bites are gentler, pricking your neck as carefully as he can unless you ask him nicely to be rougher.

“Too distracted to sleep, are we?”

His voice makes you jolt. You weren’t expecting his lips to move so suddenly. Nor did you realize before how your hand cupped his jaw and your thumb stroked his cheek. You can feel his smile as he chuckles.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear,” he coos. “But don’t you think it’s a bit late to be admiring my features?”

You take a moment to compose yourself, urging your heart to still from the scare. Damn you for thinking so much about his mouth. Astarion is nice enough to wait and listen as you relax once more, though you continue to trace over his skin and brush the curls in front of his ears back.

“I couldn’t sleep. And you look so beautiful in the moonlight.”

He slips his arm from underneath his head as he turns into your hand, holding your wrist in place as he kisses your palm. “I appreciate it, my love. But it’s been a long and exhausting day, and we both need our beauty rest.”

Red eyes watch, half-lidded, as you smile - he loves it just as much as you love his. Before, he couldn’t care less. Now, oh the things he would do to see you happy every waking moment of the rest of your lives.

The blankets shift against each other as you move to be closer. You tuck yourself into his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your face into his neck. You are so warm. He lets out a soft breath as he curls around you, protective and safe all at once. Slender fingers tangle carefully into the hair at the nape of your neck, keeping your head tucked away under his chin.

For so long, he charmed and manipulated people. They touched and got close to him, in ways he quickly detached himself from. For so long. It was still difficult to fathom how he sought it out with you. How he did not go through the motions of physical intimacy, how he actually wanted to be physically intimate in more ways than just sexually. How long he’d been deprived of something genuine like this. He wanted to savor every gods-forsaken minute of it.

Your warm breath fanned across his neck as you spoke. Had he been able to, it would have sent a chill down his spine.

“I love you.”

His fingers curl into your waist, grounding himself into your body as your skin gives under his fingertips. In return, you squeeze him in your hold, solidifying even more that this is real. You are real.

“I love you, too, darling.”

[sendryl]

I'm on chapter six already, and there's six more to go!

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Dick’s never dated anyone quite like Danny.

Danny, with his layers and layers of clothes like armor. Danny, with his skin all covered, his hands never even brushing against Dick’s own.

Dick’s known from their first meeting that Danny can’t handle touch at all, but it took a few meetings before Danny admitted that he really wanted to touch.

This is the story of how Dick and Danny start to touch.