#touch starved reader

[pedroscurls]

touch starved (one-shot)

summary: logan agreed to go out with wade, having been promised a low-key night, but he should've known than to trust wade for his word. he didn't agree to spend his night at a strip club and he's just about ready to leave until he sees you. pairing: worst!wolverine x fem!reader content warnings: explicit smut (18+, mdni), porn without plot, lap dance, grinding / humping, striptease, one night stand (you take logan back to your apartment), unprotected p in v (be safe folks!), cowgirl, reader takes charge (and logan's more than happy to let you take the lead), oral - m receiving, swallowing logan's release. basically this story is all about catering to logan and his needs 🙂‍↕️, reader description (only clothes and hair), no use of y/n. word count: 3k a/n: coming at ya with yet another one-shot of logan filth lol. my own headcanon is that logan / worst!wolverine is touch starved (just as much as he craves to be part of something bigger than himself). anyway, hope y'all enjoy - it's a spicy one 🤭 song: closer by nine inch nails

“You promised a quiet night out, Wade,” Logan snarls at the other man, hand gripping his glass of whiskey. It’s too loud in here, the music blaring from the speakers, the flashing dark red lights illuminating mainly the stage where women are performing. There are plenty of men surrounding the stage, alcohol in one hand and dollar bills in the other.

“I promised no such thing,” Wade grins. “I said let’s go out and you agreed.”

Logan’s jaw tightens and he looks at Wade with narrowed eyes. “You’re a fuckin’ liar.” 

Wade laughs. “Come on, peanut! Have some fun. Let loose. Just sit back and relax–”

“I’m leavin’,” Logan interrupts, downing his entire glass before slamming it on the table. He stands up and gets ready to turn on his heel when he catches a glimpse of you at the corner of his eye. He turns slightly and watches the way your smile meets your eyes. You don’t look like you belong in a place like this, the other women wearing too much make up and revealing so much that it leaves little to the imagination. But you… You look absolutely breathtaking and Logan feels like he can’t move, can’t tear his eyes away from you.

Your hair cascades past your shoulders, your make up remaining light and natural. You’re dressed in an all black sheer robe with a lace cuff and satin waist belt. The robe is loosely wrapped around your frame, giving Logan a glimpse of your sheer mesh bra, the top of your bra trimmed with lace and when you undo the belt of your robe to reveal your lower half, he feels his breath catch in his throat. Your panties – or rather, your thong – matches the same style of your bra. 

It’s so innocent in comparison to the other women in the strip club, and yet, Logan can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. It’s only when he hears Wade’s voice that he finally looks away, even though he’s yearning to just look at you again.

“Oh, someone’s caught your eye,” Wade grins, swaying in his seat. “Want a private dance, Mr. Wolverine?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan says. “Like I said, I was leavin’–”

“So soon?” you interrupt and glance between both men. You flash a smile in Wade’s direction who looks like he’s about ready to combust with excitement. He’s sipping his drink with a straw, grinning in your direction. Then, you glance over at Logan whose eyes stare directly into your own. 

“Actually,” Wade says. “How much for a private dance…” he trails, staring up at you as he waits for you to say your name.

“Kitty,” you finish for him. “You can call me Kitty.”

“Very fitting,” Wade winks. “Well, Kitty, it’s my friend’s first night out in a very long time and I figured I can treat him to a private dance.”

“That’s very nice of you,” you respond, but your eyes never leave Logan’s. You can see his eyes flit over your frame, lingering on your exposed skin.

“Listen, you ain’t have to and–”

“How about the first one’s on me?” you interject. 

“Sweetheart,” Logan mumbles. 

You bite your lower lip and gently reach up to rest a hand on his arm. You can feel the muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt, can feel him flex it underneath your fingertips. Logan inhales sharply as he looks down at your hand, clearing his throat at your soft touch. 

“His name’s Logan, by the way,” Wade chimes in, cutting through the tension with a quiet giggle. 

“But only if you want to, Logan,” you whisper, moving your hand down his arm and to his forearm. You bat your eyelashes up at him, trying to ignore the obvious attraction you feel towards him. Truthfully, you’d rather spend the rest of your night with him rather than give dances to other men in the club – men who didn’t look like Logan. 

Logan feels his resolve diminishing, but when he hears his name leave your lips, he nods slowly. “Y– Yeah, sure.” 

“Great, come with me.” You smile and gently take his hand in yours. He looks down at it, taking notice of the way his large hand encompasses yours and he allows you to lead him towards the back of the club and into a much more private room. 

Once inside, Logan hears the door shut and he turns to face you, his eyes lingering on your frame. He watches you walk towards him, hips swaying to the muffled sound of the music until he feels your hands rest firmly on his chest. 

“You’re a shy one,” you point out, tongue darting out to lick your lower lip. 

“Not shy,” Logan mumbles. “Just bein’ respectful, sweetheart.” 

“Sexy and a gentleman?” you smile. “Mind if I keep you for the rest of the night?” you tease.

Logan feels a blush rise in his cheeks and lets out a quiet grunt when he feels you push him back against the large sofa. He stares up at you, eyes obviously now trailing your frame. He keeps his hands on his lap, though he yearns to reach out to touch you. 

“Logan,” you whisper, moving your hands to rest on the backs of the couch as you lean in until your lips are mere inches from one another. You’re slightly bent over to be at eye level with him and you smile, catching the way he clears his throat. “If you don’t want to do this, all you have to do is say so, okay?” 

“Okay,” he responds quietly. 

You smile and gently press a soft kiss on his cheek, slowly pulling away to see that his eyes had fallen shut. You turn on your heel and walk over to the speaker to put on a couple of songs that you normally play when you give a private dance. Pressing play on the first song, you then turn around to face him once more. He looks so large in this room – his legs spread open on the sofa, broad shoulders and chiseled muscle beneath the fabric of the flannel he’s wearing. This was only ever a job to you, never finding anyone all that interesting or attractive, but Logan – well, you’d risk your entire job if it meant you can have him for one night. 

As the first song plays and filters the room, your eyes meet Logan’s who is staring at you with an anticipated look on his face. His eyes move along your legs, up to your midsection and then up to your breasts and back down. Slowly, you remove your robe and let it pool around your ankles as you strut towards him. Your hips sway with each forward step and Logan lets out a shaky breath. 

Once you’re standing in front of him, between his legs, you lean down and gently brush your lips against the corner of his lips. His facial hair tickles your lips and you pull back enough to stare into his eyes, lips slowly grazing his own. “You can touch me,” you whisper and move your hands onto his strong shoulders, slowly straddling his hips. “To be honest, I’d let you do anything you’d want to me,” you say quietly into his ear. 

Logan’s large hands immediately move to your hips, gripping it tightly as you sit firmly on his lap. He’s so hard and he feels so embarrassed, but the look on your face when you feel him alleviates some of the uncertainty he’s feeling. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve felt a man’s erection while giving them a lap dance, but it is the first time that you actually let out a quiet moan as you slowly roll your hips against his own, to the beat of the song. The tension between you thickens in the air and you stare deeply into his eyes as you try to remember the routine that you normally do for this song. 

You let me violate you 

You let me desecrate you 

You let me penetrate you 

You let me complicate you

Logan’s hands slowly move from your hips to your thighs, his fingertips digging into the meat of your flesh as your hips roll against his. He clears his throat and watches as your eyes flutter with each movement. He has to wonder if this is all part of your act, that maybe you’re just acting like you’re enjoying this. 

“Logan,” you whisper, moving to slightly lean back in his lap. You move one hand from his shoulder to reach behind you and rest on his knee as you lift your hips before coming back down on his lap. Logan groans quietly, almost inaudibly, as he moves a hand to splay on your abdomen, slowly moving it upwards towards your breasts. 

I wanna fuck you like an animal

I wanna feel you from the inside

I wanna fuck you like an animal

My whole existence is flawed

You get me closer to God

When his thumb brushes against your nipple, feeling it peak beneath the sheer fabric of your bra, he has to wonder if maybe he crossed a line. Logan moves his hand away from you but you grab his wrist and move it back over your breasts. He smirks and wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he leans forward. 

You let out a quiet moan and feel a wetness settle between your legs that you have to lift your hips off of him, not wanting to stain his dark jeans with your arousal. Slowly, you stand back up and hear him let out a quiet, disapproving groan. You stand between his legs, moving one hand in your hair as you use the other to run along your body, grazing your own breasts and down between the valley of your thighs as your hips sway to each beat of the song.

You tear down my reason

(Help me) it's your sex I can smell

(Help me) you make me perfect

Help me become somebody else

Logan can smell your arousal, can smell just how excited you are and the uncertainty he felt earlier is now completely gone. His hands move up your legs, fingertips hooking into the thin waistband of your thong, but he feels your hands move to rest over his. 

“Logan,” you say quietly. Even through the music, he can hear your voice, can hear the desire and yearning in your tone. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“I want to take you home,” you admit, moving to sit back on his lap. “I know it’s very unprofessional, but–”

Logan grins. “Then take me home.” 

—

Logan had told Wade what happened, the other man all too excited for him. He hadn’t expected this night to turn the way it did and there’s some part of him that doesn’t feel like he deserves it, but when he sees you step out of the club with that same sweet smile that meets your eyes, he pushes those feelings out of his mind. Because all he can think about is what’s going to happen next. 

The drive to your apartment was short and the moment you step out of the car, Logan’s quick to follow you. He steps inside of the apartment with you and you shut the door behind him before you’re on him almost instantly. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and Logan’s hands move to rest on your hips. You stare up at him before you lean up to press your lips firmly against his. 

Logan groans instantly against your lips, eyes falling shut as he follows your lead. You move one hand down his chest to his abdomen until it reaches the waistband of his jeans. He feels your tongue slide past his lips and he whimpers against you – he fucking whimpers. Logan’s used to being the one in charge that it takes him by surprise when you’re more than willing to take control. 

When you undo the button and zipper of his jeans, you pull away. Your gaze darkens at the sight of him and you bring him further into your apartment, once more pushing him against your couch as he sits down with a grunt. Standing in front of him, you pull down your shorts and panties in one motion, grabbing the ends of your shirt to lift over your head. You stand in front of him, completely bare and exposed for him that Logan doesn’t know where to look first. 

You’re so fucking breathtaking that he feels his manhood strain against the fabric of his jeans. Logan slowly pushes his jeans and boxers down his legs, catching the way your eyes widen at the sight of his erected length. He smirks to himself and undoes the buttons of his flannel, pushing it off his shoulders. 

“Fuck me,” you whisper under your breath. “You’re so fucking hot, Logan.” 

Logan bites his lower lip. He doesn’t have time to respond, to tell you that you’re the one who’s so fucking hot because you straddle his hips and take hold of length. He groans at the feel of your hand wrapped around him, lining him up to your opening. He doesn’t know how long he’s going to last – it had been such a long time since anyone’s wanted him like this, since anyone looked at him the way you did. 

In his universe, everyone hated him. 

But in this one – Logan has a second chance at living life the way he should have in the first place. 

When you slide down his length, Logan’s hands move to your hips. He groans loudly, your walls surrounding his length – so warm, so wet, so tight. Your walls slide down every inch of his length until you’re seated fully on his lap. He looks up at you, sees the way your eyes flutter. 

“God, you’re so deep,” you point out with a quiet moan, moving your hands to his shoulders. Holding onto him, you slowly begin to lift yourself before you slide back down. You can feel every inch of his throbbing manhood within your depths and he fills you so fully in a way that you’ve never felt before. 

He shifts to lie on his back on your couch, staring up at you. Your hands move to rest on his chest, rolling your hips forward and backward. You can feel the hair at his base brush against your bundle of nerves with each movement, quiet moans escaping your lips. 

Logan moans in surprise when you reach for his hands, lacing your fingers together as you press them above his head. He knows that he’s so much stronger than you, but he finds that he likes being at your mercy. You’re gripping his hands so tightly, pressing your joined hands further into your couch as you begin to bounce along his length. You lift yourself until his tip is the only part of him that’s within your depths before you slide back down, your tight walls sliding down each inch of him.

“Sweetheart, fuck,” Logan groans, squirming slightly against your grip. He feels your walls begin to tremble around him, can feel you tightening even further around his manhood. 

“Lo– Logan!” you exclaim, moaning loudly as you slam down onto him. You shut your eyes tightly, slowly moving your hips forward and backward to ride out your high. You release his hands to brace yourself on his chest, the feeling of his hair at his base providing just the right amount of friction. 

Logan feels a tightness building in the pit of his stomach and he gently lifts you off of him. You gasp, whimpering at the sudden loss of him before you realize that he’s close. You move down the couch and settle yourself between his legs as you take hold of his length, stroking him with a firm grip as your lips wrap around his tip. 

“Fuck!” he groans, not expecting you to fucking suck him off. Logan moves a hand in your hair, tangling his fingers in your locks as he guides you along his length. Your hand strokes what your mouth can’t and when you hollow your cheeks to apply more pressure around him, Logan tosses his head back against the couch. 

It’s sloppy, spit trickling down your chin as you keep your eyes focused on him. You move along his length, flattening your tongue on the underside of him as you feel each throbbing vein against you. Logan’s grip around your hair tightens and he lifts his hips slightly off the couch to push himself further into your mouth, feeling his tip hit the back of your throat as you gag around him.

Slowly, you pull away from him and smile. “Come for me, Logan.” Then, you wrap your mouth around him once more and bob your head rapidly, stroking his base. Logan shuts his eyes tightly, the tightness building once more as he lets out a loud moan. He gently pushes your hand away as he grips himself, using his free hand to pull you back from your hair as he releases into your mouth. He opens his eyes to look down at you, his seed filling your mouth and you eagerly swallow. 

Logan groans, stroking himself to release every last drop of his spend into your mouth. You smile against him – you fucking smile with his cock in your mouth – and it’s an image that Logan will never forget. When you pull away and lick your lips, swallowing every last drop, you lean up on your knees and stare at him.

“Yum,” you grin. 

Logan’s breathing heavily, moving one hand to rest behind his head as he looks at you with a small smile. “Didn’t expect this to happen tonight,” he admits. “But I’m glad it did.” 

“Stay the night?” you ask. 

Logan nods and sits up, gently pushing you onto your back as he settles himself between your legs. “Oh, sweetheart, I ain’t even done with you yet.”

[hiddenavenues]

hii !

i saw ur post about fluffy Logan oneshots so i have one :D if this is not what ur looking for, pls feel free to ignore !!

maybe touch starved reader who constantly clings to Logan and he asks about it and reader gets nervous that they pushed a boundary and stop only for Logan to be like “wtf no i love when u cling to me, pls keep doing it”

no pressure at all, have a nice evening / morning !!

A Soft Place to Land

a/n: Hi Anon! Thank you for your request. I am so sorry this has taken so long, life went kind of crazy for a second, but it's sorting itself out now! I hope you enjoy the drabble <3

Logan Howlett x TouchStarved!GN!Reader

CW: some mentions of jealousy, reader seems pretty anxious, just some good ole' fluff

Watching how Scott and Jean held each other, or even how the kids would comfort one another, you could feel jealousy curling around your mind at the absentminded tenderness in every touch. You’d spend countless nights awake, craving the touch of another while you wrapped your arms around yourself, fingers pressing into your skin just to feel something.

It gnawed at you, quiet and constant, slipping into the quiet spaces of your mind when you were alone. You’d close your eyes and imagine what it might feel like to rest your head on someone’s shoulder, to let the warmth of another’s touch seep into your skin and quiet the restlessness within you. It was always fleeting, a memory of something you've only had in fleeting moments.

Then there was Logan. The brooding, gruff exterior everyone seemed to shy away from became your refuge. It started as fleeting touches, knuckles grazing against his when you walked, shoulders bumping when you sat together. Before you knew it, you found yourself constantly lingering in his presence, your touch becoming more purposeful. Tracing shapes into the palm of his hand during long meetings or leaning on his shoulder after a mission, his head resting on top of yours. It was rare for you to be seen far apart, the school knew you were bound to be nearby if Logan was around.

You’re not sure when it started, the constant burn beneath your skin only satisfied by his touch. You started finding ways to get him to touch you, asking for help with your hair or applying bandaids. Now, you stood before Logan with a bracelet in hand, feigning an excuse of needing help to put it on. You didn’t miss the way Logan notched a brow at your request, eyeing the bracelet he knows you’ve put on yourself countless times. You fiddled with the jewelry in your palm, gaze nervously darting around his face as a familiar pit forms in your stomach at his hesitation. A heartbeat later, Logan opens the door wide for you to enter, knuckles grazing as you pass him. 

Logan’s fingers daftly inspect the jewelry before draping it over your wrist, each graze of his fingers deepening the blush on your cheeks. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears and from the smirk on Logan’s face, you had a feeling he could hear how it quickened. 

“Why you always around me, bub?” Logan asks nonchalantly as he clasps the bracelet, fingers still ghosting over your arm. 

You swallow, feeling the words catch in your throat as you search for a response. You hadn’t considered Logan noticing, much less him asking you outright. The question hangs in the air as his eyes search your face, something curious and unguarded in them. You struggle to find a response that doesn’t make you sound desperate and scare him off.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to,” You murmur, taking your arm away from his touch, clutching it to your chest as if to slow your racing heart. You look away, face burning beneath the weight of his gaze. “I’ll stop. Must be kinda creepy, constantly hovering around you.” You force a weak laugh.

A beat passes, the crushing silence presses against your chest, wrapping around you until each breath feels like a struggle. When you gather the courage to meet his eyes again, his expression has softened, the usual guarded look slipping. He shifts closer, bringing his face level with yours, and the intensity in his gaze holds you captive. 

“Don’t do that,” Logan’s breath fans your face with each word, mouth inches from yours. “Ain’t nobody said I didn’t like it.” His words are rough, each one lifting a weight from your chest. His eyes dart away to study the floor as his cheeks flush a deep crimson. “Ain’t used to people hanging around this much but… I don’t mind so much with you.” 

A pause before he shrugs as if trying to shake off the weight of his words. “Guess you don’t bother me as much as most folks do.” Logan straightens but doesn’t step back. His face remained aloof, but his cheeks were still rosy as vulnerability oozed from his gaze. “So quit worrying about ‘creeping me out.’ You’re good.” 

Logan’s kind words curled around your heart, a smile gracing your lips as you look at him. “So what I’m hearing is you're saying I can bug you even more now?” You joke, nudging his shoulder. 

He scoffs, dramatically rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t push it, bub.”

---

Likes and reblogs are appreciated :)

[buckysbvtch3]

Touch Starved Bucky:

Part 2

masterlist

Once Bucky has you, he has you

He’s not letting go of you — literally

Constantly needing to be touching you

He’d always be holding your hand or gently rubbing the pads of his fingers against your arms, legs, etc

He’s a sucker for platonic touch

Hugging you from behind when you’re in the kitchen cooking

Pulling your feet into his lap on the couch

Whenever he needs grounding he pulls you literally on top of him and you lay down like that forever

No, you won’t squash him he’s literally a super soldier

He can’t get over finding different ways to show you he loves you

Forehead kisses

Cheek kisses

Playing with your fingers

Raking his fingers through your hair / or playing with the curls

Resting his head on top of yours when you’re hugging

At first only using his real arm but after you make it obvious that you love being touched with both he never stops

Being in awe of how trusting you are when touching his arm

He’s not used to having physical touch so available to him so he gets overexcited when you two begin officially dating

None of the Avengers expect to see one of you without the other close behind

After he first month of dating, Bucky begins to worry that he’s too much — that you’ll get annoyed with his constant craving for your touch

You don’t, but he doesn’t know that

He begins to pull back and you think you’ve done something to upset him

Once you pry his reasoning out of him (he could never truly lie to you), he realised he’s been an idiot

Because you crave his touch just as much as he craves yours <3

———

Requests open!!

Thanks for all the love guys I love touch starved bucky so much! Part 2 linked at top

[bluemotifofsleep]

i’m not the one you want, babe.

roommate!toji fushiguro x reader

content: swearing, not beta read!

PS: please do not be fooled, gojo is one of my favourite characters of all time, i just have to be mean to him for a bit… for the plot…

chapter one: running away is easy, it’s the living that’s hard.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

gojo satoru is a self-righteous, condescending prick with a head so damn big you’re surprised it doesn’t just fucking blow up. you wish it would, sometimes.

and look, you’re not… petty, you just have a strong moral compass. there are certain things you’re willing to put up with, and things that you absolutely will not fucking stand for.

number one on that list of things is the so called “honoured one” pointing his stupid self-righteous finger in your face and telling you that you’re useless.

…well, he didn’t exactly say it like that. he had a much more roundabout, holier-than-thou way of saying things, but you’re good at reading between the lines.

because he’s your older brother, and you’ve been dealing with his bullshit for your whole damn life.

he just has this… way, of shitting on people without them realizing it. to the untrained eye it may look like praise, but when he stretches his face into that stupid smile and squints his blue eyes condescendingly, no amount of sugared words will stop you from seeing it as the big “fuck you” it really is.

truly, it pisses you off to no end. he gets to drag everyone else’s name through the dirt, while keeping his the same pristine white as his hair. he gets the fucking sixteen-tier, overdecorated, extravagant cake that is his cushy life, and he gets to eat it, too.

if the guy wasn’t your family and you hadn’t known him forever, you’d probably pray on his downfall more often. unfortunately you share blood and memories with him, so you only wish for his demise the normal, sibling amount

you’ve had lots of petty fights with him. hell, it was hard not to. as his younger sister you were always viewed as the softer, smaller, less significant gojo. living in his stupidly tall shadow, it was hard not to want to knock him down as many pegs as you could.

this fight, however, definitely took the cake. a full screaming match that ended in tears, with you packing your shit, and running the hell away.

yeah, maybe it was a bit dramatic, but being looked down upon your whole life because you were the little sister of the satoru gojo was fucking exhausting. you just needed space, that’s all. you needed time and room away from the gojo estate so you could breath, to stop feeling so damn trapped in your own lineage.

so, here you are, in a less-than-shabby apartment with a roommate you barely even know the name of.

toji fu…something? fujimoto? fukushima? whatever.

you probably should know more about the person you’re sharing a living space with, but in reality you barely see the back end of the guy heading out the front door. that’s all he does; come and go. in and out, all the time. you still don’t even know what he does for work. just that it’s something that has him leaving for days at a time, coming back looking slightly worse for wear, and then leaving again.

the main thing that drew you to this cheap ass place was… well, exactly that. it was cheap. that, and you could move in right away. the other apartments required a “background check” that left you hanging without somewhere to go, but toji obviously needed someone to pay the other half of the rent quick.

the description of the ad was “low rent, looking for a quiet roommate that pays bills on time” and while it may not have been the most attractive ad to most people, beggars can’t be choosers, right?

now toji fushi-whateverthefuck was honestly a pretty good roommate when compared to horror stories you’ve heard. he was fairly tidy save the occasional towel left on the ground and the messy ashtray on the balcony ledge. he never left any dirty dishes… and actually now that you think about it, you don’t think you’ve ever seen the guy cook before. you don’t really understand how he got enough sustenance to be that, well, beefy, for lack of a better word. somehow he fucking managed.

his size and prowess had scared you at first, because you’re not naive enough to think that you could ever take him in a fight. you’ve certainly seen enough true crime to see that it would fit his MO; young girl moves in, big scary man with the intimidating scar on his face likes stabbin’, and he buries her under the floorboards.

the only neighbours you have are the old, deaf woman to your right and the junkyard of a man (who you once saw smoking out of a crack pipe in the stairway) to the left who’s away for months at a time, so no one would hear you scream. then you’d be just another missing persons poster on a telephone pole people pass by without a glance, your image slowly being worn into the wood by the elements and eventually covered by other posters.

a fitting end for a runaway, probably.

while the possibility that he’s a murderer and he just really likes to take his time planning before he strikes is still there, he’s a lot nicer than you expected from his looks. which isn’t saying much, because really the gap between serial killer and the nice, deaf lady next door who bakes you bread sometimes is so large, he could fall anywhere in between.

yeah, nice isn’t really the right word for him. polite, maybe?

honestly, it’s more like a mutual agreement between a gazelle and a leopard by a watering hole; you stay on your side, and i’ll stay on mine.

from the almost predatory look of him, the wide set of his shoulders and the roguishly handsome way his face was put together, you expected something sinister to lurk beneath the surface. heck, men half as good-looking as him usually use their gift for evil, using their pretty privilege as a get-of-jail-free card. they think that because of their looks, they can behave however the fuck they want.

(a certain name comes to mind, something rhyming with dojo...)

so when you first eyed up six-foot-something of beefy muscle and the devilish face-card toji sported, you reasoned that something had to be horrifically wrong with him. as far as you could tell, he was single. and a man his age, with his wide set shoulders and wolfish smirk that could drop a woman’s panties from a mile away, wasn’t just single without something being clinically diagnosable about him.

at first, you were worried he’d be super macho and demand everything was done his way. maybe that your shower products were taking up too much space or your pink throw blanket you kept on the couch was too girly or that your music taste sucked.

and if he wasn’t mean… you were worried he’d fly too far past friendly and be some sort of creep, eyeing you up like a piece of meat and expecting something out of you just from proximity.

but he just…didn’t. he doesn’t do anything.

he gives you polite words if your paths happen to cross each other, wether that be in the kitchen, the balcony (where he smoked, and you enjoyed a cup of tea) or the couch to watch tv where he always offered the remote to you because he claimed he “didn’t give a shit”.

and yeah, most people would probably call that the bare minimum of what’s considered polite, but you found it intriguing.

sure he was gruff, rough around the edges, and when you’d first came to view the apartment he sat on the couch and watched them announce lotto numbers telling you to “knock yourself out” instead of giving you a proper tour, but the whole thing was attractive to you in some way.

your whole life, you were treated as a gojo. the daughter to two of the wealthiest people in the country and the sister of “the honoured one” or “the strongest”, or “the world’s most blue-eyed fuckhead” or whatever the hell the idiot went by these days. but with toji, you were just some girl (that he probably thought was an idiot for living in a banged up apartment with a possible serial killer) but really, that’s fine by you.

as interesting as toji was to you, you couldn’t really get a proper read on him. maybe that’s why you were so interested. he was like a dark pond that you couldn’t see the bottom of; you had no idea what lurked beneath, but his surface was incredibly alluring.

you wanted to dive right in.

~

you… are not a good cook.

growing up at the gojo estate, you never had to be. as embarrassing as it is to admit, you’ve always had people better trained than you to do it for you. which was all fine and dandy, when you still lived there.

but now…

“fuck!” the exclamation is yelled into the empty house as you burn yourself on the hot pan you were trying to use. key word: trying.

there’s smoke billowing out because the oil was…burning? how does that even happen? isn’t oil there so it doesn’t burn?

you were heating up the pan to try to cook an egg, because all you’ve been eating for the past couple of weeks is instant ramen and various raw vegetables easy for snacking on. you should probably give up on your culinary dreams though, because the pan looks as charred and depressing as you feel.

all you wanted was real food.

it was fine, at first, living off of “garbage food” as your family would call it. it was kind of refreshing to eat things you hadn’t been allowed to growing up, taking back some stolen part of your childhood when you craved junk food.

but now you were sick of it.

all you could think of was the good, home cooked meals you were fed regularly at the estate. sautéed vegetables, raw cuts of fatty tuna, seasoned riced, expensive and perfectly cooked wagyu beef… the thought of it all made your stomach growl as you tossed the soiled pan into the sink to soak, and grabbed some baby carrots from the fridge instead.

you absolutely would not admit you had made the wrong decision in leaving. and truly, you didn’t even think it either.

as depressing as your life had been for the past couple of weeks; spent with all your contacts on silent (because you just know satoru would blow the fuck out of your phone) and eating meals fit for a collage frat boy living off his last dime, your pride was more important.

you were proving a point. a point that put your livelihood on the line, your whole way of being. if you crumbled now you would just be giving up in battle of wills between you and your brother, something you were not willing to do for any cost.

you may have lost the genetic lottery by being born second, but you would not lose this.

you’ll stay eating baby carrots for breakfast and sitting on a shitty couch, watching shitty cable television (that your mother once told you would rot your brain out of your nose) to prove your point.

in the midst of a very shittily done action scene playing out on the grainy tv, a door opens from the hallway behind you.

toji must have snuck in last night again while you were sleeping. (you find yourself once again questioning what he does for work to have such a weird ass schedule, but then you think that you probably don’t want to know.)

to your surprise, instead of heading out onto the balcony to smoke like he usually does first thing, he plops down on the couch next to you, the springs squeaking under his weight.

despite sitting on the couch with him being a regular occurrence in your shared apartment, you still tense when he settles into the seat beside you. he takes up the space so easily, manspreading his giant thighs instantly and draping one of his beefy arms across the back of the couch. you try hard not to notice how your side of the couch is tilted towards him, his weight pulling you sideways, dragging you into his orbit.

when he rolls his head to the side to stare you down, you freeze like a deer trying to camouflage into a forest background, hoping to not get caught by the apex predator stalking it. his eyes are like two headlights, digging into your primal instinct to freeze.

“mornin’.” it’s just one word, barely a greeting, but the sleep-induced gravel in his voice drags across your skin anyways, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“good morning.” you’ll play this feeling inside of you off for as long as you have to, until you stop feeling it. you pop another carrot into your mouth to stop from saying anything else.

he leans over you, staring into the bowl that harbours your poor excuse for a breakfast and twists his face up in disgust.

“you’re going to turn orange if you keep eating carrots for every meal. what are you, a damn bunny?”

you snort. “that’s just a myth, you know.”

he smirks, and just like every other time he does, it twists something in your stomach up into a knot.

“nah,” his expression turns serious for a second, as he scrutinizes your rapidly heating face. “in fact, i think it’s happening already.”

“what?!” you scramble out of the sunken-in couch, running to check yourself in the bathroom mirror. when you do, you scowl and yell out a “jerk!” as toji cackles nefariously from the living room.

you’re not orange, in the slightest. in fact, your face is bright red.

toji fushiguro was polite in most ways, but he loved to tease.

deciding you’ve had enough teasing for one day, you head back to your room instead of returning to the couch.

~

that night, the power in the apartment goes out.

a transformer had exploded up the street, causing a large outage across the neighbourhood. the second the loud boom! had hit and the lights flickered and then vanished all together, fear had gripped you tightly.

you’re not… scared of the dark, per say. it’s just being alone, alone with your thoughts, sitting in a dark room that scares you.

your phone was pretty much useless without wifi, so you scrambled for something, anything to do to keep your mind busy, to keep from feeling so terribly alone.

~

you feel… stupid. silly, even, like a child that had a nightmare seeking comfort from a grown up.

you’re standing outside of toji’s door, with your hand raised, but no courage to knock.

it was stupid. you were being stupid. it’s just the dark, you’ll be fine. the power should be on in a couple of hours. you’ll survive, right?

just as you’re about to turn and retreat back to your room, toji’s door opens and you’re suddenly face to face (face to chest?) with him.

“what is it? you’ve been standing outside my door for the past five minutes like a little creep.” the words would sound angry to anyone else, but you’ve spent enough time around him to know that’s just how he speaks.

it’s one of the things that draws you to him, how he never feels the need to sweeten his words. he doesn’t limit himself with things like politeness and niceties, he just says what he needs to say.

right now though, you would appreciate some decorum.

“i um… wanted to know… sorry, it’s stupid. i’ll leave you alone.” but as you turn to leave, he heaves a giant sigh like he’s pained.

“stop whining like a baby and say what you want.”

jesus… so no decorum, then.

“…do you want to play uno with me?”

~

the cards look comically small in his large hands…

you were both in the living room, using the coffee table and some candles to play the riveting, timeless game that is uno. it was one of the few things that you had brought with you from home, distant memories of playing with satoru as a kid and getting in physical fights over it flickering across your mind.

the thoughts made your chest ache, but that’s why you’re here with toji, right? to stop thinking about it so damn much.

“pick up four, and i change the colour to… blue.” toji growls at your words, a scowl painting his features periodically lit up by candle light. he picks up four cards from the deck painfully slow, making a deal out of each one and pouting like a baby.

you hadn’t expected him to be so… competitive.

honestly, you hadn’t expected him to say yes in the first place. maybe a laugh in your face proceeded by his door slamming or even just a simple look of disgust, not the grumbled “okay” that he gave you as he followed you to the living room.

it was… weird, doing something so mundane with him.

toji looked like a creature built to kill. there was something brutal and dangerous about the way he carried himself, the words he spoke and the voice he spoke them in.

it felt like using a loaded handgun as a spoon for your cereal.

you giggle at the thought, but then you’re staring down the barrel of the actual handgun that is toji fushiguro’s glare.

“you ain’t gonna be laughing for long, brat.” and then in a jaw dropping display of utter brutality, he puts down three of his gathered pickup-four cards and two pickup-twos, leaving him with nothing in his hand. how was that even possible?

“you jerk! i only had two cards left.” you whine and toss your cards into the pile on the table.

“yeah, that’s what happens when you mess with me, kid.” he puts his recently emptied hands behind his head, smirking down at you like someone who had just one at poker and took home the largest pot ever, not a meek game of uno.

truthfully, you’re uninterested in wining or losing. his company was so alluring to you, that it was entertainment in itself. like watching a leopard at the zoo, relaxed in his own element. his broad shoulders melting into a bulging bicep stretched over his head, his toned chest peeking through his shirt-

“so,” fuck. you jump like you’ve been caught ogling him, poking the glass of his enclosure when there were clearly signs not to. “i’ve been meaning to ask, what are you running away from, kid?”

what?

you gape at him like a fish trying to breath air, completely dumbfounded by his question. he couldn’t mean-

“you think i’m stupid or somethin’?” he’s leaning over the table now, the leopard tapping back at the glass that separated you. you feel hunted.

“cute little rich girl gets her panties in a twist, stomps her feet, and runs away from home, ive seen it all before. m’just surprised you’ve lasted this long, honestly.”

you feel like a bug that’s been pinned to a cork board for examination, spread out and exposed. your inner turmoil and darkest guilts have been torn out of you to lay bleeding and squirming on the coffee table.

“how the hell did you figure that out?” your words are borderline suspicious, borderline accusing.

if he was some kind of freak, you were going to make a break for the front door. though you’ll have to slip right by his large arm span to do that, so you’ll have to be quick about it-

he laughs like he’s amused by the clear discomfort on your face.

“relax. i just pay attention, is all.” he’s got an easy smirk on his face, and he doesn’t look nefarious in any way, so you relax your shoulders a bit.

“you don’t have a job, and yet all of your shit is fancy. you’re always bringing home groceries that you don’t know how to cook properly, expensive crap with the word organic pasted all over it, so you clearly have expensive taste, and yet you picked one of the shittiest apartments on the market. most definitely so you could move in right away, right?”

wow. you feel sort of bad for underestimating his observation skills. this whole time you felt like you were spectating him, but clearly it was the other way around.

he leans in again, his easy smirk and sea green eyes lit up by the candlelight, making him look almost supernaturally pretty.

“so you’re running, but from what?”

suddenly, all the tension you’ve been carrying spills out of you like water from a squeezed sponge. you let out a sigh that collapses your chest, your whole body sinking with it.

~

[effy-writes]

Here's another Loona request lmao, hopefully your not tired of writing her. Could you do Loona with an incredibly touch starved Male reader, who just melts when she touches him, and he is literally always ready for cuddling. Thank you, I love your writing!

ofc! and dw i love writing for loona she’s so cute and thank you!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

loona x touch starved! m! reader: hold me closer

growing up you didn’t have a proper childhood. you had to fend for yourself most of the time and you had to be the one to take care of yourself. boys shouldn’t cry, that’s what everyone told you, so you ended up swallowing your feelings and just go on with your day.

all you wanted was touch, not in a sensual way, but in a loving way. you were afraid if you expressed this then everyone would consider you weak. so, you didn’t say anything about it.

when you met loona you felt like your whole life changed for the better. she was always there for you when you two were friends and you loved that about her. she didn’t judge you for wanting to be cared for, she didn’t judge you when you cry, and she would always enforce you to tell her if anything is bothering you.

one of the days you went over to her house (when blitz wasn’t there) you laid down on your stomach, sprawled out on her bed and hugged her pillow. she looked at you funny, “is that pillow comfy?” she joked.

“Mmhm.” you mumbled into the pillow.

she laid down beside of you on her stomach and felt her touch for the first time. her arm that was closest to you rested on your back. you instantly melted to her touch and scooted closer to her. since you two were friends during this time you didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. loona on the other hand switched positions to where she’s sitting up with her back rested against her bed frame. you turned over to where you were facing her, and she pulled you in closer to where your head was resting on her lap. she saw how calmed you looked laying next to her.

months went by and you finally gained the confidence (because of her) to ask her to be your girlfriend. she was ecstatic and even said, “thank satan because i hate making the first move.”

ever since then you two gotten even closer, mentally, emotionally, and physically. you don’t even have to tell her that your love language is physical touch, she just knows by the way you react when your bodies are touching.

when you two are walking somewhere your hands are always intertwined. you’ll squeeze her hand and she’ll rub yours with her thumb. you want to get closer but she’s not very fond of PDA so you respect her boundaries.

cuddling is way different. she knows which position you like more just by the way your face and body relaxes. you don’t even have to tell her any of this, she knows you.

loona laid down on her bed and opened her arms wide for you to lay down in. you crawled almost on top of her and laid your upper body on her torso with your head just right above her breasts. her arms wrapped around you and she left short, small kisses on the top of your head.

“you okay?” she rubbed your back. “and be honest, i know how you are.” she snickered, but meant every word.

“just dealing with some things, but i promise i’ll be okay. hold me closer.” you mumbled into her chest.

she softly chuckled and her grip around you tightened, “okay, i’m always here for you, you know that right?”

you breathed in her perfume scent, “i do.”

[sunandflame]

I heard that you were doing fluffs? This is my first time requesting but can you do a giyuu x touch-starved Reader? It’s fine if you don’t! And I hope you have a good day!🥰

-Your Insomniac Tumblr Athena

Yes honey, you heard that right and damn I love this idea! But I will do something short and I hope thats okay!

crossposted on AO3

Giyuu x touch-starved Reader

You were alone and overwhelmed with a sensation of loneliness and didn't knew what to do with yourself since this was the first time you were experiencing it.

You were hoping it would go away on its own, but it didn't.

It got worse and you started to feel stressed, anxious and depressed.

Giyuu noticed this and he silently approached you.

"You are not feeling well"

That wasn't a question, it was a fact.

"I just feel stressed and..."

Giyuu gave you a questioning look, waiting for you to finish your words but nothing came.

Your eyes only wandered to his hands and a sudden urge emerged from you.

Without a word you took his hands and holding them and a sudden relieve came over you.

His azure eyes widened, not expecting this behavior from you.

"I-I am sorry I just need this right now..."

Then it hit him. You were touch-starved.

He left your hands and pulled you into a tight hug.

You shuddered as the tension in your body eased, feeling the immediate relief.

You clung onto him, burying your face into the crook of his neck. "Please don't let go."

His strong arms tightened around you.

"I won't", he promised.

[st4rr-girrl]

If you don't mind could you do Henry bowers x fem reader that almost like craves him or better yet she severely touch starved? If not that's ok feel free to ignore this!!

I’m sorry I didn’t see this request, babe, but sure! I’ve got u. I’ll just do it in head canons cus it’s easier <3.

Touch starved

H.b

Warnings; mentions of abuse & abandonment, swearing, mentions of suicide & suicide attempts.

To say you were touch starved was an understatement.

You literally craved touch.

To an unhealthy point.

So when you and Henry started dating he was surprised.

At first he would be like “bitch gtfo me.”

But please, we all know this man is just as equally touch starved.

(But he didn’t know he was until he met you. )

From the abuse and abandonment he’s experienced, how tf could he not be.

And plus, he secretly enjoyed your touch.

You two were always holding hands.

And you were never seen anywhere over 2 feet from each other.

You were basically attached at this point.

You guys could not go over an hour without touching eachother.

Or even be separated at the most.

And that’s when y’all would sneak out and cuddle, or fuck or whatever y’all wanna do that day.

You guys don’t see anything wrong with it

But other people….

They think ts is so unhealthy.

Cus what if y’all break up?

What if one of you dies?

Not even you guys know what you’d do.

But anyways.

Y’all don’t care what other ppl think.

But when he’s upset, and wants to be alone and ur js clinging onto him.

He gets pretty pissed and says some stuff he shouldn’t say.

You try giving him the cold shoulder afterwards.

But you cave in as soon as he apologizes because you both can’t stand not holding eachother.

It’s not even sexual at this point.

You guys just crave each others affection.

The gang gets pretty annoyed at first.

But then they learned to accept it.

Cus you two obviously weren’t just gonna stop.

And besides, you two healed each others internal wounds.

So nobody could really complain.

Everyone noticed that Henry became less violent, and you became less suicidal.

You stopped trying to kys every two seconds.

Which sounds like a big improvement to me.

So basically, you and Henry are both touch starved.

To an unhealthy point.

But y’all level it out so it’s ok.

:)

[writemessybleach]

falling asleep with Grimmjow while stoned. you get extremely stoned. it lasts for such a long time. it's kind of insane. by late in the night, you're tired but still somehow awake, but just barely. you didn't know how touch-starved you were until leaning against him on accident. it's not like you're not close but you're just friends, and maybe it just annoys you that if you even breathe near a man too much, everyone suddenly thinks he's your boyfriend. the relief and pleasure of this touch makes you nervous. what if it's a secret crush and you don't know? what if it leads to things you don't want? no, it's fine. he doesn't want that stuff either. you let your head rest against his shoulder when you feel too tired to hold your head up. he hasn't stopped using his phone since you brushed against him on the couch. leaning on him feels like inviting him to do something you don't want. or, maybe it doesn't mean anything to him. you ready yourself to lean yourself in closer against him. his sweatshirt is warm, his shoulder warm. it smells like him: earthy and clear. he makes no effort to move your head away from his shoulder. no twitch, no tense; just a deep long sigh that you can hear with your ear pressed against him. in a short time, you're asleep and so is he. the tangled mess you end up in throughout the night is healing. waking up like this is magical.

[buckysbvtch3]

this for touch starved bucky and touch starved reader!!!

“say you won’t let go” - some touch starved scenarios

prompt list by @novelbear

heart pounding whenever the other does so much as to hold onto their wrist while guiding them through a crowd

one just casually sitting down on the other's lap and they start internally freaking the hell out

hesitantly tugging the other's fabric of their shirt or sleeve, testing the waters

^^ the other notices so they pull them into a hug, smiling as they just watch them melt

"wait, don't go, please.."

"is this okay?" "it's more than okay."

already barely holding it together as they're getting their hand held but then they feel that reassuring squeeze and they just can't

wearing the others' clothes so that it can at least feel like they're hugging them, even for just a moment

feeling so lonely that they have to call their lover/friend, just to get a sense and reminder that they're still there

^ trying and failing to hold back their tears as they do so

"can i have one more hug?" "aw, babe you don't have to ask, c'mere..."

when the other holds onto their waist briefly as they're passing by and it just send chills down their spine

breaking down mid-hug because they just needed this so much

their breath hitching whenever the other gets a little closer

^ feeling crushed when that action is taken as a sign of discomfort, and they watch them slowly back off

holding onto a stuffed animal/pillow, imagining that it's their lover in their embrace instead

one leaning their head onto the other's shoulder suddenly and they just freeze

"i wasn't sure how much longer i could have taken this..."

[kiyutuii]

Tangled Up

this took me 20 years my apologies

enjoy!!

close-ups:

[tsuyalovebot]

make him lose his cool.

suggestive and sexual content. mdni, ageless blogs dni.

xia yi zhou / caleb x reader.

cw. drabble (~1k wc, written in one sitting. ignore any typos.) no sex, but caleb popping a boner like a victorian man. afab reader (that also wears bras). mc=reader.

"caleb is an ass man!" "no, he likes tits!"

personally, i think caleb would have a near panic attack upon seeing your shoulder, elbow, or ankle.

he just does a really good job of pretending he doesn't mind it. after all, the two of you grew up together. he's had to put his hands on you many times — carrying, tending to scrapes and cuts, tickling you, ruffling your hair, squeezing your face. skinship was a language that the two of you were plenty fluent in.

but the year spent apart failed to maintain this, like some half-assed video streaming subscription, and caleb's the newborn fawn learning how to walk.

so what happens when he knocks on the room to his bedroom — it belongs to you now, technically — with a plate of breakfast before coming in, and he witnesses you sitting up, all sleepy and the neckline of his shirt slightly sliding down your shoulder?

he's going to throw himself off a cliffside. maybe even off skyhaven itself.

the plate hits the bedside table on your side with a loud clatter. none of the food spilled over, luckily. he has half a mind to garble some lame excuse about being busy and a quick good morning before trying to bolt.

but, caleb nearly snaps into two when you tug at the hem of his shirt, slumber still slurred in your words as you ask where he's going. there'd been no strength in that tug. yet, he stopped in his tracks all the same. he ends up listening to your grumbles, ones reminding him that it's his day off, remember? you promised you'd spend it with me.

"i gotta take a shower first," he chuckles, hoping his voice wasn't too shaky. please don't notice. please don't notice.

"but caleb," you keen.

god, it's like when he'd take leave from the academy for a few days just to go back to you and gran. always coming home to you, thoroughly acquainted with you not being a morning person but still making the effort to cling to him and savor every second you two spent together.

he assumed it would be the same now, but clearly, that was a mistake. because the coiling tension of warmth threatening to boil over in his stomach was nothing short of treacherous.

caleb does manage to escape; albeit pained by the half-awake whines behind him and the sound of you falling back into bed. god, how badly he wanted to cave into your demands. you don't even know the half of it.

he wonders if you've ever curled into his side of that bed he once slept on, seeking his cologne, his body, his warmth the same way he looks for your silhouette in every corner of this home. a melody he knows, but a name he can't quite place in this shell of a house that transformed in your presence.

regardless, it's really difficult to let this relationship rebuild organically when he was popping a boner over the slightest sliver of skin. the shower's streams are icy on his skin, the impromptu bath having thrown a wrench into his morning routine. he refuses to even touch himself. letting the proof of his sin soften under the biting cold of the water, despite the discomfort.

because nothing was more horrific than having his body react to you like a prepubescent teen discovering porn online for the first time.

caleb thinks he's safe after spending an hour in the bathroom, fingertips pruned and mind cooler than the iciest of planets. but as he's changed back into his clothes, he discovers you beside the door, a blanket around your sitting form and those eyelids droopy.

"pipsqueak? what're you doin' here?" he's crouching down — mortifying boner forgotten as he gathers you into his arms before he realizes it.

then, you stir. a whine muffled into the crook of his neck as you wrap your arms around him, the vibration seeming to ripple down his spinal column. the blanket falls from your body in the motions, and you're so soft compared to the firmness of his body.

his arms tighten around you on instinct and you let out a pleased sound and—

he stiffens. you weren't wearing a bra.

"caleb, you're done." you yawn, like the spoiled, pampered figurehead of royalty you are. you arch up into him, and he swears he feels several of his neurons die, dropping like flies in the empty cavity of his head.

"take me back to bed." he feels the air shift as you seem to inhale his scent. your voice softer, more content when you say, "i wanna sleep some more."

he's so fucking doomed.

[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.”

[pseudowho]

18+, touch-starved, 'waiting' gentleman Nanami Kento, male masturbation over the clothes

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"But...does this count?" you whispered against Nanami Kento's neck, your hand trailing down to the curved tenting at the front of his tan trousers. He jolted, grunting, involuntarily bucking against your palm.

He was a gentleman; one who waited; one who longed. Certainly not one to turn his back on due diligence, and favouring flowers over fondling. Any girlfriend whom he intended to become his wife, would only be taken by him after a societally appropriate time.

But how long would this be? With you, a day felt like a month; a month, years. With how you smiled against his throat, he knew, from every twitch of his touch-starved body, that even a gentleman may meet his resolve's end sooner than planned.

"It...it counts," Kento choked, his body betraying him to roll his hips and the straining underside of his cock up against your palm. "I...I shouldn't. You deserve-- deserve--"

"...deserve to know the face of your pleasure, before you come inside me?" Kento froze, paralysed by the honesty, the filth of your words. He felt his cock twitch beneath your palm when you spoke again, lower this time. "Yes. Yes, I do. So..."

"I-- I don't-- haaaah," Kento cried, hoarse and breathy, for a twitch almost as bone-deep as one when he spilled himself, shivered through his length. He felt the dribble of pre-cum soak through his trousers; he saw it, too, the sticky fluid staining the pale material to beige. You felt it, too; you saw it, too. Kento knew he was a goner, when you bit your lip beneath dilating pupils.

You cupped your hand around the length of his cock, moulding his boxers and trousers to his shape, and slowly, rhythmically, beginning to jack him off through his clothes. Kento humped up desperately, dishevelled and panting, and touch-starved, so touch-starved--

"Feels good?" you whispered, suckling his throat to leave rose petals on his skin. Kento only groaned; husky, shuddering, coming undone embarrassingly quickly. Touch without touch was so illicit, so debauched, for one so corseted as he.

"Feels...feels...like I'm going to come in my boxers like a boy--" Kento growled, tangling his fingers through your hair to keep your lips on his throat.

"Would that be so bad?" you murmured against his pulse point, your tongue dipping out to taste the desperation off his skin. Your hand sped up, gliding around the length of him.

Your eyes closed to imagine it was his bare cock in your hand, instead. Your eyes closed, to imagine how the shape of him would fit every plush facet of your insides. You shivered; Kento moaned. You felt him hardening even further; felt the ghost of veins, standing proud, winding around his cock like desire paths.

The gentleman was gone, now; the needy remained.

"Don't stop," panted Kento, fucking up into your palm with every smooth masturbatory motion that your hand made around him, "--just--just like that-- don't stop-- I...I'll..."

Trailing your lips from his jaw to his mouth, you pressed a chaste little peck to his lips; but it was when your tongue swiped over his lower lip, that he met his undoing.

Your hand pumped only two more fabric-frictioned long pumps...before Kento held his breath. His jaw dropped in a silent gasp. His hand tightened in your hair, the other pressing dimples into the divot of your waist. And you felt him spill.

Kento moaned with every twitch of his cock, leaping and spurting beneath tan confines. You watched, fascinated, to see him come apart with each bucking spill, each deepening stain that spread beneath his clothes. His face, twisted in divine agony, would be seated into your mind until he took you, pinned and begging his name, for the first time.

"--f-fuck...o-ooohhh f-fuck...p-pathetic...so pathetic--"

"--hot, actually--"

A rough, gravelly cough; a mirthless laugh, with his final weak spatters of cum.

"...you...will be the end of me...I swear on my life..."

Kento opened one slim, brown eye, regarding your gleeful lip-biting with a huff. He had almost pulled himself together...until you dipped down to the cum-stain on his crotch, and fixed your mouth around it, sucking through the saturated fabric and dipping out your tongue to taste him.

Kento whimpered, bucking weakly against your lips, for you had broken him once, and twice, and now thrice, and he wondered how he would ever survive--

"...taste amazing, Kento."

Four times. Kento flipped you beneath him, pinning you to the sofa with sadistic satisfaction at the look of shock on your face.

He blew upwards, wisping commas of blond off his sweaty forehead. He curled one long finger into his tie, loosening it with one violent tug.

"I've had enough of you, madam. If you won't treat me like a gentleman, then I shan't be."

[artytaeh]

i know that mattheo riddle and theodore nott would become two fucking brats after getting used to an affectionate girlfriend.

suddenly, these tall tough slytherin wizards get all sad and moody, if they don't receive a good morning kiss.

where the fuck are you going? you didn't kiss me good morning. where's my kiss? you haven't hugged me yet. hey— come here. love me. >:(

imo mattheo would be a slut for scalp massages and having his significant other playing with his hair. (flashbacks of those headcanons i wrote about him.)

the type of guy that rests his back against your chest, using it as a pillow, sat between your legs as he nonchalantly keeps talking with his friends— this whole position feeling heavenly if you play with his hair, running your fingers through it, whatever there is to give.

theodore would be more into receiving a lot of kisses on his face, to the point where he expects 'well done' kisses all the time. he opened the door for you? kiss his cheek. he helped you with something? a kiss on the lips.

with some effort, i think that theodore and mattheo, being the only ones in the whole group that smoke, would smoke less.

not stop smoking as a whole, since it's a habit that grew on them; they could, however, compromise to only smoke one or two cigarettes per day. would give you their lighter so you can help them control the amount of daily cigarettes, too.

so imagine them coming to you, showing the pack of cigarettes with the same amount of the previous day, with a big smile.

expecting kisses. pampering. being spoiled. babied, even. if you're not going to praise them, then they'll glare at you and take the pack back.

'if you're not pampering me then i might as well smoke one to fill the void.' dramatic ahh bitches.

this looks delulu BUT i just know that they're touched starved asf. it would take a while for them to understand that your touch and affections are genuine, not to seduce or rile them up for something sexual.

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Touch Starved

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Summary: This was inspired by a tweet and his gif I saw on twitter. You accidentally walk in on Bucky touching himself when he thinks he is alone. Turns out he is thinking about you. A/N: Unbeta'ed, so sorry for the mistakes! Warnings: NSFW but not that explicit. Word count: 1,379 words

The team had made a last minute decision to go out, but you weren’t in the mood to join them. It has been quite a while since you’d had some time to yourself, and you happily retreated to your quarters with a bag full of late-night snacks in tow.

The thought of having the living area all to yourself was oddly comforting. There was something incredibly liberating about walking through the quiet corridors alone. After carefully stashing your snacks in the kitchen, you glanced around the hallway to ensure no one was around. Satisfied that the coast was clear, you stepped out of your room wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of fluffy socks.

The polished floors gleamed under the fluorescent lights and begged you to indulge in one of your guilty pleasures: dancing and sliding across the freshly waxed surface. You were mid-slide, grinning to yourself like the Cheshire cat, when an unexpected groan pierced the silence.

The sound startled you, nearly making you lose your balance as you skidded to a stop. You scanned the corridor, heart pounding in our ears, as you tried to pin point the source of the noise.

You were met with silence for a few moments. Just as you had convinced yourself that your imagination was getting the best of you, you heard it again. Only this time, it was unmistakable— it sounded like your name.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of a crack in one of the doors. Immediately, you knew that it was the source of the sound. Approaching slowly, you realized that it was Bucky’s room.

Shit! You thought back to earlier, replaying the moment you watched the others leave. Had Bucky gone with them? You didn’t remember seeing him head out. Could he still be here?

A soft, almost pained whimper reached your ears, followed again by your name.

Without hesitation, you pushed open the door, a growing sense of dread and concern rising inside you. Bucky often had nightmares— you’d heard his anguished cries echoing in the dead of night. You didn’t want to let him suffer for a minute longer than necessary— not if you could help it.

But as you silently pushed open the door, the sight before you stopped you in your tracks, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to the super soldier, sprawled out on the bed. He was shirtless. You could see the muscles in his abdomen rippling like waves as he writhed around on the mattress.

Another muffled groan escaped him and your eyes were drawn to the pillow he had clamped over his face. It would have been an alarming image, if it wasn’t for the fact that his pants were undone and his flesh hand was wrapped firmly around his cock.

You froze. Every single coherent thought vanished from your head in an instant. You stood in the doorway, mouth parted in silent shock as a flush of heat rushed to your face as your brain scrambled to process what you were seeing.

This is not what you had expected. At all.

Your instincts told you to turn around, to leave and grant him the privacy he so clearly thought he had. But for some reason, your feet refused to move. You stayed rooted to the spot as a cocktail of emotions swirled inside you— shock, embarrassment and lastly desire.

Only when he groaned your name again, the sound muffled by the pillow but clear enough to send a shiver down your spine and a flood of heat between your legs. Your heart raced as you realized that he wasn’t just lost in the moment— he was lost in the thought of you.

Your instincts finally kicked in, belatedly propelling you to turn on your heels and leave as quickly and quietly as possible. But your socks betrayed you, letting out a squeak against the polished floor.

Bucky’s movements stilled.

“Shit,” you heard him mutter under his breath, his voice low and filled with mortification. There was a rustle of sheets and before you could fully escape, his voice called out.

“Who’s there?” His words came out sharp and panicked.

You came to a halt outside his room, cursing your hesitation. You glanced around the corner just in time to see him sit up, clutching the tiny pillow against his lap, as though it could shield him from the situation he had found himself in. HIs face was flushed, his chest heaved and his wide blue eyes locked onto yours.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice cracking, overwhelmed by shame. He rubbed at the back of his neck with his vibranium hand. “I… I didn’t know anyone was—”

“I’m so sorry!” you blurted out. “I—I mean to, I shouldn’t have—” Words failed you, and you swiftly darted out into the hallway, hiding around the edge of the doorway.

But you didn’t go far.

Your heart was pounding loudly in your chest and for some reason, your legs felt like lead, stopping you from running away. You pressed your back against the wall, taking a shaky inhale to calm your thundering heart and trying to process what had just happened.

You needed to keep walking. You should be retreating to your room where you could pretend none of this ever happened. You should. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Something was pulling at your strings, master of puppetry controlling your actions, refusing to let you leave. It was desire. The way he had said your name— with so much longing— played in your mind on a loop. You hadn’t missed the way his body moved, the vulnerability he’d displayed on his flushed face. And then there was the way his eyes had widened with shock when he realized it was you.

Before you could truly think about your actions, your feet had started carrying you back to the door. You hesitated for a second but the pull inside you— the part of you that craved him— propelled you forwards.

You stepped back inside.

His face was crimson, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Was it anger? Embarrassment? Or… something else entirely?

You couldn’t decipher the expression on his face but the tension in the room weighed down on both of you.

Wordlessly, you approached him, sitting down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, and he immediately curled in on himself, clutching the pillow tighter to his chest. His body was angled away from you, his gaze fixed on the wall, refusing to meet yours.

You shuffled closer, moving carefully, unsure if he wanted you to stay or to leave. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak, he didn’t give you any indication that he was aware of your presence. But you could feel the tension radiating from him like a forcefield. His knuckles were white against the fabric of the pillow, and he sat so rigidly it was as if his body didn’t know how to relax anymore.

“Bucky,” you whispered softly, your voice filled with kindness and affection.

Still, he didn’t respond. He seemed paralyzed, trapped in this moment of shame and uncertainty.

Slowly, you reached out, unable to control the tremble of your hand as you cradled his cheek. He flinched at first, his body stiffening, but he didn’t pull away. You kept your touch gentle but deliberate, and when he didn’t resist, you applied the lightest pressure to turn his head toward you.

At long last, his eyes met yours— his pupils dilated, unfocused and vulnerable.

You held his gaze, letting the air between you grow heavy with meaning. Your thumb brushed fondly against the stubble on his jaw, and you leaned in slowly, deliberately, giving him every chance to pull away.

He didn’t.

When your lips first met his, they moved slowly, with tenderness, almost searching. You gave him the opportunity to object… he didn’t. And suddenly the heat building inside you made it impossible for you to hold back. You deepened the kiss— conveying your longing— leaving no room for doubt, no room for misinterpretation. You wanted him.

And as his lips began to respond to yours, the pillow slipped from his grasp, forgotten as he surrendered to the intensity of your connection.

[annaberunoyume]

Aawn...

* falls up the stairs downwards and out of a closet* I HAVE A REQUEST!

Wally x Touched starved reader please

Thank you<3

hahaha, of course!! i've actually received several requests for a touch-starved reader, so i think y'all are feeling a way 🥺💖

content warning for implied past abuse - i'm writing a Reader who may have a reason for being touch-starved. it isn't graphic, but just in case folks are sensitive to that topic!

Wally Darling x Touch-Starved Reader headcanons

💖 when you first meet Wally, you shy away from his constant physical affection. Wally is a very huggy person, and he's forever giving his friends comforting taps and touches by way of his friendship. however, the first time he tries to hug you, you flinch back, thinking he must have an ulterior motive. the hurt in Wally's eyes makes you feel guilty for the rest of the day, but you can't get over this in-built response designed to protect you. being touched isn't something you feel you deserve, and even the idea of accidentally brushing hands is dizzying to you. however, Wally returns a few hours later after your startled response. he offers his hand to you, which is clad in bright green fabric and dotted with pictures of bumblebees. "Julie lent me her gardening gloves," Wally explains, "so touching won't be as scary." you're so overwhelmed by the sweetness and absurdity of his gesture that you break down in tears.

💖 it's a while before you let Wally touch you properly, but once you do, you can't get enough. Wally is incredibly plush and cuddly - even the skinniest part of his body is soft and plump like a stuffed toy!! you start slow with holding hands, and Wally works with you, first locking his pinkie around yours and holding it for a minute at a time. soon, you're confident enough to lean against Wally while he keeps his arms at his side. Wally tries to act inconspicuous when you do this, whistling tunelessly and pretending not to notice you. the first time you hug Wally, you slip up behind him unnoticed and seize him tightly around the waist. Wally makes a soft, "Oh!" of surprise and twists around, trying to look at you, but you've buried your face in the sumptuous material of his cardigan. he chuckles warmly, and gives you a reassuring pat on the head.

💖 once the seal is broken, Wally is determined to show you what you've been missing. Wally decides his new favourite game is wrapping you up tight in a blanket burrito, and nuzzling the top of your head while you pretend-struggle to escape. the deep pressure is wonderful and soothing, although it never lasts long; Wally loves cuddling you so much that he always releases you from your soft prison much too soon, and then you're falling on top of one another, consumed with the giggles. when the two of you are alone, Wally will often snuggle up into the crook of your neck, sighing happily as he loops his arms around your shoulders and all but climbs into your lap. sometimes you fall asleep like that, together: a silly, happy mess of rumpled sheets and tangled limbs.

this was a very cute request - thank you so much 🥰💖