#touchstarved fluff

[trappolia]

FEELING HUMAN, HOOKED ON YOUR BREATH ── leander + gn!reader, 430

leander is painfully aware of his reputation; knows that you've heard rumours of how the corner room you currently occupy in the wet wick was once exclusively for him and his one-night-stands, vere's little quips of him getting some action with a stranger or two in dark alleys, and he hasn't exactly been subtle with the way he looks at you in the candlelight when you're huddled together in one of the booths. he knows that you're no fool, that you're not deaf to the warnings to stay away from him lest you fall too deep into his spell of dark magic—

but you stay anyway.

perhaps it is because he is one of the few to offer you some semblance of comfort in the unfamiliar streets of eridia without asking for anything else, or because he is the only one capable of touching your bare hands and remain sane enough to see the exact shade of your pretty eyes, but whatever the reason, he finds himself unable to care. he finds himself doing a lot of uncharacteristic things since you've come around, actually.

leander does not believe in god, has never even entertained such thoughts of a divine entity existing with the sort of life he's led since birth, but he thinks that despite your curse, you are the closest thing to an angel he's ever met. leander feels bad about it, really; the thoughts that plague his mind when he lets you trace the grooves and scars of his calloused hands, your darkened fingertips ghosting upon the skin of his forearm like a dancer from the amaryllis district. he feels guilty, as if he's taking advantage of your trust like this, even if you're the one who's touching him, but it's outweighed by that something that leander still can't name even after all those nights of laying awake in night or nursing his nth bottle of rum in the wet wick at some ungodly hour of the night; something about how you touch him like he's the only solid thing in the world, the look in your eyes when you find your fingers wandering over to the scar on his face.

there is no such thing as heaven or hell, just the monsters (soulless and mortal) that linger in the space between, but your touch is divine, and for the first time in his life, leander wants nothing more than to repent for his sins, to whisper his confessions against the warm dark-gold of your knuckles as if he could find some semblance of forgiveness in your skin.

© trappolia 2024

[vinaxxo]

~ I LIKE YOU

Ais x reader | TOUCHSTARVED

♡ Morning after with Ais. 70% cute, 30% ….something! This was originally requested by an anon, but tumblr blew up my response to the ask.. unless it turns up on my blog later..

Tangled in dark turquoise sheets, you stirred in your sleep, feeling warm breath fan over the back of your neck. Your grogginess faded when you realized where you were and what you did last night. And at that realization, you felt your legs and back throb.

In an attempt to distance yourself from the demon, his big arm pulls your body back to his.

“Where do you think you’re going, sparrow? Are you tired of me already?” Ais whispered, voice deep with morning raspiness.

Your cheeks turned hot. Ais was even closer than before, allowing his fingers to run up your stomach. They stopped just before your chest.

“Yes.” you said casually and falsely, putting your bandaged hand over his, feeling the ridges of metal rings.

“That’s too bad. I wanna keep you here.”

I like you too much. Ais thought, absentmindedly nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in your familiar smell, careful that his horns don’t collide with your face.

Both of your heartbeats synced with one another after a while. Ais could feel his deep fondness of you consuming his mind. He wanted to be by your side forever, and he wasn’t sure that you felt the same until you lifted his tattooed hand to your mouth, leaving a feather kiss.

He had the slight impulse to push his fingers into your mouth— a vivid, lewd fantasy flashing before his eyes before your grip on his hand tightened slightly, snapping him back to reality.

You were scared to lose Ais to the cruel world of Eridia, but even more so to your curse. And yet, he was never afraid to touch you. He never hesitated to lay his large hands where he could, his faith in your bandages unshakable.

“I like you a lot, Sparrow.” Ais smiled, enclosing your hand with his fingers. You allowed his fingers to lace into yours, your bodies fitting together like a perfect puzzle. Everything was right.

“I like you a lot, too...” You replied quietly, catching the dim red glow of Ais’ eyes to your side. You felt him staring up at you from beside your body, a slight chill slipping down your spine. He stayed like that, staring, for an eerie amount of time before grinning.

“I’m glad the feeling’s mutual.” Ais mused, somehow pulling you even closer than before, as if your body was able to sink into his, the line of friend and lover between you and the demon blurred.

Though Ais was an honest guy, you had an inkling of doubt about the good he could do for your curse. He hasn’t harmed you thus far, was it so bad to just give in to him?

[hx4rt]

You guys have to make a decision.

[vmpiires]

﹆₊ 中毒‧₊˚ ADDICTED TO YOU, KAMO CHOSO

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ touch starved for 150 years. wc, 1.31K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. i got this idea from a comic strip i saw on twitter by one of my fav chosoyuki ship artists. the second i saw it i knew i had to get on here and type something up. (also i finally figured out how to change the font colors by myself). hope ya enjoyyyyy. reblog to support meeee

␥ tags. modern AU [still a curse], female anatomy, fluff, no smut, etc. lmk if i missed anything

␥ misc. masterlist AO3

it's been three years since you and choso started dating, but you still can't get enough of the way he reacts to your touch. whenever your soft hands brush against his body, you notice him tensing up involuntarily—almost as if it's a reflex. these small, shy gestures from him make you feel incredibly special as you know that it means he trusts you and is comfortable around you. you adore the fact that he still gets flustered around you, even after all this time.

upon your first encounter with choso, you couldn't help but notice his quiet demeanor. it became quite evident that he wasn't much of a talker, and as a result, he often found himself feeling isolated in public areas. except for his conversations with his brother, itadori, there were only one or two other individuals with whom choso conversed. this lack of social interaction left him quite lonely, and it was evident that he struggled to form connections with others.

it was quite apparent that you showed a genuine interest in him from the very beginning. despite being attractive, he always seemed to blend in with the crowd and go unnoticed. it was as if his presence never made any significant impact on anyone.

however, your keen eye picked up on his unique qualities and personality, which made him stand out amongst the rest. he was grateful for your attention, and it was evident that he appreciated it deeply. your interest in him not only boosted his confidence but also gave him a sense of purpose and belonging.

as you approached choso, he flinched and tensed up, clearly caught off guard by your sudden proximity. it was evident that he was not used to being touched outside of battle. however, as you placed your hands on his body, he visibly blushed, his cheeks redder than ever before. he looked at you with a mixture of surprise and confusion, as if he couldn't believe what was happening. for the first time in 150 years, someone had dared to touch him outside of battle, and he was clearly taken aback by the unexpected physical contact.

choso found the entire incident quite peculiar and perplexing. it has been quite some time since that day, yet he can still vividly recall the exact spot where you placed your hand—right on his shoulder. the sensation lingers, almost as if the touch had left a mark deep within him. despite his best efforts, he is unable to shake off the feeling of unease that has settled within him ever since.

your touch is something that he would never forget, and if he said he didn't enjoy it, he'd be lying. you had an undeniable ability to leave a lasting impression on him.

you were working on an important project and stayed up until the early hours of the morning. as the clock struck four, you found yourself lying on the floor next to choso's futon. he was sleeping peacefully, his hair fanned out over the pillow beneath him.

your sleep was restless, and you moved around a lot, which could be quite annoying to others. though, choso didn't seem to mind too much, at least not tonight. suddenly, you accidentally hit the back of his head with your elbow, causing him to wake up abruptly. he looked at you with a stern expression, his lips pursed tightly together as he tried to regain his composure.

choso observed you as you slept and wondered why you hadn't been working on your project that was due soon. his eyelids narrowed into slits, and he rolled his eyes in frustration. he couldn't understand how someone could waste valuable time like this when there was important work to be done.

"hey," choso called your name. "wake-"

before choso could reprimand you for falling asleep, he could feel your arms slide underneath his and wrap around his torso, just beneath his chest. your warm breath against his neck was oddly comforting. choso lay on his futon, flustered and surprised as your grip grew tighter around his body.

the sensation that he was experiencing was completely new to him. it reminded him of the first time you had touched him gently on the shoulder. he let out a deep sigh and turned over, his face sinking slowly into the softness of his pillow. the feeling lingered, and he couldn't help but wonder what it meant. he wasn't sure if it was a sign of something new and exciting, or if it was something to be worried about. the uncertainty weighed heavily on his mind as he drifted off to sleep.

sunlight beamed brightly through the bedroom as morning approached. an alarm from your phone could be heard before instantly shutting it off. while you were sprawled out over the futon, choso was pressed up against you, his arms loosely wrapped around your body and his head buried into the crook of your neck.

as the sunlight filtered through the windows, both of you groaned in unison, your eyes squinting to shield themselves from the bright light in the bedroom. you exchanged a brief glance before you shot up from the bed, stretching your arms and letting out a loud yawn. the warmth of the sun's rays seemed to be beckoning you to start the day.

you found yourself rousing from a sudden nap, feeling disoriented and a bit groggy. you rubbed the tiredness from your eyes, trying to regain your bearings, when you noticed choso sitting beside you, his head propped up with his elbow against the pillow. it seemed that you had blacked out without realizing it.

"damn, i wasn't planning on falling asleep. i didn't even realize i went to sleep until now." you yawn again, holding your hand over your mouth to suppress how loud it is. "how come you didn't wake me up?"

as you locked eyes with him for the second time that morning, he couldn't help but feel a sudden rush of memories from the previous night flooding his mind. his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he relived those moments in his head, but those feelings quickly dissipated when he forcefully broke contact with you. he rolled his eyes, perhaps trying to shake off that awkwardness and bring himself back to the present moment.

"i was asleep, how could i wake you up?" choso replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "and how did you end up next to my futon?"

as you sat beside the futon next to choso, you couldn't help but notice his attempts to seem annoyed with your behavior. though, as the night wore on, it became clear that he was struggling to stay awake. eventually, he succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep, his bare torso exposed to the cool air of the room. seeing him shiver, you gently pulled the sheets over him, tucking him in with care. he had been hugging his own body to keep warm.

"don't know...i was so bored that i didn't know what to do with myself," you replied as you finally stood up, giving yourself another good stretch and kissing choso on his head, gently tugging his jet black locks as you did.

the experience of being hugged after a prolonged period of 150 years was a truly transformative one for him. the male had initially feigned irritation at you succumbing to your sleepiness and falling asleep, but in truth, he was struggling to contain his desire to prolong the embrace.

it wasn't because he was trying to be helpful or responsible in any way, but rather because he simply wanted to bask in the warmth and comfort of the embrace for just a little bit longer. the sensation of having his body hugged after such a long time had shifted his perspective on many things, leaving him feeling a sense of awe and wonder at the power of human connection.

⠀© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.

[dinogoofymutated]

im 100% new to x-men(i grew up in a DC family lol) but I am just. SO down bad for remy. idk how to write requests or anything, but can I ask for headcanons for him with a touchstarved fem reader? sfw or nsfw, both, idc really he's just rotating in my brain, gambit my beloved

Gambit/GN!reader

Dude I completely get it!! I was a HUGE x-men fan as a kid and as I grew up the hyperfixation fell into the back of my mind. I too grew up mostly on DC and I feel like the reason DC became my go-to was because there's just not a ton of fanfiction for the x-men, reader inserts in particular. I'm working on fixing that! But my full-length fics are a little hard to finish/start. Anyway- Remy is definitely one of the top #3 x-men to be down bad for lol!

TWs: none that I can think of atm. Mostly fluffy goodness! Written picturing a fem! Reader but no pronouns mentioned

I definitely think that it's not a completely ridiculous idea that one of Remy's love languages could be touch, despite how his relationship with Rogue revolves around the absence of touch!

Tbh, I feel like he's just respectful of his partner's wants and needs in a relationship, and if touching and cuddling is a no-go he's perfectly fine with backing off and showing his love in other ways!

BUT! when you give him the go-ahead, he's all over you. Hugs, cuddles, kisses, PDA, all of it!

One of his favorite things to do is catch you in the kitchen, coming up behind you and snaking his hands around your waist. He'll press his face into your hair and neck, sometimes giving you kisses, but really he just does it because he wants to feel you against him.

I think he secretly enjoys how easy it is to get you melting in his embrace. He goes out of his way to fluster you, flirting until you go red, then pulls you close. He'll nuzzle you affectionately, kiss your temple and cheeks, hold you lovingly until he feels all the tension leave your body. He especially likes when you lean into his hands when he holds your face. He knows just how much you love him, and he's determined to show you all the love he knows you deserve.

    “Cher.” Remy’s chest rumbles with the words. You only respond with a hum, tucked into his side comfortably. The afternoon had started with a movie, originally. The two of you had some free time, and Gambit had a movie he really wanted to watch, so movie night it was. You were watching at first, you promise you were, but it was easy to get distracted by Remy. When the movie started, you were sitting next to him, leaning into his side with a bowl of popcorn in your lap, but that position could only be comfortable for so long. You were squirming, trying to relax as best you could, but after 45 minutes of sitting on this couch, it was like every bump and corner on the sofa was digging into you.

    Remy, being the observant sweetheart he is, didn’t hesitate to scoop you up into his lap. You squealed at first, surprised by the action, but Remy simply laughed at you, leaning back to lay down on the couch with you against his chest. Unsurprisingly, this was much more comfortable. Maybe a little too comfortable, as it didn’t take long for you to stop paying attention to the TV entirely. You snuggled closer to Remy as you started to doze off. One of his hands rested against your lower back, his other hand cupping the back of your neck, caressing and threading his fingers through his hair. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep against him.

    “Cheerrr.” Remy says again, drawing the words out. “Movie’s been over f’ a while.” You pout at him, sighing sleepily as you tuck your face into his neck. He chuckles again, thumbs caressing your skin idly.

    “You don’t wanna cuddle anymore?” You ask, maybe a little bit more sad than you should be, or would’ve been if you were more awake.

    “Now Gambit didn’t say that.” Remy purrs. You whine again as he moves a little, adjusting a little so that he can press a kiss to your temple. You reluctantly untuck yourself from his neck, rewarded with a sweet kiss from Remy. The action makes you smile. He’s looking at you with such love and adoration, like no one has looked at you before, and it has you feeling loved beyond measure. You lean into his touch as he cups your face, holding his hand to your cheek to keep him there.

    Content couldn’t begin to explain how you felt in this moment.

[pupkashi]

“can i hug you? you look like you could do with it”

a/n: hi friends ! i hope u all enjoy this :] thank u for the request and sorry for taking so long :( i feel like this is slightly ooc for satoru but oh well :P

wordcount: 1,661

masterlist

you always watched gojo from a far, always a bit intimidated by the much taller sorcerer. he was carefree, always standing up to the higher ups in ways you’d only daydreamed of. he always spoke his mind, never once holding his tongue when it came to insulting those he disliked.

you’d always give him small smiles, telling him good morning and to have a good evening the times you had passed by him, not wanting to seem rude.

he would always say it back, continuing the conversation with you until you parted ways. he’d stand up for you during meetings, never allowing the higher ups to disrespect you. anytime he’d see your eyes widen a bit at the mention of a mission that seemed too difficult, he was quick to offer himself up in your place.

“don’t you geezers think i should take the mission on? y/n had something planned for the students anyway” he says, anger evident in his voice, but he’s shooting you a smile and a thumbs up as he speaks.

“fine, you can take this one gojo” one of the higher ups say, “y/n you’re free to leave.”

gojo watched you with a love struck look on his face. one you didn’t notice as you were too busy scurrying out of the room, trying your best to not get on the higher ups bad side.

after the third meeting of gojo taking on your missions you decided you should at least thank the man. you approached him shyly, giving him a small smile and saying hello, gojo smiled brightly at you, asking how you were.

the two of you clicked fairly quickly, eating lunch together when you could and making easy conversation. you’d listen to him gush about the first years and shit on the higher ups and he’s listen to you rant about your day and talk about the shows you were watching.

it’d only been a couple weeks since the two of you actually started to get to know each other, but you considered him a friend of yours, even if sometimes you did wish it was more than friendship.

you find yourself walking the empty halls on a thursday afternoon, the clocks ticking in the classrooms as you passed by them, heading towards your office to finish up some paperwork before the higher ups would get onto you for it. the setting sun causes golden rays to leak through the countless windows, shining on you as you continue down the halls.

there’s a cool breeze as you step outside, a sigh as you hold onto the papers in your hands a bit tighter, walking towards the garden area to cut through and get to your office a bit quicker.

a mess of snowy white hair catches your eye, making you slow your steps.

gojo satoru sat on one of the many benches, his elbows resting on top of his knees, chin in his hands. his uniform was a bit scuffed, you could only assume he’d gone out on a mission and only recently returned.

his eyes were covered by the familiar black blindfold, but there was a small frown on his lips. you debated not cutting through the garden today, leaving your new friend unbothered, but your body make the choice for you, already walking towards the strongest sorcerer with a small smile on your face.

“good afternoon gojo” you greeted, still a couple steps away when he turned to look at you, his entire demeanor changing to his usual cheery self.

“hey y/n! whatcha up to now?” his head titled a bit to the side, the mannerism reminding you of a puppy.

“just paperwork, how bout you?” you reply, sitting next to him on the bench, setting your papers down next to you, phone placed on top so they didn’t fly away.

“oh the usual,” he sighs, tilting his head back with a sigh, “thinking about my students, the future for the Jujutsu world and our place in the universe” he laughs dryly and you chuckle softly.

“but hey! there’s nothing gojo satoru can’t do” there’s a strained cheeriness to his tone, it’s makes your chest tighten. a tight smile paints his features, one that doesn’t even reach his eyes like it usually does. his shoulders are slumped and there’s no confident aura like there usually is.

now it’s your turn to frown, looking at him with gentle eyes before you’re speaking up, “can i hug you? you look like you could do with it” your face is burning and your heart is racing.

gojo is looking at you dumbfounded, did you really just ask him that? did someone tell you about his little crush on you?

“sorry! i didn’t mean to cross a line since we just-” you begin, your hands waving apologetically before you’re cut off with his arms around you.

the sudden contact renders you still for a second, then you’re snaking your arms around his neck, letting one of your hands find purchase on the back of his neck.

he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, you can hear a soft hiccup leave his mouth. you don’t mention it, you only squeeze him tighter to you, trying to hold him together, trying to show him you’re there for him.

“it’s okay” you whisper, “I’m right here for you.” your words seem to strike something in him, as his grip around you tightens, his arms are firm around your waist, his fingers gripping the fabric of your uniform, as if he was scared if he let go you’d disappear.

it’s only minutes later of your hushed reassurance that he’s loosening his grip on you, pulling away with a bashful smile on his face.

“if we weren’t friends before we certainly are now” you smile at him softly. the words elicit a chuckle from the sorcerer.

“who told you?” he asks suddenly, following your movements as you pick up the stack of papers next to you.

“told me what?” your brows are furrowed softly and he can’t help but think of how adorable you look.

“‘bout how i like you” he smiles, his confidence already back in full swing as he’s grinning down at you, loving the way you grew flustered at his words.

“what?! no! nobody told me anything!” you shriek, suddenly holding the papers tightly to your chest, heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears.

“huh, figured you would’ve noticed by now” he mumbled, “you didn’t think i was taking on all your difficult missions as a coincidence did ya?”

you’re speechless as you stare at the man infront of you, never once did the thought of the gojo satoru having feelings for you cross your mind.

“well- i mean i thought it was” you sputter out, “why would i think anything else” you laugh nervously, “i thought you were just being nice!”

satoru is just smiling at you, shaking his head and watching the way the gears turn in your head as you ramble on.

“- and so i didn’t want the entire world to just implode you know?” you look up at him, slightly out of breath and your eyes still a bit wide. “what?” you grin, taking in the way he’s looking at you, not exactly sure what he’s smiling about.

“so you do like me? or was that whole metaphor not really a metaphor and the future of the world is in the palm of your hands” his head is cocked to the side again, a cocky smile on his lips and you’re rolling your eyes.

“yeah” you breathe out, looking anywhere but him, trying to slow down your heart rate as you realize what you’ve just admitted and who you’d admitted it to.

satoru doesn’t care that your poor heart’s going a million miles an hour, he’s putting his hand under your chin and forcing you to look at him. he has a soft smile on his face, one that grows wider when he notices the way you squirm under his touch, flustered beyond belief.

“how about dinner tomorrow at 7? I’ll pick you up” there’s a reassuring calmness in his voice that makes you smile back at him, nodding and replying with an ‘okay.’

it’s quiet for a second between the two of you, but he’s quick to break the silence.

“thank you,” he clears his throat before elaborating, “for being here for me,” shifting in his seat as you look at him.

now it’s your turn to stare at him while his eyes are darting from plant to plant. you’re biting back a small smile as you reply, “course, I’ll always be here.”

satoru studies your features, only finding genuine kindness written across your face. the same kindness that made his mornings a bit brighter and his late nights less exhausting. the same smile that makes lunch breaks feel too short and missions away much too long.

the two of you sit on the bench long enough for the moon to say hello. both of yoh staring up at the sky and it’s stars, your hands rest in the space between the two of you, pinkies brushing every once in a while.

satoru is the first to make a move, linking his pinky around yours before diving in and intertwining your fingers with his.

the two of you continue talking, neither one of you daring to acknowledge your linked hands. the blush on satoru’s cheeks was a secret kept between the moon and him, and the way your stomach flipped was kept quiet between the stars and yourself.

when you finally do reach your office, it’s only to set your paperwork down on your desk, closing the door and taking satoru’s hand back in yours.

“ready?” he asks and you nod, letting him wrap an arm around you and hold you close to him, giggles leaving both of your lips as he walks you home.

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @luna0713hunter @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags

[kneelingshadowsalome]

what about a touch starved reader for König? The way she would swallow every touch and every kiss, drink him, touching him like its the last time ....

Oh he’s so addicted.

You melt into a puddle of sighs when he plants kisses on your neck? He has barely even touched you!

You behaving like a needy little pet is so endearing to him (honestly, it's about to break his heart. Stop hurting this man!) And in the beginning, it almost drives him crazy 🥺 Your dates have an urgent, almost rushed mood to them because König fears he might lose you at any moment. Outwardly, it looks like the honeymoon phase of a new passionate relationship, but his groping is, in truth, half motivated by the fear of losing you.

And when he sees you’re not going anywhere, the stressed pawing and intense lovemaking start to get a more tender tone. You can’t get enough of him? Stop it, you’re making him hard... By the way, would you say yes if he proposed to you?

It never ceases to amaze him that he can make you feel good. Sweaty, needy sex turns unhurried and soft; suddenly, he wants to hold your hand. Please don’t comment on it, just let him savour those wet, pleading eyes to the full... He cuddles you fondly and indulges in the soft moments together, touches you like you’re some ethereal fantasy creature almost, it's quite unlike the times he turned you around like a fuck toy. He still goes on an ego trip when he's edging you, but instead of demanding your dynamite orgasms as some kind of a bullied tribute, he now simply drowns you in love.

When you tell him you miss the old days when he was more rough with you, almost animalistic, he rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. Oh… You liked that unhinged, depraved shit? :/

[adastra121]

You know what. I’m gonna ramble about the Touchstarved LIs favourite places to kiss (based on the polls from @cacaobean760) — the most popular results — because I have thoughts!

Leander’s is the hands, because. He likes to be the special person, the only one who can actually touch MC’s hands without being affected, kissing them on the hand is a possessive thing. But also, even without the curse, he strikes me as someone who likes to kiss people on the hand in that classic romantic, gentlemanly fashion. He’s a performer, of course he’d go for that classic romantic gesture, raising your hand to his lips and kissing the knuckles. Kissing the inside of your wrist, your pulse point, he likes the amount of trust you place in him. And apparently he’s ticklish, so. Tickling under his jaw, he laughs and then he holds your hand there, and kisses your palm.

Ais likes the forehead or anywhere on the head, because he likes your mind the most, having lived in the Groupmind for so long, I don’t think he wants you to lose it and everything that makes you you. He strikes me as someone who really likes people’s minds, judging from the way he likes to listen to Kuras ramble about alchemy, judging from the questions he asks MC in the demo. He just seems the type to be genuinely curious and interested in what’s going on in your head. Kissing you on the forehead or temple whenever you’re lost in thought in those comfortable, quiet moments with him just to bring you back like: “Where’d you fly off to just now, sparrow?” Also he’s tall, so he can reach your forehead more easily.

Vere likes the intimacy, sensuality and power behind neck kisses. He likes the warmth, how your scent is stronger there. He likes how he can hear and feel your pulse under his lips. Gently tracing his sharp teeth along your pulse point, your carotid artery. With just enough pressure to make you hyper aware of his every movement. It would just take one bite. One quick slice of his fang, a spray of red and you’d bleed out in his arms. He thinks you’d taste heavenly. It doesn’t mean that he wants to kill you, he just likes that he can, he likes the amount of power he has over you — and maybe that you trusted him enough to give that to him.

[vintagegirl01]

Plush Size

Marc Spector x fem! reader (Implied moon boys x fem! reader)

Summary: Missing the MK System, you decide to make a plush toy of Moon Knight for yourself, so that you have something to cuddle with when they are on missions for Khonshu. While this plush ends up being used for that particular reason, the moon boys are shocked to see that you are no longer as clingy to them as you once were. This leads them to become touch starved, resulting in them hiding the plush.

You miss them all very much. It has only been a day since they left but you miss Marc, Steven, and Jake very much.

Though they have been on missions longer than this most recent one they are currently on. Nevertheless, it’s true when they say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

As you look through Pinterest to look at sewing machine projects that you want to do. You see some pins on how to make dolls. This sparks the idea to create a doll in the form of your boyfriends’ Moon Knight persona that you could use to cuddle when they are gone. With this newfound inspiration, you get to work.

_________________________________________

3 Days Later…

Marc is currently fronting as he enters the key to your shared apartment. Though this mission was shorter, the desire to get home to you was what kept him going.

When he locks the front door, Marc notices the silence within the house. No tv nor music playing in the background.

Imagining the worst case scenario, Marc grabs his gun from his travel bag and begins walking around the house in preparation to fight to the death for you. He hears both Steven and Jake from the headspace, trying to reassure him that you are safe and more likely to fall asleep. Though he appreciates the reassurance from them both, Marc’s mind can’t help but wander to think the worst.

As he finally approaches the door to your shared bedroom, Marc finds you asleep on your bed. Although, instead of snuggling into his side of the bed like you normally would when he was gone, Marc is shocked to see you snuggling up with a plushie that looks nearly identical to what he looks like when he wears Khonshu’s ceremonial armor as Moon Knight. Marc smiles to himself as he returns to his regular clothes, beginning to strip to nothing but his boxers and crawls into the bed to get well earned rest.

________________________________________

In the coming weeks, Marc notices how often you cuddle with the plush version of himself and is a bit restless to say the least. Though Marc is happy you have something to remind you of himself when he is away, the feeling isn’t there when he begins to notice that you sometimes even hug the mini him when you both are lounging around together in your room or living room.

Despite Marc always being a bit closed off at the start of your relationship, you helped him open up. Once feeling as if he had to wear the world on his shoulders, that feeling slowly faded away when he was around you.

No longer receiving those cuddles as often as he was once used to, Marc begins to devise a plan. One that will ensure he gets your attention.

________________________________________

As you finish showering and changing into your pajamas, you exit the restroom and enter the bedroom.

When you walk to the bed, you notice that your Moon Knight plushie is no longer laying on the side where you normally sleep. In shock, you look under the bed to make sure it isn’t there. Noting it isn’t there, you move your pillows to see if they aren’t under the bed.

“Marc”! Have you seen mini you?”, you ask.

Marc comes in and says he hasn’t but agrees to help you find him (unbeknownst to you that he hid it).

________________________________________

Thirty minutes of you two looking and not having any luck. Defeated, you lay on your bed a bit upset.

Marc gets into bed next to you and wraps his arms around you. He is a little shocked by the fact that you are upset about this.

Curious to understand why that is, he asks: “Why are you upset about losing the mini me”?

You answer.“Because it’s something to remind me of you when we aren’t together. Also, I figured it would be a good substitute for when you don’t want to cuddle me as I know I can be a bit too much sometimes.”

Everything begins to make sense to him. Marc goes to your closet to get something. When he comes back out, you see that he’s holding your missing plushie.

“I’m sorry I hid this from you”, he says ashamed. “I missed your cuddles and thought that mini me was taking away your attention from me. Despite what you may think, I love our cuddle sessions. It’s because of you, I feel safe enough to be vulnerable. Can you forgive me, baby?”

The moment Marc finishes, he is shocked to see you get up from the bed and grab the plushy from him. You put the plush on your bed and pull him in for a hug.

“You know you can ask me for cuddles whenever”, you say.

Marc looks at you with puppy eyes, “Can we cuddle now?”.

You take his hand and lead him both to your bed. Both of you get settled in with Marc laying his head on your chest as you run your fingers through his curls. Staying this way until sleeps takes over.

[ronearoundblindly]

Hideout (4.2)

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

Horny Teen, part two (see previous or series)

Summary: A late-summer heat wave hits you and Steve hard.

Warnings for smut (kinda unprotected sex, momentarily--guess that's dubcon to be safe--fingering, lots of foreplay things and dirty talk but Steve can't actually talk dirty, so...hot talk? IDK, gang, I 'bout died writing this. Prepare thy loins, babes). MINORS DNI. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this series is not for you! WC 3.1k

A/N: This part contains a cannibalized version of the original idea for this series, but since we've developed differently to this point, it is very different.

He calls ahead. For the first time in a year of visiting, he calls ahead and knows you aren’t working the night he’ll be here.

You work in the garden as long as you can stand before hopping in a cool shower. You aren’t even wrapped in a towel when the trill of your room phone—extension 14, as Steve now knows it—blares through multiple closed doors.

He’s checked-in, and in Room Two, but no pressure, if you want, if you don’t have plans, he’s here. It is the most adorable and awkwardest conversation of all time. It also never gets old to hear him scramble for the simplest of sentiments.

Translation: I’m excited to see you.

Your heart soars then immediately stalls in the stifling weather.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” you chuckle.

Of course, he opens his arms for a bear hug the instant the door labeled ‘2’ swings wide. Steve has fewer troubles with platonic affection when alone, that’s for sure, but who could blame him? You’re elated he’s here under any circumstances.

Record-setting heat this late in the summer has left all the AC units taxed to the brink, running constantly, and even with the in-room thermostat set stupidly low, a tank top and shorts is too much.

This means another first: both of you, in bed, naked.

Nothing’s happened, mind, because the swelter of the day zapped energy out of every creature for miles and miles around. The ice machine can’t keep up with eight rooms and your family needing relief from the blaze. From the bright stripe of red across Steve’s cheeks and his earthy musk, he was outside plenty. He’s wiped, too.

You wonder absently when the last time he wore cologne was and what it smelled like. Perhaps he never used it. Perhaps he misses small luxuries more than he ever realized.

Steve looks on the brink of heat-stroke, so you inched yourself onto one side of the bed to start, thinking skin-to-skin contact might be unwelcome. You barely got your palms on the sheets before he pulled you to him. You did not fight it.

It’s meant to be a profound comfort—your weight atop him—and it is.

Your cheek settles on his chest, eyes watching through the sheer curtains as dusk takes over the sky, a happy man stretched like a cat beneath you, smiling, heart beat slowing in your ear. So strong, so steady, so secure.

He’s safe. He’s comfortable. That’s all that matters.

You peer up from your perch. The thin worry lines on his forehead have relaxed. He seems younger. Freedom looks good on Steve Rogers, just as good as it looks on Captain America, maybe better.

You fall asleep straddling his hips, one knee hitched so the crook of your ankle drapes his thigh, slowly pushed up and down by his deep breaths.

You’re drifting, rocked gently by powerful waves in the nothingness of your blank mind, free like him, blooming in the warmth of a bright sun embracing you.

The glow continues until Steve gently shakes you awake.

The room is pitch black, the lights of the parking lot too muted to pass through the gossamer layer over the window.

“You’re…you were squirming a lot. Thought you might be having a nightmare,” his rough timber booms close to your ear.

“No, I—“ you wipe at your face “—I don’t think I was dreaming.”

Steve’s not so relaxed under you now. His abs quake slightly, and those slow breaths have become stunted, shallow with control.

“Did you?” you ask, looking towards his face, useless in the dark but your drowsy brain hasn’t caught up yet.

There’s a shuffling noise above you.

“Is that a ‘yes?’ Did you have a nightmare? You alright?”

The shuffling repeats, accompanied by a strangled “yes,” and you lift your arm to brace on his chest. It unhooks your leg from his, and the hard length of his erection moves from its perch at your ass, nudging the joint of your hip and thigh from below.

“Not—not a nightmare,” he whispers. “Just ignore it.”

Steve’s voice is husky, his grip on the back of your knee tight and unyielding, keeping you from trapping him between your legs.

Your impulse is to soothe him, to tell him he is fine and it is okay to be turned on, generally, when naked and pressed to someone you find attractive—hell, you definitely are—but if he wants you to ignore it, if he’d rather not, if it’s too soon or too hot (metaphorically, physically) or just too much right now, then you respect that. None of this has ever been about making him feel like how he chooses to receive affection is wrong.

Without moving any limbs, your fingers retract and relax, a gentle, nailless scratch to his broad pec beneath your hand, and his cock twitches, tapping your leg.

“Sorry,” Steve huffs.

“Do you want me to get off of you?” You suppress the urge to make a minor edit in that statement because it’s very close to what you want to do.

The shuffling noise sounds different.

“No,” he says softly.

You slide your hand up his chest to his neck and around the back of his head, petting the corner of his bearded jaw just below his ear, careful to use as few muscles as possible.

His cock taps you again anyway. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

You ignore it, as asked, and continue scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Hey,” you start in the darkness, “is this comfortable?”

You run your fingertips over his features while he nods, following his jaw up and down. 

Unable to see, this paints the most vivid picture of Steve’s reactions. You feel the vibration of a hum through his cheek, the draw and release of his brow as you skate over his forehead. You hear his short chuckle when you brush ever-so-gently across his long lashes and boop his nose. Finally, you trace his open-mouth smile with the edge of your thumb, his ragged exhale rushing over your palm.

Tap.

“Sorry.”

“Comfy though?”

His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it. “Yeah.”

The drag of your fingers past the edge of bristly stubble and down his throat makes him shiver.

Twitch.

“Sorry.”

You flutter across his collarbone, wondering if that means he’s ticklish on more than just his sides.

“Comfy?”

He hums. You feel it rattle your cheek as much as you actually hear it in your ears.

You continue. His corded muscles giving only slightly to the pressure of your touch. His arm, his chest, down to the hand he keeps on your leg.

Several more breathy apologies sound above you. Steve’s other arm is draped over your waist, and with every pulse of need that betrays him, his grip tightens just a little. His fingers now dig into your soft flesh absently.

It’s hard to hide how desperate he’s made you, but the issue is mutual based on how his abs won’t stop tensing, searching for attention where he denies it. 

You flatten your hand to his chest and make to move.

“May I?”

Steve’s swallow is louder than the ‘okay’ he returns.

You are careful not to push him in any weird angles as you raise up to your knees and straddle him, pinning his erection beneath you, not directly between your folds but nestled at the apex of your legs, just so he won’t have to worry about every involuntary poke. 

With such fresh contact, he clenches his ass hard in response, lifting your whole weight completely before he settles again. The surge of heat to your core has you biting your lip to muffle a moan.

“Comfy?” you rasp at the same moment Steve offers a strangled “sorry.”

The low, constant whine of the air conditioner fills the hollow space around your cocoon of anticipation.

“New plan,” you laugh, relaxing your fingers to splay across his warm skin, “both of us stop doing that, huh? You have nothing to be sorry for, and I’ll trust you to tell me if you aren’t comfortable.”

“So…” Steve shuffles on the sheets, but whatever he moves doesn’t affect your position. “Can I touch you?”

You bite your lip harder before answering, your voice dropping to a sweet reassurance. “Yes. Of course you can, Stevie.”

You keep your pets of his chest and arms light, trying not to tickle him. He’s always so hesitant; you’re worried the tiniest misstep will send him back into his head—not in a good way.

The silence now feels purposeful, dense with possibility, and then rough fingertips land like a foreign explorer who’s braved months at sea solely to experience this moment.

A calculated inhale and exhale rock your pelvis, a wave of nerves foaming in your gut.

He starts innocently enough, mapping your thighs, muttering something about how soft they are, but you don’t dare lean to hear him better. No sudden movements. None. Even though your skin lights up as explosive as those 4th of July fireworks you missed.

Since there’s nothing to see in the room, you feel everything.

He keeps to the periphery of you at first, abandoning your legs to brush the same arms touching him, running fingers together, separating them just as quickly, caressing your palms gently, and dragging his short nails up your wrists without pressure.

You stiffen in pleasure, fighting not to shrink away from the purest intimacy you’ve ever experienced.

His long arms reach the curve of your shoulders, flit across your collarbone, and you’re doing your damndest to keep it together, leaning your head back in lieu of talking.

Don’t scare him.

It can’t last; you’re only human.

Steve’s hands slowly descend over your breasts, middle fingers catching your peaking nipples, and a lewd and aching cry tumbles from your bitten lips.

The force of it surprises you, but more surprising still is him, unfazed, encouraged to linger.

In that low timber, he growls.

“You like that… Knew you would.”

Your body throbs, pulsing with need and emptiness.

That means he thinks of you. He’s imagined this. He’s wanted this.

Stunning electricity shoots through your body as he pinches and twists, squeezes and kneads. Nothing too harsh, but he’s highly motivated when you purr and gasp atop him.

What else does he think about doing? How long has he fantasized? Is this as good as his imagination?

Yours aren’t the only noises now. He sounds tortured with little pleas and whimpers escaping before each guttural moan.

Arousal pools at your folds, and without realizing you started to move, the shy momentum of your hips has nudged his length to lay flush with your dripping center. His tip glides over your clit.

Again and again.

Again and again.

A hot pressure builds in you, faster than ever, kerosene dumped on your wet-dreams and burned to life, a spell manifest in the night.

Steve shakes beneath the palms you brace flat on his chest, the heels digging into his diaphragm.

He moves to grip your thighs hard.

Fire spreads beneath your skin as you two pant and gasp, his whole cock slick and slotted so close to where you truly long for him.

“Wait,” Steve groans, but you can’t understand.

No one could imagine how good this feels, how much you need this, how—

He sits up to stop you, accidentally notching himself at your entrance, your residual motion sliding the thick head of him past the that first, tight ring.

Steve’s lusty moan is barely eclipsed by your own, and you’re too close to halt sheathing him within you, arms instinctively wrapping his shoulders. Desire winds the coil in your belly too taut, the thought of losing this climax unbearable.

“N-uhhh god—“

He’s too sensitive though. He flips you both so your back crashes to the soft sheets and digs his grip into your side, his other hand thumping to anchor on the headboard. Steve sucks air through his teeth like he’s afraid the faintest smell of sex will set him off.

“Don—don’t move,” he orders in thick command.

It makes things worse.

You’re so close, vaulting off the ground and suspended by legs clamped around his waist, dangling on the precipice of ecstasy. You whine and clench, totally unable to control yourself, your nails digging into his back.

Steve cries out, choked at the hilt by your desperation and lost to his own finish.

His hand races from your side to your ass. He pulls out of you only to slot himself there and thrust his cock between your cheeks, cum shooting on the sheets below.

Mindlessly, you ride the cut of his abs, his course pubic hair adding almost enough friction to keep ascending toward your own end, but the void left behind is too consuming. The fire sputters and dims.

Steve buries his face in your neck, breath cooling the sweat lining your skin as he curls away from you, overwhelmed.

“Swear I was gonna wait,” he confesses to the tender spot behind your ear. “I swear.”

“Please,” you croak, tears prickling your eyes in lament for your ruined orgasm.

“Was gonna be better. Swear I’ll do better for you.”

You grope and claw at those thick arms which hold all but his face far away. “Please,” you beg pathetically, “fucking touch me, please.”

A drawn out grunt vibrates the column of your throat.

“Y’shouldn’t have ta beg...”

He shifts to his forearm, caging you in as you plead over and over. He kneels to hover, and your thighs weakly squeeze at his own to emphasize what you need.

“Sounds so pretty when you do…”

Something between a screech and a snarl erupts from your chest.

Steve shushes you, smoothing a big hand across your damp cheek, and quietly, he commands you, “show me what to do.”

Your quivering hold guides him by the wrist down your body. Words to instruct him won’t form in your sex-steeped brain. As luck would have it, he doesn’t need specifics.

“Next time I’ll taste you.” One finger teases your folds in search of his entrance. “Next time you’ll have to beg me to stop.” Two fingers drive forward, displacing a gush of your shared juices. “So wet,” he groans, agonized to silence when you jerk his hand to thrust faster.

“More.” 

He sets a loving and delicate pace, the heel of his palm working your clit. 

Too delicate.

“More,” you gasp.

He obliges, muttering how good he’ll be to you from now on. You’ll always be first. He promises.

The fire takes over again.

“More, Stevie. Please.”

You grind down on him to prove your point, and he marvels that this isn’t too rough for you.

Each strangled breath ties your moans together in a crescendo worthy of Carnegie Hall.

“God,” he rumbles by your ear again, “I know that sound. You’re close, aren’t you?”

Steve’s pumping fingers bully your body farther and farther up the bed, using only a taste of his real strength.

Your chant of ‘yes’ catches in your taxed lungs. He doesn’t need an answer though.

The super-stretched band snaps, a plateau of peace and weightlessness tipped at the vertex until—crash—nerves are razed all along you like a carpet-bombed battlefield.

“Uhnn, is that what you’re gonna feel like around me?” He sighs at the thought and stills his hand just to commit the ripple to memory. “How’m I s’pose to last?”

You slap a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to hold in your yelp of relief.

That mouth…that fucking mouth of his is a weapon all its own.

Tiny explosions wreak havoc on you, body and soul, as his fingers greedily coax you to keep coming—just a little more—just for him—one last rush—give him everything.

His lips open in your palm, but you grip his face harder.

You can’t. You can’t listen right now. You can’t hear one more dangerously sexy, completely innocent thing fall from his beautiful mouth.

Steve lets his hand go lax but doesn’t take it away from your clenched and spasming thighs.

He tries to speak again then gives up, waiting.

Finally, before you can collapse boneless to the bed, he hooks his arm behind your leg so you don’t land on the cold, cum-stained sheets.

He shakes off your forgotten grip of his jaw.

“Tops?” he whispers, patience personified in the long pause before you hum acknowledgment. “Can I kiss you?”

That fucking mouth…

There’s barely enough breath in you to make a sound, but the instant the ‘ye—’ forms in the back of your throat, Steve’s lips are on yours.

It's your first real kiss, of all the ways, after all this time, following all that.

You’d laugh if you weren’t smiling, suffocating in the gentle press that becomes deep and adoring. He kisses you thoroughly after each frantic gasp for air, savoring you, even in the reckless passion of the moment.

Steve rolls to lay you atop him again, more intimately than before. He keeps his face close, sharing breath even in the heat and stench of sex in the room, your wetness now smeared from his navel to his knee.

Turns out, he is a very good kisser, focusing on the act of physical connection. Not only do your lips touch, but he likes to nudge you into whatever minutely different position with his nose. He likes to nuzzle his beard on your sensitive skin until you giggle and squirm. He relishes you like you relish him. 

He whispers things too soft to make out at first. It takes him a while to find his voice, to push past his insecurities, to find his confidence, but eventually, you hear it.

He mumbles how he should have been better, more prepared.

You weave all your fingers through his hair, propped on his chest by your elbows, smiling so he’ll be able to tell in your tone.

“Take the win, Cap.” 

You freeze.

You’ve never called him that, and Steve stays silent for an excruciating beat.

“Sorry,” you offer in the dark, air conditioner churning out sobering drafts of reality.

Steve runs his knuckles gently in patterns across your bare back. There’s a short huff and an amused snort, you mind scrambling to plan some explanation as to why you’d haul the drama of out there into his safe space.

He guides you to settle against him again, tucking you into his strong hold with his chin resting on your forehead.

After what feels like an eternity, he simply asks, “comfy?”

A/N: In case you were wondering...

[Next part: Desperate Man, part one]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @mrsevans90 @lemonadygirl

[goldenfigtree]

The L Word

Summary: yet another glimpse into you and Leon’s relationship where Leon realizes that his feelings for you are stronger than he thought.

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x FemReader

Warning: fluff, pet names (pretty girl, sweetheart, babe)

A/N: Yet another Drabble I wrote instead of sleeping enjoy merp

It was yet another day where you two decided to relax all day indoors. Something Leon insisted on doing so the morning after he came home. You couldn’t really blame him. After dealing with some disgustingly horrifying monsters, you would also like to escape reality through the static of the tv screen.

What you didn’t know was that he really just wanted an excuse to wrap you in his arms. After every mission he often found himself touch starved, craving it like a wild animal. With you now by his side, it was only through the touch of your hand on his face, your arms around him, that he knew he was home.

That he was no longer perceived as a weapon but as a person.

After this mission specifically, your absence really took a toll on him. Four long months without your presence or to even hear your voice felt like he was waning off an addiction he didn’t know he had. To stomach the distance meant staring at a Polaroid picture of you that he kept in his wallet. It didn’t seem to help, if anything it felt like it was making it even worse.

It was these, what he considered, strange behaviors that made him question how much he liked you. He would be shooting down deformed monstrosities and wondering what you were doing right at that moment. Every night, he found his hand outstretched on the other side of the hotel bed, wishing you were there.

Did this mean he didn’t just like you but felt something far stronger?

Maybe even the L word?

Leon far before Raccoon City could have easily answered this question. But as he went on living, the lines that were once so bold were now blurring and fading away.

“So, a movie night?” You slur out your words playfully as you open the pantry. You pursed your lips in disappointment as you scanned the shelves for something, anything for your movie night. But nothing was there, “Might need to make a quick trip to the grocery store” you mutter to yourself while clicking your tongue. You were clearly excited by the idea of spending a day watching movies and cuddling with your lover, so the fact that there was a lack of your typical movie night snacks was mildly disappointing. Leon let out an amused chuckle, leaning against the pantry doorframe, his frame close behind you, his shadow consuming you.

“It’s not the snacks that I’m craving, pretty girl” he flirts in his suddenly husky voice. Tapping your chin you turn to him and hum,

“Ah, the movie that’s right! What are you in the mood for?” you ask, blissfully unaware of his insinuation. He can’t help but smile as he shakes his head,

“I’m in a bit of a romantic mood” he slyly says pulling you close with his hand on your waist. Blushing slightly you affectionately pat his chest before moving over to slip on your shoes and grab your bag from the hall tree,

“I’m gonna run to the grocery store real quick, wanna come?”

Without hesitation, Leon walks out with you to the car. Always one to refuse you the liberty of running errands by yourself in fear of something happening to you. Opening the driver’s door for you first, he then slips into the passenger side. A liberty you gladly took from him a while back when you witnessed how he drove. As long as he was with you, he was strictly passenger princess.

After the drive, you parked the car and opened your door without thinking, which earned a stern look from Leon. You sigh and roll your eyes as you shut the door, watching him get out to walk to your side and open the door for you,

“Thanks babe” you say defeatedly, a smirk in your view as you walked in front of him towards the store,

“Any time” he warmly replies, subconsciously grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers with his.

Walking from aisle to aisle, the two of you discussed and debated which snacks to take home. At one point you and him had to suffice to not getting twizzlers or red vines because the both of you were unwavering on your opinions on which is better. Eventually, you and Leon make it to the ice cream section, where yet an argument sprouted, except this time it was purposely provoked,

“Should we get some ice cream?” You ask wiggling your eyebrows as you held up a pint of Talenti gelato. Leon, being Italian, scoffs at the pint,

“That’s gelato, babe” you chuckle and roll your eyes, putting the gelato pint back in its respective spot in the freezer,

“What’s the difference?” you ask sweetly, a smirk on your lips as you mentally prepared for what’s to come.

Leon turns to look at you incredulously, “What’s the difference? What’s the difference?”

You chuckle and roll your eyes, gripping the shopping cart as you cock your hip,

“Oh here we go”

“Gelato is denser, more rich than ice cream” Leon explains, listing the differences with his fingers,

“Uh huh” you deadpan

“Ice cream uses eggs, gelato doesn’t” he adds matter-of-factly

“Got it” you deadpan again, stifling a giggle at his passionate explanation. You couldn’t help but find it humorous and adorable that he fell for your schemes to get him like this every time. You loved to tease him and just couldn’t help it.

Once you two purchased your movie night snacks and Leon had finally got his point across, it was finally time for the movie night to begin. With all the snacks on the coffee table, and the both of you drowning in blankets it was already off to a good start. Leon, however, thought that he could make it better. Grabbing you by your side, he pulls you down with him as he lays on the couch.

Finally, the moment he was really waiting for. Without protest, you go along with him and rest your head on his chest, one of his hands caressing your hair as the two of you watched the movie. For the first time in a while, he felt safe. He didn’t know what he did to have you as his significant other. Someone so patient and understanding to his past and his present. Living a life filled with crime and suffering, at one point he didn’t believe people like you existed. And yet, there you were in his arms. His heart fluttered at the sight of you, smiling serenely to yourself while you watched the tv. His heart began beating faster,

“Babe?” He asks softly, making you look up at him.

“Mhm?”

“I love you” your eyes widened by his words. For it was the first time he had ever said those words to you. You’ve wanted to hear him utter those words for so long, almost finding the courage to say them first. But when you were on the verge of confession, you looked into his steel-like blue eyes and immediately stammered to change the subject. You even questioned if this relationship was more serious to you than it was to him.

But now here he was, telling you he loved you. You couldn’t help but beam at those three words, as you propped yourself up on his chest by your elbows,

“You love me?” A bubbly giggle escapes you as you ask this question. Leon sits himself up, his hands tugging you closer by your waist, seating you on his lap, as he looks at you sincerely. Leaning closer you whisper against his lips, “Say it again”

“I love you” the words vibrate against your lips as he captures them with his own. They brushed and pressed softly yet meaningfully. With your arms around his neck you pull away, resting your forehead against his,

“I love you too” you felt his chest fall as he let out a breath through his nose in relief before he leaned in once more, kissing you harder. Sucking the breath out of you, while your teeth clacked against his and his nose smushed against your own. Your arms around his neck pull him closer in the midst of the crashing of your lips and gasps for air in between. He had never felt more alive than he did at this moment. His hands trailed to your hips and gripped them tightly as he began nibbling at your wet bottom lip. Your hands reached his face, your thumbs caressing his cheekbones, once the kiss trailed to pecks that resorted to no end. It took everything within him to stop kissing you. Every single kiss made him feel as if he was brought back to life again. But for your sake, he pulled away so you could catch your breath, admiring the sight of your swollen lips and your dreamy gaze at him. The corners of your mouth lift as your breaths slow to their original pace,

“Why’d you stop?” You ask breathlessly. The sentence alone shot an arrow through his heart.

“Didn’t want to overwhelm you, sweetheart” he responds, letting his hands trail from your hair to your back. With an almost offended look you poke his chest with your index finger,

“Overwhelm me? No no, finish what you started” you lightly tease, a flustered giggle to follow when you noticed a certain glint in his eyes,

“Oh I will” in one swift movement he stands up and throws you over his shoulder, making you squeal with laughter as you squirmed,

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“You’re going to eat your words, pretty girl” he retorts sarcastically, firmly holding you over his shoulder with a smug grin while walking to your bedroom.

[lovingapparition]

i’ve got a river running right into you.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn

Warnings for descriptions of medical gore.

Ghost gets hurt. Ghost is touch starved. You just want to help. It’s awkward. 

NOT COMPLETE / NO BETA

It's loud in the medical bay. The lights overhead buzz, adding their hum to the sound of clinking medical instruments, shouted calls for supplies, and the pained sounds of the injured. No set of hands are still as the wounded are wheeled in on gurneys or dragged in by their fellow soldiers. There's too much iron in the air to really adhere to the stricter medical protocols, and it's a scramble for everyone to assess and treat the damage in front of them. Each doctor's movements are efficient and practiced; stitching a wound just as a soldier would clean a gun. 

Just another day on the job.

You were hustling from one sectioned off bed to another, caught in the flow of all the action in the medical bay. The thin curtains between beds did nothing to muffle the chaos of the situation. Too many bodies were moving in and out of the area, it was almost dizzying. Your section of the unit had been chaotic for the better part of three hours, leaving you no time to stop and breathe. It seems things had gone south on the recent mission. The details of which were lost on you, but they didn’t matter now.

Stepping behind a curtain, you immediately get to work assessing the situation the soldier on the bed has found herself in, and you set about putting her back together. She's only caught minor fragments of shrapnel in her upper arms and chest. Nothing deep and nothing dangerous. It doesn't take you long to patch her up, thankfully. As you work, your brain vaguely registers that your medical team must be shifting focus to the less severely injured of the bunch.

You and the soldier both breathe a shared sigh of relief as you finish up her sutures. She only needs a few, and you tell her to return in about a week to check in before they can be removed. As you fill out her paperwork with a quick hand, you notice that the sounds of the room have hushed. You must be reaching the end of the torrent of injured soldiers.

Though small, your team was incredibly efficient; working like a machine during frenzied moments like these. Every second counted, nothing could go to waste.

You briskly step into another curtained area to see a broad, masked man on the gurney. The poor bed looked like it might strain under the weight of his bulky frame and plethora of equipment. For a moment, you can't even tell what's wrong with him. Stepping closer, the scent of fresh blood hits you just as you notice the dark wetness blooming on the upper right thigh of his gray fatigues. It looks like he’s used his own belt as a tourniquet. Your eyebrows scrunch down as you move to his side, your gloved hands automatically moving to his mask.

"Are you awake? Hey-" you're interrupted with a stiff, gloved hand gripping tightly at your wrist. Looking through the skull mask's eye sockets, you can see the whites of his half-lidded eyes starkly against his eyeblack. He's staring evenly back at you.

"I'm awake," he rumbles, low in his chest as if through water, "leave the mask." The directive is clear, even through the murk of his discomfort. You're not sure who this guy is, but from his tone he clearly expects to be obeyed. You knew there was a special operations unit active out of the base, and you can only guess that he's a part of it. Those types tended to be.. odd. This guy fit the bill.

The exchange doesn't last long though, and you immediately move down to visually assess the rest of his body as you open a new emergency medical kit. "Can you feel anywhere other than your legs that you've been injured? Have you hit your head at all?" you ask, running through regular questions since he seems to be lucid enough to give clear answers. He watches you intently, blinking slowly and almost lazily when you look at him, trauma shears in hand.

He simply shakes his head, grunting what sounds like a negative response. Great, how very helpful. You sigh as you work the shears beneath his pant leg. Without even looking up at him you slide the shears up, cutting half of his pants away to reveal the mess of both fresh and congealing blood on his thigh. Without a second thought, you cut through his briefs, pushing them aside just enough to allow him privacy as you get a better view of his injuries. The belt stays for now, it’s probably the only thing keeping him from passing out. 

It's not great. He definitely needed to be seen sooner, and you're worried about exactly how much blood he's lost. Some of these wounds are deep and still bleeding. Small bits of metal are visible through the clots. You can see bruising already beginning to form on the skin around the lacerations. The hot iron scent of his blood floods your nose, thick in the air between you.

"I need help in here- I've got shrapnel, heavy blood loss and I need extra hands!" you shout to your team without looking up, busy flushing his wounds with saline to clear any loose debris. Your hands are practiced and steady, one hand deftly wiping the blood and saline as you work. The man shifts, a strained breath escaping him. You spare him a sympathetic glance, knowing this part made many uncomfortable. Why had no one tended to him? He should've been among the first.

Evidently, so is the man in the bed. 

Before you can ask, your colleague steps in and immediately gloves up before getting to work with you. Together, you clean and stitch the man's wounds. He remains almost totally silent for all of it, save for the soft grunts as he's sewn back together. Even with the local anesthetic, it's still a bit uncomfortable. Throughout it all, he peers at you, his pale eyes flitting between your hands and your face as you work. At one point his gloved hands twitch at his side like he wants to move them. He doesn’t.

Your colleague quickly removes the man’s vest, knowing just as you do that there could be more injuries beneath it. The vest goes in a chair by the bed for later. The black shirt shirt he's wearing beneath it isn't torn or bloody, but you’re aware of your colleague’s intention to begin feeling for broken ribs as you get his IV drip ready. 

His hands catch your colleague’s wrists with a quickness you wouldn’t have thought possible given the amount of blood he’s already lost. “That’s enough,” he hisses. Your head snaps up, and you can only see the tight narrowing of his eyes through the mask. Before you can react, your colleague jerks from his grip. 

"I need to get these pants the rest of the way off, and then we're done. I'll get you cleaned up and finished for the night," you explain, falling back into your doctor mindset and practiced speech to ease the tension. He makes no response to this, so you take his silence as the go ahead. It's not like his pants were salvageable anyway.

"Are you gonna be okay in here? I have to go check on someone," your colleague asks, clearly annoyed. It wasn’t anything new to have a rude patient, but everyone’s nerves were fried after the hectic shift. You couldn’t blame them at all.

You wave them off, tired. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got him. Shouldn’t be much longer anyway.” They head off, and you turn back to the man, sighing. He’s clearly had a rough night, maybe he could use the benefit of the doubt. You were certain that you’d be a bit pissy after catching some shrapnel. 

"Do you think you can get into a clean bed without ripping those stitches?" you ask tiredly as you remove your gloves. Without looking up, you move to unlace his boot. You swear you can feel him watching your fingers loosen the laces, watching your hand wrap around his ankle as you pull the boot off. His stare holds a weight in it you've never experienced before. When you look up at him, he's ready looking away.

You offer him a fresh towel for privacy as you cut his pants and briefs the rest of the way off and gingerly slide them from beneath him. They go straight in the red trash bin specifically for biohazard waste. You gingerly clean his thigh one last time and apply a thin layer of ointment to his sutures to encourage healing before you wrap his thigh in gauze. He helpfully spreads his legs enough to allow you to securely tape the gauze in place. His skin is warm, even through your gloves.

You blink once, twice, forcing the thought away as you finish up. 

"I can." is all you get out of him. You sigh, it's been a long day. His boots join his vest in the chair, and you roll a clean cot into his room. This one has a thin cotton sheet and a blanket on it. You could almost swear his head is cocked, ever so slightly, with a question, and you answer it without thinking. "You're sleeping here tonight. You've lost a lot of blood and you'll need IV fluids to recover. It's not much, but it's better than that gurney."

He huffs, you can only guess he’s annoyed, but he looks the bed over. The cushioned pad was minimal at best. He would definitely feel it in the morning in addition to whatever pain arose from his stitches. “Look, I’m going to override whatever authority you think you have here. It’s safest for us to be able to watch you, just for tonight.” It’s your turn to leave him without room to argue.

For a long moment, he looks at you indignantly, like he’s not covering himself with a thin towel and your sutures aren't in his thigh. Then the tension slowly eases out of his shoulders, and he nods once.

You don't look away as he slides his legs around to the edge of the gurney, one massive hand still covering himself with the towel for decency. It's nothing you haven't seen before, and you're more concerned with whether or not he's okay to stand without support. You step closer, clearing your throat to cut the silence.

You roll an IV pole to the side of his cot and hand the fluids you’d prepared earlier on it. “Okay, last thing and then I’ll fuck off for the night, I swear,” you tell him dryly. He huffs, a short sound that’s close to a laugh, you think. 

"I'm here, if you need a hand," you tell him, more confidently than you feel. Seeing him standing now you realize he's nearly a full head taller and twice as broad as you. Your hand finds his elbow, and to your surprise he doesn't tell you to back off as you help him ease into the bed.

A low, cut off groan escapes him as he sits tentatively on the edge of the bed. When he eases back to lay down, his shirt rides up just enough to hint at the bloom of a purple bruise draped over his side. His eyes are pinched shut as he slowly settles into bed.

He doesn’t get the chance to try to help himself get comfortable. “Here, just let me. I’ve got it.” You tell him quietly, batting his hands away from the sheets. You gingerly help him maneuver his legs into a comfortable position and tuck the blankets loosely around him. Another stolen glance at him tells you he’s still got that dreamy half lidded look. It’s enough for you to not exactly trust him with getting settled in bed on his own.

“I’m going to give you an IV to replace the fluids you lost and some light pain medication. Then we’re all done,” You tell him as you add more of those shitty military issue pillows to the bed. It’s the least you can do to make him comfortable. The local anesthetic won’t last him the entire night, and you’re certain the rest of his body must be sore from the aftermath of the mission. 

Placing his IV goes without fuss. He's slumped back against the pillows, breathing evenly as you fill out his paperwork for his overnight check in. You'd managed to fill out most of it, but you still didn't know his name or what unit he belonged to. "Hey, what's your name and unit? I need to fill this sheet out for my records,” you ask, not even looking up.

"Ghost. One four one," each rumbling word has you bristling, your face paling. Oh hell. 

"..Thank you sir." Your throat feels like it’s closing up. You don’t even bother asking for his actual name. You’d heard about a Ghost on the base, but you’d never seen him; never thought you would. It was all just rumors, something to shoot the shit about over dinner in the cafeteria. 

You wanted to sink into the floor. How could you have missed the literal skull mask? The hectic rush of the day coupled with your exhaustion must have completely cleared your brain out of any irrelevant gossip, and now it was biting you in the ass. For the last half hour you’d been practically ogling him and talking to him like he was any other soldier on the base. 

The rest of the shift moves by in a blur, it’s mostly paperwork and cleanup since everyone has been seen too. You luckily are not chosen to pass food out, so you’re saved the further embarrassment of having to interact with Ghost even more. With any luck tomorrow morning would be the last you two ever speak, and he could go back to being invisible to you, and you’d be saved from dying of embarrassment.

A low chuckle rolls from his chest, and your head sharply snaps up. You fight the urge to apologize and dig your hole deeper. You can feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you realize he’s laughing at you. You had heard rumors about his particularly efficient methods of combat and data extraction from captured enemies; some of the things you’d heard made your spine chill.

You can only smile nervously back at him and tiredly drag your hand over your eyes. You can only cling to the last vestiges of professionalism that you have left. “You’re all set here. Once things calm down someone will be by with some food for you, if you feel like eating,” you tell him, your mouth dry. He hums softly in response, and you figure the pain medication has started to take effect. “I’ll be back in the morning to check in, have a good night, sir.” 

[someonexsomeone]

The Mask... Take it off

Title: The Mask... Take it off

Author: SomeonexSomeone

Word Count: 1.5k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Summary: Ghost is finally home, and you want. to help him demask.

Authors Note: Did I come back after an unexpected 2-year hiatus just to post something about a man I only know from fanfiction? Yes, yes I did. Crazy bc I actually simp for Soap way harder and if he could only dick me down rq i would sure appreciate it thanks-

His mask was always on.

You knew better than anyone it was a physical reminder of his guarded heart, the years of trauma and suffering he endured, the hope for himself to take whatever broken parts of himself he could and piece together someone who could help the world. Only getting thicker with each year, the mask was his reminder to protect those who needed it. Including himself.

Hard to know what a person is thinking without seeing their face, right? Simon Riley was an enigma.

But there was something in the way his eyes moved, the way they would follow as you walked around the room, carefully putting away his gear into a neat pile as he disrobed. Sitting at the end of your shared bed, he was a hulking specimen of a man. You couldn’t help but notice how his shoulders slumped forward in exhaustion, flickering to them for a moment before returning to your task.

You couldn’t look him in the eyes, not yet. That didn’t stop you from being able to feel them burning into you though.

After years of practice, he didn’t need to look to be able to know what button to press in what order, what hook to pull, what buckle to unsnap to free himself of his gear. He was meticulous, as with everything else he did, but his eyes were the only thing to betray his stoic personality. He watched you with a deep gaze as you silently took care of him like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t making his hands tremble the slightest bit. How long has he been gone? How many nights apart from you? And how long was he allowed to stay before his phone crackled to life and he was whisked away on another endless journey? You didn’t want to know.

Neither did he, to be honest.

His eyes were trying to catch every little detail into his memory so he could pretend your time apart didn’t feel as long as it did. Your hair was different, he noted, and your nails were painted a different color. He didn’t recognize the pajamas you were wearing, nor the new pair of shoes that were by the door. Changes, changes, changes. He couldn’t help but notice them. He faintly recalls a story he read long ago, about a painting that changed every day despite it being impossible. You were just as beautiful as he remembers, just…different.

Your mannerisms, however, were completely the same. You skillfully tucked straps away, folded his padded vest just so, and even carefully untied the laces on his boots so they could slide off with little effort. You were kneeling in front of him now, pushing the boots to the side, making sure to wind the laces together and place them inside so they wouldn’t go everywhere on the floor. Simon couldn’t take his eyes off of you, not for a second. How he had missed you. He felt like a schoolboy again, tilting his head softly to and fro in order to catch your eyes. To get you to look at him for a single second, to feel relieved that you were here and you were safe.

Your eyes trailed up from his feet to his knees and thighs, no doubt looking for any new or reopened injuries. Your fingers carefully skimmed behind them. Wary. His skin erupted in goosebumps wherever you touched. You moved up higher, gently moving over his stomach towards his side where his latest injury was. Without even looking at his face, you could see the flinch in his body as you grazed the stitches over his shirt, only recently been patched up. You leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his side, a silent apology (for what, he didn’t know). He almost smiled to himself. No doubt you were looking for anything he might have “forgotten” to tell the medic. Wouldn’t be the first time he hurried his own examination along to get the nurses to his teammates faster. After all, why waste their time on tiny cuts and bruises when he could simply come home to you and be showered in love and care he spent every waking moment craving. His hands were clenching against the blankets.

You continued on. Your fingers gently ran along his knuckles, gentle kisses of your fingers against hands that were trained to kill. That has killed. You didn’t even flinch, moving both your hands to his arms, gracefully sliding them up and up and your kisses continued on their trail from his injury. To his ticklish side, his rib cage, a cheeky one to his peck, and up and up until they reached the edge of his mask. His breath hitched. Years, he’s known you, and for years he’s trusted you. You know this. Know that this man trusts you with his life, a testament to the fact that you were one of the rare people to see his face (and more than once at that). But you still feel a little hurt when he flinches at your cold fingers sliding underneath it to press on either side of his neck.

Afraid. Closed off.

You gently nose your way up, running it along his face until your finally, finally, eye to eye. He’s hunched over so your neck isn’t cramping as much as you continue to kneel on the floor, and despite his large stature and the sheer predatory aura he emits without thinking, you can see his vulnerable eyes as they bleed into yours. You can see his struggle, the silent argument he’s having in his head to fight the instinct he’s carried with him for years and let you strip him bare. You press a gentle kiss to his cloth-covered lips, a silent acceptance. You love him, and will love him, no matter what. His lips chase yours as you pull away, his eyes flickering desperately for a second before he registers your resolve.

Ah. You want to help him.

Slowly, you lean down again, pressing your lips to the space at the end of his mask. Between his shirt and the mask is a sliver of skin that you greedily nibble at. He sighs, a smile sneakily tugging at the corner of his mouth. Little by little your kisses and nibbles push the cloth up, revealing more and more for your gentle kisses to attack. They’re light and delicious and Simon can’t seem to get enough, moving his hands to grasp at anything he can reach in order to pull you toward him in a desperate attempt for you to do more. More kisses, more affection, more love. More, more, more.

Your nose tickles his jawline, and he tickles you in return with his unshaven shadow. His breath hitches as the mask slips past his lips. He nearly doesn’t realize your lips attached themselves to his to replace the scratchy material that had just pushed past them. You kiss like you’re in a rush, a gasp of heavenly air after being trapped underwater for a second longer than comfortable. He makes a sound at the back of his throat that, should he have been a lesser man, he would have blushed at. He tries to desperately pull you closer, despite your body already being pressed against his chest, his arms nearly encircling your like a snake around its prey.

Once again you pull away too soon for his liking, leaving him breathless and wanting more. Your lips continue upwards, kissing his nose and the rosy apples of his cheeks as they are revealed. The room feels sweltering, but he can’t let you go. Not now, not after remembering what it’s like to have you in his arms. He has to close his eyes as the mask pushes over them. Your lips kiss each one before he’s able to open them again. You continue even into his hairline, pressing affectionate kisses there until the mask has been pushed completely away. It falls onto the bed behind him. For something that controls his day to day life, Simon easily forgets it in lue of bringing you back to his lips once more. You giggle quietly against his mouth as he attacks you.

Kissing you is like a fantasy he never believed was possible, and desperately, desperately, he wants to memorize each and every detail. He nearly eats you whole, and you’re nearly tempted to let him. He doesn’t attempt to stop the soft sounds that escape him as you once again pull away from him. Your smile is an easy Simon forgiveness pass. He can’t find it in himself to stay upset, especially not as you press one more kiss to his lips before standing, tugging on his hand in order to get him to follow you to the bath.

With his mask completely gone, you finally get to appreciate the small smile that morphs across his face, his adoring eyes saying everything you needed to hear. I missed you. I love you. Your Simon.

masterlist  l  mw masterlist

[neonmoonlight514]

Touched Deprived Dabi x Reader Fluff

Been going through some stuff lately and today was the worst part of it. I've been feeling touched deprived and felt the need to write about someone that, I felt, was as well. I am also planning on doing a Hawks version, well maybe. Writing this one however made me feel a little better. Dabi x Reader, No warnings, just fluff.

Being new in the LoV had its downs. Everyone had already bonded and had trust in each other. You were the second female in the group. You had an interesting quirk, one that was useful to the villains. They try to include you, but your introverted ways keep you from really socializing with them. However, you stuck around. At least you knew you were safe.

Everyone had jobs today, except you and Dabi. He was a quiet guy and the more you tried to study him, you were intrigued by him. You watched as Toga bounced toward the door and patted Dabi on the head. You noticed the grimace and the hate behind the touch. Another curious mark to make in your Dabi study. Did he just not like to be touched, or did he not like Toga's touch?

You watched as his body relaxed on the sofa. How the silence filled the room between both of you, almost like a thick sludge that caused you to remain still, almost unable to breathe. Then, piercing icy blue eyes shifted in your direction.

You cough because you suddenly remember to breathe. When you finally were able to calm the cough attack, you gazed over at him, and his brow was quirked upward, clearly confused at your sudden outburst. "Sorry… I.. Um.. choked on my saliva.." You figured that excuse was much better than, 'I got lost in your eyes and forgot to breathe.'

However, your excuse got a--was that a smile? No, smirk? You wanted to squint to get a better look, but his features were already back to what they were prior. You decided to do something nice, yeah, unheard of in the LoV apparently, but what the Hell. You moved to the fridge, removed a bottle of water, and sighed at the assortment of drinks. Of course, they couldn't make this easy, could they? You wanted to surprise him with your generosity, so you winced and picked a soda. Soda? Would he like sodas?

You shut the door and walked toward the living room, deciding to hold up both. If he chose the water, you'd just settle for the soda. You'd survive. He went for the soda, you smiled, but he did not. "Y/N." You said in a soft tone. "Dabi right?" He twisted the cap off of the bottle and drank in silence. You frown. Okay, this was going to be harder than you thought. Without opening it, you sat the water down on the table.

You moved back against the couch, your left shoulder pressed against the cushion as one leg was tucked under the other so you could sit at an angle. "What if…" You said softly. "I can… make you laugh?"

"Not interested."

Woah! He spoke. HE CAN SPEAK! His voice was amazing. You needed to hear more. "No, hear me out. If I can make you laugh, you have to…" You quickly tried to think of something, anything. ".. Let me hug you."

He scoffed at you. "No. Although, that almost made me laugh at the stupidity of it."

You couldn't help your excitement as his words spilled out again. Your excitement however caused Dabi to ease back a little. This gave you a hint to tone it down. Which you tried to do. "I seriously think I can make you laugh."

"I doubt it."

"Then if you doubt it, accept my terms. Give me one try and if I get any bit of a smile, chuckle, or laugh, I get to hug you."

His eyes locked on yours. You two stared at each other for two minutes before he sighed. "Fine. One chance."

Oh, the challenge was on! You knew he didn't believe you could do it, and honestly, you didn't have much faith in yourself either, but one shot. You thought a moment and then remembered the almost laugh you thought you saw earlier. It was the best shot you had. Would it work?

"Okay!" You said as you clasped your hands together. "Over there when I started choking. I didn't choke on my spit." This got his attention, causing his brow to raise in question. "You looked at me and your eyes took my breath away…" He stopped a moment and then finished with a small laugh. "I had to remember to breathe!"

Dabi just blinked at you. "You… forgot to breathe…?"

You started to laugh as you realized how stupid it was. You started to lean your head into the cushion, laughing hard. "When--When I realized that I wasn't breathing, I started choking!"

He smirked. He smirked! "You are stupid, huh?" He let one laugh out. "To think someone makes you forget to breathe."

"You laughed! I heard it."

"…."

"…!"

"Get it over with." He finally said, lifting his soda to his lips where he took a drink. You waited for him to drink his soda and then as he lowered it back down to the table, you moved closer to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. You leaned down and hugged him lightly. You could hear his breath catching, this caused a smile to flow over your lips.

"Don't forget to breathe."

He laughed again. "I'm not as stupid as you."

You didn't take anything he said to heart, to be honest, the tone he said it in didn't seem as if it was anything other than a joke, a tease. "You laughed again."

"So I did."

"I guess I need to hug longer."

"…. that wasn't a part of the deal."

"When has the LoV ever followed the rules.."

There was silence between the both of you, but he didn't push you away. You remained against his chest, your head lying on his shoulder. You oddly felt comfortable. He oddly felt comfortable. He wanted to hate this, but the so-called hug was something didn't know he needed.

Dabi had noticed how you didn't flinch when it came to where you laid against him. How you continued to huddle up against him, arms around his shoulders. You didn't cringe at the sight of his massive scars that covered over half of your body. Why weren't you disgusted? He would curl his fingers into a fist, feeling the frustrations of this whole situation build up, however, you still didn't move.

He could grab you by the shirt and throw you, but--

As you lay there, breathing softly, content, his mind began to wonder. Was this that bad? He wasn't used to someone that just wanted to touch him, to hug him. Toga clung to him, but it was always her need for attention and his blood. This? There was nothing other than the need to touch.

He finally gave in, his hand lifted to touch your back. It was warm to the touch, almost too warm as if he had just extinguished his fire. He still didn't speak, only closed his eyes. The silence between you two was comforting. His need to feel affection from someone, even a touch, and your need to give that to him.

He felt the buzz, and instead of moving you, he shifted under you and fished his phone out of his pocket. A soft grumble seemed to vibrate in his throat, his eyes closing for a moment. "Toga. She's coming back."

This caused a groan to escape you in protest. You pulled back from him and for a moment you two stared at each other. You felt his hand on your arm, a light grasp as if to hang onto you just a little longer. "Next time, maybe without having to make you laugh?"

You felt his hand release you slowly. "Yeah."

"Next time, perhaps you can hug me back."

"Maybe."

[hvnnybvnny6606]

Leander x Reader (Ask)

You take your seat at the bar pulling yourself in close to the hardwood counter. The glint bouncing off one of the large green jars catches your eye as the bartender pours it into a short crystal whiskey glass. The drink’s recipient takes a small sip before noticing you staring. 

“Y/N! I didn’t expect to be seeing you here today, how are things going?” Leander gets out of his seat to walk over and rest in the one next to you. 

“Things are going good,” you turn in the barstool to face him, “just felt like getting a drink.”

“Well, whatever you got can be added to my tab.” He flashes a smile, taking another sip. 

“Oh, no you really don’t have to-” he cuts you off by raising his hand and shaking his head smiling once more. 

“No worries, just tell me what’s going on.” Leander rests his hand over yours, squeezing it slightly. You feel the knot in your throat begin to itch and the muscles in your back slowly relax. You don’t know how to tell him what’s been bothering you. Even if you could find the right words to say you’re unsure of how he would react. Your mind begins to swirl with the last month's regrets and you don’t even notice the tears falling down your face until his warm palm cups over your cheek. 

“Hey…what’s going on..?” His voice calms your racing mind, his hand slides through your hair to wrap around the back of your neck. Leander pulls you in to rest on his chest. 

“I feel like I’ve failed.” You finally say it, your voice wavers and breaks but you finally told him. 

“That just means you get the chance to try again. Failure is never absolute it’s merely a stop on the way to success.” He strokes your hair and this is where you sit. Telling him everything. He listens while you cry, continues to buy you drinks and at the end of the night, he takes you home tucking you into bed, gingerly placing a kiss on your forehead before shutting the door and leaving you for the night. 

[mudhamster]

Touch (1/5) Observe

I'm broken, tell you I'm fine

But you wouldn't believe me if you knew the things that crossed my mind

And I'm hurting, but I show no sign

'Cause I'm afraid to give in, break down, and waste your time

You say that you'll help me, tell me I'm worth it

But I don't deserve it, I don't deserve it

It's easy for you ‘cause you know you're perfect

And I need your hand, but I don't want to burn it

Izuku sat on the couch with his knees on his chest and a blanket around him to keep the world away. The apartment was shrouded in darkness and the television was on, playing the last melancholy scenes of a drama to the sound of piano music. Katsuki threw his keys on the table and turned on the light at the same time. He routinely looked back at the exact moment when Izuku would startle and turn to him with eyes as big as... but Deku hadn't made a move to face him. Katsuki wasn't even sure if he had noticed that the light in the hallway had come on. Or that Katsuki was actually home.

"Oy."