#touch starved series

[ruporas]

captain's warm hugs! (id in alt)

#opfanart #one piece #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #nami #usopp #sanji #my first nongun art in 8 kabillion years. i watched opla recently and it resurged smth deep within me... #idk who of my first followers are still here but one piece has been like T_T urgh. my beginnings... i love this series so much #LUFFY especially - zoro is my favorite but luffy is the heart of the show!!! inaki's performance was really fun and carried that same #vibrancy - it made me sooo happy to see... and in general the romance dawn crew has always been dear to my heart uuu... the la gave a lot o #good bits between the og trio but i def wish we couldv seen more with usopp & sanji too. but maybe.. if we ever get a season 2 :'D #anyway i love the straw hats steadily getting used to luffy's shenanigans and even liking it at some point. the warming up part of all thei #friendships is so dear to me and its just a natural blossom of comfort and trust. and some of these mfs are Touch starved fr.... #ruporas art

[stevebabey]

part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

-

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

#at this point call this the 'can i' series #sweet boys asking each other for things they most certainly would be given <3 #but don't think they will <3 #tried to flip it and make it so even tho eddie is used to touch. the romantic touch? he's got none! that's where he's touch-starved #ALSO EVERYONE'S TAGS WERE SO NICE ON THE LAST ONE #trust i am. not feelin so bad nowadays (me saying this like 4 days later lmao) #but <3 thank u all #gay ppl in my phone.... you know what to do #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #touch-starved steve harrington #not rlly anymore hehe #does anyone notice that it ends with yet another 'can i?" question? HEHE #yet again stib gets kisses where ruby doesn't but alas <3 dis is way fluffier this time #nearly went the angst route! and went hmmmm naur #ok ok i'll be quiet now

[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

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers series #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfic #nomad steve #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader smut #touchstarved #touch starved!steve #touch starved #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #nomad captain america #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #hideout series

[dandelionandkrindle]

HARLEY and IVY | Harley Quinn: The Animated Series – ‘A Very Problematic Valentine’s Day Special ’

#harley x ivy #harlivy #harley quinn #poison ivy #harley quinn: the animated series #hqtas #hqtasedit #dcedit #hqtas spoilers #idk if i've ever mentioned this before but i adore how open ivy is with her affections and physical touch when it comes to harley #always cupping her cheek and holding her hand calling her pet names etc. #she knows how affectionate and touch starved harley is and it's just an excellent way of reassuring harley that she's wanted and loved

[hanaonesflower]

Iwaizumi finds himself looking at you, puzzled at the way you shy away from his touch. He doesn’t quite get it. But he doesn’t want to push. Hajime does what he knows how to do best; talks it out. Or he tries really hard to. Ever since he’s been more comfortable around you, his arms often swing behind your shoulders and his hands usually are intertwined with yours but he hasn’t stopped to notice that you don’t openly accept his touches.

“Honey, stop.” His tone far from harsh but it still manages to stop you dead in your tracks. You turn to see him, finding your lover standing a couple feet away from you, his arms unoccupied, flinching with the itch for wanting to hold you.

“Hi? Is something wrong?” Regardless of how it may seem, Hajime is not good with his words. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times only for hopeless croaks to escape his throat. He looks, sad. So, so sad. His arms are being brought up, holding out as if he is collecting a reward, well in this case the reward would be to hold you longer.

“Can you come here, please?” Oddly enough you don’t protest, you don’t try to question him. Instead you step towards him as if someone has possessed you, Hajime looks relieved, he doesn’t have to fight for it. Even though, we all know that he would. “Can you, can I — can you let me hold you, please?” Oh. Yeah. You think. It still doesn’t occur to you that Hajime caught onto the way you shorten every hug, halt every kiss before it gets too deep, shake your hand away from his grasp. Physical touch makes you feel queasy, and it is oh so unpleasant. The direct linkage of physical touch to sex makes you uncomfortable, feeling like each touch has to be accompanied by sexual intimacy. Why does it have to be like that?

Once the distance between you decreases he quickly pulls you close, wraps his arms around your torso tightly. Afraid of losing you.

“D-don’t pull away just yet, okay?” You stay, without saying a word. Hajime doesn’t say much either, it doesn’t take long for your breathing to sync with one another. It was peaceful, tranquil. His hand instinctively travels lower towards your waist, and just like clockwork, you pull away, resisting the strength of his arms. You should have known by now that Hajime can rage storms with his eyes but shut them down just as fast with the way his arms bring so much peace.

“Why?” He asks. This isn’t a normal look for Hajime, he looks like he is on the brink of tears. And you feel yours begin to pour. He doesn’t deserve this. You don’t get to treat him like this. Poor boy just wants to show you what genuine touch feels like and you refuse to give him a chance. “Why can’t I touch you? Why can’t I hold you?” He feels so bad. Hajime tries to rethink about all the things he might have done that led you to feeling unbearable being held by him.

Resolve crumbling at your feet. Physical touch is his way of expressing his love, it’s always something that has always bring him comfort, stability, it has grounded him in many situations. He wants to feel close to you, but he has never felt so far away. It feels like a part of himself is always missing, hiding within you. This is cruel. This is isolating.

Without saying much you crouch to reach him, arms wrapping his shoulders, snuggling your head in his neck, situating in its rightful place. You two don’t share much words in this moment, not much is needed to be said anyway. The way he’s breaking down, longing so badly for the touch of his beloved, so much it hurts. The way his neurons fire, sending chills down his back and the way his skin heats up at the moment you make contact. You hold him and you don’t let go. You stay until you both are spent from the tears you shed. “I’ll hold you like this forever if I could, Haji, I’m sorry.” You believe that you finally get it now. Physical touch doesn’t have to feel evil, it can feel just like this. His hands find your torso again, timid, but he’s willing to try. he sighs into your touch, so relieved to be reconnected with the part of himself he once relinquished to you.

#as someone who has a lot of trouble giving into physical touch #even tho I’m touch starved #this one is for the girlies that feel the same way as me #haikyu fluff #haikyuu fluff #iwaizumi scenarios #haikyuu iwaizumi #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x reader #hq shorts #iwaizumi fluff #Iwaizumi Hajime #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #⌑ 5 LL series ⌑ #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi headcanons #haikyu angst #angst to fluff kinda

[p4nishers]

no but actually how do u fumble SO HARD that you live the same moment for CENTURIES where the love of your life grabs your lapels to pull you close and you just?? don't kiss him?? like?? this fumble will go down in history im sure of it

#'oh but what if they DID kiss mobius at least once?' are we. are we talking about the same characters here he is a LOSER do u really in ur #heart of hearts think loki ever got the courage to actually KISS mobius?? please he still looks like a starved virgin every time mobius #touches him that god hasn't been kissed in a very long time ill tell u that much #lokius #mobius m mobius #loki #loki spoilers #loki series #loki season 2

[ao3isalliread]

Shin deserves all the hugs

Sabine definitely complained about having a proper kiss 💋

#touched starved shin #sabine will hug her in S2 i know she will #sabine wren #shin hati #wolfwren #ashoka series #star wars

[nagichi-boop]

I have seen occasional discussions on whether Donnie is touch averse or touch seeking and I think the answer is both, depending on the situation. If it’s contact he initiates, he is okay with it. If it’s contact he doesn’t initiate, he is either somewhat okay with it or very uncomfortable with it, even if it’s his family.

Some gifs to highlight what I mean:

Depending on the situation, his mood, who initiates, etc, he will react differently to physical contact. So I don’t think it’s as black and white as he hates touch or loves it - it’s situational.

#part of this is projection cuz I’m the same but also I just see it throughout the series #personally my headcanon is he’s touch starved and touch averse - he often wants hugs and such but on his terms only #any other time it just makes him uncomfortable #it’s a curse I relate to lol #donatello hamato #rottmnt donnie #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt headcanons #nagichi headcanons #character analysis #analysis

[douche-canoe-regatta]

can we just talk about Gideon's childhood real quick (or long, sorry) bc it's breaking my heart

We know that everyone in the Ninth treats her like garbage, but what about that first year? before the massacre?

Think of all the people of the Ninth, caring for their children. think of how much they needed this last-gasp generation and how an additional baby (A free baby! God has sent us a miracle!) might have been celebrated. it's a little weird, sure, but what are you gonna do? throw out a perfectly good baby?

So for one glorious formative year, little Gideon is treated like everyone else, mostly. they give her knucklebones to teeth on and leek gruel and gentle touches. she's such a happy baby, so healthy and strong, and isn't it nice to see her playing with all the black-eyed weedy Ninth youngsters? doesn't she make you laugh?

And then, suddenly: all your children are dead. all the Ninth children, that is. your reverend mother and father look like they've seen a ghost - or a few hundred ghosts - and they never recover, even with the single blessing of a heir. The house mourns, forever. the lost promise. all those empty beds.

...except for one.

The miracle baby - the happy sunshine baby - the chubby laughing baby - sits alone, unharmed, in a poisoned room of choked corpses and reaches out to be touched... and everyone flinches away.

Did this cuckoo bring an end to our house? Thinks the congregation. Why are the reverend mother and father horrified at her presence? why isn't she a miracle? if she's not a miracle, is she...a curse?

Better not to love her, then. you can take a hint.

But from Gideon's perspective - she's only a baby, wanting love and touch and attention. and in a single night, it all goes away. she's filthy, dangerous, a wolf in sheep's clothing. a curse and an omen.

The creature, the omen, the cuckoo and the curse grows up knowing she's hated, but never able to recall what was lost in a single night: a gentle touch, a kiss goodnight. a kind word for a job well done. it slipped away in the dark like 200 souls.

So for the rest of her life, all she wants is to get that back. just a crumb, even. desperate for love. stupefied by kindness. made dumb by the knowledge that she doesn't even know what to do when it's offered. the fact that someone would extend their hand to (willingly!!) touch hers is so mind-boggling she can't even reciprocate. garbage from neck to navel. you know: a turd that has sprouted legs.

I guess I just think about this sometimes.

#and this doesnt even go into poor wet sad baby touch-starved nonagesimus #that obvious longing flinch #no wonder harrow and gideon always fought #painful touch is better than none at all #if you cant hold her hand why not hold her down #the locked tomb #tlt #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #the locked tomb series #yes i got the timing wrong #no i wont fix it

[urdepressedslut]

Stray ❝part seven❞

♡ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader/The Winter Soldier x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: You finally open up about some of your past to Bucky, after what happened last night, you aren’t sure if he wants to keep sticking around.

♡ Warnings: mentions of guns, angst, fluff, extreme self hate and talk about scars, abuse, touch starved bucky

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | 18+

Part 8

The haze was starting to clear, the surrounding fog, disappearing to create a path. The sky was gray, yet there were no clouds to be found. The river could be spotted ahead, the water moving in slow motion, ripples measured. It was almost calming, almost.

A girl kneeling by the river had goosebumps erupting, shoulders stiffening. Her body was unmoving, looking so small and fragile sitting there.

“Soldat?”

The voice had him whipping around, tense and terrified. The voice was familiar, but when he turned there was no face to put the sound to. Walking slowly back to the kneeling girl, he came around her side, getting a glimpse of her face. His breath got caught in his throat, discovering that the girl… Was you.

“(Y/n)?” He tried, getting no reaction.

“Soldat. Kill her.”

The same voice hissed, skin crawling from the close proximity of the sound. His face grew pained, his chest aching in dread. He couldn’t.

Movement from you got his attention, his eyes watching you slowly turn your head towards him. A broken, scared expression etched onto your face.

“Bucky? What are you doing?” You asked in your sweet, soft voice. The sound wavering in fear.

He didn’t have time to be confused, his hand was suddenly gripping a gun tight. It was like his body had a mind of its own, the way his arm lifted, pointing the gun right in between your glossy eyes. His pulse was erratic, the horrifying image in front of him. He was out of control of his body, forced to be a passenger.

“Do it, Soldat.” The menacing voice commanded.

The last thing he saw was your betrayal laced eyes, staring into his soul, a million questions written in them. Then, his finger finally pulled the trigger.

~

Bucky woke with a pained wheeze, body covered in a thick layer of sweat, beads of moisture running down the sides of his face, some of his hair clinging to his cheeks and neck. Pressing his palms into the ground, the cool touch of the wood flooring was calming him. Reminding himself that he was here, that it was only a nightmare.

Feeling his head clear slowly, he continued to take deep breaths, trying to slow his erratic heartbeat. His mind couldn’t stop itself from drifting to you, remembering your terrified face from his dream too well.

With that thought, he was immediately realizing how empty his arms felt. That’s when he noticed that you were gone, his arms attempting to grasp onto nothing but the air. Fear from his dream was flooding back into his veins, urgently needing to make sure you were okay.

Last night was heartbreaking, seeing you so vulnerable and broken had brought some mother like instinct to the surface. The urge to care and comfort you suddenly so strong, to the point where your needs came before his.

It wasn’t so much that he didn’t understand the feeling, it was the fact that he welcomed it so quickly that confused him. In a way you could still see each other as strangers, but to him he swore he felt something deeper. Although he was confused, he was confident that he wanted to care for you. He wanted to be the one that got to help you. Like you did for him.

Shaking his head, he went to stand up. Needing to know where you were— that you were safe.

Fully standing, a paper had slid off his lap, one that he didn’t realize was sitting there, floating to the floor.

Bending over and grabbing the small white square, his eyes quickly scanned over it.

Went to the river.

Past the graveyard.

He read, his body tensing up when he read the word river. His dream suddenly felt like it was coming to life, hoping that if that was the case, he’d at least wake up before he got to the end.

He felt slightly better from your note, but started his walk to the river with caution, feeling like his mind was playing tricks on him. Making it outside, the air felt cool, dew clinging to the tips of the grass blades. A spot of black had caught his attention, on the light faded porch. Squinting his eyes in concentration, he focused his gaze on the dead bird laying on its back. Squatting down to move the bird off the porch, he was suddenly eye level with the crack in the window. The crack he discovered last night.

The thud he had heard.

He remembers the thud spooking him from his spot on the couch, moments before he heard your screaming from upstairs. Furrowing his brows in confusion, he wondered if it was normal for birds to be active at night. He shook his head, knowing his thoughts were only trying to scare him, paranoia creeping in.

Now more than ever, he needed you in his arms, the comfort of your warmth now a necessity.

~

Memories of escaping from the house, seeking out this specific spot began to flood your mind, the more you stared into the water. The comfort you used to find from the ambience missing suddenly, the isolation almost unbearable. You used to like it out here, and now it was just a place. One that held no significance.

The nightmare had been one of the worst you’d had in awhile, the images from the dream flashing through your mind every now and then. The sound of your Mothers sharp voice, ringing through your head.

You were ashamed to have fallen back so many steps. Feeling silly for believing that your past was truly behind you. But that would never come close to the amount of shame you felt, waking up in Bucky’s arms— naked.

The thought of Bucky seeing your marked up back had you shivering in disgust. Embarrassed that he had seen it. Your scars were only tallies of the number of punishments you received. There wasn’t an inch of you that saw them from the mirror and saw strength. You were a monster, and you felt you had the appropriate skin for one.

You had let your walls crumble before him, allowing him to witness you so weak and defenseless. You were disgusted with yourself for being vulnerable, knowing that he would see you differently. Changing his mind about staying, now that he knew he was staying with someone so unstable. The girl he got to know now only a mask.

You knew you were a monster, but you couldn’t help but revel in the time you had with him, when he saw you for you. You thought you could get away with pretending just for a little longer.

Next, was the guilt you felt consuming you, remembering you throwing yourself at him. Not forgetting how his muscles felt tensing up from your touch, the way his body didn’t even feel like he was breathing. Until he was forced to endure the discomfort you had thrusted upon him.

You didn’t mean to be so overbearing, but the way his arms felt around you. The way his body had molded so perfectly to yours was so addicting. Never having felt something so safe and secure. Perhaps that was the reason for you guilt, was the fact that you wanted to never stop being in his arms, despite his wish to be left alone.

Light footsteps could be heard from behind you, and not sure if it was Bucky or your imagination, you turned.

You were slightly relieved seeing Bucky approach, a spark of joy igniting in your chest that he hadn’t left you. But as quickly as the joy washed over you, the shame shadowed back over. Turning back to the river, you took a deep breath, trying to focus back on the water.

You didn’t dare glance to your right, when you felt the grass smush down next to you. You felt stuck, having so much to say and not being able to say it.

Bucky stayed silent, watching you carefully, trying to read your expression. He was watching you avoid looking in his direction, face looking pained. Your body sagged like you were carrying too much on your shoulders. Thanks to serum running through his veins, he could hear your erratic heartbeat.

“Sorry I kinda ran off on you,” You started, “I just needed to… Clear my head.”

Bucky nodded, his heart hurting at the way you thought you had to apologize. His hands twitched on his lap, aching to feel your soft skin, to hold you again.

“I’m sorry about last night… That— that doesn’t usually happen and… I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable I— I just…” You trailed off, throat feeling tight with emotions.

Bucky perked up at the talk of his discomfort, immediately needing to change your mind.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” He told you genuinely, “I was just worried about you.”

You kept staring ahead into the water, the breeze doing little to calm you. You almost felt like he was telling you what you wanted to hear, but the genuineness in his voice was clear.

“I was already awake downstairs, and I heard you screaming… I’m sorry for barging into your room but, I couldn’t just pretend like I heard nothing.” He told you, internally wincing from the image of you panicking on the floor.

“Why are you saying sorry? You helped me.” You told him.

He furrowed his brows slightly, wishing he could reach out and turn your face towards his.

“Well... why are you saying sorry?” He mirrored your question.

You hesitated, almost turning to him. You felt anxious under his stare, afraid that he’d see who you truly were if he got a glimpse into your eyes. You continued to stare into the water, trying to muster up courage to meet his gaze.

“I touched you.” You whispered in shame, “I know you don’t like to be touched and… I didn’t mean to throw myself at you.”

Bucky felt appreciation for you always looking out for him, caring so much about his wellbeing it was overwhelming.

“I never told you that.” He realized.

“You didn’t have to, I could just tell. So… I’m sorry.” You told him, picking at the skin around your fingernails.

Bucky hadn’t realized you had been watching him like that, taking note of his habits, his mannerisms.

“I mean… You’re right,” He agreed, “But when it’s you, I don’t mind.”

At his confession, you turned your head towards him slowly, finally meeting his gaze.

“What?”

Bucky softened his eyes, scooting the slightest bit closer to you, internally cheering when you didn’t move away.

“I don’t mind it when it’s you… That sounds weird but…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath, “For so long, I’ve only ever associated pain with touch. I guess that makes me afraid because I think people are gonna hurt me.”

He explained, face pained remembering the horrific memories. You listened with a heavy heart, having assumed he’d been through a lot, but never thinking something so traumatic.

“I was shocked at first when you touched me but... You didn’t hurt me,” He told you, holding your gaze with intensity, “I can’t remember the last time I felt comforted by someone’s touch.”

You felt appreciated, chest warm with regard, hearing him express how secure your touch had made him feel versus being repulsed by it.

"You don't have to feel bad, you respect me more than anyone ever has. I will let you know if I'm uncomfortable," He hesitated for a second, "Until then... You can hold my hand if you need to."

Bucky didn't want to reveal how starved for your touch he was, needing your comfort more than you did. He was afraid that your guilt would pull you away from him, and he didn't know how much distance he could keep from you.

His offer left you speechless, not knowing how to respond. Unsure how to express how much you needed his touch too. You believed his words, trusting that he was being genuine. You knew before you were allowed to ask more from him, he deserved the truth about you. That way he had a choice to leave, after he knew the real you.

Your hand twitched, wanting to grab onto his sitting on top his thigh.

“My nightmare was about my Mother.” You blurted out, rushing the words out before you stopped yourself out of fear.

Bucky listened as you changed the subject, anxious that you hadn’t responded to his earlier offer, but otherwise stayed quiet while you spoke.

The eye contact was too intense, feeling as if he could see right through you, so you turned back towards to water. Hoping the ripples and ambience could ease the anxiety creeping up your back.

“My Mother was not kind. She always was very headstrong… But for the wrong reasons,” You uttered, swallowing through the tightness in your throat, “My life has been… Confusing I guess. I was always kept in the dark about things… So I never knew what was actually going on.”

Bucky stayed silent, watching your expression drop, listening to the way you’d tread carefully around some words. Talking to him like he couldn’t handle the full story.

“I grew up in that house— On this land. I’ve been to town a few times… Only ever by myself, and that was after my family was gone. I guess you could say I’m a little sheltered, but only because my parents wouldn’t let me leave. I was supposed to live here forever, only knowing this house and land, ignoring the rest of the world.”

You explained, the familiar burn returning in your nose, having to tilt your head back to keep the tears from falling.

“Things weren’t always like this— Yes, my parents always did look at me like I was… Some alien. But things used to feel a little normal… Kinda,” You paused taking a deep breath, “My parents left me alone too much at first, and I started missing something that had never even existed.”

Parental love.

Bucky watched your face from the side, and noticed your lip quivering. His eyes running down to find your hands shaking in your lap. Oh how desperately he wanted to hold them.

“As I got older, things got worse. My Mother started screaming at me for asking harmless questions, she would scare me so much, that’s when my nightmares started.”

“Why?” Bucky asked you softly.

You turned and met his concerned expression, tearing your glossy eyes right back to the water when his locked with yours, not having the strength to continue looking him in the eyes.

“I don’t know… She just hated me. Always did, and I never understood why.�� You told him solemnly, “Pretty soon after I turned ten, Mother was pregnant with my brother, Tommy.”

A sob crawled up your throat, attempted to escape when you swallowed hard to force it down. Thinking of your baby brother was always so painful.

“I didn’t know you had a brother.” Bucky whispered, judging by your expression that something bad had happened.

“How could you know? He’s dead. My Mother killed him.” You blankly said, forcing your mind to drift, knowing it was easier to talk about if you just let yourself sink into the void.

Bucky didn’t stop himself this time, and reached over to grab your trembling right hand with his flesh one. He turned his body so he could face you more. Squeezing it softly, he rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand in attempt to calm you. Your skin was so soft, so warm. He was addicted to the way his skin reacted to yours, minor goosebumps awakening over his flesh.

“I’m so sorry (Y/n).”

Taking a deep breath in, you calmed your racing heart, attempting to clear Tommy from your mind. You felt comforted by his hand holding yours, gently squeezing occasionally.

“My Mother started punishing me… Telling me that I was being bad. But I never did anything. If I breathed wrong she’d punish me,” You whispered out, squeezing his hand back, turning to face him, “The… The scars you saw.”

Bucky nodded.

“That’s from punishment. Lost count of how many times it happened,” You told him, scooting closer to him instinctively, “I used to catch on to the things she’d say… Calling me a demon. She’d say things like how the devil lives in me.”

You scoffed, laughing bitterly, finding it funny how Mother would label you as such, when she was the one fitting the part.

Bucky held onto your hand, wishing he could heal the wounds deep within you. He found it unfair that you had to live your life like that. You, out of everyone else in the world, deserved a happy life.

“Why are you telling me all this?” He asked you.

He had no issue with you telling him. But he found it disturbing if you felt like you had to do this, he didn’t want you to share your life story if you weren’t ready.

Turning yourself towards him, you dared yourself to gaze into his eyes. Fully expecting judgement and revulsion. But what you saw was quite the opposite, it confused you.

“You deserve to know who you’re living with.” You stated, still gripping onto his hand like he was the only thing keeping you alive.

He felt distaste from your response. You made it sound like you were everything your Mother had said you were.

“None of that was your fault, you didn’t ask for that life.” He whispered to you, trying to convince you that you were good.

“You didn’t let me finish…” You told him.

He nodded his head in apology and sat silent.

This was the moment, this is where Bucky would finally know who you truly are.

He will run.

You wanted to argue with your mind, but there was more bad than good running through your veins. You wanted to lie, tell him you were joking about it all. But the guilt of everything that had ever happened in your life, was suddenly crushing down on your chest. Forcing you to exhale, and with that exhale came the truth.

You were alone before him, you could suffer through it again. Maybe that’s what you deserved.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you that my family’s gone. But the reason why they’re gone… is because of me,” You whispered out, voice trembling, “I killed them.”

You finally revealed, letting out of gasp of relief. Despite the aching pain that continued to grow in your chest, you couldn’t help but feel free.

You could almost sense the wave of judgement approaching, feeling the way Bucky’s hand slipped from yours, your palm suddenly empty and cold. Clenching your eyes shut, you didn’t think you could handle watching him walk away. The sensation of a sob crawling up your throat approached, but before you could let it out.

You felt strong arms wrap around you, startling you, silencing your chaotic mind. You felt the back of your head being cradled, his hand gently pulling your face into the crook of his neck, just like the night before. You jumped and gasped when you felt a colder arm wrap around your lower back, pulling you firmly against his front. Without effort, he seemed to pull you snug in his lap, caging you in his embrace. The large gesture was shocking, leaving you gaping for air, attempting to say something, but losing yourself in the warmth that was Bucky.

Unlike last time, you let your arms wrap around him, hugging him impossibly closer. Hoping that his touch could help fill the gaping hole in your heart.

Bucky was shocked at your confession, but your story did nothing but convince him that your parents deserved to die. He only felt bad for your psyche, knowing you would have to live with that guilt for the rest of your life. He, unlike anyone else understood you, and knew exactly how you were feeling. Unlike him, he wasn’t going to let you suffer alone anymore. He’d help heal your wounds for however long it took.

He nearly melted when he felt you reciprocate the hug. Feeling your tiny arms wrap around his back. Your warmth overwhelming him, happiness spreading through his body in a rush.

“Why aren’t you running away from me?” You whispered into the crook of his neck. Curious why he stayed but also relieved he did.

He shivered from the sensation of your breath fanning against his neck. Leaning into your head, drawing random patterns into your side with his metal hand.

“We are more alike than you think.” He spoke into her hair, sneaking an inhale of her shampoo, the faint fruity aroma of green apple filling his senses.

Without prying into his statement, you buried yourself deeper into his arms. Just needing to escape from reality, wishing you could stay hidden in his arms forever.

You don’t know why he stayed, but you’re glad he did.

TAGLIST: @zonkie-bee @tortilla-maria1 @lizslibrary @sebastians-love @xiaosluvr @navs-bhat @ragingrainbowshipl @delicatecapnerd @buckybarnesandmarvel @viperchick47 @hunitweet @vixi-3303 @buckyb-stan @happinessinthebeing @mirtaqueen

#bucky barnes #reader insert #marvel cinematic universe #the winter soldier #fluff #heavy angst #buckybarnes #marvel imagines #mini series #bucky angst #beefy bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #protective bucky barnes #touch starved #dark themes #bucky barnes fic #sebastian stan

[bunnakit]

which are your top 3 favorite intimate scenes you've seen in bl? (kissing scenes count)

ALRIGHT my last ask in my inbox and the one i wanted to give some proper attention to. my answers for this might be a little odd? NC scenes are cool, i'm largely asexual but i can enjoy them, but i'm really going after the word intimate here and intimacy can be so many different things.

the gasp i gusped when i saw this scene the first time. this was almost peak intimacy for me. the offering of oneself, the silent plea, the reluctance, the gentle resignation, the quiet guilt free acceptance. body language is one of the sexiest things to me and this scene felt like watching two souls flay themselves alive in front of each other. it was like wen opened his chest and said "my love for you is like a garden of eden in my chest, the apple is there for you to pick" and jim cast his eyes away because the temptation of the apple was too great and he couldn't bear the consequences of taking it for himself.

i don't know that i'll ever move on from this, and of course it's another p'aof moment. this was fucking erotic. this still makes me hold my breath and makes my chest flutter. i said it in the tags of a post once but never properly; in a recent study from UC San Diego researchers have discovered that humans can use the sense of touch to feel the difference between surfaces that differ by just a single layer of molecules. our sense of touch is fucking incredible and then to do this?

i once had someone i knew flirt with me while i was at work. they couldn't be overt, couldn't be too much because i was working and i was being a professional, so he took my hand and ran his fingers across the inside of my wrist and my palm so fucking slowly like this, said "i'll see you later" in a low tone with this fucking smirk, and i haven't been able to forget it 10 years later.

this is just a different level of intimacy entirely and i'll rotate this in my brain until i die.

god this scene. in both manner of death and triage we have a moment in the show where the couple just takes care of each other and i love that. i love seeing men care for each other.

sure, this scene did eventually lead to sex (it's implied i believe in the show but pretty overt in the book) but there's just something about showering with someone. tan comes into the shower and just gently washes bunn, and this is after some of the most stressful moments of their life. they've experienced immeasurable amounts of trauma, narrowly avoided death, but in the solace of this quiet shower they can take care of one another, put back the pieces that have threatened to fall apart. it's such a beautiful little moment and done with so much gentle care. i really wish i could've put a gif of the whole scene here (but i'll add it to my list of sets to make.)

#anon my beloved #bunn asks #did i make gifs specifically for this post? #shut up #moonlight chicken #jimwen #last twilight #last twlight the series #mhokday #morkday #manner of death #tanbunn #god im so touch starved but idk how to ask for touch

[stevebabey]

part one, part two, part three. this a part four. this is so accidentally long but hickies as promised, w a brief return out touch starved steve <3 mwah!

Eddie is sure his kiss tastes of uncertainty.

He can’t help the way his lips betray his nervousness in their obvious restraint. He knows he had been far more enthusiastic last night, eagerness behind every kiss. This kiss is… softer. Shyer.

He can’t help it. Because even though Steve said yes, had maybe flattened Eddie’s heart by adding a please, Eddie’s still… unsure. Still worried. Still waiting for a punch to come because that’s what happens to boys who kiss boys.

But… Steve’s hands are still holding onto Eddie’s wrists, keeping them in their place where they cup Steve’s face so gently. When Eddie had leaned in, lips grazing Steve’s, he had felt the other’s tightening grip like a silent prayer, saying come close, stay close. Even now, the grip around Eddie’s wrists holds firm.

Though it’s the last thing he wants, Eddie breaks the kiss. He draws back, savouring the moment — the sweetness of Steve’s lips for what might be the final time — with his eyes shut tight. Did I do it right this time? He thinks, he hopes. Can I kiss you and keep you?

“I’m…” Steve starts, his voice a whisper. Eddie’s eyes open. His fingers flex along Steve’s jaw instinctively. “Really confused.” Steve admits quietly.

His face is reserved. Only slight ripples of anxiety peek through. The crinkle between his brows speaks of his abundance of confusion. Eddie’s eyes drink in every expression and he can’t stop help how his eyes catch back on Steve’s lips. He stares when Steve speaks.

“I thought you— I thought you didn’t want…”

“Didn’t want this?” Eddie echoes, with a tone of incredulity, eyes darting back up to look Steve in the eye. He punctuates the last word with another touch, the pad of his thumb touching Steve’s bottom lip bravely.

Steve shivers. His eyes flutter for a moment, in a way Eddie has come to know means his strange aversion to touch is flaring up but — but Steve’s hands keep Eddie from moving away when he tries. Steve nods slowly.

Eddie swallows — tries to push down the ache to kiss him again. They’re still twisted; Steve still doesn’t get it.

Neither does Eddie though. He can’t even imagine what Steve came over to apologise for. What mental gymnastics he had put himself through to somehow be the one who needs to apologise in this situation.

“Where the fuck,” Eddie breathes softly, with an appalled chuckle, letting Steve know he wasn’t mad. Wasn’t in the slightest bit annoyed, only confused. “Did you get that idea?”

Beneath his hands, Eddie can feel Steve’s cheeks grow hotter. The colour soon follows, a glorious crimson that fills the apples of his cheeks. And sure, fine, okay, sue Eddie if he enjoys the sight a little too much. Steve all flushed in the face, ears definitely warmer than they were a second ago.

Steve starts to stammer. “You— You sounded annoyed when I was leaving.” His brows are nearly touching in the middle, drawn together in concern. “I thought you were regretting—“

Eddie interrupts to clarify, suddenly aware of where they’d gotten so muddled. “I sounded annoyed because you were leaving, Steve. Not…”

Not because you asked for a kiss. Eddie’s throat dries up. He can’t say it aloud, not just yet. The words dance on the tip of his tongue. Eddie doesn’t trust himself not to fumble them.

Even though, Steve’s sudden departure had been due to a genuine misunderstanding, Eddie can’t— he’s not… He’s got to be realistic with himself, just in case. Not say too much too soon.

Steve reads into the silent lull in Eddie’s words and in an instant, his eyes are widening in understanding. Somehow, his cheeks glow even warmer.

“Oh,” Steve says, the word doused in relief, in understanding. “Oh my god—“

The rest of his sentence is lost as a car drives by, tires groaning loudly along the tar road. It serves as a quick reminder of where they are. In public, in such close proximity. Eddie steps back instantly, hands ripping away from Steve as a lick of panic runs up his spine. His eyes track the pale blue car down the road.

They were covered by the van but, still.

“C’mon,” Steve says softly, calling to catch his attention.

The panic wavers wildly for a moment before eventually relenting, Eddie dropping his shoulders as he turns back to Steve. He’s delighted to find Steve is no less red in the face.

Steve clears his throat, “We can call a tow back at yours.”

He gestures to his car, an invitation, with a smile. Eddie’s not even sure he’s meant to say something so reassuring; a mixture of the use of we and the implication Steve would come back home with him. Would come inside.

Eddie can’t help how he ogles at Steve. He’s doing another once-over to make sure Steve isn’t a mirage about to fade. Maybe Eddie had actually crashed his van when the engine spluttered on him and all this was a weird and extremely vivid coma dream.

Except, Steve doesn’t look perfect — not like a dream would.

Eddie can tell from the flatness of his hair, he likely didn’t sleep well. He’s got a tired but kind smile on. It’s shyer than Eddie’s ever seen before.

He’s still wearing that bright green Family Video vest for Christ’s sake — if Eddie was in a coma, he had some serious self-reflection to do if his brain picked this as his dream-Steve fit.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, with a nod and a smile of his own. “Lemme, uh, lemme just grab my stuff.”

Eddie turns to hide his face before Steve can see it grow into a wild frenzied smile, too gleeful to contain. He pops the driver’s side door and scurries around, grabbing all the essentials; cigarettes, lighters, and tapes with actual good music on them.

Steve’s waiting for him, still in the same spot when he slides the door shut. Eddie works the rusted lock to lock it up. No, Eddie thinks gleefully, this is not a dream.

-

Steve is surprised it’s not more awkward.

Not that he wants that— honestly, this sweet in-between phase where Eddie keeps glancing over at him, brown eyes longing and like he was checking if Steve was still there, as he talked on the phone, suited Steve just fine. More than fine.

And yeah, okay, maybe Steve swooned a bit when Eddie started twirling the cord of the phone, so much like a lovey-dovey teenage girl that Steve nearly laughed aloud. He wasn’t sure if Eddie even realised he was doing it. Just leant up against the wall, stealing glances at Steve — his fingers fiddling with the cord til they began looping it over and over.

Steve wouldn’t though— laugh at Eddie, that is. It feels pretty much impossible to do anything except sit with all his giddiness, just knowing that… his feelings for Eddie are mutual.

That Eddie hadn’t regretted the kisses in the slightest. That Eddie had wanted Steve for just as long.

It’s achingly sweet to look back on that first hug Steve had asked for — knowing they had both been toeing the line, trying desperately to keep their pining to themselves. Idiots, Steve scoffs to himself affectionately, they were both idiots.

Rerunning the memory of his hasty exit last night is less of a breezy memory. Steve doesn’t want to think too hard about what malicious ideas Eddie’s brain might have spun up to taunt himself.

He must’ve thought that Steve had left for entirely worse reasons. That the reason Steve hadn’t been able to look at him because he thought Eddie was… that he regretted… Steve shakes his head. None of those thoughts are pretty.

And, more importantly, they were untrue. Steve very much liked those kisses. His only regret that night was leaving the way he did. Honest, Steve would have more kisses if he could.

Something scorches across his heart delightfully because he can have more kisses — he just has to ask.

“Okay, thank you so much,” Eddie says appreciatively into the receiver. He dashes another look over at Steve, an apology in the form of his sorry grimace. He focuses back on the phone. “Yeah, I’ll be in tomorrow to see the damage. Thanks, again.”

He sets the phone back in the cradle and for a moment, Steve can’t see his face. Can’t see any of the nervous contemplation. Eddie finally seems to grasp his courage and spins, fixing Steve with a smile.

“Um,” He says, a nervous chuckle leaking through. Eddie moves closer but he moves all skittish, one of his sneakers catching on nothing. He stumbles just a bit, taking a quick seat on the couch arm beside Steve.

“Wh—“ Eddie starts to say. He huffs another nervous chuckle, one hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “This might be a stupid question but what… now?”

Steve thinks for a moment. He’s considering how to go about this when Eddie blurts out in a hopeful tone— “More kissing?”

There’s an unspoken please. Steve revels in the blush that follows the words.

He smirks up at Eddie, eyes tracing the bloom of pink on his cheeks. “What? On the couch, like I’m some common whore?”

“You seemed to have no problem with it last time, my liege.” Eddie points out dramatically, all with a grin.

“And I have no intention of repeating last time.” Steve counters. Then frowns.

“Well, except for the good part.” He corrects himself. “The first part! Just- Christ, can we go to your room instead, please?”

Eddie’s on his feet in an instant. He brings his hand up to his forehead and gives a salute with enough force to rip his arm off. Then marches down the hall and disappears into his room without waiting for Steve.

Steve thinks the nerves might be getting to him.

He walks the steps he’s walked a hundred times before, crossing into Eddie’s room and pressing the door shut behind him.

Eddie’s sat on the bed, criss-cross apple sauce style. He’s kicked his sneakers off — one’s by Steve’s foot, the other on the other side of the room.

Steve swallows and toes off his own shoes. He approaches the bed, climbing on gingerly and folding his limbs to match Eddie. That familiar swoop of nerves sits oh-so present in the pit of his stomach. Steve tries to think of it as a good thing — it’s good to have something so good that he’s nervous in his excitement.

For a moment, they just sit. Staring at one another. One of Eddie’s fingers is digging into the rips of his jeans, toying with the loose strands. It gives away his restless energy.

Steve waits. He asked last time and he knows — he knows Eddie wants to kiss him. But a small part of him…

“Why is this so hard?” Eddie blurts out all of a sudden. Like before, the words seem like they’ve come out without Eddie realising, but he barrels on. “Shit, I’m so fucking nervous. You make me so nervous, Steve.”

Eddie’s eyes won’t settle. They dart around. Move from Steve’s eyes to his lips, down, to the bed sheet beneath them. Like he still isn’t sure if he’s truly allowed to look. His admission makes Steve sorta wanna roll over and scream into the pillow. In a good way.

“I’m— Me too," Steve admits, a smile curling at his lips. “The- fuck, the way I feel about you honestly scares me shitless.”

Eddie seems to be both chuffed and relieved at his words.

“But I… want to kiss you,” Steve says assuredly. The next sentence he poses as a question, words a little more hesitant. More nervous. “And… and you want to kiss me?”

Across the bed, Eddie grabs a piece of his hair, twisting it nervously as he pulls it to cover his face. His usual nervous tell. Steve can’t help how he breaks into a grin when Eddie nods fervently.

“Cool.” Steve breathes. Then mentally smacks himself for saying cool. He tries to recover but Eddie beats him to it, with a question of his own. “Can I kiss you now?”

Steve answers by shuffling closer, til their knees are touching and then — like beside the road earlier — mimics the touch Eddie had given him.

Hands on either side of Eddie’s face, gentle as they curl under his jaw. Steve can feel the curls of his hair tickling at his fingertips. Another inch forward and he’d be burying his hands in Eddie’s hair. Steve bookmarks that urge for later.

Eddie looks nervous. Steve is undoubtedly making it worse, taking his time like this. But he can’t help it.

He wants to look — wants to stare, wants to devour every detail of Eddie’s face. Commit it to memory so he can picture it with his eyelids closed. What Eddie Munson looks like while waiting for a kiss.

The amount of affection that swells in Steve’s chest hits like a sucker-punch, enough he sucks in a tiny breath. He can see the smallest quiver in Eddie’s lip.

“You gonna stare all day, Harrington?” Eddie teases, but it lacks conviction when the words wobble a bit.

“Just enjoying the view,” Steve remarks, and then, finally, he kisses Eddie.

It’s the floodgate. It’s a frenzy, kiss after kiss after kiss, the softness of them slipping away in lieu of making up for missed time. Steve kisses every apology onto Eddie’s lips and he receives forgiveness a dozen times back. It’s bliss.

Eddie’s a very enthusiastic partner, to say the least. He’s a little messier with his kisses, hands gripping the front of Steve’s shirt tightly, pressing forward in a way that pushes Steve back— but Steve certainly doesn’t mind. He removes his hands from Eddie’s face to lower himself back, elbows against the comforter as Eddie follows eagerly.

For a moment, a sprout of doubt pulls them apart. Eddie hovers, not getting too close. “This is… this is okay?”

Steve grabs him by the collar and tugs him down, meeting him in the middle for another kiss. It’s a fat unanimous yes. Something glows hot in his chest when Eddie smiles into the kiss. Grins even. In fact, he has to take a moment to cheese it out, his face tucked into hiding against the crook of Steve’s neck.

Steve doesn’t mind. His hand strokes idly over Eddie’s hair, twisting in with the curls. He lets him take his time, lets Eddie work back up the nerve to kiss him again, except— with a gasp, Steve squirms at the sudden kiss on his neck, hot and soft.

“I think you were the one overdue for a hickie,” Steve breathes, hands threading through Eddie’s hair gently. He doesn’t pull him away though; lets Eddie figure out the best way to scrape his teeth against Steve’s skin as best he likes.

“Uh huh,” Eddie murmurs, barely heard. He’s too distracted.

“Eddie,” Steve tries, but it comes out far too close to a sigh. He tries again, this time with a proper tug to pull Eddie back from him.

It’s a bit of leftover King Steve the way he manoeuvres the both of them, rolling deftly so it’s Eddie upon his back and Steve hovering above him. Eddie manages to look both impressed and disgruntled at once.

Steve doesn’t let him get a word out. The pale stretch of skin down Eddie’s neck has been calling his name for too long and Steve is hungry for it. He grants Eddie one, two, three more kisses on his lips before he’s moving down.

He’s just getting started, lips pressed to hot skin when it happens. Eddie’s hands move up, skirting barely up and under Steve’s shirt, fingers searching. The unpleasant aversion prickles under Steve’s skin.

He locks up. He’s unable to do anything but; it feels helpless even as he tries to shake it off but he knows, he knows Eddie can feel it as he grows rigid under the touch.

It’s worse when Eddie tries to reel his touch back in. Steve wants to cry with frustration because it’s not Eddie— it’s fucking him.

“Don’t,” Steve pleads, his hand diving down to catch Eddie’s wrist and holding it there. He knows Eddie’s watching him closely, even as Steve’s eyes scrunch shut and he fights to fend off the uncomfortable feeling attempting to make home under his skin.

“It’s…” Steve wills himself to look Eddie in the eye, hoping the sincerity bleeds through his words. “It’s not you, Eds. Just— fuck, just… give me a second, okay?”

He releases Eddie’s wrist. Eddie nods, a minuscule motion. His brown eyes are watching Steve closely, darting all over his face wildly and after a moment, they still on his lips. Eddie makes a decision and pushes forward, planting a tender kiss on the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“S’okay,” He assures. Then gives Steve another kiss, this time on the lips, slow and sweet. Steve drinks it in, tries to savour the feeling of being kissed by someone who wants him. Wants him in every way they can have him. It's maddening.

Eddie’s hand moves an inch cautiously, testing the waters as his fingertips trace the skin of Steve’s tummy. He doesn’t flinch when Steve stiffens up again.

Like he can sense the frustration building up in the other boy, he captures Steve’s lips with his gently. Whispers against them again as soothingly as he can. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

It’s like the words run across the raised hackles of Steve’s soul, soothing and seeping out the tension from every muscle. Steve can feel himself relax under the words. Feels something inside him wobble and then tip over, finally soothed, finally settled.

This time when Eddie’s hand grazes along his waist, Steve shivers in a good way— and leans in closer, kissing back. His hands clutch back at Eddie’s hair, raking through to grip it sweetly. He tugs, jerking Eddie’s chin up and exposing his throat.

“Can I…” Steve begins. It’s a tease.

“Shut up,” Eddie grinds out, hands fixed on Steve’s waist. Now he knows he can touch, that Steve isn’t tensing up or flinching away, his hands are rabid. Hungry. They crawl across the skin, leaving hot scorch marks behind that tingle delightfully. “This hickie is so overdue.”

Steve grins wolfishly.

Eddie’s neck is a thorough shade of violet by the time he’s done, chest heaving. He looks devilishly handsome when Steve pulls back to admire his work and he barely gets a moment before Eddie’s back on him, lips hot against Steve’s own.

“My go.”

This time when Steve’s getting ready to leave, he half-heartedly pulls on his shoes. It’s a pitiful attempt to slow down the inevitable. He can’t believe leaving is harder this time; maybe it’s more to do with the hickies adoring his own neck and collarbones.

“Hey, I-“ Steve starts, already feeling flush in the face. Eddie’s watching him pack his stuff up, still pink in the face, but so evidently content with himself. He’s laid back on the bed, arms crossed behind his head. He’s showing off the dark lovebites on his skin, neck craned proudly.

“Mm?” Eddie hums, a cheeky smile on his face.

“When I— Robin.” Steve says, flashing a hand to his neck. “She’s- she’s probably gonna ask.”

Steve swallows. He somehow gets the feeling Eddie already knows what he’s going to ask — that he’s waiting for him to say it. Eddie’s grin says as much.

“And when she does, I—“ Steve continues, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. The kisses on it tingle beneath his own touch. “Can I… call you my boyfriend?”

Eddie glows. It’s the only word for the excited laugh that punches out of him, like a gleeful goblin.

Steve thinks he might just be falling all over again when Eddie rolls over and buries his face in his pillow. He pretends for Eddie’s sake not to hear his muffled shout that’s almost a squeal. His cheeks are ruby red by the time he sticks his face back out, his grin so wide it makes his eyes crinkle in the corner.

“Yes,” Eddie says, voice giddy. “Yes, please.”

And Steve’s so fucking glad he asked for that stupid hug way back when, because got a gremlin-level of affectionate boyfriend now to show for it.

-

and that's likely a wrap on the can i series for now ! i had an inkling of an idea for future but tbh i wasn't supposed to write this i like have 7 other fics callin my name. but alas! thank u so very much for the love on this, whether sending kisses to my touch starved self or talking bout needing a hug too in the tags <3 hopefully this heals all the right places <3 mwah my loves

tags below:

@original-cypher @maya-custodios-dionach @uwujinniee @attic-cat-blog @immortal-iratze @anaibis @orangeandthefairroadkill @etaka @silversnaffles @invisibleflame812 @eddie-hero-munson @jesskier @princess-eddie @impeachy @estrellami-1 @bloomingconflagration @newtstabber @iwouldsail @sundead @darksmistress @sydstroons @leethegay @superchellerific @eddielives1986 @jinxjinn @breealtair @steddieassheg0es @loopholesinmydreams @savory-babby @alittlegreyfish @izzy2210 @em9515 @killjoy-patrixtump @mrspasser @spectrum-spectre

#posting this cos i need to study and it's driving me insane i need it DONE #its been at like 96% finished for the last 2 days #FINISHED THIS MORNING #FINALLY ! #hopefully on that fun touched starved moment that the whole first piece was based on #yet again #gay ppl in my phone.... i love u #hope this feeds u good #steddie #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #touch starved steve harrington #can i series #and that's a fookin wrap dear god i need to do other things #if u like this u should come and tell me so we can kiss #on the lips #prommy <3

[ronearoundblindly]

Hideout (2)

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

Sweet Baby (see previous or series)

Summary: 'Grant' becomes comfortable enough to tell you who he is, and you get comfortable enough to show him the kindness he deserves.

Warnings for description of minor blood/injury and light smut (mentions of morning wood, dry humping, hair pulling, praise kink? maybe coached orgasm?). This series is 18+ only. MINORS DNI. There is plenty else for you youngins to read on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you! WC 2.6k

Warmer months are for updating the rooms, so they are on a rotation of renovation. There are really busy times and really slow times based on events in town, but there’s an understanding with Grant’s ‘party’ of friends that, if needed, they can stay in the room closed for repair. It’s not as if any room is uninhabitable when they need a coat of paint and some plumbing tune-ups.

Clark doesn’t remember you told him about this—you used the excuse that Grant ’s company are handymen (and women) who come in between other jobs,—so the front desk kid calls you while you’re out running errands one day.

Two ‘dudes’ want to stay in room eight on the end. So? Let them. Those are the people who fix things. Clark just says “kay.”

When you pull into the lot hours later, you don’t expect to find Grant sitting on the curb, filthy and exhausted in some gym clothes, a plastic bag set at his feet.

“Wha’ch’a waiting for?” you call with the window down, hoping his spirits can lift easily.

Grant peers up at you through long lashes. He’s had a knock-down drag-out with a field of bramble…or something. That’s when you notice dark, dried blood in the grime stuck to him, and he lets out a long sigh.

“Sa—Tom used all the hot water,” he huffs, “so I’m biding my time.”

Their room’s water tank, the one due for maintenance, is going to take an eternity to reheat, and it’s the worst luck that there really are no other rooms available.

“Hop on in. You can use the bath up at the house.”

He looks just as startled as you by the invitation, but in no simple terms can you express how bad it is to have a huge guy covered in blood hanging out in front of your rural motel. That’s horror movie bait.

You know Grant. You trust him. All he needs is to clean himself up.

He checks behind him again. The same mix of seeking approval or seeking the cover of ignorance returns to his pretty features, and he trots over to the passenger seat of the car, plastic bag in hand.

He helps you bring in the groceries and supplies from town even though you point him in the direction of the upstairs bathroom immediately. There’s a big jacuzzi tub in there, and he is welcome to soak for however long he wants. You’ll even wash his clothes in the mean time, if he’d like.

Grant seems hesitant to accept or argue.

You press on.

Showing him where everything is in the bathroom takes a minute. You fish around a cupboard for the muscle-relaxing milk additive, explaining it may help him…if needed. You don’t know what’s happened, so you’re flying blind for options.

When the tap turns off ten minutes later, silence descends, but he never handed you stuff to wash. You knock and try the door, just to crack it open so he can hear you.

First, you notice the color of the water. He used the milk bath alright, but whatever washed immediately off him has saturated and soured the clean white into a rusty tan. Second, you pick up the pile of clothes and find more in the plastic bag, except…it’s a suit with a star decal half-ripped and dangling from the chest. Third, you realize you can’t see him in the water at all, not his feet, not his head, no bubbles, so you rush in and shove your hands beneath the surface.

He shoots up in alarm, gasping and sloshing to a different wide, rounded corner of porcelain.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you shriek, hands out and spread wide. “I just thought—I don’t know—I didn’t know if you’d—sorry!”

He rubs his hands down his face and over his dripping hair. He doesn’t even speak; he just waves for you to stop apologizing and clears water shot up his nose.

You have to collapse to the fuzzy rug and hold your heart before it beats right out of your ribcage. You still repeat “sorry” a few more times and then manage an impressed “wow, you kept all the water in.”

He thunks his head back to the lip of the tub and props up one leg, his knee cresting the surface. “I have a talent…”

The dirt, despite how much clearly came off already, is smeared grossly across him.

He looks so tired.

“May I—“ you grab the shampoo bottle all the way at his feet “—help?”

Defeated in more ways than one, he nods through the same concerned and confused gaze that’s become his signature. He maneuvers nearer you while you carefully wet your hands, starting a lather. His head stays down, spine exposed, as you massage at the base of his skull.

His eyes shut.

Your heart now swells with accomplishment; you gave this man a moment of peace.

Fingers gliding over the sinewy, tight bands beneath soft hairs, you press circles around and around his scalp. He cranes backwards while you move up and over the crown of his head, and by just above his ears, he’s laying his full weight in the water, lax against the rim.

You keep going long after his hair is strictly clean, though you’ll recommend he rinse after soaking because the water is too foul to count on.

He remains quiet, so you dip your hands in the water at his shoulders, shake them about, and move on to scrubbing his face clean, too, working down from the hairline and over his beard.

Somewhere around his throat, the man sniffs.

He sniffs again, raising a hand from the water to stop yours.

“My name isn’t…” His eyes open finally, only to stare blankly at the ceiling. “My name is Steve.”

“Okay,” you say, abandoning the washing to sit back on the mat again. “Do you want me to call you that or Grant?”

He turns, brows furrowed, and in the most authoritative voice, he replies, “you can’t tell anyone.”

You rest your chin on the lip of the tub, too. “I know. I won’t.”

Eyes locked, you two stare at each other for a long beat.

“The Captain America suit kinda gave it away though,” you whisper, and to your surprise and delight, Steve flicks water at you in retaliation.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, “handle yourself in here while I go start the laundry.”

You stretch and almost—almost—kiss his forehead because, for whatever reason, that feels right, but at the last second you tuck your head down, acting like you were just standing up. You can’t bring yourself to look back at him while gathering the clothes.

You keep busy downstairs, scrubbing at a few spots of caked on muck, trying not to listen to the sounds of splashing, the squeaking as he moves around, the rush of the draining bath, and the tap turning back on to rinse him again. You scramble to find the biggest t-shirt and pair of pants you own (although, come to think of it, Steve’s got fairly small hips, so you grab some stretchy sweats) and hand them through the door when realizing he has nothing else to wear.

He emerges with several visible cuts and scrapes but dismisses your offer to treat them.

“It’s not worth the effort. They’ll be gone by morning.”

You’ve decided something: if he doesn’t bring it up, you won’t either.

Whatever he wants to tell you, whenever he wants to tell it, you don’t ask. You are used to keeping guests’ confidence—not that anyone tells you deep, dark secrets, but you refuse to gossip about cleanliness or things in the trash—and ‘Grant’ will be no different.

You can, however, still tease him.

“Ready to share that queen bed with Tom?” You give his beefy arm a playful punch.

Steve groans.

“Kidding,” you beam. “I’m not making you walk that path in the dark right now. An elk could get ya!”

He pinches tired eyes, a ghost of a smirk realigning the hairs of his beard. You imagine that on any other day, he would put up more of a fight, but he’s fought enough.

“Yeah, okay. As long as I won’t scare the daylights out of your parents by being on the couch in the morning.” Steve steps over to the landing at the top of the stairs.

“They’re at a hospitality conference. I run the place…mostly. Besides, what kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer you a bed that fits you?” You dramatically bow and indicate your room. “This way, please, sir.”

Good thing he has no fight left in him. His eyes narrow adorably, but he doesn’t budge.

“I should let Tom know.”

“There is a phone in there, too. I’ll dial room eight.”

You get him some water, hanging his clothes to dry, offering as much privacy as you can in an old house with thin walls.

“Yeah, hi, it’s…yes, yes, I’m… Yeah, I know. I know, Sam, just—you don’t have to laugh about it. She let me use the bath, is all. You’re the one who—Well, don’t take all the damn wa—hello? Hello?” Steve is staring at the receiver of the land line when you appear in the doorway. “Uh, he…gets it.”

He sits on the edge of your bed, glancing around your neither childish nor sterile room. You put the glass down on your side table instead of handing it to him.

“Okay, I think you need rest,” you add, sweeping your hand down his bare arm.

You marvel at how the edges of his cuts are already shrinking, knitting back together in near-realtime. Your fingertips trace around the skin like an interactive roadmap.

First heal this, then he needs this, and this is deeper here.

You wonder whether he feels pain the same as everyone else. Is it dulled? Does he just have to ignore how much and how frequently he hurts because it goes away sooner? That’s a sad thought to you. Just because he’ll be okay, doesn’t mean he should suffer more.

He’s a miracle. As Grant, Steve, Cap, or nobody at all, he’s still a miracle.

“You don’t have to go…”

The last of the evening blurs as you wake, but you remember Steve needed this. He asked you to stay.

Spooning is the only way to fit on the bed together. After finishing your own bedtime routing, you began behind the giant man, curled tight, lightly scratching over his broad shoulders and arms. He fell asleep so quickly, and you don’t recall how long after that you both turned over. You had to drape Steve’s awkward arm around you, show him he could hold you close, assure him he can be as comfortable as he likes.

Whichever way he settled is infinitely better than falling off the bed, and you’re grateful he’s accommodating in a small space. You suppose he has to be. Though, for a man as dense as a brick wall, he is shockingly pliant around you. 

Shame you have to stretch, ruining the picture of fitting puzzle pieces you’ve become.

Arms out and legs long, you roll, restless on the one side for too long in the night. Steve shifts around your moves, laying his head on your arm instead of the pillow. His arm that was your pillow wedges down by your waist instead.

Your knees knock his, so even in sleep, he lets them slot through, legs entangled and…his erection laying over your thigh, the tip poking your hip.

Your body tenses for a split second, the muscles of your leg brush harder against his cock, and Steve groans softly, the arm draped over you pulling your body closer.

He’s still asleep, breathing easy, his features totally relaxed.

His golden hair shines in the early light, and he’s so, so beautiful.

You move stray locks from his face, enjoying how he nuzzles and sighs as you play. Quiet, lazy touches.

His hips nudge forward for friction. His fingers grab at your nightshirt. One of his shifts angles his length to drive against your mound instead, and you gasp involuntarily, having smothered your excitement for too long.

He stirs, a heavier, longer breath followed by Steve's whole body going rigid and his eyes squeezing shut. He tries to bury his face in your arm, and you can’t help it. You hope he’ll continue.

You shush him, carding through his hair to soothe him as you did in the bath.

There’s nothing wrong.

He can feel good.

He should feel good.

You want him to feel good. Hell, you don’t say it, but you need to make him feel good.

Steve still won’t face you. He leans closer, shielding himself with your chest, but he doesn’t pull his hips away.

You can hear him thinking through his options groggily, and in your nervousness, you pull at the fistful of hair in your hand.

Steve whimpers and juts his pelvis forward.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Did you like that? Does that feel nice, Stevie?”

His abs flutter with a spasming exhale, but he says nothing. His rough hands dig into your back while he desperately seeks more friction.

You let him—you encourage him—to keep going.

“Whatever you need…it’s okay.”

He pants into your skin, making you sweat while he dissolves into a mewling mess of shame, taking what he deserves.

He bends his leg for leverage, the sole of his foot pressing flush to your calf. You feel his thumping heartbeat along all of your skin that touches his. He swallows moans which sound hollow and deep where they die in his chest before Steve grunts and stretches, the whole underbelly of his cock rubbing your inner thigh and baiting your clit mercilessly with almost-contact.

You release his hair, asking “do you want my han—”

But it’s too late.

Steve seizes you in his last moments hard before he stills, palms so wide you’ll feel the marks over an entire shoulder blade and the breadth of skin from your ass to your ribcage.

You yelp, the nails of your trapped hand clawing at the sheets around you. It’s a good pain. It’s worth it to witness how his body melts into yours after he comes. He’s lax and heavy, pathetic convulsions of ecstasy subsiding.

You’re only just starting to feel the wet fabric on your thigh when he peels away and rushes to the bathroom.

The best thing for him is to act normal. It is normal for him to be hard in the morning, to want contact and satisfaction, and the truth is it’s perfectly normal for you to dream of providing that for him. You want that contact with him. You are satisfied when he is satisfied.

That's scary because it's a secret as hidden from you both as his identity now, but you won't talk about it. If he doesn't ask, then he doesn't want the answer. It's better that way.

So that was okay, and this is okay.

It's okay, and you tell him when you bring his gym clothes back to the door. You repeat it as he walks out of your home unable to look you in the eye, his partially-destroyed past life wadded up in a fresh plastic bag.

At the bottom of the porch steps, he turns, still focused on the ground.

“Thank you for the…the bath.”

You can’t tell anyone about him—about how you feel for him—not even him. It wouldn’t be right. He doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad you feel better, Grant.”

A/N: Google, Play 'Hopelessly Devoted To You.' *starts weeping some more*

[Next Part: Sensitive Boy, Part I]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

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

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers series #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfic #nomad steve #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader smut #touchstarved #touch starved!steve #touch starved #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #nomad captain america #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #nomad steve rogers #hideout series

[dandelionandkrindle]

HARLEY and IVY | Harley Quinn: The Animated Series – ‘Batman Begins Forever’

#harley x ivy #harlivy #harley quinn: the animated series #hqtasedit #dcedit #hqtas spoilers #HARLEY LIKES IT WHEN I PLAY WITH HER HAIR #THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT YOU'D SAY YOU STUPID TOUCH STARVED GAYS #AHHHHHHH #king shark cameo bc he's my best stressed boy

[prapais]

MON & SAM ⋮ EPISODE 2. gap the series (2022), dir. nuttapong wongkaveepairoj

#asiandramanet #asianlgbtqdramas #asianlgbtqdrama #gap the series #gap #freenbecky #monsam #freen sarocha #becky armstrong #mygifs #finally had some time to watch this and dear god am i going insane over them........ sam being insufferable i love to see it tbh #also not me being so touch starved that i almost start sobbing each time their hands brush hahaha anyways :)

[soleilandpeaches]

i'd be better armed (if you agreed to take it)

Keigo Takami x FemReader

synopsis: ending the day with you snuggled up with him on the couch, when it dawns upon him that maybe he does love you.

song title inspo: (You) On My Arm by Leith Ross

Warnings: cursing, tooth rotting fluff, hawks is a flirt, petnames, afab reader, unrequited?pining, sexual tension, romantic tension, mentions of drugs/alcohols

pt. II

"Haha no way!" You laughed, seemingly unaware of a lingering gaze of the man sitting in front of you. "Were just friends."

It had become a reocurring speculation of your relationship with the Number. 2 hero, Hawks. Not that the two of you particulary minded, even somewhat basking in the attention you two recieved from his fans and the media. Even often teasing each other with flirtatious jabs and quips sometimes in attempt to catch the other off-guard and see them fluster.

Even now when mutual friends pointed out the strangely intimate nature of your relationship, one would either play it up or brush it off with a laugh, just as you were doing now.

To be honest, Keigo really wanted to tell this person to fuck off; his day was leaving him less than impressed: working all day in the smoldering summer heat and all he wanted to do was recharge in your presence. Despite how he was feeling, he simply just smiled and leaned back in his seat as you chatted away.

He took his time to take you in: the way you tucked a stray peice of hair behind your ear only for it to fall back into its previous place, the way the faint smell of your perfume lingered in the air and on his clothes after you hugged him in greeting, the way your eyes crinkled as you laugh at something the person says, occasionally glancing back at him every time. He grins to himself as he reminices in his memory of the familiar scent of your hair engulfing him and the way it lulled him into tranquility. Picking at his cuticles, he attempts to fight the grin creeping against his lips by biting the inside of his cheek.

Your seemingly amused giggles reshift his attention, pulling him away from his thoughts as his eyes raked onto whoever was holding your regard. His tenderness quickly simmering into something quite ugly as his eyes flicked between you and the person who had you so enraptured. They had their arms folded and leaning forward across the black metal railing separating you from them and smiling a little too wide for his taste.

When Keigo had decided to get you crêpes that evening to indulge in each others company, he had hoped to get your complete undivided attention so he could complain about his day and listen to yours. Not that he hadn't gotten to, but he wasn't really expecting for a third party to crash his date.

He really wanted to blame his sour mood on the heat but as Autumn crept closer, the nights drew colder. So the cool wind breezing across his temple reminded him of his perhaps neediness of your regards to his companionship. Scoffing, he pouted towards his fingers, to his crêpes, and then back to you. Like a puppy begging for its owner's affection.

He caught your concerned expression, your eyebrows pinched for only a moment as if to say you good? And as if on cue a soft feeling settled over him, because no matter how good at concealing his true feelings he was, you could always read him like an open book (though you’d probably deem him as being dramatic). In return, he sent you a gentle smile and a wink before forking at his dessert, silently wishing the person would leave.

As you wrapped up your conversation and the person finally walked away, you turned back to him, your fork waving in his face.

"What?" He peered into the depths of your eyes, grinning to himself at your playful glare, your soft lips slightly puckered and your eyes narrowed. But it quickly fell into a happy smile once you poked at his crêpe. "Can I have some of yours?" You requested, putting on your best innocent expression, causing him to let out an amused huff.

"I dont think I heard a please." Keigo taunted, raising an eyebrow at you and shooting you his best shit-eating grin. Feeling amused with himself, he reveled in your unamused scowl.

"You're such a dick, y'know?" He barked out a laugh at your insult, a feeling of warmth radiating through his body and you giggled watching his shoulders shake in delight.

Pushing back his ashy-blond locks that fell across his face, he peeped up at you, his golden-brown eyes swimming in what seemed to be adoration.

"How crude." He jested, leaning forward on his elbows, sending you a provoking look as he rested his chin on his hands and tilting his head to the side in mock innocence.

"Please." You begged, drawing out your e's, making that face you knew he'd cave to.

"Only if I get to have some of yours."

He watched as you seperated a square of your oreo crêpe before taking a stab and hovering it over his lips, in which he proceeded to wet with his tongue.

An indirect kiss.

The silly thought caused heat to rush to his cheeks and the slight extra grip of his hand around his fork. It wasn't like sharing food with you was uncommon in the slightest, so the thumping in his chest now ringing in his ears seemed very unalike him. Nevertheless, he opened his mouth and let you slide the food onto his tongue, winking at you in the process and making a show as he slid his mouth away to thoughtfully chew at your food.

"Good right?" You urged, leaning against the stained glass table, your eyes holding a flirtacious twinkle as your lips curled, showing the tops of your teeth. Strands of hair continuing to stray from where you've preceded to tuck them away. His fingers itched to move them back for you.

"If anything I'd say you're trying to seduce me." He teased after taking a moment to swallow the savory treat.

"Maybe I am." You hurled back, continuing to stuff your face, specks of crêpe settling around your chin and mouth but you didnt seem to care. You were too concerned with finishing your plate of its remains—something that Keigo always seemed to find charming about you.

Your indiffernce to your casual flirting caused him to let out a short chuckle, taking in the comfort because you never really do change. The tender feeling lingering in his chest and his fondness for you seemed to only keep growing as the months and years passed, expanding notably but at such a timely pace, so gradual it almost went unnoticed.

Almost.

As if to signify the dwindling of the day, the yellow-orange glow of the street light flicked on, casting a gentle ray of warmth to envelope your frame, settling over you like a warm blanket, setting a beautiful contrast against the evening blue.

"Looks like its going to rain." You voiced, eyes flickering up to the clouded sky just before a soft rumble emerged. And just as your eyes fell back on him, he peered back down at his fingers.

He got caught staring.

"Are you okay? You’ve been unnaturally quiet today, kinda spooky."

He appreciated your attempt in lightening the mood with your quip. Even so, he couldn't seem to let go of his guilt in spoiling your time together with his moods.

"Long day." He decided to respond after a moment and a sigh. It wasnt necessarily a lie, he justified.

"Wanna head back to mine?" You offered with an innocent tilt to your head and a sincere smile. Your gaze loving, regarded him with compassion he didn't feel deserving of. Nonetheless, he returned your expression the best he could, hoping you could feel his gratitude.

"Sure Dove."

"Wanna go wash up before we get started? You’re stinking up my house, y'know." You teased, leaning over to pet your cat who only seemed to like you. He swore up and down that cat would send him death glares anytime he was over.

"I think you like my stink." He retorted, shrugging off his coat before leaning against your kicthen bar, hands stuffed into his pockets as he adirmed your backside. Gaze shooting back to your face before you could catch on.

A seemingly lingering voice of shame resounding in his head after doing so.

"Ahh, you caught me." You pretend to admit. Turning to face him as you look him up and down, assessing him before coming up with a witty retort.

"There's just something about the smell of sweaty balls that really gets me goin'."

"HAH! I do not smell like sweaty balls."

"Well, then I guess you should get to it then, that is, if you don't want me to assume that's how you enjoy smelling." You turn your back to him once again to set you cat back down, and this time he makes sure to point his eyes away from your figure.

You must be doing this to him on purpose.

"Do you want me to help you wash your hair?" You offer, knowing he loves the feeling your hands scratching and cleaning at his scalp after a long day. The thought makes his heart pulse.

"Sure Dove," he began softly. "I'll call you when I'm ready."

"Okay! Wanna watch our show afterwards?" You suggest to him as he makes his way to your bedroom, the wooden floor slighlty creaking against his weight.

"Of coarse," he answers. "Just don't start without me."

"Don't take too long!"

Stepping inside and closing the door behind him, he began to strip of his clothes. Taking in the sight of your messy room and letting the familiar scent of you–and your cat–to engluf his senses, urging his shoulders to slope and his muscles to relax. It wasnt long until he caught the sight of your panties staring him in the face, causing heat to rush to his cheeks and to his groin. Damn you for being so untidy.

Such a tease.

Letting the running water cascade over him like perfect rain, warm and steady, hoping it could wash away his racing thoughts and inappropriate feelings. And yet it only seemed to fuel his daydreams of you: the sight of your crêpe stained face under the light of the streetlamp, your scandalous remarks and flirtacious conversations; the warm-spicy and vanilla-coffee scent of your perfume, and the view of your breasts and ass when you lean forward or over something driving him close to insanity. He wondered what you would think of him if you knew what was currently going through his head right now.

A sudden twitch of his cock alerted him it might be better to set the setting temperature to cold.

Poking his head out from your bedroom, he called for you. Keigo watched as you sauntered over, your eyes red and droopy and your lips curved into a dopey smile.

"Are you high?" He queried with mirth. "You were supposed to wait for me."

"You were taking too long." Giggling as you glided past him and into the room and into your bathroom, but not before you looked him up and down, clearly indulging in his half-naked form.

"Like what you see?" Keigo implored, flexing his pecs hoping to hear you laugh .

Giggling, you nodded—taking his hand and leading him inside. You sat him down on your stool before coaxing him to lean back against you.

Taking the detachable shower head you rinsed his messy, feathered locks; the water turning his once ashy-golden hair into brown as droplets cascaded down his face and onto the bathroom tile.

"You look so handsome with your hair wet, Keigo." You say gently, as if it was as clear as the sky was blue. He marveled at how such a gentle confession would hinder him speechless.

"You're too sweet Dove" He mumbled, awed at how such a simple compliment from anyone else would never hold the same effect as you do him.

"Jus' the factss."

He truly didnt know what to say so he chose to just stay silent. All until your lathered hand came into contact with his head and he couldn't seem to hold back the groan of relief. He couldn't even register your silly gibe at his condition, only basking in the feeling of your fingers delicately, yet firmly scratching away.

How are you so perfect?

After you rinse his hair and shampoo it again, he can already start to feel his battery fully recharging. He truly doesn't know how he made it without you or your occasional hair appointments.

"Wanna do my skin care with me?" You ask him after blow drying his hair and shaking it out with your oiled hands. He tilts his head back to gaze up at you, leaning into your hands and he swears he can feel himself purring.

"Please..." He murmurs, which he knows is out of character for him but he doesn't care. He just wants you to continue taking care of him like you always do, unashamedly.

Slipping on his clothes he conviently leaves at your place, he notices the scent of you lingering on his hoodie instead of the usual smell of your detergent. Instantly, without thinking, he lifted the garment to his face to inhale before feeling disturbed of himself and quickly sliding the garment over his head.

What’s going on with him?

Situating himself next to you, he lets you cuddle him under your blanket before handing him a joint as the episode to your show played in the background.

Just then, a giant white streak of lightening, followed by a crack and boom of thunder echoed through the apartment. And in suit came the pit-patter of the rain upon your window.

"I love when it rains." You mumbled sleepily, half to yourself. Your eyes barely opened and trained on the T.V. Keigo hummed in agreement as he wrapped his arm behind your head and against the top of the couch, letting the smoke enter his lungs for a couple moments before letting the air escpape through his nose with a sigh.

He could feel his stress dissipating instantly, almost like he really could die happy here with you, on your old couch and your grumpy cat that he secretly wished approved of him.

He let his gaze rest outside the window, seeminly lost in thought before he felt the weight of your head against his shoulder as your soft snores escaped your parted lips. Turning to look back at you, he felt as if the world stopped still on its axis. There was no time, no rain, no noise—just you. He could feel the warm and soft press of your body against his and this almost overwhelming feeling of pure affection. He let his hand come down to rest against your head and allowing his body to move forward and plant a kiss on your hairline. He let himself linger in place for a few moments before compelling himself to pull away.

Choosing to ignore the creeping dread rising from his chest, he decided to just enjoy the moment (as you liked to remind him) before feeling the heaviness of his own eyes. Heaving an amused breath, the sudden dawning of his predicament fell upon him.

You were his best friend, his home, someone he knew he could never in a million years replace.

He loved you.

And even though it was never said between the two of you—you both knew it. He knew this was far from the platonic love you have shared for each other; you were both niave for thinking it would end any other way. And yet, the very idea of telling you how he felt was extremely akin to ice being poured on top of him. The risk of everything you've built together would shatter and it would never be the same. Though, he decided the self-chastening could wait until tomorrow. Right now he just wanted to get lost in you, and hopefully never wake up.

feedback and critism is welcomed!

#okay i for some reason was really motivated to write this idk #should i make this a series #i love hawks #hes so babygirl #hawks fluff #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #this was so fun #keigo is learning to love #more than friends less than lovers #keigo is touch starved #is this what friends do? #self indulgent #keigo x reader #keigo x you #keigo x y/n #mha #bnha #keigo takami #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha fluff #mha fluff #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo fluff #mha x reader fluff #hawks x reader fluff #bnha x reader fluff