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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]
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#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
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Who’s My Roommate?
The Touchstarved cast are at a hotel and can’t decide who will be their roommates. Some are against certain pairings. You don’t really care, but they seem they’ve got a few colorful opinions || Touchstarved LI x reader. All of them have a crush on you, but you’re oblivious. I had this in my drafts for a while but I finally got the motivation to finish it. Just light-hearted shenanigans. Sorry if there are any typos!
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“I don’t want Leander,” said Vere, his arms crossed and glaring at the man across from him.
They didn’t think deciding on rooming buddies would be so hard. There were exactly three rooms, side by side, and anyone who knew basic math understood there would be two people per room. The problem was, who and who?
Vere and Ais were the first pairing that came to mind. But then Mhin complained that they didn’t want to hear them having sex at two in the morning. You and Kuras could sympathize so argued that, no, Vere and Ais cannot be together in the same room. Vere was angry, Ais was indifferent. He preferred Vere’s company over others, but as long as he didn’t get Mhin he was fine. He found the idea of Mhin aiming a knife to his neck fun, but in the end he didn’t want to deal with them pestering him like a fly.
And then there was Leander. If they went off the reason of not wanting to hear someone having sex, then Leander was tough. He had had sex with half of the members in the group: Ais, Mhin, and (maybe) Vere. You still didn’t really know if they did it or not.
“I wouldn’t mind sleeping in the same room as Leander,” you said. Everyone stiffened except for the man in question, who had a cocky smile on his face. Secretly, everyone wanted to room with you, but they didn’t want to admit it.
Kuras stepped in before Leander could make a comment, and steered the conversation to possibly drawing sticks so it would be fair for everyone and well, not everyone was happy with their partners. Vere got Leander, Mhin got Ais, and you got Kuras. You weren’t against Kuras being your roommate; he was a gentleman and minded his own business. He didn’t seem like he was against rooming with you either. The others were not so happy with their results.
“I’m not rooming with a monster,” Mhin spat, venom lacing their words, glaring holes in the back of Ais’ head.
Ais ignored them, while Vere rolled his eyes.
“Oh yeah, well nobody wants to deal with an annoying midget like you. I think you forgot to pack your booster seat.”
Vere snickered as Mhin’s face turned red from anger.
“Hey hey now hold on, MC said that they were fine with rooming with me, so why not just leave the two of us out of it?” Leander said, arms snaking around your shoulder.
“No, you soft penis numbskull. You’re not rooming with MC.” Mhin stepped in. When the others looked at Mhin curiously, they coughed nervously and looked away.
You tried to lighten the mood with a joke, “Ais and Leander are best friends. We should room them together.”
The corner of Leander’s smile frayed at your joke. Ais narrowed his eyes at you. At least Vere was laughing, probably at you for your failed attempt to lighten the mood, but at least he laughed. You drew into yourself. You’ve forgotten the others were getting quite annoyed by the arguing. This was serious business that might mean life or death.
“How about we draw sticks again?” You suggested meekly, trying to move past the awkwardness.
“No, it’s just a waste of time,” intervened Vere, “we all clearly have our preferences, so how about we list anyone we don’t want to room with? I go first. I hate all four of you, fortunately, so I’m going to room with Ais or no one.”
“I don’t have a preference,” said Leander with a blush.
“We know,” Vere rolled his eyes.
“At this point let’s just room the two people that are the doormats of this group, Leander and Vere. It’s the easiest way to deal with them,” said Mhin.
“Or how about we room Leander in one room and Vere in the other one, and then we all share the last one,” you suggest. At this point you were running out of ideas and throwing them out randomly hoping you would hit a jackpot.
“I’m not invited to the foursome? That is unfortunate to hear,” Vere said.
“It’s getting too complicated. Room Vere with MC, Mhin with Leander, and me and Kuras. That should be good,” suggested Ais, getting impatient.
“I’m afraid that would be endangering MC’s safety,” said Kuras coolly, ignoring Vere’s exasperated reaction.
He quickly switched to his flirty demeanor, a coy smile on his lips, “Oh, but I don’t bite. Unless they ask me.” Mhin scoffed in the background. Kuras was expressionless. If he reacted to Vere’s tasteless innuendos, he would give the fox exactly what he wanted. So he stayed quiet and didn’t let his face give anything away.
“I agree with Kuras on this one. A bloody, mangled corpse is the last thing we want to deal with,” said Mhin. Though Mhin said this, you knew that they cared about your safety.
Ais sighed in defeat, pulling out a cigarette and a match, “I’m going out for a smoke.” You couldn’t blame him, they’ve been arguing for the past thirty minutes. Ais walked off to the entrance of the hotel.
Seeing Ais walk off, Vere waved their fingers before sauntering off in the same direction.
“The dog went to take a walk with it’s owner. Good grief,” said Mhin.
“We still need to get this rooming situation settled. I’m sure the others won’t mind if we decided without them,” said Kuras.
He sighed, “From what I’ve observed, the best rooming pairs seems like the fox and Ais, Mhin and MC, and Leander and I. We’ll take the middle room, Mhin and MC take the left, and Vere and Ais the right. That way Mhin wouldn’t be disturbed from any unnecessary sounds at night.”
“I could live with that,” said Mhin.
Leander didn’t seem too pleased with the end-result, but he wasn’t going to complain, “Alright. Guess I get to room with the good doctor tonight. Hey, maybe we can finally get some dinner, you and I.”
“Perhaps,” said Kuras, but from his indifferent expression and hollow tone it sounded more like a no.
“Ah,” was all Leander said. You could see the cogs turning behind his eyes. Then, he pulled out a deck of cards from his pocket, “I brought cards with me. Anyone wanna play Poker in an hour or two, our room?”
You smiled, “I like Poker. Bet I could beat you,” you nudged his shoulder teasingly.
“Sure.” Leander said with a laugh, but the way he said it almost sounded…condescending? You raised your brows, but before you could fully process it, Leander had already started speaking, “Would the doctor like to join as well?”
Must’ve been my imagination.
“I suppose if you are going to play in our room, I could join for a game or two.”
Kuras reply seemed to brighten Leander’s mood from the thinly-veiled rejection for dinner a few seconds ago.
“Great! How about you Mhin!”
“I’m tired.” Mhin grabbed their bags and started heading for the elevator, ignoring Leander’s invitation. You saw Leander’s smile falter.
“I’ll try convincing them,” you whispered to Leander who gave you an appreciative smile.
You had the keys to the room, so after saying goodbye to the other two, quickly followed after your small companion.
“I’m glad I get to room with you, Mhin,” you said while waiting for the elevator with them.
Mhin huffed at your words, turning away, “Right.” In the corner of your eyes you could see their pale skin get pinker just a tad. You smiled to yourself at their reaction. You weren’t really sure what the rest of the day will entail, but at least you were able to get through the hurdle of deciding who will be your roommate.
#touchstarved game#I don’t have a sequel in mind for this#I thought it was a really funny idea#touchstarved x reader#mhin x reader#ais x reader#leander x reader#kuras x reader#vere x reader#roommates#touchstarved kuras#touchstarved Leander#touchstarved Ais#touchstarved vere#touchstarved Mhin#touchstarved fic
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Winter Nights (Vere x gn!Reader) (Touchstarved)
content: verex reader, gender neutral reader, I tried to write this so any origin will work with this fic, SFW but Vere makes his usual jokes, cannon typical swearing, reader bullies Vere just the smallest bit but he does the same.
summary: Vere has a horrible day, not enjoying the ice-cold weather at all. you decide to help out your favorite sassy fox boy.
word count: 5.5k
A/N: In honor of us getting VERE LORE i made this little fic of him. ngl i just saw how much he hated snow and ran with it. im so obsessed w this bitch yall i love him sm.
Vere had had a shit day. In your first few weeks of arriving in Eridia you probably wouldn’t have noticed it. That demon Fox was notoriously good at hiding his feelings when he really wanted to. He'd misdirect your attention, complaining about how shitty the drinks are in the Wick when he was really upset about something else entirely. Something deeper he didn't want you to know about. Honestly, in the first few weeks here you probably didn't care much to know what he was upset about anyways, you were too busy trying to survive. But life in Eridia had settled down a bit after the first month or so. You had stable lodgings, you had picked up some odd jobs, using your specific set of skills to give yourself some income. You even had allies of sorts.
Leander had shown you the ropes of the cities and how to fit in with his Bloodhounds, Kuras had welcomed your assistance at the clinic (even if your help just amounted to laundry or organization), Ais enjoyed your occasional company in the red spring, and even Mhin had gifted you a well made dagger, their face blushing red as they insisted it was simply so you wouldn't be as useless as you had been that night they had met you. You'd even consider some of them almost friends now.
Yet out of all the characters you'd met since entering this city, Vere had been the one you had chosen to align yourself with in the quest to cure your curse. There was something dangerous beneath the surface of all of your new acquaintances, yet with Vere it was different. He knew more than he was letting on. He was more than he was letting on. Vain people like him usually loved to flaunt just how wealthy, powerful or clever they were, but he had always slyly dodged the topic. He was putting on an act, a performance where he was simply a beautiful face, and you knew it was bullshit. You’d be lying if you said curiosity was not a catalyst for choosing Vere as your closest companion, but you also had the sense that staying close to him was infinitely safer than opposing him. Something about keeping friends close and enemies closer.
But that was the other problem. Over these months, you saw Vere as less of an enemy and more like-
-Well, Saying friend was probably inaccurate. You kept your secrets close to your chest and Vere was far too fake with you for you to assume he trusted you. Yet, you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. He'd try to get a rise out of you by being an asshole and you'd reply with something snarky, clever, or just downright outrageous and Vere would let out a surprised bark of laughter. Real laughter, a high pitched guttural cackle, not like the fake laughter he uses around most, that breathless smooth chuckle you'd quickly figured out was fake as fuck.
Getting closer to Vere also meant learning things like that, when he was being fake or when he genuinely meant something. And although you'd never admit it, you loved that. Getting to know Vere better and getting rewarded with a real moment with him was like having a stray cat you'd been trying to get to trust you finally approach and sniff your hand before hissing and running off again. You knew that cat would be an asshole the next day, but you also know you'd be back the next day to see if you could get that cat to trust you a little more.
Though said cat (or more accurately fox) had been in a worsening mood recently. The months were getting colder, and when the first snowflake fell Vere’s scowl became more frequent, plus leander had been trying to get closer to you lately, and that man's mere presence could put Vere in a pissy mood for hours. You didn't quite understand his hatred for Leander, but you also had the feeling leander was just a little insane, so it might be genuinely good judgment on Veres part instead of him just being an ass to people for fun, like what he did with Mhin and Kuras. The real icing on the cake to complete Veres' bad mood was his hunting session that happened today. The Senobium had dragged him out at the crack of dawn to kill monsters and only loosened his leash late into the night, after the light snowfall had become more of a brutal sleet, the ice cold rain coming down in sheets. The temperature in Eridia always drops much lower in the nighttime, so by tomorrow you'd put money on the outside either being a slushy mess with ice coating every road, or be covered in a dusting of snow. Though you weren't too sure how likely either of those realistically were to occur, it was your first winter in Eridia. You hadn't even realized that you'd been here for so long the seasons had begun changing around you, but it was clear Vere had hated the colder months.
Your persistence in getting to know Vere, for reasons even you couldn't really explain, along with all these reasons, was why you knew he was going to be in the worst mood yet when he got back. You were by the bar, nursing some hot mulled wine when the door to the Wet Wick slammed open, Vere stomping in (probably to knock some of the slush off his boots and also because he was angry) and taking a seat at the bar next to you.
He didn't say a word to you, silently seething as he gave the bartender a silent look that meant “make this drink strong or i'll make your life miserable”.
Thankfully, the bartender was as reliable and quick on her feet as ever, ignoring Vere’s death glare but pouring him some non-watered down liquor. You were ever grateful for her ability to deal with the people of this city.
Veres' long scarlet hair was slightly plastered to his cheek, wet and freezing, with snow and sleet mixed in, tangling the long strands. You wagered a quick look at his tail, and it was just as bad, if not worse. A bit of mud had caked on the bottom of it, along with the blood of whatever monster they had had him hunting that evening. And the fine fur was drenched to the bone. He looked absolutely horrible, and hadn't said a word to you the entire time, just bitterly drinking his liquor and motioning for another pour.
That's how you knew this bad day was different from the rest. Usually when Vere was upset he'd let you know somehow. Whether it was turning up his nose at you to let you know your presence isn't wanted nor needed, or sometimes he'd rant for hours on how much he hated the Senobium or whatever else was bothering him. And no matter how mad he was, he'd never let you see him in such a disheveled state. It was hard for you to remember even a handful of times where Vere looked less than perfect.
But now? Looked like an absolute mess, and even stranger, he was just-
-just quiet really. If you didn't know better you'd almost think he was a little defeated. Like a person at their breaking point.
You couldn't help but feel sympathetic. Not too long ago you had felt that way, the face he wore now was like the one you wore on the caravan on the way to Eridia reminiscing about how you were betrayed, how your former life and everything you had up until that point was basically nothing but ashes now. It was not a good feeling.
You wanted to do something to help. For some reason you really wanted to do something to help. Luckily you had an idea. Well, hopefully luckily. You knew people who looked like that usually wanted to be left alone to seeth for a while. Or cry, depending on the person. But you wanted to help. If he didnt like it, then he could always leave, it's not like you'd force him to accept your help.
While he sipped what must have been his 3rd or 4th strong drink, you quietly slipped upstairs to your room, and began filling up the tub. A while back you had splurged and purchased a small mesh bag of a few bathing items, all of them lavender scented. You dumped them out to see what exactly you had to work with
A small bar of lavender soap
A single vial of Lavender bath salts
Some lavender hair oils
Lavender shampoo
And a small white comb, most likely made of some mid tier material, enough to do its job, but nothing stunning. This seemed like a passible amount of stuff for Vere right? You knew he was fancy and he probably had much higher quality items in greater amounts back wherever he lived, and what if-
Wait a damn minute. You were doing this out of the kindness of your frickin heart. If it wasn't nice enough for his stuffy ass then you'd just use the items yourself. Hell you already were a bit disappointed you didn't get to use this stuff yourself, more for you if he decided he didn't like it.
With that settled in your mind, you turned towards the now full tub and a smaller basin next to it, both filled with clear water, and began to use a simple spell to heat the water. Almost all humans had some potential to learn magic, and being able to heat water to steaming hot was an extremely basic magic, almost anyone could perform it if they knew what to do. You finished it off by pouring the bath salts into the tub and grabbing two towels out from your closet, one large one and one suited for drying hair, and laid them to the side along with the assortment of small lavender products you had gotten out. You then lit a few candles set on the sink, considering it was dark outside, and candles were now the only source of light in the bathroom. With that prepared and the bath still steaming hot, you headed back down to the tavern.
Vere was still there, still drinking some strong amber liquid. At least he was no longer shooting them back, but instead nursing the drink with slow sips. He was definitely at least a little buzzed, judging by the way he slightly tilted off the barstool.
You walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Vere. Hey Vere, are you still with me? Or are you more drunk than you look?”
The fox glared up at you for a second before he fixed his scowl, a look of boredom and slight amusement painted on his pretty face in an instant.
Fake bitch.
“Well, well, well. Here to keep me company now? I'll be honest, my standards are lowering with every glass I down, so keep trying and maybe you'll get lucky.” a lecherous smirk spread across his face as he spoke.
Sigh. he was so going to take this the wrong way.
“Lets go to my room”
“W-” Vere momentarily stumbled over his response. Probably only because he was drunk. Any other time and he would have absolutely dominated this situation easily, poking and preening about how you were not immune to his charms. And yet up till now he didn’t think you were the type to fall for his flirty act so easily.
And he was right, you were smarter than that. If you hadn't been he probably would have killed you by now.
“Hey.” you practically scolded. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Not for those reasons. Come on, up we go.” you said while grabbing his elbow gently to steady him as he got off the stool, just in case.
Mercifully, he let you lead him upstairs without complaint, probably out of curiosity on what the hell you were thinking.
When you opened the door to the bathroom, Vere was momentarily stunned looking at the steaming bath, but quickly put two and two together. It seemed this unexpected scenario had sobered him up a little bit. He instantly became more alert and aware of his surroundings.
Fair. it's not like you two were very soft and caring to each other. If anything you got along best when you were trying to out-snark each other. This was definitely out of character. But regardless his mask of calm indifference didn't falter a bit.
“Oh I see” he drawled. “Set to join me in the nude aren't you? My goodness you could have just asked if you were this desperate to see me undress, I might have only made you beg a little.”
His smugness was palpable at this point. Why were you doing all this for him again? Bitch-ass sad soggy fox.
You pushed your annoyance to the side. If you reacted to his bullshit he'd get what he wanted.
“Actually yes I was planning on joining you. But not in the bath.” you responded.
“Oh? And what exactly are you planning on doing?” his questioning was genuine, as if he actually had no idea what you were thinking.
You held up the comb that came with the rest of the bath items you planned on using.
“I'm going to rip those knots out of your hair if it kills you.” you deadpanned.
The look of genuine fear on Veres' face for a split second when you said that was worth all the effort.
After assuring him that you wouldn't actually rip out any of his hair (on purpose at least) and then additional promises that you would be gentle, Vere finally relented and began to strip down. As soon as he did you turned around, waiting until you heard him submerge himself in the tub before turning back around. You knew he thought about making a comment about you turning around to let him undress, but thankfully he seemed too worn out to poke you any further.
He let out a slight gasp, and then sigh of contentment as he sank into the waters. When you had left to go fetch Vere from the bar the water was basically boiling, but it had cooled in the time it had taken you to get him up here, so it was just a little too hot to be perfect, but that meant a longer time in the warm water. Something Vere definitely needed, it was going to take a while to detangle and clean this mess.
You handed him the soap, then took the smaller basin and poured a gentle stream over his head before grabbing the shampoo and lathering it up into a froth in his hair. If there was one thing you had learned, it was how to make a little supply last a while, so you only used about half the small bottle on his hair, making sure to massage all the way down to his roots and ensuring every inch of dirt would be rinsed out. You also made a conscientious effort not to disturb the chains around his neck. Tonight was not the night to try to sneak a peek at them. Not that it would do much good with how low the lighting was in here.
True to your words, you tried to be gentle for the process, and you could feel Vere eventually relax under your touch, taking a break from scrubbing himself with the soap to lean back and close his eyes while you continued to work the shampoo into his hair. You were glad he was relaxed, but the last thing you needed was him falling asleep in the tub, especially after all the booze he'd had. You grabbed the basin and poured another stream of water on his head to wash out the shampoo, the water in the smaller container now closer to mildly warm than hot.
After the shampoo was out it was time for the oils. And the comb. As you Began to massage the oils in, you felt Vere tense up once again. It was like he was fighting between exhaustion and being on high alert. Was your presence really this stressful to him?
You leaned down right next to his velvety ears and tried to keep your voice as quiet and non-stress inducing as possible as you spoke.
“Hey. I promised I would be gentle. Relax” you whispered, the fur of his ears slightly brushing up against your lower lip as you spoke.
For some reason when you said that Vere went completely still for a second.
Seriously? Was your entire presence just so annoying to him that he absolutely could not relax around you? Honestly that felt a bit hurtful. You could be so nice when you wanted to! Just look at what you were doing for him now!
You shrugged off the sting of rejection at Veres discomfort at you and began to massage the oils into his hair.
First you gently felt out the knots with your bandaged fingers, taking care to rub the oils into each one and loosening the knot. Then you started to comb them out. Taking extra care to go slow and try not to tug too much, Vere eventually relaxed again and finished up using the bar of soap on his skin, saving his face for last so he could dunk his head under to rinse out the soap and hair oils in one go.
It took a hot second, but Veres' hair was smooth as silk once again. A selfish part of you wished you could run your fingers through it without the bandages, but that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon, if ever.
Satisfied with your work, you fully stood up and handed Vere the remainder of the shampoo, oils and comb.
“For your tail” you said as you passed along the objects. “Do not fall asleep”
Just before leaving you tested the waters' warmth. Lukewarm. You quietly summoned the magic needed to add a little more heat to the water. Just enough so he’d have enough time to properly wash out his tail. With that you gathered up his pile of clothes and headed out of the bathroom.
Usually you just washed your clothes in the basin in the bathroom with a cleaning solution and then left them to dry on the very, very small balcony your room hosted, but Veres clothes were of infinitely higher quality than yours, so doing that might ruin them. Not to mention your modest balcony was currently being blasted by the cold weather.
There wasn't anything you could really do, so you just folded up the clothes and opened your closet to see what other options there were. You could let him borrow something of yours, but something told you he wouldn't appreciate that, not even considering the fact that it definitely wouldn't fit him perfectly like all his outfits did. His clothes were definitely custom made.
Then, something caught your eye. Last time you were helping at the clinic, someone had kindly gifted some linens and basic white clothes to the patients who might need some (like you had), and in the mix there had been a few fluffy bathrobes. Kuras had kindly gifted you one considering there wasn't too much use for that in the clinic, and it had been sitting in your closet ever since. It wasn't fancy by any means, but it was good quality. And as long as you didn't tell Vere you got it from Kuras he probably wouldn't protest too much.
You walked back over to the bathroom door and rapped your knuckles on the door twice.
“Hey I’m going to hand you a bathrobe. Are you out of the tub?” You called through the door.
You heard the faint sound of bare feet on tile and the door open as vere stood before you, the smaller towel currently in his hands being used to dry his hair while the larger towel was draped over his now clean tail.
Needless to say, you kept very strong eye contact as he took the robe from your hands and slid it on.
You watched him feel the plush of the robe, a very tired but somewhat satisfied look on his face. The quality of the fabric had met his standards apparently (probably just barely). Then he turned towards your bed, walked over, and flopped down on said bed.
Well, you weren’t exactly expecting him to go back out in this weather, but still. You really wanted to sleep in your bed tonight.
Veres' muffled voice snapped you out of your thoughts, his words muddled by the pillow he was currently face planting into.
“What???” You responded.
“I said brush my tail” he huffed before nodding to the comb from earlier he left on the other side of the bed, which he had left untouched, seemingly content with just half the bed.
Well, this kinda meant he was willing to share right? No floor for you tonight, and all you had to do was preen this peacock of a Fox.
You situated yourself on the bed and began to gently brush out the mountain of damp fur in front of you. Luckily he had done a solid job of washing his tail, it was a lot easier to brush out than his hair had been.
He flicked it occasionally, the fur brushing up against your nose more than once. His normal spiced scent was now overpowered by lavender. You involuntarily inhaled the scent, remembering it was known to relax people into sleep. (Kuras had told you that once).
“Please, try to contain yourself.” He cooed at you before flicking his tail at your face once again. “I always smell incredible, no need to act all enamored”
You let out an annoyed huff.
“Sure you do.” You mumbled under your breath.
“Excuse you” Vere turned on his pillow to look at you through half lidded eyes. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” You quipped, focusing on his tail to look busy.
You were avoiding the question instead of bantering with him, that’s how Vere knew you were being honest. You actually thought he smelled bad.
“What?” His eyes narrowed as he spoke.
“Hm?”
“What do I smell like to you?”
You avoided eye contact and continued to really focus on brushing his tail.
“Hey!” He sat up now, and looked ready to wrestle the information out of you. “What do you think I smell like?”
“Well-“ you conceded, “you kinda smell like a Fox.”
Vere looked at you unmoving, mouth slightly open.
“It’s not like it’s super noticeable! Or like an inherently awful smell!” You assured him. “It’s just- once you notice it under all the fancy perfumes you usually wear it’s kinda hard to not pick up on it.”
Vere grabbed the pillow from beneath his head and smacked you with it. Hard.
“Hey!”
“How dare you!” He seethed. “I smell incredible all the time! Take back what you said.”
He finished his sentence by wacking you with the pillow again.
After receiving the second pillow smack, you gave Vere a quick glare, but your annoyance quickly gave way to amusement, and you were now struggling to hold in your giggles. A slight blush had graced veres normally stoic face, along with a look of affronted shock. He was embarrassed. Oh this was actually too funny.
Normally Vere would never let himself look embarrassed in front of anyone. But he had a shit day. He was exhausted, and his mask of arrogance had washed away with the lavender soap.
You began laughing. Quietly at first, but after those first few giggles an enraged, red-faced Vere had gotten up from his longing position and was now attacking you with your own pillow. The slight giggles on your part has turned into full on laughter, occasionally muffled by a repeated pillow to your face.
“Take!”
*Smack*
“It!”
*Smack*
“Back!”
*Smack smack*
You knew you would get noise complaints from the other tenants tomorrow, because you were absolutely overcome with laughter. Genuinely, you could feel your stomach start to cramp from how hard you were cackling at Vere.
You looked up at him, towering over you with a pillow at the ready. You could see the tips of his fangs. He was smiling too. He was so pretty when he smiled.
“Ok, ok” you conceded. “I take it-“
*Smack*
“Vere wait!” You squealed. “Wait, I said I take it back!”
“Not good enough anymore.” He responded. “You owe me a compliment, for telling me I smell like a wild animal.”
*Smack*
“So get with the complimenting asshole.” he smirked, readying his pillow for if your answer was not satisfactory.
“I’m not going to-“
*Smack*
“Alright, fine! Your hair looks great!”
*Smack*
“Your eyes are stunning!”
*Smack*
“Hey those were good! Stop attacking me!” Your smile was so wide you thought your face might split for a second.
“Try harder~” he cooed. “You’ll need to get creative in order to earn my forgiveness”
Right as he was about to bring the pillow down to your face once more, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards you.
He let out a yelp as you did so, but you knew he let it happen. The truth was if Vere didn’t want you to touch him, you’d never get close enough to even think about it. He knew the second you began reaching for his wrist, and he let it happen. He let himself fall against your chest, still heaving with laughter.
Chest to chest you looked at eachother, faces close enough that your noses nearly touched, both of you still smiling like idiots.
“Vere, You have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Vere smile shifted at your words. He wasn’t cackling to himself anymore, instead he was looking directly at you. Studying you almost.
You didn’t mind. You knew he wasn’t one to trust. Neither were you. But at this moment you didn’t particularly care.
“I feel like it’s rare to see a real smile from you,” you continued. “It feels rewarding, knowing I can make you smile. I want to see it more, but-“
You couldn’t finish the sentence, but you knew what you wanted to say.
But I selfishly want you to look at just me like that. Not anyone else.
“Well. I like seeing it regardless.” You finished.
You saw the look on Veres' face. Most would call it indescribable, but you knew exactly what he was thinking. You had said something real just now. Real in a way he didn’t want to respond too or process right now, and he wasn’t sure how to proceed.
“Was that a good enough compliment?” You asked, an easy smile falling over your face. One that said you were willing to brush off what you had just said as nothing more than a game if he was.
The tension seemed to melt from his face as he playfully rolled his eyes and flopped down next to you.
It amazed you how expressive he could be when he was exhausted.
“Fine, I suppose I’ll forgive you. Just this once.” He mumbled.
Speaking of exhaustion, sleep was overtaking him quickly now that the fun had died down. He turned around and pulled the covers up to his shoulders, fur and hair now dry. Despite this, you could tell he was still cold. It seemed this weather didn’t agree with him.
You pushed yourself out of the bed and went back over to your closet. In the bottom was a thick scratchy fleece blanket. Not comfortable, but great for keeping the heat in. The perfect blanket to lay over someone already covered in other blankets.
You walked back over to the bed and draped it over Vere before waking back to your side and getting under the covers yourself.
A few moments of silence went by, and you were sure he had fallen asleep, until you heard him whisper, so quiet you might have missed it-
“I hate the snow.”
“Mhm.” You replied. “One of my earliest memories was about snow.”
Vere turned to face you once again, barely still awake.
It was true. It definitely wasn’t your oldest memory, but you remembered being a child and seeing snow for the first time. The person who had betrayed you was there too. They had told you, “every snowflake is unique, no two are alike.” You had spent the rest of the day catching snowflakes and trying to look at the patterns before they melted in your palms.
“Is it a good memory?” Vere asked.
“I’m…not sure.” You responded.
Something told you Vere already knew that would be the answer, he just wanted you to know the same. Sly Fox.
“Goodnight Vere”
“…”
No response.
That night your dreams were filled with snow. And when you woke you saw it was already late morning. You had been out cold.
You looked over to the other side of the bed to see it empty. Not shocking. What was shocking was the items on the bedside table next to you.
You unfolded the note. It was undoubtedly Veres' handwriting.
“Mhin told me that bathrobe I used was given to you by that fucking doctor. I’m burning it. Here’s a replacement.
-Vere”
Sure enough there was a blood red bathrobe neatly folded underneath the note. It was definitely higher quality than the one Kuras had given you, but less fluffy.
Besides that, there was also a black wicker basket placed on top of the robe as well. Replacements for the lavender set you had given him last night. But these products were far nicer than what you had used on him, and far more greater in quantity.
You sifted through the many hair oils, heavily scented bars of soap, lotions, and vials of perfume. The whole set was probably worth more money than you had ever had at one point in your entire life.
You opened a bottle and inhaled, and immediately recognized the scent. This is what Vere normally smelled like. He’d given you some of his products. It was shockingly sweet of him to do so, you didn’t think he cared that you were basically dirt poor.
Speaking of, it was time to get up. You had odd jobs to complete and were supposed to help Kuras later today.
Over the next few weeks, what had become what you would assume a one time thing had now become commonplace. Veres work would often end in the lowtown in the winter months it seemed, the Senobium only leaving hightown after all soulless had been cleared out, then heading to lowtown to kill maybe just one for their reputations sake before letting Vere off his leash.
Sometimes he’d just flop down in bed and immediately go to sleep, other times he’d demand you pamper him a little. Sometimes with a whole routine like you had done before, other times he just handed you a hairbrush and his tail and expected you to get to work.
“Didn’t you say to me you’d never be caught dead slumming it in the wet wick like the first day I was here?” You teased him.
“It’s literally a blizzard outside shut the FUCK UP.” He replied, stealing all of your blankets as punishment. (After that you kept an extra one under your side of the bed just in case)
Over time you had to make space in your closet for a few of his outfits as well. He’d made a joke about how if you didn’t want his clothes here he’d gladly walk around in the nude, and you had agreed to let him keep some things here just a little too quickly for his liking.
You didn’t think it meant anything. Yes, if it had been anyone else but Vere you could see how people might perceive this as romantic or something but not with him. Vere would never see you as more than a means to an end, and you would never open up to him. That’s just how the two of you were
Or that’s what you told yourself, wearing the robe he had given you while wearing the same perfume as he did, as you brushed his tail in comfortable silence while the snow fell outside.
Vere hated the snow. He always would. But as spring began to arrive and he no longer had any excuse to spend the night in your room, he began to miss those winter nights. Vere still hated the cold, but somehow that time with you had been anything but.
#touchstarved#touchstarved x reader#touchstarved game#touchstarved vere#vere touchstarved#vere x reader#vere x mc#touchstarvedgame#touchstarved fic#touchstarved fanfiction#touchstarved fanfic#vere my beloved#touchstarved x mc
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Credit for prompt: @ravencutebuttevil
"It's just so silly goofy how the MC is so concerned about people seeing their hands but they're apparently so hot that no one cares."
Warnings: MAJOR simping on everyone's behalf i'm sorry, tipsy mc, CONSENT IS KEY, Leander calling your darling is warning enough, ends with Kuras being amazing <3
Pairing: All x Reader
Word Count: 870
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It's hard living like this. Never being able to feel the skin of another person, the bliss of intimacy. Always haunted by what could be. So you kept to yourself.
As everyone drank the night away and laughed and had the time of their lives in the small bar, consuming unholy amounts of watered down beer, you sat alone. Cape wrapped around your body, hood half way to hiding your face. You looked only at your drink. And everyone only looked at you.
As you sat recluse on your barstool at the very edge, five pairs of eyes bore into your back. In your bandaged hands you nursed your eighth glass of cheap whisky. Sipping the burning drink, you rested your chin on you palm. It was cold in the bar. Even wrapped up as you were, you felt the biting of cold on your cursed fingertips.
A chair was pulled out next to you, and down sat a figure. Leander was the first to make his move, unbeknownst to you. His charming grin had faded into a softer smile as he looked down at you. "Face is a bit red, isn't it? Already drunk I see?" His stupid sweet voice almost lulled you to sleep. He was whispering in what was an attempt to preserve your dignity. Not that any of his Bloodhounds cared, they were too busy focusing on a loud drinking game.
You hiccuped quietly and sat up straight, glaring at him with an uncharacteristic pout. "I am not drunk. That's absurd." He just smiled wider and takes your hand into his gloved ones. Your eyes widen as brief panic overtakes you before you remember that this might be the only man in the world capable of touching you and being perfectly fine.
His hands exude a warmth that is foreign to you, encasing your fingers and palm. "Time to retire for the night, don't you think darling?" You scowl and pull your hand away. "N-never- I-" You stand abruptly and topple over your chair. Before your beautiful face reaches for a tantalizing kiss with the floor, two strong arms catch you.
You land in an even warmer embrace. Surely, the floor would have been cold and unforgiving. Instead, Ais peers down at you with a sharp grin of his own, teeth glinting in the soft light emitting from the bar. Your eyes are wide, all alcohol purged from your system. Your face tinges red as he pulls you up, but does not let go.
Just as sudden, you are yanked out of Ais's embrace, a scorching hand on your wrist. Noting with more severe panic that your wrist is covered, you look up to see your assailant. Vere is smirking, but he does not look pleased to see your blush directed at Ais. The fox is... jealous? Just as he opens his mouth to something haughty no doubt, you are once again yanked.
You're confused, head spinning. Swearing to yourself you would never drink again, you survey the room slowly until your sleepy gaze finds your newest assailant. This time it's Mhin, and they are boring holes into Vere's skull. "Don't touch. You- you-" Seething with rage, Mhin barely has the words to express their hatred for the smirking fox.
As they engage in a staring contest with the fox, Ais and Leander watch in amusement. You are left standing there with a dumbfounded expression at the pissing contest being had. Just as you are about to slip away, a hand is placed on your shoulder. You brace yourself as you come face to face with none other than Kuras.
You let out a sigh of relief and a gentle smile appears on his face. He places his second hand onto your forehead, brushing away any hair in the way. "Are you alright? That was quite a frightful fall. You are flushed." You burn hotter as you observe the taller man. He is calm and quiet, and you feel the rest of the bar mute around you, all noises and laughing fading into the background.
There is nothing but Kuras's beaming golden eyes, gazing into your own. You exit quietly as he leads you to your room, his hand never leaving your shoulder. He opens your door and ushers you inside. You're still dazed when he gently pushes you down to sit on the bed and kneels in front of you.
All thoughts are suddenly drained out of your head as you stare down at this beautiful man, kneeling in front of you. He unlaces your boots and pulls them off, placing them neatly beside the door. As he stands back up, you fall down onto your mattress, the air leaving your lungs as Kuras walks back over to you and smiles again. He grabs your blanket and pulls it over you.
You're half asleep as he tucks you in, and you faintly feel warm fingers brushing your hair out of your face. A whispered, "Goodnight, dear.'", is all that is heard before the clicking of a door being shut. As you sleep soundly, Kuras ignores the eyes stabbing holes through him as he bids his companions goodnight and exits the bar, the smallest smile on his lips.
#touchstarved vere#touchstarved#touchstarved game#touchstarved demo#touchstarved vn#touchstarved x reader#touchstarved headcanons#touchstarved fic#leander touchstarved#kuras touchstarved#ais touchstarved#touchstarved mhin#touchstarved meme#red spring studio#vere#touchstarved ais#ts kuras#ts leander#touchstarved leander
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a break from the murder
#OKAY. okay. I'm insane Abt this game like. the demos barely out but I'm#foaming at the mouth like hope I'm not raising my expectations too much but it seems goood?????#literally obsessed with Leander. what's wrong with him. why is his monster form himself#oh to be a monster because you are too human#man's too fine he's Deranged I love him#@Leander y is your belt so complicated#trying to write a fic on TS is like trying to stich up a torn shirt because huh what when how#my art#digital art#fanart#art#digital painting#touchstarved#touchstarved game#touchstarved leander#leander#touchstarved ais#ais#yoyo's
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pillow talk (multi)
rating: m+
drabble collection: moments with each LI in the sheets, told through intimate and vaguely sinister drabbles
originally posted on ao3
masterlist
Preview
You stared into the smoldering fire by the bed, amidst the sumptuous blankets and furs, from the prison of his arms, suddenly cold.
Leander
“And how does the magic happen,” you teased, now languorous and slightly drunk, your body aching pleasantly and cheek pressed to his bare chest.
“Give and take, beautiful.” His hand stroked along your back, tracing a swirling, winding pattern.The rings on his fingers brushed a cool kiss against your skin. “Sometimes, it’s a small thing: a free drink here, a favor there. For others, well… every debt must be repaid in equal measure.”
A handful of free drinks. A room at the inn.
Information, knowledge of the city, a personal guide.
Minutes - an hour now, altogether - holding your hand, resisting an ancient curse, a risk of incalculable value.
You stared into the smoldering fire by the bed, amidst the sumptuous blankets and furs, from the prison of his arms, suddenly cold.
The tip of a finger dipped in the valley of your spine and drew a line up your back. As though he felt the slight stiffening of your body, his hand settled against the nape of your neck, his palm a hot, firm weight holding you to him. His thumb sat below your jaw, stopping over your pulse.
Leander rested his cheek against your head and pressed a kiss to your hair, the words drifting across your ear like the mist enshrouding the city. “The only truth of this universe is this: nothing is free.”
_______________________________________
Kuras
Candlelight brought you from the shadows of your doze.
Blurrily, you nuzzled closer to the firm pillow by your face when the familiar scent of magnolia - sweet, slightly citrus, earthy - filtered through your senses, alerting you like smoke in a barn.
Your eyes opened.
The pillow was, in fact, a thick, muscled thigh covered in a layer of white cotton trousers. Following the leg upward, you took in the sight of Kuras in the dim, flickering light of a single candle by the bedside. He held a book in his lap, one hand idly turning a withered page. A thin trail of smoke drifted into the dark beyond his shoulder.
Gold eyes met yours after a moment. Even in the deep night, they glowed brighter than the flame at his hip.
He smiled indulgently. “Dawn will not break for a few hours more. Sleep.”
You stared at that smile, blinking heavily, clinging to wakefulness for just a little longer. A thought nudged at the fuzzy edges of your mind at the smile, the eyes - a thread of disquiet amidst the warm cocoon of blankets and his body.
Kuras lifted one hand and turned to the bedside table. A thin stick passed through the flame, the smoke blooming like petals from the stem, before magnolias perfumed into the air once more.
As the scent wrapped around you, filled your lungs, soothed the voice at the back of your mind, a large hand cupped your cheek. His thumb caressed the corner of your eye before coaxing the lid shut and lingering there, gently holding.
“Sleep. I am here with you. I will watch over you.”
You slipped back into the night.
________________________________________
Ais
The soft bubbling of water woke you.
Your hand sleepily tugged the kimono over the bared edge of your shoulder. You’re curled into a ball beneath the thin fabric, legs fully tucked under the hem, hands curled against your chest, a tortoise sheltering from the cool, humid air drifting from the water’s edge.
Peering through the folds, you stared at the empty sheets next to your eyes adjusted to the night. Then, turning on your other side, you looked for him.
Glowing red eyes caught yours instantly.
He leaned against the open door. Moonlight painted his chest and shoulders pale silver, glinting sharp on the necklace that hung by his navel, his rings, his horns. A cigarette lingered by his mouth. As he drew another puff, embers burned and flared at the end.
“Want a hit?”
You sighed and rolled over on the bed, cheek pressed to the cold sheets. “No. Could use a drink though.” Your mouth felt dry, your belly hollow.
Ais held your gaze for a moment before releasing the smoke in a soft grin. He flicked the cigarette outside the door and strode over, bare feet silent on the creaking wood of the old pier.
At the edge sat a chalice. With two fingers, he hooked the rim, knelt by the red waters, and dipped it beneath the Seaspring.
The chalice full to the brim, spilling over his fingers, Ais took a seat on the bed and braced his arm over you. Several drops fell to the sheets; they wicked into the fabric, not fading to a blush but thickening like blood.
You glanced up from the stain to his face cast in shadow, the red gleam of his eyes thickening too, swallowing up his pupil..
“Drink up, sparrow.”
_____________________________________________
Vere
A claw traced delicately over the crown of your head before sinking into the length of your hair. He stroked as though petting a cat - idly, indulgently, reclined against the mountain of pillows on his bed and curled above you with his chin braced on his palm and bent elbow.
You laid there on the sheets, sweaty and panting, every nerve in your body vibrating, aching with the ghost of pleasure and pain. A sickly feeling sapped the strength from your body. The gold veins across your hands and arms felt hollow as scorched earth.
“Can’t catch a breath?” His voice curled with smug satisfaction, the smirk evident without needing to see for yourself. “All that muscle and misery, with the stamina of a virgin.”
Craning your head back, you glared at Vere through the messy fringe of hair sticking to your face. His claws pricked the nape of your neck. You arched your back away from the bright points of pain and heat.
“Soon, I’ll have you trained to my tastes,” he mused, his gaze trailing down your bare body. “Enough to sate me, at the very least. It’d be troublesome to have you burn out too fast.”
Fur brushed against your thighs and stomach. His thick, russet tail flowed over your body in a fiery river, the soft pelt tickling over your skin. Heat radiated from it, the ancient magic humming in his veins, less volatile now that he’d taken the edge off.
After one last teasing prick of claw, Vere reached down and lifted the length of chain pooled on the sheets. He slipped the end around your neck and pulled through.
Then, with a rumbling sigh, he leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. “Wake me up before noon, and you’re lunch.”
With a flick of his hand, the candles extinguished.
You stare at the dark ceiling, cold steel brushing your throat with every breath.
______________________________________
Mhin
A chill settled over your skin, casting your dreams in shades of winter. Goosebumps rolled down your arms in a wave. Subtle, heavy breaths disturbed the peace of the night.
Your eyes shot open.
The window gaped open. An autumn breeze stole inside, undulating against the curtains. Clear moonlight spilled across the floor, illuminating the toe of a boot and a pool of blood. A ghostly figure sat beneath the sil.
Heart pounding, you held still, squinting through your lashes, trying to see the face hiding within shadow.
Thick leather pants and bracers. Flowing white shirt. Midnight blue hood, hooked to the collar with silver rings. The light caught the edges of messy hair beneath the hood, shining in the gloom like frost across a frozen pond.
Your hand released its taught grip on the dagger beneath your pillow.
Wrapping the blankets around your body, you sat up and leaned across the mattress. “.... Mhin?”
White eyes with red pupils appeared within the shadowed face.
You shuffled to the edge of the bed. Glancing at the blood, you asked, “are you injured?”
After a quiet moment, they slowly shook their head. Mhin folded one leg and braced their arm on their knee. In their hand was a silver dagger, twin to the one you’d hidden beneath your pillow. Fresh blood licked the edge of the blade.
“Are the bodies on the roof or the street?”
Finally, a spark appeared in their eyes. “Strung them up like gargoyles.”
You huffed a laugh. Fresh corpses lured Soulless like flies to honey. They’d never. “How thoughtful of you to help decorate for Leander’s party tomorrow.”
Mhin shot you a weary look that clearly spelled the fuck do you think, before their head dropped back on the wall with a soft thud. The bruises beneath their eyes were dark as plums. They’d never slept soundly, but since the attacks had started, a few good hours had dwindled into a half hour here and there at best.
You considered chiding them for a moment before sighing and rising from the bed. Scooping the quilt from the bed, you shuffled over and dropped down to the floor next to them.
“What are you doing,” they grumbled, frowning when you leaned into Mhin’s side.
Heedless of the blood wicking into the sheets, you spread the bedcovers across their lap and yours before gingerly resting your head on their shoulder.
Mhin sucked in a breath. “You’re not actually going to sleep like this?” When you only closed your eyes, they growled, “Ridiculous.”
Minutes passed. Then, “I’ll shove you off the second another wave hits. You realize that, right?”
You kept silent. Beneath the sheets, you found their hand and covered the back with your palm, fingers webbing through the gaps between theirs, hoping to warm them.
“Your back’s going to hurt like hell tomorrow.”
Then slowly, as the night and their body next to yours filled you with a sense of safety, their grip tightened on your fingers.
A smile slipped across your mouth as you drifted off to sleep once more.
_____________________________
a/n: ending on a fluffy note - comments and likes are appreciated!
#leander x mc#leander x reader#ais x reader#ais reader fic#touchstarved fanfic#kuras x reader#kuras x mc#vere x mc#vere x reader#mhin x reader#mhin x mc#ais x mc#touchstarved imagines
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FEELING HUMAN, HOOKED ON YOUR BREATH ── leander + gn!reader, 430
leander is painfully aware of his reputation; knows that you've heard rumours of how the corner room you currently occupy in the wet wick was once exclusively for him and his one-night-stands, vere's little quips of him getting some action with a stranger or two in dark alleys, and he hasn't exactly been subtle with the way he looks at you in the candlelight when you're huddled together in one of the booths. he knows that you're no fool, that you're not deaf to the warnings to stay away from him lest you fall too deep into his spell of dark magic—
but you stay anyway.
perhaps it is because he is one of the few to offer you some semblance of comfort in the unfamiliar streets of eridia without asking for anything else, or because he is the only one capable of touching your bare hands and remain sane enough to see the exact shade of your pretty eyes, but whatever the reason, he finds himself unable to care. he finds himself doing a lot of uncharacteristic things since you've come around, actually.
leander does not believe in god, has never even entertained such thoughts of a divine entity existing with the sort of life he's led since birth, but he thinks that despite your curse, you are the closest thing to an angel he's ever met. leander feels bad about it, really; the thoughts that plague his mind when he lets you trace the grooves and scars of his calloused hands, your darkened fingertips ghosting upon the skin of his forearm like a dancer from the amaryllis district. he feels guilty, as if he's taking advantage of your trust like this, even if you're the one who's touching him, but it's outweighed by that something that leander still can't name even after all those nights of laying awake in night or nursing his nth bottle of rum in the wet wick at some ungodly hour of the night; something about how you touch him like he's the only solid thing in the world, the look in your eyes when you find your fingers wandering over to the scar on his face.
there is no such thing as heaven or hell, just the monsters (soulless and mortal) that linger in the space between, but your touch is divine, and for the first time in his life, leander wants nothing more than to repent for his sins, to whisper his confessions against the warm dark-gold of your knuckles as if he could find some semblance of forgiveness in your skin.
© trappolia 2024
#leander#touchstarved#leander x reader#touchstarved x reader#leander fluff#leander angst#leander imagines#leander scenarios#leander drabbles#leander oneshots#leander fics#leander headcanons#touchstarved fluff#touchstarved angst#touchstarved imagines#touchstarved scenarios#touchstarved drabbles#touchstarved oneshots#touchstarved fics#touchstarved headcanons
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Little Mistakes
@kimiro-art
The only thing that seemed to relax Ais even a little, or at least silence him was the sound of you sniffling and making a very obvious attempt to hold back your tears.
What got you to this point? According to your lover, you had a knack for sticking your nose where it didn't belong. You never listened to him and did nothing but overstep.
Ais had a splitting headache, and you were only trying to help him. You didn't think you would annoy him so much... Still, you shouldn't cry.
"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to do this much.." You said, taking a step back from Ais, who had gone pale, seeing the tears well in your eyes.
"Sparrow, I..."
"It's fine..." You assured him, "I know the headache makes you more irritable."
You only wanted to help... Asking about Ocudeus was your way of making sure things hadn't gotten worse for Ais... That he was still himself.
Not only did it hurt, but it shook you to your very core when Ais yelled like that... At you no less.
Your heart ached and you weren't sure if you should stay and keep trying or run off and never do this again. You didn't even realize you were now wiping at the never-ending tears that ruined your face. Your chest was tight as you held out on crying out loud.
Ais felt guilt like never before wash over him. What had he done that for...!? Now you were crying. It wasn't something he was used to seeing from you either... You were usually so strong. Why had he gone and broken you? He needed to fix this...
He found himself reaching out for you, ignoring his headache to soothe you, "Sparrow..." He cupped your face, his thumbs drying your tears, "I didn't mean any of that.."
"I-I know." You leaned into his touch, "I just wasn't expecting you to snap like that is all..."
"I know, and I'm sorry..." He pulled you in close, letting you bury your face in his shoulder, "I know you're just trying to help.."
Ais wasn't sure what to say, really... He could only hold you until you relaxed. Until the tears stopped and you felt safe in his arms again...
He would work harder to check his temper next time this happened. Especially with you. This would not happen again. Ever.
He would die a thousand deaths before he made you cry again.
#ais touchstarved#touchstarved game#touchstarvedgame#touchstarved ais#touchstarved fanfic#touchstarved fic#ais x reader#touchstarved ais x reader#touchstarved x reader
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sacred are these hands of yours.
summary: Mhin interrupts your outing with Vere, for reasons they don’t understand.
notes: 921 words, drabble, fluff, jealousy, Vere makes some innuendoes, spoilers for/reference to the demo
The problem with you, Mhin thinks, is that you were the sun.
Someone that burns their eyes if they look at you for too long. Someone that brings all the dark creatures in the city scrambling for a piece of your warmth. Someone who, for whatever damned reason, lets Vere drape himself over you like a fur scarf, his face much too close as he whispers something inane in your ear.
Whoever you decide to call a friend is your own business. But it’s hard for Mhin to tear their eyes away when Vere is hugging you like a– like a lover, his arms tangled around your torso. The two of you were in public, but you didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, you throw back your head and laugh at something Vere says, which causes his tail to swish pleasedly.
It’s not as if there’s something strange about intimacy. This is hardly the raunchiest thing that has ever graced the public streets of Eridia. But something about the way Vere leans his head against you. Something about the way you pat his shoulder affectionately. Something about the fact it’s Vere by your side, with his flirtations and effortless charm, easy with people in a way they could never be.
Something about that makes their stomach turn. You have bad taste, they decide. Terrible taste.
Whatever business they have can wait; it’s their job, isn’t it, to make sure Monsters and Soulless aren’t plaguing the streets? So this has nothing to do with you personally. You were nothing more than someone they have established an uneasy alliance with, and they couldn’t have you jeopardizing their plans by consorting with a Monster.
They’re halfway across the street before they realize it. Vere’s ears prick up at their footsteps, despite their attempts to be stealthy.
“Mhin,” he greets with a sly smile, tossing his head. “Care to join us? I don’t mind taking one more person.”
Mhin’s eyes linger on Vere’s arm, still slung around your shoulder. “You’re not the one I’m here to talk to.”
“What’s up, Mhin?” you say. “I thought you were busy patrolling today.”
“I am,” they respond bluntly. “And you’re adding to my workload. I need to talk to you about something.”
“What is it?”
“It’s something we can’t talk about with other people here,” they emphasize.
“Don’t mind me, Mhin. I’d love to join your little duo and make it a threesome,” Vere says.
At this distance, they could smell Vere’s perfume on you, something cloying and unpleasant.
“We should really talk in private,” Mhin repeats. “So get lost, Vere.”
“Touchy! It’s a good thing I like it when people treat me roughly.” Vere leans closer to you, eyes gleaming. ��It looks like I’ll have to see you later, sweetheart.”
Mhin reacts before they know what they’re doing; just as Vere leans in to kiss your cheek, they grab you by the shoulder and yank you away.
“Mhin?” you say incredulously. “What the hell was that for?”
It’s at this point Vere breaks out into laughter. “Oh, I know Ais and Leander are going to love it when they hear about this.”
“Shut up,” Mhin growls, their cheeks heating. Foolish. They were so foolish. They’d fallen into Vere’s trap without a second thought. At the very least, the only price they’d need to pay would be their pride… and Vere’s taunting remarks for the next few weeks.
You shake off Mhin’s hand. “If you really needed to talk to me, you could have just said something. Don’t just tug me around like that.” Then, you nudge them with your shoulder. “So? Where do you want to go to talk?”
They focus on you, trying to ignore Vere, still laughing in the periphery of their version. “I know somewhere. Just come with me.”
You say goodbye to Vere, and follow Mhin through the streets. By the end of the day, would you smell a little more like them, rather than Vere? Normally, though, they smell like blood, the tang of iron never fading no matter how many times they wash– They shake their head. Far too many foolish thoughts fill their mind when they’re with you.
The truth is, they don’t have any new information to share with you, nothing that you don’t know already. But it’s fine; they could make something up. Why had they pulled you away from Vere like that? Mhin can’t understand their own behavior sometimes.
Something about you drove them crazy. The way you smiled, the curve of your lips. Your desperation, the familiar taste of it. The way you gaze at them: with irritation, with mirth, with joy. You gaze at them, and never look away.
You should’ve been nothing more than someone they could easily discard the moment it was inconvenient. You have your own agenda. They have theirs. An alliance should only last as long as you need each other, and no longer.
So why couldn’t they let you go?
The problem is that Mhin wants to know what your touch feels like: your hands in their hair, your hands on their skin. The problem is that desire is dangerous, and if they weren’t careful, they would fly too close and burn themself, feathers melting away one by one as they plunged into the sea. The problem is that they don’t care if they get burned, lose their mind and their very self, not if you could hold them just once.
How warm would the sun’s hands be?
#liya writes#touchstarved#mhin#mhin touchstarved#mhin x reader#mhin touchstarved x reader#touchstarved x reader#do u guys still think im sexy if i release a fic about a game thats still in development <3#mhin my beloved!!!! i saw them. blacked out. and woke up with a fully formed fic
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Me remembering that Kuras is literally the first person to see us/the mc naked-.
#touchstarved game#touchstarved shitposting#touchstarved kuras#kuras#y’all I want him so bad#I was thinking about a self insert fic for this and remembered that fact#red spring studios#touchstarved vn#touchstarved x reader
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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
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Ais x gn!reader.
im horny for ais so horny please ais let me hit oh my god.
warnings: making out, drunk mc, cursing.
Ais never had the absolute pleasure of seeing you like this, he just sat down beside you but you were already slurring your words and ranting about how if soulless cats existed? The poor bartender of the Wet Wick had to put up with it because Leander had some business to take care of. Well, probably, or taking it up his ass from whoever. It didn’t matter, though Ais knows full well how much money that bastard would cough up just to see you in this state.
Too bad. He might have actually gotten rich…maybe.
He looked at you once more, and ordered himself a drink. When you still didn’t notice him, he sighed.
‘’Hey sparrow, didn’t peg you as the type to get drunk so carelessly.’’
You turned to him and blinked once. Then again. Then you finally recognized the demon.
‘’Heyyy, your boytoy isn’t with you?’’
He cocked an eyebrow…Then it hit him. Did you think Vere and him were actually an item or were you way too drunk?
‘’My boytoy?’’
You nodded, giggling a bit. That was cute.
‘’Yeah you know… Vere. You guys are like attached to the hip in Wet Wick, no?’’
He’s guessing you probably jıust wanna tease him for the hell of it, plus you’re drunk and he’s bored so, he’ll entertain you.
‘’Why you asking? Jealous?’’
He snorted at the way you put your hand on your heart and gasped so dramatically. He never saw you this animated, this was cute. His drink came and he took a sip, blinking once he saw you so focused on something on his face.
‘’What? Something on my face, sparrow?’’
You looked at him and then pointed at his horns.
‘’Your horns, I wanna touch them.’’
He almost choked on his drink… almost. Those words coming from you made him…hot. Maybe it's the alcohol.
‘’Sparrow, do you even know what you’re asking?’’
You jumped a little, sliding from your seat. Closer to him. Why the hell is he getting worked up like a virgin, what the fuck.
‘’I want to touch your horns. Just a few strokes, pleaaseeee Ais. If I beg will you let me?’’
Dammit.
Fucking- dammit.
He scoffed, took you by your wrist and pulled you to the alley after dropping coins on the table. He didn’t miss the twitch of your arm when he did so. You blinked as the cold night air hit your face and you sobered up a little, just a little.
‘’Hey Ais– ah!’’
He pulled you between the two buildings, and suddenly this scenario was way too familiar. When you turn your eyes to the side you half expect to see an almost dead body, though Ais already blocked that from happening with his… muscular… arm. Dammit.
‘’You wanna touch me, sparrow?’’
You blinked, registering his words. Looking down at your arms, the bandages on your left arm were fine but your right hand bandages were a little loose. Ais, without breaking eye contact, tightened the bandage with his teeth.
Oh.
Oh.
Ais smirked, way too cocky. You wanna wipe that off his fucking face, add a bruise or two… You rethink and decide against it, the bastard would probably be even more attractive…
You stop that train of thought as Ais’ hands sneaked up under your cloak, not being able to hold yourself back, a whimper escaped from your lips. You held onto his shoulders, shaking ever so slightly.
‘’Hey… no fair, I wanted to touch you first.’’
‘’Be patient, sparrow.’’
You hated how fast you shut yourself up and obeyed, he was so obviously proud of himself for that. That damn nickname makes you feel way too good than it should, you decide to blame it on the alcohol.
He places his hand on your tummy, getting close to where you want him to touch but never quite there. If you didn’t have an ounce of pride and common sense left you would have shoved his hands inside your pants. Then he snakes his arm around your waist, as if you had enough distance between you, he pulls you in.
You notice, even in your half drunken haze that his breathing got a little heavier… or maybe thats your fantasy?
‘’Go on, sparrow. Touch ‘em, be careful though. They sting.’’
He has the audacity to whisper that to your ear.
Oh you are so worked up now.
You huff, not being able to muster up any coherent sentences out of shame. How did he make you so needy with just… that?
You hesitate but seize your chance and shakily caress his horns, the one atop his head, and then stroke it gently.
The noise he let out was so quiet, you almost didn’t hear it. Did he… fucking moan?
Holy shit.
You wanted more. Feeling emboldened by his hands on your waist, the look hes giving you and your fucking hands on his damn horns, you pull him into a kiss by his horns. He chuckles into it before going in.
Ais is an intense but also an amazing kisser. You don’t notice your tight grip on his horns until he moans into your mouth and you almost…
You feel like you’re going crazy.
Only parting for air and diving right back in, letting his hands explore you. Then you bite his lips so hard that you draw blood.
He pulls away and licks his lips.
‘’You have a thing for blood, sparrow?’’
You want to break his horns apart.
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Hi! I really liked the scenario where the MC of touchstarved was too dumb to realize the boys simping for her and I wanted to as about how the others boys react to Leander being the only one who can hold hands with the mc (and a Leander pov knowing the others are jealous) and maybe even MC touching his face again to feel the difference in texture. Hope that's not too much! Thank you anyway!
Ohhhh you are so fun!! I like this request!~
I couldn't figure out where to fit Mhin and Kuras as I doubt they'd be at the bar in the early afternoon so let me know if you'd like a part 2 as a continuation! <3
Warnings: jealousy!!! Leander is his own warning, taunting! touching uwu
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The dreary weather really was something else in this city. How could the air feel cool yet humid yet stifling as if pulling the breath from your lungs? Your bandages were dripping with sweat and coming loose, so you practically jogged into the Wet Wick.
Members of Leander's Bloodhounds were scattered around loosely, thankfully not densely packed this early in the afternoon. As you were about to slip behind a group of men and run up the stairs, an arm shot out from behind the bar to grab your hood, pulling it straight off.
Your hair tumbled out and you blinked as your eyes adjusted to the sudden light. Leander was leaned over the bar, lips pulled up into a smooth, pretty smile, eyes looking as tired as ever. "Hey pretty thing. Where you been all day?" You balled your hands into fists under your cloak and smiled back shyly.
"Oh you know. Around." Your ominous answer did little to dismay Leander, and he pulled you closer to the bar. "Would you like a drink, pretty? On the house." The barmaid looked over briefly after hearing that to scowl at the tall man. She hustled to the kitchen to presumably complain to the other workers.
You smiled as you shook your head. "Ah, no thanks. I was actually just on my way up. Really tired from ah- the day." You stared at each other in silence as your words replayed in your head. You could see the disbelief in Leander's eyes. Tired from the day? The sun had barely been up for less then five hours.
Leander let go of your cloak, and without thinking you moved your hand from the safety blanket to straighten the fabric. Piercing green eyes watched your every movement like a predator. "Ah." Fuck. You messed up. You flinched under his scrutinizing gaze and rushed to tuck your hand back into safety.
But before you could, his gloved hand once again reached out to grab, this time your hand. Deep inside, you knew Leander wouldn't get hurt. You flinched anyway. As if sensing your unenthusiastic response, Leander held up your hand to his face and gently kissed your palm, not breaking eye contact.
Your face turned beet red, mouth agape as you stared into his charming pale green eyes. Light reflected from the candles and bounced off his golden earring, grabbing the attention of the newcomers shuffling into the bar. You held your breath as Leander calmly unwrapped your hand halfway and rested his cheek against your palm.
You had no way of knowing, with your back turned to the entrance of the establishment. And though Leander acted as if the only thing he saw was you, in his peripheral he saw his dearest companions staring at the display before them with a mix of anger, jealousy, sadness, and thinly-veiled disgust.
You absentmindedly ran your fingers over his cheek and dipped down to trace the scar along his jaw. Your lashes fluttered tiredly, as if weighed down by the world. He smiled into your hand and pet your head. "Go take a nap pretty. You look like you need it." You looked away to hide your reddening cheeks and nodded, pulling away and wrapping your hand simultaneously as you trudged up the stairs, completely unaware of the eyes that followed.
Vere slid into his usual seat, pink eyes narrowing on Leander's face. The mage simply stared back blankly, before remembering where he was. A big smile erupted on his face and he grinned at the fox. "Hello Vere. Thirsty?" There was a sharp edge to the questioning lilt of Leander's tone. Vere scowled and reached to grab a bottle of champagne poorly hid by the missing barmaid.
Ais slid into the seat beside him, red eyes digging holes into Leander's cheek, as if expecting it to start decaying at any second. When nothing happened for a frame of five seconds, he peeled his unnerving gaze away to look at Vere's pretty pout. As Leander hummed and mixed a drink for the demon, his lips briefly flashes a wicked smile. He hadn't been chosen yet, but he was damned sure he was ahead of everyone else.
#ais touchstarved#touchstarved game#touchstarved x reader#touchstarved headcanons#touchstarved fic#touchstarved#mhin#ts kuras#ais ts#leander touchstarved#ts leander#touchstarved leander#vere touchstarved#vere#mhin touchstarved#touchstarved mhin#red spring studios#touchstarved demo
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Inspired by Vere's artstyle being the TS artstyle, if Kuras birthday post is to be believed—
Aisvere modern!AU where Vere is a solo game dev and Ais is his FWB that Vere would reeeeally like to date, but he'd rather be fucked sideways and upside down before he was emotionally vulnerable.
So instead of saying anything to Ais, Vere copes by making a short dating sim with Ais as the love interest.
It's basically a vent piece, filled with all the nice, disgusting shit Vere can't do IRL (a fox has to have his pride), and all the sappy commitment shit he wishes Ais would say to him. And while Vere contemplates burning his computer once the game is finished, he instead opts to sell it, hoping to at least be compensated a few dollars for his months of pining-induced misery.
But, out of nowhere, it absolutely blows up.
Maybe it's because of Ais's sweet-and-spicy personality, or maybe it's because of his adorable love for his many unique pets. Probably it's because Vere has drawn Ais as accurately as he can, and Vere is an amazing artist, and Ais is hot as hell.
All of a sudden people are drawing fanart of Ais, writing imagines and headcanons about Ais, saying shit like "on the couch, on the floor, on the bed, backwards, forwards, till i pass out, while i'm unconscious, as soon as i wake up—"
Ais isn't actually a huge social media guy or a huge indie gamer, so it takes a while for him to see any of this. But see it he does, in the form of fanart of him railing somebody's OC. And I just know he texts that shit to Vere like "yo firefox don't this guy look like me lol" and Vere seriously contemplates offing himself just as soon as he figures out how to shut down the entire Internet permanently.
#luckyfiction#vere#ais#aisvere#ais x vere#oh this idea's real 😬#it's so ooc but i had to share bc that's what the blog's for#inflicting my mediocre thoughts on the public!!#anw thank god i can put it here#so i don't actually have to write it into a fic#modern au#touchstarved game
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silver linings (leander)
leander x reader(f)
clothes sharing/boyfriend shirt trope / leander thirsting
originally posted on ao3
masterlist
Preview
Leander taps his thumb against his glass, staring into the amber liquid. “A rare catch requires good bait, timing, and most of all: patience,” he murmurs.
Thinking of you in his rooms: naked, those long limbs and lithe muscles submerged beneath the hot water, your hands stroking his soap along your skin, your hair wet and draped around your shoulders, clean and soft and smelling of his herbs and oils…
He’s an excellent fisherman, but at this moment, he finds his patience tested to the limits.
________________________________
“See, this wouldn’t be near as irritating if you hadn’t moved out.”
Lingering on the threshold of the Wick, sopping wet with sticky, putrid slime, you shoot him a withering glare. “Watch it. Haven’t cleaned my sword yet.”
Grinning cheekily, Leander lifts his hands in surrender, his sculpted arms bunching beneath the skin tight mesh of his shirt. “Just sayin’.” His coat folded over his arm and boots sticking, he walks to the bar and speaks to the bartender.
You debate making the trek back to your flat on three streets over. Your skin burns where the rank slime seeps through your clothing, exuding a thin, sulfuric gas that twists your stomach. The thought of walking through the city like that fills you with nausea and dread. “That dingonek would’ve gutted you from ass to chin. See if I step in next time.”
“For which I’m, as always, eternally grateful,” Leander cuts in smoothly, leaning against the bar and looking you over. “I think this every time we head into battle, but it continues to ring true. Your swordwork is certainly… something to behold.”
It’s another mark against the cruelty of the universe that, despite holding fast barely a foot from you, Leander had managed to leave the fight without a single scratch on him - he hadn’t ducked under the neck of the furious, armored reptile, piercing the hide of the throat and thus getting caught in the spray of acidic bile as the blade tore through its venom glands.
No, he walked away with the lightest sheen of sweat on his chiseled jaw and thick neck, windswept from the rush of the battle, towing a highly sought-after pelt of massive lizard monster back to Eridia like some heroic warrior - and he has the audacity to quip and smolder at you.
You level him an unimpressed look.
He lifts a gloved hand and spins the golden key around his finger. “My doors always open to you, of course.”
And every other simpering fan in the place , you think wryly, before snatching the key out of his hand. “I’m gonna use all those fancy soaps and oils you’ve got in there. Always wanted to smell like the lovechild of an apothecary and a brothel.”
Leander swallows once, his mouth hanging open for a moment twisting into a smirk. “Help yourself.”
“Gonna steal your clothes too.” The venom had eaten away at the fibers of your pants and shirt - there’d be no salvaging them. You pause, gripping the key and checking his expression for permission. Leander’s notoriously generous, to a fault, even - despite that, you still try not to take more than you give back.
Inscrutable, emerald eyes flash bright for a heartbeat before glancing away. His tongue darts out to swipe across his lower lip before his hand taps on the bar, signaling a request for his usual shot of whiskey. In moments, Rodrick slides a glass across the polished surface, placing the drink perfectly in his waiting palm.
Leander takes a quick drink before meeting your gaze again. Though the flare of magic had withdrawn, a dark edge still lingers in his eyes.
“Be my guest.” His jaw clenches, a vein jumping along the hard edge, but he smiles like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “I insist, even.”
You pause and narrow your gaze. That’s a little….suspicious. “Now I don’t want to,” you mutter, grimacing as that lying smile breaks into laughter.
“I’m afraid Rod here might insist too,” Leander adds, dispelling the strange tension and running a hand through his hair. “The smell alone will send customers running to the wastelands.”
One such customer stumbles to the back alley exit a few steps from the bar and just barely opens it in time for the torrent of vomit that spews from his mouth.
You stare for a moment before turning back to Leander, whose eyes are now full of mirth.
“Well, I’d hate to put off the fine, noble patrons of this tasteful establishment.” With a roll of your eyes, you stride off toward the interior of the inn toward the suite at the end of the hall, ignoring the weight of his gaze on your back.
A door with a familiar crest stands at the end of the hall and opened to a set of comfortable, homey rooms. Gorgeous oak furnishings carry the varied goods and knicknacks that comprise Leander’s existence: leather bound journals on the desk alongside bottles and ink pens, a trunk propped open with the hilt of a sword, a floor length mirror in the corner half-covered with another coat, a dresser with cologne and books stacked on top. More books are heaped on his bedside tables and tucked under in neat columns. Soft, green blankets cover the bed, matching the curtains drifting beside a cracked window.
You pause on the threshold before carefully stepping out of your boots and leaving them in the hall to keep from tracking the slime inside. You drop your coat on top for good measure and step inside on bare feet.
The archway to the bathroom is tucked in the corner. You tiptoe toward it, conscious of the putrid slime clinging to your clothes and hair before finally reaching the tile floor. The fey lamps alight when you step inside, casting the room in a golden glow.
After twisting the knobs on the massive claw-foot tub, water barrels through the pipes and steam fills the bathroom.
You crack the window to let it escape and then strip down, mourning the loss of the clothes. The shirt you can handle the sacrifice - the pants are - were - a favorite.
In the mirror over the sink, you check the damage to your hair. Congealed blood and drying monster venom sticks your hair in clumps. It’ll be a bitch to wash out. Bottles of various shapes and colors gather on two shelves around the vanity. You read a couple labels before finding a cleansing solution with rosemary, sage, and detoxifying oil. It’ll have to do.
Sighing, you decide to focus on getting the worst of it out now and finishing the job at home after a meal and a tall pint of beer.
“Still out here, huh.”
Leander’s brow lifts pointedly, eyeing Rodrick over the rim of his glass.
“Well, it’s been half a wick. Usually you’d have slipped into the hall by now, not to be seen again until dawn.” He’s wiping a clean glass down with a rag, hip braced on the back counter during a lull in drink orders. His mustache twitches below a knowing gaze.
“Not this time,” he answers simply.
“Oh?” Rod inspects him before nodding slowly. “Oh… I see. Playing the long game? That’s rare for you.”
Leander taps his thumb against his glass, staring into the amber liquid. “A rare catch requires good bait, timing, and most of all: patience,” he murmurs.
Thinking of you in his rooms: naked, those long limbs and lithe muscles submerged beneath the hot water, your hands stroking his soap along your skin, your hair wet and draped around your shoulders, clean and soft and smelling of his herbs and oils…
He’s an excellent fisherman, but at this moment, he finds his patience tested to the limits.
What a catch you are. All slick and smooth and tempting. A siren.
He thinks of your bare body rising from the ocean, water trailing in rivers down your skin, dripping from your hair, opening that hot little mouth to reveal sharp teeth and a massive tail drifting in the deep, hooking claws into his flesh to drag him down, all that sharp, deadly beauty….
What a way to die.
Leander lifts the glass and tips the rest of the whiskey down his throat in a burning, sweet rush. Then he shakes his head and runs his hands through his hair, wiping them down his face for good measure, and when he opens his eyes again it’s to find a fresh glass waiting in front of him.
“Good man.”
“Patience should be rewarded,” Rodrick quips back before glancing above his shoulder for a moment. A smirk hides beneath his bristly mustache. “Seems the night has proven very rewarding for you indeed, hound.”
Leander follows his gaze. The glass lands on the counter with a thunk .
Gonna steal your clothes too .
You’d warned him. He’d known. He thought he was prepared.
You’re striding toward the bar, your hair still damp and sticking to your face and shoulders. Skin flushed and dewy from the bath, you look so - unguarded - so much more vulnerable without your armor and cloak, sword strapped to your hip, the gloves over your hands. That sight alone would have stolen his breath, but oh ….
You’re wearing his shirt.
The black mesh that once molded over his body now hangs loose on you, the fabric draping over your hips and hovering at mid-thigh. The neckline gapes open too, exposing the ridges of your collar bones, a tantalizing view of your neck and chest. You’d even nicked one of his leather jackets - the midnight leather swallowing you up so completely that you’re rolling the ends of the sleeves up to find your hands.
Rodrick clears his throat nearby.
Leander’s jaw snaps shut. His mouth is dry.
Not prepared. Not prepared at all .
“Hey,” you greet them, and a cloud of distinctly familiar smells infuses the air.
Herbs. Mint. Rosemary. Leather. A hint of his cologne that lingers on all his clothes.
Ye Olde gods, have mercy on this sinner .
A strange, garbled sound escapes his mouth before he wrestles back control of his body. “Drink?” he asks, desperately ignoring how breathless his own voice sounds. “My treat.”
You don’t seem to notice. To Rodrick, you say, “I’ll have what he’s having.”
This close, he can see a drop of water coalescing behind your ear and trailing down your neck, journeying down warm flesh until it wicks into the shirt collar.
You turn toward him. Leander wrenches his gaze up.
“Think the punctured venom glands will depreciate the carcass’s value?”
“What? Oh. Probably, but not by much.” He clears his throat, tries to look anywhere else for a moment, before his gaze is inevitably drawn back to the way his shirt clings to your front, dipping between the valley of your chest, the full shapely mounds tucked behind the wings of his jacket.
He’s never going to wear that jacket again without thinking of you.
“The other set of glands was intact. If it’s a problem, we’ll just sell it to Kuras. He’s always in the market for monster venom.” He dropped more of his weight on the counter, leaning a little closer to you.
“I’ll take over negotiating in that case. Kuras run’s circles around you at the bartering table.”
Leander laughs, hears the strained quality of his own voice, and quickly stops. “What can I say, the good doctor can be very persuasive. Think you can do better?”
Your mouth curls into a smirk, mischief alight in those dark eyes, your face framed by the damp strands of your hair, all wrapped up in his clothes, his scent, and his brain grinds to a halt.
Tilting your head, you say in a low voice, “I know I can.”
Leander looks at you and believes it. If this vision stood opposite him in the market, he’d fold like a palace of cheap cards in a hurricane.
Rodrick returns and hands you a glass of whiskey. He pauses behind the counter as you tip it back and swallow it all down, then asks, “Another?”
“In a bit. I’m gonna head back to my place and get dressed.”
Snapping out of a sudden, intense fantasy of licking trails of whiskey off your neck, Leander sits up. “Right now?” He flicks a look over you, heat licking his insides.
“Mm. I’m not about to sit on those stools like this.”
Like this ? He glances down. Thin chausses meant to prevent chafing from armor hide away your skin. It’d be a little cold, perhaps - he could offer to warm you up personally if that was the problem - but it’s not that unusual for hunters to wear them in place of everyday pants.
You notice the confusion and, to his surprise and delight, blush . “Back in half a wick. You’re buying dinner. Steak.”
With that, you stalk off into the pub, draped in his jacket, as his hounds and other patrons part ways around you.
“Sure, happy to…oblige….” he trails off, leaning off the stool to keep you in sight as long as possible, before the front door closes on your shadow. “Steaks on the menu tonight, Rodrick?”
“It is now. Make peace with your coin purse.”
Leander slowly turns back around and looks at the empty glass. I’m not about to sit on those stools like this . But you were wearing pants, however thin, so…
He slowly lifts his head as the realization slams into him like a runaway carriage.
You have no underwear on.
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a/n: comments and likes appreciated!
#leander fic#leander x mc#leander x reader#otome#touchstarved fanfic#touchstarved leander#touchstarved imagines#touchstarved
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*if MC was taken by the Senobium and Main Five decided to actually work together to break them out*
Leander: If rummaging through my old folks’ archives has given me any useful information, there exists a master key to the Senobium that deactivates their magical security measures.
Kuras: Indeed. Long ago, to keep it safe, the Senobium had entrusted their key to me.
Ais: So where is it now?
Kuras: In the bowels of the Wastes.
Leander: The Wastes? While you were trying to keep it safe? Why would you take it out there?
Kuras: It is the last place anyone who values their life would go.
Mhin: *sigh* Sounds lovely.
Kuras: Quite the opposite.
Mhin: I know, I was being ironic.
Kuras: I find irony is a blade that cuts they who wield it most especially.
Vere: Yeah? iS tHaT whAt yOu fiNd? DoCToR?
Leander: Ooookay, can we all put aside trying to kill each other until after I save MC?
Ocudeus: *to Ais* Yeah...the Sparrow’s doomed.
#touchstarved#touchstarved game#touchstarved leander#touchstarved kuras#touchstarved ais#touchstarved mhin#touchstarved vere#touchstarved ocudeus#incorrect quote#incorrect quotes#source: dungeons & dragons: honor among thieves#well now I just want a prison break fic#au where mc doesn't listen to any of the lis and blabs about their secret curse and then gets their ass imprisoned by the senobium#au where no one dies because they all have to work together to break them out#everyone caught the ‘after *I* save MC’ right?
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