I just want someone to hold me. To envelop me. To trail their hands down my back. To be… Comforted. Just laying there, having someone soothe you with touches and know they care.
I hate those days. The ones where I suddenly realize my yearning all over again. I don’t need reminders of this lack.
Him subconsciously eagerly grabbing for your hand or waist to hold whenever you’re reaching out to comfort him, surprising you with how much he’d actually grab you and want to initiate contact with you first.
Somehow he would always pull you to his side in a protective and possessive manner whenever you were around - but would claim it was to protect you in case of any danger if he was ever called out.
Bunnymund always being nervous and jittery whenever you are gone or have to leave his side, but finally breathing easily once you are within his grasp and have your arms around him as he takes in your presence.
Tapping his foot constantly whenever someone else takes away your attention from him or your have to leave his side - then trying to hide it when someone points out his nervous behavior.
Practically melting into your touch and losing his train of thought whenever you’d pull him to lay on your lap and carefully stroke his fur or his ears, feeling like he can finally relax and be himself whenever he is around you,
Calming down whenever you would simply cup his cheeks with your significantly smaller hands, the feeling of comfort washing over him whenever you would reassure his worries or insecurities.
Holding onto your hand and often insisting he continue to escort you around wherever you go, Not wanting to be apart from you yet, especially since you’re both spending your time together after the holidays.
Taking you to the Warren where you both can be alone together and he can bathe in all the attention you are giving to him and only him.
Grabbing your wrist and pulling it to kiss your hand more deeply whenever you would casually lay it on his chest or run it up and down his fur body, wanting to mirror the affection that you have for him and how his affection
Bunnymund becoming very soft spoken whenever you’d press your forehead against his and reassure him that everything will be alright, only to later on cup your cheeks just to keep you a little longer.
Him draping his significantly larger body over yours whenever you complain about being cold, allowing his body heat and fur to keep you warm whenever you both visit North’s place for the holidays or a meeting.
Only to complain when you insist on moving, but finally succumbing to his thick Australian accent begging to just a little longer.
Him being blunt the day after Easter and just asking you to hold him in your arms and kiss him, only to usually end up falling asleep as he enjoys the gentle and warm touches you give to him as he dozes off.
Waking up the next morning, with his Australian accent being husky from sleeping, as he tells you how much he loves you. Only to bury himself deeper into your grasp and take in your scent.
Overall Bunnymund knows he’s touch starved due to being so out of touch with the world and of course becoming a guardian. However he refuses to do knowledge it. Still, he relishes the little hugs and kisses given to him by his loving S/O. Making him very affectionate.
After the first time he makes love to his S/O he cannot help but to become overwhelmed by the various stimulation. He cannot help but to hold on tightly to his S/O and just soak in their affection.
This piece is for the original Kestrel Sisters AU (not the BBU version). Leigh and Liliana have been kidnapped by Leigh’s former whumper, Malcolm, and are being held in an abandoned warehouse.
Malcolm and Leigh belong to @for-the-love-of-angst ! Thank you for letting me play with them!
<><><><><><><><><><><>
Warnings: lady whumpees with male whumper, captivity, referenced parental death/abandonment, homelessness, starvation, touch repulsion, touch starvation, implied torture, self-deprecating thoughts
.
It’s quiet in the dark concrete room. Leigh is awake, but silent, insisting on ‘keeping watch’ even though they’re both aware by now that she won’t be able to do anything to stop Malcolm if he comes for one of them.
Liliana is supposed to be asleep. She’s curled up in the corner, shivering, arms wrapped around her middle as if she could possibly hold in some warmth or ease the cramps in her empty stomach. It isn’t the first time she’s needed to sleep in the cold, and it’s certainly not the first time she’s gone hungry. Hunger has become such a familiar part of her life over the past two years that she wouldn’t know who she was without it.
She’s never let it get this bad before, though. There’s not ever much to eat, but there’s usually something. So far, in the time they’ve been here, which has to have been a couple of days, at least, he’s only offered them water. Which helps, of course, but can only go so far.
Another cramp threatens to rip her in half, and she curls in further on herself, biting back a whimper.
“Lili? You okay?”
It throws her off, still, how casual and familiar Leigh is with her. Giving her a nickname, acting like they’ve known each other for years. Which, for Leigh, they have, in a way. Apparently she was old enough when…they were separated, however that happened, that she actually remembers her sisters. Probably remembers calling her by that nickname when she was just a baby.
It’s all too wild and overwhelming for Liliana to quite get a grasp on, though. Part of her even refuses to believe it. To accept that her parents, the ones that she grew up with, the ones that she fled from as soon as she turned eighteen, aren’t even her actual parents, and that she…had? has? another set of parents out there who…what? Died? Abandoned her? She doesn’t even know, isn’t sure she wants to know. Leigh might be able to tell her, but they haven’t had a lot of time for chitchat in between being tormented by their captor.
“Are you awake?”
Oh, right. She’d apparently gone into a daze, unaware of how much time was passing since Leigh first addressed her. “Mhm. ‘m fine.” Her voice sounds atrocious. Going from months on end of hardly speaking at all to a couple of days of screaming and crying has not done it any favors.
There’s the sound of movement, and a moment later Leigh crawls close enough that she can actually make out her features in the darkness. A look of concern is etched into her face, though that seems to be her default right now, when she doesn’t look angry or in pain. “Are you sure? Is there anything I can do to help?”
“N-no.” Finally deciding that she can’t stand the cold of the concrete floor seeping through her clothes anymore, she shoves herself upward with weak, shaky arms, immediately regretting it when what little she can see disappears into a black void.
When her brain stops pounding into her skull and she’s aware of her surroundings again, there are hands on her, gripping her arms. Gasping sharply, she jerks away. Her spine slams against the wall, heart beating wildly.
“Sorry! I’m sorry. You almost fell, I was trying to help.”
It’sLeigh. Just Leigh, no one is trying to hurt her.
“S-sorry. Sorry.” She sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm her heart. “I j-just, um…got lightheaded.”
Leigh hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t say anything else right away. Liliana can almost feel her staring, analyzing her, but she can’t find it in her to worry about that right now. Her head has started aching again, rivaling the pain in her stomach, and she’s so weak and shaky that it’s taking all of her focus just to stay upright. An extra intense shiver nearly knocks her over.
“You’re freezing.” It isn’t quite a question, but it’s more than a statement. Liliana isn’t sure how she’s the only one shivering, in this frigid room, but then again, maybe it’s just her. She always struggles to keep warm.
“I’d offer to share some body heat with you, but…” Leigh trails off, leaving the thought unfinished. There are probably a couple of ways it could end. “But you just freaked out when I touched you,”and“But you smell like a dumpster,” are both valid options.
“I’m fine.”
Silence falls again. Liliana listens to Leigh’s breathing and tries to match her own to it, but it’s difficult to keep a steady rhythm.
“Listen, I know I’ve already said this once, but…I’m so sorry that you got caught up in this. You…do-…-e here…me…-colm…you…”
Liliana grits her teeth, trying to focus on the words, but they fade in and out, mixing with the pounding of her pulse in her temples. Then they stop, and she should say something, she’s being rude, but she doesn’t even know what was said and she’s not used to carrying on conversations and she’s not really sure what words even are anymore, her mind is just static and pain and cold and hunger, until she feels herself falling sideways and can’t do a thing to stop it.
She wakes lying on her back with her head pillowed on something softer than the concrete. There’s a hand on her face, and she flinches, trying to swat it away, but her arms are made of lead and won’t cooperate. The hand moves anyway.
“Shh, Lili. You’re okay. Can you hear me?”
She gives a sound somewhere between a grunt and a groan in response.
“Okay. I need you to tell me something. Are you bleeding anywhere?”
It takes her a moment to fully comprehend the question, but she shakes her head no.
“Good. That’s good.” Leigh hesitates, and Liliana takes a second to try and orient herself. Leigh’s face is above her now. She must be…yes, she’s lying with her head on her lap. The proximity makes her heart skip a beat, but she doesn’t have the strength to change her position.
“When’s the last time you ate something? Before…before coming here?”
Food. Liliana’s stomach groans at the thought. It’s a struggle to get her mind to go back that far, to remember the day before she was kidnapped, and even more of a struggle to put the memories into words.
“I…I had a…the end of…a sandwich? Like…like…” ¿Cuál es la palabra, cuál es la palabra? “…el pan, con mayonesa. Para el desayuno.” She doesn’t even register that she’s switched to the language she grew up speaking.
“Not a whole sandwich? Just…bread with mayonnaise?”
Liliana hums in agreement, holding up two fingers to indicate how big the piece had been. She’d hoped for at least a little bit of meat left on it when she pulled it out of its takeout box, but hadn’t been that lucky.
“¿Qué más?” Leigh urges softly.
“Saved the…the fries…for dinner.”
“Fries. Okay. Just…plain fries?”
“Mhm.” It had been about a handful. Most were the small, crunchy bits, but she didn’t mind. They had good seasoning, even cold.
“And that was…the day before you were taken? You didn’t eat anything the day of?”
“No. No pude encontrar nada.” She’d just thought she was hungry that morning. It was nothing compared to now.
“You couldn’t find…” Leigh cuts off, then after a moment leans down so she’s looking Liliana directly in the eyes. She tries to focus in on her, but her facial features seem to be wavering and multiplying.
“Lili…I could be completely wrong about this, but…are you…homeless?”
The shame is like a punch to the chest. It’s not like she’s tried to hide the truth from her…her sister. But she was perfectly okay with her not knowing. From what she’d gathered from her clothing and snippets of conversation, she’s a successful businesswoman. Might even possibly be the CEO of a company, if she’d heard correctly.
And her little sister lives next to a dumpster and survives off other people’s trash and charity.
Still, she can’t lie to her. So she nods, slowly, and whispers, “Sí.”
There’s no real reaction. Leigh leans her head back against the wall again, staring off into the distance, not saying anything. Before Liliana can go too deep into her spiral of she’s disgusted by me she’s ashamed to call me sister she wishes I’d stayed out of her life, though, something touches the top of her head, yanking her attention away. It’s…fingers. Leigh is running her fingers through Liliana’s hair.
She freezes, mind going in a dozen different directions. Someone’s touching her, and touching always means pain, but…this feels really nice? It doesn’t hurt at all, but it could hurt, it could change at any moment, she could grab a handful of her hair and pull…but then again this is Leigh, and she hasn’t treated her with anything but kindness over the past couple of days. But she really shouldn’t be touching her hair, her hair is gross, it’s greasy and matted and no nice, respectable person like Leigh should be putting their hands anywhere near it. Except it’s so gentle, and soothing, and she hasn’t been touched like this in…in years, and she can’t seem to do anything but melt into it, eyes drifting shut.
“You were probably half starving already,” Leigh murmurs. Liliana’s eyes flicker open at the sound, but are too heavy to stay that way long. “We ne-…-ou some foo-…-re really worr-…me.”
The pitch blackness behind her eyelids is inviting. Her head doesn’t hurt so much anymore, even her stomach has calmed, no longer trying to turn itself inside out. She doesn’t know what Leigh is saying, but her voice is soothing, despite the fact that it sounds very far away.
Suddenly the hair petting stops, and there’s a warm hand on her cheek, tapping. Pulling herself back up out of the depths of the darkness is difficult, but eventually she manages to pry her eyes open, the pain in her head spiking again with her return.
“Lili, you need to stay awake.”
Stay awake? Had she fallen asleep? She tries to answer, but words are hard. English, especially, is hard. “Cansado,” she finally manages.
“Sí, lo sé.” She doesn’t go back to rubbing her hair, and Liliana wishes she would, but she does keep her hand against her cheek, and that feels pretty nice, too. Occasionally her thumb strokes across her cheekbone.
They spend what could be an eternity like that, Liliana floating on the edge of consciousness while Leigh does her best to keep her on the waking side of it. Sometimes she nearly gives into the darkness again, and the tapping fingers bring her back. Sometimes Leigh hums, or talks, and even though she can’t concentrate on what she’s saying it’s nice to have the reminder that she’s not alone.
Finally, the lock on the heavy door turns with an echoing click that catches her attention. She turns her head on Leigh’s lap just in time to see the door creak open slightly, a man’s hand rolling three water bottles onto the floor.
“Hey!” Leigh’s voice rings out sharply, none of the earlier softness there now. The hand is gone, but the door pauses, not closing yet. “Tell Malcolm that if he doesn’t get some food in here right now he’s about to lose one of his pets.”
The door opens a bit more, and the man steps in - through the haze, Liliana recognizes him as one of the men who’d grabbed her from the alley - light spilling into the room with him. He squints in their direction, looking them up and down.
A sharp pain stabs through Liliana’s stomach, and she winces before shutting her eyes again. Leigh and the man are having a conversation above her that she can’t decipher. Somewhere in the distance, there’s the sound of a door shutting, then a hand begins carding through her hair again, fingers tapping on her cheek. She hums, but can’t make her eyes open this time. It’s just too hard.
The next thing she’s aware of is a scent. It takes her a moment to process it and place where she’s smelled it before. It’s…peanut butter. Her eyes pry themselves open almost of their own volition, even though she’s half convinced that she’s hallucinating.
“Hey, chica.” Leigh smiles down at her, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ve got food for you, open up.”
Liliana obeys automatically, and a small piece of something is slipped between her lips. The taste of peanut butter explodes across her tongue. Whatever it is, it’s chewy, with chunks in it that she identifies as peanuts. Leigh is waiting with another piece pinched in her fingers as soon as she’s done swallowing that one.
As she chews the second bite, her eyes flick up to Leigh’s face, and the granola bar she’s holding. A small smile crosses her lips when she sees Liliana looking at her. “You really scared us, you know that?”
Liliana isn’t sure what she did, but she whispers, “Sorry.”
“Just eat right now.” Leigh pushes another bite up to her mouth. “But let me know if it gets to be too much.”
“I can…I can do it.” Having to be hand fed is far too embarrassing. The look Leigh gives her is dubious, but she holds the granola bar out to her anyway. It takes all of Liliana’s strength to raise her arm and grasp it, hand shaking so hard she nearly misses, and once it’s in her hand she can’t quite seem to bring it any closer to her face. She feels pathetic. Leigh hasn’t had food while they were here, either, and she seems perfectly fine.
Without a word, Leigh wraps her hand around Liliana’s and guides the food toward her. It isn’t much better than hand feeding, but Liliana swallows what little pride she has left and accepts it.
She manages to make it through three-fourths of the granola bar before she decides she can’t hold anymore. Leigh wraps it up carefully and sets it to the side, then goes immediately back to petting her hair.
“We’ll try to get some more in you in a little while. There’s another bar here, too, that you can have when you’re done with this one.”
There’s something…questionable about that statement, but she doesn’t currently have the energy to figure out what and why.
They stay huddled together for a while longer, not speaking much. Eventually Leigh helps Liliana sit up again, which sends her head spinning, though not as badly as before. She takes more bites of granola bar whenever she feels she can. Leigh stays pressed up against her side the whole time, and Liliana is surprised to find she doesn’t mind it at all.
Then the lock turns and the door opens again, and Malcolm himself steps inside. A harsh shiver runs down Liliana’s spine at the sight of him. Leigh shifts even closer to her, face set like stone.
“Well, Birdy.” His voice is sickly sweet, his eyes roving over them with far too much delight. “I think it’s time you pay me for the food you ordered.”
Liliana can feel the way Leigh flinches, and finds herself reaching out to hold onto her arm. She doesn’t know precisely what the man wants, but she knows it isn’t good.
“I did you a favor,” Leigh spits. “I kept you from killing her with your neglect.”
Instead of getting angry, he smiles. “Hm. You’re right, the little one is the troublemaker, here.” His gaze is solely on Liliana now, and it makes her skin crawl. “Maybe she should be the one to pay up.”
“No!” Leigh is on her feet instantly. “I’ll do it. Leave her alone.”
“Leigh -” She may not know her sister very well, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t scared for her.
“It’s okay, Lili. Just keep resting. I’ll be back soon, alright?”
Liliana watches helplessly as Malcolm latches onto Leigh and tugs her out of the room. The door shuts and locks with an ominous clang. She’s suddenly freezing again without Leigh next to her, but she’s pretty sure that the way her body is trembling is more from fear than the cold.
She isn’t worth whatever he’s about to do to Leigh. She should have just left her alone.
I blink my eyes and days go by. I can’t keep up with life. I want to do everything, but little things take too much time. Everything takes too much time. It feels like time is speeding up exponentially and I have no control.
Hmm… - I’ve been single for almost 2 years (and most of my life besides that). - I haven’t had a long hug in 2 years also. - I don’t have any close friends, besides online friends I talk to sometimes. - I somehow still get asked how I’m still single, considering I’m: “sweet, nice, cute, caring, smart”, etc.
I have the worst luck when it comes to love. I always feel like I love more, I’m more open, and give more effort than most people. I don’t know what to do anymore… I don’t know where or how to find the person for me. _
From a distance, I may seem like any other person. But once you know me and dig deeper, there’s more and more that make me stand out from the rest. I’m not like most people, I don’t aim to be. That’s what I like about myself.
When I feel feelings of love, it helps me show even more of who I am. The better sides of myself. The loving and caring side. But I need that love to express that, like plants need water to thrive.
So most people don’t see who I am, aren’t patient enough or maybe just don’t want an honest loving person. But that’s fine. I only want one person, the one right for me. Who I’ll give my all to and who’ll give their all in return.
thanks for tuning into existential brain spiral! previously, we had ‘i am yearning for escapism’! next up, we have ‘i despise physical touch but i crave affection’, ‘will i ever truly be loved’, and ‘can i and will i let myself be loved?’! tonight we have a special bonus episode: ‘will i ever be okay with vulnerability without cringing myself into a black hole’!
i notice the way you look at me when i’m crying or vulnerable you rub the side of my arm but you want to hug me don’t you? you hate seeing me like this, don’t you?
I hate the whole backlash like ‘you say touch starved but you actually just mean horny’ NO I mean when I was getting my hair cut there was a moment where the hairdresser tilted my head to the side and the top of my head brushed his chest and my brain short circuited with endorphins because it thought I was being held
Because casual, platonic affection is so taboo in our society that whenever anyone wants to hold a friend’s hand or snuggle on the couch, it is automatically assumed they must be after sex. This is especially true if the person in question was socialized as a man.
relating all physical affection to sex really messes with people’s need for physical contact with others. it teaches us to isolate ourselves and deny ourselves critical interactions lest we be mistaken for pursuing sex. this is really isolating for people who are sex-indifferent, sex-repulsed, or asexual, but it affects everyone.
This is exactly why I hold the theory that a large part of why men in our society always seem so obsessed with sex is because it’s one of the only culturally acceptable ways men are allowed to experience physical affection and connection.
I didn’t realize I was asexual until I was in my 50s (mainly because I didn’t know that was an option), but with hindsight, I realize I’ve been ace all my life. I’ve never craved sexual contact with another person.
But there was a period when I was in grad school (where we weren’t allowed to have pets, so I was missing my daily kitty-cuddles), that I was so touch-starved that I nearly broke down in tears writing a scene in a short story, where a surrogate grandfather holds the hand of a five year old. And I had to stop writing and take several deep breaths to stop shaking.
“Oh yeah?” The hero cocked a hip boldly, jutted her chin. “Come and see how that works for you, babe.”
The villain cackled but no, she did not take the bait. She was properly prepared, all gloved and covered up against those bare arms and legs and now that midriff too, shimmering with magic and pain, but she was no fool to let pride drag her into a trap. To let the hero bait her into a physical fight instead a psychological one. And god, it was almost embarrassing how vulnerable the hero was to a little flirting.
“I particularly love the short shorts. Planning to electrocute me between those gorgeous thighs?”
“Enough chatter,” the hero snapped, even as her face darkened to a gorgeous shade of copper. She raised her fists and set into a ready position that was no joke. “Surrender, or we can do this the hard way.”
“Ooh, I’d love to do you the hard way,” the villain fired back, hand on her holster. “Why don’t you be a good girl and turn that light show off?”
“I wish,” the hero muttered, flicking sparks off her shoulder.
The villain stopped dead. “What?”
“I said, you wish,” the hero cried, something new in her eyes. Horror. Panic.
“Wait,” the villain said, flipping rapidly back through everything she knew about the hero, every encounter they’d had. “You… can turn that power off, right? You’re not permanently stuck in electrocution mode?”
The hero let out a howl of rage and flung herself at the villain. The villain drew her blaster but hero was already on her, simply batted it away. A few swift strikes and the villain found herself bleeding from a painfully throbbing nose, pinned flat on her back.
Somehow none of that seemed to matter as the hero straddled her, eyes scrunched and breath heaving in her chest far beyond the simple exertion required. The cuffs were in her hand and she did not move to put them on her prisoner as the villain’s gloved hand pressed across the bare skin of the hero’s muscled abs.
“Oh, you poor thing,” whispered the villain. The wiring in the gloves sizzled furiously but held. “Has no one been touching you the way you deserve to be touched?”
The hero shuddered so hard she almost fell off.
“It’s okay, let me have you,” the villain said, daring to pull her other hand free to place it on the other side of the hero’s waist. The buzzing intensified exponentially but it was nothing the villain couldn’t handle.
A sharp yank and a sudden twist, and they rolled. Suddenly it was villain rolled atop hero, who arched beneath them as they dug their grip in tight on that shimmering skin.
“The costume’s fine. Honestly.” the villain whispered, running their hands up the sides of hero’s body, barely breathing as sparks flamed away. “But if you don’t like it, tell them to stuff this costume where it came from. Nobody gets to make you suffer.”
“Except you?” the hero moaned, high and breathy, and the villain thought between that sound and the frantic vibration of her suit she might just combust on the spot.
“Oh darling,” the villain gasped, letting their hand roam up the hero’s arm towards those cuffs. “Suffering is the last thing I’m going to make you feel.”
“Wait!” The villain froze as the hero’s eyes snapped open, blinking away the haze. “Wait, [Villain]. You… you’re right. I can’t turn it off.” And then the hero’s face split into her winning grin. “But I can turn it up.”
The sparks screamed as they multiplied across the hero’s glimmering skin. The villain screamed too as the protective wiring in her suit failed, as her body seized in hero’s current, as everything flashed to static…
And she woke up tucked neatly into a hotel bed a note on the nightstand: Called the Agency. I’m getting my old costume back. Thanks.
“Good girl,” murmured the villain dizzily and heaved herself up to make her escape before the cavalry could arrive. And if she smiled as she limped home, well. That was no one’s business but hers. And maybe hero’s.
Summary: Loki reflects on the way you touch him, and whether he could be permitted to touch you.
Warnings/Notes: I straight-up hate that I cannot find gifs for these stories which include anyone with skin darker than lily-white. I’ve been trying to be a lot more careful about stuff like Loki’s fingers in your hair because I know a lot of girls with extremely curly hair wouldn’t allow something like that, but all the gifs that come up—even when I search “dark skin”—are gifs like this one. I swear to you that I do not consciously write my readers only ever as white. I myself am white, so I know that’s how I instinctively tend to code the readers, but I’m working on that.
Hold My Hand
The first time you grabbed his hand, Loki wasn’t sure how to respond. You weren’t in danger. No one was. You were sitting beside him on the sofa in the living room for one of Thor’s movie nights. No one else really ever sat beside him, so, admittedly, he was a little surprised when you joined him. You sat down almost like it was nothing, with only a shy, awkward smile to show him that you knew it could be more than that.
