I apologize for not being the best writer, and for not having a proof reader, but I've had a lot of thoughts in my head about how each LI would react to a touch averse reader due to some past trauma in their life. GN!ReaderxLIs. Individual POVs. My requests are open if anyone has idea for me to write!
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Xavier:
Xavier was always watching, noticing every little detail. The way you stepped away when someone reached out. The hesitation in your eyes when his hands drifted a little too close.
He never pressed, he never asked. He made sure to keep a safe distance, to step between you and anyone who was getting too close. When he draped his coat over your shoulders on a cold night, he made sure not to touch your shoulders.
One night, you were sitting together but separate, rain pattering outside of your apartment. Xavier had ordered takeout, and you ate together in a comfortable silence.
He reached across the table to grab a napkin, and his hand just barely brushed over yours. Without thinking, you jerked your hand back, knocking your glass over and you watched, frozen, as it fell to the floor shattering and spilling its contents all over you and the floor.
Xavier immediately stopped, eyes widening just slightly at the crash. He took a slow, careful breath and said softly, “It’s okay… accidents happen.” He grabbed some paper towels and began cleaning up the mess, keeping his distance, letting you step away.
You stood there for a moment, flustered and embarrassed, cheeks heating. He continued in his calm, quiet way, his voice gentle. “Take your time. I’m right here.”
You felt the tension in your shoulders slowly ease, comforted by the fact he wasn't pushing you to explain or rushing to help you clean off. You excused yourself briefly to change out of your ruined shirt.
You finally sat back down, listening to the rain falling outside. The steady sound of the downpour soothing your breaths. Finally, you whispered, so softly he almost missed it, "I'm...I'm not very good with touch."
Xavier's eyes softened as he looked at you, noticing the way your lips quivered, embarrassed by your own admission. "You don't need to explain," he said, slowly, gauging your reaction. "Love isn't about how close we are physically, it's about how close our souls are."
His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and you smiled softly, cheeks flushed. "Thank you," you said and inched a little closer to him. Still not touching, but enough to feel he was there.
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Zayne:
Zayne was never a man of many words. He was never one to waste them on things he already understood. He saw your tensed shoulders, the guarded look in your eyes.
So he found other ways. He always left a blanket draped over the arm of your favorite seat. When you went out and the streets were busy, he shifted his body to create space for you and shield you from the others.
One day, you were enjoying an array of macarons and small cakes in a little bakery when somebody walked by, accidently brushing against you, and you froze, a panicked look in your eyes, your heart rate rising and your breathing becoming unsteady.
Zayne noticed immediately, and he didn't reach out for you as his instincts wanted him to, but his voice cut through to you, low and soothing.
"Breathe with me."
He shifted his body slightly, blocking the crowd from your view, but still saving the space you needed. "In through your nose. Hold. Out through your mouth." His voice was steady.
You tried your best to follow his instructions. Your breath was shaky at first, but his steady presence grounded you. His eyes never left yours, giving you something to focus on.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I just, I don't..." You started speaking too fast, embarrassed by what he had just witnessed.
"No," he said, stopping you, "you never need to apologize for how you react. I will always be here to help you through it."
You nodded and exhaled as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, one you had been carrying for too many years.
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Rafayel:
Rafayel was affectionate by nature. always leaning in, always teasing. But the moment you had flinched away from him, his mischievous grin faded.
He stepped back, raising his hand up in surrender. "You're like a delicate flower," he noted. "My mistake for reaching out too soon."
From that day, he turned a full 180. His affection turned from touch to words. He whispered poetry under the stars, laughed with you late into the night, and complimented you in every shared moment. He made sure you knew how much you meant to him, he made sure there was never a moment of doubt.
He had asked to paint you in his studio, and although you were shy, you agreed at his constant insistence.
You were sitting on a velvet stool in the center of his studio. Canvases lined the walls, each one more brilliant than the last, but his gaze was fixed on you.
“Hold just like that,” Rafayel murmured, his tone soft. No teasing, no dramatic flourish. His brush moved, and the soft sounds filled the room.
You fidgeted under the weight of his attention, but as the time passed, his quiet focus soothed you. There was no pressure here.
When you finally broke the silence, your voice was hesitant. “Thank you.”
He paused mid-stroke, brow arching. “For what, cutie? For capturing your beauty? That is simply my calling.”
You shook your head slowly. “No, I mean, that too, but... For… changing. For noticing when I flinched, and not making me explain. You just—adjusted. Not everyone would do that.”
His lips curved slowly, tenderly. He took a moment before responding. “Ah, cutie, you wound me. Did you think I could ever ignore what you need?” He set his brush down, leaning back just enough to look at you fully. “Touch is shallow compared to this. To see you, to paint you—it is more intimate than any embrace.”
His grin returned then, boyish and a little smug, but beneath it, his eyes were warm.
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Sylus:
Sylus never missed a thing. He had spent so long earning your trust back and knew your relationship was still fragile. When he brought you to Onychinus's base for the first time, he forgot to warn you about the twins.
They came charging into the room, swarming around you, talking too fast. "It's so nice to meet you, boss lady!" Kieran said, slinging his arm around your shoulders. "We're happy to see the old boss man finally settling down," Luke said, tugging you from his brother into a hug.
Sylus noticed the way your eyes widened immediately. Your body froze, panic flashing across your face as you struggled to worm your way out of their grasp. "Enough." He said loudly, his voice commanding over their constant chatter. In an instant, they let you go.
"Leave," Sylus commanded, and Luke and Kieran left the space, uncertain of what had just occurred. Sylus watched as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to be as small as possible. "Follow me," he said and guided you into a large living room, gesturing for you to sit.
As you sat in the farthest seat from him, he watched intently. Watching as you wrung your hands and fiddled with your hair. "You hate being touched," he said, not a question but an observation.
Your breath caught in your throat, waiting for his judgment, his pity, the push for you to explain yourself. But that never came. He stood, waiting, watching.
"That's fine," he continued, slowly. "I don't need to touch you to be with you. I can wait for you to be ready."
It took some time for his words to register, for you to fully understand what he was saying, and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.
"Thank you," you said softly, "thank you for not asking for more than I can give."
"I'll take whatever you can give," he said in response, "and I'll talk to the twins."
"Thank you," you say again, a genuine smile flooding your face as you pat the space next to you. Sylus sits, leaving just enough space between you.
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Caleb:
Caleb had known you for years. He remembered the excited hugs you gave as a kid, how you always wanted to be around him. And now, now he saw how even the slightest touch made your whole body stiffen.
He didn't bring it up. But he didn't just let it be. He always showed up. Always encouraged you. He was always there, and he never demanded anything in return.
When you were visiting him in Skyhaven you helped him cook dinner. The radio played soft music, and the smell of braised pork filled the kitchen. You were sauteeing some vegetables, and he reached past you to grab a spice jar, his arm brushed against yours. A jolt of panic rushed through your body.
"I-I'm sorry," Caleb said immediately, jumping back to give you some space.
But you didn't answer. You didn't want to explain. You were embarrassed and flustered, and without a word, you ran out of the kitchen, running out of the room, and you closed yourself in the bedroom.
He hesitated for a moment, considering his options, and followed behind, knocking gently on the door. "Hey... Pips?" He called out through the door. "Come on, you can't hide in there forever."
He tried the door and, finding it unlocked, he slowly opened the door. He found you curled up against the wall, and he crouched down next to you, careful not to touch. "You don't have to explain anything," he started gently, "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."
You took a shaky breath. "I wish I wasn't like this," you whispered, tears streaking your cheeks.
Caleb frowned, shaking his head. "Don't Pipsqueak," he said, "don't ever want to be anything other than what you are. Touching or not, you're still you. That's the person I want." He hesitated and then smiled, "That's the person I will pick every time."
🌟 Shoutout to those beautiful souls who lift us up! 🌈They're the ones who piece us back together with love. They sit, listen, laugh, and hold space for us to cry if needed. Through them, our souls find solace, our breaths deepen, and we begin to feel whole again. 💫
CW: Mentions of emotional dysregulation, intense feelings, fear of abandonment, crying, minor argument, self-deprecating thoughts, soft hurt/comfort.
Bucky knew you had bad days.
He just hadn’t expected this bad.
It had started small—he’d been late getting home. Not by much, maybe an hour, but when your phone calls went unanswered and his texts stayed unread, the familiar static in your brain started screaming. Logic told you he was probably fine, maybe caught in traffic, maybe in a meeting. But logic was a whisper, and your fear of losing him was a megaphone.
By the time his key turned in the lock, your body was tight with anger and panic.
You didn’t even say hello.
“You could’ve told me you weren’t dead.”
Bucky froze in the doorway, still holding his bag. “Doll, I—what?”
“You didn’t text me back!” The words came out sharp and hot, louder than you meant. “For hours.” Your voice cracked on the last word. “Do you even care how that makes me feel?”
He stepped inside slowly, shutting the door behind him. “I didn’t mean to worry you—”
“You never mean it,” you snapped, the heat in your chest tipping over into rage. “You just disappear, and I’m left here thinking you’ve decided you’re done with me, and—and you don’t even care—”
“Hey,” his voice dropped, trying to soothe, but you were already spiraling. In the back of your head, you knew you’d regret the words, but right now, they felt like the truth. “Maybe you should just go. Then I won’t have to sit here waiting for someone who doesn’t want to be here.”
It was the crack in his expression—the little wince—that made your chest squeeze so tight you thought you might stop breathing.
You hated yourself instantly. You wanted to take it back, but the words felt like they were cemented in the air between you. The static in your head was roaring now, telling you he would leave, that you’d ruined everything, that you were too much and too broken to be loved.
Bucky put his bag down and came toward you, slow like you were a skittish animal. “Doll, look at me.”
You shook your head, pressing your fists into your eyes. “You’re gonna leave. I can feel it.”
“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly. “Not now. Not tomorrow. Not when you’re mad at me. Not when you’re scared. Not when your brain’s telling you I am.”
His voice was low and steady, like he was anchoring you to the floor. “I’m your favorite person, right?”
You nodded miserably, even though it hurt to admit.
“Then you gotta trust that I’m not going anywhere.” He was close enough now to crouch in front of you, his metal hand warm from the heat of his skin one, cupping your cheek. “You split on me sometimes. I get it. I know it’s not really you talking when you say those things.”
Tears were hot on your face. “But what if one day you believe it?”
“Then I’ll remind myself that the person who says she loves me every morning is the real one,” he said softly. “And that the voice in your head telling you I’ll leave? That voice is a liar.”
You let out a shaky laugh that was more of a sob. “I hate this. I hate being like this.”
“I know,” he murmured, pulling you into his chest. “But I love you.”
You stayed there for a long time, his heartbeat steady under your ear, until the static faded and the crushing certainty of abandonment loosened its hold. And even then, he didn’t let go.
Summary: Dean Winchester seeks solace in your embrace during a vulnerable night.
The room is dark, with only the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains, casting faint shadows on the walls. You’re half asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness, when you feel the mattress dip slightly beside you. It’s subtle, almost unnoticeable, but then you hear the sound of soft, measured breathing, followed by the warm presence of someone close.
You blink your eyes open, and there he is—Dean Winchester, sliding under the covers with you. His movements are hesitant, almost uncertain, as if he’s not entirely sure of what he’s doing. This is new, uncharted territory for both of you.
“Dean?” you murmur, your voice thick with sleep and surprise. He doesn’t answer immediately, just settles beside you, closer than he’s ever been. His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you against his chest. The weight of his body, the solid warmth of him, is comforting in a way that’s both familiar and strange at the same time.
“Sorry,” he finally mutters, his voice a rough whisper in the stillness. “I just… I couldn’t sleep.”
You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles are coiled tight as if he’s waiting for you to push him away, to tell him to leave. But you don’t. Instead, you reach up and gently run your fingers through his hair, soothing and calming. It’s a small gesture, but it seems to be exactly what he needs.
Dean exhales, a long, shaky breath that you didn’t realize he was holding. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and you can feel the faint tremble in his shoulders. It’s then that you realize just how much he’s been holding in, all the stress and fear he never lets anyone see. The weight of the world on his shoulders is too much for him tonight, and he’s turned to you for comfort, something he’s never done before.
“I’m here,” you whisper back, your hand moving in slow, calming strokes through his hair and across his back. “You’re not alone.”
He doesn’t say anything more, just holds you tighter, as if you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and steady now, and you know he’s starting to relax. Slowly, his tension melts away, and you feel him begin to drift off, his grip on you loosening slightly but never fully letting go.
You close your eyes again, your heart beating a little faster, a little steadier, knowing that for tonight, you’re the one thing keeping Dean Winchester from falling apart. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to help you both find a little peace in the darkness.
Bucky Barnes was not in bed when Y/N woke up. At first they only noticed because the other side of the mattress felt cold when they reached across it half asleep. Usually Bucky slept lightly enough that even moving too much would wake him, so an empty bed at this hour immediately felt wrong.
The apartment was quiet when Y/N walked out of the bedroom. The only sound came from the television still running somewhere in the living room, low enough to barely hear. They followed the flickering light and stopped in the doorway when they saw him asleep on the couch.
Bucky looked uncomfortable as hell. One arm thrown across his stomach, his head tilted awkwardly against the couch cushion like he had only meant to sit there for a few minutes before passing out accidentally. The blanket from their bed was hanging half onto the floor.
Then Y/N noticed the metal arm sitting on the coffee table, placed there carefully beside him.
Their stomach tightened a little at the sight.
“Bucky?” they said quietly.
The reaction was immediate.
Bucky woke up like someone had fired a gun next to his head. His whole body jerked forward hard, breathing sharp before his eyes even focused properly. For one bad second he looked completely ready to fight whoever was standing over him.
Then he recognized Y/N.
Everything in him dropped after that. His shoulders loosened and he dragged a hand down his face roughly before leaning back again.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
Y/N walked over slowly and sat down on the edge of the couch, glancing once more at the arm on the table before looking back at him. “Why are you sleeping out here?”
Bucky stayed quiet for a moment. His eyes stayed fixed somewhere on the floor instead of them.
“I had a nightmare.”
His voice sounded rough from exhaustion more than sleep.
Y/N waited without pushing him and eventually Bucky exhaled through his nose, rubbing his hand against his jaw.
“You moved in your sleep and I grabbed you.” His expression tightened immediately after saying it. “For a second I thought somebody was on me.”
Y/N remembered it then. Barely. The feeling of being pulled awake for half a second in the middle of the night before Bucky suddenly let go and got out of bed. They had been too tired to fully process it at the time.
“You let go,” they said quietly.
“After a moment.” His jaw clenched hard enough Y/N could see it. “I woke up and realized it was you .”
The room went silent again. Bucky leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring down at his remaining hand like he could not stand looking anywhere else.
“I just kept thinking about it after that,” he admitted finally. “What happens if one day I don’t stop fast enough.”
Y/N’s chest hurt hearing that because he sounded genuinely afraid of himself. Not dramatic or angry. Just looking tired and scared in a way that he looked worn down.
Bucky glanced over at the arm sitting beside them on the table.
“So I took it off.”
Like that explained everything.
But Y/N stayed where they were, looking at him quietly instead of reacting with anger like he expected.
“You should be pissed at me for that,” Bucky said quietly. He still was not looking at them. “I grabbed you hard enough to leave marks.”
“Why?” Y/N asked quietly. “You had a nightmare and scared yourself so bad you took your own arm off.” They shook their head slightly. “I’m not angry at you for that.”
Bucky stayed silent.
Y/N moved closer, kneeling in front of him so they were at the same level before speaking again.
“I know who you are, Buck. I wouldn’t still be here if I thought you were gonna hurt me, and I know you wouldn't do that on purpose.”
Y/N slowly lifted a hand to his cheek, making Bucky finally look at them again.
