#touch prompt

[machoestofmen]

AIGHT BET (at your convenience) snakeblossom + 2 for touching meme. something something they’re both self conscious about their hair

Fandom: Soul Calibur series Pairing: Snakeblossom (Ivy/Setsuka) Touch Prompt: 2 (Running fingers through hair)

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Most nights she spent with a courtesan or some other fair maiden of her choice, Ivy was invariably the one in charge. But with Setsuka and her boldness, the noblewoman found herself less certain in that regard. Ivy was normally seen as unapproachable, cold as ice, and aloof towards those beneath her, which was most everyone. For all her untouchability, Countess Valentine knew that Setsuka was a real pull, and after their attachment that formed when Ivy was in Japan, Setsuka enjoyed a far more privileged relationship with Ivy than anyone else.

As was demonstrated by Ivy sitting in a chair with Setsuka straddling her lap and locking eyes hungrily.

"Anata no kami de asobitai," Setsuka teased, "I want to play with your hair." She stroked the side of Ivy's head, her nails parting the hair as she went down. "So strange to see someone who claims to be a woman of nobility, but she keeps her hair so short. Why do you not grow it out? Style and decorate it, to flaunt your beauty and grace?"

"Well," Ivy said with a smile, "give me your hand and let me show you." She held Setsuka by the wrist, had her forehead under Setsuka's palm, and made sure the assassin's fingers were pressed against her scalp before guiding Setsuka's hand upward. As Setsuka's hand moved, more and more of Ivy's hair followed, being pulled back and revealing her face. Once it was all out of her face, Ivy gazed at Setsuka from under her brow with lidded eyes and a closed grin.

Setsuka's face pinkened as she gasped with realization. "...You look like a man like that," she said, "the most handsome man the world will ever see. It is no wonder, then."

"Keep going," Ivy said, goading Setsuka into using both hands to alternated between them and make sure it was all evenly pushed back. She sighed with relish at the feeling of Setsuka's fingertips against her scalp, and almost felt disappointed when Setsuka stopped. "Now you see why I keep it short. Why grow it out and make it something to fuss over when I can have it at a manageable length and still be at my most charming?"

Her own hands going up, Ivy touched Setsuka's bangs and asked, "And why might you be having long hair? Even as the best fighter in the Kokonoe clan, you don't have the standing to be considered a noble in any regard."

Setsuka nodded. "Correct, I am not a part of the noble class," she explained, "but I do have an identity to keep as... I think the closest word in English is 'whore'–"

She paused when Ivy wordlessly interrupted her with an incredulous look, as though offended that Setsuka would ever compare herself to such, but continued, "But there is context, so they are not quite the same thing. The ones you think of are yūjo, or 'women of pleasure,' whereas my own persona is closer to a tayū, though as with most things, I am not actually of high enough social rank to claim such a title. I can entertain with sadō, ikebana, shodo, song, dance, poetry, and wit in conversation, as well as more... carnal activities, I think you call them? But these are all just decorations, bits and baubles attached to the mask I wear. This particular hairstyle reflects that."

"There is no need for masks on my estate," Ivy replied, "and to hide the beauty of your true self around me is such a shame, don't you think?" She put her hand on Setsuka's cheek. "You have nothing to fear when you're with me."

Reaching up, Ivy began to take out the comb, pins, and other accessories that Setsuka used to keep her hair up, and after brushing it around with her hands, Ivy stared in awe at Setsuka's pale gold locks as they fell over her shoulders, streaked with the occasional stripe of dyed black. Though she had seen Setsuka with her hair down before, Ivy was always just as enamored as the first time whenever she saw it. Gently stroking a fingerwidth of hair at a time down its length, Ivy said softly, "You say song is part of your array of skills; I would like to let you hear for once instead of having to sing." Her voice barely higher than with what she spoke, Ivy sang:

The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree Sing all a green willow Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee Sing willow, willow, willow, willow Sing willow, willow, willow, willow My garland shall be; Sing all a green willow, willow, willow, willow Sing all a green willow My garland shall be

Combing through Setsuka's hair with one hand, there seemed to be a part of Ivy that was getting absorbed in it all as she continued.

She sighed in her singing and made a great moan; I am dead to all pleasure, my true love she is gone Sing willow, willow, willow, willow Sing willow, willow, willow, willow My garland shall be; Sing all a green willow, willow, willow, willow Sing all a green willow My garland shall be

Setsuka's wintry blue eyes met Ivy's glowing sky blue ones, and her expression was one of love and melancholy; Ivy kept going, this time adding her other hand to the mix as she alternated between fluffing and straightening Setsuka's hair.

The mute bird sat by her was made tame by her moans The true tears fell from her, would have melted the stones Sing willow, willow, willow, willow Sing willow, willow, willow, willow My garland shall be; Sing all a green willow, willow, willow, willow Sing all a green willow My garland shall be

Pulling Setsuka down tenderly, Ivy rested the Japanese woman's head on her chest, so as to better access all of Setsuka's silky hair. It was all fanning over Sestuka's back, splayed beautifully, and Setsuka took a breath of Ivy's perfume as she relaxed into her lover's embrace, feeling Ivy's gloved digits lacing in and out of her hair as they trailed over her back.

Come all you forsaken and mourn you with me Who speaks of a false love, mine’s falser than she Sing willow, willow, willow, willow Sing willow, willow, willow, willow My garland shall be; Sing all a green willow, willow, willow, willow Sing all a green willow My garland shall be

"Are all English songs so sad," Setsuka asked with her voice almost as much a purr as a question, "or is it simply the only one you know?" Ivy smiled, not answering.

Let love no more boast her in palace nor bower It buds, but it blasteth ere it be a flower–

Before she could continue into the chorus again, Ivy's throat grew too tight to let her keep singing, and her sudden pause drew Setsuka from her lulling. "You are crying," Setsuka observed, looking at Ivy and holding Ivy's hands at their spot in her hair; Ivy blinked in surprised at the wetness she hadn't noticed on her lashes. "...Ah. I suppose I am."

Setsuka leaned a little ways forward and kissed Ivy on the collarbone. "You are not a tayū, you do not have to sing for me if it pains you, itoshī hito."

"Yes, I suppose I would make a far better scholar than a minstrel," Ivy halfheartedly quipped. Her hands went back to snaking through Setsuka's hair again. "My lover here happens to have far more practice than I, after all."

[squeeneyart]

If you're still taking sketch requests, I would love to see your Jon and Martin #47 kiss

[Image description: a greyscale digital drawing of Jonathan Sims, a thin, dark-skinned man with light choppy hair and various scars in a white tank top and sweatpants, and Martin Blackwood, a fat, light-skinned man with long light hair in a black t-shirt and bottoms. Jon lays on a bed, half-twisting away from Martin who is kissing Jon's stomach where the tank top has rolled up. Jon buries part of his own laughing face in his own forearm and uses his free hand to push at Martin's head . End ID]

guys bein dudes dudes bein gay

And 47, tummy kisses, wraps up the bunch of em. Thanks for the prompt!

[dapandapod]

Hi! The touching ask game 8, 18 or 28. Whichever you prefer!!

Look. I did all three of them. And I know you said touching, but I accidently had some kissing too. Some Geraskier cuteness, coming right up!

Thank you for prompting me, I had so much fun writing this!!

On Ao3 here! Prompts: 8. shielding the other one with their body, 18. squishing the other’s cheek and 28. feeling for each other in the dark

Prompt me something? <3 “Geralt? Is that you?” Jaskier looks around in the complete darkness, his hands outstretched in front of him, trying to find something for him to orient himself with. He can hear something rustling in the room, and he hopes to everything holy that that is indeed Geralt and not what Geralt came to kill. Or a bandit or something. Jaskier has a rich imagination.

“I’m here.” Geralt grunts somewhere in front of him, and Jaskier follows the sound of his voice.

His eyes are wide open but still he sees nothing, not even his own hands. Then a hand finds his arms, and Jaskier latches onto it like it’s a lifeline. He pats his way up that hand that grabbed his arm, up over the elbow and oh, that is a well shaped bicep, and up that shoulder. This is most likely Geralt, but he can’t see, and if it was a bandit or a monster he would have been stabbed by now. But just to be sure, he pats all the way until he reaches a neck, and then feels his way up it and onto the face.

He can hear someone sigh, it could be Geralt, it also could be an evil assailant bent on taking all that Jaskier owns in the most inconvenient of ways. Indeed, just to be sure, he squishes that face. He has squished that face to annoy his witcher just a few times before, and he is absolutely sure he would recognize Geralt this way.

“What are you doing?” The someone that could be Geralt asks, sounding tired.

“I'm trying to decide on whether you are Geralt or not. Hold still, Geralt, or I won’t know.”

Another exasperated sigh, and Jaskier grins widely and he flattens his palm over Geralt's cheeks and makes that adorable little squished face that makes him look like a duck.

“Jaskier.” Geralt complains, but doesn’t shove him off. He never does for some reason, and Jaskier won’t ever stop.

“Yes, yes, I know that whiny tone, this is the old, grumpy and oh so dangerous witcher friend of mine.” He concedes, but doesn’t let go of Geralt's face. It’s soft, its lines and edges easier to explore when Geralt isn’t watching him. He pretends the wild beating of his heart is because of the sudden darkness, not Geralt's hands gripping his waist.

“We should get you out of here.” Geralt murmurs, his lips moving under Jaskiers thumb as he explores. It tickles, and he lets his thumb stroke Geralt's cupid bow and along the seam of his lips.

He feels bold, much bolder than he ever thought he would.

“We should.” Jaskier agrees, not moving an inch. He can’t see anyway, and Geralt isn’t trying to escape him. Which is very interesting and absolutely something that spurs Jaskier on like nothing else.

Maybe he would dare to kiss Geralt here? In the darkness away from prying eyes?

As if Geralt read his mind, he can feel Geralt take a step closer, their bodies so close now they are almost touching.

“You are not very good at making me leave.” Jaskier murmurs, his hands sliding upwards, his fingers brushing Geralt's ears as they slide over his jaw and into his hair.

“Neither are you.” Geralt murmurs back. Jaskier wishes he could see, all of a sudden. Wishes to see if Geralt's eyes would dip and look at Jaskiers lips. If there is a blush spreading, if his pupils are blown wide. If he imagines Geralt's breath on his lips, or if he is just more sensitive here in the dark.

He is not imagining it. Geralt presses his lips to Jaskiers, just a little off. They adjust as they part, and Geralt kisses him again. Jaskier feels like he is flying, his balance is all over the place, but holding onto Geralt, leaning into him, helps.

Somewhere, a door slams, and there is a loud hiss from something with many teeth.

Jaskier loses his grip when Geralt turns, twisting to face the door, placing himself between Jaskier and whatever is down there that Geralt actually came here to kill.

“Don’t leave this room.” Geralt says, and then the soft sound of a sword being drawn.

“Make up your mind.” Jaskier croaks, not yet the master of his voice. His lips tingle, his heart races, his palms are sweaty, and he doubts he would be able to leave the room even if he tried. Geralt chuckles, and then runs off into the darkness.

[therealvikingstrash]

Can you pretty please work your magic on this one for Ubbe/Hvitty? feeling for each other in the dark 🥰

The magic of hurt you mean 🤣 but to answer your question, yes, I can 😘 it should be noted that @adrille88 asked for the same prompt within a couple hours, which cracked me up a ton xD I love our hivemind sometimes, latching onto something and declaring it an Ubbe/Hvitserk thing 😂

for everyone against incest: you better not read, this dove is very dead.

-

When Hvitserk grew up, he was used to being surrounded by his brothers. He was used to Ivar begging to be taken with them and Sigurd tagging along without even asking. There was not much he could do about it, as it would make him a hypocrite seeing as he followed Ubbe wherever his big brother went. 

And yet, it was still different as he shared a bed with Ubbe every night, how his brother looked back in an encouraging way, as if to tell him to hurry up and come with. Hvitserk didn't think he felt the same way about Ivar and Sigurd, as Ubbe did about him. There was this unspoken bond between them that should frighten Hvitserk with its intensity, but he didn't shy away- embraced the confusing feeling of excitement whenever Ubbe was close enough to touch. The prickling need to.

Some nights they fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed before Hvitserk found himself reaching out to take hold of his brother's tunic or let his fingertips brush over the warm skin of Ubbe's forearm. If he concentrated enough, Hvitserk was able to feel the prickling that reminded him of the loaded air before Thor would swing his hammer on a rainy day, could feel his brother long before he would make contact. 

The older they got, the less room they would have between them in their bed, but there were days Hvitserk would say or do something that aggravated Ubbe and he refused to apologize before they went to bed. Those following nights were worse than someone sitting on his chest with their full weight, stealing Hvitserk's breath at how careful Ubbe was to not touch his younger brother at any point. Only when the last of their candles had burned down and the night had gotten so dark he could not see what was before his eyes, he would reach out to touch Ubbe's back tentatively. 

It was always Hvitserk at night, Ubbe had no qualms pulling him in or squeezing his neck during the day. Even boldly brushed his lips against Hvitserk's cheek in front of everyone. This made him wonder at times, if people could see the nature of their relationship. He was sure Ivar had an inkling in the way he sometimes eyed them when he thought Hvitserk wouldn't see. Judging them.

At night though, when he overcame his stubbornness and the need to be close to Ubbe was unbearable, Hvitserk bit his lower lip in anticipation, listening to the soft puffs his brother breathed into his pillow before his palm met the place between Ubbe's shoulder blades. His back was bare of clothing, the summer heat making it unbearable to dress in much of anything. He didn't make any sound to acknowledge Hvitserk and so he moved closer to Ubbe, leaning his forehead against his brother's neck after brushing the long hair out of the way and whispering his apology against the heated skin as his hand found Ubbe's waist, squeezing lightly to wake him in case he hadn't heard.

A low rumble let him know though, followed by Ubbe taking hold of his hand and pulling it over to cause Hvitserk to lie flush against his older brother's back. He didn't stop though, didn't put Hvitserk's hand somewhere near his heart like usual and instead kissed his knuckles reassuringly. "You're a fool," Ubbe slurred, entwining their fingers to caress Hvitserk's palm with his thumb softly which prompted him to press himself even closer, stealthily kissing the skin of Ubbe's neck for as long as he could get away with it. 

So far, Ubbe had never told him off, but Hvitserk feared the day he would, feared how Ubbe would push him away to get rid of him and wouldn't allow him to come close anymore. "I know," Hvitserk replied, not wanting the gloomy thoughts of their possible separation to take over his mind. "Forgive me?" He asked, uncertain of how Ubbe would respond.

His brother turned, causing Hvitserk to move out of the way and lean up on his elbow. Even though he could not see his brother, he still looked down in hopes to find Ubbe's eyes to gauge his reaction. It was no use, but his brother must've intended the same thing, as his hand made careful contact with Hvitserk's face. Ubbe's fingertips danced over the roundness of his cheek and down to his chin to take a hold of it. 

And then there was his brother's hot breath ghosting over Hvitserk's bitten raw and sensitive lips. When Ubbe's nose brushed against his, he was certain his heart stopped momentarily before his lips were captured, not longer than the blink of an eye though, "Always." His older brother promised, laying his own feelings bare, how unable he was to stay angry at Hvitserk no matter how idiotic he had acted.

He fell asleep with his hand over Ubbe's heart, feeling it thump a steady drum in his chest that Hvitserk's own heart tried to mirror once it had stopped stumbling. 

Years passed and Hvitserk still reached out into the dark beside him, always when it's darkest and he longed the most for Ubbe. The cold sheets were the only thing he met in his search for the familiar warmth. His sleep-addled mind not catching up fast enough that he was a resident in Alfred's home now, far away from Kattegat and even further from Ubbe. He didn't think the vast space between them would close even if they embraced each other. 

Hvitserk rolled onto his stomach and pressed his face into the pillow, hoping his screams would be muffled, hoping he would suffocate when the full weight of his doing hit him at once and he could not deal with the pain in his heart. Always.

Perhaps Ubbe had forgiven him, but he didn't want him close anymore. Missing his brother felt worse than getting clean had, the pain in his body had stopped some day, but the one in his heart would be there until it gave out. He did wonder though, if on some nights Ubbe expected to feel Hvitserk's fingertips to brush against his back in a question and if he was as disappointed when it didn't happen as Hvitserk was when he reached into the empty space next to him at night. He wished Ubbe was missing him as much as he was hoping his older brother didn't have to live with such hurt in equal parts.

It was one of those nights he wanted Ubbe to ache for him as much as Hvitserk did and he couldn't find it within himself to be ashamed of that. Wiping over his eyes he turned back to his original sleeping spot and stared out of his window into the dark and cloudy sky. Missing the days he was annoyed by his many brothers, the easy times and soft smiles their mother would regard them with. He hated England for its many pitchblack nights the longer he stayed. Because of those, it was impossible to forget the need to reach out to his beloved brother.

-

touch prompt list

[princessfbi]

Hand-holding 3 + touching 45 (+one of your choice) if you're still doing buddie blurbs :)

cold hands in warm hands + feeling their temperature + Free Choice (hiding their face in the other’s neck)

Eddie tried to massage some warmth into Buck’s freezing hands as Buck fell back against his chest but it wasn’t doing much to help. Even with the fever wrecking shipwreck worth of shivers across his entire frame, Buck’s hands were as freezing as the cold tile of the bathroom they’d been sitting on for what felt like hours. Eddie with his legs propped up like tree roots unearthed from the ground to keep the feeling in his toes and Buck on his knees with his face hidden in the toilet bowl as another bout of nausea hit him. 

Buck croaked out a whine as he drew his legs up to his chest and fell into the swaddled shelter of Eddie’s body. He sounded miserable. He looked miserable. He had been since before they’d slipped into bed for a post shift nap. Buck had burrowed himself deep into Eddie’s chest like he was trying to melt into Eddie’s skin and steal the warmth from him. A warmth Eddie would’ve gladly given if it would help Buck feel even an inch better than he was now. 

He massaged his thumb between the knuckles on Buck’s too cold hands before he untangled one of his hands and curled the back side of his fingers to press under Buck’s jaw. He hummed as he shifted his palm up to his forehead and Buck listlessly let the press roll his head back onto Eddie’s shoulder.

His fever was definitely up.

“I’m not thinking it’s something you ate, Buck,” Eddie said quietly, nuzzling the side of Buck’s face before pressing a kiss against his temple to soften the blow. 

Buck slurred out a whimper as his body rocked into another contracting tremble  before he rolled onto his side and drew up his arms to press against Eddie’s chest. Hot, fevered skin pushed against Eddie’s throat as Buck hid his face in his neck and Eddie didn’t know if it was sweat or tears that was making the collar of his shirt damp but he knew his boyfriend was in agony and there wasn’t much he could do to help. Eddie clamped his legs down over Buck and circled his arms to hold him close as he rubbed mindless patterns into his back. 

“I know, Buck. I know.”

Send me a Touch Prompt and I’ll Write a Wee Buddie Blurb

[elizabeethan]

I live your little touch prompts so far. Oh and also reallllly like it's about bloody time universe. If you could 2 hugs Killian and Emma??

Thank you!! This was a popular request-- I also received these anonymously: 

writing prompt, captain swan "i need a hug" 😁 preferably Killian asking, if you feel like it and you have the time

Touch prompt: CS+11. Bonus points for who initiates and backstory on why (ex. Killian asks after he had a terrible day or he can just tell his Swan needs to be held...or similar for Emma). Sorry if that’s too specific!

So, Hugs & Cuddles (6x5 deleted scene)

The door closes more harshly than either of them intended. “Killian,” Emma says pleadingly as he makes his way towards the kitchen. “I’m sorry.”

“How can we keep doing this, Swan? We have to trust each other!”

“I do trust you!”

She knows he doesn’t mean to slam the fridge door, but it closes with the crash of the condiment bottles hitting against each other. “Not enough to tell me the truth about your fate.

“I was scared…” she responds weakly. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Emma,” he scoffs, shaking his head and moving away from her when she steps towards him. He walks to the living room and she thinks he might sit down, but instead, he paces. “I love you. I’m always worried about you, and that’s never going to change.” Emma takes a seat on the couch as he continues to stride peevishly around the room. “I’m only worried more now, because you didn’t tell me. If you had, we could have figured it out together.”

She nods somberly, looking down at her hands crossed over her lap. “We still can; I want to.”

He sits finally, although his body is still buzzing with nervous apprehension. “I’m not going to let you die. I don’t care if it’s the fate of the savior; I won’t lose you.”

She lifts a hand to his cheek, running her thumb over his scar, and leans until her forehead touches his. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But I meant what I said at my parents’— no more secrets.”

“Aye, love.”

He’s still so anxious, his body humming. “What can I do?” she asks.

He shakes his head against her too quickly. “I don’t know. Just—” he heaves out a heavy sigh before wrapping both arms around her middle and pulling her onto his lap. Her bare feet wrap around his middle and her arms reach under his until they link behind his back. “Bloody hell,” he whispers against her neck. He’s holding onto her so fervently and with such sentiment that she isn’t surprised that she can’t see his face—he refuses to show it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers back. She kisses his chest where her face lies against it. “I love you.”

He squeezes her for more time than she can keep track of, his breath evening out and his muscles finally stilling in his skin. After a few more moments, his nose nuzzles into her neck and his arms begin to move up and down her back, heating her skin under the jacket she didn’t bother to take off. She squeezes him back, pressing her chest to his and feeling his pulse slow in her ear. Eventually, they shift, and she finds herself on her side, Killian lying to face her with his head pressed against her heart as she combs her fingers through his thick hair.

“We’ve,” he starts, but his voice is thick with emotion, so he clears his throat. “We’ve been through too much. I’ve lost you so many times already. I’m not willing to do so again over some prophesy that we can’t even confirm is true.”

“I know,” she whispers. Killian doesn’t need to tell her why he’s affected by the prophesy of her death so deeply. His extensive history of loss and pain fuels his terror. “It’s okay.”

“Just…” he starts, then sighs heavily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to attack you like that, I just… I needed a hug.” She leans to press her lips to his head and nods against it.

“I know.”

Send Me Touch Prompts

[squigglysquidd]

touch prompt 9 for oc of choice please :)

9: For comfort

Aeson found his best friend on the beach in the early morning hours. He was heading to the docks to start his day, the early morning hours before the sun rises the best time of day he’s come to believe to catch the biggest, highest quality fish.

Damocles sat on his knees, head down and arms limp at his sides with the faintest dark violent - almost black - of his biotics just wisps coming off his body. He looked like something that’s flared so hot it’s left to cool in air cold enough to steam off his body and, knowing his friend, Aeson doesn’t think that’s too far from the truth.

Damocles had a bad night.

Trilling sadly at seeing someone so important to him in such a defeated state, Aeson approaches Damocles. The waves have returned back to the sea, but his pants are wet from where he sat in them during the higher tide. He smells of alcohol, more so than usual from his crazier of nights out seeking some hollow sense of comfort in the body of a faceless other, but he lacks his usual scent of a night of sex.

Someone hurt him again, Aeson realizes with a frown and crouches down beside Damocles, rumbling comfortingly. Why do you do this to yourself?

He can’t blame him, though. Not when it’s his way of destressing and blowing off the heaviness of his life. Aeson wishes he could do that for him, but he doesn’t know how. Every attempt to reach out ends with a sudden stop whenever Aeson’s own nerves get the better of him.

Still, Aeson reaches out and lays his hand on Damocles’ shoulder. He gives it a firm squeeze and thrums in silent promise.

I’ll be here for whatever you need, Damo.

[storm337]

12, chase and schneep! :O

Chase had the picture saved as Schneep’s profile picture in his phone, and sometimes Schneep hated it and sometimes it made him feel all warm and tingly and emotional. It was not a flattering picture, for either of him, which was why Schneep made it Chase’s profile picture in his own phone in retaliation. They had passed out on the couch together after drinking a rather regrettable amount of spiked eggnog, one of Schneep’s arms dangling over the edge to brush the carpet and Chase squished against the back of the couch, curled up as tight as he could with his head on Schneep’s shoulder. Jackie had taken the picture from the unique angle of hovering horizontally right over them, perfectly capturing Schneep’s open-mouthed snores and Chase’s small puddle of drool that didn’t stay small for long. As much as the picture could cause Schneep deep embarrassment, he wouldn’t get rid of it for the world. Or unless something more befitting came along that could put as big a smile on Chase’s face.