Touch Starved - Titus Danforth
Pairing - Titus Danforth x Wife!Reader
Summary - Titus insists he doesn’t like physical affection… until you accidentally discover his one very specific weakness.
Word count - 904
Welcome to another one of my silly little rambles about the old men I’m obsessed with. Hope you enjoy what my brain comes up with at 2am!!
Thinking about Titus Danforth pretending he doesn’t like physical affection at the start of your marriage.
He’ll tolerate it. He’ll let you hold his hand if you reach for him first, won’t complain when you curl up against his side in bed, but he never asks for it. If you tease him about it he just gives you that little shrug and mutters something about not needing all that “clingy fuckin’ shit.”
Until one day.
He’s sat at his desk buried in paperwork, brows pinched together while he tries to concentrate. You’re wandering around the room doing your own thing before eventually ending up behind his chair. Without even thinking about it, you rest a hand on his shoulder and start lightly scratching at the hairline on the back of his neck.
And he just… stops.
His pen hovers over the paper, frozen halfway through writing. His shoulders, usually so tense they could snap, slowly drop beneath your fingertips. He lets out the quietest breath, almost like he didn’t realise he’d been holding it.
You don’t even notice at first. you’re just absentmindedly running your nails over the back of his neck while looking out the window.
“You done?” You ask after a minute when you realise he hasn’t written anything.
He blinks once, then looks down at the same word he’s apparently been staring at for the last thirty seconds.
“What?”
You laugh and twist your fingers through the greying curls on the back if his head. “you’ve been on the same page since I started.”
He grumbles something under his breath that you can’t quite make out before trying to get back to work. Except every time your fingers stop moving and his shoulders tense again.
After a few painfully silent seconds he clears his throat and tilts his head a little. You just grin because titus danforth—the man who swore he didn’t need affection—is asking for neck scratches without actually asking for neck scratches.
Of course, the second you realise what’s happening, you’re unbearable. Your hand stays still against the back of his neck and you feel his shoulders tense beneath your palm.
“That’s cute.” You say, having to bite back a laugh.
He waits for you to continue, so do you. The room falls quiet apart from the ticking of the clock on the wall.
“What’s cute?” he finally mutters, still pretending to read the same line for the fifth time.
“Oh, nothing.”
You start to pull your hand away and his hand shoots up faster than you think a man his size should be capable of moving, wrapping around your wrist before you can step back.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself smiling.
“Don’t start with this shit.” His jaw flexes and his grip on you tighten for half a second.
“Start what?”
He finally turns in his chair to glare up at you. Except it isn’t much of a glare, not when you can see the pink creeping up the tips of his ears.
“You’re bein’ a pain.”
You gasp dramatically before gently slipping your wrist free and folding your arms across your chest. “If you want me to keep playing with your hair, you’ve gotta ask.”
His eyebrows pull together like you’ve just asked him to perform public humiliation.
“Absolutely not.”
“Okay.” You shrug and take a rather large step back. “Then I guess I’m done.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Titus calls your name and grip his pen so tight you think it’ll snap. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Say what?” You glance back over your shoulder with the sweetest smile you can manage.
He looks genuinely pained, like this is somehow worse than every bloody thing he’s done in his life.
“Woman.”
You just wait, arms still folded over your chest and foot tapping against the perfectly polished hardwood floor. For one moment you think he might grumble under his breath and shoo you away. That is until his head drops and his lips part just a fraction.
“Please.”
“Sorry?” you cup a hand around your ear and lean in. “What was that, dearest?”
His eyes squeeze shut as he tips his head back against the rough leather of his chair.
“Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please…” He pauses and lets out the most exhausted sigh you’ve ever heard. “Play with my hair.”
You can’t help it, you coo at him—actually coo.
“Oh, my sweetheart. You just want some affection, huh?”
“Don’t.” His eyes fly open and he sends you a halfhearted glare.
“My poor grumpy husband.”
“I’m serious.”
“Look at you asking so nicely.”
“If a single soul hears about this, I swear to Mr. Le Bail himself, you’re fuckin’ done.” He points a finger at you with all the authority in the world, even if it’s an empty threat.
You only laugh as you wander back over to him, slipping your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck again. The effect is immediate, his head tips back into your touch before he can stop himself. His eyes flutter shut, his shoulders melt, and the grumpy muttering dies on his tongue.
“That’s it,” he grumbles, though it comes out far softer than he’d ever admit. “Keep goin’, honey.”
You smile to yourself because apparently the quickest way to tame the terrifying Titus Danforth, is with a few gentle scratches to the back of his head.
Me the entire time i was writing this btw…
