#Touch aversion

[isthataraccoon]

sometimes it’s easy to forget just how strong Kaz is. When his leg broke, instead of giving up he used it to his advantage. “Sure, I’m crippled, but now everyone underestimates me and I get to bring a literal weapon (his cane) everywhere and no one bats an eye.” Or his touch aversion; a massive weakness, but instead of being hindered by it he makes the gloves part of his image, uses it to make people more afraid of him. He literally started rumors about his hands just so he would seem more intimidating. Kaz went through unspeakable things that should have been the end of him, but he still clawed to the top despite it all

[thief-of-eggs]

Thinking about Lucifer using his shapeshifing ability to help overcome the barrier that is Alastor’s touch aversion between them.

Because- it’s different with an animal. It’s not the same to have a snake winding around your arm as it is to have fingers circling your wrist, not the same to have a bird perch on your shoulder as it is to have a hand clasp you back.

It’s different. Somehow, with these touches, Alastor doesn’t shrink in on himself. He doesn’t remember things he’d rather forget. He doesn’t feel any prickling in his skin, doesn’t feel a pit in his gut.

So Lucifer makes it work. When he needs cuddles- he turns himself into a cat, stretching and purring as Alastor pets him, as he carries him in his arms.

When he needs to be clingy, when he needs constant companionship- then he becomes a snake, wrapped possessively around Alastor’s arm, loosely around his neck-

He becomes a bird. A fox. A lizard. Whatever the day and the mood requires.

It works, for them. Because nothing about their relationship is conventional anyways.

They see each other across the chasm and find a way to build the bridge

[aceofwhump]

Graceland 3x08

[go-whump-in-the-night]

I love the combination of touch starvation and touch aversion, it's such a beautiful vicious cycle. something so terrible has happened to whumpee that they recoil instinctively from even the softest brush of fingers, and yet they've spent so long without that gentle contact that they crave it now more than anything. every time someone starts to get close, their mind and body are at war with each other.

[moonsporemoth]

shout out to all the ace peeps who fluctuate between sex ok or positive to sex negative randomly and are tired of hearing "But you were okay with it yesterday!"

Also, shout out to my fellow autistics who fluctuate between touch-starved and touch-aversion and have to hear the same thing if we say something.

[whumpypepsigal]

Shadow and Bone s02e01: Kaz’s PTSD triggered flashbacks —:

“When night came, and the tide changed direction, Kaz forced himself to lay hands on Jordie’s body. He was too frail to swim on his own, but with Jordie’s help, he could float. He held tight to his brother and kicked towards the lights of Ketterdam. Together, they drifted, Jordie’s distended body acting as a raft. Kaz kept kicking, trying not to think of his brother, of the taut, bloated feel of Jordie’s flesh beneath his hands; he tried not to think of anything but the rhythm of his legs moving through the sea. He’d heard there were sharks in these waters, but he knew they wouldn’t touch him. He was a monster now, too.”

Excerpt From Six of Crows, Leigh Bardugo

[leighsartworks216]

To Touch You

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

As someone who hates being touched (not to the extent as this fic portrays it), and also as someone who wants to hold Astarion and give him all the gentle affection he could ever wish for, I needed to write this

Warnings: touch-adverse descriptions of touch, hurt/comfort themes

Word Count: 814

Masterlist

AO3

Touch has always been difficult for you. Or maybe it started in your formative years and now you can't recall. In any case, the result is the same.

If someone brushes against your shoulder, you cringe and move to the closest open space. If someone grabs your hand, even just to pull you to safety in battle, it burns, and you have to grapple with the fact your hand feels wrong. Hugs are hell, and you've since learned how to dodge out of them or push the person away entirely.

And that's what makes this so hard. You want so terribly to give Astarion the soft affection he never had. You want to hold his hand and run your fingers through his hair and - gods forbid - you wanted to cuddle with him.

Since the relationship began, you kept your distance. Emotionally you could provide him the comfort and reassurance he needed, but physically, you sat apart, you were always at least an arm's length away. This distance has grown shorter over time, but you know it hurts him when you create it. A bubble around you. It makes him think you don't trust him, or that you still fear him after all this time. (Allowing him to drink from you was the one instance you granted him leniency, under the stipulation the only part of him that touches you is his mouth. It was worth the itchy feeling that covered your body as long as you got to see that smile.)

And even though it would hurt, you wanted to try. Try proving to him that you weren't afraid of him; that you do care for him in other ways that are easier for you to express than this.

So when you approach him as he sits outside his tent, looking determined as though you were heading into battle, Astarion was understandably confused and concerned. He watched you plop down next to him, only a few inches away. His eyebrows shot up his forehead.

"Darling? What are you-"

You shook your head, avoiding eye contact entirely to stare over his shoulder. "Just let me do this, please." With a sigh to calm your jittery nerves, you finally met his gaze. Your face morphed into something frightened and vulnerable. "Please."

A slew of questions rushed to the tip of his tongue. Do what, exactly? Why did you look so distraught? What had you been working yourself up for? Were you hurt? Were you going to tell him something awful? Were you... stepping away from the relationship? Had he pushed too far, overstepped a boundary? His mind spun with each one. But he pursed his lips to stop them all, and he nodded.

He could hear your breaths shake as you breathed deeply. You lifted your hands and they trembled, all while your heart fluttered in your chest like a frightened bunny. Slowly, you reached forward and took his hand in yours. His eyes couldn't decide where to focus: your face was tense, and you flinched at the initial contact; your hands slid over his skin, feeling the veins and callouses. You'd never initiated like this. Any time he'd tried, even delicately, your face would scrunch up and you'd create a larger gap away from him.

As you held his hand, breathing through each phantom sensation and emotion, you found it wasn't entirely unpleasant. A tingling sensation moved through your hands, up your arms, and down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but beyond that you could feel how soft his skin was. He stayed absolutely still, but you could still feel his fingers twitching against his will.

All too quickly, the feeling became unbearable. It was too much all at once. You cringed as you pulled away, rubbing your hands against the fabric of your shirt to remove the feeling. Astarion wanted to be offended - Was he truly so disgusting to touch? - until he remembered this had nothing to do with him.

"I'm sorry," you blurted out, voice wavering and anxious. "Your hands are soft, but I just can't..." You look down at your open palms, searching for words to describe it. The skin was red from your ministrations.

"Look at me, my love." Your hands clenched into fists as you met his eyes. You were still so frightened about what he thought. About how he perceived this. He smiled. "I appreciate you for trying, nonetheless. It... means a lot that you were willing to be uncomfortable for my sake.

"But," he continues, genuine smile shifting into a flirtatious smirk, "I'm perfectly content with the multitudinous forms of affection you seem to find to lavish on me. And I will do my best to share them with you, too."

You let out a long breath, relaxing for the first time since you approached him. You smiled, relieved. "Thank you, Astarion."

"Of course, my love."

[my4ththerapist]

people making ‘I will have you without your armour kaz brekker’ into his aversion to touch *cough cough netflix show cough cough* makes me so unbelievably violent

Like I literally hate you

ITS A FUCKING METAPHORE INEJ ALSO HAS AVERSION TO TOUCH WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU

[whumpupthejam]

when whumpee is super weak, whether it’s because they’re drugged or they’ve been beaten or they’re over exhausted etc., and whumper keeps touching/grabbing their face and they’re trying to jerk away but they’re just too weak to escape the touch 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[foundfamilywhump]

the healing power of a recovering whumpee being able to say no. to tell someone to not touch them or stop touching them and be given their space, hands leaving their body even as they’re only there with the best intentions. to refuse to talk about something until they’re ready and being allowed their privacy. to be able to make their own decisions, have boundaries that are respected, protect themself. decide who touches them and when. who knows what and how. and having that honoured, over and over. reinforced that their body, their space, their choices belong to them.

whumpee breaking down in tears when it becomes emotionally overwhelming to say no and have their friends, the people who love them, listen. the way that being able to say no makes it feel safe as well to say yes - to let someone hold them, treat their injuries, comfort them, safe in the knowledge that if they want it to stop, it will stop. that the people caring for them will only continue as long as whatever is happening is wanted.

[jakescakeislateforourdate]

Kiss It Better

Dirtyhands is no stranger to brawling, he returns to the slat with his face bruised and knuckles bleeding, hoping for a little refuge from the intensity of the barrel.

No warnings just hurt and comfort as well as a briefly shirtless Kaz

Enjoy this garbage!

...

Kaz Brekker sucks in a sharp breath, pain shooting up his side and across his chest as his lungs expand. He leans heavily on his cane, hand clasped so tight over the crow’s head he worried the metal would be crushed in his grasp. He smacks his lips and endures. He still has the trip up the stairs to suffer through. 

The sweet aroma of the Slat welcomes him as he stumbles inside. But it does little to sooth the ache in his ribs and calm his burning skin. Hands all over him. Water rising up over his shoulders to suck him under. They’d touched him with their disgusting bare hands. He felt sick. He clearly relives the sweaty hand squeezing his throat and closing off his windpipe. 

Warm drops of sweat bead along his forehead, some find their way down his spine. He clutches the banister and lifts one foot at a time. The climb is painfully slow and he has to stop several times to quell the epicenters of agony blooming all over his exhausted body. 

He’s about halfway up when another fair of footsteps begin to accompany his. You ascend the worn steps much faster and are by his side in seconds. You don’t touch just listen. 

Kaz refuses to look into your eyes. He knows how upset you get when he’s hurt. You may never say anything because you understand how the Barrel functions but he can see it in your eyes and if he looks now his guilt for worrying you will overwhelm him before he gets to his office. 

You tread in the silence with him, your presence helping him find some sound mindedness. The waters begin to recede finally. Breathing becomes a little easier. 

He climbs and climbs until, at last, he leans upon his office door. “May I come in?” You ask quietly. Kaz only nods. He’s grateful for your companionship and he needs it now more than anything. 

He all but falls inside, grimacing and gasping when his muscles seize up. This when you step in. You reach out, with just the tips of your fingers, and prod his waist ever so gently. The touch is meant to guide him towards his wing backed chair that he likes to lounge in after rough days. He tenses but responds. He takes the final few steps that cover the distance from the door way to the chair, and slouches into the cushy leather. 

Not being able to miss his pain, you search he medicine cabinet in his bathroom for some paint medicine and fill him a glass of water. Kaz mutters a “thanks” and swallows down two of the pills. 

Next is cleaning up the cuts and tears in his skin. There’s a small laceration beneath his left eye, the blood already coagulating. You soak a clean cloth in rubbing alcohol and wrap it around your index finger. “Is alright if I clean you up, Kaz?”

Kaz nods again and tilts his back into the leather. You press the cloth first to the cut. His lips twist and eyes scrunch closed. You rub gently, it’s small so there’s no need to dig and soak or really even bandage.

You examine the rest of him: a busted lip, bruised throat, and bloody knuckles which are now revealed from the removal of his gloves. He tosses them onto his  desk and sighs. You set to work on his lip. A flicker of motion draws your eyes away from the stained cloth and angry skin. His eyes are open, watching you. Trying to figure out why you still care so much.

Once his lip is cleaned, you crouch down and begin to scrub at his knuckles. You don’t hold his hand, simply pin it between his knee and the cloth. Blood and ripped skin come away from the peaks of his hand. Internally you cringe. You can practically hear his teeth sanding away at each other as he fights down the pain. 

You take a break from his hands, Kaz lifts the hem of his shirt so you can check his torso for cuts. There aren’t any meaning his heavy coat cushioned his ribcage enough to keep the skin from splitting. But still, the dark purple splotches stretching over the delicate skin of his ribs breaks your heart.

“No need to look so blue.” Kaz grunts. There’s a slight smirk gracing his lips, the swollen fat, busted lip twitching.

You raise a brow, “Can’t help it. You know I hate this.”

“Can’t stop it.”

“Can’t I!” Your snap makes him chuckle.

“What? You gonna strap me to this chair, shackle me to bedposts?”

“Don’t tempt me.” You grumble and this makes him smile. 

“You know how easily I can pick locks.” He straightens up a little, proud.

You toss ideas around in your head, “I could kiss you. That’d make you stay put for a while.”

This wipes the grin off his face. Now it’s your turn to laugh. Dirtyhands is practically pouting. He drops his shirt and rests his chin in his palm. “Whatever.”

Kaz’s weakness is always a tender subject. You’ve never actually used it against him and he trusts you not to. But still, it’s not fair how badly he wants to kiss you but can’t. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if your lips were a weapon that left him defenseless for a little while. 

If only to have that one kiss. 

You set in on the knuckles of his other hand. A long snake-like scar trailing across the skin. You’ve never found out where it came from but it’s always caught your attention. 

As Kaz watches you work, he recalls something. A very distant memory of his mother kissing his scraped palm. He’d tripped and scraped it on the gravel roads while out helping Jordie. His mother and dabbed at the torn up skin like you were doing now, and then when she had it all bandaged she placed a loving kiss on the meat of his palm. He remembered how comforting the gesture was.

He thinks of your lips.

He watches you wind clean white bandages over his reddened knuckles. You won’t actually be touching his skin. 

The kiss-

“Darling,” He begins. You’re certainly not his mother. But you are perhaps the only refuge he has left. “Will- willyoukissitbetter?”

The words spill out so fast you almost don’t know what he’s asking. But then you see the blush spreading on his cheeks. His gaze drops from yours. He’s bashful.

You smile and scoop his palm carefully into yours. You bring his knuckles to your lips and lay a kiss onto the bandages. Kaz blushes impossibly deeper and turns into his other palm, hiding from you. 

“Give me the other.” You demand and hold out your hand expectantly. Kaz glances sideways at you and drops his other palm into yours. You kiss the knuckles of this hand, this time laying a quick peck to each curved bone. 

The waters are at his feet but Kaz will win this time. Victory will be his and maybe, just maybe, he’ll have a kiss as his trophy. 

You kneel before him, replacing his hands over his knees, “Anything else?”

Your eyes glitter, not like the stars, but like the flickering candles in the windows of the Barrel. There’s an enveloping solace to them. He’s drawn in and fallen prey to you. 

Dirtyhands has been properly succored. 

He taps his blackened eye. Wringing his fingers nervously. What will your lips feel like on his skin? What if he can’t handle it? 

Then you are there. Your warm breath fans over his throbbing cheek. So lively. Your lips brush tentatively across his cheekbone before finally coming to rest just beneath the cut. Kaz closes his eyes and revels in the proliferating amenity in his chest like creamer in coffee. 

Then you’re pulling away and the water fills your absence.

Come back! 

He wants to call to you.

Don’t leave me!

You survey his expression, monitoring his emotions the best the you can. His walls are falling apart and he cannot scrape together fast enough to keep you out.

His hand cups your jaw, his head tilts, he pleads silently for your sympathy. Just the compassion he has never found in the Barrel. All in a kiss. 

Your beholden eyes never leave his as your chin tips forward. Your lips slot against his. Through the blood of his pulsing lip and the bile in his throat, he tastes glory.

The splendor and conquest spread from your tongue, onto your lips, and flood his insides. He melts like chocolate, heart thundering against his chest. He can’t breathe, whether it’s from the panic or the joy, he can’t decipher. 

The length could not dampen the kiss. Kaz has gained ground. His shaking hand leaves your jaw and you part. He wants to kiss you again but he knows he’ll over do it. So you thanks you. He leans back in his chair and smiles at you, finally relaxed. 

You’ve given to him freely and in time he’ll return it. But most importantly he’s found that you cannot defeat him through touch. “See.” His grin grows mischievous. “You could not keep me here if you tried.”

...

Dear Reader,

          Thank you for reading this post. If you liked it your are welcome to checkout my masterlist as well as request. Feedback is always welcome. If you have any questions you are free to ask and once again, thank you for reading. Have a nice day.

                                                      -the author, Lady

[galactic-glossolalia]

I want a character who is touch averse and everyone's cool about it. Everyone respects this boundary. Nobody thinks they're weird or rude, nobody tries to "fix" them with a hug, nobody even tries to talk them into getting hugged. They show love and care for other characters in nonphysical ways and the others do the same for them. Because love does not require physical contact.

[aceofwhump]

Shadow and Bone 2x05

[jadetheblueartist]

RAHHHHHHHHHH I AM AN UNSTOPPABLE FORCE!!!! 💪💪💪💪🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️‼️‼️❗️⚠️⚠️⚠️🦅🦅🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸 I CANNOT BE CONTAINED!!!!!!

(I managed to tell a family member “I don’t like being touched” at the family function)

[cyber-therian]

they should invent cuddles/hugs that don’t involve any forms of physical touch including implications of touch

[buriedbehindtheshed]

Fixing a Broken Wing. Kaz Brekker x GN!reader

Word count: 1419 Warnings: Minor injury description. A/N: Thought I'd start posting here as well as Ao3! Hope y'all like it. We need more gn fics. No pronouns or y/n are used for the reader! There aren't many physical descriptions either!

The frigid air was harsh on the looming city of Ketterdam. Nightfall broke on the horizon, and the tapping of a cane echoed from an open window. The usual ruckus of the Barrel was dimmed by the racing thoughts of a singular slimy bastard: Kaz Brekker.

You were an investment of his–A sly one from the Menagerie. Your silent nature and singing blades kept you labeled as an honorary Crow. You were sent on a venture for Heleen, but you were supposed to meet back with Kaz at dawn. Since dawn, Kaz had waited.

And waited. 

And waited.

An unfamiliar prickle ghosted the back of Kaz's neck as hours flew by without a whisper of you. You were never late–not for him. The corner of his lip curled into a humorless smirk. Was he so blind to have faith in Heleen to consider keeping you safe?

With impeccable timing, a soft thump came from inside his bedroom. The thumping was followed by a low croak; Kaz could've sworn you were just a large toad. You harnessed the rest of your strength to push yourself up, just enough to slump against the wall.

Kaz paced towards the bedroom, his familiar hobbled steps echoing on the wooden floors. "You're late. You better have a damned good reason for falling behind. I'd like my investments close at hand," His familiar rasp grumbled. As he approached the room, he let his eyes fixate on you. His eyes were like flint as he observed your physical state, his gaze flickering over all of your wounds with expert precision. Your tale had been a messy one, it seemed.

Silently, Kaz stalked toward you, kneeling to your level. He pressed the silver crow's skull of his cane to your chin, tilting your head lightly, cataloging each wound with a veteran's eye. Slashes, bruises, wounds - all painted a sordid story across your flesh. "Heleen?" He asked, nearly deadly silent.

You parted your cracked, bloodied lips to speak, but nothing came out. Your throat was rough and raw. You simply nodded, swallowing thickly as your eyes threatened to close. Luckily, Kaz's cane supported your chin. If your head began to lull, he would use it to angle it back up.

Kaz scowled. No one would hurt one of his own. He always made sure of it. "You survived. That's all that matters." Reaching into an inner pocket, he plucked a small vial from it. He held it to your cracked lips, his voice leaving no room for denial. "Drink. It will help your throat." And perhaps loosen your tongue enough for you to share more. Heleen could wait; his prized weapon came first.

You took in a shaky breath, parting your lips and tilting your head up. You drank the amber-tinted liquid, your face contorting into disgust as it hit your tongue. "Saints, boss, what the hell is that?" You groan, still holding the liquid in your mouth.

A ghost of amusement flickered in Kaz's eyes to see your disgusted reaction, fleeting as quickly as it came. "Effective medicine tastes of punishment," Kaz replied flatly in his salt-bitten rasp. "Consider it penance for troubling me with putting you back together. Now swallow." He uncorked a waterskin from his belt to wash away the bitter taste of ginger and cloves. He held it to your lips, tilting your chin up with his cane. His cold gaze studied your face with keen precision, filing each of your hurts.

Your heart pangs with guilt at Kaz's words. You swallowed the liquid begrudgingly. It stung your throat momentarily before a cooling sensation washed over the tender flesh. You made fleeting eye contact with him, and you swear you felt your stomach twist. "I went to meet with a client near the harbor... I think the old witch wanted to be rid of me," You hissed through bloodied teeth. "I should've known it was trouble. I could hear the rustling of Kruge." You met Kaz's eye again, and as he took a sharp breath in to speak, you blurt out: "Please don't send me back."

He listened to your story in chilling silence. Heleen was a traitorous worm in Kaz’s eyes. Ice ran through his veins as you murmured your broken tale, freezing over some long-forgotten well of mercy. When you finished, he opened his mouth to speak but froze when you interrupted him with a shaky plea. "You won't be," He whispered. The ghost of the broken boy gazed out at you through Kaz's eyes, understanding the unspoken between you two. "I wouldn't send you back if my life depended on it." 

Kaz rose in one fluid motion, looming over you like the vengeful raven his reputation had painted. His cane slipped from beneath your chin, causing your head to drop slightly. He stalked over to the small sink across the room and filled a ceramic bowl with water. Gloved hands darted around, grabbing various rags and containers. He moved back to you slowly and silently, gingerly placing the items on the floor beside you. Then, he slipped off his coat and neatly laid it down on the railing of his bed frame. He knelt once more, quick hands soaking the rag.

The silence between the two of you was deafening. Kaz’s slow, shaking breaths would slice through it occasionally, putting your mind at ease. He wrung out the excess water from the cloth and, with a trembling hand, he pressed it to a wound on your forehead. His care for your well-being seemed to trump his fears about getting too close to you. You grunt quietly as he cleans your injuries, but he makes no attempt to be any gentler. 

He put the cloth back in the water and rinsed out the crimson substance that’d once coated it. You couldn’t help but notice his encased fingertips never broke the water’s surface in the bowl – A trick he must’ve learned all these years. His dark hair fell over his forehead as he angled his head down to clean off the rag. 

He drew a handkerchief from his vest pocket and lifted a small earthenware jar from the floor. In a swift motion, he unscrewed the top and set it on the ground before dipping the cloth into the contents – a soothing salve developed from hard-won experience to ease battered flesh. With a sharp breath, he leaned a bit closer, smearing the substance into your wound.

It stung … and stunk. Your nose scrunches as the scent burns your nostrils. “What is it with you and foul medicine?” You manage to grumble before he silences you with an icy glare through his eyelashes. 

“Would you rather be infected?” Replied Kaz, arching an eyebrow at you.

“No.” You stare back at him.

“Figured,” He whispered, the corner of his lip tugging into what most would consider a lesser frown, and to you, a smile. “You’re no use to me damaged.”

Kaz’s hands soon lowered as he finished coating your wounds in the substance. He leaned back immediately and scanned over your face once more. He took in a slow breath before he stood once more. “I will leave these with you to work on any other areas my eyes can’t touch,” He murmured. “I will leave you the room.”

Your eyes follow his form as he stands and runs a hand through his hair. His dark eyes flicker over you with a softer expression now—something underlying. “Very well,” You murmur.

As he turns to exit the room, he pauses and calls your name.

You turn to meet his gaze once more. “Yes?”

“The Crows will carry your name as they do mine,” He rasped. “No force in this world will send you back against your will. You have my word.”

You felt your stomach twist at his words. Your chest was swelling with warmth, or perhaps you were bleeding internally. Your wall was breaking. It was dangerous. 

“Thank you, Kaz.” His name rolled off your tongue so easily like honey dripping onto warm bread. You rarely used Kaz’s name – You always opted for ‘boss’ or ‘Brekker.’ At this moment, however, Kaz deserved to be Kaz.

Kaz’s upper lip twitched slightly as you spoke his name. He felt his breath catch in his throat, hearing the way it so easily slipped from your mouth. He tightened his hand around the silver crow handle of his cane. “Rest,” He murmured before he made his swift exit, leaving you alone in the warm lamplight of his bedroom.