#don't starve the forge

[e-one-seven]

Don't Starve Together: Time Flies [Animated Short]

The feels (and also new stuff or things I didn’t recognize. Klei if you make the Forge and the Gorge playable again I scream, I loved these events!)... Also, check out this link for the updates and some sweet deals on Klei’s stuff! https://forums.kleientertainment.com/forums/topic/157355-new-skill-trees-and-staying-afloat-update-next-thursday/

[strampunch]

I never played the Forge, but I've been watching a bunch of Dimension 20 campaigns and was inspired to revisit the DST characters as DnD archetypes and I just had to draw Maxwell in warlock shenanigans.

Excuse the poor quality of the photos, but if I don't post these now I never will. (I feel Wilson would be an Alchemist artificer or something, so his Forge skin doesn't fit too well, but I haven't designed his look yet)

[pippatis]

@theblueskyphoenix's post reminded me that I, too, once tried to draw the Magmatic skins in DST, and made me want to do it again. Well, Wilson, anyways. This is her design, though, it's cooler. I haven't drawn this dude in a few years, I hope I remembered how pfft

Forge 1 was where it was at. I also thought this particular set of skins was kinda boring

Here are the old ones, from 2018 lmao, for comparison. I only got as far as Wilson and Webber. The above drawing is from last night

[gengarson]

What is forge if a Maxwell watches you get killed by a snortortoise Never trust Waxwell mains /j

[castorfell]

Being a Wilson main means hoping but simultaneously dreading for a Wilson character refresh, should he get one.

I'd love for him to get new character dedicated mechanics like all the other Survivors have but game logic speaking, he's the basic starter character who doesn't have any overly special upsides and downsides save his beard. I also lowkey would hate it if he got a bunch of shit added to him that his playstyle (or lack thereof I guess? Idk) becomes too different.

He's a simple lad, amongst the other characters he's not anything special. I want it to stay that way but at the same time I want him to get a lil love and an animated short dedicated to him bc I love him and want more Wilson lore shh.

[aspiringnexu]

I’ve played Shadows of Mordor and Shadows of War so I’m very used to Edgy, Sourpuss Wraith Celebrimbor who was game-canonically so fucking pissed at Sauron that he refused to leave Middle-Earth until he happened to find Talion and so began their decades long Old Married Couple dynamic. Until Celebrimbor fucks it up. Several times.

Now that Celebrimbor is very different to this new interpretation of Celebrimbor in TROP and honestly... I dig it. This Celebrimbor has eccentric uncle vibes. He has no thoughts other than for his forge and for Making Things in it. Every time we see him outside of the forge he seems nervous and he only gets fired up (forgive the pun) when Gil-Galad refuses to let him Make Stuff. He’s adorable. And I can totally see why he would fall into Sauron’s trap. The man has not an ounce of guile in his body if he isn’t following orders to keep a secret, why would he expect duplicity from his new smithing buddy?

And I know some in the fandom give him shit for not thinking of creating a mithril alloy but honestly I’ve done the same thing. Not with smithing of course but even if you’re an expert, sometimes the simplest answer can be staring you in the face and you won’t see it until someone pulls you out of your own head. And Celebrimbor is Feanor’s grandson, The master smith of Eregion. No one is going to contradict him. Until Sauron comes along and Celebrimbor latches onto this new partner like a touch-starved limpet.

Such a shame that when shit goes even more sideways Sauron’s gonna use his dead body as a war banner. They had such good chemistry.

[hoodiecatdoodles]

5: Fight

I had a bit of fun making this one and I didn’t expect it!

[nkogneatho]

𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘? 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐁 𝐀 𝐏𝐕𝐒𝐒𝐘.

— top jjk pussy starved men.

— cw: fem!reader, cunningulus, cowgirl, monsterfucking, squirting, overstimulation, edging, nicknames, pure filth.

— a/n: this is dj khaled's worst nightmare ifykyk, sukuna's is nastier than your room where you're lying in your bed reading this rather than cleaning it.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

"atta girl. atta fucking girl!" satoru was so proud of you for riding his dick like it was your last. your body bounced on his, ass slapped so loud against his crotch that it was louder than the moans slipping from your lips.

gojo looked at you like a beast as he rested his shoulders and head on the bed frame, sitting up a little, making sure to get a good view. you made eye contact with him for a second and watched him stare at your pussy. he had heart eyes watching where you and him connected.

"getting tired, toru. nee—uh! need your help"

"aww princess. thought you'd never ask," his hands traveled your from your bent knees, to your thighs till they reached your ass and gave it a loud smack. you knew the consequences of asking him for help because this man won't stop until you've gone limp.

gojo grabbed a handful of your ass and used it to bounce you on his cock. his triceps flexed as bobbed you till your pussy stretched on his member. you watched as his tongue swiped against his lips and forged into a mischievous grin. his pace fastened and he hit your walls with so much force that it had your bed creaking and his ass levitate in the air for a millisecond.

"fuck fuck fuck fuck!! c'mon, baby. s—stretch it more. wanna cum in this—holy shit—cum in your pretty pussy."

"toruuuu," you cried as you rolled your head back in pleasure, barely keeping up with him.

"look—ahh how pretty she looks swallowing my cock in—goddamn! let's make her even prettier. let's paint her in my cum, y-yeah? fuckin—ahhhh! he moaned practically louder as he shot his load in you, his movements never stopping because he is a pussy starved whore. you could feel his trimmed white pubes stimulating your clit causing her to cum following his climax.

"fhuck princessh! huh! need m-more." you could barely comprehend his words because he was panting so much overstimulating himself. but he still craved for more, living up his pussy starved whore title.

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

"don't fuckin' move," his hand snaked tighter around your thighs.

"'s too much," you cried, fingers seconds away from tearing the bedsheets. toji had been eating your pussy for almost an hour. but the worst part was he hadn't let you come even once. the first fifteen minutes were fun but now it was plain torture. your pussy was so sensitive at this point that either needed to orgasm, or get the fuck away from the animal's face in front of you. is his jaw not hurting? you thought.

"toji, pleaaasee. lemme cum," you pleaded. his lips grinned against your pussy.

"wanna cum, yeah? do it yourself." he pulled away to look at your confused face. "grind this sweet pussy on my face, doll." you were scared he was going to pull something mean again. yet, you did it anyway because your brain doesn't work much when your pussy is hungry.

you were still in the same position, hips starting to jerk against his face. toji stirred his tongue out flat rubbing against your clit. with each thrust, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your high. toji felt it coming before you and to make sure he'd get to drink all your juice, he latched his lips on your pussy as you shuddered when you came.

"anh! anh! toji—ffhuuck!!" his teeth caused you to overstimulate and whine. your body trembled post climax for atleast forty five more seconds before your torso finally laid flat on the body. toji climbed up and peppered you in his kisses, lips covered in your juices crashing against your skin.

"ready for round two?"

"fuck off."

𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

"can't fucking run away tonight, can you?"

you never thought you'd ever feel so helpless. sukuna had your wrists pinned abover your head with his two hands, the other two held your thighs apart so he can savour all of that pretty pussy.

his one dick teased your hole and the other rubbed between your asscheeks. you watched in horror as well as excitement as a big mouth appeared on his stomach. you knew he was a monster that could do things like this, but this was your first time seeing it upclose. the mouth grinned before a big wide tongue rolled out it, licking a long stripe that started from your pussy and ended on your tits. you were curious if it could go farther. it did. it forced his way meeting your tongue. but yours was so tiny compared to his, almost invisible under it's presence.

"go ahead. give it a kiss." he ordered.

your jaw finally relaxed as the tongue pulled out, a hefty amouth of saliva drenched your tits, you lifted your head up and planted a kiss on the edge of it. the tongue retracted, and you thought it was over. but it was a mere distraction as when you looked down, both his cocks had filled your either holes, the tip barely in.

"shit. need you more wet." he said before the mouth on his stomach spat on your pussy, your labia soaked as much as the bedsheets under you. the tongue massaged your clit, making you stretch and giving the monster in front of you an opening to attack your hole. sukuna bottomed out and you gasped in pain.

"kunaaaa! ahh—meanie."

"I had to, woman."

sukuna made sure to start with slow thrusts but when he felt your pussy getting used to the size, he started going more intense. he felt you shaking under him so when he looked down you were already cumming. with no second thoughts, he pulled out his cock, and his stomach tongue filled your pussy till the tip could feel your velvety walls.

"he is hungry. let him, sweetheart."

you came so hard that you vibrated against his big body. he felt it. you were about to squirt. sukuna lifted you up in the air so easily on his bigger tongue so that all your juices flowed directly on it and you watched. you felt so filthy but when you looked at him, he couldn't take his eyes off how your pussy juice created a small stream on the surface of the wide stomach tongue. you saw his neck bob as he was savouring the taste of you even though he never took you in his real mouth.

"mmhm. you're sweeter than i imagined." a new mouth appeared on his hand and licked away your tears. slowly, a few more manifested on his body.

"how about you let all my boys taste you?"

@osachiyo @hellkaiserinphoenix @audrinui @ilhvm @wifeyana @rizzmin @venusiansilk @suchawasteofagirl @blondieeu @lavalampfullofsoup @getoloverr @tojilvrs

[survival-and-magic]

send🔥for our muses to fight back to back to the death in a hell arena!

[green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle]

ENJOY THE SILENCE

Lazy mornings with honkai and genshin boys (fem!reader x Diluc, fem!reader x Dan Heng) a bit suggestive in Dan Heng's part GENERAL MASTERLIST

DILUC

Your lover, Diluc Ragnvindr was without a doubt hardworking and responsible man. Running biggest winery in the industry, protecting Mondstadt at nights and still working full-time job as a bartender, he gave you plenty reasons to be proud of him. Unfortunately, his lifestyle came with many downsides, sleep deprivation and shortage of free time he could spend with you being one of them, so when you found your handsome boyfriend lying next to you in bed, you couldn't stop yourself from admiring him, for once so peaceful, so relaxed. You felt like it was ages since he could sleep in like that.

His voluminous hair tickled your nose, he smelled both manly and sweetly at the same time, scent of cecilias he cultivated in his garden mixed with leather and smoke, reminder of dangerous activities he indulged in at night. You shifted closer to him, inhaling this familiar smell. His eyes opened, morning light enhanced golden tones in his hues. When he met your gaze it felt like all the warmth in them poured into your soul, lightening it up like sunlight itself, taking your breath away.

Diluc smiled at you lazily, leaning to kiss you. He tasted like promise of adventure, but his strong arms were like a safe harbor, grounding you and sheltering from all harm.

"I hope I didn't wake you up" you giggled. "You deserve a good rest for once Diluc."

"Don't worry, even if you did, I'd rather enjoy your company then sleep my love. Compared to reality with you every dream is dull." he whispered gently stroking your hair.

You laid your head down on his muscular chest, happy to cuddle your big, strong, loving man for the rest of the morning.

DAN HENG

Your beloved dragon came off as cold and emotionally detached to most people, his reserved nature forged in solitude he lived in for most of this lifetime successfully scared most people off. Yet, there was other side to him, born from isolation he suffered in Xianzhounian prison as well. Hunger for life and experiences he was devoid off for so long, overwhelming need to be free and feed his senses with all things this wast universe can offer, things he knew only from books.

Dan Heng was used to relying on himself, never given a chance to ask for too much or express his emotions freely, so when he was alone with you he tried his best to not seem needy, but it was obvious just how much he craved to be close to you.

He always kissed you a bit too greedily, as if it was the last time he can taste something so sweet, and he never pulled away first. When he caressed your body his fingers dug into your flesh, leaving marks on your fragile skin. Claiming you as his mate. He was touch-starved to the point of pain, skin to skin contact was so foreign to him it almost burned but he couldn't get enough. It was never enough.

Today you and your boyfriend woke up earlier than the rest of the crew. Before going back to your duties in the archieves you decided to take a quick shower together. Dan Heng looked stunning with water dripping down his perfect body, you couldn't take your eyes off his broad chest. He was more comfortable than usually, tracing marks on your skin with his fingertips.

Water washed away your mixed scent from your bodies when your hands massaged shampoo in his scalp. Dan Heng always made sure he does his share of work, both as Astral Express archivist and as your lover. It was a habit of his from time he first escaped from Xianzhou. He used to work for refuge and food in various places, justifying his existence with usefulness. Therefore you were not surprised when he returned the favor soon after you washed his hair.

" Why won't you let me spoil you sometimes?" you asked.

"You spoil me all the time." he calmly spoke up. "You give me all your love and help me become something more than a shadow of my past life by giving me another great reason to live here and now instead of dwelling on my nightmares. I merely return the favor."

Your cheeks flushed.

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to earn my kindness each time." you explained, biting your lip. His hands rubbing your head slowed down a bit.

"Don't worry about that. I like doing things for you, that's my way of showing that I care about you." he sighed. "You keep on telling me I need to learn how to receive affection, but aren't you the same as me?"

You didn't say anything back, instead you just let go and let his hands get lower to massage the knots out of your back, your muscles relaxing under his tender touch.

[aerynwrites]

Hi! Just wanted to say that I admired your work, and you have pushed me to write again. I hope you have a good day. (Sorry,

a little awkward here)

If you don't mind, I have a request. I always wonder how Gale, Halsin, or whoever you would like to write would react to a Tav that her/their love language is physical touch and/or gift giving (like little crafts and stuff.) Thanks!

ooo i love this idea!! Did it in HC format so I could do both Halsin and Gale (+ Dammon bc I love him lol). I hope you enjoy my friend!

Having an S/O whose love language is Physical Touch and Gift Giving

Gale

I definitely take Gale as someone who loves physical touch but doesn’t like PDA.

So he reserves all his touches for when you all are alone or away from prying eyes.

But he does love it.

He loves when you cuddle up to him when he reads, putting his arm around you and pulling you close as he reads to you.

he also loves holding your hand, intertwining your fingers together.

And he loves kisses.

Kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your nose, etc…

He especially loves leaving kisses to your neck/shoulders when you are lying in bed or just before you wake up.

No when it comes to gift giving, I don’t feel like Gale is particularly familiar with relieving gifts from romantic partners - at least not the small but still meaningful ones.

He keeps anything and everything you give him, always telling you what he likes about it and stuff.

If it’s something he can wear/use you bet your ass he is using it or wearing it all the time.

Halsin

Halsin, as we all know, is not a shy man.

He loves to touch you and doesn’t give a fuck who sees lmao.

He will hold your hand or tug you closer to his side, even kiss you whenever and wherever. He does not care, he just loves having you close and feeling your skin against his own. Even in a non sexual way.

I also know this man loves to cuddle okay??

Like I feel like he runs warm, so at night he probably doesn’t sleep with a shirt on and just has you tucked against his chest.

And he obviously, loves to kiss you just like Gale lmao.

He’s always sneakin’ a lil’ kiss.

When it comes to gift-giving, he loves the little things you bring him.

Whether it be some honey you found at the market or small little malformed wooden figures you tried your best to whittle.

He keeps and cherishes them all, something you don’t find out until you find his little stash in his pack.

If you ask him about it, he just smiles that wonderful smile and tells you he likes to have a piece of you close to him at all times.

Dammon

Okay, possible controversial idea but uh…

I feel like Dammon is a bit touch starved.

Not because he doesn’t like touch or anything but with his home being thrust into he hells and most of his time spent in the forge I just don’t see him spending time much with others.

So when it becomes apparent that your love language is physical touch, he’s a tiny bit lost at first.

But he reciprocates after a while, and soon he finds out he loves that shit too.

He loves to hold your hand, even presses a kiss to your knuckles everyonce and a while, especially if you’re both just lounging around.

I definitely peg him as one of those guys that does the whole “hand on your lower back when he passes behind you” thing and if that doesn’t make you weak in the knees idk what will.

also his tail?? I’m sorry but that man projects his emotions with his tail i swear.

You find it wrapped loosely around your leg a lot when you’re cuddled up in bed, holding you close just like his arms do.

Now, when it comes to gift giving - I think he is more used to being the one to give rather than receive.

so when you first give him a gift he is really surprised and can really only mutter a stuttered flustered thank you.

I feel like your first gift to him might be a new scarf, so even if he didn’t verbalize it well you know he loves it when he wears in nonstop for weeks after you gave it to him.

anything else you give him, small hand made trinkets and baubles, etc… you’ll soon see proudly displayed scattered around his forge.

[mesetacadre]

Blog soundtrack: La Joven Guardia

you're legally obligated to play this when you browse my blog. also this will change every once in a while or maybe disappear for a bit. Lyrics under cut:

Somos la joven guardia que va forjando el porvenir. Nos templó la miseria, sabremos vencer o morir. Noble es la causa de librar al hombre de su esclavitud. Quizá el camino hay que regar, con sangre de la juventud. Que esté en guardia, que esté en guardia el burgués insaciable y cruel. Joven guardia, joven guardia, no le des paz ni cuartel, (¡Paz ni cuartel!) Es la lucha final que comienza, la revancha de los que ansían pan; en la revolución que está en marcha los esclavos el triunfo alcanzarán. Siempre en guardia, siempre en guardia, joven guardia. Hijos de la miseria, ella rebeldes nos forjó. Odio a la tiranía que a nuestros padres explotó. Más hambre no hemos de sufrir. Los que trabajan comerán. La explotación va a concluir. Nuestras las fábricas serán. Que esté en guardia, que esté en guardia el burgués insaciable y cruel. Joven guardia, joven guardia, no le des paz ni cuartel, (¡Paz ni cuartel!) Es la lucha final que comienza, la revancha de los que ansían pan; en la revolución que está en marcha los esclavos el triunfo alcanzarán. Siempre en guardia, siempre en guardia, joven guardia. Mañana por las calles masas en triunfo marcharán. Ante la guardia roja los poderosos temblarán. Somos los hijos de Lenin (y de Stalin!), y a vuestro régimen feroz el comunismo ha de abatir con el fusil, martillo y hoz. Que esté en guardia, que esté en guardia. el burgués insaciable y cruel. Joven guardia, joven guardia, no le des paz ni cuartel, (¡Paz ni cuartel!) Es la lucha final que comienza, la revancha de los que ansían pan; en la revolución que está en marcha los esclavos el triunfo alcanzarán. Siempre en guardia, siempre en guardia, joven guardia.

Translation (OC)

We are the young guard who's forging the future. Misery tempered us, we'll know to win or die. Noble is the cause to free man from its bondage. Perhaps the path shall be watered with the Youth's blood. They better be on guard, they better be on guard the insaciable and cruel bourgeois. Young guard, young guard, don't give him peace nor mercy, (Peace nor mercy!) The final struggle is beginning, revenge of those who crave bread; in the revolution that's in motion the slaves will reach triumph. Always on guard, always on guard, young guard. Misery's children, she made us rebels. Hate the tyranny that exploited our fathers. We shan't starve anymore. Those who work will eat. Exploitation will meet its end. The factories will be ours. They better be on guard, they better be on guard the insaciable and cruel bourgeois. Young guard, young guard, don't give him peace nor mercy, (Peace nor mercy!) The final struggle is beginning, revenge of those who crave bread; in the revolution that's in motion the slaves will reach triumph. Always on guard, always on guard, young guard. Tomorrow on the streets the masses will march in triumph. Before the red guard the powerful shall tremble. We are the sons of Lenin (and Stalin's!) and your savage regime communism shall take down with the rifle, hammer, and sickle. They better be on guard, they better be on guard the insaciable and cruel bourgeois. Young guard, young guard, don't give him peace nor mercy, (Peace nor mercy!) The final struggle is beginning, revenge of those who crave bread; in the revolution that's in motion the slaves will reach triumph. Always on guard, always on guard, young guard.

[hellishjoel]

seven days, six nights

5.6k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

← masterlist

summary: You get jumped in the QZ after a deal gone south and hide yourself from Joel to keep him safe. After eventually finding you and learning the truth behind your injuries, he heals you and promises revenge. 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), post-outbreak Joel, living in the Boston QZ, somewhat established relationship, mentions of falling ill, mentions of hunger/starvation, mentions of weapons, mentions of sleeplessness, descriptions of a fight/brief assault, descriptions of bodily injury, talking about medical shit (and I ain't no doctor, I used google, don't sue me) thoughts and descriptions of murder (… isn’t he just so dreamy?), angst, light fluff at the end, half-ass edited (apologies in advance)

A/N: So happy to practice some post-outbreak writing! Enjoy this angsty one shot (inspired by this lovely ask!) that I fuckin loved writing. Dedicating this to @macfrog, as I pictured this entire plot with pixel Joel. 

“Joel, I’m so sorry, I lost you the battery-” “Someone stole it from you.” He corrects, shaking his head as a sinking feeling washes over you. Your eyelashes flutter as you feel a droplet of water land on your nose. You glance up at the sky, seeing the clear summer day has turned into dark clouds overhead threatening to flood the city in rain. Joel doesn’t look up, he stays watching you. You can’t seem to meet his eye contact. “But the battery-” “Don’t care about the battery right now, care about you.” 

Joel doesn’t know where you’ve been. You haven’t returned to his apartment in the QZ for days. He keeps track. Every time the sun rises and shines blistering beams of light into the quiet apartment until the moon replaces it and casts light silver streaks between the torn-up pieces of newspaper taped to the windows. Another day gone.

You had a routine. Make the smaller drops or pickups on your own, return to Joel, and report back to him with anything you think he might find useful or interesting. Five days ago, he sent you off to negotiate a truck battery with that West End District piece of shit, Robert. He shouldn’t have let you go alone. Fucking smugglers, you couldn’t trust any of them. Hell, Joel was even surprised you trusted him at first. He regretted not insisting on being by your side, even if it was just as your personal attack dog to keep Robert  on his toes. 

Despite Boston being one of the more “well-managed” QZs to still exist, the black market that emerged from it was just as strong. That’s where Joel came in. He figured if he could smuggle himself into one of the most protected quarantine zones in the country, he could smuggle just about anything else. 

Drugs, weapons, ammunition, illegally forged paperwork, counterfeit ration cards, you name it, and Joel could work it in or out of the city.  Joel’s reputation was usually enough to keep you both out of imminent danger as he became popular with not only the inhabitants of the QZ, but also with fellow smugglers. You all needed each other to stay alive, in one way or another. 

Don’t be mistaken; the Boston QZ wasn’t perfect. It went through its fair share of scares. Food sources dwindled occasionally, leaving people angry, starving, and rebellious. Fireflies were a constant nag on depleting military resources. The fighting never truly stopped. This partially made Joel’s life easier. When times got tough, people searched for Joel to procure particular goods to help keep them afloat or, more importantly, alive. 

That’s the problem Joel ran into after spending a night in FEDRA lock up. He was the one in need of supplies. 

Joel was sick. Not infected sick, not cordyceps sick, some kind of infection he got from poor sanitation in the lock-up that attacked its way through an open wound Joel had gotten. He didn’t know if it was from work duty or from the recent street attacks, hence his stay in the FEDRA lockup. No matter where he got it from, an infection in the bloodstream wasn’t easily curable. 

The doctors, what very few the QZ had, were scarcely treating the sick due to a lack of supplies. And Joel was only getting worse. 

He was fighting a high fever, his breathing was fucked, as was his heart rate. Only a few days into his symptoms, he was crashing. He was damn near on the devil’s doorstep. He wasn’t made for heaven’s gates. 

Joel didn’t have friends in the QZ, but there were certain high-powered people who needed items smuggled, too. And the guards paid him well to keep his mouth shut about what he saw going in and out of those gates after curfew. That’s why when one of his more popular clients heard Joel was an inch from  death, they sent you. 

You burst through his apartment, the door nearly flying off its hinges as you fled to his bedside. He pushed you away with what little strength he had at first, the infection was making him lose his damn mind. His skin was scarlet red, and he was clammy with sweat. He didn’t know you, you didn’t know him. But you weren’t going to let him die. 

“Joel, I’m here to help you, hold still.” 

Then you started your search, tearing Joel’s clothes off one by one until you found the sizeable cut on his upper bicep near his shoulder, a huge scrape from a metal blade that had gotten infected. The man had tons of scars, all in varying sizes, shapes, and places on his body. You didn’t know his past, but his body told his story. He was a fighter. 

Your fear was how far into sepsis Joel was. Any further or even just a few hours later, you might have witnessed his organs begin shutting down. 

Despite his hazy state, Joel was struck by your amount of supplies. You weren’t a Boston QZ doctor, he would remember a face like yours. It took a smuggler to know a smuggler, and you dealt in medical supplies. 

Joel passed out not long after you got there. You caught him up in the morning, you never left his side. You monitored him, kept checking his vitals, pumped him with water, shoved antibiotics down his throat, cleaned his wound before it could fester anymore, and tried to regulate his body temperature. This could have been a lot worse. It should have been a lot worse. 

This was your first time experiencing Joel Miller’s tenacious stubbornness. He wouldn’t fucking die, not last night, and not today. 

A few weeks later, with Joel improving, he picked up on you around town. The way you blended in with just about everyone else. Not much slipped past Joel these days with his eyes like that of an eagle. But you slipped right through his fingers, didn’t even know you existed,  despite running the same territory. 

That’s when he decided he wanted someone like you on his team. Not just for your medical skills, but the type of supplies you ran was in high demand. You never did tell him where you got it, or how it was funded, all he had to know was that you were in. And you have been in ever since. 

Joel introduced you to heavier smuggling, like weapons and bundles of cash. Even people for the right price. He taught you how to make fake documents of verification and how to forge other paperwork. This was a lot bigger compared to your clean syringes and medicine. 

You learned a lot from each other. You taught Joel patience, and to thank you for saving his life, he taught you how to orgasm in less than five minutes. 

The relationship you shared, if you could even call it that, wasn’t strictly a romantic one. Both of you were too guarded for something like that. But also, life was too short and unpredictable right now not to crave pleasure to erase the pain from the past. 

It was hard to admit, considering how independent you’ve grown since being accepted into the Boston QZ, but you were thinking about Joel in ways far beyond a slightly romantic relationship. He had protected you and cared for you in the Joel sort of way that’s hard to read but you know exists. 

Joel worked extra hours to hand you off extra ration cards, shaking his head and not looking at you when he said it was no big deal, just take’em. Or when he didn’t want you to stay in spare housing, he offered to let you live with him in his nicer, non-shared apartment. It was a small slice of heaven in this fucked up world. You liked him, hell, maybe it was more than like. 

That’s why when you got jumped by Robert’s guys on the way back to Joel’s with the truck battery, they damn near killed you. They left you passed out in the alley. Robbed you of your ration cards, stole back the battery, smashed your head so hard into the brick wall you had passed out. All you wanted to do when you came to was crawl to Joel. So you did. You were outside his door, beaten and bruised, about to knock. Then you just stood there and spiraled. 

You listened from the other side of Joel’s door to the floorboards creaking as he paced the old wooden beams. You were late and left him worried. He was waiting for you to come home. 

The thought made your stomach twist. You looked like shit. You knew what Joel was capable of. One look at your bruised and bloodied face would send him flying down the street with a rifle in his hands and a pistol shoved in the back of his jeans.  You couldn’t bear the thought of him getting hurt in a war with Robert. 

Joel was smart, a hell of a lot smarter than Robert, but their smuggling operations varied greatly. Robert was an arms dealer, with henchmen all around the QZ. Joel only worked with a handful of people, he kept his circle small. If Joel went after Robert, you were more likely to find him dead in the street than anything else. And you couldn’t do that to Joel, not after all he’s done for you. 

If Joel saw you hurt, he would kill Robert. He’d kill anyone that laid a finger on you. No one touches what’s Joel’s. Not merchandise, not weapons, not the pills he smuggles in and out of the QZ, and certainly not you. 

So you tiptoe back down the stairs and run to the spare housing blocks just before the curfew alarm sounds. What Joel doesn’t know won’t get him killed. 

---

Joel stands in line during the heat of summer, ration cards stuffed in his back pocket as he waits with others in the queue for a tray and some food. The dining hall was packed, and by the looks of other people’s trays, the food was low again. All he can think about is how he worked extra shifts all last week to get more ration cards for both of you. Without these cards, you were going hungry. You were supposed to be by his side, where were you? 

By day six, Joel was restless. He didn’t realize how accustomed he had grown to having you in bed beside him. All he could picture during his sleepless nights was his body spooned in behind yours, the heavy weight of his arm curled around your waist, being able to sense even the tiniest of movements. You’d push off his arm in the middle of the night, telling him that you just needed to use the bathroom or get some water. 

It wasn’t always like that, though. Sometimes, you have nightmares. Ones that left you shooting up straight in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, crawling backward in bed like something or someone was chasing you. Joel didn’t know everything about your past and vice versa, but he knew wherever you came from before Boston was a different form of hell. He would hold you in his arms, console you, wipe your hot tears, lay your head on the warmth of his chest, and tell you to level out your breathing by listening to the beat of his heart. He held you in his arms until you eventually fell back asleep. Most of the time, you’d wake up and wouldn’t remember a thing. 

What if nothing was wrong with you, and you just realized you didn’t want to be with someone as broken and battered as Joel? He didn’t make being in his company easy. He gave you a lot of shit, pushed you to the limits, told you on more than a handful of occasions he just wanted to be left alone. You’d ask about his daughter, the one he sparsely spoke about, and he’d bark at you until you regretted even thinking about her. He didn’t make things easy on you, but Joel did care about you. Even if he was shit at showing it. 

He pushed you away, maybe you took the hint and left him. 

On day seven, he started asking around about you, something he saved as a last resort. The less you two were seen together, the better. You had him worried sick, and he was damn near ready to raid Robert’s warehouse to see if he had taken you, made you his girl against your will.  

That was until he caught a glimpse of you going past the market. It didn’t take much, he recognized your figure and trailed you with his eyes.  You were walking towards spare housing, with a heavy backpack and a sweatshirt on. Your arms were wrapped securely around you, and your head was down. 

He navigated through the crowds, jaw tight, putting down heavy steps on the broken gravel road as he pushed people out of his way with a guided hand on their shoulder. He followed you out of the crowd and down the street lined with stone barricades and rubble from a recent building that was raided by patrol on the hunt for Fireflies. You turned sharply down an alleyway, and Joel followed you, needing to see if you were okay, looking for answers. 

As soon as Joel took the alley, he was attacked and harshly shoved backward, his shoulder blades smacking the red brick wall behind him. A small switchblade was then shoved against the protruding vein in his neck, heated puffs of breath leaving him. He initially panicked in the moment, his hand tightening around the wrist that held him there.

“Why the hell are you following me?” You bark at him, head still lowered. Joel’s eyes narrow at the sound of your voice. 

He speaks your name.

Your strength relaxes, and you lift your head up to see you had pinned Joel. Shit, you thought one of Robert’s men was following you from town. You let out an exhausted breath of relief. 

“You’re really holdin’ me up with the knife I gave you?” Joel asks. He smacks the back of your hand, reflexes making your fist open up and lose the grip on your switchblade. Joel snags it with his free hand and glares at you. He takes the opportunity to shove your forearm off his chest, the one that was pinning him against the wall, and sending you a few paces back from the force he exerts. He hesitates but folds the blade back into the handle, and offers it back to you.

You let out a sigh of relief to see that it was just Joel. But this was still a problem. 

You retrieve the switchblade you accidentally surrendered to him and stuff it into your sweatshirt pocket. You cross your arms and look away to the entrance of the alley. “What the hell are you doing following me, Joel?”

He lets out a scoff through his nose and shoots daggers out of his eyes that you won’t meet. “What the hell am I doin’? Where the hell have you been?” He tries not to bark so loud. You won’t stop staring at the entrance of the alley, and Joel’s not sure if you’re thinking about running or thinking about being ambushed. 

He grabs your arm and drags you further into the alley, sunset on the horizon. He brings you to the back of an old school that was ready to collapse. He pushes you back against the wall and stands close, too close. 

“Answer me, what the hell happened to you?” His voice shoots goosebumps across your skin, low and growling for answers. 

The grip he has on your arm tightens and washes a flood of heat over your injured arm. Your mouth hisses with hurt, trying to breathe through the pain. You shake him off of you and clutch your arm lightly. “‘M fine, Joel, I can manage.” 

You’re speaking with a break in your voice that Joel can’t quite place. The hood you’re wearing is working overtime to shield your face. 

He pauses before he slowly looks over you. “Why are you wearin’ a sweatshirt in the middle of summer?” 

The silence he’s met with only leaves him more curious. What are you hiding? He swiftly pushes the hood off your head before you can stop him, and he’s not prepared for what he sees. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, his large hands delicately coming up and caressing your cheeks.

You sigh and roll your eyes. The skin around your right eye is blueish-purple. You lightly twinged at the contact, no matter how delicate he was being. “It’s not as bad as it seems, it doesn’t hurt-”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Joel mutters, lightly taking your chin between his thumb and index finger as he angles your face from left to right, allowing him to get a full look at the damage done to you. You glance down at his broken watch for comfort, the band fraying and the glass shattered, but he still wore it. 

You can’t exactly explain why your lower lip starts to wobble. It was so hard to stay away from Joel, to distance yourself, but it was all for keeping him safe. Your small fists lightly clutch the button-up shirt he’s wearing around his abdomen, finally feeling a slight sense of security. 

“Joel, I’m so sorry, I lost you the battery.”

“Someone stole it from you.” He corrects, shaking his head as a sinking feeling washes over you. Your eyelashes flutter as you feel a droplet of water land on your nose. You glance up at the sky, seeing the clear summer day has turned into dark clouds overhead threatening to flood the city in rain. Joel doesn’t look up, he stays watching you. 

You can’t seem to meet his eye contact. “But the battery-”

“Don’t care about the battery right now, care about you.” His thumb gently examines the cut on your lip. You curl it inwards to stray from his touch. “Robert do this to you? His guys?” Joel’s asking accusingly, and you know better than to lie to him. You swallow the growing lump in your throat and gently nod, blinking back tears. 

His face grows taut with anger, his brows furrowing and the creases in his forehead are set in stone. His jaw is clamped shut while he grits his teeth. Joel’s probably thinking of a million scenarios of how to put Robert down. Which way would last the longest, string out the torture, make him apologize to you, and beg for his life. Make him apologize to Joel for ever touching a hand on what was his. 

“Joel, you need to take a breath. Focus.” The last thing you wanted was for Joel to go on a rampage tonight in search of Robert. “I’m fine, this shit happens. We’ll get back on track and-”

“Can’t believe they let you live.” He murmurs, taking a look at the damage that he can visibly see before lightly sighing and releasing your face. You’re quick to pull the hood back up and cross your arms in front of you as some sort of shield. 

His eyes are sunken in, his chest is lightly heaving as he tries to sort through his muddled thoughts. The rain is starting to scatter more, hitting your muddy sneakers and Joel’s dark denim shirt. The setting sun meant curfew was just around the corner. 

“Come on. We’re goin’ home. Need to take a look at you in the light." You hesitate but his eyes are pleading for you to just let him take care of you.  So you let him. 

---

You travel up the same staircase you did just a week ago, limping and injured, broken and feeling guilty. Joel needed that battery for the truck. He was going to leave Boston and go to find his brother, Tommy. Neither of you had discussed if you would come with. For Joel, you think you might do just about anything for him if he asked. 

He stabs his key into the lock of his door. You hear a crying baby in a neighboring apartment, it was probably startled awake by the blaring of the curfew alarm. Lightning and thunder crack outside as Joel pushes open the door. You follow him inside and set down your backpack by the door like you usually do. Another strike of lightning makes his apartment flood itself with white-silver streaks of light, if only for a moment. Joel flips the lock back into place and hits the switch to the one overhead light in between the kitchen and the living room. You’re sweating up a storm in your sweatshirt. 

Though living in Boston’s QZ wasn’t great, you had to admit that not every quarantine zone had clean water and electricity. Joel had an old standing oscillating fan that was stationed at the foot of his bed during the summers since he ran so warm all the time. He said he traded about four or five meals worth of ration cards to get it, said that it was considered a steal. You shed the heavy material of your sweatshirt and sit tiredly down at the end of his bed, closing your eyes as the fan wicks away your sweat and cools your face. 

Living in spare housing the past week was hell. You barely slept. The homeless, sick, and injured all found their way to spare housing. You weren’t safe there. And you didn’t have any ration cards to your name. You had to trade one singular, perfectly clean syringe to afford four rolls of bread. It was all you could get at the time being. Everyone was fighting for work, knowing ration cards and food were low. Since you were still somewhat new to the QZ, you weren’t given privileges. You laid on a nasty, old cot for a week. Joel’s small apartment was heaven. The solitude was peaceful. 

Joel was standing at the sink, water running over a cloth as he stared down at the water circling the drain. He needed to take a breath, set his anger aside, and get you to talk. 

Joel wrings out the rag, loose droplets of water splattering in the sink before he sits down at his small wooden kitchen table. “C’mere.” He whispers, taking your attention away from the fan. You slowly stand up and make your way to the table under the central light in his living room, sighing softly as you slowly sink into the accompanying chair. Now in the light, he observes your injuries closer. 

Without your sweatshirt on, he can see bruises and scrapes along your arms, residual blood on your knuckles and under your nails. His little fighter. He notes that your tanktop is a bit shredded, and he fears the worst. 

You catch him staring and intervene. “Don’t worry. I didn’t let them get close enough to touch me like that.” You glance down at the sweaty tank top and lightly tug on the hole. “Just got this while I was running away, trying to hop a fence.” 

Joel frowns and slowly works his eyes over you. “‘S not like you to get caught. You’re pretty damn fast.”

You held down a bubble of laughter as your fingers played with the fraying material of your top. “Yeah, well, they already got one or two good hits on me, so I was a little hazy.” Your words don’t settle him. They infuriate him. 

He brings his attention to your face. Your eye must have been swollen at one point, but it wasn’t anymore. The puffiness had gone down, and the bruises were in their final stages of healing. You have another more prominent bruise on your cheekbone, black and blue, but it’s not broken. That’s good. The cut on your eyebrow and the matching one on your lip catches his attention. A man with a ring. 

“Red hair? Crooked nose, missing a front tooth?” 

You blink a few times rapidly, curious as to how the hell Joel knew the characteristics of one of your attackers. 

“How did you…” You start to say until your words trail off, shaking your head in confusion. 

Joel sneers lightly and brings the wet rag up to gently dab at the cut on your lip. “Not a lot of men are stupid enough to wear a ring that basically signs their name on whoever’s face they’re knocking in.” How he describes your fight makes you flinch and shift uncomfortably in your chair, evading his eye contact. “Sorry.” He mutters quietly. “His name is Chase, Jase, somethin’ stupid like that. One of Robert’s guys.” Joel’s words lightly flitter off as he shifts his attention to your lip once more. 

It was still swollen and angry. You probably tried to eat with it still agitated and delayed its healing. But you know this already. You ate because you didn’t have a choice. It was that, or starve. He hated knowing you were roaming the streets in a horrible hunger, especially when he had ration cards waiting for you at home. 

Your eyes twitch closed as Joel’s wet rag rinses the blood out of the cut on your lip, the old excess blood lightly trickling into your mouth. Your tastebuds catch the tang of metallic and salt. You did what you could with the medical supplies you had, but you didn’t want to waste on yourself what you could potentially sell. If you were avoiding Joel for a while, you needed to be able to make trades of your own. You did use some supplies to clean the cut on your head. You were lucky the wall you were thrown into didn’t leave you with a concussion. 

Joel is still wrestling with why the hell you didn’t come home, why he had to go out and find you. Why, why, why? Why did he let you go alone? Why did the deal go south? A terrible feeling soured his stomach.  Robert’s men were ruthless, they must have felt kind enough to let you live. Or it was a message to Joel from Robert. You’re next. 

Joel wasn’t scared of Robert, but for them to be scared of a young woman was a mystery for the masses. 

He tosses the rag down on the table and stands up. “I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘em.” He grunts up, his lips snarling and his nostrils flaring in heated fury. 

He storms to the kitchen and impatiently fills up a glass of water. Joel was fantasizing about plunging his thumbs into Robert’s eye sockets and squeezing until his head turned into mush. Or maybe Joel could take him to the Eastern district, throw him in the Massachusetts Bay, and hold him underwater, only bringing him up from the brink of drowning before pushing him down again. And again. And again. 

Your sweet voice breaks Joel’s murderous thoughts. “Joel, I owe you the battery, and I promise I’ll find another one. Just give me a little time and-”

Joel slams the glass of water on the counter, the clatter of it echoing around the room. “Don’t care about the damn battery!” His back is to you, broad and strong shoulders heaving lightly as his head hangs low. His hands are gripping the edge of the counter. “Thought they fuckin’ kidnapped you! Or worse!”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, your lower lip wobbling once more as he slowly starts shaking his head. 

“I almost lost you, and it’s my fault.” 

Your eyes soften at his words. He’s felt this way before, and he’s been haunted by the mistake ever since. His daughter, you think. 

His low, southern drawl makes you focus on him once more. “Tell me why you hid. Why didn’t you come to me? We could have figured things out, for fuck’s sake!” He shouts as he turns to face you, his body falling back into the counter as he crosses his arms. 

Your chest swells with heavy emotion. You stand up so fast from your chair that its sent scraping backward. “I did come here! I did! I heard you inside and I..” you pause and shake your head, still finding your voice. 

“I was scared you’d be upset with me letting someone steal the battery, I was afraid you’d go after Robert and get yourself fucking-- killed, Joel! I don’t want you to die, okay? I need you!” 

“And I need you!” He shouts back, lips parted with heavy breaths, both of you trying to settle with the newly shared revelation. 

You both stare at each other from across the room, watching as Joel’s jaw slowly begins to click loose. He shoves himself up off the counter and closes the distance between you two. You hesitantly take a step back, and he pauses his footsteps. His eyes soften, and he looks as broken as you do. 

“Please,” he pleads, gently shaking his head. “Would never hurt you, baby.” He puts his hand out, a gesture of kindness and warmth that you’d missed all week, yet you still hesitate. You almost wait too long, he’s already reeling his hand back into his side. 

“Joel,” you whisper with soft relief. You eagerly take a few steps forward, ignoring his hand, and gently settle your head on his chest as you tightly squeeze your arms around his lower back. You close your eyes and melt into him, finding solace in Joel’s embrace. 

Joel’s arms stay hovering in the air for a moment, lips parted as he looks down at the top of your head. He shames himself for even hesitating. He puts one hand on the side of your head and holds you to his chest, while the other settles low on your back. He breaths peacefully for the first time in a week. 

You stay like that for who knows how long. He’s warm, and you feel protected. You sink into his arms, he takes on your weight. He walks you backward to the foot of his bed once more, letting you delicately fall back into the mattress. You watch with tired eyes as he unties the laces of your sneakers, one after the other. He shucks down your jeans, making you giggle. 

“Joel, you don’t wanna fuck me right now, I smell like spare housing.” 

The right side of his mouth twitches up as he shakes his head at you. “I know you do. ‘M takin’ you to shower.” 

You sit up on your elbows as you smile a bit bashfully at him. “Good. Because I’m too sore to fool around anyway.” You whisper with a teasing smile as you grab the bottom of your tank top, peeling it up and off of your sticky skin. Joel tries not to stare. You’re not sure if he’s clocking your naked figure or the bruising around your ribs and legs. 

You’d need some time to heal. Joel knows you do. While you shower, he makes you as big of a feast he can muster up with the canned goods he has in his cupboards. You try to eat the first real meal you’ve had in a week slowly, to savor the taste, but you end up shoveling your spoon into the bowl and scraping it clean.  

Joel’s eyes are on you the whole time, watching you, observing you. He won’t let you out of his sight for a while, but maybe that’s what’s good for you. You meet his gaze and he speaks a silent vow. We’ll find Robert, steal the battery back, then kill him and anyone else who laid a finger on you. He nods. You nod too. 

Joel’s not sure how late it is by the time you two fall into bed together. He doesn’t know how to tell you how much you mean to him, but he says it in the way he holds you. Back in his arms, he’s more alert of how sore you are from your fight. He gently cups your face, watching your eyes slowly flutter closed with long blinks. You must be so tired. And he doesn’t want to keep you awake. He’s afraid to look away, like if he lets you out of his sight, you’ll disappear again. 

He speaks your name and gently stirs you awake. “Hm?” You softly murmur, bringing your hand up and gently feeling over the planes of Joel’s chest, fingers lightly grazing his chest hair. 

He looks down at you for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “Don’t run away like that again.” His words are stern before he pauses again,  lightly pushing some hair behind your ear and touching you like a delicate flower. You watch him attentively. He cups your jawline and angles you to look up at him.  “We’re takin’ that battery back, and we’re gettin’ the hell out of here. You hear me?” 

Your heart swells at his words. We. You slowly nod in agreement. You feel Joel’s gentle kisses on your forehead and the tip of your nose. You lean up to capture his lips, but he falters by an inch. A confused expression crosses your face. 

“You’re hurt.” He mutters, referring to the cut on your lip. Don’t wanna hurt ya, sweet girl.

You roll your eyes and take his face in your small hands. “Don’t care.” You whisper before you pull him in, and the two of you share a featherlight kiss. You let it last, both of you soaking it in after a week apart. A week too long. 

Joel’s the first to pull away, giving you a playful little glare. The bruising on your face reminds him of the boxing movies he grew up watching. “Easy, Rocky.” 

You look at him confused and cock your head. “Who?”

He rolls his eyes at you and sighs, gently running his hand down your side. “Go to sleep. I’ll teach you about Rocky one through five tomorrow. D’you at least get a few good hits on Robert or his guys?”

You hum quietly and let your eyes dip closed. “Mhm.”

“Like I taught ya?”

“Just like you taught me. Gave ‘em the ole left, right, goodnight." You bring up your fists to demonstrate. "Made Robert’s nose bleed, think I broke it.”  

Your head falls into Joel’s chest, feeling it rumble with laughter and a sense of pride. “That’s my girl.”

His body shields you from the outside world. You sleep like a rock for the rest of the night. You live another day, and so does Joel. But with Joel’s promise, you know Robert’s days are numbered. You’ll be sure of it. 

---

here's my masterlist!

follow hellishfics and turn on notifications to see the next time I update!

[istoleyoursk1n]

How would Rolan, and Dammon react to a touch-starved Tav?

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

How would Rolan and Dammon react to a touch-starved Tav?

.

.

: ̗̀➛ ROLAN

Surprise surprise, he too is touch starved.

The thing is, he’s a tad bit awkward when it comes to admitting certain things or even asking to touch you. He becomes all fussy and irritable and it gets worse the more you tease him about it.

In the case that your touch lingers on him for a longer time than usual, that's when he’d realize.

Those are also, to his own dismay, the moments where he becomes flustered as all hell but he doesn't have the heart to tell you to let go. He needs this too.

It would start off as you initiating all the touching first, though as much as he’d complain about it, he’d make a bigger fuss if you even try to let go.

Though, gradually, he’d begun to reciprocate, a hand on his shoulder would soon result in both of your fingers intertwining in a rather awkward yet warming little moment.

He doesn't exactly know what he's doing, it's been far too long since he’s done something so sweetly affectionate for someone he’s truly had his eyes on.

But trust me, it does get less awkward in time. He just needs your patience and your care to overcome it all and he’d be all over you in no time.

Once said awkwardness does disappear, he’s touching you subconsciously, finally capable of being the one who initiates such sweet displays of affection.

From his tail wrapping around your leg to a simple arm resting around your waist, it’s practically natural to him at this point. He only ever makes a big fuss out of it if you deliberately try and break away from his touch just to mess with him.

: ̗̀➛ DAMMON

This man has been holding himself back from the moment he started catching feelings for you. He truly wanted to respect your autonomy and all but he admittedly has fantasized about holding your hand and such.

He gets all giddy every time he dreams of touching you, but he’d wait until he finally has that go signal to do so.

Or alternatively, he musters up the courage to ask you directly.

The moment you give him permission, his hands will be all over you. The real thing couldn't possibly compare to what he conjured up in his dreams.

Still, he’d start slowly first, not wishing to overwhelm you with his entire barrage of affections. He’d start by kissing your knuckles, then eventually your shoulders before finally worming his way up to your face.

He adores every part of you, not leaving a single piece of you untouched or unloved.

I can imagine his hands being a tad bit rough on your skin with all the forging work he’s done but a little reassurance would press him on. Trust me when I say he’d be as gentle as possibly could be. If you want him to be of course.

He’s the type to give little massages too if you ever need them. Those roughed hands do wonders to ease any tension in your body.

Also the cuddles! If he can, he’d be more than willing to wrap you in his arms, perhaps even lifting you up into a tight squeeze if he's able to do so.

And if he can't, don't worry! He’s more than happy to settle with nuzzling against you. As long as he’s touching you, he’d have zero complaints.

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

[aziraphales-library]

hi!!! hope whoever reads this’s day is going good. as a lover of physical touch i was wondering if you know any where crowley comforts an anxious/upset aziraphale by holding him/just physical touch in general? thanks so much! also this blog is amazing ahskwjw thank u for making it!!!

We have a #cuddling & snuggling tag, so do check that. Another obvious go-to for this is #touch starved, so here are some comforting touch-starved Aziraphale fics...

Day 8: Touch by CinnabarMint (G)

Aziraphale hasn’t been touched in centuries, so he gathers his courage and asks Crowley. Crowley delivers.

On The Matter Of Touch by Somedrunkpirate (T)

“On the matter of touch,” Crowley begins, waving his teaspoon in what he hopes passes for idle curiosity. “Thoughts?” --- For two ineffable husbands, they don't really touch each other much. Here is a story on why that might be.

Adrift by Aethelflaed (T)

Angels don't experience physical touch the way humans do. The simple brush of a hand can form a connection that is powerful, intimate, and far more than Aziraphale can handle. Only one other being has experienced this phenomenon, a demon, so much his opposite and so very much the same. Can they learn to forge connections that don't overwhelm them, or will Aziraphale spend eternity never quite connecting with the world around him?

Take My Heart (But Not My Hand) by Ghostinthehouse (T)

"You know he needs touch?" "Yeah," Crowley says, following Adam's gaze to Aziraphale. "I know. We'll figure it out, he and I. We always do. Eventually."

Touch my Tears with Your Lips by IneffableDoll (T)

In Heaven, there was nothing to touch. Aziraphale re-tied the knot of his bowtie again and again and again. He was alone, and nothing was real, and he was alone, and nothing was real. * The emptiness of Heaven is punishment itself, a torture for a very Earthly angel. He has no power. The Metatron lied to him. Crowley is somewhere else. Aziraphale is alone. When he eventually escapes back to Earth – where he belongs – Aziraphale and Crowley have a lot to work through, even after averting the Second Coming, a renewed attempt at taking away all they hold dear. They need to be gentle with each other’s fragile, fractured hearts and together, figure out how to love one another the way they’ve long wished to. A story of trauma, healing, and love. So, so much love.

Introduction to Touch by sheendav (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley survive the Not-Pocalypse and profess their love for one another, but Aziraphale has tremendous anxiety about pursuing a physical relationship with Crowley. He genuinely wishes to move forward, but past fears surrounding touch, intimacy and body image are prohibiting him from acting on what his heart (and corporation) really want. Crowley is ready to go as slowly and carefully as needed to be there for his Angel as they pursue their new "Arrangement" step by careful, sweet step.

- Mod D

[elryuse]

Hey can u write a story of 5 stepsisters (IZTY) who r obsessed with their younger brother y/n with mommy kinks.

Stuck With The Cold Princesses

ITZY OT 5 X MALE READER

Y/n flinched as a chorus of giggles erupted from the living room. ITZY, the five K-Pop idols who had become his stepsisters just a month ago, were sprawled on the plush rug, a chaotic mess of limbs and laughter. They were a far cry from the cold, aloof stars he'd seen on television. Here, in the sanctuary of their shared home, they were a terrifying whirlwind of possessiveness and affection.

Their arrival had been a shock to his system. Lia, the eldest, with a voice that could melt glaciers and eyes that could freeze them solid, took charge of the kitchen, her playful jabs about his meager appetite laced with a hidden venom. Yeji, the leader, a human algorithm with a heart of barbed wire, meticulously planned his schedule, ensuring every minute was filled with "approved" activities. Ryujin, the brooding rapper, spoke in grunts and glares, but her silent protectiveness was a suffocating cloak around him. Chaeryeong, the quiet dancer, was an enigma, her gaze a pool of swirling emotions that only flickered into life when it landed on Y/n. And Yuna, the maknae, was a whirlwind of sunshine that could turn into a hurricane with a single raised eyebrow.

Their initial hostility, a barrage of snide remarks and playful (or not so playful) shoves, had been a terrifying initiation. But then, the accident happened. A late-night drive back from a concert, slick roads, a missed turn – and the world turned upside down. The car flipped, a sickening screech of metal, and then silence. Y/n, miraculously unscathed, had pulled them from the wreckage, his voice a beacon of calm in the chaos.

That night, huddled together in the sterile hospital room, a horrifying truth emerged. ITZY weren't just a collection of talented idols; they were survivors of a tragedy so profound it had forged an unbreakable bond. Years ago, their parents, a famous musician couple, had perished in a similar car crash. The girls, left alone, had navigated the treacherous world of the entertainment industry together, a fortress built on shared trauma.

The revelation changed everything. The teasing stopped. The playful hostility morphed into a fierce, possessive protectiveness that bordered on obsession. Their new family dynamic was a terrifying masterpiece, painted in shades of control and affection.

Lia, ever the cook, fussed over his meals, her playful jabs about his appetite laced with a possessiveness that sent shivers down his spine. Yeji, the strategist, took charge of his schedule, ensuring his days were filled with activities she deemed "appropriate" – activities that kept him isolated from anyone but themselves. Ryujin, the taciturn one, claimed his bed every night, her silent presence a physical barrier against the outside world.

One afternoon, while walking home from school, Y/n bumped into Hana, a girl from his class. He hadn't realized how starved he was for normal social interaction until her easy smile and gentle conversation ignited a flicker of warmth in his chest. Their conversation, however trivial, felt like a lifeline thrown across a vast ocean of isolation.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, a pair of cold blue eyes watched from a distance. Yeji, ever vigilant, her gaze a predator tracking its prey. Back at home, the atmosphere was thick with a chilling tension. ITZY, usually a cacophony of chatter, sat in unsettling silence. The air crackled with unspoken threats.

"We saw you with Hana today, Y/n," Yeji finally spoke, her voice low and laced with ice.

Y/n felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. "It was nothing, just… talking."

Ryujin slammed her fist on the table, making him flinch. "We don't like her, Y/n. She's not good for you."

Lia, who had always played the voice of reason, purred, a sound devoid of warmth. "Don't worry, darling. We'll take care of it."

The next day, Hana vanished. Y/n, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, searched for her everywhere. The police, notified by her frantic parents, offered little comfort. The girls, their faces devoid of any emotion, simply offered empty platitudes about "missing persons" and the "inefficiency of the authorities."

Days turned into weeks, and a horrifying realization dawned on Y/n. Hana wasn't missing; she'd been silenced. A single red rose, its petals the color of fresh blood, lay on his pillow one night. A chilling note, penned in Chaeryeong's elegant handwriting, accompanied it: "We only want you to be happy, Y/n. And happy people don't need other girls."

His gaze darted to the five girls, their faces illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the window. They weren't the vibrant idols he saw plastered on posters anymore. Their smiles were predatory, their eyes devoid of the playful glint they used to hold. In their place was a terrifying possessiveness that made them look like cornered animals guarding their territory.

Y/n understood then. Their love, born from shared trauma and isolation, was a twisted vine that had suffocated them all. They weren't just his family, they were his captors. The fear that had coiled in his stomach since Hana's disappearance now clawed its way up his throat, choking him with a raw terror.

He tried to reason with them, to appeal to their dwindling humanity, but his words were met with chilling silence. Lia, the once playful cook, spoke in a voice devoid of warmth. "You're safe here, Y/n. You don't need anyone else."

Ryujin, the brooding rapper, materialized beside him, her hand finding his wrist with a bruising grip. "We're all that you need."

Desperate, he pleaded with Chaeryeong, the quiet one who spent hours lost in her art. "Don't you see this isn't right? Hana… what did you do to her?"

Chaeryeong stared at him, her eyes pools of swirling sorrow. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, a stark contrast to the chilling smile playing on Lia's lips. "She made you happy," Chaeryeong whispered, her voice barely audible. "And we can't have that."

Yuna, the maknae, broke the chilling silence with a high-pitched giggle that sent shivers down Y/n's spine. "Don't worry, oppa! We'll make you happy. Forever."

Their twisted affection pressed in on him, a suffocating wall built from fear and devotion. Y/n knew then that escape wasn't an option. He was trapped in their gilded cage, a prisoner of their warped love. Days bled into weeks, and a horrifying routine unfolded.

Gone were the playful interactions. The girls became his constant companions, their possessiveness suffocating. Excursions outside the house were rare, and always under their watchful eyes. Their smiles became strained, their once vibrant personalities dulled by the weight of their actions and the growing paranoia that consumed them.

One night, as Y/n lay awake, staring at the flickering shadows dancing on the ceiling, Ryujin, usually a stoic presence, spoke in a voice thick with raw emotion. "It's getting harder," she confessed, her voice a ragged whisper. "The whispers… the dreams… they're getting louder."

Y/n didn't dare ask about the whispers or the dreams. He knew they were the ghosts of their past, the trauma that bound them together while slowly tearing them apart.

One stormy night, the tension reached a breaking point. Lia, usually the picture of control, broke down, her facade crumbling as she sobbed uncontrollably. Y/n, hesitant at first, reached out and offered a comforting touch.

"We didn't mean to hurt you, Y/n," she cried, her voice cracking with grief. "We just… we just wanted to be happy family again."

Something in her desperation resonated with Y/n. He saw in her the same fear and loneliness that mirrored his own. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to break free. A chance to heal, not just for him, but for them.

"Then let me help you," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Let's get help together."

A flicker of hope sparked in Lia's tear-filled eyes, a fragile ember in the vast darkness of their situation. But before they could discuss it further, a scream tore through the house, a chilling sound that echoed throughout the night.

The bedroom door slammed open, revealing Yeji, her face contorted in a mask of rage. In her hand, she clutched a phone, the screen displaying a news report of a missing girl – a girl with striking green eyes and a familiar smile. Hana.

Y/n's frantic pleas for Hana's safety were met with chilling silence. The girls, their expressions a terrifying blend of relief and possessiveness, huddled closer to him. He saw not rage, but gratitude reflected in their eyes. They had won.

The police investigation, fueled by Y/n's fabricated story of a random encounter and abduction, hit a dead end. Hana – a name that would forever prickle his conscience – simply vanished. Freedom, a word that once held so much promise, now tasted like ashes in his mouth.

Life within their opulent penthouse became a twisted parody of family. Gone were any aspirations of college, of escaping the suffocating cocoon they'd woven around him. His days were meticulously planned – movie nights featuring only their chosen films, meals cooked under their watchful eyes, outings that kept him firmly within their grasp.

Their "therapy" sessions morphed into chilling confessionals. They poured out their childhood trauma, the raw pain of their parents' death, the fear that had solidified their bond into an unbreakable chain. Y/n, a captive audience, offered empty words of comfort, all the while knowing his sacrifice had become his prison sentence.

Nights were the worst. Their sprawling bed became a battlefield of suffocating affection. Lia, the one who used to tease him about his appetite, now fussed over every morsel he ate. Yeji, the strategist, ensured his every need was anticipated, before he even knew he had it. Ryujin, the taciturn one, clung to him with a silent possessiveness that spoke volumes. Chaeryeong, the quiet artist, would sketch him endlessly, her eyes devouring his every feature. And Yuna, the maknae, her once infectious laughter now held a tinge of hysteria, showered him with childish demands for attention.

Slowly, the defiant spark in Y/n's eyes dimmed, replaced by a hollow acceptance. He became a puppet, his emotions dulled by their suffocating love. He no longer fought against the endless movie marathons, the repetitive board games, the constant stream of childish questions.

One day, as they sprawled on the floor, giggling over a particularly silly game, a news report flashed across the screen – ITZY, the K-Pop stars, taking a hiatus to focus on "personal growth." A humorless chuckle escaped Y/n's lips. Personal growth indeed.

He looked around at the five faces, their gazes filled with a possessive contentment. They were no longer the vibrant idols plastered across magazines, but his captors, their smiles tinged with a touch of mania.

Y/n, trapped in their gilded cage, had become their ultimate trophy – a reminder of their triumph, a living testament to their twisted love. The "Mommies," as they insisted he call them, had won. His desperate sacrifice had not saved Hana, but had condemned him to a lifetime sentence in his own personal horror story. He was a prisoner, not just of their warped affection, but of his own guilt-fueled decision. The outside world had faded away, replaced by the stifling sweetness of their twisted love, a terrifying lullaby that lulled him into his own living nightmare.