breezy-cheezy · 2 months
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Febuwhump day 1: Touch Starved
Boy can’t say something like “I don’t deserve to cry” and NOT expect a hug....
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shadowshandsface · 2 months
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yo it's the month of Febuwhump and naturally i'm doing some MP100-themed ones. here we have day 1: touchstarved
@cryran88 and @c-c-cherry made me post this. SUFFER 😉
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spacebarrette · 2 months
It takes her a while to realize what it is. At first, it's just another weird thing about Steve Harrington, former high school heart throb. But unlike his terrible flirting or his poorly hidden dorky side, this weird thing is subtle. Hell, Robin isn't entirely sure Steve even knows about it.
She first notices it on a slow day. It's gray out—not raining yet, but just humid enough to promise a storm come nightfall. Not quite muggy enough to have people flocking to the mall for quality air conditioning, but just blah enough to be a kind of crap day. Behind the counter at Scoops, she and Steve are having a contest to see who can twirl the scoop continuously for the longest time. Steve's currently in the lead, but Robin's not doing too horribly. Still, her innate clumsiness can only be avoided for so long, and after a good run of spinning, the scoop starts tilting out of her grasp. She follows it with her body, desperately trying to get a better grip on it, and plows right into Steve's side.
His elbow hits the counter-top hard, but he doesn't seem to notice, what with how hard he's laughing. Makes it hard to feel sorry for him.
Robin huffs, dropping the scoop into its water bucket home with one hand and slapping Steve's shoulder with the other. "Shut up, dingus," she mumbles.
"Ow, fuck, my abs. I haven't laughed this hard in ages," Steve says, swaying after her.
He stays almost exactly an inch behind her hand until he ends up right against the socially acceptable limit of being in someone's space. And that's where he stays until a customer comes in thirty seconds later. As close as he can get without it being weird, body bent toward her like he's a side-of-the-road wildflower and she's the sun.
At first, Robin just brushes it off as a one-off weird thing. But it keeps happening. And not just with her. When his kids come close enough to him, he hovers around them the same way. The instant anyone reaches out to touch him, part of him will follow after without him really realizing it. At first glance, it almost looks like he's pushing away the contact, but Robin watches closely enough to notice the truth. It's the complete opposite of that. It's like his body is screaming out how much he wants people to touch him without his brain having any input.
It's not until after the Fourth of July—after Russians, and torture, and fireworks, and flesh monsters—that Robin does anything about it. The start is unintentional, too. She clutches Steve's arm in the aftermath of everything, unwilling to let go of him as she comes down from the adrenaline rush. Not even as the paramedics and, later, doctors at the hospital look over them. Not even when it's time to head home for the night.
Her parents are on a weekend trip, so there's no one but the two of them in the house in the wee hours of the morning on the fifth. They curl up in Robin's bed, borrowed cotton scrubs feeling a little stiff, but the way they hold each other as they shake and process incredibly warm. They keep crashing at each other's places more often than not after that. Even as the terror fades and real life starts to settle back in. And Robin keeps reaching out to Steve.
She's always there with a casual hand on his forearm, or standing close enough that she can rest her shoulder against his. When they start having movie nights together, (because she's going to share some of her favorites with him no matter how much he whines about it at first) she manages to wrangle him into a position where she can run her fingers through his hair and watch him melt into her sofa cushions.
It gives some people the wrong idea, she knows. Dustin in particular watches them like he knows all the secrets of the universe and theirs in particular aren't very secret. For once, Robin doesn't actually care. Not when it makes her roadside wildflower best friend bloom the way it does. Not when it's so easy to fix this one small piece of neglect that she can.
(And if Steve's frustrated face when Dustin starts bringing it up makes her laugh? Well. That's just a side benefit.)
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beth--b · 2 months
I'm the touch that you crave
Steve didn't get shown much affection as a child.
There were no kisses goodnight from his mother, no high fives if he did well on his spelling tests. When he fell off his bike and grazed his knees there was nobody to hug him and dry his tears. Suffice to say he could go weeks, even months without being touched more than a casual brush of shoulders in the school hallways. 
He's not sure when it happened really, but by the time he was 15, Steve craved physical touch. Depending on how long it had been, he could be satisfied with a fist bump from Tommy, or even a playful shove from another kid on the basketball team. When he started dating it was even better. He could hold a girl's hand, or wrap an arm around her shoulder. As he got older hand holding progressed to kissing, make out sessions and eventually to sex.
Most of the time he forgot how he once wished someone would touch him, to the point where it wouldn't have mattered who or how, as long as they did.
read it here on ao3
Then he began to date Nancy Wheeler. At first things had been great, but after Barb disappeared, after the shit with Jonathan Byers and monsters from another fucking dimension, they began to touch less and less.
She'd pull away when he tried to hug her, turn her head when he'd lean in for a kiss. 
Then it was all bullshit.
Nancy went away, school ended and even casual touches from friends went away as well.
The kids helped though. 
High fives, fist bumps, giving Dustin a pat on the back when the kid did well at school. Little moments that most people took for granted, Steve savoured them all. 
At his shitty summer job at Scoops Ahoy, inadvertent touches happened fairly often. A brush of fingers as he would hand over an ice cream cone, touching a customer's palm when money was exchanged.
He felt both thrilled at being touched, even if it was nothing but incidental touches from strangers, and like the biggest fucking loser that he needed it so much, that nobody cared enough to touch him for anything else. 
He knew he was really fucked up when the first punch came from the Russian soldiers whose base was under the damn mall, and instead of thinking of the pain or fear, he was almost relieved that someone had touched him for the first time in a week. That changed very quickly when the hits kept coming.
When it was all said and done though he got Robin out of it and that nearly made the whole ordeal worth it.
Somehow, Robin seemed to sense that Steve needed to be touched. She'd hug him or grab his hands when she was excited, one time she jumped on his back and demanded a piggy back ride. With Rob around he knew there was always going to be someone to help him with his ridiculous need for human touch and affection.
Finally there was Eddie.
Eddie who constantly got in Steve's space, their fingers brushing together, Eddie's chest pressed against Steve's back as he leaned in to point at something over Steve's shoulder. 
Not that Steve was complaining, no he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He wished the circumstances were better but between Robin and Eddie his need for touch was able to be pushed to the background with ease.
Life went on, he and Eddie grew closer, that longing for touch abated and he forgot.
Then the holidays came, and for the first time in months he was alone.
Eddie was off visiting some distant relations in Chicago.
Robin's family had decided to go to visit her grandparents in Indianapolis.
The Hopper/Byers clan had gone to California. Hopper apparently wanted a break from cold weather after his time spent in the Russian prison.
Dustin was finally allowed to visit Suzie, Steve worried the kid may never return.
Nancy and Mike were with their family in Hawkins, but without anyone else there to act as a buffer there was no way he would be spending time with them.
So he was alone.
After so long without worrying about touch, about the itch beneath his skin when he went days or weeks, even months, without any human contact, he wasn't prepared for just how quickly it would overtake him. He found himself wishing his parents would come back, if only for the brief contact that may come with them being home.
Lost in thought Steve lay back on his bed, scoffed at his own ridiculous train of thought.
"Not like they'd hug me anyway. Don't even want them too really," he muttered to himself. 
Thoughts spiralling, he almost didn't hear the knock at the door.
With a huff Steve sat back up and glanced at the clock.
"Who the hell is knocking at 11pm on Christmas night?"
He wanted to ignore it, wanted to close his eyes and sleep, anything to quell the itch.
The knocking came again, louder this time.
Steve ran a hand down his face and pushed himself to his feet. 
"Fine, I'm coming, I'm coming. Keep your damn shirt on."
He headed downstairs, switching lights on as he went. Finally he reached the door as the knocking started again.
"Jesus, I'm here-" Steve started, stopping as he took in the sight on his front door stop.
"Hey Stevie," Eddie greeted him with a grin. As though he wasn't supposed to be hours away with family right now.
"Eddie? What the hell man?" Steve grabbed Eddie by the arm and tugged him inside, out of the freezing night air.
Eddie let himself be pulled until they reached the couch. Then he shrugged out of his leather jacket and without any warning pulled Steve into his arms in a bone crushing embrace.
Steve knew he should say something, they'd been dancing around each other for months, growing more and more comfortable with one another. He wanted to ask questions. What on earth was Eddie doing there being the most pressing. Despite that, as Eddie held him all Steve could do was melt into the older boy's arms.
Without meaning to, or understanding why, Steve felt the hot prickle of tears start up behind his closed eyelids.  He tried to stifle a sob against the crook of Eddie's neck where his face was currently buried.
"You're alright now sweetheart, I'm here," Eddie whispered, cheek pressed to the top of Steve's head.
When he finally calmed, Steve managed to ask the most pressing question on his mind.
Eddie pulled away enough that he could look Steve in the eye, while still keeping his hands on Steve's shoulders.
"Well, I told Wayne you were here all alone, and he agreed that after the family celebrated today that I should get back here to be with you. Told me nobody should be alone on Christmas. So here I am Stevie, if you'll have me?"
Steve nodded, and that was all the permission Eddie needed to pull Steve close again and press his lips gently to Steve's. 
It was the sweetest kiss Steve ever had.
As Eddie pulled away, Steve's brain finally caught up. Not wanting the moment to end Steve brought a hand up to the back of Eddie's head, fingers tangling in dark curls as he deepened the kiss. Eddie held on even tighter, moaning into Steve's mouth.
It was long minutes before they pulled away.
The itch beneath Steve's skin was gone for the first time in days.
He had a feeling Eddie would never let it get that bad again.
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fevredayz · 2 months
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Febuwhump Day 1: Touchstarved
(featuring Dante and Eva from Devil May Cry) xD
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triforce-of-mischief · 2 months
Starved for a Soft Touch
Febuwhump Day 1: Touch-starved
Rating: G
Whump count: what's on the package
Word count: 1300
Summary: Hyrule knows that touch is bad because touch brings nothing but pain.
Reblogs > Likes!
Hands and paws and claws, constantly touching Link, making sure he stayed in pain. There wasn’t a moment without a monster holding him in place so they could draw more blood. The hero was being used to ressurrect Ganon, and he would suffer for every torturously slow second.
Link struggled to break free of a moblin’s iron grip. “Let me go!” he growled.
“What’s wrong, little hero?” the beast said, a cruel grin stretching over its face.
“Get your paws off me!”
The moblin squeezed Link’s arm tighter and tighter. Its voice sounded almost Hylian as it spoke. “Are you okay?”
“Hyrule? What’s wrong? Hyrule, wake up!”
Somebody was touching his shoulder. That was bad. Touch was bad. Touch only brought pain. Touch could not be trusted. Whoever was touching him could not be trusted.
Hyrule scrambled to sit up, pulling a knife from under his pillow and igniting the blade with Fire. The orange glow illuminated Sky’s shocked face.
“Woah, hey, it’s just me,” Sky soothed, raising his hands in surrender.
Hyrule extinguished the spell and glared at the knight. “Why would you do that?” he hissed.
“Why would I do what, wake you up? It sounded like you were having a nightmare and I didn’t want to leave you in there.”
“I was. But it’s over now.” Hyrule lowered the knife, hoping that Sky didn’t notice how his hand was shaking.
Of course, Sky saw and reached out, arms wide and about to entrap the younger teen.
Hyrule shoved Sky away, then bolted into the woods. He didn’t go far, pressing himself against a tree just past the edge of camp. He tried to breathe through his panic and listened for sounds of pursuit.
He heard approaching footsteps a few minutes later and braced himself for an angry Sky. Would the knight simply scold him, or try to grab him and drag him back to camp?
To Hyrule’s surprise, it was Warriors who found him. The captain cautiously sat beside the younger hero, who watched him warily.
“Hey bud,” Warriors greeted quietly. “Sky said you had a nightmare and freaked out when he woke you up?”
Hyrule nodded. “It seemed like he was trying to trap me in his arms.”
“Typical Sky. Hug first, ask second,” Warriors huffed. “You needed some time to ground yourself first, yeah? And he messed it up when he tried to touch you before you were ready.”
Everything Warriors said had made sense, but Hyrule was confused by the last part. “Why would I ever be ‘ready’ for somebody else to touch me?”
“Most people find comfort from being close to people they trust,” Warriors explained.
Oh, right. The others had had the privilege of growing up in a world where they were allowed to trust, to be close, to feel safe. “I don’t… trust people,” Hyrule mumbled. “Every time I try, I get hurt. They hurt me.”
“You know that you can trust us, right? It may take some time, but I promise you can. And… you do realize that if we touch you, it would never be with the intent to hurt you?”
“But… why would you touch somebody, if not to inflict pain?”
Warriors sucked in a breath, his next words filled with far more sadness than Hyrule thought the situation warranted. “Hyrule… when’s the last time somebody touched you without hurting you?”
“Mm… never? What kind of question is that?”
Warriors muttered a curse and something that sounded suspiciously like “Hylia, why must you do this to him, too?” Then Hyrule saw him gather himself before he slowly asked, “Hyrule, do you trust me? I know we just met and you’ve had many reasons to be wary of everyone in your life. It’s fine if you don’t trust me at all yet, but… I hope you do. I want to try something, but only if you’ll allow me.”
Hyrule didn’t completely trust Warriors, just like he didn’t completely trust anyone. At the same time, he didn’t not trust Warriors. This was the first time somebody had appeared to understand how he felt, and Hyrule decided that he could give Warriors a chance. “I think I can try to trust you… enough.”
With a relieved smile, Warriors asked a question that caught Hyrule off guard. “May I touch you? I want to do something that should help you feel safer. It won’t hurt at all and I will stop if you tell me to.”
Hyrule still had no idea what Warriors was planning, but it would look stupid for him to turn back now. “O-okay,” he agreed, voice barely above a whisper.
Warriors patted the ground beside him. “Mind scooting closer? I can’t reach that far.”
Hyrule cautiously inched towards Warriors, who smiled at him encouragingly. Hyrule stopped a few times, keeping plenty of space in between them, but Warriors beckoned him over until he couldn’t move any closer without bumping into his side. Hyrule sat stiff and still, ready to run away again at the first sudden move.
“I’m going to put my arm around you. I’m not holding you in place,” Warriors told him, and waited for the traveler’s small nod of approval. Warriors telegraphed his movements as he reached around to rest his hand on Hyrule’s far arm.
Hyrule jumped at the contact, fighting the instinct to escape. Warriors had said that touch didn’t have to hurt. Hyrule had to trust Warriors, he had to. He was hyperaware of the captain’s gentle hand on Hyrule’s shoulder as he pulled Hyrule closer. Hyrule let himself be guided until he was leaning against the captain’s side. His heart pounded with fear, his mind screaming that it was a trap.
Have to trust him have to trust him have to trust him-
“It’s okay,” Warriors murmured. He began to move his hand up and down over Hyrule’s arm, the repetitive motion convincing Hyrule to finally relax.
Hyrule’s mind raced as he tried to adjust to a touch that… didn’t hurt. He couldn’t recall ever feeling something like this, but he was pretty sure that it could be described as soothing.
“This doesn’t hurt at all, right? This is fine?” Warriors quietly asked.
Hyrule opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was a strangled whimper. What little composure he had left crumbled. He let himself lean fully against Warriors, tucking his face into the captain’s shoulder to hide the rising tears. His breaths stuttered and hiccuped, doing a poor job of concealing his impending breakdown.
“I know this is a lot to take in at once,” Warriors said. Hyrule felt him raise his other hand to Hyrule’s hair, giving the traveler’s curls an experimental pat. Hyrule flinched, his imagination presenting the worst case scenario.
Warriors was going to grab a fistful of hair, yank Hyrule up to face him, and sneer, “Such a soft, vulnerable, pathetic excuse for a hero. Did you actually think that you deserved a kind touch? One without pain? You should know by now that no such thing is even possible.”
Hyrule braced himself against the inevitable pain.
Ever so gently, Warriors ran his fingers through Hyrule’s hair.
It didn’t hurt at all.
Warriors’ touch was nothing but affectionate, and it felt so nice.
Hyrule melted under the captain’s touch and snuggled even closer, an incredulous smile hidden as he pressed his face into Warriors’ tunic. He couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, accompanied by scattered sobs, but it was a bittersweet sort of crying. It was cathartic and good, and Warriors was patient and comforting as ever.
“It’s alright, you’re okay,” Warriors whispered, holding Hyrule close and surrounding him with a wonderfully cozy warmth. “I’m not going to let anybody else hurt you. You’re safe now.”
Relaxed and content in his brother’s arms, Hyrule finally believed him.
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pigeonwhumps · 2 months
MD-264N masterlist
Febuwhump day 1: touchstarved
MD-264N wakes up.
CWs: self-dehumanisation, fear of death, electric shock mention, conditioned whumpee, caretaker new master
MD-264N blinks itself awake. Its systems are not functioning at optimum efficiency but they're close to it, except for its ankle. There's uncomfortable sensation coming from that. But other than that it's much better than before.
Now. Where is it being stored? It has no restraints for… for some reason, and there's a window, so it isn't back at base. How did it get here?
Can it see the sky now?
One thing at a time. What is it wearing? It's far too light. The control harness and mitts are gone, and its clothes are… unusual. They're thick, soft, bright. The weapon looks at its arm, covered in baggy light blue soft fabric. So much brighter than it's allowed.
But it's not at base, so maybe it's what the people here want. That would make sense, right?
Next. This storage room. It's brighter than any at base, walls coloured light blue and pink. There's a wooden cabinet in the corner, a prosthetic forearm lying on it, and a window above the soft cot that MD-264N's on. That's unusual too. The weapon peers out of it as much as it can without moving, just about able to see a grey sky above.
That's its surroundings taken care of then. They don't make sense, but that's what's there. In that case, who brought it here? The last thing it remembers, it was on the street. Why did someone take it and put it in here? What do they want from it? Its hands are free, the only thing that makes sense is they want to use it, but there's no handlers here. This space is too big for the safe storage of weapons anyway.
MD-264N's throat goes tight. What happens if someone finds it out here? It's not safe. It doesn't know if this is what the people who put it here want but surely they want it to be secured safely.
MD-264N's eyes light on the cabinet, and it climbs off the soft cot it's been placed on and starts making its way towards it.
One foot goes on the floor, but when it tries to put its weight on the other foot, its ankle malfunctions and it collapses to the floor.
It attempts to push itself up as it hears footsteps, arms shaking, but it can't move. Aberrant moisture leaks out of the corners of its eyes. These people won't want a faulty weapon. They'll decommission it and then it'll never see the sky again.
The footsteps are very close now. MD-264N tries to kneel instead, desperate to be good enough to see the sky again.
"Hey, sweetheart, what are you doing on the floor? You're supposed to be resting." The voice is soft beside it, and the weapon's not sure who they're talking to. It sounds like they're talking to it but… you don't talk like that to weapons. Gentle, like it's a person. But there's no-one here. "Sit back on the bed, come on. Can you do that for me?"
MD-264N tries, it really does, but it can't move its leg. "This weapon is malfunctioning, sir, it– please." Please, please don't have it decommissioned, not yet.
"Okay. It's okay, sweetheart, I'll help you. I'm going to have to touch you, is that alright?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you." The speaker wraps an arm around it and helps it sit down on the cot. The arm is warm and the hand ungloved, and the weapon finds itself leaning into their touch. It stiffens. No, no that's bad, weapons don't need touch. "Hey, you don't need to move away. I bet you're touch-starved, huh?" MD-264N doesn't answer. It doesn't know how. "You don't need to… y'know, act all subservient. You can look at me. And you don't have to address me as sir, Rhian will do. Since it's my name. Do you have one?"
"This weapon has been designated MD-264N," answers the weapon automatically, "designed and programmed for urban use by the Ministry of Defence. Its capabilities are–"
"That's your designation, sweetheart, not your name. I guess that means you don't have one then. Would it be alright if I give you one?"
Why are they asking all these questions? Surely they know it can't refuse anyway.
"Yes, s– Rhian."
"Great! So I was thinking of Morgan, if you like it?"
"Yes, Rhian."
"That's good. You can look at me, sweetheart, you don't have to look at the floor. Why won't you look up?"
MD-264N (no, Morgan, it'd better start using the name its new commander wants) shivers. "This weapon is malfunctioning."
"What do you mean?"
Morgan swallows, preparing to give the information that might get it decommissioned. "Its left ankle is not functioning, and there is aberrant moisture leaking from its eyes. And it keeps having aberrant thoughts."
There's a short pause. "So… you're in pain, you're crying and you're probably scared? You're in a strange place with people you've never met, after being shot in the ankle, I'd be surprised if something wasn't wrong, frankly. I'll get Asha to bring you some more painkillers. It's okay to feel like this, sweetheart, it doesn't mean you can't look at me, or that I don't want to see you. Please, Morgan?"
Morgan can't refuse that, and it raises its head, not making eye contact but looking all the same. Rhian's hair is white dipped in red, and they smile at the weapon, mouth dimpling at the corners.
"There you are. Nice to meet you."
They're so soft, their hand warm on its arm, saying things that don't make sense, not for a weapon, but they're so nice. More moisture leaks from the weapon's eyes at the gentleness. Nobody's ever been this gentle with it.
"Hey, it's okay. Do you want a hug?"
A hug? But it– it's never, no-one's ever– it's just a weapon, why would anyone offer? Morgan nods anyway, and Rhian wraps their arm around it, holding it tight and warm. They don't seem bothered about touching it, like its handlers are, and their fingers almost burn through the fabric of the hoodie. It doesn't remember the last time anyone touched it without gloves.
Its eyes leak even more and it finds itself making sounds along with that, sounds that it would surely be shocked for with anyone else. But Rhian just shushes it gently, and it can't help leaning into their touch.
Of all the people it's met, Rhian is by far the most patient, and it can't help the aberrant and likely futile hope that the gentleness lasts.
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scratchandplaster · 2 months
FEBUWHUMP DAY 1 - Touchstarved
CW: Intimate whumper, beatings, blood, injury, defiant whumpee, death, delusion, captivity, obsessive/yandere whumper
"Oh, you think you're clever, huh? Don’t think that I’ll be all mellow now, just because you got roughed up a little."
Whumper’s foot meets their captive’s hip, still unresponsive as they lay on their stomach, just as he left them last evening. Nothing new really, it’s been weeks since they made any meaningful progress. Countless hours of screaming, biting, scratching and whatever else that little shit keeps coming up with to resist settling down.
A sigh echoes through the small basement while Whumper squats down to inspect the person in front of them further. Laying face down and with closed eyes, they are sleeping peacefully for the first time in a while, a fact Whumper doesn’t like to remind himself of. It shouldn’t be like this for both of them, it’s not fair.
"You know what I expect of you, dear. Try to put a little effort into this, and I promise that it will be worth it; just three little words and all of this ends today." Whumpee doesn’t turn to meet their gentle words, they don’t even flex a muscle. Maybe I really overdid it, Whumper ponders as his hand slowly starts to stroke over the greasy strands of hair, clumped together with dried up sweat and dirt.
"Come on, I know it’s hard for you, but I can be reasonable if you let me. The moment we met back in that lousy fucking bar. I knew there was a spark, one you can only find once in a lifetime. We can’t give that up just because of some bickering."
The dim light above starts to buzz, as Whumper settles down to his knees, gaze still fixed onto his little treasure. The first week after he brought them home was the hardest. Whumpee not realizing that he was doing all of this for them, to allow them both to get what everyone deserves: a loving home, a partner who will always care for them, hold them, love them. But it takes two to make a couple, and Whumper’s patience never was unconditional.
"Sorry if I hurt you, honey," he murmurs, still expecting any kind of aversion towards his touches gliding through their hair, down to the small of their neck. "Say the words, so I can patch you right up and forget about all of this. You know I hate eating dinner by myself, so don’t let me go to bed hungry." The corner of his mouth twists into a sad smile, knowing that without yesterday's brutal beating, they would never be this sweet with him.
Not yet, at least.
Typically, they would just twist around in his grasp and try to bite the hand that has nothing but adoration for them. A hand that needs them as much as they need it, yearning for the soft intimacy to fill an otherwise empty house.
As Whumper’s fingers begin to tingle with the electric warmth he oh-so waited for, but only rarely grasps, Whumpee lies still, deaf to everything their keeper could and would offer them. 
So dramatic today, Whumper thinks to himself, still expecting the wild passion - the fire - inside his counterpart to ignite any second. They really shouldn’t sleep this long, especially in the cold and damp basement. His anger already replaced with forgiveness, he slides one hand under their torso to turn them around onto their back, giving him the perfect opportunity to kiss them awake slowly.
Whumpee’s face is illuminated in the yellowish hue of the lights above, and any fairytale fantasy gets snuffed out in an instance. They stare, eyes finally sliding open with nothing but a dull reflection, framed by long red streaks of crusted blood, which cause lies just inches above their eyebrow.
It’s not just a split that drags over their forehead in an angry line, it’s a horrible veil for what lies beneath. The upper portion of the skull starts slowly dragging itself backwards, exposing splinters of bone that shift against each other with a harrowing crunch. Looking at the stiff muscles of their face, the etched-in desperation of the final blow he was responsible for, Whumper can do nothing but stare back.
"Dear?" he finally breathes, breaking the overwhelming silence of the room. Nothing.
"Whumpee, come on!" His voice is getting louder, begging for something that he already knows he is too late for.
Any other begs drifting through his mind die right in his throat, breaking up into silent sobs to wreck through his chest. Each wave carrying regret and desperation, which only add to the rising pressure in Whumper’s ears. Deafened by the blood coursing through his veins, he brings the ice-cold hands of his love up to cup them around his face, holding them up by the wrists. There is no comfort in it, just cold flesh against hot tears. Any remnants of the touch he so desperately craved following them down Whumpee’s hands, lost like the life they were supposed to have.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry," The mantras keep on ringing through the room where Whumper remains, alone again.
"Please, Whumpee, please. Let me make this right." Where he tries to bargain with nothing but a memory of the person he longed to create.
"I love you, I love you, I love you so much..." Endlessly continuing to whisper the words Whumpee refused to utter, even till the end.
Thanks for reading <3 [Febuwhump 2023 Masterlist]
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travellingdragon · 2 months
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Febuwhump 2023, Day 1: touchstarved
below the cut are a version of this with a simple background and the line art
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starwalker42 · 2 months
febuwhump day 1: touchstarved
pre-revival | no warnings apply | general audiences
He misses her.
He misses her and he knows he shouldn't, which only makes him miss her more, because she's the one who would normally be telling him that missing people doesn't solve anything. He doesn't think she'll ever tell him that again.
He's only missed her like this once before, when she was gone for that awful month back in '94, and he'd vowed once she returned to never feel that way again, to always keep her by his side. Yeah, good job, Spooky.
Last time had been worse, in so many ways - back then, he used to wake from dreams of her lying lifeless at the summit of Skyland Mountain, or trapped in a bright, white place with no way of moving. He'd had no way of knowing if she was alive or dead, nothing of her to hold onto except a tiny golden cross that he'd always known, no matter how she returned, was only with him for a short while, for safekeeping.
It should be better now. He knows she's alive, the evidence being the texts that ping his phone every morning, asking how he is. He doesn't dream anymore - the medication takes care of that.
But this time, he knows what it feels like to touch her. Back then, he only knew what it felt like to brush his hand against the small of her back, what her hand felt like resting on his. He'd rationed her touch the way a starving man rationed food, never letting her see how much he needed more. Over the last ten years, though, he's let himself get greedy. He knows everything, now. The way her cold fingers thaw between his on winter walks, the curve of her jaw against his lips, the feeling of her body pressed against his as they lie in bed, bare to the world. Everywhere he looks, he feels her touch: the couch where she'd rest her feet in his lap after a long shift at the hospital, the porch where she once spent an afternoon cutting his hair, the stairs, the kitchen, his office, their bed.
Their home.
His phone buzzes. You okay, Mulder?
I miss you, he's typed before.
He's never pressed send. It never feels like enough.
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socialc1imb · 2 months
Legend didn’t enjoy being touched. It was common knowledge amongst the rest of the group, and Legend really did appreciate the group’s effort to abide by that unspoken rule and give him the space he needed, especially since so many of the group did enjoy physical affection.
Well… maybe Legend was having second thoughts.
Febuwhump 2023
Day 1 - Touchstarved
(Disclaimer: is less whump and more of an excuse to give Legend many hugs)
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paramouradrift · 2 months
Touch Starved
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Pairing: Zukka Modern AU in which Zuko is the captain of the fencing team
You can also find this on AO3 by clicking here.
The one thing that bothered Sokka about Zuko, the fencing team captain, was just how…touchy he was. It seemed like he couldn’t keep his hands to himself for two seconds. During practice, he was always going around and correcting people’s forms and stances by just…pushing their limbs into place, or gently taking their wrists or hands to show how the technique should look and feel. After practice, he would clap people on the shoulders and tell them good job, or go for side-jabs or ass-slaps. He once tickled Aang into total submission right in the locker room, both of them bare as the day they were born. Sokka, of course, was not exempted from this treatment, and he didn’t really so much like it. He craved it. It took him weeks to admit that he envied Zuko and his easy familiarity with the other members of the fencing team. He wanted to be able to just…let loose and not care what people might think of him. But that’s not how he grew up. He’d always had to be the man of the house, and that meant he had to put on a tough face and take a firm hand. Yeah, he was funny—hilarious, even—but he drew a line with others and rarely let them cross it. But Zuko just sort of skipped right over it on day one, and ever since then Sokka wrestled with an unpleasant, coiling sensation in his gut whenever Zuko was nearby. That sensation which told him that the happy chemicals his brain made whenever Zuko touched him were shameful and wrong, and that he should not want to put his hands on Zuko’s tense shoulders, or wrap them around his narrow waist, or ruffle his hair. Men didn’t do those things, they put each other in headlocks and bumped fists or chests. They didn’t hug each other or drape themselves across another man’s lap. They didn’t cuddle. Which was all to say, Sokka didn’t do those things. But becoming friends with Aang and being on the same team as Zuko made him long to change. To reach out. Holding back was agony, some days. “Hey! Good job today,” Zuko said, putting his hand gently on Sokka’s shoulder as they walked back to the dorms from the gymnasium. Zuko’s smile was bright and genuine. Sokka’s fingers twitched. “Thanks,” he said, instinctively brushing off Zuko’s hand, then hating himself for it, then hating himself for hating himself. “I think I'm finally getting the hang of the saber.” “When you remember to loosen up your wrists,” Zuko said with a cocky eyebrow quirk, clearly enjoying having spent the last forty minutes disarming and humiliating Sokka in front of the rest of the club (he hadn’t been the only one). Moments like these reminded Sokka that Zuko was a man just like him, that maybe he could reach out like he was used to. But then Zuko snaked his arm over Sokka’s shoulders, leaning into him just a bit too close. Crossing right over that boundary. Sokka’s fingers twitched harder. “Don’t stress about it. I started on saber, and it took me ages to get the turn right. I think you’re better than I was when I was a beginner.” “You really mean it?” Sokka asked, skeptical. Zuko nodded. “I do,” he said. “I wouldn’t just gas you up, Sokka. I think you have a lot of skill and potential, you just lack training. How about attending Piandao’s workshop over Fall Break? The club will sponsor it.” He was too close. His breath was in Sokka’s ear, and his body was pressed up to Sokka’s arm. They would be tripping over each other if they weren’t accustomed to automatically correcting their balance. Sokka sighed ruefully and gave in to his twitching fingers. He wanted Zuko’s touch, and he wanted to touch Zuko in return. He reached up and clapped Zuko on the shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. Zuko blinked in surprise as Sokka moved his hand down to his waist, pulling them closer together. “I’ll think about it,” Sokka said, and then jerked his head towards the student union building. “Now come on, let’s grab something to eat. I’m starving.”
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ariarinko · 1 year
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Aaaaaaaa it's Febuwhump and Serial Killer Afo is back!!!
Collabing with ao3 user @Silveranger for Febuwhump this year and I've never been happier! I really adore her works and it would mean the world if you guys stay with us throughout this month reading and loving the content we both create!
This work is an accompanying piece to silveranger's fic "Basement Archives" chapter 2
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how-much-for-a-whump · 2 months
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Altprompt: "Limp"
Den 12. mann | The 12th Man (2017)
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theshiaxartist · 2 months
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Febuwhump is finally here and my subjct for the month is gonna be Jak <3 Buckle up kids >:D
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@febuwhump DAY 1: Touch Starved
Fandom: Marvel (Webb Spider-Man)
Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker
“There we are. You’ve got a full fridge again. At least now I know you won’t starve to death before work can break your other leg,” May quipped as she swung the refrigerator door closed, though the hitch in her voice may have killed her attempt to sound lighthearted.
For his part Peter was too deep in his painkiller haze to notice. “M’fine,” he mumbled, brushing a vague, dismissive hand at his bruised toes poking out of the cast. “Healing factor an’ all…Be back on my feet in no time.”
What’s a healing factor? Her lips thinned as she looked him over. I’m so far out of his life by now, I don’t even know what he does for a living. Where does he work, that he can just brush off a broken leg like it’s nothing?
“…Okay. Well, if you need anything else, you know you can call me, right?” she ventured, approaching the couch and bending to take his hand. He jumped upon contact and when his fingers twitched uncertainly between hers, she squeezed for emphasis. “I’m serious, Peter. I…I know things have been different between us, you’re a grown man and you can take care of yourself but if there’s anything you need, anything, you let me know. Please? Can you promise me you’ll…?”
She trailed off, heart squeezing as his wide, glassy gaze abruptly welled up and his fingers curled between hers, tight enough to throb. A stilted whimper caught in his throat.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“You sh-shouldn’t be here. I ruined everything, I p-pushed you away after Gwen…You were all I had left an’ I pushed you away. An’…An’ then I missed you, I missed you so much but I didn’t know what to say so you’d forgive me…I’ve jus’ been too s-scared to try, I’ve been wasting all this time…” As she worriedly cupped his cheek, thumbing away the tears rolling, he let a sharper sob escape, nuzzling, pushing desperately into her touch.
“I forgave you years ago, sweetheart. I’ve always been here waiting but you needed to be the one to reach out once you knew what you wanted. What is it? What do you want?”
“C-Can…” Wet eyes pried meekly back open, unsure of when they had closed. “Can I have a hug?”
She gathered her trembling boy up against her with all the fervent grief and determination and warmth of a thousand hugs they had missed, praying with all her might that he would remember it once the meds wore off.
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