#summerofwhump16
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Summer of Whump 2022, 16 - “Chase and Catch”
@summer-of-whump
CW: Canon level violence
Rating: T (I’d rate this T for ff, but I’m not sure for tumblr. Just to be safe, T.)
Pairing: Gen (one sided Vader/Obi-Wan if you squint really really hard)
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There is only 'want', now
“Hiding is futile,” Vader says, his voice echoing in the hangar. “You are smart. You should know the outcome.”
He begins walking, his boots torturing the metal platform with every step.
“Why give into foolish hope?”
Thump, thump.
“Why not make this easier for yourself?” He laughs then, erratic. He is just playing with his prey, isn’t he?… “Come now, and here I thought we had an understanding.”
“I was the master of getting caught, remember?” says... Anakin?
Fond memories of a comrade, a brother, surface in a flash. Not that Vader would care for them… Vader only uses them to taunt him again, of what once was… He’s successful too; despite his best efforts, Obi-Wan cannot stop himself as he projects that longing in despair. A fatal mistake, to give away his location… Now he knows. Steps get lauder, faster.
Thump, thump, thump.
“Naturally, I know all the ways one can be caught.” says Vader.
Thump, thump.
“I won’t kill you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
Thump, thump.
“I won’t torture you either, not unless you give me a reason to.”
Thump, thump.
“I have… other uses for you. There is no way out.”
Drawing closer, the steps slow down.
Thump.
“No open doors.”
Thump.
“No escape.”
Thump.
“No hope.”
Thump.
“I’ve won.”
A final thump… The boots are standing right in front him. Obi-Wan swallows, pressing his lightsaber into his chest in a prayer. Force, take me.
“And you, Jedi, will submit.”
The boots turn with a screech, and then the crates he is hiding under are removed, exposing the hunkered down Jedi Master.
Found.
“Never,” Obi-Wan hisses. In a blink, his lightsaber is out and ignited, sapphire lands on crimson red. Then he is grabbed with the Force, invisible pressure around his throat building, until he starts choking. Finally when the pressure is gone, he collapses on his knees, reaching out to the Force for comfort but finding only crushing pain instead, desperately gasping for air.
“That’s better,” Vader looms over him, satisfied.
“I’ll never submit willingly,” says Obi-Wan, still on his knees. “You won’t have my fear, Darth.” he mutters, as collected as he can be.
Vader kneels next to him. “I don’t need your fear.”
A hand reaches for his face, firmly placed on his cheek. “With my new powers, I don’t need anything.”
A thumb wipes the tear sliding across his face. “There is only want, now; only passion… only strength, and power, and victory, and my freedom…”
Vader raises Obi-Wan’s head, yellow eyes boring into his, promising sickly power and more grief than one man is equipped to handle, even when the Force tells him that is what he was meant for, infinite sadness… Those eyes hurt too much, because they remind him too much of what they once were. It hurts too much to see how that pure, blue ocean glimmering with resolve, now corrupted into this amber fire.
“…so you will submit.”
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Soo, not only this is the first challenge I'm submitting on tumblr, this is my first ever tumblr post... I'm excited.
This is an AU where instead of the duel we have on Mustafar, we have a bamf Vader playing hide and seek with his prey at a hangar. Oneshot. Nonslash (but you could still read it that way, I guess.)
I guess this turned out to be more as “hide and seek” rather than a chase, but that’s the best part of writing, I guess. Reality can be whatever I want, heh.
This was also posted on ff.net, properly tagged of course, I hope it's okay. Please let me know if it isn't.
Heavily inspired by the chase in Jedi: Fallen Order and the hangar scene in the Obi-Wan Kenobi series.
And a disclaimer just in case: I don’t own Star Wars.
Thanks for reading. All feedback is appreciated. I'm still learning this platform, so please be gentle :3
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Chapters: 0/1
Fandom: Super Smash Brothers
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Characters: Purin | Jigglypuff, Wario (Nintendo)
Additional Tags: summer of whump 2022, Chases
Summary:
Jigglypuff tries to ward off Wario.
@summer-of-whump
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SUMMER OF WHUMP - DAY 16 - OBSESSION
PIN!!!
@summer-of-whump
Tagging: @milk-carton-whump @unicornscotty @whumpasaurus101 @getyourwhumphere @tears-and-lilies @starnight-whump @abitefullofeverything
Cw: pet whump; needle; human embroidery; put in display; degradation; low self esteem;
Lately, Miss Hannah was paying a lot of attention to Pin. While it was normal for her to want to make changes to his embroidery, she had done it way too often this month, and changed the pattern onto more and more complicated designs, until Pin could barely stand moving his arms. All the skin seemed to have been made to shreds, punctured by hundreds of thousands of small wounds.
She had gotten him new piercings, too. Now it wasn’t just his back that was corset laced, but also his arms and legs, where there wasn’t embroidery. She had gotten new laces for them, way softer than usual, of a bright pink that was close to the color of his hair.
She had even retouched the hair dye, which she was usually neglectful of, and changed the patches of fabric sewed on his face to a softer, dolly-like blush color.
Those were exhaustive weeks. Most of the process was painful. Even the wind hitting his chest was enough to make him shiver and squirm in pain from the amount of needle wounds. But Hannah was giving him much more attention, and feeding him well during all the days, and Pin was grateful. When she was satisfied with the embroidery, she looked at Pin and said something she never had.
“...You are beautiful”
...A smile crept on his face. A small one, he couldn’t afford big ones while the stitches on his cheeks didn’t heal. But it was nice to know that finally, finally Pin was pretty. He had done something good, and Miss was happy.
“You’ll behave perfectly for me today, won’t you? You’ll be my good little pincushion”
“Yes Miss, o-of course”
...That day, Miss Hannah let Pin in the car. It was rare for her to take him anywhere, after all, Pin was an ugly Pet and she didn’t want to be seen with him. It was even rarer for him to be dressed with clothes that conceal his body. He had his usual embroidered shorts and a transparent shirt, but she had topped the outfit with overalls. He didn’t understand why she wanted to conceal all her work, but soon, he was more focused on enjoying the view than worrying about Mistress ulterior motives.
He wondered how he could live there alone.
...But he didn’t, did he? That was someone else. A different boy.
He didn’t have to wonder for long. The drive was short lived, and she parked the car in the lot of a really large building. She offered him her arm, which Pin took, hands shaking a lot.
Inside that building, there were many other people, each of them seeming to get a small display table. A lot of them had pretty stuff on display: paintings, jewelry, clothes, and even food.
And then Pin saw them, and understood why he was here.
Other pets.
Pets that are much more beautiful than Pin. Pet’s that had their skins tattooed, and modified, and their hairs dyed, and gorgeous clothes, and smiles that never seemed to fade, even when Pin could see they were in pain.
Pets that looked like perfect dolls. Pets that were there to be seen. Some of them even had their skins embroidered as well, although Pin had to say: none of the embroidery was as pretty as Miss Hannah’s was.
Miss Hannah took him to one that was empty.
“On the table, Pin” he blinked, a bit confused “...You heard me. Be good today”
...Pin obeyed, sitting on his knees with his posture straight just like she liked it. He felt her passing the laces through the piercings and tightening a lot. So much that he couldn’t move, forced into that perfect stretch as to not tip them.
Around him, she also set a lot of her other favorite pieces of sewing and embroidery, Pin being the centerpiece on her display. As much as this flattered him…
He couldn’t help but feel sick.
Especially once she removed the coat, exposing the fine art on his skin, and people started to gather around the display. They’d approach Pin, take pictures, and talk to Miss Hannah. Talk about him, making questions, saying that he must be such a good boy to sit still for all that, and for so long, and congratulating her.
They were looking at him. They found him beautiful. But no one was truly seeing him. No one… except the other Pets, who would, from time to time, turn away from their own stands to look around.
He was just an object on display, a perfect piece of art. Pretty, once in his life.
...Maybe being pretty wasn’t all that important, after all.
#summerofwhump#summerofwhump16#needle tw#pet whump#pincushion whumpee#pin babt <3#milk spouse collab
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@summer-of-whump
Day 16: touch-starved/obsession
For this entry I choose to draw prince Lore with his pet prince Emery, from the amazing Fall and Rise series by @abitefullofwhump, I love these characters a lot.
#summerofwhump#summerofwhump16#obsession#emery is wearing leggings!!#it annoys me they don't look like it :/#other than that i like how this turned out#my art#go follow bite they are a good writer and deserve more attention!!! >:(
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Conditioned
By Hale13
For the Summer of Whump Day 16 - Touch Starved
“Can I take a shower?” Peter blurted out, shifting uncomfortably. He felt gross from the dried sweat and the bloody residue that was left on his scalp and around his hair line felt the intense need to get cleaned - broken arm be damned.
Words: 2084, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English
Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Rating: Gen
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Helen Cho
TW: Literally None - Just Fluff
Read on AO3 or below the line break.
“Well Peter, I see no reason why you should have to stay here any longer as long as you promise to actually rest and allow yourself to heal,” Helen said firmly but with a smile toward him and Peter nearly sagged with obvious relief.
“Oh thank god,” he said he’d, already struggling in his attempts to climb out of the MedBay bed he had been sentenced to since the day before with some help from Tony. He flinched a little as he tweaked his sore arms, moving the wrong way, but trying to keep his muscles as relaxed as possible to prevent any further damage. His recovery is going to be annoying enough as it is without making it worse.
In his most recent fight against the Shocker the night before, he had caught a direct hit on his right arm which had successfully and cleaning broken his radius and ulna in two. In his haste to get away and then catch himself on a poorly shot strand of webbing he had dislocated his left shoulder. The pain had been so stunning he had barely been able to finish webbing up Shocker and get away before the police showed up.
It probably didn’t do much to help the injuries when he had swung back to the Tower but he had been numb and delirious by that point so he probably wasn’t really thinking straight. He does remember Tony not being super impressed with him when he nearly passed out as soon as he landed.
“I’m serious about resting,” Dr. Cho warned him as she helped him settle his, still sore and recently reduced, arm into a sling. “You need to take it easy for at least another few days or you’ll risk re-injury and possibly surgery.”
“Oh that shouldn’t be a problem,” Tony said breezily. “I have no problem cuffing him to a bed if I have to.”
“Mr. Stark,” Peter whined, trying to stand and balance without using either of his arms – it was much harder than he thought it would be – and already trying to edge toward the door. Tony just quirked up an eyebrow at him.
“Your aunt, definitely against her better judgement and with an amazing amount of misplaced trust, is letting you stay here with me so you don’t get into any more trouble during your convalescence so if you could just work with me for a couple of days here that would be much appreciated,” he told Peter very pointedly with a final wave at Helen as he herded Peter toward the elevator at the end of the hall.
Peter just rolled his eyes at his mentors dramatics but allowed himself to be directed – to tell the absolute truth, his arms still hurt pretty badly and he wasn’t really looking forward to his oral painkillers (that made him sleepy and emotional) and his anti-inflammatories (that made him into a right bastard if he was being honest) and trying to convince Tony that he didn’t need either. He wasn’t super confident about his success rate with that. “Can I take a shower?” He blurted out, shifting uncomfortably. He felt gross from the dried sweat and the bloody residue that was left on his scalp and around his hair line.
“You know that you can’t get your cast wet,” Tony reminded him holding up a hand when Peter opened his mouth to interrupt. “I mean, I suppose I can wrap it in a bag or something if you really want to shower that bad.”
“Yes please,” Peter eagerly agreed. Ever since the Bite all of his senses had been more sensitive but none more so than his sense of smell and he wasn’t a particularly big fan of the fact that he could currently smell himself. It made his skin crawl and was completely disgusting.
“Alright then,” Tony nodded. “Shower first and then a movie marathon slash prescribed nap directly after. Do we have a deal then Mr. Parker?”
“Only if we can get pizza for dinner later,” Peter bartered as the elevator opened up on Tony’s floor of the compound. “With pineapple this time,” he continued with a wrinkled nose, “the olives you got last time were disgusting!”
“You have astonishingly terrible taste but yes fine. Pizza later.” Tony nodded, herding both of them into the kitchen with a single-minded determination. The Wal-Mart and cling wrap cast protection apparatus Mr. Stark rigged together left a fair amount to be desired in the looks department but was completely functional when it came to water-proofing which was good enough for Peter.
It took some skill to slip away from his mentor but Peter was soon slipping into his room, struggling to get out of the sling on his own and finally succeeding. It made him wince from the extra pain it caused but it didn’t overshadow the relief of doing it on his own. He knew his limits from previous dislocations and knew that it was crucial to not overdue it while the joint was healing or he risked the chance of re-injury and, as Dr. Cho had reminded him earlier, surgery.
With a grimace, Peter rested that arm across his stomach and used his bagged up right arm to pull his shirt over his head. He was barely able to manage it when it pulled at his sore muscles and broken bones. Maybe he should use a button down or zippered hoodie instead.
Thanks to FRIDAY (bless her seriously), the water of his shower was already running and warmed up to his preferred setting of skin melting and he was quick to turn his back into the spray and luxuriate under it for an extended time. The high pressured water felt amazing on his back and shoulders, loosening up the knots and clenched muscles and providing relief.
“You doing okay in there kid? You drown yet?” Tony asked, knocking on the door and indiscernible amount of time later and knocking Peter out of his stupor.
“I’m good!” Peter called back, hurriedly reaching out for his body wash and cloth painfully and cleaning himself up to the best of his – limited – ability. By the time he was ready to wash his hair and hairline he felt exhausted and achy despite the excellent water pressure and all the good work it and the heat had done to relieve the pain in his shoulder and back. “Fuck,” he cursed, trying to lift his arm above chest level and spectacularly failing, finding himself unable to without making his muscles seize.
Peter was pretty bendy due to his powers so he attempted a couple different contortions to reach his head before just flat out giving up, turning off the water and taking his towel off the heated towel rack installed in the bathroom (rich people – seriously). It took longer than Peter cared to admit, but he was able to dry and dress himself in sweats and a zippered hoodie. He was even able to shuck the bag off his cast with little struggle so he was feeling pretty decent when he ventured into the living room with his hair sopping wet and dripping onto his shoulders since he wasn’t able to adequately dry it. Whatever. It would dry on its own eventually.
“And what’s all this supposed to be?” Tony asked, glancing up from his phone and wrinkling his nose but not moving from where he was leaned against the counter in the kitchen. “Why are you dripping all over my floor?”
Peter fought off a blush and tried to hunch his shoulders, stopping when it hurt. “I couldn’t reach up to get my hair,” he grumbled, failing to completely push down his blush.
“I guess that explains all the blood still caked in there,” Tony hummed, leaning over to move the dampened curls around to look at the blood still matting some of his hair together and crusting up around his scalp. “Well that’s pretty easily remedied. Welcome to the salon Underoos,” Tony said, pulling over one of the barstools and setting it in front of the kitchen sink, gesturing for Peter to sit.
“Uh… what?” Peter questioned, brows furrowing in confusion.
“I’ll wash your hair for you,” Tony clarified, looking pointedly between Peter and the stool again. “Just sit down while I go and grab some things!” And, with that, he took off in the direction of the bedrooms and associated en suites.
Peter, still pretty confused but (mostly) trusting his mentor, sat down unsteadily on the stool just as Tony came back around the corner with an armful of towels, shampoo and conditioner bottles along with a wide-toothed comb and an expensive looking hair dryer. He triumphantly arranged everything on the counter next to the deep sink and wrapped one of the towels around Peter’s neck. “Lean back buddy,” Tony said, using a finger to push on the center of Peter’s forehead until he gave in and let himself be pushed back to lean back with his head in the sink.
Doing his best to ignore the weirdness of it all (weirdness was pretty common around Tony Stark after all), Peter closed his eyes and crossed his arms across his stomach as the water turned on. He tensed up a little when he felt fingers start dragging through his hair but was quick to relax and release the tension in his body under the careful massage of his mentor’s hands through his hair and the warm water cascading across his scalp. He let out a little hum of contentment.
Tony let out a soft chuckle, squirting a healthy dollop of the shampoo into his hands and lathering it up before applying it to Peter’s hair, working through the snarls and tangles with care and scrubbing the leftover blood out of the curls. Peter went nearly boneless under his ministrations and Tony would definitely be lying if he said he didn’t milk the washing and conditioning portion at least a little bit. He knew that Peter had to be feeling pretty miserable and it settled something buried deep inside him to provide just a little extra comfort.
All too soon, though, he had rinsed out the last of the conditioner leaving Peter’s hair clean and dripping as he turned off the water. Peter made no move to get up or to open his eyes, breathing deeply and seemingly on the very verge of sleep, so Tony grabbed one of the towels and started to wring the extra water out of the kid’s hair, running the towel through it cautiously. “Just need you to sit up for a second here kiddo okay? Then you can nap, scout’s honor.”
Peter grunted and grumbled but did slit his eyes open and let Tony help him sit up, swaying back and forth and little on the stool and Tony ran the towel through his hair a couple more times to really get rid of the water as much as possible. He dropped the towel on the counter in exchange for the comb and the hair dryer. He ran the comb through the mess a few times before starting the hair dryer up. Peter practically melted as the warmed air fluffed up his curls. It didn’t take long to dry at all and, by the time he was done, Peter was listing forward nearly into Tony’s chest.
“Couch or bed buddy?” Tony asked with a fond smile, running his hands through Peter’s warmed and clean hair.
“Couch,” Peter muttered, leaning into his petting and making Tony’s chest warm up. This kid… god. He ended up supporting most of Peter’s weight but was able to quickly get him lying face down on the supple cushions with his head pillowed on one of the throw pillows resting on Tony’s lap, the ratty fleece blanket Tony kept draped over they back of the couch draped over him and a heating pad resting across his healing shoulder.
“Let’s start a Star Wars marathon FRI. Volume at thirty percent,” FRIDAY was quiet as she dimmed the lights and started the movie, the familiar logo and music making Peter relax even further into the couch, completely gone. As the opening theme ended and the camera panned to the shots of Leia’s ship, he felt Mr. Stark’s hand rest on his back, digging into the knotted muscles of his back.
It maybe wasn’t ideal to mess up his arms so much but, Peter thought, he couldn’t think of a better way to spend his recovery.
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Summer of Whump Day 16: Touch Starved
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: G
Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka, pre-relationship
WC: ~1870
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
A/N: Are y'all ready for some whumpy fluff??? Cuz I got some kinda cavity-inducing treat here for those that're into that.
~
In theory, Kakashi should have been assigned a touchstone during his ANBU service. Looking back, he’s ambivalent about how he feels on the subject. Sure, a touchstone could have been helpful if they were trained well and able to calm him down from the nightmares he had as a teenager; but he’s also historically one of the deadliest shinobi enlisted in ANBU and the possibility of accidentally killing a touchstone would have gotten him discharged early at best or put down because of a psychotic break at worst.
He doesn’t casually touch people, and hasn’t since his fist went through Rin’s chest ten years ago. He’s okay with this. He doesn’t want to touch people anyway—it registers a part of his instincts that equates touch with mission and he doesn’t like being “on” while in the village. Even Gai keeps a respectable distance unless they’re sparring, especially after the last time they had been walking through the village and brushed elbows and Kakashi flinched hard enough that two on-duty ANBU flickered into view on the rooftops.
But really, he’s fine.
~
Then he becomes a jōnin-sensei and formally meets Uzumaki Naruto and, by extension of Naruto, Umino Iruka. And see, after a week of training with the genin, he thought he’d gotten used to being casually touched again. Naruto, in particular, likes to take Kakashi’s palm in high-fives without permission and run circles around his legs like an over-excited pup. But Sasuke also will lean against him for a breath if no one else is looking, and Sakura is a hugger.
This does not prepare him for meeting his team’s old Academy teacher, who invites all of Team Seven—including Kakashi—to his home at the end of their first week for dinner. It seems odd that Naruto knows where everything is in the home enough to help Umino-sensei finish cooking and set the table; even more odd is Umino ordering Naruto around and Naruto following those orders without question. After the meal, Kakashi resolves to pick the man’s brain to figure out how he does that.
But then he notices how the man is moving around the kitchen; stiffly, limping, one hand bracing his lower back if he needs something out of his reach. And how Sasuke and Sakura are also hovering, asking if there’s anything they can do to help—and Kakashi realizes that he’s missing crucial information.
He gets the story about the scroll, the betrayal, and the fuma shuriken after dinner, while he’s helping Umino-sensei clean up. They had sent the genin out of the kitchen—Umino hadn’t wanted to recall it around them, worried it might “upset them”—so it was just the two of them in a tiny space.
And he’s not ready for it. Every time Umino passes behind him while Kakashi’s washing up at the sink, he presses a gentle hand to his upper back. Their fingertips brush occasionally when Kakashi’s handing Umino freshly washed dishes to dry.
His fucking laugh is a touch of its own.
Kakashi starts out tense but minutes go by and Umino doesn’t seem to recognize that his actions are distressing so Kakashi just… breathes through it. And relaxes. And lets himself feel.
And, gods, it’s nice.
~
It doesn’t stop. Umino—
“Iruka, please,” he smiles and it’s like sunshine after a month in the Land of Frost. “I’d like to think we’re friends, Kakashi-sensei, and my friends call me Iruka.”
“Then just ‘Kakashi’ is fine,” he replies—
He’s still wondering why he said that, but it certainly happened; it was at the Mission Desk and there were witnesses—
Anyway.
Iruka doesn’t stop with these friendly, gentle touches. But after that first night he is always careful to do them in places where no one else can observe Kakashi’s reactions, which Kakashi is immensely thankful for.
He doesn’t ever turn on Iruka, but there are some close calls. He once followed Iruka down into the archives and while they were down there he said something—likely a crass joke, remembering Iruka’s flush and that particular smile. In hindsight, Kakashi realizes that the jab on his arm was meant to mean oh gods why are you like this in an amused air; at the time, he froze and his heart had started pounding and he briefly saw Iruka as a threat.
Iruka didn’t move, either away or closer, just waited until Kakashi’s tension released. It took almost a minute. He did, however, continue speaking; going into a story about Naruto and Shikamaru from their earlier days at the Academy. Once Kakashi was back to himself he stuck his hands in his pockets and Iruka finished his filing in the archives, walking around again as though he hadn’t just been in potential danger.
Kakashi wonders if Iruka has touchstone training. He wonders if Iruka would entertain being his touchstone; but, no, he’s not ANBU anymore, he doesn’t need one anymore.
~
It’s too much.
It’s not enough.
~
One day after training his team, he catches sight of Iruka lounging in the grass by the river, reading a novel. The sunset warms the deep tones of his skin even more than usual and Kakashi groans because he’s been psyching himself up to do something like this for weeks and here, here is the perfect chance. And he could absolutely keep walking down the road and keep his hands and body to himself and Iruka would be none the wiser; and even if he does find out, Iruka will never hold it against him or call him a coward.
He can do it. He takes a few steps down the hill.
He can’t do it—he turns back up to the road and puts his face into his hands. He resists groaning, as that would alert Iruka to his presence and then he’s fucked.
He turns back around and looks at Iruka, turning the page of his book and tucking an arm under his head. Gods, he’s…
If I go down there, I’ll destroy him.
If I don’t, I’ll destroy myself.
Kakashi doesn’t whine, he doesn’t. He fought in the Third Great Shinobi War. He’s a hardened ANBU operative—retired, but. He’s one of the deadliest shinobi Konoha has on its roster. He can approach a chūnin Academy sensei, his friend, for no other reason than to just sit near him.
His legs move before he can form the thoughts to stop them, and he’s dropping into a cross-legged seat beside Iruka.
“Hello, Kakashi,” Iruka says. He sets his book aside and sits up, shifting so he’s more facing Kakashi. And gods that smile. “How are you?”
Kakashi finds that he can’t quite get the words out, and so just holds out a hand between them hoping Iruka will understand.
“Ah.” Of course, Iruka does. He slips his fingers between Kakashi’s slowly, giving him the chance to pull away if he needs. But Kakashi isn’t here for need; he’s here for want.
He pulls Iruka’s hand up to his cheek and presses into it, his pulse quickening.
“Kakashi, is everything alright?” Iruka murmurs.
He nods. The lump in his throat eases enough that he’s able to mutter back: “Exposure therapy. My apologies, sensei, for using you this way.”
Iruka’s palm is warm through his mask. He wishes he hadn’t done this in public, that he could feel Iruka’s hand on his bare face.
“I understand. I have done this before.”
“Y-You have?”
Iruka nods, shifts closer and lays his other hand on Kakashi’s shoulder. “I’ve had other friends in ANBU,” he whispers. “I was a touchstone for, ah, three years? For them.”
Kakashi can’t help the bubbling laugh. “I had wondered where you got these kinds of instincts, sensei.”
“It’s certainly not from teaching pre-genin.”
Iruka continues lightly stroking his shoulders and cheek where Kakashi placed his hand, until Kakashi fidgets and shifts and reaches up to rub at the back of his neck.
“I was wondering if—um—could you—that is—”
“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Iruka nods.
“That’s just the thing,” Kakashi sighs. “I’m not comfortable with any of this.”
“Okay, so then just ask,” he says instead. “I promise, it’s neither the oddest request I’ve gotten, nor will I refuse you.”
Kakashi quirks an eyebrow and Iruka chuckles.
“I’ll tell you later. Ask.”
He takes in a deep breath and on the exhale says it at once: “CanIputmyheadinyourlap?”
Iruka takes a second to decode what he says, and then his grin widens and he turns back to where he’d placed his book. He shifts it further aside and situates himself better, and then nods, making a subtle come here gesture with the hand near his book.
Kakashi turns and just about falls into Iruka’s lap, now laying parallel to the river and looking up at the reddening sky. In the east, a few early stars are coming out. But here, on the riverbank, Iruka runs his fingers through Kakashi’s hair and it’s heaven. Fingertips from his other hand stroke gently down the side of Kakashi’s face and neck. After a few minutes, Iruka settles his arm over Kakashi’s chest in a loose embrace and it causes a hitch in his breath and a stutter in his pulse but—
But he’s with Iruka and he’s in the village and the fingers through his hair are so nice and he’s safe and Iruka’s safe—
He relaxes.
“Let me know if it’s too much,” Iruka says softly.
“This is wonderful, sensei,” Kakashi breathes. “You’re just enough. Exactly what I needed.”
Iruka lightly scratches at his scalp and Kakashi groans. The arm across his chest gets a little heavier and Kakashi notices but doesn’t care because he’s in the village and safe and with Iruka—
“Can I… um. No, nevermind.”
Kakashi opens his eye, looks up at Iruka, flushed in the sunset, and says, “Ask anyway?”
Iruka bites at his lip and hesitates, but Kakashi has all the time in the world right now. Eventually, the sun goes beyond the horizon and Iruka asks barely above a whisper, “Can I kiss you?”
He’s honestly surprised, thinking that he was the only one harboring a crush. But then he thinks about the sensitivity of lips on lips and tongue and teeth and being that close and I’ll destroy him—Kakashi stops that line of thought fast and clears his throat to fight off the bile wanting to rise. He swallows hard and says, “Not yet. I don’t know if I can—”
“Shh,” Iruka presses one finger to his lips over the mask; it’s excruciating. “You don’t need to explain yourself. A no is enough. I’ve got this,” gesturing to Kakashi, laid out beside him, and then threads his fingers back in his hair, “and I'm more than happy.”
Iruka eventually relocates them to his apartment, where Kakashi goes along quietly and eats what he’s given and washes up beside Iruka like he always does at the Team Seven dinners he hosts. And when they move to the living room and Iruka sits in the corner of his couch and pats his lap questioningly, Kakashi falls into place like a good soldier and spends the rest of the night trying not to tear up at how good it feels to be touched so carefully, so gently, so lovingly.
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SOW #16 - touch starved @summer-of-whump
Content warning: bbu, unsafe caretaker, relapse during recovery, brief dubcon/noncon touching (not sexually written but definitely suggestive).
“August.”
The kitchen chair that supports Ian gives an ominous creak as he straightens. Face lifting from the luminosity of the phone screen to fix the rescue with a stare. “What?”
The rescue brings his hands together in a twisting of fingers. Anxiety swelling in his chest and threatening to inhibit the motion of his lungs. “August.” He flicks his eyes away from the intensity of Ian’s. “M-my name. It’s August.”
The longest residing rescue there, and the last to name himself. The brief following of silence feels weighted with the knowledge that he’s been the slowest to make progress.
“August.” Ian draws it out, testing. The legs of his chair grate against the floor as he pushes it away from the table to better face the rescue.
The too quick beat of August’s heart sings through his ears with more volume than the divulgence can account for. There’s a desire in it. One that keeps him rooted in the doorway after he gives a nod of confirmation. Lingering in Ian’s presence as the instinct to retreat wars with want, and he gives up pretending that announcing his name is the only reason why he’s there.
No one touches him. Alexis is averse to it, intimate or casual it makes no difference, they avoid it at all cost. It leaves August feeling lonely during the long nights spent in their respective beds in the room they share.
The other rescued occupants of the safehouse could be compelled, he thinks, but he’s loath to coerce them. It would be wrong, monstrous, and would lack the flavor of contact his skin begs him for.
Olivia is rarely there, and a woman besides.
But Ian…
“Is there something-“
“Sir?” The interruption is hardly more than a breath, but it sets his pulse to racing. Comfort and alarm rising in equal measure as he brings his eyes back to Ian’s and reads some semblance of authority in them. Of abrupt excitement in them. Does he like being called Sir?
It pulls him a step nearer, and he drops his hands to his sides. Curling them into fists in effort to keep them from trembling as doubt flickers through his mind. Does he want this? Or does he think he wants this?
There’s a palpable tension in the room as they consider one another. Alarm begins to tip the scale as August watches something complex, almost pained, pass over Ian’s expression.
“August, I…” Ian glances away. Watches the thumb he slides over the edge of his phone before setting it with exaggerated care atop the table. He takes a breath, holds it, and August holds his with him. Wanting, and not wanting, and-
And then Ian exhales, and an air of control fills the space left behind as his eyes snap back to August. “Come here.”
There’s an edge of command to the tone that August immediately obeys. Closing the distance between them and dropping smoothly into position two.
The hungry sheen of Ian’s eyes contradicts the way he hesitates, the way his hands hover after being raised. August knows that look. It’s one that he loves. It’s one that he hates.
His skin crawls as he blinks up at him, and he isn’t able to decide if it’s towards or away from the prospect of being touched.
I want this.
A shaky breath leaves him as Ian smoothes a hand over his hair, eyes closing as he lowers his forehead to Ian’s knees.
Something in his chest is wound up tight. Constrictive, half strangling him, even as his muscles go slack with pleasure - with obedience - under the contact. As a whine, half needy, half fearful, slides free of him at the tightening of fingers in his hair.
It bundles beneath his ribcage, aching in time to the pound of his heart, as a hand falls to his shoulder, rubs at the back of his neck, dips under the collar of his shirt.
I…. I want this.
Tags: @ashintheairlikesnow
#summerofwhump#summerofwhump16#bbu#bad caretaker#intimate caretaker#rescued pet#whump#noncon touching tw#the unsafe safehouse#August#Ian is questionable
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Summer of Whump: Day 16-Obsession
The moment had finally come.
Ever since Whumper saw Whumpee for the first time, they knew they had to make them theirs. They knew they had to make them suffer.
All those days imagining what their face would look like contorted in pain, following them, waiting for the perfect moment had paid off.
Now they were finally in Whumper’s basement, shackled, trembling in fear, crying. It was everything Whumper had imagined and more. God, they looked so perfect like this.
They couldn’t wait to make them bleed.
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Summer of Whump: Day 16- Touch-Starved
@summer-of-whump
Taglist: @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams
Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist.
CW: noncon touching, implied noncon, implied torture, dubcon, mental breakdown
A pair of hands rested on her shoulders, making the girl jump, but quickly remained still. A nose and lips found their way to her neck, sniffing and making goosebumps form on her skin. The hands moved down lower, to her waist, reaching under her shirt and caressing the skin there.
She whimpered when they slipped under her bra.
Harper flinched as she heard an annoyed sigh behind her. The hands spun her around before making their way behind her back, trapping her against the strong body in front of her.
Harper couldn’t bring herself to stare at her captors disapproving gaze.
“You know, it’s quite rude when you act like this.”
One of the hands moved from her back and grabbed her chin, forcing it upwards.
“You should know by now I don’t tolerate ungratefulness.”
Harper swallowed as she involuntarily stared at the brown, cruel eyes of Edward Darmine.
“Explain,” the man commanded. “Tell me why you always reject my touch.”
The girl’s voice was just above a whisper. “You’ll just hurt me if I do.”
The hand that gripped her chin was now grabbing her arm in a tight squeeze. “Tell. Me.”
Fine, asshole. I’ll tell you the fucking truth.
“I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted it, and will never want it. If you actually think I enjoy my forced housewife role, you’re fucking sick.”
Edward said nothing. Just stared for a moment, then gripped her arm tighter and led her down the hallway and into the basement.
Once they were down the stairs, he simply let go of her and walked back upstairs, locking the door.
Harper stood there in confusion as she was left alone in the dark basement, no chains, no boxes. She was just left standing there with no instructions.
She stood there awkwardly for a few moments, but soon grew tired after being forced into labor 10+ hours a day. She sat against the wall, eyes facing the door, awaiting for the danger to return.
He never did.
She was there for...days? Weeks? She didn’t know, there was no light. It wasn’t like her first days of her capture; she wasn’t starving. The door would open, a plate of food would be dropped on the top of the stairs, and that was it.
Dark never interacted with her. Never said anything, never beat her, never touched her.
Never touched her. Harper realized what he was planning to do the first time he dropped off the food with no interaction. He was going to leave her in solitary, touch-starve her, until she begged him to.
She wouldn’t.
She couldn’t.
But now, after sitting for god knows how long in the darkness and silence, she was craving for it. And it was killing her.
Despite the beatings, whippings, slaps and punches, he could be intimate with her. Sure, most of the time, she didn’t want it, but it didn’t hurt to have someone give you a nice massage. Give little kisses on your neck. Or giving you the ultimately pleasure with just a flick of a tong-
“No!” she screamed, the first sound she made since being trapped in the basement.
God, what was happening to her? Was she glorifying her rape? This is just what he wanted her to do, she could not give in.
And she wouldn’t.
But she was so scared that she could.
“Princess,” came a soft murmur from somewhere behind her.
Harper turned around, but of course there was nothing there. Her eyes suddenly darted to her leg, feeling phantom touches on her skin.
She subconsciously reached towards the touching, swallowing a whine when she couldn’t feel the familiar rough hands there.
Touches appeared again, this time on her shoulder. Then she felt ghost lips on her neck, with a ghost tongue trailing up it.
She reached towards each of the touches, soon growing frustrated as she kept on reaching for touches she just couldn’t get.
“Just stay still, my darling. I’ll make you feel real good.”
“Please,” she whispered.
“Your skin is so soft…”
“Please!” She yelled, not even thinking about the consequences of yelling for her Master to come back- to touch her.
I don’t want this I don’t want this I will never want this
I need it.
The door opened.
Steps came down the stairs.
Harper looked up from where she was, tears in her eyes, and smiled.
“Master.”
“Pet.”
Harper, no!
Shut up.
“Please,” she said again, silently begging for her Master to touch her.
Don’t give in!
Edward simply smiled, and crouched in front of her. Then, very slowly, he caressed his hand across her cheek.
The girl whimpered.
“Do you want to go back upstairs? Back to bed?”
No!
“Yes. Please, touch me. I want to be touched, please.”
The man smiled cruelly.
“Whatever you say, Harper.”
#summerofwhump#summerofwhump16#Devil's Playground#whump#whump blog#whump community#whump fic#whump writing#whumpee#whumper#lady whump#lady whumpee#male whumper#Harper#Dark#tw implied noncon#tw dubcon#tw implied torture#tw noncon touching#mental breakdown
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Querencia 3 - The Facility
(Prompt #16 for Summer of Whump)
So, only like a couple of paragraphs of this ended up filling the prompt, but...*shrugs* Let me know if I missed any tags!
Taglist: @darthsutrich
Ask if you want on or off the list!
Previous | Next | Masterlist
Warnings: lady whumpee, teenage whumpee, mental hospital/prison vibes, foster care mention, fantastic prejudice, burns, touch-starvation, mild accidental self-harm
.
.
The facility Liliana is brought to is not what she expected. It’s not a prison, as a small part of her feared, but it’s certainly not a traditional foster home, either. It actually gives her vibes of a hospital, or of the nursing home where she used to visit her abuela.
White walls, white tile floors. A reception desk. A lounge area with uncomfortable-looking grey couches, a cruddy tv, and a couple of tables with chairs. And from there, long hallways branching off, filled with closed blue doors.
She’s handed off to a man with a permanent scowl who walks so briskly she can hardly keep up. He rattles off a list of rules, and she struggles to keep up with those, too.
“Breakfast is served strictly at eight a.m., lunch at noon, and dinner at five p.m. If you do not show up for a meal, you forfeit it. However, if you make a habit of missing meals in an effort to starve yourself, you will be forcibly fed. And trust me, none of us want that.”
“Residents are allowed to interact with each other as much as they wish within the common areas. They are not, however, permitted to enter any other private quarters but their own, and private, secretive conversations between residents are not permitted anywhere on the premises.”
“Regardless of what your mutation is, we have a very strict ‘no touch’ policy here. If you’re seen touching or attempting to touch another resident, you will be swiftly and heavily punished. There are no second chances. If you repeat the offense, we will immediately take measures to suppress your mutation.”
Mutation. She’s never heard it called that before. The word gives her an ugly, crawling sensation across her skin, far worse than the term Non ever has. The common slang is derogatory, yes, implying that those with powers are somehow less-than. Non-human. But mutation...that’s even worse. That makes her feel like...like some kind of monster.
Once she’s been examined in the infirmary and has answered ten-thousand questions about her ability, she’s escorted to what will now be her room. The good news is that because of the facility’s strict rules about how residents interact, she doesn’t have to worry about roommates.
But as the heavy door slams shut, leaving her in a cold, stark space with flickering fluorescent lights, a narrow, hard bed, and no decor whatsoever, she starts to rethink her initial assessment of this place.
Maybe it is a prison, after all.
At first Liliana is grateful for the ‘no touch’ rule. If no one is allowed to touch, then she doesn’t have to worry so much about accidentally using her powers. She even asks for a pair of gloves, just for safety, and begins wearing them all the time in addition to the long sleeve shirts.
Besides, she still hasn’t seen any evidence that there are other good Nons out there. The other residents of the facility aren’t helping prove anything. Despite the fact that they’re allowed to mingle and converse in the lounge or cafeteria, very few actually do, and none of them have paid her any mind other than to stare at her with calculating eyes on her first day here. So she’s glad that she doesn’t have to worry about any of them using their powers, whatever they may be, on her.
Life at the facility is boring. She’s allowed to continue her studies, thankfully, though with a tutor who comes to her room, rather than actually going to school. She wonders what her friends think about her sudden disappearance. Wonders what they were told. Wonders if they miss her like she misses them.
She tries not to think about life before the facility too often.
But other than school, there’s no one to talk to and not much to do besides read and watch tv. She’s starting to wish she had packed more things with entertainment value in her backpack, but asking if someone can go back for more gets her quickly shut down.
The only time anything exciting happens is on the day when the no touch rule doesn’t work so well. A new kid, she thinks his name might be Liam, shows up. It’s not often that they get new residents, but she’s also never seen any of them leave. She doubts adoption rates for Nons are very high, if the facility is even trying to get them adopted.
She doesn’t think she really wants to be adopted, anyway. She still has a family...even if they don’t want her anymore.
Liam immediately seems to clash with James, an older teen who’s been there longer than Liliana. She often catches them glaring at each other. And one day, the glaring suddenly escalates into an all-out shouting match, which escalates - before any of the staff can get there - into Liam grabbing James by the arm and sending his sleeve up in flames.
Obviously chaos erupts. Residents are screaming, half the staff is tackling Liam and holding him down while the other half tries to douse the fire. As Liam is dragged away, James cowers in the corner, whimpering and holding his arm.
“Please,” Liliana says without thinking, hovering behind a female staff member whose name she doesn’t think she ever learned. “I can heal him. You can do whatever you want after, suppress my powers or whatever, but...just let me heal him.”
She doesn’t know why she’s offering. The thought of having her powers suppressed doesn’t bother her, they’ve been nothing but trouble. But she doesn’t know this guy, not really, and she doesn’t actually want to know what the burns would feel like when she took them.
She just can’t stand to see anybody in pain.
“Back off,” the woman snaps. “Everybody to your rooms. No one come out until dinner.”
The next time she sees Liam, he’s...different. Not only does he not glare at James anymore, he seems to stare straight through everyone. There’s no trace of the tough kid with an attitude he was before. He just seems...empty.
Liliana is glad now that she didn’t let them suppress her powers. She’s not sure what they did to him, but it scares her.
The months drag by. It takes time for her to notice that never being touched is having an effect on her. Her family wasn’t the super touchy-feely type, but there were still hugs before school and bed, kisses on the top of the head sometimes. Now her arms ache for the feeling of being wrapped up and squeezed tight. She finds herself lying in bed at night hugging herself with her own arms, but it’s a poor substitute. Sometimes her skin itches and tingles to the point where she has to take her gloves off and scratch it.
Once she takes it too far and ends up in the infirmary getting treated for the bright red welts crisscrossing her arms.
By the time three years have passed and she’s nearing her eighteenth birthday, the itching has been replaced by an overall numbness, and the lack of touch doesn’t bother her so much anymore.
#summerofwhump#summerofwhump16#touch starved#querencia#liliana the healer#whump#whump writing#mental hospital tw#prison tw#lady whump#lady whumpee#teenage whumpee#foster care mention#burns tw#touch starvation tw#accidental self harm tw#magical whumpee#magical whump#original fiction
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Summer of Whump 2021
Chapter 14, prompts 16 17 18: shackled, beaten, hope. Obi-Wan gets captured and beaten but knows one thing for certain; Cody stays with his general after he’s rescued and knwos one thing for certain.
AO3
Not a super angsty one today, but a look into the Codywan relationship.
#my fic#Willowtalks#summerofwhump#summerofwhump16#I'd love to hear what y'all think!#thank you to everyone who's already been reading and commenting!!#codywan#commander cody#Obi-Wan
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Summer of Whump Day 16: Touch starved/obsession
@summer-of-whump
Read on AO3 | Masterlist
Rumlow gets back late from the SHIELD mission, which just happens to benefit HYDRA as well. He’d complete it even if it didn’t. With Project Insight years off, they can’t afford to blow their cover.
He knocks on the door to Pierce’s office, and enters after he hears a low “come in”.
As soon as he enters, he sees the Asset, kneeling on the floor next to Pierce’s chair, head bowed. Pierce’s hand is tangled in its dark hair.
Pierce looks up as he drops the full mission report on the desk. Pierce uses both hands to open it and flick through, ignoring the Asset making a tiny whining noise at his feet. Rumlow glances down just long enough to see the Asset turning pathetic doe-eyes on Pierce.
“Full STRIKE team,” Pierce notes. “No SHIELD agents involved at all now. That’s good. Soon, we will start putting Insight into motion.”
Rumlow nods. “STRIKE Team Delta might be a problem,” he says.
“Not for the Asset they won’t be,” Pierce says, reaching down to caress the Asset’s head. It leans into his touch, eyes closing. “But they have their uses for now. Go report back to SHIELD for now. And then I have another mission for you.” The Asset’s head perks up slightly at the word ‘mission’. Pierce smiles down at it patronisingly. “Not you.”
As Rumlow leaves, he glances back, and sees Pierce writing something in a ledger, one hand absentmindedly stroking the Asset’s head.
#summerofwhump#summerofwhump16#touch starved#whump#bucky barnes#bucky barnes whump#marvel#winter soldier#hydra#my whump ficlets#late.fic#s: bucky barnes whump
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Magnus had been...off since Alec had left the loft earlier that morning.
Summer of Whump Day 16: Touch-starved
(Another Unicorn Alec fic.)
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SUMMER OF WHUMP - DAY 16 - TOUCH STARVED
Some recovery Red, as a treat
Cw: Pet whump; touch starvation; dehumanization; implied past abuse;
Miss Sophia’s smile was like a bright sun, and often, it made him feel warm inside. Today, it wasn’t doing much for him. He smiled back, and she went back to check her phone. He just… didn’t want to burden her with how much he was hurting, today. He did that far too often.
Red hugged himself, pulling the blanket closer, quietly imagining it was someone’s arms around him. He… could get a hug if he wanted. A real hug. But that would send him into panic. He was sure it would. Everytime he was touched, no matter how gentle, lit up old handprints, marks of invasive, hurting hands, that were burned onto his memory a long time ago.
...He couldn’t remember the last time someone touched him without it feeling invasive, violent, or clinical. Even Miss Sophia, as she treated his wounds, had made her best to keep distant and the touch at a minimum.
He was grateful for that but also…
It hurt.
He could deal with physical pain. He had plenty of that. He was trained to endure it. But these feelings were unsettling, and confusing, and Red just wanted to push them away and not… Not feel like that. He would rather have wounds. He could at least see those, know what was wrong… And watch them heal.
“Red, would you like to change the channel?” Miss asked, looking back up from her phone “I guess this movie, isn’t very interesting”
...Red wasn’t paying any attention. She wasn’t either, apparently. He reached for the controller, skipping through the channels. Nothing was very interesting tonight. Nothing was ever all that interesting. He sat it down.
“...The news?”
...Red nodded, crossing his arms, curling up further against the couch. Watching those always made him angrier, grinding his teeth, hands on fists. When he was angry, he wasn’t hurting. It worked flawlessly.
He especially hated the session about Pet’s. Usually, just cute videos of their Pets owners would send in. Human pets or otherwise. But occasionally… They’d give training tips. Or recommend products, and business. Interview Pet Owners, trainers, or even Pet themselves.
...And worse. Propagandas for it would come up. All with pretty, pampered looking Pets on them. ‘Adopt a friend!’, and store addresses…
Miss Sophia changed the channel again. He shot her an annoyed glance.
“All that anger will upset your stomach, you know?” She smiled. Bright. He grunted, hiding his face on the blanket. Angry was better than sad “Red…”
“I… Don’t want to talk” He pulled the blanket over his head.
“...That’s okay” he heard her getting up “...Can I make you some tea?”
...He nodded, under the blankets. Tea was good. The heat from the mug made him feel like those were warm hands holding his… His only one. The other was a ghost. It ached, and sometimes, it tingled. But there wasn’t warmth, or nice feelings. Nothing.
...Miss Sophia returned with the mug.
“...Thanks” His voice sounded too much like a whimper, as he pulled the mug under the blankets with him. The warm mug replacing the feeling of warm hands on his, that he craved... but feared, too.
“Red… If there is anything I can do...”
...He didn’t answer. Just curled up further against the sofa. He heard Miss Sophia return to her place.
taglist: @summer-of-whump, @nicolepascaline
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Summer of Whump #16 — Touch-Starved
Summary: A man's views on Weizenfest celebrations change dramatically over the course of a dance.
A/N: I had too much sugar in my coffee and couldn't whump to the extent I usually do. Hopefully no one's too disappointed!
Content warnings: Alcohol, mild sexual undertones
So this was the ever-famous Altenstadter Weizenfest Ernst had heard so much about. It had sounded better in the books and wistful recounting back in Gehardtschule. There he hadn’t had to smell the stench of beer and sweat that came with it. Nor had he then been pressured into wearing these ridiculous clothes, with the necktie being especially atrocious. Some things, as Ernst had decided, were best left in books and memories.
But the blares of accordions echoing through the streets was too loud for him to be able to get any studying done, and there wasn’t a single open space that hadn’t fallen to the Weizenfester invasion. For those reasons as much as anything, Ernst found himself with a liter of beer and a couple of wheat brötchen in his stomach, clapping with the crowd in time to the music. The current focus were several pairs of lovebirds dancing around in circles.
Or that was what he was doing, until the music lulled. Then a hand grabbed his arm and tugged him out of the crowd and into the circle. Someone had decided that Ernst was going to dance too.
Not a single dance step, and his mind was already spinning faster than his feet would. Of all the thoughts whirling around—that, provided he made it through this dance without embarrassing himself, he would have some veryapologetic letters to write back to his school; that the girl in front of him was drunk, given the ridiculous grin on her face and the flush to her cheeks, and had enough wheat loosely braided into her hair to almost resemble a hedgehog; that even though he wasn’t sure why, he was already grinning back at the girl in front of him—the one that drowned them all out was that that until this very moment, Ernst had forgotten what human touch felt like.
Now that he’d been reminded, he wished it would last more than two minutes.
It was a very good thing that Ernst had been forced through so many of these dances already. The music started up, but his mind was still numbed by the presence of the girl’s hands on his shoulders and his hands on her waist. If he’d had to think about what to do with his legs, he would’ve been face down in the street instead of twirling around almost as well as a native Altenstadter. Especially as he couldn’t tear his eyes of the girl. Not because she was especially beautiful, but because she was touching him. In drunken affection, yes, but Ernst couldn’t bring himself to care about that now as Altenstadt faded into a blur of burning trees and ashen buildings behind her.
He thought his heart would burst in his chest as they turned to walk alongside each other, the girl taking his hand now. The warmth of bare fingers against his was almost alien, but the grin on his face only widened as she tried to spin under his arm. That he was at least ten centimeters shorter than her didn’t seem to concern her in the least; she simply ducked further, somehow keeping her footing in the process. And if he hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought he saw her wink at him after one particularly graceful spin.
A shift in the music, back to the first melody, and her hands were around his shoulders again. Until they weren’t, and instead found their way to the nape of his neck. The jaunty melody coming from the accordions slipped from his consciousness as he shivered and found that, vulnerable he now felt, he very much enjoyed the feeling of her fingers against his neck. It was only when she stopped and pulled away that Ernst realized the music lulled had again.
Which meant the dance, and with it the feeling of the soft, exhilarating warmth of the girl’s hands, was over.
Ernst went back towards the crowd, only stumbling a little from giddiness. He wasn’t in love—he couldn’t be, it’d only been one dance and the girl’s face had already slipped from his memory. But he couldn’t deny the electric tingling coursing through his body, his hands still warm with the memory of someone else’s skin against them. No more than he could do anything about the smile still plastered on his face, even against the protestation of his tiring cheek muscles.
The crowd still reeked just as badly as they had before of beer and sweat. There was no ignoring the accordions still blaring away, echoing off the rows of buildings around them. His necktie still looked ridiculous, and he thought someone was trying to put yet another sprig of wheat in his hat. Above all, now he ached for the feeling of someone’s hands on his shoulders or someone’s hand in his again. Yet despite it all, Ernst was beginning to think that this whole Weizenfest celebration wasn’t so bad after all.
#writing#writeblr#summerofwhump#summerofwhump16#touch starved#tw alcohol#tw suggestive#Ernst#Ernst Schneider
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Summer of Whump Day 16: Touch Starved
#summerofwhump#summerofwhump16#the beatles fanfiction#the beatles#john lennon#paul mccartney#mclennon?#touch starved
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