#hurtcember cuddles

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Every Night, Every Day, Every Second

|| Jinx x fem!reader

|| Warnings; Jinx being clingy with reader, Jinx doubting herself, reader teasing Jinx, Jinx assuring herself reader is real, first I love yous

|| Summary; when reader and Jinx spend the night cuddling, reader can't help but admire her. Chaos and all.

Requests closed!

Started; December 8th

Finished; December 8th

HurtCember2024; Day 8, Cuddles

~~~

The night was still young as you laid on the couch. Jinx snuggled right up against you. She was never not cuddling with you. Jinx loved to cuddle. At first, it put her off. It took her a while to get used to it. Then once she did? Well, Jinx was all over you. Every night, every day, every second. You were basically Jinx's favourite chair. She loved you. Which was perfect for you.

Physical touch was one of your biggest love languages, so there were never complaints about it from you. Maybe those around you. Always wondering why Jinx was attached to you. You paid them no mind, hardly caring what they thought. Jinx was all that mattered, anyways. She was your rock, just as you were hers.

Night continued to drag on. Neither you or Jinx made an effort to move; did you have stuff to do? Maybe. But this was much better. Feeling Jinx against you, her warmth, steady breathing... it was everything. She was everything. Your eyes wandered down to her. Admiring the way Jinx looked. How at ease she seemed. Even within her chaos, there were moments like these that felt almost domestic in nature. Where you just spent time with your favourite gal. Your hands played with Jinx's hair.

The action brought her attention to you. Jinx looked up into your eyes, seeing the look you were giving her. It made her blush," what is it? Do I have oil on me again?" She asked, rubbing at her cheek. She wasn't sure why you were staring. She wasn't that interesting. Right?

You couldn't help but chuckle, bringing her in even closer. Kissing the spot on her cheek where she rubbed in her search for nonexistent oil," no. You just... I don't know, you're really pretty," you murmured. Your own cheeks turning the same pink as Jinx's.

Jinx looked to you again. Adjusting herself so the two of you were now chest to chest," ya know.. if ya wanted a kiss you could have just taken one, dummy. Don't gotta butter little ol me up." Her hands cupped your cheeks, just feeling you. Assuring herself you're real.

Your hands came up and rested on her wrists, giving Jinx a gentle smile. You knew she needed the assurance, you really didn't mind. You'd let her do anything if it helped," that's not what I was doing, J. But I wouldn't mind a kiss if you're offering~" you teased.

Jinx laughed and kissed you. Her lips soft against your own, moving slowly. With care you didn't see her have with really much else. When the kiss broke, you gave her another brief one, meeting her eyes again," I love you." You hadn't said those words to each other yet. But you meant them. Every letter.

Jinx's eyes widened, her heart rate speeding up. Did you just say...? She wasn't sure she heard you right," say it again?"

You laughed, playfully nudging her," you know, normally this is the part where you say it back."

"I know- I just- say it again."

"I love you," you humoured her. Knowing Jinx probably needed the assurance again. She seemed to just melt in your hold, cuddling up to you further. As though trying to merge your bodies together with no success.

"I love you, too."

[stabbysideblog]

Lazy day dance

“Five more minutesssss” Dream groaned stretching his arm over Techno who had the gall to decide that 12 pm was a reasonable time to get up when it was a Saturday with no plans. Between therapy, training, legal proceedings, and physical therapy life had become a mess of obligations. Today was their one day away from it all so yes Dream did want to sleep in a bit longer. 

“Fine, only cause ya’ make such a compellin argument.” Techno says adjusting so Dream is cupped in the curve of his body. “But just five more minutes.”

“Sure, Sure.” The smaller man says already drifting back into the realm of dreams.

It starts with a dance. He’s young and dancing and his feet don’t hurt yet and his bones haven’t been cracked yet and it’s the movement of his body and the air and the beat. He dances because he wants to, he dances alone, he dances with friends, he dances in the rain, he dances in the sun. The steps get more elaborate and his feet start to hurt. Still he dances, his heartbeat in the steps each dip a breath. It’s a natural as living. The tempo increases and he’s overheating as explosions go off around him. He dances around tnt, he dances the steps of plans, he dances secret promises and deeper fears. The volume increases and the dance doesn’t stop. He dances alone as it slows down finally. His body aches but he still dances. He dances the book until the moves are burned into his soul. He dances the plan. He dances his own betrayal. The music changes, unprepared his steps unsynced he stumbles. It becomes a salsa, his partner a burning star. Each basic a burn, each turn a cut. He dances until his feet bleed. He dances until his bones grind apart, he dances until Sir ties him down and stops the beating of his heart. 

When he wakes up it’s with tears in his eyes. Techno holds him until the shaking stops then till his breathing slows. He doesn’t have to explain the monster that haunts him. He doesn't have to explain the dance. Techno warms a cup of tea and their lazy day turns into a lazy afternoon into a lazy night. And when Dream doesn’t want to sleep he doesn’t ask questions just pulls out the board games. 

[astaldis]

@witchermonstermayhem   @hurtcember

For the Hurtcember prompts 8 "Cuddle" and 13 "Nightmare" and the Witchery Yuletide Calendar Door 13 "Snow" ❄️ ❄️❄️

Chapters: 1/1     Words: 543 Fandom: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & The Hansa | Geralt's Company Members, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, The Hansa | Geralt's Company Members (The Witcher), Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Angoulême (The Witcher), Maria Barring | Milva, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach Additional Tags: Friendship, Snow, Nightmares, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst

Summary: It snows and snows and snows. And Geralt is cold. But Regis knows an easy remedy.

[hurtcember]

Above is the official Hurtcember 2024 prompts list.

Below are alternative prompts in case one doesn't want to do a few of the prompts (but still do the whole challenge) or for those who just want to write/draw more.

Both lists are typed out at the bottom of this post.

RULES 1. You can write/draw for any fandom or pairing 2. You can write/draw SFW or NSFW content, just label it accordingly 3. Please tag any Tumblr posts sharing your prompt fills with #hurtcember2024 so that we can find and repost them 4. If you post your works to AO3, please add them to this collection and add "Hurtcember" and/or "Hurtcember 2024" to the additional tags of your prompt fill(s) 5. The challenge officially starts on December 1st but feel free to write/draw before then and/or submit things after the month ends officially, whatever works best for you 6. Be kind to other participants 7. You DO NOT have to do every single prompt if you don't want to. The point is to have fun and spark creativity, not to feel like you're doing a chore

Prompts List (Text Copy) 1. Collapse 2. Breakdown 3. Blood 4. Scars 5. Faint 6. Touch-Starved 7. Abandoned 8. Cuddle 9. Exhaustion 10. Touch Aversion 11. Caretaking 12. Cry 13. Nightmare 14. Near Death 15. Trauma 16. Bruise 17. Concussion 18. Fatigue 19. Desperate 20. Panic 21. Afraid 22. Self-Harm 23. Bed-bound 24. Dissociate 25. Accident 26. Guilt 27. Pain 28. Captive 29. Dehydration 30. Dizzy 31. Hyperventilation

Alt Prompts List (Text Copy) 1. "Don't leave" 2. "Help me" 3. "Leave me alone" 4. "It's my fault" 5. "Take my hand"

[whumpdreaming]

My introduction!

Hi! My name is Heather (they/them). I've been a lurker for some time, but I now realize what I've been writing has been whump all along, so.. hello!

My first encounters with whump were in Sunday school 😭😭 some of those kid's bible books were insanely whumpy for no reason at alI, and then it's only now I learn what the term actually is. I speak decent French (getting back into it after not using it for a few years), I intend to go to culinary school and become a professional chef, and my main fandoms include Overwatch, Baldur's Gate (not into it as much anymore, sadly), Epic: The Musical, and Ultrakill and FNAF (which I don't write much fic for).

This blog will never contain NSFW content! Kink blogs and antis please DNI!

What this blog will contain:

Whump (obviously)

My own writing (lots of drabbles, occasionally some of my more involved work ; aka my two big projects, a BBU story since that setting grabbed me by the brain as soon as I saw it for the first time, and various Overwatch characters getting whumped to hell and back --- I don't see enough talk about Cole Cassidy's big sad puppy dog eyes)

Lots and lots of reblogs since that's easier than actually writing 😅

Keep in mind that this isn't a NSFW blog and I won't be posting anything sexual/explicit, but I'm a fan of intense/graphic whump and things can get pretty dark. In those cases, there'll be a warning at the top of the post along with the content listings just to make sure everyone stays safe!

Some of my favorite tropes:

Living weapons!!

Gore (I'm not a fan of major character death, so I like it best when a healing factor is involved if it's very intense)

Parental caretakers

Transition/weight gain in recovery

Recovery in general, especially when difficult!

Lab whump!

Pet whump!

Chronic pain (totally not coping with this one)

Dehumanization!!

Vivisection!!

Panic attacks

Emotional distress of all kinds

Sickfics!!

If you send me any asks or requests or interact with my posts or say literally anything nice about me whatsoever I will give you my firstborn child

Some of my favorite whump blogs that inspired me to make a blog in the first place: @painonthebrain @whumpninja @defire @whumpwordsoftheday @sowhumpshaped

@sickfictropes @allthingswhumpyandangsty @writinglittlepains @whumpyourdamnpears --- sorry in advance if you didn't want to be mentioned! 😭

Btw --- check out my Widowmaker whump fic :)

Series:

Barbara Summers has a bad time with the mob (I'll update it someday I promise) ; also called "Consequences"

Intro

One

Two

Drabbles: (Electrocution+Unconscious+"Say Please") (Warm Bath + Fresh Bandages + "..Nothing. It just hurts") (Broken Fingers+Trying not to scream+"Aw, poor thing")

---

Crownchain

Character/setting introduction

"Foul Play"

"Pulling Strings"

Whump+Hurtcember: (Day 1: Collapse + Broken Bones) (Day 2: Breakdown + "This is your fault") (Day 3: Blood + Begging) (Day 4: "Help me" alt prompt + "This isn't my blood") (Day 5: Faint + Concussion) (Day 6: Touch Starved + "Please stop") (Day 7: Abandoned + Kidnapped) (Day 8: Cuddle + Fire alt prompt) (Day 9: Exhausted + Shaking) (Day 10: Touch Aversion + "Let me help you") (Day 11: "It's my fault" alt prompt + Manipulation) (Day 12: Cry + "I have nowhere else to go") (Day 13: Nightmare + Trauma) (Day 22: Self Harm + Hallucinations)

(Poisoned + Pleading + "You never do shut up, do you?")

---

Hemopenia

Stages of blood withdrawal

Stage Zero

Pilot

Not Dead

Stage One

Lively

(Delirium / Good dream with an unpleasant wake-up / "..Mom?")

---

Taby's terrible horrible no good very bad life

Intro

One

That's about it for now!! Thanks for reading!

[elodiah]

Post S2 reunion fic, set in my Revival universe. Here be angst, feels and tears, with a Loki-whump backdrop, yarrrrr.

@hurtcember

Hurtcember #8 - Cuddle

[alpaca-clouds]

Catlike [Hurtcember Day 08 - Spite/Rook]

Today's story for @hurtcember had the prompt Cuddle. And this made me think of Spite. Because to me he is so much like a cat.

Catlike

Fandom: Dragon Age - The Veilguard Shipping: Spite/Rook Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Lucanis has fainted. Spite gets their body to safety. Safety to Spite means Rook.

[popcorn-plots]

hurtcember 2024 masterlist

Ao3 series here

Day 1: Collapse | the drowned don't grieve | In another universe, it was 12-year-old Stephen who drowned instead.

Day 2: Breakdown | stoic tears | Wong is the one who always comforts Stephen when he breaks down. With the roles reversed, Stephen doesn't know what to do.

Day 3: Blood | deserving | The blood always washes away, but Stephen can still see it.

Day 4: Scars | there for you | The scars were long faded, but Stephen's hands still ached.

Day 5: Faint | syncoping just fine | Wong thinks he's taking care of himself, until he faints in the middle of a class.

Day 6: Touch-Starved (alt. "Leave me alone.") | doctor kangaroo | Peter is angry about his dad dating someone else after his mommy dies. Stephen, hurt that his boyfriend's kid hates his guts, has a little chat with Peter about what Tony means to the both of them.

Day 7: Abandoned | long-lost love | Victor's been alone for most of his life.

Day 8: Cuddle | chosen guardian | Stephen breaks down when Wong's down for the count. Jio steps up.

Day 9: Exhaustion | wounds like an albatross | In all the universes that Stephen saw, the ones where he abandoned his family and ran were the worst.

Day 10: Touch Aversion (alt. "help me") | fought god and won, losing to the laundry | Stephen had survived med school, only to survive fighting a titan, resurrecting half the earth, becoming the Sorcerer Supreme, and raising 6 kids. He also happens to be married to Billionaire Tech Genius and Iron Man Tony Stark.

Stephen has a lot going for him. Until he gets sick and suddenly he's bested by a basket of laundry.

Day 11: Caretaking | Wong is Healing | Stephen Strange is rescued. Wong takes care of him.

Day 12: Cry | Koschei's Death | Alone for the first time that night, Stephen Strange's temporal remnant breaks down.

Day 13: Nightmare | dreams of death | Donna was always dreaming.

Day 14: Near Death | the cold holds my soul | Wong doesn't realize how close he was to death until he's lying on the ground, cold seeping into his limbs and panic settling on his chest.

Day 15: Trauma | forgiveness (can you imagine) | Christine learns how to heal. Then she learns how to forgive.

Day 16: Bruise | bruised hearts never lie | Stephen shows up to school on day with a massive black eye. He says his horse bucked him off, but Tony's told enough of the same lies to know that something was very wrong.

Day 17: Concussion | concutere's will | Tony was fine. Until he decided to throw up on his doctor.

Day 18: Fatigue | take a break | Without Yao, it's hard to get out of bed, let alone take care of herself and everyone else at the same time. It's a good thing she has Stephen, then.

Day 19: Desperate | necromancy is forbidden, actually | Stephen almost dies, again. Wong is not responsible for what he said in the heat of the moment.

Day 20: Panic (alt. "it's all my fault") | if i was there | In the light of Stephen's death, Wong decides that he's the one to blame.

Day 21: Afraid | "Death is what gives life meaning, to know your days are numbered, your time is short." | The Ancient One was afraid of death.

Day 22: Self-Harm | scalpels and blood | The first time Stephen Strange picked up a scalpel, he was 15 and had just come out to his conservative parents. The last time Stephen Strange picked up a scalpel, he was 68 and had just watched his husband of 26 years slowly pass away.

Day 23: Bed-Bound | still alive but i'm barely breathing | The Ancient One reflects.

Day 24: Dissociate | everything at once | Tony Stark was everything that Iron Man wasn't.

Day 25: Accident | father kangaroo | Peter calls Stephen after getting into a crash because Tony isn't answering. Suddenly, all of Stephen's fears come rushing back.

Day 26: Guilt | mirror, mirror | Stephen Strange sometimes saw himself in the mirror. Most of the time, he saw the pale face of Death staring back.

Day 27: Pain | freaky friday thursday | The universe decides that Stephen, Tony, and Wong need to get together through all of them swapping bodies.

Day 28: Captive | living nightmare | Being held hostage is just a normal Tuesday in the life of Tony Stark. Being held captive and forced to watch his husband tortured? That's Tony Stark's worst nightmare.

Day 29: Dehydration | Never Forget. | Tony Stark knew from the moment he crash-landed in the Afghanistan desert that he would never forget what had happened.

Day 30: Dizzy | corazon de oro | America always wondered if she was the only one to experience anything after going through her portals. Stephen and Wong prove her theory.

Day 31: Hyperventilation (alt. "Don't leave") | being there (is all that matters) | Wong comforts Stephen after Tony Stark-Strange's funeral.

[cosmic-adventurers]

Submission for @hurtcember (Alternate Prompt: Don't Leave. A bit backdated, since it was posted on AO3 on 12/8/24, but it honestly could fit that day's prompt, "Cuddle," too. So, I guess, both? :D) Summary:

With an Accounting exam inconveniently scheduled on Samhain, Bonnie sends Damon and Elena to collect leaves from a nearby lake for her evening ritual. Little do they know that on this day, when the veil between worlds is at its most delicate, the lake becomes a portal — one activated by intense emotion.

Takes place during an alternate S7 where Elena has yet to take the Cure, and was able to avoid being placed under Kai's spell. Chapter Summary: The magical lake sends Elena though space and time to encounter a past, humanity-devoid Damon in 1994, while he's trapped in a shed, awaiting the annular eclipse to retrieve his daylight ring. Fandom: The Vampire Diaries Pairing: Damon/Elena Rating: M Chapter Tags: banter, humanity switch, memory magic, blood-sharing, copious use of sarcasm, angst, humor, humanity comes back with a bang, time travel, emotional hurt/comfort Word Count: 6,308

Everything within Damon seethed.

An active volcano that trembled beneath the surface. While the flimsy shade provided by the battered shed afforded him physical protection from the scalding sunlight, everything within him made up for it by burning with disdain – smoldering, simmering, erupting beneath the surface as he replayed Stefan’s words for what felt like at least the twentieth time in the last hour. 

Beneath the scalding fires of contempt providing a convincing cover for the anger, however, Damon’s heart contorted with pain.

Saint Stefan had stolen his daylight ring, and locked him in this ridiculous shed – declaring all the world safe from his debauched, blood-consuming brother like some kind of Undead Mother Teresa.

Fucking idiot. Snapping his neck, pissing him off, and counting on the sunlight to keep him at bay on the day of an eclipse. Maybe getting all those love-kicks to the head while trying to drain Bambi really did knock his sense loose.

Damon had been so close to turning his humanity back on – right on the verge of it. All he wanted was to rebuild the bond with his brother, reclaim a connection he hadn’t felt since he was human, but instead…

"I’m not trying to screw up your dumb, new life.”

“You don’t have to try, Damon. All you have to do is exist.”

The words tore into his brain, scorching themselves into the deepest fibers of his soul, marking it like his father’s cigars did his skin when he was a defenseless youth. He touched the space on his forearm where they had once been, the twin circular scars – each not 20 millimeters in diameter – a small wound for one that burned so deep. One of the first experiments conducted by Dr. Whitmore was to skin the scarred flesh and examine how it would regrow. After several agonizing days, it grew back clear. In time, he’d replace that disturbingly unblemished space with a tattoo, to remind himself to focus on the present – despite what’d he’d realized was a craving to see the scars embedded on his arm, instead of where they’d come to reside, deep inside. The only remnant of that Thanksgiving night now lived in his soul – the caustic threats his father would make against Stefan if Damon refused to confess to a crime he didn’t commit, leading to just one of many punishments he’d take to protect his brother.

Giuseppe Salvatore was the first person to ever make Damon realize just how unwanted, reviled his existence was. Lily was the second, idly standing by while he burned, and bled, and openly yearned for any semblance of affection with the naive earnestness befitting of a child. He’d learned to release such silly notions long before his peers, instead donned the most reliable companion he’d had since – his scintillating wit, his sardonic smirk – his nigh-impenetrable walls that swiftly hid all trace of vulnerability between a well-placed quip or sharp retort.

And now the Patron Saint of Hair Gel and Perpetual Frown Lines was picking up the mantle. Stefan was always such a sucker for family traditions.

It was time to get rid of that painful, physical reminder. Remind himself that where he lived – the here and now – nothing would ever hurt him this way again. 

Damon took a quick glance through a crack in the siding. He had no idea how long he’d actually been out, but the Sun still looked too dangerous for his planned excursion.

Trapped in the shed where he could do nothing but wait until the Moon covered enough of the Sun’s surface for him to strike.

He’d felt the first stirrings of his humanity only weeks prior, the faintest bouts of empathy sneaking through when he fed, when he came close to snuffing out the light from his latest snack. He felt guilty, ashamed – perhaps it could just let this one go, he argued inwardly, when he drank his fill.

It was so sudden and unexpected that he nearly choked. What the hell? Where did that even come from? But the thoughts persisted.

What if someone waited for them, loved them? He fought the feelings off with something akin to revulsion, but they persisted.

Before he could stop himself, he sent a bouquet of apology flowers to Lexi, remorseful about his less-than-considerate trap for her on a hot, sunny New York City roof – and her without a daylight ring. At the time, he thought it was hilarious – and hitting the Reverend of Self-Righteousness right where it hurt, after he sent his glorified lackey of a bestie instead of coming himself, was too satisfying to resist.

It was the perfect revenge – until it wasn't.

The lingering empathy that slowly fought to creep forth from beneath the bowels of its decades-long prison sentence burned into his behavior. He even began to pen a note, expressing concern for his misdeed, before catching himself as though the offending paper scalded him, and quickly tossed it into the flames.

Nevertheless, he found himself on the front steps of the Boarding House with a newspaper in hand, wryly announcing the news of Kurt Cobain’s death to a less-than-pleased Stefan.

Or he could have been ecstatic. Who could tell? Stefan's been working the 'perma-frown chic' vibe ever since he sprouted fangs and started hanging out with Betsy Buzzkill.

What followed his begrudging invitation into the house was a ridiculous series of character tests through which Damon sailed with sardonic finesse, because he’s awesome, until he didn’t. The Purity Police found bite marks on the wrist of one of the boarders – apparently one romantically involved with Zach. Okay, fine, maybe feeding on Steffie’s special human friends wasn’t exactly the best show of burgeoning humanity, but he was at least trying, wasn’t he?

A pparently not, according to the Condescending Crusader, because the next thing Damon knew, he was in a sooty shed, recovering from a broken neck and a scorching case of regret.

He should have known better.

But even as Damon recalled the events that led him here, he felt the pain sliding down, slipping beneath the surface, like molten lava retreating into the depths of an active volcano. Down it went. Underneath – where it could no longer burn – where nothing hurt.

Below the walls he’d spent years cultivating, slithering past a switch that had been such a constant companion over the last few decades that he’d known its face almost better than his own.

It beckoned him smugly – you naive fool, it said, twisting in the spaces, sweeping and cleansing, removing all traces of what made him care, made him love. You’re only safe when we’re together, when you’re under my protection, it whispered.

And with a satisfying mental ‘click,’ Damon’s humanity was unceremoniously shoved back down, behind its stalwart lock, its short-lived escape attempt little more than fleeting fancy – a silly sojourn into hope that he should have never allowed himself.

He could still feel rage, hate, contempt. But the pain was gone, the sorrow, any trace of empathy, of compassion. The desperate yearning for affection, for love. All sealed away.

Just like before. As it should be.

Damon could breathe again. Could plot.

Good. No one would be able to hurt him this way. Not Stefan, not memories of his father, his mother. Not even Katherine, when it came time to release her from her subterranean confinement. He wasn’t a fool. He knew that Katherine loved his brother more, and there was absolutely no way he would expose himself to the anguish of unrequited love ever again.

Sure, he’d save her. They’d have their fun. But she’d never be able to hurt him again. No one would.

He felt every empathetic instinct within him tremble against a nigh-impenetrable vault, hidden away, banished – his humanity, forgotten. He knew that coming here was a bad idea. He never should have come back.

Damon carefully pressed himself against a wall where he was able to get a safe peek at the Sun without combusting into vampire flambe. It looked partly covered by the Moon’s shadow already.

The annularity was less than an hour away, and then he’d get his ring back. And he’d show Stefan just how well his existence could screw up his dumb, new life.

Damon was so lost in the formation of his plot to bullet out the second the annularity arrived that he scarcely noticed the introduction of a new scent suddenly filling the air. It was curious and familiar. What was it? Lake water? Along with a racing heartbeat and anxious, uneven breaths –

The figure that met his startled eyes nearly knocked his own breath out of his body, barely kept upright in his shock. He recognized those eyes – those wide, expressive, dark doe eyes that haunted his dreams for over a century, except they’d never gazed at him this way before – like a drop of healing water in a withering, scorching drought. 

Not even in his wildest dreams could he imagine Katherine ever looking at him this way.

Or was that how he looked at her? Everything in her tender visage seemed to reflect what he felt – what he would feel had he not locked it away – though the stirrings of it trying to crawl its way back up were undeniable. He fought to shove them back down.

“Damon?” Her voice was a soft whisper carried by the late Spring breeze. But how – how could this be possible?

“Katherine?” The word was out before he could stop himself, astonishment and joy and dizzying awe all fighting within him for control. She was soaked to the bone; her long, dark hair slick against her rounded cheeks, her perfectly kissable, pouty lips. When he finally managed to pull his eyes away, he took in the sight of the rest of her.

She stood in the path of the sunlight, its golden glow brightening her silhouette, illuminating the water droplets that clung to her like crystals. The only cover on her bare, olive skin were still-wet leaves in shades of gold, plastered to her thighs, her hips, the swell of her breasts.

She looked almost ethereal, and far more beautiful than he ever recalled, even in the wilds of his imagination. It was her eyes – the way she gazed upon him – the guileless, unguarded affection, the trust. It pierced him in a way he had no intention to explore.

“What the hell did you just call me!?” The adoring expression was gone in an instant, replaced by boiling outrage as her hands flew to her hips.

O-okay? Well, that was certainly … a reaction. Damon raised his hands in playful mock-supplication, but every instinct within him was suddenly on alert. “Katerina, then – if you prefer?” Was she looking to test just how much he’d learned about her former life – a desire to return to the girl she once was before donning the specter of immortality? Or was this another ruse? Katherine always did have a fondness for capricious behavior. “Kitty-Kat? The Cunning Katastrophe?”

“I am not Katherine.” He could practically feel the growl resonating from deep within her. Wow. Damon had seen enough involuntary displays of emotion in his lifetime to recognize one, and this girl was certainly triggered. Well, obviously, she seemed to know Katherine – and based on the rage that the comparison incited, she probably knew her personally. Was she under a glamour spell that gave her Katherine’s exact appearance? Just how old was she? She had to be older than him, right? If she was acquainted with Katherine.

Unless there were two of them? That’s kind of hot. His imagination began to run wild before he had to forcibly rein himself back in.

Or was there an entirely different kind of spell in place? If Steffi-saur the Sour Knight wasn’t above snapping his neck and stealing his daylight ring, who’s to say he wouldn’t inject a hallucinogen into his veins, or scheme with a witch to mess with his mind?

And not the fun kind, either. Fuck, he sometimes really missed the ‘60s.

“What I’d prefer would be to never be compared to a raging narcissist with chronic backstabbing disorder,” she replied hotly, eliciting a charmed grin from Damon at her admittedly accurate description of his vampiric former paramour. She crossed her arms over her chest, pouting adorably. 

“Okay, then, ‘not-Katherine,’” he replied with what he liked to think were an artful use of air quotes, “who are you, exactly?”

Her response was immediate and involuntary, and something within Damon’s heart clenched at the sudden devastation written into the sudden downturn of the corners of her lips, the light fading from her eyes as she glanced away from him. “You don’t know me,” she breathed. Either this girl had no poker face whatsoever, or she was the best actress he’d ever seen.

“I usually don’t make it a habit befriending escaped water nymphs,” he replied wryly, his lips twitching into a smile that was far too kind for his liking, so he immediately masked it by flashing his eyes at her in a flirtatious manner that most found devastating. “Though I definitely approve of the fashion statement.” He couldn’t tell if he was more bewildered or impressed at how comfortable she was with her nudity around him. Normally, he’d be all about exploring just how far that would go, but since Steffie just hit him with the break-neck special, he was more than a little suspicious.

She laughed, but in a way that unnerved him. There was a warmth to it that set everything inside him ablaze. She was dangerous. He expected immediate desire, perhaps bashfulness. Instead, it was almost as though the light swam back inside her, like she’d come home. “I’m Elena,” she said, taking a seat on the warm grass, tucking her legs underneath her, and gesturing to her ‘ensemble’ wryly, with a cheeky wink. “And this is an experimental look – a girl’s got to explore her options.” Although visibly delighted by his responsive smile, she winced afterward, as though about to ask something that made her uncomfortable. “What is this place?”

He slithered next to her, still wary of her presence, but determined to hide it while surreptitiously investigating her, and shooting her a grin that was positively roguish. “Salvatore family shed – perfect for storing tools, family skeletons, outdated gym equipment, private moping space, three metric tons of hair gel – and, oh yeah, pesky house guests.”

Her smile only widened, gazing at him with a familiar affection, like she was privy to a secret about him that she was unwilling to share. “Mmm,” she hummed, “and would that be you?”

“She’s a fox in both looks and brains.”

She ducked her head, giving it a subtle shake at his antics before the nerves visibly returned. “When is this? What’s today’s date?”

He frowned. “Afraid you spent too long in the underwater kingdom and missed Prom Night?”

“I’m serious, Damon. I – “ She began to chew on her lip, her eyes darting about the space as though struggling to gather her thoughts. “I know you, but you don’t know me. And I have a theory that –”

He narrowed his eyes. This was officially getting strange, and given his track record with weirdness of the witchy-woo variety, he had a sneaking suspicion that Stefan fell down the rabbit hole of self-righteousness all the way to mercenary magic town. Sure, maybe she was telling the truth, and she really was a sweet, earnest, adorable Katherine look-alike who just happened to appear right after Steffie trapped him like a bad doggie, but what are the odds? He got up sharply. “Well, this has been a rousing game of Am I Lying or Just Crazy Pants, but I’m done with whatever it is you’re playing.”

“I’m not playing a game!” It was hard to call the tone of her voice exasperated, when she looked so clearly on the verge of tears. The frustration in her tone quickly evaporated, replaced with worry when her gaze fell onto his hands. “Damon, where’s your daylight ring?”

He studied her for a quarter of a second, but decided to play along. “Count Sulkula decided I needed a time out, so he took my favorite traveling accessory,” he snarked, taking another quick glance through a crack between the boards.

“What do you keep looking at….?” Elena mumbled to herself, following Damon’s line of sight. She stuck her head out into the sunny pasture, hiding the rest of her scantily-clad body – if a bunch of leaves even counted as cover – behind the wall of the shed. “Oh, wow. Is that a transit?”

“Not just any transit,” Damon replied smugly, unable to stop himself from preening just a tad at the thought of executing his plan. “Today’s the annular eclipse.”

Quick as lightning, Elena was back in the shed, looking like she’d just heard the funniest joke of her life but had to use every quark of energy within her from erupting in explosive laughter.

“So…” the corners of her mouth lifted, and she covered a failed attempt at a stifled giggle with her hand. “You’re telling me that Stefan stole your daylight ring on the day of a solar eclipse and then...” She paused, narrowing her eyes in amusement, “left you in an easily-escapable situation, all the while keeping himself and the ring close enough for you to get back if you needed to?”

“Yep,” he said, feeling an entirely different kind of warmth fill his chest, charmed by the adorable stranger. If this was a fever dream, maybe this one wasn’t so bad – she certainly wasn’t the worst company in the world. Maybe – no, no! He needed to stay focused.

“This explains so much,” she mumbled under her breath, chancing another quick peek about this Sun.

“What was that?”

“He’s just not very good with comets, either,” she said, shrugging almost apologetically, though she couldn’t hide the mirth dancing in her eyes as she eyed him speculatively, watching him for a reaction. “What an interesting plan, Stefan has. Did he also plan to shove you into a tank, filled with sharks with ‘frickin’ laser beams attached to their heads?’”

Damon drew his eyebrows together at the range of stilted inflections that was probably meant to be an imitation of someone. “And here I thought my brother’s creepy entanglements began and ended with forest creatures, but I guess he’s expanded to sharks,” he quipped. “Are the laser beams some kind of a new kink of his?”

Elena’s shoulders shook with giggles. “Definitely before nineteen ninety-seven, then.”

While Damon’s immediate response was a suspicious lightness in his chest at his ability to make her laugh, the trajectory of the conversation gave him pause. He looked at her curiously, hoping to cover his growing anxiety that she really was someone sent here to fuck with him, with nonchalance. “Uh huh. And is this the part where you tell me you’ve been sent from the future, here to make me repent and change my ways?” he drawled, sounding almost bored, though the sharpness in his eyes as he slowly circled her said otherwise. “Hate to break it to you, Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, but you’re a few months early – so you might want to crawl back into that lake where they make Katherine models.” He paused, unable to resist teasing her again. “Though you might actually be an improvement -”

“You are so annoying!” She threw her hands up in exasperation, jumping to her feet. “Fine, yes, Katherine and I are doppelgängers, and I know it’s a lot to wrap your mind around, and I get that I caught you at a weird time, but your paranoia right now would make Klaus blush!” 

He just stared at her. Doppelgängers? And who the fuck was Klaus?

“Why do you keep assuming that this is some kind of trick?” Just as suddenly, however, her dark eyes were alight with determination – a mirth brought on by what appeared to be the formation of an idea. “I got it! I can prove that you can trust me!”

“How’s that?” he asked dubiously, putting some physical distance between them, as he scanned his surroundings for a preying Steffie, waiting in the wings.

She softly gathered the soaked locks to one side, revealing her slender neck. His fangs desperately longed to pierce the inviting flesh. “We blood share.” She must have noticed his immediate reaction, because faster than he could respond, she crossed the distance between them, and his hands were in hers, threading their fingers. “What do you have to lose?”

“My consciousness, for one,” he drawled. “Nice try, honey. What’s the play here? My sulky brother sang you a tale about his hotter, sexier, wittier brother being evil incarnate, then pumped you full of vervain, and hoped I would be dumb enough to take the bait?”

“You can be really frustrating sometimes,” she shot back without any real malice before elongating her own fangs to bite through her wrist. “Here, take a sample – since you’re so paranoid.”

A vampire. Huh. And yet somehow definitely not Katherine. He brought the wrist to his lips, taking an experimental sip. The first taste immediately filled him with warmth, cascading through his body, lighting his soul – it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, but all too quickly, she pulled her wrist away.

“Aren’t you curious?” she breathed, her own fangs inching slowly toward his neck. “Don’t tell me Damon Salvatore can resist turning this into a little sanguine exchange love shack?”

“It’s a shed.” He corrected, gesturing wildly, hoping to distract himself and her from the obvious temptation he was feeling.

“Not a very pretty one,” she replied, her eyebrows raised in challenge, before bestowing him with a smirk that looked a little too much like one he’d seen in a bucketful of mirrors. “Except for what’s inside.”

He knew it was a bad idea. Every ounce of logic within him rebelled against trusting this curious creature with his blood, his proximity, his vulnerability – but something within her made it so hard to resist. Oh, what the hell? He was already trapped. If Stefan wanted to turn him into a sexy undead candle, he had plenty of opportunities while he was unconscious.

Without preamble, he allowed his crimson to flood his eyes, his fangs elongating just as he pierced the tender flesh of her neck. His arms coiled around her of their own volition, pulling her close. He hardly had a moment to revel in just how right and good she felt in his arms, as he felt her fangs pierce him.

As soon as the sanguine elixir of her veins flooded his mouth, he felt it.

Love. Brilliant, all-encompassing, unconditional love. Love for him. It blazed through him like a wildfire, scorching him. It soothed him like a gentle wave.

It consumed him.

Damon felt his darkest, most clandestine, battered spaces that he’d fought so hard to keep safe and hidden, filled with her light – soothed with her whispers; kissed by soft lips; embraced and pressed into her heart, beating as one.

He felt her soul – everything inside her, radiant, imbued with light, driven by empathy, illuminating his dark crevices, filling them with warmth. But deeper in, further, he saw pain. Old wounds; guilt; trauma. A tenacious tendency to self-blame, a flicker of her own unworthiness to live. The weight of it almost broke him. How could she – how could someone like her believe this about herself? His only relief was that the wounds were old, nearly healed – the broken parts of her that once threatened to rip her apart were filled with him, a different version of him, holding her together, healing her. He was horrified to discover just how desperately he longed to soothe every ache, help her become whole again.

The nigh-impenetrable wall behind which he hid his humanity was rendered but a flimsy, worn paper screen, ripped apart by the wave of emotion battering against it.

His knees began to buckle under the weight of it as he stumbled back, still holding Elena in his arms, grateful that the wall of the shed against which he desperately leaned wasn’t exposed to sunlight as he fell to his knees, along with her.

When he finally pulled away, he was nearly undone by the gently calm expression on her face – the same soft tenderness he’d seen before. How was her world not completely ripped apart by this? This gargantuan tsunami that shook every foundation he held firm and set every fiber of his soul aflame with her. He fought to catch his breath, desperately searching for his switch but it couldn’t be found – not now. Even his smirk and shield of sarcasm abandoned him.

“I don’t understand.” He looked back at her with tears shining in his cerulean eyes, nearly broken and healed anew with what he just learned. ”How is this possible?”

Elena frowned, visibly confused, before her lips quirked upward in a teasing smile. “Well, this is certainly a surprise. I didn’t think I’d be the one to explain blood-sharing to you.”

“I –” he nearly choked on the wave of renewed feeling, threatening to engulf him whole before he found his voice again. “I know what blood-sharing is. But this!? " He gestured between them wildly. “How is it that you love me that much? I’ve only ever heard about this sort of thing –”

“Really?” Now it was her turn to be puzzled, but the confusion soon evaporated, leaving her enflamed with awe.

“This kind of bond takes a while to build; and you need strong feelings – you need…” he looked away, uncharacteristically bashful, the threat of exposing vulnerability after so many years practically unravelling him, but the hand gingerly cupping his cheek lured his gaze to hers without her even trying. “You need love, on both sides, and it needs to be –” 

Real.

She kissed his lips soundly before he could even finish. He immediately sank into the embrace, one hand reverently touching her cheek while the other wrapped itself fiercely around her waist, drawing her impossibly close as if to meld, become one with her. Her tongue traced a gentle line along his lower lip, beckoning access that he immediately allowed, as waves of wildfire cascaded between them, through them, setting them alight, consumed.

“I never knew it was so rare,” she blurted, gasping for air as soon as they pulled apart, then frowned, looking visibly troubled. “Or did I?”

The sight of consternation on her lovely face pierced his heart, and his lips moved to kiss away the frown between her brows before he could stop himself. “You’re really from the future?” His hands moved to caress her cheeks, her hair. He couldn’t stop touching her.

“You believe me,” she breathed, visibly relieved.

“I can’t think of any other explanation,” he confessed, drawing her back into his arms, needing her close. The sensation of her skin against his, healing wounds he’d forgotten existed – the paradoxical feeling of restorative waters soothing aching burns while simultaneously fueling the fires of desire with the proximity of her touch, her scent, the mesmerizing beating of her heart. He pulled away to look at her again, unable to decide between the two – he needed both, to feel her close and to see her, to experience her in every way. “How long did it take for this to happen - for the connection to form?”

Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second. She looked stricken; her eyes downcast before she bravely forced herself to meet his gaze again. “I – I'm guessing it took a while.”

His eyebrows were drawn into a mystified line. “You don’t know?”

She appeared to shrink into herself. “I don’t remember,” she correctly quietly. “I, um…” She swallowed the thick lump in her throat, the words broken by the emotion in her voice. “I had some memories erased – memories of us.”

“Why would someone do that to you?”

She winced, a guilty expression settling on her face. “It was my decision. I thought you died, and – “ She took a breath, then looked away. “We knew someone who could compel vampires, and he erased all the good memories of us.”

“But why – why would you do that?” The news shattered a piece of his heart, more potent than a stake. She erased him?

“I don’t know,” she said glumly, hugging her knees to her chest. “But I have a feeling I did something bad, or was about to. And no one wants to tell me the truth. My only clue is my own journal, where I called myself a monster.”

“So, you don’t remember anything about us?”

She shook her head. “Nothing good – not from before you came back. I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It’s strange – how quickly I saw that you weren’t the man from my memories. Falling in love with you – back in love with you, I suppose – it was as natural as breathing,” she said, finally meeting his gaze again, her own glistening with tears, awash with shame that was quickly being replaced by wonder. “So, I can’t really tell you anything about our life before, aside from some stories you told me,” she confessed. “But I know that I love you – more than anything in the world – more than I ever thought humanly possible.” She bit her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as her trembling hands moved to cup his cheeks. “The truth is, I can’t imagine a world where I don’t love you. A part of me wonders if I always did, but I was just too afraid. Every road in my heart leads back to you – and I have a feeling it always has.”

His hands settled over hers, his heart clenching in equal parts by her tears and the weight of her confession. He placed a soft kiss into the pulse point of her palm, a smug satisfaction at her visible shiver. “Everything I saw inside you was beautiful, Elena.” His lips pressed into a thin line, as what he knew rushed back into him, the spell of blood-sharing bliss slowly dissipating in the wake of harsh reality. “So beautiful that I know I don’t deserve you – I can’t, I –"

“The past doesn’t matter, because – because it’s not what you do for me. That‘s not who we are – we’re more than just what we do for each other, more than just our history. That’s not why I love you. I love you for who you are,” she whispered, her eyes darting between his as she placed her hand over his heart. “I love you for this.”

Everything within him threatened to come apart at her words, so he stayed almost impossibly still, for fear that if he let himself so much as breathe, he wouldn’t be able to pull himself back together. The force of it was so overwhelming that he nearly missed the flicker of worry on her face when she looked at her arm. “What’s wrong?”

She chewed on her lip. “I’m not sure how much time we have left, and I'm guessing the lake sent me here for a reason,” she said quietly, before her voice affected a determined tone. “So, I need to ask you, while I still can. I remember having done this with you twice before, and I’ve always sensed old wounds, but this time there was something fresh,” she said, the words tumbling out. “Did someone hurt you?”

He rolled his eyes, summoning every bit of theatricality he could, which wasn’t insignificant, a musically wry timbre back in his voice. “Elena, I don’t get hurt. I –“

“You can’t lie to me, Damon – not after what we just did.” Her thumbs traced the sculpted contours of his cheekbones. “I felt you.”

Damon turned away. He felt ice flood his veins, its grip squeezing, a familiar voice whispering reminders of other times he’d allowed himself to be vulnerable and where it led – where it would always, inevitably lead. But then she pressed her lips to his in a kiss so soft, the open adoration in her expressive, dark eyes so open, so sincere that the voice instantly hushed, its shadow extinguished by her light. “Tell me. Please.”

“Oh, you know,” he quipped, desperate to hide the pain in his voice. “Stef’s been watching a lot of teen dramas lately – Melrose Place, Beverly Hills - and got inspired, thought he’d try out a new trick on the squirrels by monologuing the will to live out of them. It's been making him extra melodramatic.”

She tilted her head to the side in a manner eerily familiar to him, reminiscent of his. “What did he say?”

He waved her off. “Something about ‘blah blah, you don’t have to try to screw up my dumb, new, life Damon, while polishing his morality merit badge. All you have to do is exist.’”

Her reaction was immediate, her eyes widening in horror. “He said you screw things up by existing? That your existence ruins things?”

Damon just shrugged, glancing at the sunbeams entering the shed through the open door, immediately uncomfortable with her reaction, the protectiveness feeling foreign, unfamiliar, undeserved. Not for him.

Elena leaned into him, grabbing his shoulders in an almost too-tight grip. “He’s wrong – you know he’s wrong, right?”

“You’re making a bigger deal out of this than it is, Elena.”

She shook her head emphatically. “You don’t understand!” she cried, her voice trembling, her hand pressed into his chest, over his heart. “Damon, I – I can’t imagine anything worse than you not existing. Every time I try to imagine what that was like, I –” Her voice broke, but she took measured, broken breaths, trying to calm the wild panic that settled inside her when faced with the notion of his absence from the world.

His veneer of indifference broke, wrecked by the passion in her voice, the love he now recognized in her eyes, his own misty, vision blurred against the onslaught. The aching vulnerability he knew reflected in his gaze prevented him from speaking. A cynical part of him wanted to scoff, to chide, to rib – Damon Salvatore, who prided himself at never being lost for a quip, completely unraveled by a string of sappy words. But even that part knew this was much more.

Now calmer, she inched even closer to him, her hands threading through his hair, stroking it in a manner he found hypnotically soothing. “And Stefan doesn’t think so, either – not really. You’ll become a lot closer in the future, too. You've no idea how much he missed you when he thought you were gone. He needs you, too.”

In lieu of words, he took one of her hands, pressing a soft kiss on each finger - a certain, unnamed emotion building within him with each subsequent caress. He wasn’t ready to name it yet, terrified to feel so much so quickly, but as she slid either thigh around his hips to straddle him, pulling him into a passionate kiss, he felt a familiar fire within him build. Desire, he could handle. This –

And just as suddenly, he thought he felt his lips go through hers. His terrified eyes opened to find hers apologetic, her entire form becoming increasingly transparent, a glowing visage of an Autumn lake shining in the distance behind her.

“I think it’s pulling me back, Damon,” she told him softly.

His heart fell. That along with any hope in maintaining composure. “No! You can’t leave yet. Please!”

“We’ll see each other again.” She looked so sure, despite the slight tremor in her voice.

“When?”

“About fifteen years, give or take,” she replied with a wince.

“How do I find you? How – ?” His hands reached out for hers, desperate to feel her again. He wasn't ready for this - he never would be. 

“I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you too much about the future.” A wistful smile graced her lips. She pulled a leaf from her chest, and handed it to him. “From my heart,” she said, her voice quivering. “Where you’ll always be. This will help you remember today – remember me - until we meet again.”

“I don’t think I’d ever be able to forget you,” he told her truthfully, even as he felt his heart shatter.

“I love you, Damon,” she whispered, her voice, an echo distorted by the wind, before the visage disappeared entirely, like she was never there, save for the golden leaf adoringly clasped in Damon’s hand.

The tears that gathered in his cerulean eyes finally fell, leaving delicate trails on his cheek, cooled by the Spring breeze. When his heartbeat finally began to regulate, he was aware enough to notice the slight dimming of the light. The annularity was close.

The sudden flow of empathy searing through his veins made his stomach churn at the thought of killing the boarders, but that didn’t mean he was above a well-placed threat and some theatre to get his daylight ring back.

Clutching the leaf almost reverently, he placed it into the inside pocket of his shirt, above his heart, where he could keep it safe.

Elena...

Even the memory was enough to illuminate his darkest, hidden spaces, filling him with her warmth. Tomorrow, he'd begin looking for Katherine's doppelganger. He’d find her again.

[tatteredgod]

Hurtcember Day 8

Prompt: cuddle

Summary: Begins from Day 1, continues from Day 7. Part 8/?. Kiryu tells Majima and Saejima what happened on the roof of Touto University Hospital, and in turn is told about Daigo's PTSD. An argument ensues between Kiryu and Majima. At least Daigo gets cuddled in the end…

Preview:

“Yeah. It was then Richardson and Black Monday stormed the roof. Richardson saw that Mine was no longer an ally. He and his goons had guns on us, were going to kill me and Mine…that’s when…” Kiryu laughed suddenly, incredulously. “Just fuckin’ crazy,” Majima muttered. “I still don’t believe it.” He took another swig. “What?” Saejima was annoyed. “What fuckin’ happened?” “Our sweet li’l Daigo-chan fuckin’ woke up from his coma, is what happened,” Majima told him, chuckling. “Ya know. As ya do. An’ just popped all those Black Monday goons, eh, Kiryu?” “He rolled off the stretcher, grabbed Mine’s gun and killed Richardson’s men. He even shot and disarmed Richardson.” Kiryu shook his head slowly. “It was a miracle. Sometimes I wonder if I dreamed it, all of it.”

[totalstupidityaddict]

hurtcember 6 through 8, Touch-Starved, Abandoned, and Cuddle, are up, up, UP on the StP fic!

chapter 8 preview below the cut ✨

But the Princess did not despair. After all, she had a hero now. The feathered form of her… attempted rescuer from before would be back any moment now. He had to be. But what if he wasn’t? She shook off the thought. He would be back. He would rescue her. What if something takes over him again? Ignored. Brushed away. What if he leaves me here? No. None of those were possibilities. They weren’t possibilities. The Princess shoved the thoughts far, far away, deep below a fluffy cloud of optimism. And just to be sure they were really, truly buried… He will be back. He will be back. He will be back. He will be back. He will be back. He will be back. He will be back. He will be back. He will be back. He will be back. He will be back. He will be back. He will be back. He will be—

[ao3feed-drstrange]

chosen guardian

by popcorn_plots Stephen breaks down when Wong's down for the count. Jio steps up. Hurtcember Day 8: Cuddle Words: 683, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 8 of hurtcember 2024 Fandoms: Doctor Strange (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Gen, M/M Characters: Stephen Strange, Wong (Marvel), Hamir the Hermit (Marvel), Jio (OC) Relationships: Stephen Strange/Wong, Stephen Strange & Jio (OC) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, probably, Hurt Stephen Strange via https://ift.tt/ZwjzEGP

[newwwwusername]

@hurtcember 2024 day 8: cuddle

[whumpdreaming]

Crownchain Whumpcember + Hurtcember Day 8

All the other fills can be found in my pinned post! Another flashback, this one is still not necessarily explicit but it is certainly *implied* and Sophia is a very creepy woman and is responsible for actually a large amount of Kyrie's trauma and why she has such issues accepting comfort even years into the future :)

Day 8: Cuddle + Fire (alt prompt)

Kyrie stares very intently at the fire in front of her, burning on a tall, thin brazier, sitting in Preceptor Sophia's lap. The gentle touch feels nice, but Kyrie is too focused on the fire.

With one hand rubbing her shoulder, Preceptor Sophia guides Kyrie's right hand up close to the fire, feeling its heat, watching it flicker as it illuminates the small, dark chamber.

"You know what happens now. It'll be worse if you resist," Preceptor Sophia says.

Kyrie nods dimly. Preceptor Sophia's breath is warm on the back of her neck. "You have such nice hair," she whispers into Kyrie's ear. Kyrie's eyes begin to tear up.

Slowly, Preceptor Sophia guides Kyrie's pinky finger into the fire. Instinctively, she tries to jolt her hand away, but she's not allowed, and whimpers softly at the bright pain.

"Shhh. Shhh," Preceptor Sophia soothes, kissing Kyrie on the cheek. She moves Kyrie's hand further into the fire. Kyrie starts wailing, finally allowed to rip her hand away, a fair part of her palm and two of her fingers raw and blistered, stinging harshly against the comparatively cold air. She can't close them all the way.

"A little early," Preceptor Sophia whispers, right into Kyrie's ear, resting her head in the crook of Kyrie's neck, her other hand now under Kyrie's shirt. "But you've been a good girl. So I'll accept it."

Kyrie is proud of herself — she's a good girl — and is glad that Preceptor Sophia is being so nice to her. She nods slowly, and Preceptor Sophia smiles.

[ausaplenty]

Crumbling

Cricket Croft. Lilian Moros. Trapped after an earthquake. Brief reference to suicide.

Future verse. 1004 words. Hurtcember - Day 8 "Cuddle"

The ringing in her ears was actually a distraction from the way her stomach roiled and her head swam with emotions and thoughts. The dark air was hazy with dust. She gasped as she inhaled, the action triggering a wave of nauseating pain that was definitely her own. She closed her eyes, almost wishing for unconsciousness.

“-Li! Aunt Li…LiLi …” The childish pleas faded in and out, fighting with the tinnitus. She whimpered as small hands found her shoulder and shook frantically. “Aunt LiLi! Please ... wake up!”

Cricket. The earthquake.

She groaned and forced her eyes open. Part of the roof had caved in and was angled in front of them, covering them in darkness, and there was debris surrounding them. She remembered the ground rolling below them, the beams screaming as they bent and warped. She remembered how sharp Cricket’s name sounded on her lips as she called for her. She remembered shadows rising over them, shielding them as the walls crumbled around them. She remembered a cacophony of cries and fear as the people were buried or thrown to the ground until she fainted from the weight of it all.

The 12-year-old’s face was coated with grime, marred by a thin streak of blood from her temple. Her hair stuck out at odd angles. She was saying something indistinguishable to the telepath’s ears but the familiar voice rang out in the sea of confusion and panic.

Don’t leave me. Please. I don’t know what’s happening. Please be alright.

“I’m … fine,” Lilian ground out. She tried to sit up but couldn’t stop the agonized hiss that escaped her lips as a lance of pain shot up her ribs. Her hand sought the source as she shoved the chunks of stone away from her body. She clenched teeth as her fingers found the metal shard that was embedded. Her shirt was warm and wet with blood, slowly seeping out.

Need to stop – stop the bleeding.

Cricket pushed her hand aside and gripped the piece. LiLi cried out at the violent jolt that raced through her.

“I-I’m sorry!” the child babbled, recoiling in horror. Behind her, the shadows writhed and stretched out to fill the gaps in their prison.

Like her mother, Cricket felt everything so wholly. LiLi fought against the overwhelming urge to sob from the girl’s terror and guilt. “Wha … what happened?”

The girl shuffled back, resting on her heels. She sniffed and wiped her runny nose on her arm.

“I c-couldn’t hold it,” she stammered. “Y-y-you passed o-out and I-I-I freaked out.”

That explained the injuries. She’d stopped the damage from the rapidly falling debris, but the shifting material from the aftershocks had

“Th-then the stu-stuff started f-f-falling and I-I-I couldn’t p-p-protect-”

LiLi shushed her, finding her hand and squeezing comfortingly. She stopped herself from wincing from the way Cricket clamped her hand.

“Sunshine, breathe, you did great,” the telepath soothed, trying to gently coax her goddaughter into self-regulating. Her side throbbed angrily, pulling her attention back to it. “Can you … can you do me a favor?”

Cricket nodded vigorously, crawling closer until her hands were hovering over Lilian’s body.

The telepath closed her eyes to hide the tears welling in her eyes. “I’m … I’m going to pull out the shard myself. And I need you to pack … it with shadows.”

She focused on Cricket’s thoughts, a clear beacon on the tumultuous sea, trying to shutter out any other thought and feeling that she could. There was so much going on and she was mentally buffeted by the waves of pain.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

She met the tween’s warm brown eyes.

“You can do this,” LiLi repeated, her support unwavering. She forced her hand to be just as steady when her fingers closed around the piece. “On count of three … one … two …”

The shadow spread along her side, surrounding the detritus.

“…Three.”

Lilian ground her teeth as she yanked, feeling the dark tendril cover the gash. It was like a familiar touch and she fought against the surge of memories of that stinging balm on slashes across her wrists, her throat, her heart. A whimper escaped and she couldn’t stop the tremors that cascaded over her body.

“Aunt LiLi? Are you OK?” Cricket pressed, worried. Her hand closed around LiLi’s shoulder, squeezing anxiously.

She couldn’t do this. It was too much. Everything kept piling up and she could feel her tenuous control fraying.

Lilian gasped in pain and surprise when arms gently wrapped around her torso, carefully avoiding the wound. Cricket’s head rested on her shoulder. The weight grounded her, allowing the 12-year-old’s relief and love to suffuse her mind.

Cricket. Focus on Cricket.

They sat there, comforted by the dark, while LiLi slowly fought through everything.

Cricket grabbed a shirt off the ground, turning away to shake some of the dust. The shadows tore into it, transforming it into wide ribbons that their mistress used as an actual bandage.

With a groan, Lilian shifted so she leaned against the wall.  Her side protested the move, but she ignored it. She cautiously pressed the wound, testing to see if the bleeding had stopped.

“Perfect,” she praised with a wan smile.

Her offering was met with a tentative grin before the tween climbed over her legs and cleared a spot beside her. Cricket gingerly snuggled against Lilian’s uninjured side.

The shadows prodded at the gaps, sending showers of dust and rubble. Lilian could hear creaks as the materials shifted. The building was multi-storied, meaning there was no determining how much had crumbled on top of them.

“What do we do now?” Cricket murmured, words slurring from exhaustion.

Lilian gave her a comforting squeeze. “Rest. We’ll figure it out soon.”

She started singing lullabies, ones that once been deemed too childish for the youngest Croft, until she could feel Cricket’s breathing evening out. In sleep, the child clung tightly to the telepath, oblivious to quiet breakdown.

[ao3feed-drstrange]

chosen guardian

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ZwjzEGP by popcorn_plots Stephen breaks down when Wong's down for the count. Jio steps up. Hurtcember Day 8: Cuddle Words: 683, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 8 of hurtcember 2024 Fandoms: Doctor Strange (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Gen, M/M Characters: Stephen Strange, Wong (Marvel), Hamir the Hermit (Marvel), Jio (OC) Relationships: Stephen Strange/Wong, Stephen Strange & Jio (OC) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, probably, Hurt Stephen Strange read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ZwjzEGP