#whumpcember day 3

[supercriminalbean]

It's cold.

Alex Blake x Male!reader.

Summaray: Day three of Whumpcember prompt hypothermia.

Warnings: Almost drowning. Frozen lake. Kid almost drowning.

A/N: I know it's day 4 but it's been a busy two days. So here's day three and say four most likely be posted with day 5 cos I'm outta energy. So love you enjoy.

@whumpcember

Of course the unsub had to push the kid into the Icy lake. You didn't even second guess it, you jump straight into the lake as the unsub makes his escape. The water is cold and the pressure pulls you under as you fight against

the current to grab the kid. Your hand grips the kid tightly, as you swim towards the surface. Half the surface is still covered in a thin layer of ice, you fight hard to find an open space. Finally you reach the surface, gasping for air as you hold the kid against you. She's breathing crying softly into your chest as you stroke her hair. You look back at the land, you're somehow further out than you thought, you can see your team standing there watching you. You swim quickly but carefully over to them, shaking in the freezing cold water.

~~~

Eventually you reach your team, Morgan and Hotch meeting you in the water to help grab the kid and help bring you to safety. The medics have already arrived, warming blankets already being thrown over the little girl. Alex wraps her arms around you, trying to pull a blanket over your shoulders.

"N no, A Alex I'm f fine, she n needs them more" You argue through shattering teeth.

"Don't argue with me, she has enough we need to warm you up" Alex argues against you, wrapping the blanket tightly around your shoulders. The look she gives you makes you go quite, leaning into her enjoying her warmth.

"We need to get you warm, come on mister" She smiles softly, wrapping her arm around you as she leads you to the ambulance.

~~~

You are on your way back to the hotel, the medics declared you don't need to go to the hospital. The rest of the team are still processing the scene and paperwork, Hotch order you to get home and get warm. Alex was quick to volunteer to take you back, wanting to make sure you're going to be okay.

"Are you warm enough?" Alex ask glancing at you, seeing you rubbing your hands together in front of the heater.

"Getting there, but I need a shower when we get back" Shivering softly as your body starts warming up.

"I'll turn the heater on, and I'll find you some more blankets to" Alex comments remembering the thin blankets the hotel has.

"You know" Smirking at Alex, "Body heat is more effective"

"Is that way of saying you want me in your bed tonight" Alex can't help but laugh, her sweet laughter filling up the car.

"Well it would keep me warm, plus you run hot" Your smile grows as you listen to her laughter, your heart skipping a few beats.

"Well I guess I could keep my boyfriend warm tonight" Alex laughs softky watching your cheeky smile grow.

"Well if you want me to keep me warm you could--" Before you could finish your sentence Alex is quick to slap you playfully on the arm.

"Behave"

"Yes ma'am"

~~~

You take a long, hot shower, enjoying your body coming back to life. You pull some dry clothes on as you leave the bathroom, smiling as you see your girlfriend already snuggled into bed.

"You don't want to shower?" You ask as you hang up your towel.

"No, I think cuddles sound better" She smiles up at you before reaching her arms towards you. Laughing softly you climb into bed beside her, pulling her into your arms.

"Oh so much better" You mumble into her hair, enjoying her body heat.

"You seem to have warmed up" She comment snuggling into your arms.

"Definitely, expect my lips are still cold" Chuckling softly as you look down meeting her love full eyes.

"Let me warm them up then" She smirks as you lean down capturing her lips with yours. The kiss is sweet and loving, it doesn't last long when you two pull away.

"Much better thank you" You smile, running your hand through her hair.

"You need to get some rest, my love" Alex mumbles, closing her eyes.

"You too, I love you, Alex"

"I love you to sweets" Alex smiles opening her eyes as she watches you fall asleep.

[dogdaysareover365]

@whumpcember day three (alternate prompt one - sore throat)

Title: Sore Throat

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Fandom: Yellowjackets (TV)

Relationship: Shauna Shipman & Jackie Taylor, Minor Jeff Sadecki/Shauna Shipman

TW: Implied/Referenced Cheating

Summary: Jackie comes down with a nasty case of strep. She calls up Shauna.

[fanfictasia]

Whumpcember Day 3

Hypothermia

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from When Stars Align

Barriss isn’t that hard to get past, all things considered. Anakin vents again, hiding until Obi-Wan finally contacts him to tell him to rupture the coolant system. That’s not hard, either to do or to get to. What matters is stopping these creatures, more than anything else.

Anakin is still hidden safely in the vents when his master contacts him with the information that cold should kill the worms. Considering the heat of Geonosis, that makes sense. Cold certainly isn’t ideal, considering Anakin has nothing to keep warm in, but it’s the best they can do. They’ll… have to get off-board fast to avoid freezing to death.

The air is foggy as the temperature drops below freezing. Anakin never realized exactly how humid air was on ships until right now, but the ship is still moving fast, and he needs… he doesn’t know, but he’s afraid to dock at the station right now.

Master Fisto did give him orders, though.

He’s mid-contacting the Jedi master again to tell him he succeeded, and to ask if he has nay further instructions, only for Barriss to jump out at him, slamming her lightsaber down on the controls.

Anakin jumps out of his seat, drawing his lightsaber and grabbing one of the pipes leaking icy air, shoving it towards her. The cold is supposed to kill the worms, and the faster they’re dead, the sooner the chance of them getting out of here.

His hands are numb enough that he can hardly feel his lightsaber, can’t feel anything except the fact that it’s freezing and everything is freezing, and they better dock soon before anyone freezes to death. To be fair, humans don’t die that fast, but he has a right to be worried after everything that’s happened here.

Barriss is trying to infect him – or at least the worm in her is. It’s sickening and Anakin hasn’t wished so desperately he wasn’t alone since he and Barriss were trapped in the factory together. But at least, they had each other there.

He can’t say the same now.

All he knows is that he wants to get out of here, and he Force-shoves Barriss across the room.

She hits the floor, the worm screeching something in Geonosian, or at least that’s what it reminds Anakin of.

“Kill me,” she pants weakly. “Please.”

Anakin stares at her, a gut-wrenching horror ripping him apart inside out. She’s – he can’t do that. “This isn’t you,” he argues, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. We’ll be okay,” he adds, because even if it won’t do much to help, he has to try. She needs the reassurance, and Anakin can’t imagine what it would be like to get possessed by something. It sounds – he doesn't want to think about it.

She’s panicking, and so is he – there’s really nothing they can do except wait for the cold to take effect. Is it hurting her? Will she be alright?

Will the clones be alright? Anakin has no idea.

(Barriss killed one of them, she killed Trap, and Anakin can’t get that moment out of his head. There was nothing he could do but stand there, and he – who will he lose next?)

She pushes herself to her feet again, and Anakin shifts, repositioning himself and slashing the worm in half. If it’s dead, well – maybe he can free her, though that won’t do good for the clones still aboard.

At least he can save her.

That’s – the most Anakin can do right now.

[3xamenace]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Peter Parker, The Winter Soldier Additional Tags: Hydra (Marvel), Whump, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Whump, Female Peter Parker, Gender or Sex Swap, I need a name for this AU Series: Part 12 of captshipper's Starker & Peter Parker fanfics, Part 12 of events, challenges & bingo cards Summary:

her handler sighs, his thumb and index fingers presses the bridge of his nose: "why are you carrying a child over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes?"

she just shrugs.

the male scientist was her target, not his female companion and much less then small child.

at this point, the handler should be used to the Soldat bringing strays around.

or: the winter soldier shot down the plane the Parkers were in, nobody said anything about a child in there.

@amonthofwhump's winter whumpland 2023: day 03. drowning + @whumpcember 2023: day O3. hypothermia

[written-by-jayy]

Whumpcember, day 3: Hypothermia-

CW: Hypothermia, PTSD, Flashback, Vague backstory

Word count: 825

Chapter 1 pt.1, Chapter 1 pt.2

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Adam ran. He ran for his life. He wasn't sure where he was running to but knew where and what and who he was running from. Anywhere was better than there.

He knew it was hopeless. The ground was covered in a blanket of deep snow, not only making in hard for him to run, but also leaving an obvious trail of footprints leading straight to him.

His only hope was that the storm he was running directly into would be a snowstorm.

He could still hear the shouting of the prison hospital guards staff, accompanied by the barking of dogs.

God, why did he ever think this would be a good idea? Why would he ever think he could ever escape? Ever outrun them? Ever be free and safe?

How could he be.

So.

Stupid.

In one hand he gripped his two blood-stained, water-logged, half frozen stuffies. His only source of comfort in his time at the hospital.

In the other he held a pistol.

He had no clue how aim nor fire a gun and even if he did know how, he prayed he wouldn't have to. If it was even loaded. He had grabbed it on his way out the ground-floor window from which he had escaped. He guessed that one of the security had left it there after cleaning it.

His tears were nearly frozen to his cheeks as he ran through the icy wind which was slowly picking up as he ran closer to the storm. His ragged and torn 'clothes' flapped, blowing in the same way as his short, tangled hair.

Was the yelling getting closer? Or was he just paranoid?

His lungs burned and he could barely breathe.

He could feel his knees buckle and nearly give out. He stumbled forward and barely caught himself.

Now they were definitely closer. With every trip and slip and dodging of trees, he was losing time. Losing distance. Losing energy.

Before he knew it, he was deep into a snowstorm. Thank god. He had a chance. His footprints would be covered.

He had a new burst of adrenaline and determination. He clutched his ice cold stuffies and the heavy pistol to his chest in both arms, hung his head down, trying to keep snowflakes out of his eyes.

Next thing he knew, he was on his back, sprawled on the ground with his head throbbing and his cold body aching more then it had been before.

With all the strength and energy he could muster, he picked his head off the ground, looking dazedly at the tree he had just plowed into. Now with splotches of blood on its bark and on the snow around it. He noticed his stuffies, which had been flung from his arms, he grabbed them and curled up in a fetal position around them.

And like this, shivering, scared, lost and alone. He fell unconscious.

~~~

"Adam? You okay there?"

He blinked, eyes focusing on a familiar, friendly figure.

He instantly felt every muscle in his body relax as he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding and watched the cloud it created in the cold, winter air.

"Hey? You in there, buddy?"

Hands cupped his face, thumb gently wiping away his silent tears.

It was Rowan. He was safe. He was home.

He nodded.

"Alright, good. You had me worried there for a minute. I found the key, it was at the bottom of my bag," Rowan explained, sheepishly, "let's go inside, hm?"

Adam nodded again and let Rowan's warm hand hold his and guide him into their dorm and onto the couch.

"I'll make you some hot cocoa. Is that okay?"

Adam once again only nodded. Words failing him, as they often did after one of his episodes.

Rowan smiled sweetly and left to start the water on the stove.

Adam thought through what had just happened. He found that this helped him figure out what his triggers were, how to avoid them, and just helped him process it in general.

Rowan took him to the grocery store- his first time being out since his awful fever,

They got back home after about an hour, Adam already anxious from the crowds and the cold,

Rowan couldn't find his key,

Adam's shivering, anxiety, and desperation to just get inside must have been enough to cause him to have a panic attack.

He took a deep breath through his nose, smelling the familiar scent of Rowan's cologne mixed with the citrus-vanilla candle.

He held it for a moment, listening to Rowan clanking in the kitchen and the water boiling.

And he exhaled, opening his eyes slowly and taking in the navy blue, smokey gray, and chestnut brown color scheme of the living room.

He had escaped.

He had outrun the prison guards.

He was safe and he was free.

And he was happy.

At least he thought that was what this was...

Happiness.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's note: I'm actually so happy with how this one turned out! Especially after those last two failures. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it

Chapter 3 (coming soon)

[serickswrites]

Winter Winds

Warnings: captivity, fever, hypothermia, hidden injury, blood, infection, sickness

Caretaker huddled close to Whumpee. It was so cold in the dungeon that they could barely feel their fingers. They huddled around what warmth they had and tried to share it with Whumpee.

Whumpee had been pretty quiet since Whumper threw them into Caretaker's cell. Caretaker was relieved that Whumpee appeared unharmed, though Whumpee's eyes were exceptionally bright and hollow. Whumpee barely spoke, no doubt overwhelmed from everything that Whumper had done to them.

"We'll be out of here, soon, Whumpee," Caretaker whispered as they both shivered, "and then we can go somewhere warm on vacation."

"A long vacation," Whumpee replied through their chattering teeth.

Caretaker smiled. "Yes, a very long vacation. Scoot closer, Whumpee, your shivering is getting worse." Caretaker wrapped their arm around Whumpee. Despite the frigid room, Whumpee radiated heat. Sweat beaded on their forehead.

"Thanks," Whumpee whispered as they leaned into Caretaker. "So cold."

Caretaker put a hand to the back of Whumpee's clammy forehead. "Whumpee, are you feeling ok? You're burning up!"

Whumpee stared at Caretaker with fever bright eyes. "I'm f-f-fine. D-D-Doesn't hurttt anymore," Whumpee slurred.

Caretaker's mouth went dry. "Where are you hurt, Whumpee?"

Whumpee's eyelids drooped. "Tired."

Caretaker tapped Whumpee's cheek. "Stay awake, Whumpee. Where did Whumper hurt you?" They began to feel along Whumpee's shirt, searching for any tearing to indicate there was a wound beneath.

Caretaker froze as they touched torn cloth on Whumpee's side. They carefully shifted Whumpee so they could see the wound. Blood crusted over a jagged cut on Whumpee's side. "Whumpee? Whumpee, how old is this?"

"N-N-Notttt cccccold n-n-now-ow-ow-ow," Whumpee whispered as they closed their eyes.

Caretaker leaned Whumpee against their shoulder while they tore at Whumpee's shirt. "Stay awake, Whumpee. Stay with me. Come on." Caretaker gasped as they exposed the clearly infected wound. "Whumpee, wake up. Whumpee!"

[rustys-side-coach]

"It’s your song, that can’t be wrong."

Whumpcember - Day 6: "Please stop"

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Starlight Express

summary: Rusty thinks he’s safe now, that he could whistle as much as he wanted without fault.

But he couldn’t.

And a specific diesel reminds him.

[astaldis]

Chapter 3 - Flight

@hurtcember @whumpcember

Fandom: The Witcher (TV)

After having been ambushed by humans, Gallatin is seriously wounded. Lucky for him, not all humans hate elves. Of course, it's not all that easy for Cahir to fulfil his dangerous mission in the Nazairean highlands either. - This is the story of how Gallatin and Cahir meet for the first time. (Set shortly after Emhyr defeated the Usurper in 1260.)

Whumpees: Gallatin, Cahir

Caretakers: Cahir, Gallatin

Chapters: 3/4 Words: 7,191

Read on Ao3:

[em-writes-stuff]

hypothermia

day three of @whumpcember

598 words

warnings: kidnapping, freezing, collecting frozen corpses(?)

~

The first report found in the correct place. Although I guess it’s hard to misplace a mouth-to-paper report on ice witches. What with the frostbitten hand embossed into the seal. I’ll never understand how people find the time. 

I don’t know much about ice witches, just that they like to collect things. We’ll see how that holds up to this. 

Source is trusted as they come: an ancient warning elders tell children from the time they’re old enough to roll over. In all likelihood, none of this is true and the grannies made it up to keep children from wandering. No matter, I’m sure someone will think it’s true no matter what I say. 

Let's get this over with. 

There are witches sneaking through the Rotting Forest that turn everything to ice with a touch. There is no way to tell them apart from you or I, until it’s too late and you see the frost around their eyes or the dead, black fingertips they hide with thick gloves until you can’t escape. 

So be wary of strangers you meet. 

They stalk and hunt for prey each night, freezing who- or what-ever they can touch. They bring their catch back to their caves and store them until they need to cook something up in their witch’s cauldron. 

There’s no way to defeat these witches with hearts of ice, you can only run, and run, and run. Until they catch you. Because they will catch you. 

And if they decide not to freeze you, it’s a fate much worse. They’ll snatch you up in a hanging basket and carry you back with them to hang you up in the caves where they keep their prey, waiting for the cold to take you. 

And the ice is much more welcoming than the fire, it welcomes almost anything into its heart. Once it takes you, you can’t get warm, your breath will never fog up again, no matter how cold it is, your fingers will turn a dark, rotting black and it will hurt every time you blink. 

And after a few days, they’ll come back to check on you, if the ice welcomes you, you’re brought into the hovel and welcomed as a sibling, they dance around you and feed you whatever you ask for. In this time, you cannot forget you're still bound by the ankles. 

Your rage at them must remain white-hot, burning inside you until the ropes are cut and you can run. You run, and run, and run, until they catch you. 

Because there’s no escape. 

And they’ll put you back in their hanging cage, looking over their catch, stuck memorizing the faces of those you recognize, the faces you love and those you hate. 

Until they loosen the binds holding you so tightly, keeping you with them. And you stay, because you’re so tired of running. You’re tired of being caught. And you’re tired of the hot sun burning your face. 

~

Wow. 

Just as I guessed, a tale made up by old people to scare kids out of running away from their horrible homes. The only probable thing in this report is the iced-over eyes and blackened fingertips. 

There’s no evidence that any type of witch has need for humans in spells, especially since their main source of magic is from magical plants and the odd animal. If witches are using humans in their spells, it’s a magician that’s hidden their magic from everyone.

This will be put back in the elemental magic section and the recording in the “witches-forests-rotten forest” file. Per Ezran’s request. 

[sunshine-zenith]

Castiel manages to lift an arm, intending to reach after the bird, but all that happens is it awkwardly flops back down across his chest. He doesn’t understand -- he should have better control of his vessel. He forces himself to take stock, but all he finds is he’s shaking -- shivering -- and behind the burning sensation throughout his body is this horrible, scarring cold.

--

@whumpcember Day 3, Hypothermia (plus alt prompt 3, Drowning)

CW: near death experience, (brief) emetophobia

T, 1.5K words, human Cas, hurt Cas, protective Dean, hunt gone wrong

[windfighter]

It doesn't work like that

Prompt: "Shouldn't you be happy?"

------

Kouji was sitting in the garden, leaned against a tree. Wolf laid next to him, head in Kouji’s lap and Kouji petted him. Kousei leaned against the doorframe, watched them. Kouji’s eyes seemed to look at something far away, and yet they didn’t seem to see anything. Kousei sighed and walked over to Kouji.

”Shouldn’t you be happy?” he asked.

Kouji blinked, turned to look at him. His movements were slow and Kousei realized Kouji must have been deep in his own thoughts. Maybe he shouldn’t have interrupted. He guestured at nothing in particular.

”You’ve found your brother, and Tomoko. You have friends. We’re not going to move any time soon”, Kousei continued. He was still waiting for Kouji to show any anger about keeping Tomoko and Kouichi a secret. ”Shouldn’t you be happy?”

Kouji buried his fingers in Wolf’s fur and frowned. He slowly shook his head.

”...Depression doesn’t work like that”, he said.

Kousei knew that. He had been there when Kouji got diagnosed, had read up about it to be able to help, but it was still… He still thought the depression was because Tomoko’s death. He scratched the back of his neck.

”I know, it just… hurts to see you like this.”

Kouji smiled. It wasn’t happy, but it also wasn’t forced.

”I’m fine”, Kouji said. ”You don’t need to worry.”

”I’m not worrying”, Kousei said. He realized it was a lie. ”Okay, maybe a little. I just want to see you happy.”

”I’m not not happy”, Kouji said. ”Sometimes I just need to go outside and touch grass.”

Kousei put a hand on Kouji’s head and ruffled his hair. He tried to smile.

”Okay then”, he said. ”You know I’m always here if you need me.”

Kouji rolled his eyes before he nodded.

”I know, dad.”

Kousei knew Kouji well enough to tell that it was a lie. It would be useless to press. He patted Kouji’s shoulder.

”Dinner’s in an hour, after that we’ll take Wolf for a walk”, he said. ”Don’t lose track of time.”

Kouji nodded and Kousei walked back into the house.

[whumpcember]

Welcome to the 3rd annual Whumpcember!

Once again, it is just me running the event, so please be aware of any human error. I am grateful for all the participation with choosing the blog theme as well as picking this year's prompts! I hope everyone has a good Whumpcember, and now, here are the rules:

Prompts should be answered with whump as the main focus

Fanfic! Gif! Text post! Fanart! Fan video! Any piece of media that you can possibly make that has whump counts!

You can use the prompts any time! Don't feel the need to rush

Though, prompts answered during December will most likely be reblogged

Post anywhere! AO3, Wattapad, Tumblr, or even Fanfic.Net! So as long as you make a Tumblr post with a link to the answered prompt it may be reblogged.

When posting onto Tumblr you can either @ the blog or tag with #whumpcember24 and the day's tag, such as #whumpcember24 day1

Don't forget to add any warnings necessary, such as NSFW or sexual content

An AO3 Collection will go out on December 1 and close January 1, it's not mandatory, but if you want your works saved in a collection, make sure you get it in on time!

At the end of the month a masterpost will go out to all participants and a badge you can save stating that you are either a participant or completionist. In order to be on the masterpost though, you will have to fill out a google form at the end of month; don't worry it'll take two minutes!

If you have any more questions, send me an ask, but please read the FAQ first!

Written Prompt list below:

Day 1: Broken Bones

Day 2: "This Is Your Fault"

Day 3: Begging

Day 4: "This Isn't My Blood"

Day 5: Concussion

Day 6: "Please Stop"

Day 7: Kidnapped

Day 8: "No. Not Like This"

Day 9: Shaking

Day 10: "Let Me Help You"

Day 11: Manipulation

Day 12: "I Have Nowhere Else To Go"

Day 13: Trauma

Day 14: "I Never Wanted This"

Day 15: Broken Glass

Day 16: Amnesia

Day 17: Greatest Fear

Day 18: Poisoned

Day 19: Panic Attack

Day 20: "Please Leave"

Day 21: Bruises

Day 22: Hallucinations

Day 23: Overwhelmed

Day 24: Walking On Injuries

Day 25: Healed Wrong

Day 26: Falling

Day 27: Hypothermia

Day 28: Whipped

Day 29: Choked

Day 30: Saying Goodbye

Day 31: Hearing Voices

Alt. 1: Sore Throat

Alt. 2: Memory

Alt. 3: Fire

Alt. 4: Lies

Alt. 5: "You're Allowed To Fall Apart"

Alt. 6: "Could You Stay A Little Longer?"

Alt. 7: Motion Sickness

Alt. 8: Running Away

Alt. 9: Alternative Bandages

Alt. 10: "Tell Me I'm Wrong"

[katyawriteswhump]

sleigh bells ring, I'm not listening! (steddie holiday drabble/bingo/whumpcember)

For @steddieholidaydrabbles day 5 prompt, Winter Sports; my first @steddiebingo fill, ‘Dustin Henderson,’ and @whumpcember day 21 prompt, ‘bruises.’ (It was originally day 5 prompt, concussion, but I ended up sparing the boys that for once!)

WC: 977; Rating T; CW: None; Tags: established steddie, mild whump hurt/comfort, fluff.  Maths terms provided by my partner. I have no idea what they mean and have doubtless misused them.

Summary: Steve loves all sports. Apart from winter sports. So, when he’s literally dragged from bed to go sledding with Dustin and Eddie, he’s surprised when it turns out rather magical…

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

“Remind me why I agreed to this?” Steve trailed a sled along the snowy track. He glared hotly at Dustin, then pleadingly at Eddie, who trudged on his other side. “It’s too cold for anything other than fucking… sleep.”

Eddie smirked. He didn’t look as miserable as Steve, which was annoying. Dustin, meanwhile, was having none of it:

“Dudes! This is your once-in-a-lifetime embarkation on a voyage of mathematical curiosity. Today, we’re exploring chaos theory! Mandelbrot bifurcations! Feigenbaum constants! You’re never gonna paddle those icy waters alone.”

“You wanna stick a pin in that balloon-head?” Steve asked Eddie, “or should I?” 

Eddie laughed then sneezed dramatically. Steve stopped dead. “You know what? I love sports. Apart from winter sports. Skiing. Luge. Skating. All that shit. Hate it.”

“You worship at the altar of ice-hockey,” pointed out Eddie. 

“Whose side are you on?” Steve nearly yelled: I’m not being dragged into this by a pair of sport-hating geeks! Instead, he mumbled, pathetically, “Wanna go home.”

By now, they’d reached Hawkins’ top sledding slope. A smattering of kids zoomed down the super-compacted ice. Eddie regarded the scene with a misty smile, which shocked Steve out of his grouchiness.

“I’m in, Henderson.” Eddie’s smile evolved into a full-on-adorable, dimpled grin. “I got great memories of this spot—me, mom, and a big-ass tea-tray. Who needs a goddamn sled?”

“We do.” Dustin whipped out a stopwatch. “We’ve a shitload of interesting variables at play here. Let’s go.”

‘Science’ commenced. Dustin sledded first, then Steve, who gritted his teeth and endured. Eddie went last, screaming his way down the slope… 

“…like a little girl,” said Dustin to Steve, super-earnest. “A little girl who’s in need of hugs, Steve.”

“Bullshit on so many levels.” Steve pointed to a nearby grade-school sledder. “She isn’t screaming. And my boyfriend’s scream is totally metal.”

“Okay. Just, y’know…” Dustin mumbled behind his hand, as Eddie approached with the sled. “He needs more hugs.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. Huh?

After several more runs, Dustin leafed through his notebook. “Interesting data. Now, both of you—on the sled.”

Steve planted frozen fists on his hips: “No way. Not big enough.”

“It’s fine,” said Eddie. “Totally bigger than mom’s tea-tray.”

Steve silently surrendered yet again. Eddie treasured memories of his mom, who passed when he was young. This clearly meant a lot to him, as well as Dustin, so Steve took pole position to steer—as much as anyone could with a dumb rope. Eddie perched behind, wrapping his arms around Steve, notching his chin on Steve’s shoulder. It was super-cosy, and… yeah, super-nice. They didn’t usually get this close in public, plus they’d avoided showing affection in front of their friends lately because—

“Ready?” yelled Dustin.

Steve’s nerves jangled. Eddie yelled: “Hell, yeah! Steddin’ with the Devil!”

“3, 2, 1, GO!”

Heel-power propelled them off. Wind whooshed through Steve’s hair, while Eddie unleashed his most deafeningly ‘metal’ scream yet. It was a bumpy ride, but mega-fun. Steve found himself grinning madly, though fearing for his hearing, and then:

“Shiiiiit!” He spotted the rock way too late. On impact, the world flipped, and he was thrown from the sled, landing heavily on his side. He suppressed a whimper, because something else mattered way more:

“Eddie?”

His heart lurched to his throat, pounding madly even after he spotted Eddie lying in the snow. Steve scrambled up, limped gingerly over: “You okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

Steve nodded.

Eddie finished his snow-angel and sat up, shaking his hair like a wet dog: “Mom said it ain’t sledding till you crash.”

 “All good, gentlemen?” panted Dustin, skidding to join them.

“Apparently.” Steve dumped his bruised butt down next to Eddie.

“Great,” said Dustin. “Why aren’t you hugging?”

 “Uuuuuuh, should we be?”

“Yes!” shouted Dustin, and it all blurted out. Apparently, ‘science’ had a secondary agenda.  “You used to be all lovey-dovey smoochy! Lately, you’ve hardly touched. I figured if I got you squished on a sled, adrenaline rushing, old magic might rekindle?”

Steve merely gawked at Dustin, whose recent weirdness began to make sense. Eddie, meanwhile, threw his arms around Steve’s neck and spoke between bursts of crazy laughter: 

“The issue here, Dustin Henderson, is lack of Party communication. We stopped touching, because Max said we made her wanna hurl. Mike complained it was creepy! We’re still in love! I mean, when you thumped on our door today, we were totally fu… cuddling.” 

“Oh,” said Dustin, visibly brightening. Eddie resumed cackling into Steve’s shoulder. Steve took his cue to fling both arms around Eddie and burrow close for warmth.

Once back home, they got dry and toasty, gently kissing each other’s more visible bruises. Eventually Eddie, stretched out on the bed, noticed Steve’s slight limp. “You got another bruise to show me, Baby?”

Steve tugged down his pants, revealing a mottled rainbow-spectrum of colors spreading up his thigh and ass-cheek to his hip. He coyly arched a brow. “Honest to God, today was a blast and totally worth it… but, yeah, that spot requires serious kissing better.”

“Looks too sore even for kisses.” Eddie flung open his arms. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t you dare be. It was my shitty steering.”

“C’mere. Right now.”

Steve obeyed, rolling back into the enthusiastic lovemaking that science and goddamn Henderson had interrupted. He bitched about his bruise, but only slightly—especially as Eddie lavished extra care on nearby areas, with lips and tongue, to distract him.

“Sledding again tomorrow?” suggested Eddie, much later, while they snuggled inside watching fresh snow falling.

“You are joking, right?”

“Don’t worry, Stevie. Your ass is safe… though maybe not from me.”

Eddie’s answer segued into a sweet, lingering kiss, which Steve returned enthusiastically. He’d learned important shit today about his two favorite people. Eddie loved sledding. And Dustin loved his friends loving each other. Steve still blindsided himself, breaking the kiss to whisper:

“Maybe more sledding next week?”

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

tags: @wheneverfeasible 💚 My stranger things fic on AO3

[marvelstoriesepic]

Whumpcember (day 18)

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Prompt: Poisoned

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Vivid descriptions of illness; poisoning; worried!Bucky

Author’s note: Don’t ask me where this came from, I have no idea. But, thank you for reading! <3

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

You hear him pacing outside your chamber.

His boots strike the stone floor in sharp, angry bursts.

Occasionally, the sound halts, but his voice doesn’t. He’s fuming. It started with low, threatening murmurs that soon escalated into raised voices - or rather one raised voice. He didn’t really let anyone else come to word. You can only assume he’s talking to his guards.

He’s on edge. Has been ever since your first symptoms appeared.

It started this afternoon, as you and Bucky - or Prince James to everybody else - strolled through the palace gardens.

It had been a great day, a little cold, but not terribly so. You had been laughing with him, feeding the ducks by the pond and he had playfully threatened to throw you in there himself if you told Knight Samuel about the way he had picked up some flowers for you at the edge of the water. Your laughter after that wasn’t very lady like but it just got worse when he started chasing and tickling you.

But you started to feel it as the two of you settled under the big willow tree.

It was a discomfort in your stomach, an unease that settled and burrowed, deeper the longer you dismissed it.

Bucky, of course, had picked up on your shift immediately and rushed you back inside. By then you already were pale, clammy, and lightheaded.

Now, confined to your chambers by Bucky’s orders, you’re surrounded by an entourage of healers, endlessly fretting over your condition.

They hover at your bedside, fingers continuously brushing your forehead, checking your pulse, mixing tinctures, and murmuring theories to one another in hushed voices.

There are always at least two or three of them at any given time, a constant rotation that leaves you feeling scrutinized, yet strangely detached from their fussing.

You can’t even roll over without one of them pausing to announce it to your parents and Bucky

It feels as though every thirty seconds, someone is rushing out to deliver updates to him.

He demands to be told everything; the slightest change in your complexion; the smallest shift in your breathing. He refuses to let the healers leave anything unsaid. And he takes every single one of the smallest updates on your condition with a seriousness that could have made you laugh in any other circumstance.

His clipped and commanding tone drifts in from the hall and you feel a little bad for the people receiving it.

Normally, the prince is full of composure and control, but that only ever seems to shatter when it comes to you.

You picture him out there, bristling with anger, his jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists as he barks orders and questions on how this could have happened. How you could have ended up falling ill.

He barely lets anyone else talk and when someone does, it doesn’t seem to be a good enough answer, judging the unmistakable sound of something heavy - perhaps a boot or a fist - striking a wall.

You wince again at the sharp pain tormenting your stomach. Your skin feels too cold one moment and burning hot the next, as though your body can’t decide whether to shake or sweat.

The faint dizziness from earlier has grown into a persistent haze that seems to move to your vision slowly, making it a little harder to get a clear picture. You try to blink it away.

There is a bitter taste at the back of your throat that no amount of water or tea can wash away.

The healers whisper words like poison when they think you’re too weak to hear them, but you hear them all the same.

The door to your chambers creaks open. The sound is urgent, and before you know it, Bucky is at your side. His movements are stiff, almost forceful, and though he likely doesn’t mean to, he brushes a healer away in his haste to get to you.

The poor man stumbles back, his hand still clutching the damp towel he’d been using to cool your fever.

But Bucky pays him no mind. His focus is singular, and he takes the towel himself.

With a tenderness that almost undoes you, he presses the cloth to your forehead. His touch is infinitely soft. It’s the kind of touch that aches.

He looks at you, you notice.

You feel it rather than seeing it. His gaze burns hotter than your fever does. Slowly, weakly you tilt your head to face him better. It takes effort. The hotness raging beneath your skin deliberately melts away your vision, making Bucky swim before you.

But you see enough. Enough to say that he left his furiousness outside in the hall. Here, inside, with you, this is just Bucky. Bucky as worried and unfiltered as he can get when it comes to you.

Your thoughts come slow. Lazily dragging through your mind and switching directions too often for you to latch onto something specific.

The towel brushes against your temple again, and though the coolness should bring relief, his touch you notice more.

His lips are moving, you realize when your eyes start to roam his face. He’s talking to you, but his voice is not yet fully meeting your ears. His words swim just like his face, in and out of reach.

You blink sluggishly, barely able to focus, but sounds start to come in.

He, like the healers before says something about poison. And it’s not the word that leaves the pain in your chest, it’s the way he says it. With his voice so quivery and rough.

“-slow-acting poison-” you catch again, with the same tone. “-subtle enough no one noticed it until it was too late.”

He calls your name then, and you blink a few times. The heavy blue of his eyes builds its picture in your mind and you try so much to focus.

He is breathing heavily. His lips are parted. His brows are knit together and his face is morphed in a grimace of desperation and pain as he still lets his eyes sear a hole through you.

He drops his head for a moment, exhaling sharply. He releases an anguished sound with it and clears his throat. He seems to be trying to focus too, just for other reasons.

“The testers,” he continues, and the sharp pain punctures your stomach again. Because the thickness in his voice sounds too much like guilt to you. So much guilt. “They… they are in the same condition as you. Same symptoms, same timeline.”

A shaky breath rattles out of him again as he swipes the towel over your forehead once more, dabbing your skin.

His eyes flicker over your face. There is a wetness to them. His pupils can’t stay in place, moving swiftly between your own eyes as if he’s searching for signs in you. Shadows spill across his gaze, fear trembling in the sheen of his watery blues.

“I should have caught this.” His voice is a whisper but it sounds like gravel.

He can’t go down that road again right now. Not when you’re in no condition to protest and argue with him as you normally would.

You even have problems swallowing. You have to put effort into blinking.

There is no way you can tell him that this is in no way his fault.

His hand curls into a fist against your bed. “I should have known something wasn’t right,” he only continues.

He did know. He knew the second your eyebrows began to crease ever so slightly by the swift pain pouncing on your stomach.

There is no way he could have known earlier.

But you can’t tell him that.

Your voice is a fragile thing right now, not even able to build up deep inside.

Bucky shakes his head again, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. All you can do is watch. Well, try to watch.

“I’ve got the guards tearing this place apart - every pantry, every kitchen, every bloody corner. Somebody did this. Somebody thought they could hurt you, and I am going to find them.” His voice hardens with each word, but his hand softens as he reaches for yours. He threads his fingers through yours so gently and carefully, it doesn’t help with trying to breathe evenly.

“I will make them pay.” It sounds so determined, so terrifying if you were any other person.

His thumb strokes over your knuckles, while the towel still pads your face. It’s slow, and steady, grounding himself as much as you.

“But right now… right now, all that matters is you. I need you to fight this, alright? Darling? I need you to stay with me.” His voice cracks. It buckles, just not with the grace he is known for, but unevenly and unceremoniously. His next breath stumbles over itself and his gaze drops to your hand in his as though he’s ashamed to let you see the whole of his fear.

Your chest rises and falls in a slow, shallow breath, and as you exhale with an unsteadiness, it feels like you’re letting go of something you can’t quite name. The faint sound catches his attention immediately and his head snaps back up to you, again searching your eyes, your face, your body.

They don’t stray from you for a few heartbeats, as though he’s afraid he’ll lose you if he looks away for even a second.

Bucky straightens up, his presence suddenly larger. He leans closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of him bushing over your fevered skin. His free hand uncurls from his fist, white knuckles, going up to your face.

Soft fingers sweep back the strands of hair that cling to your damp face. The motion is unhurried, almost delicate, and for a moment, the coolness of his touch - or rather, his touch alone - is the only thing keeping the fading light of your awareness on for some time longer.

His thumb lingers at your temple, tracing lightly, and it is astounding to you that he managed to make you forget about the poison cursing through your veins for a tiny second.

His heart seems to have spilled entirely into his gaze because the emotions drowning there overwhelm you. They’re so deep, so afraid, so concerned. All you want is to grant him a reassuring smile. But your lips fail you.

“You are going to be okay.” It’s a plea and a promise. He speaks as if saying it out loud will carve it into stone - will make it reality. “This will not take you away from me. I’ve got you. I am right here. Please. You are going to stay with me.”

He leans closer still, as if closing the distance makes his words sink deeper, might make them take root into your fading consciousness.

His hand stays on your face, his other hand still holding the towel, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His touch is steady, although his voice isn’t.

There is a fire in his eyes, an unyielding resolve burning beneath the fear like he’s daring the universe to take you from him.

And you won’t let it take you, you tell yourself.

You will stay with him.

But you just need some sleep at the moment. And when you wake up, you will fight this unwelcome substance in your system.

But first, you have to get some sleep.

Just a little sleep.

[whumperwithwings]

Whumpcember 2024 Day 3

3: Begging

"N-no, Whumper, I promise, I'll do anything, just don't hurt me, please!"

"Well if you weren't willing to 'do anything' an hour ago, then I daresay that you deserve to be punished."

[whumpisgoodwhumpislife]

Whumpcember day 7

Kidnapping Alt prompt 3: Fire

CW: Fire (duh), disabled whumpee, left behind

Second part

When the hospital alarms had started blaring, whumpee hadn't panicked. It was probably a training session, those were mandatory after all. He had waited for a nurse to come with a wheelchair to be evacuated with the others.

It was only when the commotion outside had started to fade, footsteps and shouts disappearing into the distance, that he had started to be afraid.

But still, he waited. An exercise. Yes, it was surely an exercise. He would joke about it with the doctor when everyone would be back, joke about the terrible organisation of the hospital staff. Whumpee tried to look out the window, but he couldn't sit up enough to see anything but the sky. They were supposed to take a roll call outside, right? They would quickly notice his absence.

His eyes started to water, and he absentmindedly raised a hand to wipe his tears. Was he hallucinating or...

Smoke. He could smell smoke. It wasn't an exercise.

- H-HELP ! ANYONE ? I-I'M STILL IN THERE !

Whumpee started coughing, tears running down his face. They were going to come. They knew he couldn't walk, after all. He glanced at the door, but all he could see from the small window was the white walls of the corridor getting darker as it filled with smoke.

He couldn't just stay here. He had to do something, or he'd die intoxicated by the smoke. Whumpee grabbed the railing of the bed and pulled, falling on the floor with a loud thud. Despite the muscle strengthening sessions, his arms had started to atrophy after months spent bed bound, constantly preparing for another operation. He leaned his head against the wall, and slowly reached out for the edge of the window. He needed to make his presence known.

Glancing behind him, he could see that the bottom of the door had begun to darken. He turned pale, and tried desperately to pull himself up to the window. His arms shook, and he quickly understood how useless it was.

The corridor was probably already on fire. Sweat had started to drip down his face, and he breathed in short, smoke-filled huffs of air.

- Help... Help... No...

The edges of his vision were dangerously darkening. His fingers slipped off the edges of the window and he fell back to the floor, the rest of his body as limp as his useless legs. He made a last tentative to crawl towards the door, but his hands were damp in sweat, his arms burning from the effort.

The last thing he saw before his head hit the floor was the fire licking the ground near the door.

@whumpcember