#The WIP indecisiveness is at it again

[idleglowingpixels]

It's 12am and I'm sitting here debating which fanfic WIP I should work on again q-q

The two Monster High AU ones could honestly be released interchangeably so I could work on either or (I mean, Trapped In The Rain happens after BOTH of these fics in the timeline so it's not like I'm hyperspecific about chronological releases). Though the Clawdeen POV fic takes place a few months before the start of freshman year and the Frankie POV fic starts even further back, but is mainly based on their first week's experiences being in a public high school for the first time, the beginning acts almost like a prologue. Also debating whether or not it should be written in 1st person to emulate Frankie's narrations throughout the G1 films (Also kinda reminds me of Cady's narrations in Mean Girls 2003, it fits the "fish out of water" trope so well).

But the PPG fic is JUST A SMIDGE AWAY FROM THE BEST FREAKING PART FOR ME TO WRITE IN THIS PARTICULAR BATCH as if Chapters 8, 9 and 10 weren't already absolute BANGERS to work on and have at least one scene that made me go "THAT'S THE ONE DUDE I AM COOKING" y'all are not ready cause I'm sure not lol. And I literally have like 2 1/2 chapters left to write before getting to my editing drafts, and I've been dying to share what I've got and finally update the fic after...I don't even wanna know how many months. :'D Definitely over 6 at this point, I am SO SORRY.

The last thing is a super secret 4th thing (and no it's not the potential Miraculous rewrite, that's debatable on whether I'm making it as of right now but we'll see cause I still have enough ideas and interest for it, just wanna get through this long-term WIP first). I'm probably not gonna share it on the blog or my AO3 but that's only because it's a different kind of WIP (also different fandom than any of my previous works) and idk I'll just keep it at that. But I've been working on it 5+ years (even earlier than the first XXY drafts back in 2019) and my LORD do I want to just complete the mfkin first draft that I'm only like 50 scenes away from finishing bhngvfdcfgvbdcx ugh

Also I've been drawing a lot more lately so expect some MH and/or PPG art whenever I complete more than a sketch lol. I LOVED making my little title cover thing for Trapped In The Rain back in October (the perfect excuse to let my shipping brainrot go feral) & sharing my AU version of Stitched In Style Frankie art (which btw idk if I ever mentioned it but my cousin is the GOAT and bought her doll for me as a Christmas gift!!! She's hanging out in-box with my G3 dolls). Having art to go alongside chapter updates for XXY and oneshot uploads for my MH AU is something I have a lot of fun making and it's something I would like to be consistent with moving forward. I will also probably make art covers for Chs. 1-7 of XXY too because I had felt like doing it at the time of uploads but just got too busy with life stuff. Last year was awful for me besides these fics and my blog. :') Also istg I need to make that Instagram account for my art that I share here! Maybe someday, if I do I'll let y'all know.

[alienssstufff]

[steviewashere]

Now comes the part where I finish my steddie big bang (rewriting the last couple ending scenes) by listening to myself ramble for an hour on a voice memo just so I could figure out the flow and organization of the end scenes.

(*sigh*) here we go...

[ranchjustranch]

was wondering, idk if i should draw klarion or the prince, so y'all can choose

[the-kipsabian]

aight im looking at my wip list rn (like actual work i have started so far)

[revenancy]

ok guys i'm really bad at making these kinds of decisions so i am going to. tumblr poll it. more info on these projects below the cut »

UNCHOSEN: 2nd draft. Total plot revamp + rewrite. 3rd person multipov sword-and-sorcery. – When the Chosen dies, her identical twin takes her place to keep their home from falling into chaos—but will she be enough to save the kingdom?

BEARSKIN: 3rd draft. Rewrite for pacing, new scenes, + clarity. 3rd person dual pov folktale-aes adventure with a mayfly-december romance. – When a hunter kills an ancient snow bear, her brother is stolen as payment by the fickle and enigmatic Prince of Always Night, and she must play her part in the Prince's game to win him back.

SALT & SILVER: 2nd draft. Slight plot revamp, rewrite. 3rd person dual pov frontier adventure. – The Alchemist has been hunting the tombs of gods in the wasteland, but she's not the only one. When she's attacked and a critical map is stolen, she and loyal town guard Emilián chase after the thief before any more harm is done—too late.

TGOED: 1st full draft. I've been struggling through starting this for way too long. 3rd person dual pov baroque-aes intrigue. A sort of reverse murder mystery. – Ophélie is a Spicer Decadent, a glorified guild assassin employed by a mysterious benefactor who wants to keep the Palace Royal on its toes. Everett was the crown prince—but now he's nothing more than a tutor, baring his teeth at the children who were supposed to replace him. And when he finds the Decadent with blood on her hands, he realizes with a sick joy that he would love nothing more than to watch his mother's empire crumble.

JACKDAW: 1st draft. It's gone through a lot of POV changes to get to this point lmao. 3rd person single pov with brief interludes, surreal fantasy. – Jackdaw wakes in a muddy riverbank. He doesn't know where he is, when he is, or how he got there—all he knows is that he used to be a god. He explores the strange little world of Lorne to find answers to his questions, and instead he finds more questions. For instance, what is his sister doing there, and why does she want him dead?

CANTICLE: 1st draft, technically. This is a very old WIP of mine and honestly it's been a lot of different things in the past. 1st person single pov high fantasy drama with an extremely unhealthy romance. – Six years ago, a Fifth Temple guard kidnapped a young acolyte to save her life. Now, as they eke out a life together in the downcity dark, they come ever closer to danger—and then the Fifth finds them. When the acolyte is stolen back, the guard delves into the clutches of the faithful, desperate to save her again.

SECRET 7TH OPTION: guys there are 50 other projects in my scriv files i'm not joking. i could spin any of them up. right now. but these are the projects I'd like to work on/finish at some point in the next year or so, with the others being fun things I'm starting or playing with on the side, less "solid info" to intro etc. ofc if y'all have any questions please please please ask me i am an absolute brat when given any kind of attention. i will love you. forever.

[yes-prisoner]

[template taken from here.]

[eudikot]

I have so much creativity building up while I am force to focus on finals so when I have time again...

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

THE THINGS YOU DO FOR LOVE... ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru begs you to wear the frilly maid dress he bought. against your better judgement, you indulge him.

word count; 7.0k (this was supposed to be short but i miss him terribly)

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly sweet, literally just satoru being down horrendous, lots and lots of petnames (he is embarrassing), he’s ur biggest hypeman, entirely sfw!! (i feel like i have to specify that…), reader is a lil grumpy, satoru gojo is the most insufferable man on earth <3

a/n; this is just a silly lil wip i found in my drafts…. i dont remember what possessed me to write this i just think satoru would cry and fall to his knees and throw up blood if he saw u in a frilly dress

”— no.”

the word rolls off your tongue, instantaneous, with a decisive kind of sterness. leaving no room for hesitation, doubt or indecision; not a single gap for his argument to fit through, no loophole he could take advantage of to persuade you into giving in.

but despite all that, satoru just won’t back down.

”come on, baby, please?” he pleads, voice coaxing and sugary sweet. you can almost see those puppy dog eyes of his from behind the black glass of his shades. ”i already bought it and everything!”

”i don’t care,” you spit. a halfhearted attempt at appearing annoyed, in hopes it’ll distract him from the strawberry flush of your cheeks. ”i’m not wearing it. you shouldn’t have bought it, in the first place.”

”but sweetheart,” he drawls, tinged with a sadness he knows tugs at your heartstrings. ”it’s so cute. you’ll look so adorable.”

”not happening.”

”but —”

”— no. i’m seriously not wearing it, satoru.”

it’s harsh, the flow of your words, sharp and firm; but that’s your only option when he gets like this. your only slim chance at survival, being almost painfully direct. that doesn’t stop your resolve from weakening pitifully when satoru’s posture wilts, though, obviously exaggerated but still somehow effective. you debase yourself for being so weak for him. 

but giving in just isn’t an option, this time. 

under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t take too long for him to persuade you. satoru can be annoying, extremely so — but when he’s being so stubborn about something, there’s usually a good reason for it, even if it’s just that whatever he wants you to do will make him happy. to you, it’ll do.

(his happiness is your priority, after all.)

but in this case, there’s just no way. absolutely no way in hell.

he’s still holding that thing up, like he genuinely thinks it’ll support his argument, swaying it lightly side to side. it really, really doesn’t. it does the complete opposite, in fact.

”but angel,” he tries, again. you wonder if he’s eventually going to run out of petnames, or if he’ll just keep cycling through them until he runs out of air to breathe. ”don’t you wanna see how it’ll look on you?”

a sharp scoff flows from your lips. 

he can’t be serious. 

you really, really, really don’t. if anything, you want everything in the world except for that. you’d rather smash a glass bottle into little pieces and eat them one by one. you’d rather sit on satoru’s lap in a room full of other people. you’d rather jump in front of a moving train with explosives tied to your back.

— it’s so frilly. 

you almost couldn’t believe it, yourself. when he barged into the room, cardboard box in hand, fresh from the mail; all while wearing an excited grin, foreboding, but you were too mesmerized by it to even notice. 

it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, so you didn’t think much of it. satoru buying you gifts is not in any way unusual, even and especially if you tell him not to — and usually, it’d be a sweet occasion. the kind of moment you can soak in, drink up, and then recall fondly for the rest of the week. 

every single detail is worth cherishing. how excitedly he always opens it up, eager for your reaction, and how you always thank him, no matter what it is. sincerely, because satoru can be awkward with his affection, but his love bleeds through in moments like these.

from expensive, well-kept bouquets to little flowers on the side of the road; from thought-out gifts to little trinkets; no matter what it is, the sentiment remains the same.

(this made me think of you. i want you to have it. 

i remembered you mentioning this brand. i love you.)

a way for satoru to show his love, without overwhelming himself or you. a way of easing him into it, when everything is still just so new to him. 

buying you whatever catches his eye is the perfect solution, according to satoru. and it exasperates you, sometimes, when you come home to five amazon packages right outside your doorstep — but deep down you know it’s more for him than you. because it makes him happy, to be able to, allowed to show his love for you in ways like this. in normal ways, easy ways, that say more than his words ever could. 

(being granted the luxury of making you happy. of loving you, even if satoru doesn’t think he’s very good at that, just yet. but he is good at impulse buying things he knows you’d like; so that’ll have to do, for now.)

which is why you couldn’t help but let his infectious joy seep into your bloodstream, trickling its way through your veins with a sweet kind of fervour. couldn’t help but smile, a tender curl of your lips, in tandem with his cute little grin. couldn’t help but grow a little bit excited, as he opened the package — 

to reveal a cutesy, frilly, maid outfit.

— and then your mind screeched to a halt. 

the look on your face must have been something special, horrified and flustered in equal measure. almost in disbelief, as he immediately began to gush about the outfit in his hands. look at the bows, isn’t it cute? god, you’re going to look so pretty. i mean, you always do, obviously, but —

you weren’t really listening. all your mind could do was spin in circles, trying to get some read on the situation, but it was just no good. he genuinely, thoroughly, truly and sincerely expected you to put on a goddamn maid outfit. 

if he had bought it for himself, then maybe you would've been at least a little bit excited. you’re sure he'd look good in it; with those big blue eyes of his, that cute, happy grin. so good that your heart would probably combust, a little. melt through the floorboards. 

but no — he wanted you to wear it. 

and despite your instant, firm protests, he just will not give it up. your boyfriend is a stubborn man, so it’s no surprise, but it’s still enough to irk you.

”satoru, for real. no! i’m not wearing it!”

”but you’d look so good,” he whines, loud and grating as he inches closer to you. still holding the dress up like a prize; you back away, instinctively, like it’ll burn if you touch it.

”i don’t care! it’s a maid outfit! why the hell would i ever wear it?” 

sunglasses seated at the bridge of his nose, satoru allows you to catch a glimmer of his eyes — an effective method of persuasion. he definitely knows their power, and he’s definitely flaunting them for the sole purpose of making you falter. that manipulative scumbag.

the fact that it actually works makes you even angrier, though.

a sharp turn of your head, and your gaze falls on the windowpane, lingering there as you grumble under your breath. he’s so annoying. you’re growing more and more flustered by the minute, too. 

”— because you love me?” 

satoru tilts his head, white locks of hair following the movement. soft and silky, nice to run your fingers through, but you chase the thought away as soon as it enters your subconscious. he looks almost hypnotizing under the sunlight, with the golden rays illuminating his features, smoothing over the contours of his face — as if the sun was made solely to shine on his skin.

and ah, you think, there we go. satoru’s classic tactic; using your love for him as a bargaining chip, pouting down at you like a kicked puppy. you like to picture his eyes all watery and glassy, everytime he tries it, as if he’s some rejected cartoon-mascot. so silly. 

valiantly, you fight off the temptation to smile, gracing him with another little scoff instead. shooting him an unimpressed look, a tiny raise of your eyebrow. ”that won’t work on me.”

”aww, come on,” he almost coos, inching closer still. ”don’t you love me? my sweetiepie? my cute lil’ mochi?” 

(he’s getting bolder with the petnames, you note. as if that’d change anything. they’re so cheesy it makes you recoil.)

”obviously.” you deadpan, trying your best not to let affection seep into the words. but you see satoru’s lips curl up, anyway. ”i’m still not wearing it, though. sorry.”

satoru sighs. heavy, exasperated — dare you say defeated? for a second, you delude yourself into thinking he might actually give in, for once, spare you both the trouble — 

until he falls to the floor, knees hitting the soft flooring with a loud thud. awfully dramatic. he clasps his hands together as if to beg and plead, a starved dog at your feet, and gazes up at you with newfound determination.

”please, baby — i’m begging you,” he groans, voice sad and pained, agonized, like you just threatened to break up with him. silly, silly man.

”don’t grovel.” a sigh drops from your lips as the pads of your fingers go to massage your temples. soothing what you’re almost sure is an incoming headache.

and he makes a certain noise, almost a whimper, like you just kicked him in the gut. you glance down at him as if to signal really? with your eyes, lips parting to speak — 

but your breath only hitches in your throat, and no sound comes out.

satoru’s eyes are almost teary. peeking out from behind his shades, big and glassy, eyelashes dewy with what you know are just crocodile tears. he’s far too skilled at it for his own good, though — maybe you should be supporting his acting career, instead of the weird teacher-slash-sorcerer thing he’s got going on.

and you’re weak, you realize, terribly so. because something deep within your chest constricts, at those sad eyes, heart squeezed painfully, and when you speak you note that your voice sounds a lot softer. 

”satoru,” you sigh, again; more resigned this time, a little fatigued. missing the way his eyes glint at the sound, as if sensing an opportunity. ”really. i’m sorry i wasted your money, but it’s just… not happening. okay?” 

attempting to sound delicate, your voice settles on a soothing tilt, like an adult speaking to a tantrum-throwing child. hoping it’ll be enough to make him falter even slightly. 

it isn’t, of course; if anything, his determination only grows. 

”even just for a short while?” he tries, voice sweet and pliant. all daisies and sunbeams, tailormade to tug at your heartstrings. ”just an hour or so! then i’ll be satisfied.”

”an hour? no way!” you scoff.

and this time, you don’t miss it. from behind those shades, a certain glimmer of something flickers through his irises — something keen and observant. a certain dread crawls its way down your spine.

”so it’s fine if it’s less?” he grins, changing tactics, smooth and decisive. ”half an hour. that’s as low as i’ll go.”

”oh my god.” an exhale, drawn out and exhausted, from the very depths of your chest. ”satoru. toru. no. i’m not wearing it at all. this isn’t an auction.”

”but it could be,” he purrs, still on his knees. it makes him look a little bit disturbed. ”c’mon. why are you getting so shy? guess what — i’ll even settle for twenty minutes. just for you.”

oh, he’s just awful. you want so badly to be mad at him, and that teasing, smug, shit-eating little smirk of his — but you can’t. 

not when he looks so effortlessly pretty, bathed in the light of the sun, surrounded by a mellow glow so tender it makes him look something like an angel. not when he’s acting so characteristically himself, so stubborn and infuriating and entirely impossible not to love. 

another sigh. you’re a little surprised you have enough air left in your lungs to breathe it out, and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re beginning to grow just a bit tired of the back and forth. ”i’m not shy,” you huff. ”i just don’t want to. it won’t look good on me, anyway.”

satoru blinks. genuine surprise shines in his eyes, for a second, like you caught him off guard. ”huh? of course it will. why wouldn’t it?”

a pause. gnawing at your bottom lip, you avert your gaze, trying to find the words. ”it’s just… tacky,” you settle on. ”it’ll look weird.”

”it won’t! you’ll look so cute!”

another huff, as your dispassionate, bored gaze meets his. ”and how do you know that?”

satoru's answer is instantaneous. ”you always look cute. just wanna see how you look in this,” he chirps, brandishing the outfit with barely contained excitement. thoroughly giddy. ”when i saw it, i knew it’d look adorable on you. and i’m never wrong!”

a soft pout plays at your lips, in the wake of his eager sincerity. barely noticeable, just a little embarrassed, but it’s there. and satoru’s seen it, finally — the road to victory. he knows he can win this, if he’s smart about it.

”i just wanna see you in it. just for a second. please? pretty please?” he tilts his head, tantalizing, showing off the blue of his eyes and the curl of his lips. ”then i’ll never ask you for anything again. promise!”

”okay, that’s a lie and we both know it.”

the grin that blooms on your lips is a mistake, you quickly realize, because satoru interprets any sign of joy on your face as positive approval. his determination grows.

”yeah, yeah… but i mean it! i won’t bother you if you just wear it once. just once!” he puts a single finger up, to emphasize the point. ”just wanna see my precious baby all frilly and cute. won’t you indulge me, oh my dearest?”

he’s grinning, now, all soft and teasing. it’s more breathtaking than he’ll ever understand. he’ll never even come close to understanding how gorgeous he is, like this — when there’s no one around to perform for, when he can just be himself. when it’s just you, and satoru, and the feeling of having all the time in the world.

(even if you don’t.)

and you know your face must be flushed, a soft cherry red, as your gaze falls to the floor. the heat on your cheeks and neck, the pitter patter of your heartbeat; you feel it all. 

and it’s embarrassing, to find yourself so fervently twisted around someone’s finger — to find that you don’t even really mind. being wrapped around satoru’s finger isn’t so awful, all things considered. it’s a scary thought, for sure, but he’d never abuse the privilege. probably.

— a sigh. 

you still don’t want to wear it. you really don’t. it’s just awful. tacky, and embarrassing, and overall unpleasant. 

… but if it’ll get him to stop nagging you like this… 

and if it’s just for a short while…

silence, only silence, spilling into the sunkissed air. outside your apartment, the sky melts into a buttery orange hue. an intense contemplation is etched into your eyes, and satoru takes note of it; opting to put the final nail in the coffin. his very last bid.

”fifteen minutes. then you’re —”

”ten minutes,” you cut him off. sounding just a tad exhausted — resigned to your fate. 

and satoru doesn’t even bother trying to hide his excitement. suddenly beaming, he shoots up to his feet, and it causes you to jolt. ”perfect,” he grins, holding the dress out toward you. a little too eager for your liking.

”— but seriously. i’m only wearing it once. never again,” you tilt your head. ”got it?” satoru just nods, happily, so excited he’s practically jumping up and down — and despite everything, you still can’t find it in you to be angry. 

he looks so earnestly giddy.

eyes brimming with suspicion and weariness, your hands reach out to take it into your arms; the puffy dress, the frilly headwear, and the black thigh highs. you’re surprised he didn’t invest in a pair of shoes, while he was at it. just to complete the set.

(you decide not to comment on it, knowing he’d have some poor, overworked shoemaker on the phone within seconds.)

”need my help putting it on?” he purrs, face suddenly very close to yours — and the sudden stutter of your heartbeat sparks a hitch of your throat. desperate to cover it up, you shoot him a hefty glare.

”oh, shut up,” you hiss, but satoru only grins wider. soft little giggles flowing from his lips, like a schoolgirl teasing her upperclassman. silly.

a heavy hesitance rests on your features, as you give the outfit another chance. judgemental eyes trailing over the bows and frills, giving it a thorough look, until your lips curl down into a soft frown. it’s not that bad, but…

”it’s kinda ugly,” you lie, decisively.

”really? i think it’s cute, though.” 

”yeah, ’cause you have no taste.” a click of your tongue. ”what’s so great about maid outfits, anyway? i don’t see the appeal.”

satoru smiles. carefree, amused — still very much teasing. ”well, we’re about to find out,” he chirps.

you give him a look, eventually giving way to a soft exhale. ”fine — but only ten minutes. at most.” a pause, as you stop to think. what else? ”oh, and no taking pictures.”

”— i’m taking pictures.”

…

the exasperated look you send his way doesn’t seem to phase satoru even in the slightest. he continues to smile at you, unbothered, soft around the edges, and you know you’re not winning this one either.

”… fine,” you sigh. ”but — not too many, okay? and you aren’t allowed to show anyone, either.”

”of course not,” he scoffs, almost offended. ”as if i’d let anyone else see you like that.”

stuck between feeling relieved and put off, you settle on simply letting it go. and satoru continues to speak, reassuringly, glossy lips shining in the sunlight as they part.

”rest assured, baby,” he hums, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. ”this stays between us. i swear on my honour.”

you snort. ”like you’ve got any of that.”

”mean. anyway — c’mon. i can’t wait any longer.” before you can think to protest, he’s ushering you away in the direction of the bathroom, big hands heavy on your shoulders as they push you. still hesitant, you make no move to resist.

(what have you gotten yourself into?)

with one final sigh, your fingers curl around the doorknob, outfit hanging off your arm. not before sending one final glance back at satoru, reinstating your conditions. ”just this once. then you’re selling it. or burning it.”

”yes, yes — you have my word,” he promises. before you can narrow your eyes, he pushes you forward, gently; bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. ”go on, i’m waiting!”

”yeah, yeah…”

the door closes behind you with a soft thud, and the reality of the situation begins to finally dawn on you. the maid outfit weighs heavy on your heart, but light in your arms — you gaze down at it with pure contempt. it’s not like you have a choice, though. satoru won’t let you wriggle away from this one. and maybe, just maybe, a part of you wants to indulge him, after all.

(his smile shone so brightly, in the light of the sun.)

and it’s almost cautious, the way you begin to dress yourself; first the thigh highs, black and silky, then the outfit itself. pulling it over your head, your arms sneaking through the openings. 

it’s a perfect fit. 

a second passes. you stop to think, brows furrowing in suspicion — did the little bastard measure you? just to make sure he got it exactly right? he has been rummaging through your closet more than usual, recently, but you didn’t think much of it. over the years, you’ve conditioned yourself not to question the things that he does. that sneaky, sneaky man.

after putting on the headwear, you finally lift your gaze, tentative and slow — to take a peek at your own reflection. the flush on your face stands out, a contrast to the black and white colour scheme of the outfit. 

and you can’t help but exhale, a little exasperated.

it’s so… frilly. there are frills on the sleeves, on the shoulderpads, on the skirt, on the hems… everywhere. little bows litter the surface of the smooth fabric, a big one attached to the collar, and several smaller ones across the sleeves. 

and as much as you loath to admit it — it is kind of cute. 

still, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re only embarrassing yourself. it’s hard not to think, when a maid outfit is staring into your soul through the mirror — and you just so happen to be wearing it.

(what the hell are you even doing?)

a low groan slips from your lips, and you crouch down, to bury your face in your knees. the flush of your cheeks is beginning to spread towards the tips of your ears, growing hotter by the minute. satoru’s about to see you like this, of all people. how on earth will he react?

(what if he thinks it looks weird, too?) 

”i’m still waiting!” a voice suddenly exclaims, sing-songy and sweet, and closer than you realized. has he just been standing there and waiting in silence, this whole time? of course he has.

”just —” you croak out, words a little strangled. ”just… give me a minute.”

satoru lets out a high-pitched whine, cheek pressed against the cold wood of the door. ”but i’ve been waiting so long already!” he complains, pouting, the urge to see you growing unbearable. impatience tugging at his heart, so excited he can barely pull himself together.

(all he can think of is you, you, you.)

curling up into a little ball, you attempt to swallow the bundle of nerves in the back of your throat — but that jittery, feather-light feeling of your heartbeat just won’t go away. it makes you feel a little paralyzed.

you're actually, genuinely, sincerely about to go show off a goddamn maid outfit. what the hell.

when you finally grasp control over your vocal cords and part your lips to speak, the voice that spills out into the air sounds more than a little meek. but you can’t quite bring yourself to care, overcome by a heart-tingling nervosity and the heat of your skin.

 ”… i don’t want to.”

satoru pauses. 

he can picture you, in his mind’s eye; the way you must look, right now. clad in frills and a cute little skirt, face flushed red and embarrassed, as you shift from foot to foot. and it takes concentrated effort, to bite back the coo that threatens to crawl up his throat — but he knows it’s still not too late for you to change your mind. if he wants to see you, he needs to be careful. so he tactfully opts not to tease you.

”come on, angel,” he soothes, instead. voice smooth like honey, like coffee with cream and too much sweetener. ”don’t be embarrassed.”

you stay silent, still attempting to suffocate the tinge of humiliation in the depths of your chest. so satoru continues. ”just come on out, hm? might as well get it over with. then you won’t have to think of it again.”

a moment passes.

”… do i have to?”

the corners of his lips curl up.

ah, you’re so cute. all embarrassed, almost childish, in the way you’re still trying to be difficult; and satoru just indulges you, all too eager to get you to show yourself to him. ”yes, you do,” he coos. ”be good f' me and come on out, okay?”

a couple moments pass. eerily silent, growing second by second. the only sound that fills the air is that of satoru’s soft breathing, the distant whirring of the ceiling fan.

until finally, he hears the squeak of the bathroom floor. you stand up, turning to glance at your reflection in the mirror one last time, before hesitantly reaching for the doorknob.

it’s slow, the way you open the door, agonizingly so — pushing at it slightly and dragging the movement out. and you can feel satoru’s presence, right behind it, as he takes a step back to give you space. when you finally step over the threshold, you adamantly refuse to meet his gaze.

(satoru’s breath hitches in his throat.)

there you stand, gaze stubbornly averted, expression flustered and mildly annoyed. cheeks dusted a dark cherry-red, that crawls towards the tips of your ears as you fidget with your frilly, oversized sleeves. they’re dressed in little bows, awfully cute, and so is the skirt — short, but not enough to expose the skin of your thighs above the thigh highs. you still squirm a little, thighs pressed together. 

and then, of course, the big bow on your collar to complete the look. pink in colour, a stark contrast to the whites and blacks of the remaining outfit.

after a moment passes with nothing but pure silence, your lips part to speak. doing anything you can to stop yourself from looking over at the man in front of you, afraid of what you’ll see. ”i don’t think it suits me,” is muttered, a tiny huff. ”… and i still don’t see the appeal, by the way.”

— but satoru doesn’t answer. 

he just stares. uncharacteristically silent, in a way you’re wholly unaccustomed to. enough so that you find yourself gnawing at your bottom lip, fidgeting with the hem of the skirt, hoping the smooth texture will soothe your nerves a little. the beating of your heart resounds in your ears, sending blood flowing through your veins with excited pumps.

the silence festers, and all you can do is let it grow, your nervosity thickening with it — until it’s just too much to bear. 

(ahh, you knew it. it really does look weird, doesn’t it? that’s to be expected. 

still, you can’t help but feel just slightly dejected.) 

”… why aren’t you saying anything?” 

the little mumble comes out sounding embarrassed, and maybe just a little defeated, too. but satoru doesn’t hear it. as your gaze falls on the man in question, slowly, you take in his expression with a frown on your face — and realize that he isn’t just keeping quiet. 

he’s completely stunned. 

no matter how hard you stare, you can’t seem to get a good read on his expression. he’s just standing there, face completely blank, eyes entirely obscured by the black of his shades. the light streaming in through the glass of the windows has shifted its course, falling away from the two of you — but you still see the vague, red tinge crawling up his neck. 

and as soon as you spot it, satoru begins his descent.

crouching down to the floor, silently, he brings his hands up to cover his face. feet against the ground with his knees folded, pressed against his chest, stilling as he inhales sharply. shades seated on top of his head, pushed up by his hands when he buried his face in them. a groan drops from his lips, muffled by the skin of his palms — but you can hear it clear as day.

”hold on, just… give me a minute…” he finally croaks out, words somehow tiny. almost shy. 

upon closer inspection, you realize your eyes weren’t deceiving you — there really is a red hue to his neck, one you aren’t used to seeing on him. strawberry-tinged dust, staining his smooth skin, the tips of his burning ears. satoru actually looks flustered, for once. and your heart can’t help but flutter.

— he thinks he might actually, genuinely die.

it’s a wonder, he thinks, that he managed not to fall to his knees the very moment he laid eyes on you. all dolled up; frilly and cute, in his own words, though they don’t come even close to properly describing how adorable you look right now. with your flushed face, shy eyes, and all those little frills and bows adorning your dress. rendering him speechless, clogging up his throat with pure unbridled love. a mouthful of honey, too sweet for even him to swallow.

god. god. he really, really needs to pull himself together.

crouched down like this, face hidden behind his hands, he can physically feel himself grow more and more flustered. senses invaded by the sound of his heartbeat, deep and visceral, until it’s all he can hear — he knew you were going to look cute, obviously, but he was seriously underestimating you. your cuteness is lethal. 

even just the sight makes him weak in the knees. even just the thought of you makes him feel a little like his heart is attempting to break out of his chest. hurling itself at his ribcage with ferocious resolve, like he could keel over and die of heart failure at any given moment. he’s pleasantly surprised that he’s managed to suppress the loud squeal his body keeps trying to let out, honestly.

and while satoru struggles with his deep, internal turmoil, all you can do is watch. looking down at him with wide eyes, as his skin flushes a bright pink, like little chrysanthemums blooming from his neck up to his ears. 

yeah, you think, there’s no doubt about it. satoru is flustered. it’s not a side of him you get to see very often, so you can’t help but be just slightly caught off guard. staring at him silently, until you snap out of it, eyes simmering with something soft and delighted.

he’s so cute.

(and maybe, just maybe — it makes you want to tease him, a little bit.)

so you crouch down, facing him with your knees against your chest, jaw resting on your crossed forearms as you gaze at him. he’s still not looking at you, face hidden behind his palms, shying away from your view.

and then you sigh. the sound catches his attention, soft — and just a little bit dejected.

”… you’re the one who wanted me to wear it,” your lips curl down into a pout, ”and now you won’t even look at me?”

satoru stiffens. 

(you sound sad. you sound disappointed.)

slowly, he parts his fingers, desperate to soothe you — blue eyes peeking out through the gaps, as if the sight of you could blind him. he then proceeds to move his hands, tentative, laboured, like he’s dragging heavy weights off his body. like it’s a struggle. 

with his face finally exposed, all flushed and pretty, bright azure eyes stare at you; brimming with pure adoration. 

satoru exhales, almost shaky. he has to take another moment to simply look at you, as if drinking in every inch of your expression. memorizing every corner of the face he’s grown to love so much.

a moment passes. then two.

then, he practically pounces on you — engulfing you like a tidal wave, trapping you in his big arms as they go to curl around your waist. shades falling off at the impact, hitting the floor with a soft thunk.

”you’re killing me,” he whines, loud and right by your ear. nuzzling into you, squeezing you like he’s a puppy with a chew toy. ”you’re so, so, so cute. d’you want me to have a heart attack?”

a hitch of your breath. that’s all you can manage, utterly failing to keep up with him as he presses you up against his chest. rocking you back and forth in his embrace, smearing open mouthed kisses across your skin; whining and murmuring about how adorable you look. 

a flurry of warmth, of love, of something a little too precious for words. something distinctly satoru, that makes you forget about everything else — as if the world stops spinning somewhere outside of his arms. as if that’s where you belong.

all you can do is indulge him. maybe you’re spoiling him a little too much, but it feels nice; letting him drown you in his overwhelming affection. the thought of creasing the dress doesn’t even seem to cross his mind, as he squeezes the life out of you.

evidently, satoru suffers from an acute case of cuteness aggression. 

”so adorable,” he murmurs, leaving wet kisses on your cheeks. his exaggerated mwahs make you feel just a tad shy. ”my little sweetheart. all dressed up for me.” 

squirming in his hold, he only brings you closer, smothering you in his warm embrace. the slightly erratic beating of his heart is all you can hear, with your cheek squished against his chest. arms keeping you nice and still, lips lingering over that one ticklish spot behind your ear. 

a little giggle slips from your lips, and satoru feels himself smile; wide and giddy, boyish and adoring. nuzzling into the comfort of your chest, soft fabric brushing against his skin, a low whine escapes his throat. ”can't take it. wanna put you in my pocket.”

”your pocket?” a grin blooms on your lips, words dripping with honeyed amusement. satoru grins right back.

”my pocket,” he hums, approvingly. ”you’re just so cute and small. gotta keep you close, so i don’t lose you.”

a huff, lighthearted. 

suddenly, the grip around your midriff tightens — and you’re hoisted up, stumbling a little as satoru lets go of you. still holding onto you by your wrists, softly, delicately, as if you’re made of glass. when you lift your head, all you can see is his satisfied little grin, and the twinkle of his eyes.

your heart flutters. 

satoru gazes at you, silently, still drinking you in. every second spent staring into the brightness of your eyes fills his heart up just a little more; colourful, heart-shaped candies, scooped up and poured into the hole in his chest. patching it right back up, so effortlessly sweet that it makes him want to pluck every star from the sky and offer them at your feet. 

”alright,” he breathes, taking a step back. breaking the delicate silence, a little dance between him and time. fingers still curled around your wrist. ”do a twirl for me.”

a humoured scoff. ”hell no.”

”aw, come on! you gotta pose for the photo, baby.”

before you know it, satoru’s got his phone out — and it’s aimed right at you. by the time you notice it, you’re fairly certain he’s already managed to snap a couple pictures. so all you can do is sigh, in faux exasperation.

”c’mon, c’mon,” he coos. ”give me a smile, pretty.”

a roll of your eyes, as you bite your lip to muffle a soft bout of laughter. it doesn’t really work. ”i’m good.”

satoru seems unaffected by your words, pulling back from your touch reluctantly; just so he can make a show out of playing the cameraman, switching between elaborate positions and taking pictures from angle after angle. somehow, you get the feeling he’s forgotten your request to keep the pictures to a minimum.

(he looks like he’s having fun, though. so you let it slide. just this once.)

”god. you’re way too cute for your own good, you know that?” he murmurs, leaning down to take another picture. and it flusters you, how smoothly the words slip from his lips, how it seems like he barely even has to think about them at all. 

it’s a little embarrassing, in a heart-fluttering kind of way. but you do your best to hide it.

”you’re a sap,” is all you say, soft smile playing at your lips. 

”and you’re adorable,” satoru grins. 

then he slips his phone into his back pocket, satisfied with the collection, and grabs your hand.

his fingers curl around yours, softly — and then he lifts it up. bringing it to his lips. they’re warm, as he kisses across your knuckles, the tips of your fingers. soft as a feather, tickling your skin. 

(as if he’s whispering psalms under his breath. as if he’s worshipping you.)

then he tilts his head, eyes gazing at you sweetly. sweeter than fresh mandarin slices, splotches of marmalade, his favorite caramel fudge. and his eyes crinkle, crow’s feet and dimples peeking out as he smiles, an easygoing kind of joy blooming on that pretty face of his — youthful, boyish. it suits him more than anything.

his voice comes out smooth, awfully coaxing. so very easy to give in to, paired with that breathtaking grin. 

”one tiny twirl?” he asks, politely.

he’s so annoying. 

(but you’re far too in love to say no.)

so with a single roll of your eyes, and a soft little scoff, you relent. indulging him once more, just one more time. just one little twirl.

satoru feels his heart squeeze painfully, deep within his chest, as he watches you spin around. skirt and frills ruffled by the movement. just once, a soft little twirl with your fingers intertwined. far too precious for his heart to take.

when you stop, just a tiny bit dizzy, he leans in, and the kiss he leaves on your forehead is soft. chaste, but it still pulls a blissful sigh from the back of your throat. satoru’s lips curl up against your skin, before he pulls back — eyes almost overflowing with affection.

”cutie.”

you blink. 

averting your gaze, flustering a little under the weight of his love-filled eyes, all you can do is emit a soft little huff. embarrassed, as it flows from your lips. but it only makes satoru’s smile grow further.

”okay, okay. you’ve had your fun.” you clear your throat. ”time’s up.”

suddenly, satoru’s eyes fill with something akin to dread — nose crinkling, just barely, a sign of his displeasure. ”noooo,” he whines, draping his arms around you. tugging you close. ”just a little more? please? pretty please?”

”nope! we said ten minutes. no take backs.”

”can’t i have an extension? since i’m your favorite?” satoru pouts, puppy dog eyes in full force. only this time, they don’t work as well as he’d hoped.

”nope,” you repeat, popping the p. ”sorry.” another whine buzzes right by your ear, and you smile. 

”and then we’re burning it.”

”noooo!” 

”sorry, but it’s gotta go.” you bite back a soft grin. satoru sounds agonized, voice dripping with grief, and it makes your heart dance with barely contained laughter.

”but then you can’t wear it anymore, baby…”

”that’s kinda the point, toru.”

”but you’re so cute in it,” he pouts, bringing you closer still. squeezing at your waist and rubbing his cheek against the top of your head. ”it’d be such a waste if you never wore it again, don’tcha think?”

he’s trying his best, you can tell — attempting to make you falter, coax you into wearing it just a little longer. but for today, you’re done indulging him.

”well, too bad.” nuzzling into his neck, your tone settles on a firm tilt; decisive, as you nip at his skin. just a little teasing. ”i said i’d never wear it again, and i meant it.”

a moment passes. maybe it’s the warmth of your lips on his skin, or maybe he can tell you aren’t budging — whatever the case, satoru finally seems to relent. an exhale tumbles from his tongue, deep and drawn out. ”fineee,” he drawls. ”i’ll just buy you a new one.”

”i won’t wear it. i’ll just get angry.”

”at lil’ old me? really?”

”really really,” you click your tongue. ”if you love maid outfits so much, why don’t you wear one yourself?” a beat. ”it’d look good on you.”

satoru perks up, suddenly. pulling away so his eyes can meet yours, bright and teasing, glazed over with something excited. ”oh?” he purrs. ”you wanna see me in one, huh? so bold, baby.”

a scoff slips from your lips, sharp but tinged with laughter. ”well, it’s only fair, right?” grinning up at him, your hand reaches out to smooth away his bangs. fingertips trailing across the expanse of skin, touch so very tender that his eyes flutter shut. ”i think you’d pull it off better than i ever could, anyway.”

a hum buzzes in his throat, seconds ticking by slowly; a dance with him and time. an attempt to prolong the softness of the moment.

”hmm… well, i’ll consider it.” just barely holding back a smile, he leans into your touch. ”you gotta wear it with me, though. we can buy a matching set!”

”that makes no sense,” you huff, with a raise of your brow. ”i’ve already worn it once, so next time, it’s gotta be all you.”

”sorry, baby, but you need to do it too.” he cradles you close, smoothing a palm down your spine, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. chest rumbling with the smooth timbre of his voice, words rich with teasing fondness. ”i’m too shy to do it by myself.”

and you really, really wish you could be angry with him — but it’s just impossible. 

satoru is just way too lovable, smile far too sunny and warm for you not to melt under. and his caress says more than words ever could, light and doting, careful and loving; like how a believer cups a handful of holy water. as if you could slip from his grasp at any moment, so he has to keep you extra close.

in the end, all protests and complaints die on your tongue. you only laugh, soft and breathy, filling the air with a fondness so palpable you can almost taste it. bordering on something close to a scoff, but never quite getting there. 

eventually, satoru does — begrudgingly — let you change out of the outfit. whining a little, sulking a tad, before brightening right back up again. like clockwork, the sun peeking out after a rain shower, the calm after the storm. always that same happy smile, wrapping you around his little finger.

satoru, in all his glory; your very own pocket of sunshine. annoying, stubborn, thoughtful — 

and yours, wholly and thoroughly.

(while you’re busy gazing at him adoringly, satoru grumbles under his breath. contemplation painted on his features, as his mind spins in circles. frills, bows, lace…

what kind of design would make him look the prettiest for you?)

[collaredsoldat]

Silver and Garnet.

summary: Soldat hurts himself a lot.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Post!HTP and abuse | PTSD symptoms & behavior | Self harm | Mentions of non-consensual medical procedures | Body mutilation | Post!Body torture

a/n: I had another wip but I have no clue where I'm going with it so I started this one. Since someone commented the other day, I had to write another scenario specifically for this. I wrote something kinda touching this subject on my other blog but this one is exploring it better. Heed warnings, potentially triggering. Unedited. ;; wc: 4.3k

So many things to tackle with him.

You had done the hardest so far. That was good.

He was still wary around you. He avoided you.

He stayed locked in the bedroom you spared, hiding like a frightened animal. You hadn't seen him in a few days, the only evidence of his presence were the slightly eaten down bowls of broth and mashed potatoes you left for him. The untouched portions of these meals showed you just how fragile he still was, barely sustaining himself on the meager amounts he managed to consume.

His self-imposed isolation spoke volumes about the depth of his trauma, leaving you to wonder about the extent of his emotional wounds and the long road to recovery that lay ahead. You had never been a caregiver before, hell taking care of yourself proved to be hard sometimes. But now you had a responsibility for someone else, someone who really needs it.

Luckily, he had taken the opportunity to at least go to the bathroom without any sense of apprehension or unease. You often heard the shower running and he spent close to an hour in the shower at a time. You never went in to question him or why it took him so long to shower. Sometimes he'd let you wash him off, he did when he first arrived.

But for now, he liked having privacy, and you didn't blame him for wanting it.

You had been sitting on the couch and his shower had exceeded well over an hour, which was odd. Normally he only clocked close to an hour, just below sixty minutes. But he had been in the bathroom for much longer, and the shower had been running the entire time. You could spot steam peeking out from the cracks in the closed door, rising to the ceiling and fogging your apartment lightly.

Today, the shower had been running for an unusually long time, prompting you to check on him. Given his delicate health condition, you couldn't afford to be anything but vigilant. With a slight sense of concern, you gently pushed aside the warm, fuzzy blanket that had been draped over your legs. Rising from the comfortable embrace of the couch, you stretched your limbs briefly before padding across the room towards the bathroom door. The sound of running water grew louder as you approached, but there were no other noises coming from inside.

Reaching the door, you hesitated for a moment before raising your hand. You gently rapped your knuckles against the smooth surface of the door, being careful not to make too loud a sound. The last thing you wanted was to startle him in his potentially vulnerable state. "Soldat?" you called out softly, your voice barely audible over the steady stream of water, "Are you okay in there? It's perfectly fine if you're still showering, I just wanted to make sure you're doing alright. Is everything okay?"

Silence greeted you, save for the continuous patter of water against tile. The lack of response sent a small shiver of worry down your spine.

"Soldat?" you tried again, your voice a touch louder this time, tinged with growing concern. "Can I come in? Just to check on you?" You pressed your ear against the door, straining to hear any sound of movement or acknowledgment. Several long seconds ticked by, each one amplifying your unease. Still, there was no reply, not even the slightest indication that he had heard you. The silence stretched on, broken only by the relentless sound of running water, leaving you to grapple with mounting worry and indecision.

After a moment of hesitation, you decided to confront the situation head-on, pushing aside any thoughts of future repercussions. You reached out and gently grasped the cold metal of the door handle. Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you slowly turned the knob and eased the door open, the hinges creaking softly.

As the bathroom came into view, your eyes were immediately drawn to him, huddled in the corner of the shower. His form was hunched over, back pressed firmly against the tiled walls as if trying to disappear into them. The shower was running over him but instead of clear water, a steady stream of crimson flowed beneath him, swirling ominously before disappearing down the drain.

Your gaze was inevitably drawn to his right hand, it was covered in blood, fresh and glistening under the harsh bathroom lights. His nails were ragged and torn, thick chunks of flesh clung to them, the aftermath to the frenzied self-mutilation he had inflicted upon himself. The raw, exposed skin underneath looked so painful, the pieces of skin that he clearly had torn and tried to rip away from himself clear as day.

Your eyes slowly traced the contours of his body, lingering on the gleaming silver titanium that seamlessly merged with his flesh. The junction between metal and skin was marked by a vicious scar, a sight you had seen before during your previous bathing sessions. However, this time it appeared significantly more severe. The area was angry and inflamed, with fresh blood seeping from the edges, and the surrounding tissue looked far more mutilated than you recalled. The overall damage seemed to have intensified, leaving you with a sense of growing concern.

His eyes, wide and unblinking, were fixed straight ahead, as if seeing something beyond the confines of the room. The vacant stare sent a chill down your spine, he looked so empty and haunted there under the steady shower. His hand trembled visibly, betraying the depth of his distress very clearly, as if his wounds weren’t enough to go off of. Words couldn’t compare to this sight alone.

"Soldat..." You whispered, your voice barely audible as you gently closed the door behind you, careful not to startle him. The soft click of the latch seemed to echo in the tense silence of the room, the shower had been muffled by now, your brain zoning the sound out in hopes he would speak. "What's going on, hm?" You asked carefully, your tone was slightly apprehensive, your approach had to be very careful. You remained rooted to the spot, instinctively knowing that approaching him too quickly might escalate the situation. Instead, you stayed put, your body language open and non-threatening. "Did you do that?"

He remained motionless, unresponsive to his surroundings, as if frozen in place. Despite the scalding temperature of the water cascading over him, he shivered uncontrollably, as if he were trapped in a blizzard. The relentless stream of hot water had turned his skin an angry, vivid red, resembling a freshly boiled lobster wherever it made contact. You slowly stepped closer, speaking up again. "Did you do that to your arm?" You repeated.

Soldat finally stirred, his trembling hand slowly reaching up to his bleeding shoulder. His nails dug deeply into the scar tissue as his gaze fixed upon the metallic surface of his prosthetic limb. Unbeknownst to you, his mind was awash with vivid, haunting memories of endless saws mercilessly cutting into his flesh. The loss of his arm hadn't been a clean, swift amputation. No, it had been a gradual, excruciating process that began around his elbow.

In the sterile confines of the laboratory, they had methodically removed the rest, piece by agonizing piece. Throughout the entire ordeal, Soldat remained horrifyingly conscious, forced to endure every moment as they systematically dismembered him, carving away at his body with the cold precision of butchers preparing a carcass.

The gruesome experience marked the beginning of his torment at the hands of HYDRA. It was merely the opening act in a long, nightmarish performance that would span decades. As hellish as this initial ordeal was, it paled in comparison to the tortures that would follow. The amputation of his arm, as brutal and inhumane as it had been, would come to be seen as almost merciful when juxtaposed against the relentless cruelty he would endure in the years to come.

The memory of the cold metal was seared into his consciousness. He could still vividly recall the sensation of the frigid prosthetic fused to his body, an unnatural extension of himself that felt more like an invasive parasite than a replacement limb. The cold was so intense it transcended mere discomfort, burning his flesh with its icy touch. In his desperation to be free of this foreign appendage, he had made numerous attempts to tear it from his body, clawing at the juncture where flesh met metal until his fingers were raw and bleeding.

HYDRA's response to these acts of defiance was characteristically brutal.

They forcibly removed his fingernails, not out of concern for his well-being, but to protect their valuable asset. In their eyes, Soldat was no longer a person, no longer human. He had been reduced to a mere object, a weapon to be wielded at their discretion, stripped of his humanity and autonomy.

They did this frequently, until he stopped clawing at himself.

He had nails now, and they served as desperate tools in his frantic attempt to extricate the metal embedded within his flesh. His prosthetic limb was a source of intense loathing; he yearned to be rid of it, to cast it off entirely. The sensations it produced were a maddening contradiction; simultaneously frigid and scorching, each moment bringing fresh waves of agony. The pain was all-encompassing, radiating from every point where flesh met metal, leaving him bewildered by its relentless intensity. Where was this torment originating from? How could this damn appendage cause such overwhelming suffering-

"Soldat, you're hurting yourself," you intervened, your voice cutting through the fog of his anguish and halting his downward spiral into self-destruction. Slowly, as if emerging from a trance, he lifted his gaze to meet yours. His fingers had burrowed beneath his skin like eager maggots, exposing the cold gleam of metal that had been forcibly inserted beneath layers of tissue and muscle. You reached out slowly, doing your best to avoid startling him. Carefully, you grasped his hand, applying just enough pressure to halt its destructive path, and gradually eased it away from his bloodied shoulder.

"There we go...oh, Soldat, look at you..." You whispered gently, watching the scalding water sear down on his wound, washing dark garnet into a watery pastel.

He whimpered softly in response, his body trembling with fear as he anticipated your reaction. You had caught him in the act, and he had been surreptitiously harming himself for some time now. His timid, apprehensive eyes slowly lifted to meet yours, filled with a mixture of dread and resignation. He fully expected you to unleash a torrent of angry words, to raise your hand against him, or to inflict some form of harsh punishment for the self-inflicted damage to his arm.

But to his surprise and confusion, you did none of those things. Unlike the cruel handlers from his past, you exhibited a gentle demeanor that was entirely foreign to him. Your actions spoke of kindness, a concept he struggled to comprehend.

"Ты не собираешься меня наказать?" He questioned hesitantly, his brow furrowed in a perplexed frown as he addressed you. His voice emerged as a barely audible whisper, weak and raspy from prolonged disuse. It sounded like he had swallowed broken glass, his throat utterly torn apart.

Prior to this moment, he had only uttered three single words on separate occasions: a tentative ‘thank you,’ a fearful ‘no,’ and a hesitant ‘yes.’ You found yourself grateful for your basic understanding of Russian, which allowed you to decipher his simple words, but full sentences would be trickier. He hadn't said a thing in English yet.

"Eh...I'm sorry, I don't understand, Soldat...but...I'm not mad." You reassured gently, your voice barely above a whisper. "Let's get you out of here and cleaned up, okay?" You spoke softly, reaching out with a steady hand towards the shower knob. With a twist, you halted the flow of water, the sudden silence amplifying the sound of his ragged breathing. His body began trembling more noticeably now, the loss of the near-boiling water leaving him exposed to the cooler air. You couldn't help but wince internally at the sight of his scalded skin, angry red compared to the rest of him. However, you forced yourself to push that concern aside for the moment. His bloody scars, still weeping and raw, demanded your immediate attention.

You allowed him to remain seated in the shower for a brief moment, giving him time to adjust. You moved towards the bathroom counter, your eyes scanning the contents of the cabinet as you opened it. Methodically, you began pulling out the necessary first aid supplies, arranging them neatly on the countertop. Your gaze flickered back to him, noting how his trembling had intensified. You carefully approached him once more with a large, soft towel draped over your arms.

“Here, I know you’re cold now.” You draped the towel over his shivering form, taking care to keep his injured shoulder exposed so you could tend to it properly. He flinched as the fabric settled around him, instinctively responding to the unusual action. You maintained your calm demeanor, choosing not to react to the flinching. “I’m going to clean this up a bit, okay? All you have to do is sit still. That’s pretty easy, right?” You tried your best to sound comforting, knowing his nerves were through the roof and he was especially fragile.

His shoulder was a gruesome sight, coated in a deep crimson layer of blood with ragged pieces of flesh hanging precariously from where he had been violently digging. You couldn't help but let out a soft, empathetic sigh as you reached for a substantial handful of sterile gauze. Kneeling beside him with careful movements, you noticed how he deliberately avoided your gaze, his eyes fixed intently on the intricate patterns of the tile floor beneath you both.

With precision, you reached up and began to gently dab at the blood-soaked area, allowing the pristine white gauze to gradually absorb the viscous red liquid, allowing the injury to become more visible to you to assess the proper kind of treatment.

The self-inflicted damage from his frantic clawing was even worse than you had initially feared. Deep, angry tears marred his shoulder, the surrounding scar tissue visibly swollen and undoubtedly hypersensitive to the touch. Despite the pain he must have been experiencing, Soldat remained remarkably still for you, permitting you to continue your ministrations as you meticulously dabbed away the excess blood.

Your heart ached at the sight, and you found yourself whispering softly, your voice barely audible in the quiet room, "Oh, Soldat…look at what you've done to yourself." Your tone was filled with compassion rather than judgment as you continued, "You must be in so much pain to have resorted to this. I wish I could take it all away."

He didn't reply, which was expected given his current state. He simply allowed you to continue dabbing at his wounds until the majority of the bleeding had subsided. The condition of his skin was a bit alarming, and you found yourself hesitating, unsure of how to properly treat such severe injuries. Your medical knowledge was limited, lacking the expertise required for advanced treatments such as suturing.

But, upon closer inspection, you felt a wave of relief wash over you as you realized the wounds, while serious, weren't as bad as you had initially feared. Not bad enough for stitches at least. A few carefully applied butterfly bandages and snug gauze wrapping would be sufficient to promote healing. Besides, you hoped his enhanced healing might help aid on this too.

"I'm going to start wrapping you up now, okay? I'll also need to apply some bandages over certain areas to help keep the skin together. You're being so brave and cooperative," you said, your words of encouragement causing his eyes to lift slightly, meeting yours. The subtle shift in his demeanor made your heart rate quicken, a warmth spreading through your chest as you sensed him beginning to trust you. "I need you to remain as still as possible while I do this. Can you manage that for me?"

After a moment of consideration, he responded with a soft, barely audible, "...да." The Russian affirmation, though brief, conveyed his understanding and compliance.

You offered him a warm, reassuring smile as you began the delicate process of tending to his wounds. You carefully cleaned each injury using soft cotton balls soaked in a mild antiseptic solution. You winced slightly as you dabbed the open wounds but he hadn’t flinched at all, despite knowing the antiseptic stung. Once the cleaning was complete, you applied bandages to the areas where his skin had been broken, taking extra care to position them for optimal healing. For the scar itself, you had a handful of things. First laying down a layer of soft, cushioning gauze to help with any bleeding that might occur, you then wrapped it with an adherent bandage to keep everything in place.

Throughout the entire process, he observed you intently, his gaze alternating between your focused expression and the various medical supplies you used. His eyes searched quickly for anything sharp, but he didn’t see anything like that. This experience was entirely new to him; never before had he been allowed to witness the ministrations performed on him.

The HYDRA scientists had preferred to keep him in the dark, relishing his startled reactions to unexpected pain or discomfort. It was so different to your approach. They liked watching him struggle against the bindings he was kept in, then used it as an excuse to hurt him more, as if his very valid reaction to being cut open with a scalpel or stabbed with a needle was unwarranted. But nothing you did hurt. You were so careful, like you were afraid to hurt him.

"There...all done." You hummed gently, a soft smile playing on your lips as you looked up to him once the bandages were securely fastened in place. Your eyes scanned over your handiwork, ensuring everything was just right. "Now, I want you to take it easy, okay? Don't push yourself too hard. But if it happens to come undone or feels uncomfortable, just let me know. I can always redo it for you." You reassured him, your voice warm and caring. Taking a small step back, you gave him some space, understanding that he might need a moment to adjust to the new sensation of the bandages.

Soldat, still silent, gripped the towel tighter and wrapped the damp fabric around himself, creating a cocoon of sorts. The quiet that enveloped the room was almost tangible, broken only by the soft dripping of water. You watched him carefully, noting how he seemed to be taking inventory of his newly bandaged body. In your mind, you surmised that he probably needed a few seconds to get accustomed to the feeling of the bandages against his skin, perhaps even testing their flexibility as he moved.

After what felt like an eternity but was likely only a minute or two, Soldat made a move to stand. His legs were a bit unsteady, trembling slightly under his weight as he rose. He took cautious steps out of the shower, leaving behind a trail of water droplets. He came to a stop directly in front of you, close enough that you could feel the residual warmth from his shower-heated skin. His still-wet hair continued to release tiny rivulets of water, the droplets trailing down his face and neck before disappearing into the towel.

Your eyes were drawn to his, those steel blue irises that always seemed to hold so much depth. As you gazed into them, trying to decipher his thoughts, you realized that while they were as inscrutable as ever, there was something there. A look, a silent request perhaps. He seemed to be seeking something more from you, though you couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.

"Alright, let's get you properly dried off," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. Your hands moved of their own accord, grasping the edges of the towel he held. "And then... well, I think we should get you settled comfortably in the living room. How does that sound?" As you spoke, you began to gently pat him dry, your movements careful and considerate, especially around the newly bandaged areas. The act felt intimate, you had done it before, but it felt different this time.

He was carefully dried off and dressed in clean, comfortable clothes before being gently guided to the living room. You led him to the spot where you had been sitting earlier, allowing him to sink into the warm impression left by your body. As you draped your thick, cozy blanket over his legs, he instinctively pulled it up higher, cocooning himself in its comforting weight. His tense muscles began to relax as he nestled deeper into the soft folds, finding a small measure of solace in the simple act of being warm and protected.

You settled yourself beside him, your eyes drawn to the bandages adorning his shoulder. You broached the subject that had been weighing on your mind, wondering about his habits, "Do you do that a lot, Soldat?" The question hung in the air, your tone carefully modulated to convey genuine concern rather than accusation or judgment.

For what felt like an eternity, he remained silent, his eyes fixed on some distant point. Just as you began to think he wouldn't respond at all, he gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Да." The single word, spoken so softly you almost missed it, carried the weight of countless untold stories.

"Why?" you pressed gently, hoping to coax him into opening up, to share even a fragment of the burden he carried. You yearned to understand, to offer whatever comfort or support you could. Your underground research on HYDRA had come up short, you hadn’t discovered much yet, and many of the released files the Black Widow had released were heavily encrypted. But as quickly as that tiny crack in his armor had appeared, it vanished. His lips pressed into a thin, unyielding line, and the brief, guarded glance he cast in your direction spoke louder than words.

Without uttering another word, he had made it abundantly clear that this line of inquiry would go no further. The wall between you, momentarily weakened, had been fortified once more.

"I understand... you don't want to talk about it right now. That's perfectly okay," you reassured gently, your voice filled with compassion. "I want you to know that if you ever feel the urge to hurt yourself again, you can come to me. I'm here for you, and I'll do everything in my power to help you through it." You offered this support sincerely, hoping that your words would resonate with him and provide some comfort. Your intention was to show him that there were alternative ways to cope with his pain, rather than resorting to self-harm. You wanted to be a source of safety and understanding he could turn to.

He remained silent, but you could see that your words were having an impact. His eyes, previously averted, briefly met yours, conveying a mix of vulnerability and gratitude. Then, he slowly shifted his position on the couch. He leaned closer to you, gradually lowering his head until it rested lightly on your leg. He was using your thigh as a makeshift pillow, a huge sign of the trust he was placing in you. It was an incredibly significant step forward in your relationship, a wordless acknowledgment of the connection between you.

You knew this was a big gesture, how much security he must feel for him to allow himself this closeness. Considering he never allowed himself to lay down around you, this was a big step in the right direction. As he settled, he pulled the blanket higher, adjusting it to cover himself more fully. He was positioned to lay on his uninjured flesh shoulder, seeking relief for the wounded one and to be covered by the blanket for some extra security, you knew he didn’t like feeling exposed.

Your hand, trembling slightly with the weight of the moment, slowly descended towards his damp hair. You were acutely aware of your own nervousness, not wanting to make any misstep that might shatter this fragile trust. This unexpected display of vulnerability had caught you by surprise, and you wanted to handle it carefully. Your fingers gently made contact with his hair, gently running through his chestnut locks in a soothing gesture. Your touch was light and tentative, massaging and lightly scratching at his scalp as he laid there.

Soldat permitted this rare moment of complete vulnerability. He was feeling particularly exposed and fragile, yet he felt secure enough in your presence to lay beside you. To lay on you. The comfort he found in your company was evident as you both settled in to watch television together.

The episode progressed, you noticed a gradual change in Soldat's subtle movements on your thigh. His breathing began to slow and deepen, becoming more rhythmic with each passing minute. Before long, the weight of his body pressed more heavily against you as he drifted off into a peaceful slumber. You looked down to make sure you weren’t just imagining things.

Soldat felt safe enough in your presence to completely let his guard down and fall asleep.

It was a clear indication to the trust he placed in you, a rare and precious gift from someone who typically kept the world at arm's length upon severe conditioning. The simple act of Soldat falling asleep beside you spoke volumes about the growing bond you had, your chest warming and swelling with warmth as you observed his sleeping form.

You couldn't help the smile that spread on your face.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Cover images from Pinterest

I had a few people inquire about being tagged for my fics, if anyone is still be interested in being on a tag list, please let me know.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 52 - Finale

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber, Steve Kemp

Note: 🕊️

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

“Alright, one o’clock,” Amber says as she walks into the room. She sets down her phone and you pull the pillow over the tablet to hide it. “Is that enough time?” 

“Sure,” you answer. You don’t have much choice. It has to be done and the sooner, the better. You want it to be done with. All of it. 

As much as you want everything to go back to how it was, you know that even this can’t make it so. Things will always be different. You will always be different. 

“I’m just going to give Curtis a call and check in.” She explains. 

“Right,” you shrug and smile at her. 

You wait for her to leave before you move the cushion. You’re nervous about the appointment. It’s going to hurt probably. You don’t think anything can hurt as much as everything that’s happened in the last few months. 

You tap the screen to wake it up. The library of videos opens and you scroll through. You spent have the night wavering between the delete button and just smashing the tablet. For whatever reason, you can’t do either. 

You close the cover again, still caught in indecision. Once you’ve dealt with the baby, you’ll be able to think. You get up and take the tablet with you to your room. You dress in your old clothes; a pair of faded jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. 

It’s strange being in that place again. You look around at all those things you almost forgot. Amber didn’t change a single piece of it. Your chest sinks as your eyes cling to the window. What did she think when she found you gone? You feel horrid for hurting her like that. 

You sit and pull on socks then rub together your frigid hands. The world around you is both hazy and vivid. You feel every second roll by and yet the colours and the sounds are all so distant. Today is the day. 

You hide the tablet under your pillow and go back out. Amber is on the couch. Her shoulders are almost to her ears. She’s as anxious as you are. 

“Curtis can’t drive us. He’s caught up helping out his buddy.” She explains. 

“Oh, that’s okay,” you shrug. 

“We’ll take my car. He fixed the heating issue so it should hold out,” she says, flicking her thumb against her phone nervously. 

You go to her and sit, “it’ll be okay.” 

She sniffs and sits forward. You feel her look at you, “are you?” 

“I think?” You clutch your knees. “I don’t know. I just feel... sure. Certain.” 

“That’s good. But you know, it’s entirely your choice.” 

“I know and that’s why I’m sure,” you force a tense smile. 

Her phone buzzes. She squints at the screen as she reads. “He said he’ll bring us some dinner. He should be done with Jake by then.” 

You nod and your eyes explore the room. She’s silent, still watching. 

“So much is different,” you murmur. “You know Jake too?” 

“Sure. He helped us. When you sent that message. He found you.” She says. 

You look at her, “found me?” 

“I know. Sneaky.” 

“No, it’s... good.” You lower your head. 

You linger in the lull. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s calm. Patient. There’s a rattle at the window. A strange tapping. You look over and Amber follows the noise too. 

There’s a dove outside looking in. The frost in the window has warmed to condensation in the last days. You stare at its grey feathers as it coos and quorks its head. 

“Spring is close,” Amber says. “The birds are coming back.” 

You stare, hypnotised by the creature. A second dove lands beside it. You read that they often stay in pairs. 

“Well, about an hour and we’ll head out,” Amber gets up. “You need anything, bub?” 

“No, I’m fine,” you assure her and lean back, “I’m just going to close my eyes.” 

She hums and goes into the kitchen. You listen to her as you relax into the couch. You drag your hands up to your stomach. Almost there. 

🕊️

As Amber drives, your eyes catch in the side mirror. You give a start and sit up against the seat belt. You shake off the fright as the grey car behind you slows with the flow of traffic. No, you’re imagining things. 

You lean your arm on the door and hold your head. Amber idles in the clog of the street and taps her fingers on the steering wheel. She looks ahead and clucks. You’re ahead of schedule. You couldn’t stay still and it’s a good thing you left early. 

She continues on in the slog and flips her blinker. She takes a side street away from the dense main way. Before she can circle around the block, a pair of headlights flash in the mirror. You don’t get more than a glimpse of their glare. She pulls through the back entry beside the dumpsters and curls around the front of the clinic. 

“Oof, finally here,” she shifts into park. “You think with the weather getting nicer, more people would walk.” 

“Yeah,” you agree dully. 

Your ears are buzzing. You look over your shoulder at the clinic then back to the fence ahead of you. You exhale. 

“Bub,” Amber says as she shuts off the engine. 

“It’s okay. I’m ready,” you say. “Just... something...” 

Your voice trails off as another car pulls up from the back of the lot. You turn and your chest knots at the familiar grill and emblem. It can’t be. It’s just a coincidence. 

The SUV pulls in next to you and you look up at their tinted window. His silhouette alone is enough to assure you. You reach over and grab Amber’s wrist as she unlocks the door. 

“No, lock them!” You cry out as Andy open’s his car door. 

“Bubba--” She swallows her protest and the locks thunk. “Shit!” 

Andy’s treads his the ground and he slams the door. He looks around, staring at the clinic, then scowls. He bends to look through the passenger window at you. 

“Open up.” He demands. 

“Fuck off!” Amber shoves her hand across you and flips him the finger. “Don’t make me call the police again.” 

“You fucking liar!” He snarls as he hits the window, his voice muffled by the barrier, “I knew you were hiding her.” 

“I said go the fuck away,” she leans over. 

You watch Andy in horror. You shrink down as you tremble. You’re not ready for this. Not for him. 

“Dove, Dove,” his gaze falls and meets yours, “hey, sweetie, let’s talk. I calmed down. Please--” 

You close your eyes and shake your head. 

“She doesn’t want to talk,” Amber snips. 

“Dove, you can’t--” he pauses. “Whatever you’re doing here, don’t do it. Please. We can figure this out. I know what this place is--” 

You shake your head and drone, “no, no, no, no, no, no...” 

“Go away!” Amber barks again and slaps the window. She pulls back and grabs her phone. “I’m calling Officer Jones. How many reports is that, Andrew?” 

“Wait...” you gulp as you open your eyes and grab her arm. “Wait...”t 

“Bub, please--” 

You squeeze and let her go, “he’s my problem. Let me deal with him.” 

“You can’t. He's dangerous. He’ll hurt you--” 

“I don’t care. He can’t hurt me. Not anymore.” You undo your seat belt and take a breath.  

She says your name as you reach for the lock and slide it up. The door opens from the other side. Amber latches on as you try to get out. You tug and pull away. 

You get out and close the door. Andy crowds you between the cars, his hands on your shoulders at once, sliding up to cradle your face. 

“Sweetie, sweetie, I was so afraid--” 

You grasp his wrists and lean away as he tries to kiss you. 

“Don’t touch me,” you yanks his arms down and shove him. He’s big and strong. You almost forgot that. Still, he does as you tell him. His eyes are bloodshot and his face pale. 

“Honey,” he begs. 

“No.” 

“What-- what are you doing here?” He rasps and looks over again. “You’re-- you’re-- you have to be. It’s mine, isn’t it?” 

You shake your head. 

“It’s mine. It has to be! I’m the only one. The only one!” He grabs your arms again, “Please, honey, I can take care of you. Both of you. You and the baby.” 

“No!” You exclaim and hit his chest.  

Another car door snaps shut and Amber’s shadow comes around the trunk. You look at her and give her a look. She stops, worry woven above her brow. You face Andy again and push until he stops touching you.  

“It’s not yours and even if it was, I wouldn’t want it. Just like I never wanted you,” you sneer. 

“Dove, you don’t mean--” 

“I mean it,” you hiss. “I hate you. I always hated you but I was afraid.” You hit his stomach and he staggers back. “You’re a bully. That’s all you are.” 

“No, I love you--” 

“No, you don’t!” You holler and stomp your foot. You point at him, “you don’t love anyone. You can’t. I’m not the broken one. You are!” 

“Dove--” he stands straight and reaches for you. You slap his hand away. 

“Don’t touch me. I’m done with you. I don’t want anything to do with you!” 

“You don’t have a choice,” he snarls, his eyes darkening as his expression hardens. “That’s my baby, I have rights--” 

He lunges for you and you cry out. He doesn’t get to you as Amber launches herself between you and tackles him against his car. She’s smaller than him but that doesn’t stop her. She bites his hand as he tries to grab her neck and she jabs two fingers into his ribs. He wheezes and recoils. 

She pushes away and stands between you and him. She keeps you behind her as she stands tall. 

“Try it again.” 

“You can’t do this. You can’t keep me away from her. You can’t kill my child--” 

“It’s not yours!” You shout and peek around Amber. You squeeze her arm and step up next to her. “It’s Dr. Kemp’s. Your friend. The one who helped you hurt me.” 

“No, I didn’t--” he begins. 

“You did. I have proof. I have the videos.” 

“What videos?” He spits. 

“I changed the password,” you say. “You can’t get rid of them now.” 

“No, you’re lying. There’s no--” 

“I have them all. Every single one.” Your eyes overflow. “It’s your name on the account, not mine. The police can figure it out, can’t they?” 

He looks as if he’s been hit again. The lines in his forehead deepens and his mouths slits to a thin line. He glares at you. The way that used to make you do whatever he wanted. Not this time. 

“It’s over. I’m done with you. I never even wanted you, Andy,” you breathe. “No one could ever want you, not even me.” 

He winces and his lips part but nothing comes out. 

“And if you ever come near me or my sister again,” you twine your fingers through Amber’s and cling to her. “I will send those videos to the police.” 

He stares, eyes searching, pleading. You won’t fall for it. He can make himself look pathetic but you don’t believe him. Not anymore. 

He waits. You say nothing. He sniffs and pulls his shoulders back. His jaw grits and his eyes flash. 

“You’re just the same as you always were. Fucked in the head,” he grits and goes to turn. Before he can, you swing your foot up. It’s a low blow, cheap, but you don’t care.  

Your toes meet the front of his pants and he grunts. He staggers and falls to his knees, clutching his crotch as he shudders. You get closer as Amber keeps a hold on your hand. You bend and lower your voice as you get close to Andy’s ear. 

“I never came for you,” you whisper. 

He gurgles and you back up. There’s nothing else to say. You turn and tug on Amber. You walk away without looking back. 

As you get to the door of the clinic, the sun comes out from behind the clouds and beams against the white brick. A cheep tweaks in your ear and you turn to see the sparrows bustling in the barren branches of the bushes. They send up a chatter that fills the air. You can hear it all. You can see it all. Feel it all. 

You keep your grip tight on Amber and reach for the door with your other hand, ready to open it and all the other doors that come after it. You don’t want to hide anymore. You want to fly. 

🕊️🕊️🕊️

I just want to thank everyone who has followed along on Dove's journey. It was bumpy and took a while, and it definitely took a lot out of me (in a good way). I hope you enjoyed this.

Until next time 💗

[diazsdimples]

Several Sentence Sunday!!

Bringing you sentences from two wips today because I am Indecisive™️ and am enjoying these both. Tagged by @theotherbuckley

First snippet is from my beloved Frostpunk AU. Eddie is purely vibing here.

Sometimes it feels like Eddie’s being moved, his body shifting from one side to another without him moving a muscle. It hurts when this happens, a sharp pain driving into his side as though a knife has been plunged through his ribs. He tries to take in a sharp breath but there’s something blocking his throat. He tries to lift a hand to claw at his mouth, to remove the obstruction, but his arms are leaden and won’t move. He whines, as much as he can with something down his throat, and he can feel his heartrate picking up. Suddenly, a heavy warmth envelops his hand, and gentle, low words penetrate through the haze, swimming through his brain until that’s all he focuses on. “It’s okay, Edmundo, you’re safe. Christopher is safe. I’m – I mean – we’re here.” It’s Eddie, not Edmundo, he wants to say. He wants nothing more than to hear this nice, calming Voice speak his name properly. He wants to hold onto the warmth in his hand so it never leaves, but it always does. Sometimes he thinks he hears his son’s voice. Not words, but small sounds that get picked up and wafted towards him. It’s usually when that Voice is nearby, mumbling soft words that tell stories of princesses and pirates and swordfights and giants, and he hears a small hum or sigh that he just knows is Christopher. He’d be able to pick out his son’s voice from a mile away. It gives him strength, knowing Christopher is close and being cared for. Sometimes he dimly wonders if the Voice and the Angel are the same, a guardian staying around and caring for him and his son as if that’s what it was put on this earth to do. Maybe he can get better, if only to see his son again and to hear the Voice and see the face it belongs to. So, Eddie drifts as his body heals, cuts knitting back together, his lungs slowly gaining strength until he feels he could take a breath without feels as though they could collapse. His heart beats steadier and with less pain. He doesn’t feel cold anymore, especially not when that heavy warmth settles on his forehead, his cheek, or around his fingers. Maybe, just maybe everything will be okay. Maybe he succeeded. Maybe he got himself and his son to safety. And if that’s true, he just hopes Shannon can forgive him.

The other snippet is from this fic that I'm co-writing with @theotherbuckley. Please enjoy some spice.

“How do you want to do this?” Eddie asks as he mouths at the length of Buck’s neck. “Think you can take me?” He says it like a challenge, one Buck seems more than happy to rise to. He draws himself to his full height — fuck, Eddie had forgotten that Buck’s got a couple of inches on him — and looks Eddie dead in the eyes. The blue of his irises are barely visible as his pupils blow, hunger burning deep as he surveys Eddie’s face as if taking inventory of his features. Buck leans forwards, his whole persona exuding cocky confidence, and he brushes his lips tantalisingly against Eddie’s, smirking as Eddie lets out a shaky breath. “Every last inch.” The last of Eddie’s resolve crumbles, and he surges forward, kissing Buck hard and dirty as he pulls him away from the door. They stumble across the room, tripping over loose items of clothing that are strewn across the floor - Buck 1.0 clearly isn’t the best housekeeper. The minute the backs of Buck’s legs hit the bed he falls backwards, dragging Eddie down with him. Eddie braces himself with an arm to the side of Buck’s head, his other hand cupping Buck’s jaw as he slowly, meticulously takes him apart with his lips. Buck groans into Eddie’s mouth and grabs a fistfull of his ass, pulling Eddie on top of him a little more so that Eddie’s whole body blankets his. Eddie slots a leg between Buck’s and smirks into the kiss as Buck grinds needily against his thigh, letting out high-pitched whines with each small thrust. “You need it badly, hmm?” Eddie hums as he breaks the kiss and begins to mouth along Buck’s jaw, down his neck, until he latches onto his collarbone. Buck nods vigorously and whines again as Eddie bites a mark into the tender skin. 

No pressure tagging @hippolotamus @daffi-990 @watchyourbuck @bidisasterevankinard @neverevan

@bibabyboybuck @aroeddiediaz @spotsandsocks @bibuckbuckgoose @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove

@nmcggg @jesuisici33 @wikiangela @loveyouanyway @cal-daisies-and-briars

@exhuastedpigeon @epicbuddieficrecs @kitteneddiediaz @hermscat @worriedbisexual

@thekristen999 @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @actuallyitsellie @idealuk @dangerpronebuddie

@houseofevanbuckley @daemonsrhaenyra @loserdiaz @elvensorceress @underwaterninja13

@rainbow-nerdss @smilingbuckley @spagheddiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @thewolvesof1998

@jehdogg @ohlookitsthearkhamknight @revenge-of-the-assbutt @likeamollusconarock @this-is-moony-lovegood

@morethanoneside @random-trash-animal @woogigi @redpheonixwitch @having-conniptions

(lmk if you want to be added/removed)

[ominous-feychild]

NEW “POST GENRE” ANNOUNCEMENT!

As my longtime mutuals/followers fans are probably aware, I have a habit of creating “post genres”—aka, where I create a series of posts along the same themes or using the same system.

For example, we have: #oc questionnaire #oc in three #oc moodboard tag #oc voice tag

WELL GUESS WHAT!

Announcing the arrival of a new “genre”:

OC INTERROGATION!

In these posts, I will select questions that will elicit an interesting answer or reaction from individual characters and interrogate them!

These “OC Interrogations” will be written assuming the character is locked into a room—under magical “truth serum”-esque effects—until they answer the provided questions! They'll be written in a format similarly to my outlines, but they'll be continuous until I get through all the questions!

(Examples provided toward the end of the post)

HERE'S WHERE YOU COME IN!

If you'd like to ask any questions of the characters, feel free to!

(Similarly, you can also ask me any questions about them, lol.)

Either send in an ask with your question(s) and the character(s) they're for, or feel free to comment it here! I will collect the “requests” for each character and eventually post the interrogation alongside a tag for those within their respective taglist... and whoever asked the question(s), lol.

Naturally, I reserve the right to deny any questions that will bring up spoilerific answers, but I will one way or another share those questions with the class for prosperity!

I'd prefer if we focused on RFtA or Waves, but feel free to pull from anything! It'll just take longer for me to get to things outside of them! (Also, I have a special preference for RFtA, as it's my main project rn, but feel free for either or any!)

CHARACTERS AND WIPS:

Rising From The Ashes

Carmin Lévêque Kieva Caron Sammy Bardales - moodboard || crimes Mei Li - moodboard(s) Kieran Caron - moodboard || crimes Sebastián “Tián” Caron Guqayya Latifi - moodboard(s) Roman Lévêque - moodboard Elazi Adlani

Waves of Misfortune

Zarina Baudelaire Hugo “Cricket” Tinoco Flavie (the amnesiac) Benjamin “Benji” Aikawa Yesval González Zhihao (the familiar)

WIP EXAMPLE:

So, we have a few questions for you, Carmin! [face empty beyond the slightest hint of bitterness] (voice hollow, but hoarse from disuse) “... of course you do.” Right, haha. So, if you're ready to begin? (still hoarse and empty) “I don't have a choice in the matter, do I?” I guess not! Well, to begin with: Are you scared of the dark? Why or why not?

[as she spoke, slowly stopped trying to fight the words escaping her. Just stared dead-eyed at the camera by the end] (finally, finishes numbly) “... it's just... easier to let them think that.” Hmm... I see. That looked like it was hard to admit, Carmin. [eyes narrow slightly on the camera, but otherwise looks just as dead inside as before] (flatly) “Fuck you.” She bites! >;D [doesn't react. Just crosses her arms, leans back in her seat again, and shakes her leg impatiently as she waits for the next question]

Tagging E V E R Y B O D Y:

@honeybewrites @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star

@the-letterbox-archives @48lexr @aalinaaaaaa @thecomfywriter @an-indecisive-nerd

@leahnardo-da-veggie @world-of-iridensia @paeliae-occasionally @pluppsauthor @thelovelymachinery

@sm-writes-chaos

[diazheartsbuckley]

WIP Wednesday Thursday ✨

So I’ve not been doing great ™️ lately. I’ve been insanely busy and I haven’t been writing much because I’m indecisive as hell and didn’t know what to do. I’ve also really been doubting my own skills, so yeah it’s been… a ride.

ANYWAY, enough complaining! I’ve got a new wip going (shocking I know!), called the asthma fic in which a fight between Buck and Eddie leads Buck to have an asthma attack despite not having had one for years 🥴

A huge shoutout to @tizniz who helped me brain storm this fic 💕 and thank you to everyone who keeps tagging me, you’re much appreciated 💕

(Snippet and tags under cut)

Despite only sitting at an arm’s length, Buck feels like he’s a world away from Eddie. Normally the silence is comfortable, it’s safe and sometimes even wanted after a long shift. But right now, Buck is counting all of the many times that his parents did this to him. Didn’t want to deal with him and his feelings. He has to give up counting - there’s way too many times that he remembers and probably just as many that he’s forgotten all about. Expect his body hasn’t.

He traces the back of his hand, carefully picking at the skin as he swallows dryly, Eddie still not speaking. Eddie doesn’t say anything until they reach the main road. Buck doesn’t dare to be the one to break the silence, afraid of the consequences and the wrath that he without a doubt deserves.

“Buck, what the hell?” are the first words out of Eddie’s mouth. He doesn’t even turn his head to look at Buck but Buck is watching him carefully, his small mannerisms that indicates that this time Buck really fucked up.

Eddie’s jaw is locked tight, his nails are almost digging into the leather of the steering wheel and he’s shaking his head a little, shaking it in disapproval, Buck knows that much. “You can’t just…” Eddie takes a deep breath, wanting to get ahold of himself but all of the emotions and words inside his head are welling over, breaking the dam.

“You can’t just do shit like that, you know? You can’t just change plans without telling me about it. Especially not when it’s about Chris” He speaks.

Buck nods vaguely, not Eddie can see it anyway. He knows how much Christopher means to Eddie, that he will always be his first priority which is also totally reasonable. He just doesn't want this to be the thing that breaks them.

He can feel the tears brimming in his eyes, threatening to fall as the tightness in his chest increases and he coughs lightly, trying to shield Eddie from the fact that breathing is starting to become an ongoing struggle.

“I know, I’m sorry. I should have talked to you about it” Buck says and glances at Eddie who scoffs and pinches the bridge of his nose again. It reminds him a little too much of his father, ignoring him and walking away if he became too much to handle. They didn’t care. They were so busy mourning the son that they had lost that they forgot to nurture the one that was left. Maddie. Maddie was always there for him. She never gave up on him.

Tagged by @watchyourbuck @honestlydarkprincess @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @bucksbignaturals @theotherbuckley @cal-daisies-and-briars @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples 🩵 (consider this your tag for fuck it Friday)

Also tagging for fuck it Friday!! @disasterbuckdiaz @jeeyuns @thewolvesof1998 @wildlife4life @jesuisici33 @butraura @wikiangela @hippolotamus @steadfastsaturnsrings @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @monsterrae1 @evanbegins @vampbuckley @athenagranted @extasiswings @devirnis @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @spotsandsocks @spagheddiediaz @buckbuckgoose @nmcggg @giddyupbuck @loserdiaz 🦋🩵

[patchworkgargoyle]

boot shine 💦

I've been sitting on this tiny transmasc sub Eddie wip for far too long and will never really finish it past this point, so here you all go, I hope you enjoy <3

Edit: THERE'S ART INSPIRED BY THIS NOW?? AAAA!! It's by @ent-is-indecisive, it's fantastic and I'm so honoured. Rated: E || WC: 917 || CW: boot kink, bondage, sir as honourific, dom!steve, sub!eddie mdni banner by cafekitsune

"You're so gorgeous down there on your knees for me, baby," Steve breathed, an admiring smirk parting his lips in a way that made Eddie shiver.

The jingle of steel on steel was loud in his ears as Steve gently pulled on the leash hooked into a sturdy D-ring, shifting the wide leather collar secured around Eddie's long throat. The soft rasp of the leather on his skin, the tug of it, had his eyes fluttering shut.

"Ah-ah." Steve jerked the leash. "Eyes on me, Eddie."

He obeyed instantly, gazing up at Steve even though his vision was going hazy with desire and that floaty feeling he sank into when they had a scene like this, that thrum of heat and trust and need building through his whole body. The need to obey, to please, to be–

"You wanna be good for me?" Steve asked, his thick fingers weaving their way into Eddie's curls, and he whimpered in response, nodding and pressing up into the soft touch.

"Yes. Yes, please Stevie, wanna be good for you, please lemmie be good," he begged, so fervently he nearly lost balance on his knees. With his hands bound behind his back by cuffs that matched his collar, Eddie had to brace himself with his head on Steve's bare, hairy thigh, unable to reign in the desire to press messy, open mouthed kisses to his mole-graced skin, keeping his eyes locked on Steve's.

Steve let out a deep, pleased hum and spread his legs open further, giving Eddie a peek at the birthmark at the inner apex of Steve’s right thigh. Eddie’s eyes followed the long planes of Steve's naked, flushed chest, wishing he could worship every mole and freckle with his lips like kissing the stars in the sky. He stopped at the pink and glistening head of Steve’s cock standing proud amongst his pubic hair. Eddie’s cunt throbbed at the sight. Taking his hand from Eddie's hair, Steve began lazily stroking himself, spreading precome down his shaft.

Then, Steve shifted the leg Eddie was leaning on, forcing it between his knees instead. The coolness of the smooth black leather boot against the heat of his crotch made Eddie flinch.

"Then be good for me."

Steve yanked on the collar. 

Unbalanced, Eddie fell into Steve’s shin, but quickly shuffled forward so his bare cunt rested on Steve’s boot. The rough texture of the laces against his dick made him pant where he was curled over Steve’s bent knee and his legs trembled with the effort of keeping himself from humping it. Not without permission.

“Please, Steve? I wanna–” Eddie cut himself off with a shocked groan when Steve wiggled his foot, the toe now wedged between his slick folds.

“Sorry,” Steve said, sounding only partially genuine and mostly smug. “Ask me again, Eddie, you sounded so good.”

“P-please may I use your boot, Steve?” he asked breathlessly, pleading with his eyes, watching as Steve tilted his head in consideration. Eddie’s stomach tensed with the effort it took to keep his hips from twitching even slightly. “Please, sir,” he whispered.

“Alright, since you asked so pretty. Go ahead.”

Eddie whined, loud and needy and relieved, finally giving in to the animalistic desire to grind into the boot, splaying his knees wider to get lower, to feel more.

The drag of his dick along the laces was too much and fucking delicious, already wound up from Steve teasing him all day. Little words or touches or just a goddamn look all designed to turn Eddie on, because they’d planned this scene a week ago and today was the day and it was all either man could think about.

Soft leather glided through his wet cunt easily, blunt and wide, growing slicker and teasing his hole at each pass and Eddie thought drunkenly that if Steve’s cock were this wide he’d still take it all, to the hilt, fuck bodily limitations. He’d take anything Steve wanted, deigned to give him.

“So fucking hot, Eddie, fucking yourself with my boot,” Steve groaned. Through the pleasant, floaty haze settling into Eddie’s mind he heard each stroke of Steve’s hand on his cock getting wetter. “How does it feel, baby? Tell me.”

“Perfect,” Eddie gasped.

“Yeah? You needed this, didn’t you?”

“Fuck, yes, needed it so bad, sir. I, I love—fuck!”

Steve angled his foot up, the sudden press of the boot’s toe a ruthless pressure on Eddie’s dick on next grind down and Eddie’s jaw snapped shut in a hiss at the pain that sent sparks flying to feed the fire of his pleasure. Back arching, he let out a stuttering moan, his shoulders aching at the stretch brought on by the cuffs. Eddie panted, hips rocking faster, digging his toes into the carpet to gain more traction and more delicious pressure. But Steve tugged on the leash again.

“Focus, Eddie. What do you love?”

Eddie grit his teeth and forced himself to look at Steve, a monumental feat when all he wanted was to shut his eyes and feel, revel in harsh, hedonistic, filthy delight.

“Love being on my knees for you, s-sir. God, I’m–I’m meant for it. Wanna make a mess, come all–uh–all over the leather.”

He was so glad he’d looked at Steve, because he saw his jaw go slack around a shaky exhale, watched his fist stop pumping to grip his cock around the base, firm like just Eddie’s words were enough to make Steve come.

Swallowing, Steve said, “Then come.”

[xskullytonx]

[WIP] Finn shy emote🌻👉👈

Will delete once the vote is done 🌸💀