#saw this as a writing prompt and had to do it

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

Ooh for your drabble challenge:

125. “Quit moving, I’m trying to sleep. Wait...are you...what?!”

Angsty!! -> 🙈 and with Nico Hischier. Please and thank you! 🩵

ooo of course I love writing some angst and I don't ever remember writing angst for Nico yet... I am truly sorry this took me an embarrassing amount of days to answer. 😔Also this turned out so much longer than I thought it would but I kind of like the background I gave the prompt.

Drabble Challenge. Drabble Masterlist.

"Quit moving, I'm trying to sleep. Wait... are you... what?!"

Sharing a bed with Nico Hischier was not something you were planning on doing when you agreed to go on this weekend getaway with your best friend. But little did you know that everyone but you and Nico were the only two single people in the group. Of course they only room left in the house in your air bnb by the time you got there was a makeshift office with a small twin bed in the corner. So now here you were sharing a bed with Nico, who just so happened to be your friend's partner's best friend who also happened to your ex-boyfriend.

Once you both made it into the tiny office/spare bedroom, immediately the words left your mouth, "Uh I can sleep on the coach in living room downstairs." Already turning around with your hand still on your luggage as you start to turn around but Nico lightly grabs your arm to stop you.

"Stop, You're not sleeping down there Y/N that room is full of windows and the light will wake you up tomorrow morning or literally anyone going to the bathroom in the middle of the night." His voice soft, almost pleading for you not to leave him in this room by himself.

Sighing deeply, closing your eyes for a few seconds the exhaustion of traveling creeping in on you slowly, all you were craving was somewhere to sleep. "Fine." you grunt, taking a deep breath you continue. "I'll sleep on the floor in here."

After being with him, you can translate the curse words that leave his mouth in Swiss German. Something along the lines of 'goddamn me, bullshit.'

"So what's your idea then?" The irritation clear in your voice.

"I am not letting you sleep on the floor Y/N/N." His voice more defined from earlier, the stubbornness clear in his voice now. You can physically see him take a shaky breath as his voice cracks due to nerves as he suggests "We can share a bed?"

Finally making eye contact with him for the first time since entering the room, your face full of shock at his suggestion. But all you see starring back at you is his soft big brown eyes begging you to stay. "It's a twin Neeks." you whisper suddenly scared of making your voice any louder.

"I know. But were both tired and we don't have any other options. Can we just go to bed please." he begs lightly reaching for your hand and it was as if as soon as his hand lightly creased yours, you were back in time to six months ago before you both decided you needed space because neither of you had time due to your careers to be in a committed relationship. And in that moment, you felt your heart break a little and your pulse quicken. "Please baby." Nico begged the nickname rolling of his tongue so naturally, your not even sure if he heard it himself.

But in an attempt to protect yourself you find your arguing even though your voice was above a whisper as you close your eyes. "We have other options Nico. You just don't like them." Opening them again after a few seconds you meet his face again and you knew there was no other option, you were about to share a twin size bed with your 6'1 ex boyfriend Nico. "okay." you admit in defeat, you swear for a second you saw a smile on his lips as he slowly pulls you to the bed and climbs in first putting his back against the wall, laying on his side.

It wasn't an ideal situation, deciding it was best to let lay on your side facing away from Nico trying not to touch him despite having no space. Apparently Nico had different plans when you felt his arms circle around your waist pulling you so your back was flesh to his chest. He did it so fast, as i it was second nature, an instinct taking over. Nico was asleep in no time, he use to claim he always was with you in his arms, and you could tell he was asleep by the little breaths he was leaving on the back of your shoulder where his head was tucked down. Sadly for you, sleep didn't come as easily it was if your brain and your heart were having an internal battle on what was happening. Trying not to focus on how safe you felt being back in his arms because this was a one night thing, trying to remind yourself the reality of the situation.

Somewhere around 3 AM you fell asleep, but you didn't sleep long as you look at the clock and see it was just a little after 5 AM. Your not sure if it's from Nico's body heat or just the fact of sharing such a small bed. But you felt hot and sticky all of a sudden. Trying to carefully remove Nico's arms off of you so that you could attempt to get comfortable and all fall back asleep for a few more hours. But there was no hope when you felt Nico whine behind you due to the movement.

"Quit moving, I'm trying to sleep." he whined pulling you closer and shifting back to both of your orginial sleeping position. In an insenence Nico felt it his entire body stiffened and opened his eyes in fear begging that you won't say anything about his morning wood but his fear was coming true when you asked.

"Wait." you said trying to decide if you felt his hard cock poking into your lower back or if you were making it up, but when you were sure you knew you were right you gulped and whispered. "Nico are you?" Slowly waiting a response you knew Nico was embarrassed, he let go of your arms and tried to turn his body to face towards the wall but wasn't as fast as you. Quickly you turned around in his arms lightly grabbing his forearm and lightly whispered his name again trying to meet his eyes. "Nico, look at me."

He paused in his movements in a few seconds he slowly looked down at you and asked "what?"

"It's okay baby, I miss you too." Not sure if your words would even make sense to anyone else but you knew Nico would understand. Breaking up was the hardest thing either of you ever had to do. "Nico I miss you with every fiber of my being and I think it's kind of hot that I gave you morning wood without even trying." you smirk at him. In an instant he closed the gap between you both into a messy kiss pulling you to lay on top of him. Neither of you knew what this meant but you knew one thing, whatever the next step was both of you were doing it together.

[d4minnie]

Hey... I loved your fics so much... can you please write a story where Gojo and reader(female reader) are married but geto Noncons her when Gojo wasn't at home and when Gojo come back to home and saw those.... Geto made Gojo believe that the reader made him do that but actually she didn't she loves Gojo not Geto...but Geto told Gojo that.... ( Pls give it a interesting ending)💖

Pairing: Geto suguru x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Non con

wc: 1,661

MINORS DNI

i'm reallyyyy sorry I didn't know how to give it an interesting ending so I gave it a normal one

“See you later, babe.” You leaned in to kiss Satoru goodbye as he stepped out the door, a familiar sense of longing settling in your chest as you watched him walk away. His boss had been relentless lately, piling on projects and late nights, leaving little time for the moments you both cherished. With a soft sigh, you turned back to the quiet of your home.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, feeling dimmer without Satoru. You poured yourself a glass of wine, the deep color swirling in the glass, a stark contrast to your mood. After running a warm bath, you sank into the bubbles, letting the water envelop you. You closed your eyes, wishing you could express how much you missed those moments together and how the distance was wearing on you. When you finally emerged from the bath, feeling slightly more relaxed, you glanced at the clock—it was still early. You settled onto the couch with a cozy blanket and a book, but the story barely registered. Eventually, the book slipped from your hands as sleep took over, the quiet of the house wrapping around you.

When you woke later, the sun had dipped low in the sky. “Ugh, Satoru still isn’t home,” you grumbled. Just then, the doorbell rang. “Coming!” you called, hoping it was him. But when you opened the door, your heart sank at the sight of your husband’s friend, Keto—wait, no, it must be Geto.

“Not who you were expecting?” he chuckled.

“Yeah, Satoru’s not home, but I’ll let him know you stopped by,” you replied, trying to close the door. He wedged his foot in the way, stopping you.

“I’m not here for Satoru,” he said, barging in and grabbing hold of you, prompting a startled yelp from your lips.

"W-what the hell! Let me go!" you shouted, hitting his back as he dragged you toward you and Satoru’s room.

He threw you onto the bed and began tearing off all of your clothes. Panicking, you tried to crawl away, but all it did was seem to tempt him further. He grabbed your ankles and pulled you towards the edge of the bed.

“Stop,” you said, “please i'm begging you—“

“—keep begging me,” he encouraged, spitting over his tip to lubricate his entry into your cunt.

He gasped as he felt himself slip inside, feeling your soft walls take his shape. “P-please what about Satoru?” you pleaded, adding more desperation into your tone. However, Geto had planned too long to stop now. He pushed himself deeper inside you, thriving at how your pussy clenched around his member. You felt so good around him as if you were made just for him. He started rutting even faster into your cunt at an inhumane pace.

His eyes were hazy, and his jaw hung slightly open—his expression almost feverish yet stunning, the moonlight glistening against his features. His fingers started rubbing onto your cunt while the his other hand pinned the both of your legs. You pushed at him, but the position he had you locked in disallowed you to do a single thing trapping you beneath him. He continued pounding into you, his hands roaming around your body making sure he didn't miss a spot.

Admist his pussydrunk haze he hadn't realised you raising your hand and before it was too late you scratched his forehead trying even harder to get him off you. He grinned and as though something primal beneath him had freshly awoken, his movement against your sore cunt became rougher, harder, almost violent as his own pleasure quickly built to an almost dizzying state.With an almost breathless grunt, still pounding into you, his tone of voice became aggressively possessive "M- mine ah Not Satoru s- shit" he rammed himself even harder against you with more determination before both your release finally closing in at long, long last.

He pulled out, leaving you passed out on the bed, and stepped into the shared bathroom for a shower. He hadn’t even heard the footsteps approaching the house, but that didn’t matter—he had a plan in mind. After finishing his shower and slipping into Satoru’s clothes just because he felt like it, he walked into the living room and spotted Satoru.

“Oh my god,” Satoru sighed in relief, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I thought something happened with the bedroom door locked and the front door wide open. I was worried.”

“Hmm, Satoru, I need to tell you something, but we should sit down for this,” Geto said, adopting a serious tone. Satoru raised an eyebrow, confusion flickering across his face, but he followed Geto to the couch anyway.

Once seated, Geto took a deep breath, feigning a solemn expression. “I don’t know how to say this, but your wife called me over. We both got a little drunk, and one thing led to another. She kept coming on to me, even after I told her it was wrong. It was like she wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal, trying to mask the thrill of the lie.

A wave of hurt and disbelief washed over Satoru’s face—this was the last thing he expected to hear. “Huh? What? What are you talking about?!” he yelled, standing up, his voice rising in pitch.

“I’m sorry, man, but she wouldn’t leave me alone,” Geto replied, forcing a faux-sheepish look. “I tried to push her away, but she kept insisting. You know how it can get when drinks are involved.”

Satoru shook his head, disbelief etched in his features. “This can’t be happening. I trust her, I—”

“Look, I didn’t want it to happen either,” Geto interrupted, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. “But you know how she can be. I thought you should know.”

“J- FUCK, just leave. I need a moment to myself,” Satoru grumbled, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His thoughts raced, trying to process what he’d just heard. The air felt heavy, thick with tension and betrayal.

“Sorry,” Geto said, standing up slowly, his facade slipping just a bit. He could see Satoru was crumbling, and the satisfaction of his deception stirred something dark within him. As he walked toward the door, he glanced back one last time. “Just… think about it, okay? I’m here if you need to talk.”

Satoru barely acknowledged him, his gaze lost in thought. The door clicked shut behind Geto, leaving Satoru alone in the heavy silence. His mind spiraled with images of you and Geto, the trust he’d placed in both of you shattered in an instant.

He sank back onto the couch, head in his hands, replaying Geto’s words. Doubt seeped in, mingling with the confusion and hurt. How could this happen? How could the people he trusted most betray him

like this?

[the-impala-is-my-home]

Hello hello! 💚 For the 5 sentence prompts:

"I never thought I'd see you here again " :0

“I never thought I’d see you here again”

It might not be an appropriate sentence to greet customers with, but Simon is too caught off guard to think of a better one, standing face to face with the guy he’d been so devastatingly sure would never willingly step into this coffee shop again.

He guesses few people would be interested in becoming regulars at places where they got drenched in sugary drinks from head to toe just because the barista was stunned by their ethereal beauty and tripped right into them. When the gorgeous stranger had, understandably, left to get out of his ruined clothes, Simon looked at his retreating back and agonized over the fact that he had just ruined his one chance of asking for his number.

“Well I never got to actually try that coffee of yours,” the stranger responds, quickly placing an order for a cappuccino and slightly tugging at the hem of his fresh and not coffee drenched sweatshirt, adding “Besides, I really wanted to ask you for your number and I’d rather do that when I’m not dripping coffee all over your floor.”

-

The to go cup the stranger- no Wille- ordered, complete with Simon’s number on the side, ends up sitting on the table for hours, only carried away by Wille at the end of Simon’s shift, the other hand tightly clasped around Simon’s.

-----

Thank you so much for the prompt! I was first going to go for a different approach with this one, but then I saw that I actually had another prompt in my inbox that worked better with that idea, so I went for the slightly fluffier idea with this one. :)

The other one is already finished too and will be up in a second!

send me an ask with wilmon + a sentence and I will write the next 5 sentences!

[maaxverstappen]

help me hold onto you | T | 7/12

f1driver!max and streamer!charles

The man—Charles, Max assumes—sounds French. He loves that. He should be used to a French accent, he was forced to converse with Pierre often enough, but it sounds different coming from Charles. More melodic. Almost similar to someone he used to know once. “And that made me think,” Charles says, voice bellowing from Max’s speakers. “That it was stupid that we didn't have carrots before. Like, come on, it's a farming game.” Max has no fucking idea what the hell he is on about.

or: Max is lonely and finds Charles streaming on Twitch.

based on this prompt sent to @f1prompts

[keicordelle]

FFXIV Write Day 5: Stamp

[Stained parchment, crumpled and worn, rendered nearly illegible by age. Found behind untouched crates in a storage room in the Waking Sands.]

Seventh day of the Sixth Astral Moon, year 0 of the Seventh Astral Era Dear Mr. Tragbharsyn and Mrs. Uwilsyngwyn Dear Wilfsunn and Bloewyda Bloewyda and Wilfsunn, I know not how I might Moenbryda is I regret to inform you I cannot express my sorrow that The words to express such a It is with great sorrow that I must inform you of Moenbryda I have failed to protect Moenbryda was struck down while trying to preserve Moenbryda has valiantly given her life You would have been proud of her How could one possibly express the sorrow of losing From distant shores did she come, and to distant shores I wish it had been otherwise I was not strong enough to save Her bravery has saved I cannot begin to I wish, as I am certain you do, that I had been the She was I cannot

7.11.0 Bloewyda, Wilfsunn, I'm sorry.

[bruciemilf]

Okay besties, I have an idea for you;

AU where the justice league was rooted in a small town; everyone knows everybody and no one knows anyone. Not really. But them? Oh, they know eachother.

They knew Clark and Bruce would tie the knot right after graduation.

They knew Diana would take new York museums by storm. They knew Hal would grow into his dad's aviator jacket. They knew Barry would wear gold around his neck in the Olympics. They simply knew.

Except for the fact that Clark had no idea Bruce would go on to divorce him just to marry an old sparring buddy, -- Khoa something; he doesn't know to this day, and he refuses to learn, -- for reasons he wouldn't divulge.

And bruce didn't anticipate his ex husband being the one who would investigate his husband's murder.

Funny how death brings people together.

Not until Dick, their boy, his boy, too, - He's Jon and Kon's brother just as much as he's Jason's, Tim's, and Damian's, and no piece of shit paper could take that from him, - told him, a bone white paleness to his cheeks the day of his weekend.

Their home is chaos; Not a chaos he knows, a chaos he loves, but a disservice on their once home.

Four different cars parked in front of Bruce's manor, dark enough to blend in the depth of night, give Clark a pretty good idea of what he'll find.

" This is bad. This is really bad, right? Oh god, is he moving? He just looked at me, I SWEAR he just looked at me,--"

'' Who gave Barry coffee?" Clark doesn't want them to be shocked when he enters, because really, he's not supposed to be here. The spark of twisted pleasure when they see him Is small, but it's there. " Who died?"

Hal skips over the corpse currently occupying the living room carpet, a frenzy in his eyes, " We do NOT have time for your shit, Kent. It's bad enough Wayne dragged us along to his little graveyard shift,--"

Clark doesn't particularly want to know who's that Oliver tosses Russian words with over the phone, but he takes a pause, only to point sharply at the pilot, " As if you have anything better to do you plane crushing fuck--"

" One time! One time!"

" Quiet down! You're upsetting Bruce," Command and order came to Diana as naturally as flight does to birds; Out of them all, -- jaded and secretive and wore out by life like a pair of shoes, -- she holds the crown of stability for sure.

Clark envies her. Maybe because she's her, or because she has an arm around Bruce.

He's tired; And scared. Clark's pretty little ghost.

Blanket over his lean, strong shoulders, knees nestled to his chest, shivering under Diana's arms. His eyes haven't left the living room.

Not until Clark walked up to the bottom of the stairs, where he could catch a better view of purple and blue rendering Bruce's sharp cheek.

There's something undeniably demure about Bruce Wayne; Youngest of them, softest of them. Clark adored it; He's always been a beast of a man, -- granted, raised with Martha Kent's southern loving ways, but you can't make a puppy from a wolf.

Bruce very much disagreed, and told Clark as such. That they compliment eachother.

Clark can't help but be sad at Bruce's softness now; But he's not stupid enough to think Bruce weak, and God help you if you're that man. Maybe Khoa was that man.

Bruce's eyelashes flutter like a butterfly's wings, " ...Clark." You came.

" Hi, baby." You called.

He closes his eyes, silently letting embarassment take him. Hal facepalms behind him.

" Not to interrupt your weird Eye Make Out slash Emotional Hug contact, but seriously, we need to call the police!"

" No!" Bruce raises to his feet, fingers twisting and fiddling, a nervous habit. Clark wants to capture him in his arms and never let him move, " No. No police."

Diana's voice is gentle, " Why not?"

" Because he did it!" Hal says, " I mean, it's pretty obvious!"

" Oh shut the fuck up-"

" That's absurb--"

" Hal, you're scared I get it, but Bruce would never,--"

" I did," Bruce declares, sentencing them to silence. " I did it. "

A tension filled cloud slowly drips over them. Hal begins pacing even more. Barry joins him. Oliver's yelling gets louder, and the Bruce's fingers shake worse.

Clark, wordlessly, pulls him upstairs, hands gentle on his smaller wrists, ignoring the call back from downstairs, where death still lingers.

Bruce won't look at him when he asks, " Did you do it? Really?"

" He was going to hit me."

" He was already hitting you," Clark spits the hateful truth, acid hissing over his tongue like a well-sharpened knife, " He was already hitting you. And you didn't kill him then. "

A shiver, a tremble, Bruce turning his back as if to protect himself. Clark's heart hurts. He's never been someone Bruce needed protection from, " Please, --"

" So you were either going to stop him from hitting you... Or from hitting someone else," Bruce's frame moves from him, departs again, and Clark follows, because he let Bruce walk away one time and it got them here, " ...Or someone was gonna stop him from hitting you."

Bruce freezes, gaze wide. Only he's not looking at Clark. He's looking at what's behind him.

Clark follows the line of sight.

There's Jason, their youngest, their tallest, terrified, and teary, and blood soiling his hands.

[delta-piscium]

@steddie-week day 1: Hunger | 1.1k words cw: light angst in that Steve is a little sad/dealing with some mental stuff but like hurt/comfort (not EDs which mental stuff combined with the prompt word might make it seem like, hunger is used as a metaphor)

Sometimes Steve doesn’t talk to anyone for days. He just shuts himself in his room and hides, barely leaves his bed. Pretends he doesn’t exist, or that time has stopped and he’s the only thing that exists.

Sometimes, he’ll go back too soon, feel bad for the ignored calls and drag himself out of bed to see the people who matter most to him. But it won’t feel warm and soft those times. He’ll be too raw and It’ll feel like they’re grabbing his insides and eating them. Pulling his heart and brain out of his body and devouring them without letting him eat theirs in return. 

Usually, he’s okay with that. He knows his place, he knows that’s what he’s for. For other people to get fed. And he’s happy to feed, to do that for them. 

He loves them, of course he’s gonna give himself over. It’s just that sometimes they take too much. They don’t know they do he thinks, they don’t know they’re eating him alive. That he’s presenting himself on a silver platter and letting them take take take, and that sometimes they take too much.

That’s why he disappears, so he can grow back. So he can give more. Because if he stops giving he's afraid they’ll get tired. He won’t be useful, he can’t give when he’s like that. He starts craving, he starts wanting. He feels starved and wants to take and feed too, and that’s not part of the deal. He’s not supposed to eat, he’s supposed to be eaten. So when he turns hungry and ravenous he hides, he isolates. 

Robin is the only one who truly gets this about him, who doesn’t take and demand. She gently accepts the things he gives and never without giving too, forcing him to stay whole. It’s overwhelming and sometimes he has to hide from that too, he doesn’t know how to deal with the force of it. He’s so used to the constant hunger it’s a shock when it’s gone but he’s gotten better. And anyway, he and Robin are part of one whole so whatever is given or taken between them is never really gone. It stays with both of them.

Robin is the only one, or she was the only one he should say. Because now there’s Eddie. Eddie who gives and gives and gives, almost as much as he does. But who doesn’t seem to dwindle and dim like Steve does. Who doesn’t seem to starve or hunger. Eddie who notices when Steve does, when he stumbles and gets greedy. Who holds him up and makes him whole with a look, a touch, a word. 

Eddie who breaks in through his window when he shuts himself in his big empty house and lays with him in his bed, softly telling Steve stories and running his fingers through his hair. 

It’s wonderful.

It's the worst. 

“I’m afraid you’re gonna end up as empty as me,” Steve tells him, whispers it into the dark. “That you’re here now and you’re giving and I’m taking and you’re gonna be the one left with nothing.” 

Eddie doesn’t respond immediately but hums in acknowledgment, lets him know he heard and is thinking. 

“This is good for me too,” he says eventually, “being with you and resting. Getting to be here for you when you never used to let anyone but Robin be. It’s good for me too.” 

“It can be good and still drain you.” Says Steve, knows it to be true. He doesn’t resent giving the way he does, he loves it, it’s good. It drains him. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, “this doesn’t drain me, you’re comforting me too. It’s balanced.” 

Balanced. That’s what Robin tells him too. That’s what Nancy sometimes asked him for when they dated and he couldn’t let her see the cracks. That’s what he wonders about with his other friends. 

He doesn’t usually know how to do that. He doesn’t know where the lines are. He doesn’t understand how Eddie knows. 

“You let me give, and I let you give, so it’s balanced. We don’t take from each other, we gift and we receive. It’s balanced. You have to let other people give sometimes too, Steve.” 

It hits something deep in him, the last words. He knows this, he doesn’t want to know it. 

“I’m afraid they won’t. if I open myself up to it. If I ask, I’m afraid they won’t.” He says it so quietly it’s almost inaudible but Eddie hears. 

His hands still in Steve’s hair for a moment before moving again, gently scratching his scalp. 

“I know baby. But that’s not fair, they want to give too. If they knew how much they took without giving back they’d be heartbroken. It’s not fair to you or them.” 

Steve lets Eddies words wash over him, he knows he’s right. They’d be nauseous with it. His sweet wonderful friends and family would be crushed.

“Sometimes it will happen, maybe,” Eddie continues when Steve doesn’t respond beyond a sharp breath in. “Sometimes people won’t know how to give after only getting but you gotta let them try. Sometimes they’ll learn and adjust, sometimes they won’t and you’ll have to deal with that. But you can’t starve yourself like this because you won’t let them try.” 

"What if I take too much?"

"Then they talk to you, like you should talk to them."

“When did you get so wise,” Steve snorts, his voice is tight but he makes the effort, tries to lighten the mood. Deflects, like he always does. 

Eddie lets him, a little, knows Steve has to. But he’s still serious when he answers.

“Wayne is like a never-ending well of insight and digging around in everything, never lets me get away with shit.” 

The opposite of Steve’s parents who were the first to take from him and never give, never look into his eyes and tell him to eat. 

“He’s a good guy,” Steve tells Eddie instead of weighing him down more than he already has. Instead of acknowledging and relieving the hunger pang that strikes him at the thought. Even now, here, he doesn’t know how. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “I’m here to relay his wisdom, like playing telephone with whatever stuff he teaches me. The things your parents took away from you.”

Eddie still knows, of course, he does. He always knows.

“And what do you get?” Steve has to ask.

“I get you. I get everything.”

Steve smiles, turns around to kiss Eddie. He doesn’t feel empty when Eddie kisses him back, hungry. When he takes and devours. 

[cuubism]

hello friends. despite my 9 million existing dreamling wips i'm feeling the need to branch out a bit for the sake of my mental variety. what pairing other than dreamling should i write a little something for? could be romantic or platonic

other way of phrasing i guess: any pairings you really want to see more fics for in the fandom?

[crescentmoonrider]

Mother

Toji makes it out of the pit. Toji makes it out, alive and injured and hungry, and mother isn't here patch up his injuries. Not this time, not ever again. For the prompt : Busted Lip [ @badthingshappenbingo ]

read on AO3

or under the Read More, I’m not your boss

[ do mind that this fic features heavy descriptions of injuries]

.

It hurts.

It didn’t hurt quite as much when Toji made it out, maybe because of how excited he had been, tearing through curses with the savage joy of revenge and finally seeing the light of day, but now – now it hurts like hell.

The worm wriggles inside his stomach, and he fights the urge to throw up.

He couldn’t leave the little guy in there where it would just be exorcised, couldn’t get rid of it either, not when the knife it spit out was what gave Toji a chance to make it. Not when it does nothing, but eat what falls in front of it and call out for its mom.

So Toji does his best to keep the little guy hidden inside his stomach, does his best to stumble up to a room where he can take care of his wounds, maybe rest a bit before someone comes to bother him, maybe even eat something that isn’t a curse for the first time in… ah, how long was he in there ?

Given everyone’s faces when he walked out of the pit, he thinks they’ll at least leave him alone for a while.

Shit, it hurts so much.

He tracks blood across the dark floor of mother’s room, stains her dresser while looking for the first aid supplies she used to keep for him.

Usually, she would tell him to sit in the entrance and not touch anything until she’s done cleaning him up, lest it gets dirty. She would scold him, say they both know he will never make her proud, but if he could at least stop being such a disappointment it would be the least he could do, as her son.

“You’ll never win these fights anyway, Toji, so stop picking them,” she would say.

Not that he ever really picked fights so much as watched them fall in front of him. Last time was… last time was an exception.

He grinds his teeth. Feels his stomach jump to his throat in pain when the muscles of his jaw contract around the open wound that is his mouth.

He doesn’t know what it looks like, hasn’t looked yet, but he thinks… he thinks it’s pretty bad. All of his injuries probably are, honestly, but the way he feels his bottom lip kind of hanging uselessly on the right, in a way that would definitely dry up his mouth if it didn’t constantly fill with blood…

Yeah, that doesn’t sound good. Gonna have to sew up that one for sure, if he wants to eat.

Mother could have done pretty stitches, cleaned him up all good and stitched his wounds like she did when he got hurt real bad, even though she didn’t have to and he already hurt her enough by being born wrong.

“I can’t let you trouble anyone else,” she used to say while patching up whatever injuries he brought back that day, “since you’re my fault.”

Toji never really cared why she did it, honestly. He just liked how warm her hands were.

He undresses, wincing with each move, throat tearing up with deep, animalistic moans befitting of a monkey, as he pulls cloth out of open wounds and half dry blood.

Mother’s mirror on the dresser will do, he thinks as he grabs it and smears more blood on her things, blurring the image reflected in the glass to an unrecognizable shape.

Shit.

He tries his best to wipe it with the least bloody corner of his yukata, just enough to manage a check of what needs cleaning, what needs dressing, what needs sewing.

The blood in his left eye doesn’t help with seeing all of that, but – he squints. Holds the mirror, shakily angling it to look where it hurts most.

There are deep claw marks carved in the flesh of his right shoulder and breast, and he thinks he can even see a little bit of rib shining through one of the open wounds. That’s gonna need sewing. Same for his forearms, but he’s not sure how he’ll manage that. Maybe if he just dresses them tight enough, the gashes will close on their own ? There’s no bone showing there, so surely that’s a good thing.

His back and left side down to the thigh are just a mess. He thinks he remembers being caught by some, uh, sucking, octopus-looking, thing, and literally ripping himself from its grip to avoid getting eaten. Maybe that’s what did it. Maybe it was the corrosive spit of that weird-ass snake instead.

He guesses… ah, well, that’s already mostly done bleeding, and with how big this one is, he would have a better chance just embroidering all over the exposed flesh rather than try to sew it closed. Gonna have to clean it good, dress it good, and hope skin regrows on monkeys like it does for lizards.

Lizards regrow their skin, right ? They couldn’t shed it otherwise.

Hands and feet are fucked a normal amount, same for his knees. Running and crawling and scratching at the door in the hope he will somehow manage to dig his way out of this hell, he knows no one will open, not father – not father, he said himself he has no son, threw Toji in there himself like he should have eleven years ago instead of making everyone hurt – not mother – it’s Toji’s fault he knows, something he did had to be the last straw and that’s why she slit her throat and left only this dark stain on the floor that Toji can’t even see anymore – not anyone but himself and he tried so hard to just flee, and that’s when the octopus caught him by the back of the shoulder and he –

Hands and feet are fucked a normal amount. He’s missing, what, two nails ? He’ll live. Will be a pain to stitch up anything because of that, but it’s not like he was ever going to make it as pretty as mother did anyway.

His face is the real problem, as expected.

The black eye is fine, he’s had a few before, he knows how that goes, a few days of seeing weird and like a week more of looking ugly and he’s done. But his mouth…

The gash goes from the top of his cheek – missed the eyeball, thankfully – to the bottom of his jaw. Didn’t cut the bone, he thinks, but the right side of his mouth is just limp. He can see the gums through the open wound and under his bottom lip, thinks he can feel a chip in one tooth with his tongue too, follows it down to the gum and it stings, not just his jaw but his tooth too, like the root itself got exposed. Maybe it is.

There’s iron at the back of his throat, up his nose, blood dripping and spilling from the gash kept open by Toji’s spit, too diluted to coagulate.

Even if he manages to sew it all back up properly, can that thing even heal ?

Out of nowhere, he remembers one time Tadayoshi beat up his face and then made fun of Toji for being ugly afterwards. “A face only a mother could love,” he’d said. It made Toji laugh because he couldn’t understand what Tadayoshi meant by that. Which was the wrong answer, but then again, Toji never gives the right answers to anything.

Ah… should he try fixing it right now ? With his hands all fucked up and his stomach empty save for the worm, and his eye all busted ? He’s never gonna get mother’s pretty stitches right, but ugly scars aren’t the same if they’re on his shoulder or on his face.

On her face. Fath- Jin’ichi’s eye, but mother’s full lips, mother’s straight nose. Mother who he’s never gonna see ever again, mother who won’t ever clean his wounds with her warm hands and scold him for being a disappointment, mother whose blood is getting soiled by Toji’s again, spilling on the floor where the last trace of her body was.

He wants to throw up.

The worm hasn’t even moved.

Toji puts down the mirror. There’s fresh water in the room, mother never went out so the servants made sure she always had enough at all times. Tons of clean clothes inside mother’s closet, too, since there’s no way the first aid kit has enough gauze and bandages for this mess. Jin’ichi won’t like it, but what’s he gonna do ? Throw Toji back into the empty pit ? He doesn’t have a son, so Toji doesn’t have to act like one anymore.

And mother wouldn’t mind. She wanted Toji to only ever trouble her, so it’s fine if he uses what little is left of her until there’s nothing but ashes.

It’s fine. He’ll live, even if it hurts.

He’ll make it out.

He’s hungry.

[emimayooo]

“Marry me.” for galeheart

Helloooooo🤩!!! Thank you so much for sending in this prompt, for galeheart, no less! They are my OTP after all hehe🥰❤️❤️❤️

(I'm taking writing prompts!)

“Marry me.” Say she says yes. Then what? She moves to Waterdeep to call a tower a home. Then what? She takes on his name and becomes Mrs—Jenevelle? Shadowheart?—Dekarios. Then what? Children, maybe, though it’s unlikely. But Morena wants grand-babies, and what else can Shadowheart offer, other than her body? No name, no wealth, no dowry, no family; only that, she could make from bloodying and breaking. She could, so she should. She’d be good at it, too. Pain’s her strong suit. It’d be a giving, not a taking. For once, she could give. So she says yes.

[humanmorph]

Lye „Lyke“ Lychen as a sacrifical altar (to Aterika’Kaal) (but he's also kind of the sacrifice)

my @secret-samol gift for @bronanlynch! for the Aterika’Kaal/Lyke prompt of „what if things had gone differently and Aterika'Kaal was still with Lyke“.

notes on this under the readmore!

AU

In this scenario Lyke would succeed in getting the heart of the Motherbeast in Episode 47 and while Alaway would notice & probably still call out to Aterika’Kaal the way he presumably did in canon, Lyke would be there and get to make a compelling case to Aterika’Kaal the likes of „If you stay with me I am going to feed you. I’ve taken care of you until now, I’ll keep doing that“ (argument supported by the fact he’s currently holding the heart of an incredibly powerful dead god). Aterika’kaal agrees and they barely escape through the Sanctum of the Stone Chorus portal. I think it's fun if Lyke then stays there after the hour described in the move is over, maybe knowing he can't convince Pickman & the others that what he's done is actually good, and fine, there's not even anything to worry about he has this totally handled, But yeah he then sets out from whereever in Sangfielle Aterika'Kaals domain is (Austin did say it was an actual place somewhere), and the rest of the Blackwick Group is left to wonder what the hell happened since Lyke just vanished! Alaway has possibly fucked off too after losing the heart. And them getting fired, the Carnival of Moted Light etc. would still happen (and I guess Chine would succeed at what they were doing since Lyke isn’t there?) and who knows if they’d take any action in finding Lyke after that! All that aside though, Lyke basically offers himself to feed on (through blood and/or energy) and to sustain that he keeps consuming(not literally eating) powerful objects/artifacts/resources and possibly eventually living things (I’d imagine he'd still take work as a „please deal with this weird shit for us“ person and when he has to kill a cursed beast or whatnot... might aswell feed Aterika'Kaal?) (What also plays into that decision, and is part of Lyke justifying this to himself, is that without him, Aterika’Kaal would become too powerful. So he aims to function as kind of a conduit & control the power intake so to speak. I think this probably doesn’t work for very long.) I think this eventually goes bad for him because it’s super taxing on his body and the whole deal kind of flips with Aterika’Kaal feeding/keeping HIM alive. He starts finding bodies in the domain again (alternatively, Aterika'Kaal gets better at hiding them because it knows Lyke doesn't particulary like it when it does that). Lyke probably gets stronger due to this power/magic wise, but also way more fragile (he's constantly anemic!). („I love you. I want us both to eat well.“ - Christopher Citro) („When I write of hunger I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and it is all one.“ M.K. Fisher) Notes: I put some resources Lyke’s canonically had in-game + some extra stuff in this picture (the arrow is a reference to Marn’s epilogue, the bugs are bugs (with possibly sinister connotations. If you want them to have those, it’s optional) and the fur is from the Ravening Beast). Another detail I came up with I might aswell tell you because otherwise noone might ever know: the ring with the blue stone is a gift from Es. Sketch Notes: 1. Lyke turning his head to kiss a rose / exposing his neck was one of my very first ideas/sketches I made while working on this, and I liked it too much to not include it. 2. This is supposed to be Aterika'Kaal giving Lyke a blood transfusion but it rather looks like it's feeding on him instead...! I like how the relaxed pose turned out. 3. I wanted to draw something smaller in a simpler style to fill the big canvas I was drawing these on (even though now I put them in separate files anyways...). The day I drew this I saw a tweet about a medieval monks sketchbook, so I was still thinking about that. I didn't even plan to color it originally but I ended up getting invested, haha

Inspired mainly by these 3 quotes: „KEITH: I’m a walking- I am a shrine to Aterika’Kaal.“ (Sangfielle 12: The Secret Ledger of Roseroot Hall Pt. 4) „KEITH: There's a version of dealing with Aterika'Kaal that ends with Lyke being satisfied that he rehabilitated a god or at least it looks […] like what he thinks Aterika'Kaal would have been before the YVEs showed up. That's probably his main retirement path, but it also might kill him instead.” (Sangfielle 47: Wax, Iron, and Ichor Pt. 4) „AUSTIN: As you’re fading, the last thing that you do is make this blood sacrifice to Aterika’Kaal. Your own blood.“ (Sangfielle 52: Six Travelers: Lyke)

[opens-up-4-nobody]

I'm walking. Fast. The world is tilted. There's green peaking up from flat gray. Short, stubby moss. Like an ooze. Like the sidewalk is compressing it sideways. Persistent even in a concrete jungle. This little thing. This tiny thing. Reaching up toward the sun from under trampling feet. Toward a distant star. And I'm walking, but I'm light through a prism. Splitting seven different directions. A billion and a billion and a billion years brought this tiny crumpled organism to the crushing weight of my foot. And I want to scream and I want to run and I want to cry. Because it's beautiful and I'm worried I'm the only one who sees it. I'm worried it'll burn through me. I'm worried that when I walk this path for my hundred thousandth time, I won't see it like I did this first time. That my world will fall to ash again and I won't see the moss growing up between the seams in the sidewalk.

[youremyonlyhope]

Every day I am more and more upset I didn’t write that research paper on parasocial relationships in social media a whole decade ago.

[just-an-enby-lemon]

"What happened to the Robin before you?" Spoiler asked. She was sitting on the edge of the building, one of her legs  dangling over the nothingness, restless. She was often restless. Not the best quality to have at a stakeout but Tim couldn't avoid thinking it was cute, in the sense all things Stephanie were. 

"I'm not sure. "He admitted uncomfortably. He always wondered what exactly happened with Jason Todd, why he disappeared one day and Batman was suddenly so full of worry and rage. No one ever told him, not even Dick or Alfred and after a while he stopped asking. "I think he died but B never really talks much about him."

Steph looked disappointed with his answer and Tim couldn't blame her. He wished he had a better answer but he knew when to drop things, Bruce would not accept more questions then the ones he already refused to answer and he had spend too much time proving he could be a Robin, that he deserved the place even that he would be better than Jason (he didn't think it was fair he had to insult Jason to prove his value but he understood that it was what B wanted to hear - even if just as a way run from responsability - so he played his part) and he could not afford to lose it all wondering about a past that wasn't even his. Even when he wanted to. Even when he felt he needed to know. No, Tim was better than that. He had to be. He had to prove he deserved his place in at least one family.

"What a great detective you are." Stephanie mocked, not unkindly but merely with the sarcasm she used to fill the space more often than not. "Do you ever think about doing your own investigation?"

He had.

"Not really. B would never accept it."

"What he doesn't know can't hurt him." She said in a sing-song voice and he could feel her mischievous smile even if her mask stopped him from seeing it. He opened his mouth to retort. She was quicker. "C'mon, Boy Wonder, we won't be doing anything wrong. I just think this kid deserves closure, someone to know his story and mourn him."

"Okay."He said because once again she was right. And because maybe if he lost his place between Bruce, Dick and Alfred he would at least have her and not being completly alone was the final fuel for him to do what felt like the right thing. "Let's do this."

And that's how they discovered the boy hidden under Arkham. Bruce's biggest mistake. Jason Todd. 

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Poems: Day 6 (January 6th)

Godly Poison

I sowed and cultivated these plants myself

I brought them to life to bear fruit and flower

with my own bare hands and the loving patience of a proud parent

angel wings

autumn crocus

belladonna

calla lily

daphne

death camas

doll's eyes

foxglove

hemlock

larkspur

laurel

monkshood

moonflower

moonseed

mountain arnica

oleander

pokeweed

privet

ruti

snakeweed

and when the tide told me the time was right

I prepared and presented a feast full of my children

to Him

He who

says what He ought not say

touches what He ought not touch

takes what He ought not take

I admit

I took pleasure in His pain

as He once did with mine

blood pouring from His mouth

His body thrashing and convulsing in his chair

fear and sheer terror invading His wide eyes

I smiled through it all

and when his heart finally stopped

mine soared and I finally felt free

I know

one day

I'll be forgiven for what I had to do

and I know

He is not destined for any kindness

in the next life

- - - - -

Here's the link to the corresponding writing prompt post

[hirokiyuu]

(platonic) Dys + Tammy, where Dys is helping Tammy out with being outside out of the colony for the first time after sneaking out. What is your three sentences of a wholesome adventure?

At the end of the third funeral, where they’d burned his and her shared best friend right on the heels of her dad and Cal, Dys had gone up to Tammy and said Do you wanna see something cool and then, when she’d hesitated, Sol really liked it too.

He wouldn’t have, if she hadn’t stopped crying about halfway through the second and then never managed to start up again, her face dry and hollow and unfamiliar, but she had, and so he had, and now here they were, in a field of flowers outside the colony together with her gathering her skirts to sit. “Dys,” she says, quietly, half turned away from him as she cups one of the flowers in her palm with her voice, as always, so gentle, “thank you, it’s beautiful.”