#as if I don’t have enough muses as it is

[savi0rr]

Darling Wife .ᐟ

Viktor x Fem! Reader

In which, Viktor has a sweet wife that, weirdly enough, no one really knew about.

a/n: hi divas! Erm this is my first time writing for Viktor so I'm sorry if he sounds out of character.

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"Viktor? What is that on your finger?" Jayce inquired, suddenly appearing behind Viktor and peering curiously over his shoulder. Viktor felt a knot form in his stomach as he glanced down at his hand, where a gleaming wedding band rested snugly on his finger. He cursed under his breath, realizing he had meant to remove it but had completely forgotten in the whirlwind of his work.

"Just a ring," Viktor replied evasively, casting a quick look back at Jayce while clicking his tongue in annoyance. Jayce, however, was undeterred. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, a teasing smirk forming on his lips. "Isn’t that the same finger where wedding rings typically go?" he challenged, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Don’t tell me you actually have a wife?"

Viktor maintained his silence, his heart racing in response to Jayce’s playful interrogation. "Even if I did, I wouldn't share that information with you," he said tersely, redirecting his attention back to the Hextech gemstone in front of him, his mind racing as he tried to refocus on his work.

Jayce, still leaning casually against the desk, raised his eyebrow further, the smirk on his face beginning to fade away. He studied Viktor’s expression closely, a frown of confusion.

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“Viktor has a wife? That’s just absurd,” Mel declared, waving her hand dismissively as if to brush away the very notion. 

“No, I swear! He’s actually wearing a wedding ring. When I asked him about it, he responded with, ‘Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you,’” Jayce insisted, leaning closer to Mel's desk, his hands planted firmly on the surface.

Mel rolled her eyes in disbelief, leaning back in her chair and letting her hands fall into her lap. “Who on Earth would marry Viktor?” she whispered, her curiosity piqued as she leaned forward slightly, her expression a mix of intrigue and skepticism. “No offense, but…” she trailed off, momentarily glancing away, her thoughts clearly racing.

Jayce sighed, exasperated. “I mean, it’s not the best image, is it?” he muttered, shrugging as he contemplated the idea. His mind seemed to wander as he contemplated the strange pairing. “Plus, why do you even care?” Mel asked, raising an eyebrow at him, a hint of playful challenge in her voice. “Because I want to know what she looks like!” he responded with a hint of frustration, glancing off to the side, and groaning.

Mel pondered for a moment, her brow furrowing. “Even if he did have a wife, wouldn’t she be here at the Academia with him?” she pointed out, her curiosity beginning to overshadow her previous skepticism. “That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Jayce exclaimed, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. “It doesn’t add up!”

With a sigh, Mel straightened up, her expression turning serious. “Look, I have much bigger problems to deal with than figuring out who Viktor is married to,” she stated firmly.

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"When do you think he sees his wife?" Mel asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she peeked around the corner of the dimly lit hallway. The soft glow of fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting shadows on the walls of the Academia. Jayce followed her gaze, cautiously poking his head out to get a better look.

"Hmm... maybe when he isn’t buried under a mountain of work," Jayce mused, tilting his head and furrowing his brow in thought. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, and he swept it back with a casual motion. Mel, with an exasperated huff, rolled her eyes dramatically. 

"You should know this! You’re his partner, for crying out loud," she murmured, her tone tinged with disbelief as she crossed her arms. Jayce's expression shifted to one of sheepishness, his cheeks flushing slightly as he glanced away, avoiding her accusatory gaze.

"But I leave before him. I'm already gone by the time he usually starts his day. And when I come back to the lab, it’s always just him—working away, lost in his experiments," Jayce replied, his shoulders lifting in a shrug that conveyed both confusion and resignation. He could sense Mel's frustration, but the truth was, Viktor’s work schedule was a puzzle he had yet to solve.

Mel sighed heavily, her brow knitting together in thought. "How do you not know… never mind," she grumbled, her voice trailing off as she turned her attention back to Viktor, who was at that moment preparing to leave. 

"Shhh!" Jayce hissed urgently, his eyes widening as he quickly placed a hand over Mel's mouth, the sound echoing loudly in the stillness. They both watched in silence as Viktor slowly began to rise, gripping his crutch tightly under his arm while gathering his belongings with meticulous care. He seemed unaware of the two pairs of eyes on him, lost in his own world.

Viktor gripped his documents as he walked down the hallway, his eyes narrowed. He made his way down to the back of the Academia, opening a door. Jayce and Mel looking out the window from the other story. "The hell is he doing?" Jayce muttered under his breath. "Look," Mel said, spotting you not too far in the distance. "Is that his wife?" Jayce whispered.

"Viktor." You spoke up, smiling when you saw him. You stood up from the bench you were sitting at. Viktor eagerly wobbled over to you. "I've been waiting." You teased lightly, taking the documents from his hand and placing them down on the bench. Viktor could only stare at you. He hadn't seen you in a while. But he'd never say that he missed you. "How are you doing?" You asked gently, guiding him to sit down, placing his crutch aside. "I've been...well," Viktor said plainly. "I could be better." He muttered, glancing off to the side. You nodded, sitting beside him. You glanced down at his hand, raising an eyebrow. "You wore your wedding ring?" You asked, a small smile forming on your face. Viktor's cheeks warmed a bit, sighing. "I meant to take it off." He grumbled as his fingers ran over the wedding band. "I'm glad you wore it. It suits you." You giggled lightly, placing your hand over his.

Meanwhile, with Jayce and Mel, they could only stare in shock. "Of course, he has a pretty wife too!" Jayce groaned as he shook his head. "Of course," Mel muttered as she sweat drops. "Who knew she was so darling?"

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[lichenes]

Hi, could you do a young silco x nb! reader where they have been friends for years and have been pinning HARD on each other, and one of them(your choice idk who) over hears the other talking about how they feel, and basically, they are kinda forced into confessing...that kinda leads to smut with feelings..pleasethankyouso

Silco falls to his knees for you in this one btw. Just so you know. Tried to write the smut as gn as possible!! CW: vanilla sex?? nothing wild ig, no reader genitals mentioned, gn!reader, silco and reader being oblivious wc: 838 .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

You stretched your body walking into the bar part of The Last Drop. “Morning.” You said to Vander who was preparing the bar for opening. “It ain’t quite morning anymore, luv.” You looked at the clock which displayed 7:30pm on the dot. “I couldn’t sleep all night...” You said still blinking back sleep from your eyes.

“Your shift starts in half an hour, by the way.” Said Silco appearing seemingly out of nowhere. “Clients don’t show up until like 10, relax.” You mused, a bit startled by his sudden presence, nevertheless happy he was there.  

You were dressed in your usual work clothing, nothing special, just a pair of slacks, a loosely fitted dress shirt and an apron meant to keep the uniform at least partially clean. You were wiping down the tables before more of the guests arrived, final touches as Vander liked to call it. You were the only person serving food and cleaning tonight so you had your hands full. 

Silco felt cornered. Mesmerised - he was mesmerised by you. Sitting at the bar and nursing a glass of whatever was cheapest, he purposefully ignored you. Were he to pay you any mind, he would go insane. Not an hour ago did he overhear you confessing your infatuation with him to your coworker.

“Okay, who is it then?” Said the newest addition to the staff. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop… truly, he was just about to ask you something menial when he heard his name being spoken. It rolled off your tongue with such adoration when you were sure he wasn’t listening. “I’ve got my eye on Vander…” Commented the girl. 

“Not my type.” Silcos heart beat faster. “You fancy Silco?” You hummed affirmatively, creating a memory for him, he was sure he’d never forget.

Vander waved his hand in front of Silco’s face, waking him up from the daydream. “You alright?” Silco’s face didn’t give away the whirlwind of emotions he was going through right in this moment. Although, he had slightly more colour in his face. “Yeah- listen.” He beckoned him closer. The bar, despite being quite loud, didn't offer enough privacy to say such things at full volume. 

“They said they fancy me.” Vander looked at him in disbelief. He then chuckled. “What, like you didn’t know?” Silco’s face went pale. He grabbed the bar’s edge. “Mate, everyone in the undercity knows this. The whole, you know, back and forth you lot have going on.”

Silco stood up. He was a calculated man. His actions were meticulous. Years of yearning. Months of planning a confession and that’s how he finds out the love of his life actually reciprocates his feelings!? He wasn’t following a script or a plan. “I need to find them. Now.”

You were taking your break in the back when Silco burst through the door. You smiled at him and just when you were about to greet him he closed the door and ran up to you. “Silco?” You questioned his erratic behaviour.

“...for years, and it feels like he doesn’t notice it!” 

He smashed his lips into your own ones cradling both your cheeks as he lowered himself to the floor, finishing his descent on his knees. You reciprocated the kiss, craning your head down so that he could stay close to you. 

You enjoyed the moment as much as you could, afraid it was to flee as soon as you separated. 

When you did, you put your foreheads together. Laughing slightly you looked at him and caressed his cheek with your thumb. “Took you long enough.” He then felt it, the hunger he suppressed for so many years. He dove back in, greedier than before. You moaned in surprise but welcomed it nevertheless. 

You battled for dominance for a moment, in the end he won. There never was questioning it. “I need you.” You managed to get out.

“I’ll make you need me even more.” 

You were resting your back on the door of the room which was locked to prevent people from interrupting your tryst. Silco had one of your legs propped on his hip, holding onto the neighbouring cabinet was the other thing keeping you upright. 

He was thrusting into you with vigour that was making you go cross eyed. Your arms around his neck were only adding to the experience, you needed him closer, right here - right now is all that counted. 

You saw white when he put his cold hands onto your most sensitive spot. A few circles is what got you to the edge and his blissed out words spilling from his lips - ‘come for me’ - for me. You’d do anything for him at this moment. 

And so you followed his instruction, causing his own orgasm after your own. He put his head on your shoulder when you both were basking in the afterglow. You brushed his bangs out of his face. His eyes were twinkling. 

“Tell Vander he needs to find a replacement for you tonight, I need you all to myself.” 

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[maybefae]

December 2024

Pile 1 - Pile 2 - Pile 3

Remember, this is a general reading and it may not resonate for everyone or completely. Tarot is a tool to help guide but you are responsible for your actions and life, you choose your path.

Tips!

|Pile 1

Tarot: Knight of Wands, Ace of Wands, Nine of Wands, Temperance, Page of Pentacles, The Lovers, Queen of Cups, King of Cups, Page of Swords, Two of Cups, (Bottom of the Deck: The Emperor, The Magician, Six of Cups)

Oracle:  The Wise One (tradition, order), The Alchemist (balance, invention, destruction), The Astronomer (discovery, augury)

Before I pull cards, I keep getting the image of the color blue. But this blue is like the color of the sky when the sun is rising during the winter. The crispy light blue with puffy grey clouds that are not yet illuminated white yet. I saw the sunrise last night and wrote a little blurb while I was watching it. I remember saying something about the light grey and yellow clouds, lit up just as the sun was barely on the horizon, peeking up past the hills. I  said that those colors are what I believe angel wings probably look like. Now, I don’t believe in angels in a Christian sense because I’m pagan but I do like the symbology of them. Those colors came after a moment of bright, fiery orange that sliced through nighttime blue clouds…I believe that a sense of hope will probably come back to you. Maybe it’s just for a small moment during the month but it’s enough to help you keep trucking. You also could’ve lost someone recently and it’s hitting you hard during the holidays, but you may encounter something that represents this person. This person will show you that they are with you at that time and they want you to enjoy your holidays. It’s a bittersweet feeling. But there is a “the calm after a storm” feeling when it comes to this. Now onto the cards…

The same message carried through. This December will feel very hectic for you because you FEEL like you have to handle everything by yourself. There is a feeling of having to pick up roles in which you are not used to, because someone else used to do them (this could be the person that had past). This feels like an important male family member: a dad, a grandpa, or even your partner. It doesn’t have to be but there is a male figure coming through and with these partner leaning cards, it could be your late partner (maybe someone you were just really close with). 

There is a feeling that you feel like you have to create the magic of the holidays now and you are very stressed and overwhelmed with all that you have to do. I feel an energy that is tiptoeing on the line of an emotional and mental breakdown. There is someone in your life that wants you to ask for their help, which I feel like you keep pushing away because you want to handle it. This could be someone you even have an argument with which then makes you question where your relationship with them stands. But just know, all will be well after a conversation. They want to comfort you and release some of the weight off your shoulders. Maybe this will give you a heads up so you can avoid this situation as well as the stress you are putting on yourself (it will make your holidays go smoother and happier).  Be patient with yourself and others (especially out in public). 

For those who have lost someone that brought the magic of the holidays, just know that they are helping you energetically during this time. There could be a moment where it seems magical and just know that it was them bringing the energy they used to bring - they don’t want to miss out on the fun either. <3

|Pile 2

Tarot: Three of Wands, Three of Swords, The Magician, Four of Wands, Ten of Cups, The Star, White Numen, The Sun, Six of Pentacles (both upwards and reversed)

Oracle:  The Muse (generosity, naivety), The Thief  (seizing the moment, selfishness), The Acolyte (new projects, learning)

This month is about healthy selfishness for you, Pile 2! I think this is part of your healing process after some type of heartbreak and you are knowingly letting the attention and care be turned towards you. This could be the first holiday season without a partner that wasn’t aligned with you, or your family that you don’t want contact with. Instead, you might be having a friends holiday season where you and your friends celebrate and get together, which is the family you chose for yourself. These friends know of your heartbreak and are doing the most so you have the best holiday - they, in turn, also have a good holiday season as well! You are still showing your appreciation for them, that you’re more than willing to give because they deserve it. But there is a lot of internal focus on yourself during this season. You’re learning that you can have the life you always dreamt of with happy holidays and being surrounded by people that genuinely love you. This will give you a sense of hope for the future. I feel like this month will be a happy month for you, even though you may have some rough days due to this heartbreak. There will be more good days than bad though! This feels like turning a new leaf, starting a new book (not even a new chapter), and going down a path you had ignored due to uncertainty and insecurity. You’re on the precipice of a new journey and that, itself, is the greatest gift. 

|Pile 3

Tarot: Four of Wands, Page of Swords, Dreamworld, The Hierophant, Ace of Wands, Page of Wands, Strength, The Hanged Man, Six of Cups

Oracle: The King (control, reversal of fortune), The Sailor (new influences, wanderlust), The Sentinel (determination, certainty)

Alright, Pile 3, let’s see. There is a conundrum here where there is a card talking about control and another talking about releasing it. You could be someone that usually has the reigns regarding a situation or the holidays in general. However, it feels like you are easing back. 

For some, you could be finally quitting a job and adopting an “anyway the wind blows” mentality. You want to figure out what you want and you’re determined to find it. Some people could have tried to discourage you in the past but you aren’t having it. 

For others, you could be finally taking a vacation for the holidays (like that could be a gift for yourself or from someone else) or you are gonna be going on a honeymoon. There is just an overall feeling of finally getting time to relax after working so hard. You’re laying back and letting life move around you. It’s like you’re gonna be in a void space where the outside world doesn’t feel like it exists, and instead of being scared of being “lost,” you’re embracing it. And I encourage you to!

Maybe all you want these holidays is time for yourself, time to relax and that is the main message I’m getting that can be general for everyone in this pile. You gave everyone their gifts or spent time with people and now you can be a hermit for a little while. And I have a feeling that’s what you want. That, or you are finally taking a leap and embarking on a new adventure. You probably want a head start before the change of the year (and I don’t see a problem with that). 

Dividers: @inklore

[ryuzakemo128]

Snippet of future one shot

Pairing: Poly141 x female reader (maybe?) / Johnny MacTavish x female reader

cw: cheating, affair, Johnny runs away from home, swearing, Johnny's ex-girlfriend appears.

Words: (so far) 989

Johnny didn’t know where he was going. But he had to go away from all of them. He didn’t want to see any of them. Ever again if he had anything to do with it. The longer he spends away from you. The better it would be.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses because at the end of the day it’s all it is. Excuses, upon excuses. I hope you’re happy with yourself.” 

Johnny didn’t know where he was going. But he had to go away from all of them. He didn’t want to see any of them. Ever again if he had anything to do with it. The longer he spent time away from you. The better it would be.

A mantra to keep himself from spinning out of control. His hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

You saw his tinder profile go back up. Your heart dropped to your stomach, hoping it wasn't him. Your heart begged for it not to be him. 

In Johnny's defence, he didn't know you knew them already. “I want a transfer out of task force 141.” He told Captain Price. It wasn't a request. It was a demand. He was demanding a transfer. 

Price looked up at Johnny, he could feel the anger he had for him, Simon and Kyle radiating from Johnny. He didn't know Johnny could be so pointed, so harsh, so willing to leave them for some other team. 

If looks could kill, price sworn he would be dead already. 

Johnny wasn't dumb like you would have loved to call him behind his back. Demolitions, explosives, that doesn't scream dumb ass like you told everyone around you. Laughing at him behind his back like he wouldn't have caught you in the act with his team members. 

He punched John Price over and over that night until he had to be dragged off. Which didn't stop him from punching Simon, the guy who pulled him off. Who knew such a short guy could hold so much anger? 

When you saw him with his ex-girlfriend the next morning, what did you expect would happen? Did you really think he would crawl back to you on his hands and knees like some kind of dog? No. 

He has more self-respect than that. Far more than you have ever given him. 

Now that you see him crying into the shoulder of his ex-girlfriend. Her arms wrapped firmly around him as his sobs racked through his body. 

Grim, his ex-girlfriend who he broke-up with because things weren't working out between them. They decided it was better to remain friends afterwards. He never told you because you never asked. 

And because you never asked about her. You are about to lose your boyfriend for good. 

In hindsight, you should have asked if had dated anyone prior to you. Too late now, isn't it? You got what you wanted from him, and now he's gone. You pushed him so far, he snapped. What kind of person does that to someone who wants to be with you? 

Perhaps he didn't see it at first. Perhaps he only thought you were fussy about what kind of treatment you preferred to get from him. 

So you listened in to their conversation, you couldn't help yourself, Part of you wanted to know. 

“Sometimes you don't really know a person as much as you think.” She mused, her voice, rich and deep. Not quite deep as Simon's. But deep enough to feel like it scratched something deep in the back of your skull. 

“I wish she would have just broken up with me. I don't know if I can go back there. I don't think I want to see her.” Johnny's breath hitches, swallowing down another sob building up again. 

He didn't want to touch you, you would brush your hand against his, and he would flinch at your touch, pulling away from you completely. 

“She's touching me more now. But I don't like it anymore. I mean, I used to. But now I don't. What the hell am I supposed to do?” 

“Break up with her.”

You swallowed hard when you heard her answer. 

Short. Straight to point. It didn't leave room to budge or for doubt to creep in. 

“I can't break up with her with no place to stay afterwards. Everything is in her name. I forgot how much control I gave her. I don't think I'll be able to get out of this break up alive, let alone sane.” Johnny groaned, thinking about the next steps he wanted to take. 

Grim pulled up in her Ford F-450 Super Duty, something Johnny felt rather intimidating because of how it looked. But right now it was a comforting sight. He knew he shouldn't feel guilty about his choice. But what else could he do? All his anger is dried up, and now he's just exhausted.

Grim put classical music on as they pulled out of the drive way to head to her home in Coventry. In the state where she used to live with him. The place where he could just exist without having to pretend to be someone else. Someone you liked to see more of because it meant you paid some form of attention to him.

Running away from his problems like his mother said he would. What else could he do? What more could he give? 

He didn’t know what to do. So he turned to his ex-girlfriend like a drowning sailor yelling for help in the open seas. Where were you? Possibly in one of their beds. He didn’t care to know more than that. 

He reactivated his tinder profile and put his notifications on ‘DO Not Disturb’. He didn’t want to hear anything from them or you. 

When you came back into your apartment, all of his things were gone, and he was nowhere to be found.

[gayfertilitygoddess]

[text in screenshot:

“Worldly people”, G. K. Chesterton mused, “never understand even the world; they rely altogether on a few cynical maxims which are not true.” And so it is for huge regions of the American ideological landscape when asked to explain the meteoric rise of Donald Trump in 2016, or his seemingly implausible return last week.

Far-left radicals, socialists, liberals, centrists, old-fashioned conservatives, academics, mainstream journalists, and everyone else who simply cannot imagine voting for the man themselves, all tend to default to one narrative: Many Americans are struggling economically, left behind, urgently wanting a more egalitarian society, and turned to a fascist movement in desperation. Bernie Sanders summed up this conventional wisdom succinctly; Democrats lost because they “abandoned the working class.”

Like many, Sanders had moved away from this narrative after 2016, and particularly after 2020, working closely with the Biden administration to pass the most economically progressive legislative agenda in two generations. During the same period, empirical research added its voice—study after study found ‘racial resentment’ a far bigger driver of support for Trump than ‘economic anxiety’. Neither Trump’s core support, nor the drift of formerly Democratic voters to him are well explained by economic desperation.

Like many cynical maxims that are not even true, it is kept aloft on a cloud of smaller, equally persistent, falsehoods. There is a trope that most Americans work ‘paycheck-to-paycheck’. They don’t. The median American has savings. Politicians on both the left and right love the rhetoric of Americans working multiple jobs to get by. In reality, less than 5% of the labour force does so (and that includes upper-class professionals like a lawyer who does consulting on the side).

Nor is it what voters themselves say: The average American thinks democrats are far too liberal. They see the party as to their left on both economic and social issues. Only 6% said they thought Harris was not liberal enough. This is not an electorate crying out for socialism, turning away from Democrats because they haven’t seized the means of production.

Finally, the narrative (hereafter called the ‘poverty narrative’) often assumes an outdated (and decidedly masculine) vision of a frustrated proletariat of laid off coal miners, quite at odds with the reality of life for most working Americans in the 21st century. The 23-year-old barista serving you coffee at Starbucks, who lives with roommates in a small apartment, who doesn’t have job security, or the ability to pursue her goals in life—she most likely did not vote for Trump. The electorate has undergone class realignment, but exit polls still show the lowest income Americans preferred Harris.

/end]

Pulling these later paragraphs out for emphasis:

As much as anything though, [the poverty narrative is] a morality play, one that emerges from our implicit frameworks and subconscious assumptions. Consider it in parallel to other explanations of the election: ‘it was a backlash to woke/cancel culture’; ‘young men are sick of feminism’, ‘the Democrats weren’t civil about Trump supporters’; and ‘Democrats shouldn’t have campaigned on trans rights.’ Notice that in all these narratives voters moving right are not granted any agency. They are just reacting to something liberals have done. As a result, liberals are implicitly assumed to bear responsibility for the outcome.

I call this ‘what did you say to make him hit you?’ politics. The implication is intentional: We tend to perceive both liberalism and the Democratic party as female-coded—the result of decades of heavily gendered use of language by conservatives. This filters into our assessment of moral responsibility (which is also gendered), in which we offer explanations for the bad behaviour of male-coded groups and shy away from direct condemnation. We are asked to ‘understand’ the perspective of those who shift to the right and cautioned against ‘dismissing’ them. Long narratives are concocted in which explanation fades into excuse.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Mystery of love

Previously / Next chapter

a/n I came from the dead to write this. So sorry for the wait. This is a heavy one… so buckle up.

summary: when two lost souls meet at their mutual friend’s party sparks fly, the question is if whatever they feel can actually bloom into something more? But that’s the mystery of love.

warning: toxic, abusive ex, blood, fighting, injuries, hospitals, manipulations.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

10 months ago

“Thank you for inviting me over”, Matt smiled at you. The room was cozy, light with candles, smell of freshly made meals surrounded you all. “Got to feed Emmy’s double date fantasy”, you teased, touching her hand across the table as she rolled her eyes. “I'm happy you are here Matt”, you threw your best friend’s boyfriend a smile. Deep down needing this sense of normality. Normal life. Normal relationships. You didn’t have much. Emmy had been the only one who stuck with you after it all went downhill.

“Can we eat?”, Dan’s cold tone, made a shiver run down your back but you had mastered a fake smile by then. One that pleased him enough to not start a stupid argument. “Sure, help yourself”, you handed him one of the bowls before turning to your guests once more.

“You guys went on to Paris, how was it?”, you chirped, putting food onto your plate. “I could gush for ages”, Emmy squealed, clasping her hands around Matt’s arm. It was the look of pure adoration on his face that made your heart ache. You could tell that he loved her. That what they had was real. “Matt was the tour guide, planned the whole…”, she was mid-sentence when Daniel quickly cut in, “You’re eating that?”, he motioned to your palate. “Dan”, you said through gritted teeth, feeling embarrassment creeping up your neck. He said nothing. Didn’t even react as he reached for your plate, switching it with his empty one.

“Wtf dude”, Matt cut in, eyebrows knitted together. “It’s okay he’s just messing around”, you chuckled, “Right, Dan”, your pleading eyes watched his concert-cold face a bitter smile on his lips, “You should follow Violet's diet”, he tapped your hand as if you were a toddler. Your stomach sank. You could see Emmy’s face across the table, the shock and disgust, written all over it.

“I'm sorry, I’ll refill this, don’t wait for me”, you pushed your chair back, reaching for a still-full pasta bowl. You needed to breathe for a moment. Pull yourself together. “Why the fuck are you causing a scene?”, Dan hissed beneath his breath, eyes wild as he followed you into the kitchen. “Why the fuck are you being an asshole?”, you pointed your finger at him angrily. “Bitch”, he grunted, “know your place do you hear me?” He was right in front of you now. Towering over your frame. “Or what?”, you hissed back at him.

“You walk out and not make a peep or tomorrow might be a hard day for you”, he lifted his hand, muscles tense. But you just watched him. “Sorry Emmy wanted water”, Matt’s voice filled the kitchen. “Help yourself dude”, Dan mused, eyes still on you, before he turned back, walking back to the table. You closed your eyes for a moment letting yourself breathe. “If you need help squeeze my hand as you walk past”, Matt muttered. You met his eyes then. A different look there than you were used to. “What are you on about everything is fine”, you laughed softly, feeling the sting in your eyes, “here I’ll grab the water”, placing a hand on his upper arm, fingers digging into his skin. He simply looked at you nodding softly that evening.

present time:

“Missed me?”, the sight of him alone made you nauseous. “Get out of my apartment”, you bit back, trying to keep your trembling hands as steady as possible. “Is that how you talk to the love of your life?”, a smirk spread across his lips. “Daniel, leave”, you shook your head, shoulders slumping. You were so tired of this. “What did you tell him?”, he asked firmly. “What?”, frowning you shook your head. “That boy of yours what does he know?”, and here it was, the thing that had you in a chokehold for months. His fear. “He knows nothing”, you clipped back bitterly.

“I have pictures of you two”, the six words made your stomach drop. “I can sell them for a pretty penny he’s pretty private isn’t he?”, he loved this, knowing that once again power over you. “You don’t have shit”, you spat back, praying that this was just once again another toxic game for him. Cold sweat ran down your back as you watched him slowly pull his phone out, scrolling till a satisfactory grin spread across his lips.

“Like this one the most”, he mused turning the screen to you. And here you two were. Last coffee date, your fingers in Noah’s hair, his hand holding onto your hips. You couldn’t see your face but you could tell it was him. You could see the love there. Something that had been missing between you and Daniel from the start. Anger bubbled within you as you lunged forward trying to grab his phone only to be met with a harsh shove.

“What did you tell him?”, gripping your upper arms Dan shook you. “Nothing you paranoid freak”, you barked back angrily. He reached out taking a fistful of your hair, “You will leave him or I will ruin him”, angry tears burned your eyes, “Fuck you, you’re not taking him from me as you did with everything else”. Dan let out a bitter laugh,“Oh, here we go again. Saint Y/n, the martyr. Always the victim. You never let anyone forget how much you’ve sacrificed.” You clawed at his hand reaching for a kitchen knife that wasn’t all that far away from you, “And you never let anyone forget how much of a selfish, spineless—-“

But you don’t get to finish your sentence as Daniel’s grip tightens around your upper arms. You move to push away, palms pressing against his chest and in the heat of the moment, he let go. In that brief, frantic moment. Making you lose your balance, your elbow brushed against the kitchen counter as you try to steady yourself. But the movement only sent you crashing into the not-yet-finished bookshelf lying on the floor. The sharp corner of the wood slammed into your temple with a sickening thud. Your vision blurred for a second, a wave of dizziness overwhelming you. Sounds turning fluffy as you tried to blink.

You reached out to touch your head, feeling warm sticky liquid trickling down your fingers. A blurry figure loomed over you. Squinting your eyes you tried to make out a face. Anything. Was he calling to you? Looking? You let your head fall into the fluffy rug. Slipping in and out of patches of black.

Noah always wanted that domestic feeling. Never had he thought that getting screws with a smile on his face would be in the cards for him. To have someone you were ready to climb mountains for. The bleak, repetitive reality was what he had been living in. Wake up. Write. Record. Sing. Sleep. Yes, he had his friend. Friends who had been family for years but he always yearned for more. For a person that was his. That made you want more. Who made it more.

A wash of blonde hair made Noah do a double take as he made his way back to the apartment complex. Emmy’s worried face filled his eyes before Matt stepped right beside her both clearly in a rush. “Hey, what are you both doing here?”, Noah called out making the pair turn. “Oh thank goodness you’re here”, Emmy let out a deep sigh, clasping her hands over Noah’s. “What’s going on?”, he couldn’t help but frown, sensing the urgency. The stress poured out of both of them in waves.

“Some mutual friends said that Daniel was causing trouble”, Emmy shook her head. “Usually that means that he ends up here”, Matt nodded towards the apartment building with that same unapproachable tightness on his face. One Noah knew was a sign of shit being seriously fucked.

“I’ve been with Yn all day”, Noah pointed out. “It’s just that…”,’ Emmy stated right as the front door swung open. “Shit..”, Matt grunted through clenched teeth, “Hey”, called out, making none other than Daniel do a double take. The fright in his eyes made Noah’s stomach turn. “Motherfucker “, cursing beneath his breath Noah lunged forward. Ripping at the door. Fingers tapping the elevator button relentlessly before giving up. Hand on the railing as he took three steps at the time.

“Yn”, he called into the dim hallway. Not giving two shits about the neighbors. “Yn”, he muttered, eyes falling on the ajar door that led to your apartment. He had been there. He had been there and Noah wasn’t. The ringing that echoed in his head made his stomach twist. It felt as if he was no longer in his own body. Watching it all from the side, urging himself to step forward. Books were scattered around the hallway. Some stacks were barely holding up. Noah stepped over them, heart hammering so loudly that he couldn’t hear himself calling out your name. “Baby”, he turned the corner and it’s as if someone sucked all the air out of his lungs. All he saw was blood. Red and red and red.

“No, no”, he muttered beneath his breath, sinking to his knees, as his hand reached to lay on top of yours. Pressing onto the open gash. “Hey, love, look at me, darling”, Noah coaxed softly, pushing the strands of hair that had stuck to your forehead. “Fuck”, Matt’s voice rang from behind, followed by a pained gasp, “Oh my god, what did he do”, Emmy kneeled on the other side, hands pressing against your shoulder. “Don’t move her”, Noah warned her.

“We need an ambulance”, Matt’s steady voice was drowned once again by the panic drumming within Noah. “It’s all okay, it will all be okay”, he soothed, trying to at least. Not sure what one should even say in situations like this. “Noo”, you grunted, squeezing your eyes shut. “I'm here it’s all okay”, Noah muttered, his other palm softly brushing your cheek. Trying to block out everything else. Emmy crying. Matt on the phone. Himself.

Five stitches. Three hours in the most atrocious hospital chair. He hated hospitals. Now even more so. Noah wasn’t sure what he was feeling. It went in circles. From anger to fear. Anxiety to numbness. What pissed him off further was that they knew. Matt and Emmy knew shit he wasn’t looped in on.

“we’ll play protectors of one's truth later”, Noah grunted as Matt handed him yet another cup of that bitter water they called coffee here. “He wasn’t good for her”, Matt sighed, lifting his cap off to brush his hair back. “No fucking shit dude he’s an abuser”, Noah grunted through gritted teeth, throwing the cup of coffee straight into the bin. “He also owns a big company”, Emmy muttered wrapping her arms around herself.

“Do I look like I give a shit? He needs to be behind bars”, Noah gestured. “They signed an NDA she can’t speak about the shit he did”, Emmy blurted out, bottom lip quivering. Noah blinked slowly, “What?”, surely this all had to be a joke. “He managed to bankrupt her last store”, Matt sighed, Emmy just shook her head beside him, “I’m so sorry we couldn’t tell anyone she didn’t…”, a sob made her clasp a hand over her mouth.

“Come here”, Matt wrapped his arm around her bringing her closer to his chest. “He will go after you”, Emmy whimpered. “Oh, please”, Noah rolled his eyes. “We do need to consider the band here as well, Noah “, Matt warned him. “What would he have?”, Noah grunted, “a picture? Look at me and tell me that you give a shit about a picture, Matt”, his chest was rising and falling rapidly now. A part of him wanted to just punch someone. Something. Pack you up and take you with him. He was about to say just that when a nurse with a clipboard stepped into the hallway, “For Miss Yn?”, all three of them instantly jump up, turning to her.

He was standing in front of yet another door. Breathing in deeply before pushing the handle down. The beeping instantly made him nauseous even if the nurse had told him that it was simply a precaution. Your skin was a lot paler. It made Noah sick that the sweet night you two had planned had turned into this. You blinked slowly, tired eyes looking back at him. A slight smile spread onto your lips as you saw him. Noah pushed his anger down, letting the corners of his lips curve up ever so slightly as he crossed the distance between you.

“Hey”, you muttered, voice groggy as you reached for his hand. “Hi, gorgeous girl”, Noah mused, clasping your fingers through his as he kissed your knuckles. “How are you feeling?”, he carefully leaned in kissing your cheek. “There’s no longer three of you”, you tried to joke but Noah didn’t find it in himself to laugh alongside you. “Yn”, he murmured under his breath. “That was quite a tumble, I’m so clumsy”, you shook your head slightly. “Don’t lie to me”, Noah mused, watching as the look in your eyes shifted.

“Noah”, you sighed. “No, don’t cover for him 'cause I saw him leaving your apartment building”, he pushed on. “I slipped Noah”, you clipped back way firmer. “And the door to your apartment opened exactly how?”, Noah mused, crossing his arms over his chest. There was a moment of silence. Your eyes drifted away from him. He could feel it. Felt it right there and then. He was slowly losing you. You were slipping away.

“You should go”, your voice was barely a whisper but hit Noah just as hard. “No, I’m staying because I’m not letting you rot in this toxic environment”, he argued back. Reaching for the button by your bed you let your fingers brush over it. “Whatever he told you… it’s just another handful of lies”, Noah moved to stand beside you, brushing his fingers beneath your chin, but your eyes didn’t meet his.

“Miss, you called?”, a nurse stepped into the room. Making Noah clench his jaw. “He’s leaving”, you stated. “No, I am not”, Noah instantly shook his head. “Sir, hospital rules���”, the nurse warned him. “I know you don’t want this”, Noah pleaded. “Thank you for visiting”, you muttered, turning your face towards the window. “I love you”, he breathed out, “I’ll sit outside your door 'cause I want us do you hear me? I want US, and I'm not going anywhere”, he swallowed thickly trying to keep his emotions at bay. Catching a glimpse of you closing your eyes as silent tears fell down your cheeks, ripping Noah’s heart even more.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@broken0mens @supersquirrel1996 @lma1986 @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @private-vampire @mayaslifeinabox @niicolelynn

[nanamineedstherapy]

Mouth to Meat

Cannibal Yakuza Sukuna X [Retracted] F!Reader

Chapter 1 - The Price of Curiosity (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 2 - Flesh and Stone (Final Chapter)

A/N: This one-shot is inspired by an amazing fic idea shared by @sukuna-ryo. Welcome to the abyss, where the lines between sanity and madness blur like a poorly drawn sketch. Don’t get too comfortable—just when you think you’ve figured it out, you’ll realize the joke’s on you. Enjoy the ride, if you can. PS: "It" is being referred to the victems as they are seen as objects to be taken.

Tags: Sukuna x Reader Cannibalism Yakuza AU Dark Psychology Manipulation Monster x Monster Energy Gritty, morally ambiguous character studies

Warnings: Graphic violence Cannibalism Moral ambiguity (everyone’s awful) Major Charecters Death

Please read tags/warnings as this will get dark!

A few days later, a night began with chaos. Alarms blared across the city, news anchors breathlessly reporting the impossible: Ryomen Sukuna has escaped custody . Streets emptied as lockdowns were enforced.

Y/N looked at her wristwatch; she was in her office, sipping tea, when the knock came. Fushiguro Toji, the facility’s Medical Director, leaned against her doorframe, his face carved with irritation, flanked by Higuruma Hiromi, the District Public Prosecutor Officer. “Thought you’d want to know,” Toji said, voice low. “Your favorite patient’s loose.”

Her lips quirked in amusement. “Didn’t take him for the type to sit still for long.”

“You’re too calm,” Hiromi accused, stepping inside. “You should probably head home. Lock your doors. Just in case.”

Her gaze lingered on them for a moment before she stood, brushing past with a faint smile. “Thanks for the concern; I’ll be fine.”

Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked away. She didn’t miss the way their eyes followed her, nor the faint growls of frustration they let out when she ignored their warning.

.

Once home, her apartment was dark, save for the faint glow of streetlights streaming through the windows. She didn’t bother flipping the switch.

“How long do you plan to keep staring at me from the dark?” she asked calmly, shrugging off her coat.

Silence stretched, thick and expectant, before a low chuckle resonated from the shadows. Sukuna stepped into the faint light, his presence oppressive, a coiled predator ready to strike. “You’re sharper than the others,” he mused.

She turned to face him, unruffled. The faintest smirk played at her lips. “You’ve been watching me since the prison, haven’t you.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, not seeking an answer.

His grin spread, sharp and wolfish. “You fascinate me, Doctor. And I don’t get fascinated easily.”

“Good,” she said, brushing past him, unconcerned by his proximity. “Because I have a proposition for you.”

Sukuna turned, his gaze tracking her every movement like a predator stalking its prey. He eased onto the couch, his body language lazy but his eyes sharp. “A proposition?”

She poured herself a glass of wine, the deep red liquid catching the faint light. She didn’t offer him any, nor did he ask. “I want to show you something. A little… art project I’ve been interested in.”

He tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his crimson eyes. “Art?”

“Two pieces, actually,” she said, her voice light, almost conversational. “I think they’d suit your… palate.”

The grin that stretched across Sukuna’s face was feral, dark amusement dripping from every word. “Bold of you to assume you know my tastes, woman.”

“Oh, I do,” she replied, her tone laced with quiet arrogance. She downed her wine in one smooth motion and set the glass aside. “Come on. Let’s go.”

He remained seated, watching her with a predator’s patience. “Just like that? No explanation?”

She turned, meeting his gaze with an unflinching calm. “You’ll understand soon enough.” Her smile deepened, almost conspiratorial. “I think you’ll enjoy helping me bring them home.”

The way she said home didn’t escape Sukuna. Like it was his as much as hers. Like he already belonged there, though she’d never said it outright.

For the first time in years, he felt an odd flicker of curiosity.

And for that alone, he decided to follow her.

.

It didn’t take long to reach the estate or for Sukuna & his men to strongarm there way in with silenced guns—he was after all still the Yakuza King—while she hacked into the security systems & everything she did, Sukuna observed. His crimson eyes gleamed, his smile cutting deeper the longer he watched. Stars in his eyes? No. His fascination burned darker than that.

Once inside a bedroom, just the two of them, they stared at the blonde and white-haired couple lying entwined on the bed, oblivious. The white-haired one slept soundly, lips curled in a faint, contented smile, their face buried against the blonde’s chest. The blonde’s arms were draped protectively around them, their breathing steady.

Y/N tilted her head, her expression one of mock curiosity, but the venom in her voice dripped with ease. “They look… peaceful,” she cooed. It wasn’t a compliment—it was a death knell.

Beside her, Sukuna chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made the air heavier. “Not for long. Although I didn’t think you’d aim this high, Doctor. The Minister of Defense? That’s ambitious. Even for you.”

She moved closer, fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw, lingering there like the whisper of a promise. “Ambition’s easier when you have the right help,” she murmured, leaning in. Her voice softened, feigning intimacy. “And he’s been after you, hasn’t he?”

Sukuna didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. Her touch disarmed him, or maybe he let it. He wouldn’t admit to himself that she’d already molded him, to worship her; no questions asked, weaving herself into the cracks he’d spent years pretending didn’t exist. When she kissed the curve of his neck, his breath hitched—a low, guttural sound that slipped out before he could stop it.

“Wake them,” she whispered, her lips ghosting over his skin before pulling away. Sukuna’s jaw clenched at the absence, a primal ache tugging at his edges. He followed her command without hesitation, whether blinded by her touch or because of what he’d found in her fridge earlier, or was he already a slave to her attention? He didn’t care.

Sukuna moved with efficiency. The white-haired one was chest-down before it could even stir, one of Sukuna’s massive hands pinning it’s arms behind while the other clamped over it’s mouth. It’s eyes snapped open, wild and panicked, but it was too late.

Y/N was already leaning over the blonde, pressing a chloroform-soaked towel over it’s face, who had time to flinch before it’s body went limp again.

.

Minutes later, the blonde sat tied to a chair, slowly regaining consciousness. Its eyes darted frantically to its lover, now slumped forward with it’s mangled stumps where fingers and toes once were, shallow breaths escaping through the gag.

Y/N crouched before the blonde, her smile serene, her tone conversational. “Hello, NK.”

The blonde froze, lips trembling with rage. Recognition dawned in it’s eyes, followed by horror.

“What have you done!” the blonde managed to garble through the gag when she pulled it down, voice breaking with fury.

Y/N tilted her head, feigning surprise. “What does it look like?”

“Please,” the blonde begged, eyes glassy with tears that clung to its lashes like shattered crystals. “Let him go. Don’t hurt him. You’re better than this. I’ll not tell anyone; please, let me take him to a hospital.”

“Better?” Y/N’s laughter sliced through the air, sharp and derisive. She tilted her head, studying the blonde as though it were an insect pinned under her heel. She knew it would do no such thing; as soon as it was free, it’d immediately kill Sukuna and then slice her head clean off for hurting it’s lover. “Oh, darling, you don’t know me at all.” The mockery in her voice was a blade of its own, twisting as she continued. “And after all those lovely little papers you published on psychopathy, ASPD, NPD, SPD, BPD minds? Tsk, tsk.” She clicked her tongue, her gaze narrowing to a predator’s slit. “You’re the genius, right? Profiling everyone. Understanding nothing.”

The blonde’s face crumpled, its desperation leaking from every shallow breath. “If this is about the research—please, I’ll retract it. I already told you that day you can take credit. Just stop this!”

“Of course it’s about the papers,” Y/N hissed, leaning closer. The sharp angles of her grin deepened, a grotesque facsimile of joy. “You published your research on the exact same topic as mine, before me. Do you think I need your pity? Your fucking charity? No. You took what was mine—even if it was unknowingly—so now I’m taking what’s yours.”

The blonde twisted against the ropes, frantic, its gaze darting to Sukuna. The monster loomed behind the white-haired one, holding an old, rusted cleaver the size of his head with a cowprint handle. The blade’s chipped edge pressed into pale, trembling skin, the faintest pressure threatening to cut deeper.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” the blonde stammered, its voice raw with pleading. “Please! He’s the Attorney General—they’ll come after you. You’ll never know peace.”

“Oh, but I adore the spotlight,” Y/N replied, her voice lifting with feigned delight. Her laughter rang out, light and melodic, clashing against the suffocating tension. “And besides…” She reached out, her fingertips brushing the white-haired one’s jawline. It recoiled, jerking its head as much as it could under Sukuna’s iron grip. The resistance earned it a savage punch to the stomach, its body convulsing as blood soaked the gag muffling its strangled sounds.

The blonde recoiled at the sight, its breath hitching, tears streaming freely now.

“It’s worth it for this rare meat.” She finished.

Blonde’s eyes went to her, confused, then widened with horror.

Y/N’s grin widened, cruel as a crescent moon. “Oh, you really don’t know, do you?” Her voice shifted, giddy and maniacal, abandoning all semblance of restraint. “The day he came to pick you up after your session with that genocidal cult leader. What was it? Ah! A dinner he wanted to take you to!” She mimicked his tone, animated yet calm as she added, “The Gojo Satoru, Attorney General, dying to whisk you away to dinner.”

The blonde froze, its eyes wide with recognition, its breath caught in its throat.

“When he walked past me to you, I couldn’t think straight,” Y/N admitted, her voice almost dreamy. “He smelled like ozone and petrichor. Since then, I’ve been dying to pair him with a vintage Bordeaux I’ve been saving. Don’t you think he’ll taste exquisite?” She turned to Sukuna, who watched her with rapt attention, his grin splitting wide as if waiting for a command. “Ryeoman here would accompany me to our own dinner with it. I may or may not have been a little jealous of you that day, having such an Adonis all to yourself. So…” Her tone shifted to mock-casual. “I got my own. Although baby-faced men never appealed to me, so I improvised.”

Her finger traced the white-haired one’s jaw again, and it flinched, earning another blow from Sukuna, who’s entire frame was vibrating with anticipation.

Y/N smirked, tilting her head as though savoring the blonde’s horror. “Should’ve kept him hidden, NK,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “You don’t know the kind of people out there—people who’d love to do unspeakable things to your husband. He’s one of a kind after all.” She smirked, eyeing the white-haired.

The blonde’s chest heaved, its breath shallow and uneven. “Please,” it whispered, voice cracking. “He’s innocent. Don’t do this.”

“Innocent?” Y/N’s lips curled into a polite smile, her expression serene in a way that only deepened the unease. “You keep saying ‘please,’ like it matters,” she mused, her tone light and conversational. She leaned in close, close enough that the blonde could feel her breath against its cheek. “But you’re not asking for me to stop, are you? You’re asking for him. To save this.” She gestured lazily toward the white-haired one, whose head lolled forward, barely held up by Sukuna’s relentless grip. Blood streaked its once-pristine face, and its hands twitched weakly in the bindings, a far cry from defiance. “And that’s the difference, NK. You’re selfless. You’re a hero. And heroes…” Her voice dropped to a whisper, her lips brushing its ear. “Heroes always lose.”

The blonde gasped, a sound fractured with despair. Its eyes darted to the white-haired one, its voice trembling. “Satoru…” The name escaped as a broken plea, fragile as glass. “Satoru, I’m so sorry.”

Y/N followed its gaze, tilting her head as though studying a painting she found faintly amusing. “Ah, Satoru…” she drawled, her voice dripping with mock reverence. She rolled the name over her tongue, savoring it like a delicacy. “Names are supposed to mean something, aren’t they? Strength, identity, power.” Her smile sharpened—a predator’s grin. “But all I see is fine meat.”

The white-haired one flinched, the barest movement, but enough to draw blood where the cleaver pressed against its throat. Sukuna’s eyes gleamed, and the blade dipped just enough to trace a deeper line, red pooling against pale, trembling skin. The sound it made was low and guttural, like an animal resigned to slaughter.

The blonde struggled against its restraints, panic etched across its face. “Suguru will come for you!” it shouted, desperation lacing every word.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.” Y/N’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew colder, sharper, a frozen dagger poised to strike.

The blonde froze, its breath hitching as realization flickered across its face, chased swiftly by horror. “What did you do?”

.

On the other side of town, in the suffocating darkness of his cell, Geto Suguru clawed at his skin in a desperate, bloody ballet of madness. A rusted iron brush, a relic of torture past, scraped against his flesh, tearing away layers of himself. Blood and chunks of flesh pooled near his feet. His once vibrant hair, a symbol of his power and beauty, was now gone, sacrificed to his delusions and replaced with a raw, bleeding scalp from the blade he’d stolen—a mistake that had earned him a savage beating and solitary confinement. He muttered under his breath, his voice a low, disjointed murmur, words bleeding together in frantic repetition. “The smell... must get rid of the smell. Monkeys. Germs.” His muscles quivered, trembling under the strain as the mantra repeated like a broken record. Now, he was a prisoner of his own mind, a tormented soul trapped in a physical and mental prison. Each agonizing stroke brought him closer to oblivion, a tragic figure consumed by his own madness.

.

“You forgot about his OCD and germophobia, didn’t you?” Y/N’s voice cut through the blonde’s spiraling thoughts, derisive and sharp. “Some hotshot psychologist. Beloved professor. Yet you can’t even remember the small details.” She tsked, mock stern.

“Stop,” the blonde whispered, its voice shaking. It turned its head violently, as if that could block out her words. “Stop it. Don’t talk about him.”

“Why not?” Y/N crouched again, leaning in until their foreheads almost touched. Her smile widened, teeth glinting like knives. “You never stopped. Every case, every paper, every decision—it was always about him. And yet here you are, begging for this one.” Her gaze flicked toward the white-haired one. “Why? Because you married it? Because it made you feel less broken?”

The blonde squeezed its eyes shut, its chest heaving with shallow, erratic breaths. It didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The silence was damning.

“Pathetic,” Y/N whispered, standing and stepping back.

The blonde’s voice broke again as it struggled against the ropes. “Please. Kill me—just me. I’ll thank you for it, I’ll even beg for it. But let him go!” Its voice cracked, raw and desperate as its eyes landed on the white-haired one. There was no fight left in it now. Its eyes had dulled, the hopelessness written across its bloodied face.

Y/N’s head tilted as though she were a scientist inspecting her most fascinating subject. “You don’t get it, do you? This was never about you.” She paused, her eyes glinting with something dark, something vile, as she glanced at the white-haired one. “It��s always been about him.”

“Please...” the blonde whispered, its voice cracking under the weight of hopelessness. “He doesn’t deserve this. I’ll do anything. Just let him go.”

Y/N’s smile softened, her eyes narrowing like a snake ready to strike. “You know what’s funny, NK? For someone who writes so passionately about human behavior, you fail to see what’s right in front of you.” She gestured toward the white-haired one, her voice cutting like glass. “Look at it. Look at what it’s become. You’d think a creature so lauded, so untouchable, would be harder to break.”

The blonde froze as the implication seeped in, slamming into it like a wrecking ball. Its breath hitched, rapid and shallow, the veneer of composure cracking as horror bled into every crevice of its expression. Y/N didn’t blink; her smile fixed, serene as a prayer unanswered.

The white-haired one shuddered—a pathetic, rasping sound muffled by the gag. It wasn’t fighting anymore; it didn’t have the strength or hope left to resist. Tears streaked its bloodstained chest, carving pale rivers through the crimson chaos. Its cerulean eyes, once vibrant and untouchable, stared into the void with muted despair, already resigned to its end.

The blonde sobbed, choking on its own panic as it struggled fruitlessly against the ropes. “Stop it. Stop! You win—whatever this is, you win! Please, I’ll give you anything you want!”

Y/N straightened, her shadow swallowing the blonde in its suffocating enormity. The deliberate grace of her movements made the moment all the more stifling. She turned toward Sukuna, her fingers sliding into his hair as if soothing a rabid beast. “Hear that, darling? It still believes in deals.”

Sukuna grinned, the grotesque expression splitting his face in something far from human. “What could it possibly offer that I haven’t already taken?” His voice was dark, dripping with indulgence.

Y/N hummed thoughtfully, her hand drifting to trace Sukuna’s collarbone before she refocused on the blonde. “You don’t get it, do you, NK? This isn’t about what I want. It’s about equilibrium. You stole from me, so I had to return the favor.” Her gaze slid toward the white-haired one, a slow, calculated flicker of her eyes. “And what a favor it’s been.”

The blonde shuddered, its breath hitching in frantic, disjointed sobs. “You’re monsters,” it whispered, its voice barely audible through the static of its terror. “Both of you.

“Monsters?” Y/N repeated, feigning offense. Her voice dropped into something quieter, colder. “Monsters don’t bother with reason, NK. They don’t spend weeks reading every research paper, learning every routine, dismantling lives piece by piece. No, that takes precision. Care.” She leaned down, her breath ghosting over the blonde’s ear. “Monsters would’ve killed you both outright. I, on the other hand, enjoy playing with my food.”

Behind her, Sukuna tightened his grip on the cleaver, pressing it against the white-haired one’s throat until another thin crimson line trickled down its neck. The white-haired one whimpered, the sound faint but piercing. The blonde jerked violently in its bonds, its cries bubbling up in frantic, disjointed desperation.

“Please! Kill me—kill me if you have to! But let him go!” The blonde’s voice cracked, its body convulsing with the force of its sobs.

Y/N tilted her head, her expression softening in mock pity as she stepped closer to the white-haired one, lifting its chin so it had to look at her. “It’s a shame I’ll never get to know what he’d sound like being tied up. Does he grunt? Moans? Or does he whimper when he’s being raped like a bitch in heat?”

Her words sank in like poison as the realization dawned, leaving the blonde screaming as it fought against the iron chain, with a newfound strength, somehow about to break them.

But Y/N’s focus was already elsewhere. She turned to Sukuna, her smile returning, radiant and terrifying. “I’m bored,” she said lightly. “Shall we, honey? Dinner waits for no one.”

And like the obedient beast he was becoming, Sukuna raised the cleaver, and with one fluid motion, the cleaver came down.

The white-haired one’s head rolled across the floor, leaving a gleaming trail in its wake. Its body crumpled forward on the chair. The blonde screamed—a raw, guttural sound that rattled the walls.

“Finally! Now the meat will be tasty.” She licked her lips as she moved to jab a blade through the blonde’s heart. The blonde died looking at the white-haired one & its name on its lips.

Y/N crouched beside the blonde's body, examining the lifeless face with the care of a curator appraising a masterpiece. Her fingers trailed along its jawline, and she sniffed, her expression shifting to something almost reverent. “Sandalwood,” she murmured, her voice soft, intimate. “It smelled like sandalwood.”

Sukuna chuckled, a dark, rumbling sound that reverberated through the room. “You’re insane,” he said, almost admiringly.

Y/N rose, her gaze sharp as a blade, and smirked. “Of course.” Her voice dripped with saccharine malice, predatory. “Now come here, baby,” she purred, the endearment a venomous dagger.

The word hit him like a drug to his dick. He followed without hesitation, already consumed by the pull of her command.

She pushed him to the floor, straddling him with a kind of feral grace. “Murder always makes me horny." Then she tore off his shirt while Sukuna was already holding her hips and grinding her clothed cunt against his crotch. She bent down to whisper in his ear, “Now show me why you deserve it all.” She didn’t mean the meat, but the privilege of not being eaten by her. And Sukuna, obedient beast that he was, intended to earn it.

.

A few days later, Y/N dined with Sukuna in a country she hadn’t bothered to remember. To her, it was just another backdrop—temporary, insignificant.

In their new house, Sukuna carved into the rare meat with precision, his satisfaction evident in the low groan that escaped his lips. “You were right,” he muttered, licking a smear of blood from his thumb. “The minister tastes exquisite. Still smells good, too.”

He gestured lazily for Uraume to refill his cup with the vintage wine Y/N had insisted on saving for an occasion just like this. Uraume obliged with a nod, their movements deliberate and deferential. “Is the cooking to your satisfaction, my lord?”

Sukuna grinned, baring sharp teeth. “As always, perfect, Uraume.”

Next to him the table, Y/N watched Sukuna with a knowing smile, her gaze steady, unyielding. She took a slow sip of her wine, the taste lingering on her tongue like an unspoken promise. “Well?” she asked finally, her voice soft, deceptively casual.

“Well, what?”

“Do you think I’m a monster?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Sukuna froze for a moment, swallowing, his grip tightening around his fork before setting it down deliberately. He turned toward her, his crimson gaze molten with something primal.

Without warning, his hands slid to the sides of her breasts, his thumbs brushing slowly over her nipples through the delicate fabric of her dress. His touch was rough, reverent, and possessive all at once. His hot and jagged breath fanned across her face as he leaned in, his lips hovering near hers.

“You’re worse,” he growled, his voice raw, guttural, and utterly stripped of resistance. He stared at her mouth, his pupils blown wide with the depth of his submission. Whatever semblance of independence he once had was long gone, obliterated. He wasn’t a king anymore—not here, not with her. He was a weapon, a dog, a creature driven solely by the need to please her.

She laughed, low and unrestrained, the sound curling around him like a noose. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t falter. “And yet, here you are.”

There was no illusion of morality between them. They were two forces bound together, feeding on each other’s darkness until nothing else remained.

Her laughter echoed in the silence, sharp and haunting, as she leaned back in her chair, a red queen who had conquered her kingdom. Sukuna remained where he was, tethered by his own devotion, waiting for her command.

In the aftermath of their violence, the line between predator and prey blurred until it ceased to exist.

A/N: And there you have it. Twisted, right? But then again, what did you expect from a world where love and death are just different sides of the same coin? Don’t bother thanking me—it was never about you. See you on the other side, or don’t. I’ll still be here, waiting for the next soul to crack. Your comments fuel my passion; let me know if this hits. Also, I'll mark it as over until I get more requests for it since it's already well rounded as it is, but if you want the cute babies to be avenged, let me know. ( ͡❛ ᴗ ͡❛)

[sofa-king-lame]

Buck and Eddie roadtrip in Texas 👀

Ok so I actually started writing this one MONTHS ago and then abandoned it, but now (after 8x08) I feel like I could pick it back up again with better added context.

Basically they go on a road trip (like maybe they fly to Austin for an event or something and decide to hire a car and drive back through El Paso to get Chris or something). Buck isn't sleeping bc insomnia is a bitch and Eddie researches the shit out of different techniques he can use to help Buck.

Here's a snippet:

--

“Have you tried jacking off right before you go to sleep?” Eddie asks as Buck leaves the bathroom and Buck walks right into the arm chair. 

“The fuck, Eddie,” he groans, bending over to rub his poor dead pinky toe. 

“Sorry, just checking. It’s an obvious one though, so...” Eddie trails off and looks at Buck pointedly. Buck wants to die. 

“Yes, Eddie, I’ve tried that. Didn’t help. Next tip, please.” 

“Counting sheep,” Eddie suggests. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed in just sweatpants and Buck still wants to die. 

“Oh yeah that’s super fun until my brain can’t stop counting and suddenly it’s 4am and I’ve visualised seven fucking thousand sheep jump over a rickety wooden fence,” Buck snorts. He slumps into the armchair and rubs his eyes aggressively, listening to Eddie’s breathing. The room is (creepily) silent and Buck’s skin is prickling. 

“Visualise moving all the furniture in your room,” Eddie reads off his phone. 

“Great until hyper-fixation kicks in and I get up and actually start moving furniture. Remember three weeks ago when you came over for breakfast and I was passed out on my bed against the opposite wall?” Buck reminds Eddie pointedly. “I need new mental games.” 

“Hmm. Well according to this person on Reddit you shouldn’t think of them as mental games because it’s not meant to be fun,” Eddie snorts. 

“Yeah fuck that person. Going to sleep should be fun and if it helps me to think of mental exercises as games then that’s what I’ll do, random Reddit asshole,” Buck huffs. He’s way more annoyed than he should be about this but Eddie doesn’t say anything, just hums in agreement. Buck appreciates Eddie rolling with his spiralling and not telling him to ‘just sit the fuck down and relax’ like Tommy used to. Buck wants to die a little less now, but not by much. 

“Have you tried counting backwards?” Eddie asks, tilting his head to the left a little. The gel he’d put in his hair in the morning has lost its hold and his hair flops to the side, falling over his forehead. 

“Ah see that one I’ve actually had a little success with.” Buck stands up from the armchair – his pinky toe has miraculously not fallen off and he can, in fact, walk. He sits down opposite Eddie, close enough that their knees are almost touching (because it’s only a double bed, not because Buck just wants an excuse to be close to Eddie, nope). 

“But not so much recently?” 

“I count backwards by threes starting at nine hundred and ninety-nine,” Buck starts, and absolutely does not shift slightly so that his and Eddie’s knees are actually touching. 

“Oddly specific, do explain,” Eddie muses. He still looks sleepy, despite his four-hour nap in the car. Buck wants to hold his stupid hand. 

“Doing it that way hits every triple digit – eight eighty-eight, seven seventy-seven, blah blah blah,” Buck trails off, waving his hand dismissively. “Which is satisfying but is also a pattern that my brain latches on to and after a few nights it’s not engaging enough to keep my attention and I start tuning out the counting and get distracted by other things.” 

“That - I mean I can’t relate, I don’t know what that’s like but it sounds really fucking frustrating. I’m sorry,” Eddie murmurs warmly, placing a calloused hand on Buck’s knee and yep, Buck is going to die tonight. 

--

I've written 5.3k words of this one lol. I've just got so many WIPs/fics I want to start!

[ocean-ignition]

Other aro/ace spectrum people may have already talked about this, but the jayvik in arcane hits so hard to me as an autistic dude too? I don’t really experience attraction romantically or sexually. But i do feel intellectual attraction quite strongly. When I am exchanging ideas with someone else, when they are sharing their musings with me, when we are both equally engaged in thinking our way through a problem; that is when i feel the most human. Those types of exchanges are almost exclusively where i am able to feel connection and intimacy. Something about the jayvik divorce being initiated by a fundamental difference in idealogy. Something about, "affection held us together," but it wasn't enough, was it? It never is. "I'll miss our talks." No you won't. Something about "partners." "We finish this together." We complete this work together. Despite our differences, you are still the most brilliant man I've ever met and the only one who might be capable of stopping me. Perfection is the end of pursuit- no greater tragedy exists. "Why do you persist?" Because i promised. League of legends yaoi making me SICK i am UNWELL

[ttheagcd]

- cue golden girls theme song -

you know these past few months on here have been so ugh and blah as something happened to me and a few friends that killed the fucking vibe for us. slowly but surely people’s true colors came out and i never spoke about it but some people know from experiencing it. now we’re all starting to feel like we used to before which leads me to this post bc thanksgiving and whatnot. in the mood to give thanks to you because you’re the reason I get to keep writing alex / buck / my multi.

okay so i love you all for putting up with my ass, my laziness and alex’s too because i know he is not easy to deal with:

@epihlogue & @loveindomitable / @twistedgrace / @pcrfidia & @firepiloted & @gonnabuck / @athl3tes / @shadowbrn / @forrkeeps / @gldngrrls / @leschanceux / @cfthesoul / @billyktothemax / @mecwmellc / @snnydcys — been loving you from afar so yolo you get a mention too / @dalphahale / @westwingsolo

to my mutuals who are my mutuals and nothing more: keep kicking ass. we are lowkey admiring and loving you from afar and love seeing you do your shit.

i gotta give these following people a little specific shout out because without them, i would not still be here on this blog today.

@gccdgraces — ceejay you fucking phenomenal human being you. we’ve gotten so much more closer in the past few months and tbh having you as the one to help me deal this shit with was a saving grace. you’re not only a fucking amazing writer but also a fucking amazing human being. thank you for everything. love crying over all our babies and our bookish obsession. stay cool. never change and keep being that fabulous bitch you are.

@hstoryhuh / @soulwaned — oh my dear britt britt 😉 my homie. my little partner in crime. i fucking adore you and your dogs, precious babies 🥺 thank you for everything. for the laughs, for the crying in the feels, for talking about giving me all the things and then we just vibe along. i love everything we’ve done and will keep doing.

@ssolessurvivor — oh saturn, let’s start at the beginning yeah? idk how you came across my blog but thank you for it because holy shit look at us now. a billion and one au’s with our boys and they keep on coming 😂 thank you for liking and trusting me enough to deep dive into logan and his past. not all oc’s have a defined background and information, the majority do but some don’t and that’s where things get hazy and it is so fucking hard to write with an oc when there’s barely any info for anyone to learn about but you cover any and every inch of logan’s past and future. but also thanks for letting me throw anyone at him lmao it’s been fun as hell.

@thcrealheroes — DELLA MY LOVE. my ride or die bitch. we barely write anymore but i still follow and love your ass all over the place because you cannot get rid of me 😏 i couldn’t do this and not mention you. god it feels like we’ve lived 50 lives in the time we’ve been rp-ing together. we’ve been through some shit and always find some way to share the experience, even if it doesn’t directly hit us both. lmao i fucking love you and your kids.

@kookmade — link i know that i mentioned your multi above but i had to give rafe’s blog its own little shout out because this is the blog we met and all. thank you for being my lil football homie and letting me constantly cry about taylor / alex at you. fucking love it and your muses. thank you for hearing me out as well on certain days.

i am so fucking sorry if i forgot someone. i probably did fuck me. i’m sorry if i did, i promise it’s not you. it’s my fucking brain.

[vocesincaput]

I led down in bed and immediately had two thoughts.

How can I write something to have Hewlett end up sympathising with his enemy? Or even become a spy or change sides completely? Because i love him and think it would be interesting and fun.

I want to write Baker as a muse and have him make a different decision in the finale and either let Abe go, let him live in Setauket knowing what’s going on (maybe even becoming a spy as well) or leaving with him and maybe switching sides.

And yes I’m wishlisting both, lol.

[fantasykiri5]

A pair of birds of prey for days 15 and 16 of @hermitadaymay !!! Definitely not a day and a half (?) late

[metallicdawn]

I made a post abt it on twt, but Everyone talks about the tunnelers, the return of the NCR, or a possible Yes-Man betrayal as the biggest threat to the courier post-game, but real ones know it’s Joshua once the legion eventually crumbles and he has unrestricted access to recruit disenfranchised ex-legionnaires HE FORMERLY TRAINED to his version of New Canaan.

He’s already been made a living martyr, and I know damn well he’ll take full advantage of that.

[quinloki]

I think I’mma pull another (yes another) sideblog together and start trying to do daily sketches.

Just, whatever I can draw in 20-30 minutes as I’m waking up. Probably mostly Marco, Quill, Kid, Sabo, etc. just whoever comes to mind first.

They’ll be mostly sloppy and without color, but I’ll just put them all on the side blog with a little commentary and go from there. I want to get back into drawing, without losing my groove on writing, and I think I just need to help

Convince myself isn’t the right word…

I need a place that feels safe to put it, I guess.

Really I just want to illustrate my fics and I gotta start somewhere. So getting good at drawing the characters I like seems a good place to start.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

GOSHHH!!

I'm on my knees reading your stuff, you're soooo good. I finally found someone who writes Ivy in a delightful way.

Could you please write some Ivy down bad for reader when they meet in the waiting room after both of them lost their flight. It's freezing outside and they shared a cup of coffe. Something cute and a little smut, maybe?

Thank you honey :))

Thank you, darling! Means so much. 🤍✨

Missed flights

You knew you should have left yourself more time. New airports were always so much more confusing and now with only minutes to spare you were running to the gates as fast as you could. Trying to not run into anyone. “Final call to flight DF1465 all passengers please get to the gate immediately”. You cursed beneath your breath, skimming your eyes over the digital display. Before breaking into a run once more.

Slamming into someone’s side, losing your balance but not having enough time to spare. “I need to get on”, the man in front of you hands his ticket to the lady only to be met with a sharp shake of the head. “Gates are closed”. You step to the side of him, “Come on now, you just made the last call”, you frown. “Nothing can be done miss”, she shrugged, looking down at her computer.

“Well if you stopped bitching we would have already been on the flight”, the male grunted. “Is there a way to get on another plane now or anything?”, you asked, pleading, “I need to be on that plane”, “Well as all have wishes, no flight till Friday”, she clapped back. “Watch your tone”, the guy pointed at her right as she turned to leave, closing the gates.

You let your bag fall, just watching her go, already thinking of all the changes you would have to make. “Hey, sorry I bumped into you pretty hard beforehand”, the same guy gently reached out. You blinked looking at his blue eyes, “Yeah… don’t remember”, you chuckled softly. “Don’t tell me that I gave you a concussion?”, he frowned slightly shaking his head. “No, don’t worry”, you reassured him. “Well, this fucking sucks”, he grunted, running a hand over his face. “Also in a rush to get back?”, you looked at him sympathetically. “Oh, you can’t even imagine”, he sighed, “Ivy”. “My pleasure, YN”, you shook his head, “we can always try the front desk”, you motioned behind you.

That’s where you two spent the remaining 4h trying and fighting and arguing with every single person who came forward. Nothing. No one could give you any information and the closest flight was in 24h. “Let’s just go”, you pulled at his hand, feeling the exhaustion slowly settling in. Ivy shot the lady one more angry look before turning to you. “When was the last time you ate?”, he asked picking up his bag, before reaching for yours, muttering a quiet “let me”, before he took it from your hands. “Don’t remember”, you shrugged, “Well, we are eating then”, Ivy motioned for you to walk forward before following behind.

The little cafe you two found outside the airport was nearly empty, giving you both a much-needed rest and a space to talk. “We can book this?”, you turned your phone to Ivy showing him the room you had managed to find. “Not scared I’m a sociopath or anything?”, he chuckled taking a sip of his beer. You tilted your head to the side, “You don’t give me scary vibes”, you shrugged, “and if you do kidnap me at least you’re handsome”, “You think I’m handsome?”,’ a shit-eating grip spread across his face. “I’m sure that you know that you are”, you chuckled, “Oh, I do”, Ivy nodded, making you throw your head up as you laughed, “Humble much?”.

Ivy reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, thumb brushing your cheek, “You’re really pretty”, your cheeks instantly grew pink as you batted his hand away. “You’re just saying that so that we would be in the same room”, you rolled your eyes. “Absolutely, but mostly because you’re really pretty”, Ivy mused, clinking your beers together. Eyes fully focused on you.

[magpie-trove]

There’s this trend toward kind of villainizing self sacrifice going on and it’s honestly kinda baffling