#training and simulation centers

[howdoesone]

How does one stay updated with the latest advancements and protocols in emergency medical services?

In the rapidly evolving field of emergency medical services (EMS), staying updated with the latest advancements and protocols is crucial for providing high-quality care to patients. EMS professionals must continuously expand their knowledge and skills to adapt to new technologies, research findings, and evidence-based practices. This article will discuss effective strategies to stay informed and…

[lonestarflight]

Skylab 2 astronauts during EVA training in the Neutral Buoyancy Simulator at the Marshall Space Flight Center, Huntsville, Alabama. This training with Skylab mock-up was to prepare for the repairs needed to get the damage Skylab operational and habitual. In the first photo, weitz probes undeployed solar array on the Skylab mock-up. In the second and third photos, tech and divers work in NBS with a twin-pole solar shield one type contemplated. The 2 poles were 53 ft long.

Date: May 22, 1973

NASA ID: 108-KSC-73P-324, NASA-0-40526, NASA-0-40523

[apollosimulationcenter]

Apollo Simulation Centre is a leading Medical simulation training center offering top-tier courses and hands-on classes to enhance healthcare skills and expertise.

[atom-aviation32]

Discover the Future of Aviation Training at a Flight Simulator Center 🌟✈️

If you're passionate about aviation or dreaming of becoming a pilot, there's no better place to start than a flight simulator center! These innovative facilities are revolutionizing the way we approach pilot training, offering cutting-edge flight simulation experiences that bring the skies to life. 🚀

Why Choose a Flight Simulator Center?

Modern flight simulator centers combine advanced cockpit technology with immersive simulator facilities, making them the ultimate tool for mastering the art of flying. Whether you're navigating challenging weather, practicing emergency landings, or perfecting your in-flight communication, these simulators provide a realistic flight experience without ever leaving the ground. 🌍

The benefits of aviation training in these controlled environments are unmatched. From aspiring pilots to seasoned professionals, everyone can enhance their skills, build confidence, and gain practical experience safely and efficiently.

Cutting-Edge Cockpit Technology 🚁

At the heart of every flight simulator center lies state-of-the-art cockpit technology. These systems replicate the controls, instruments, and dynamics of actual aircraft, allowing you to practice like a pro. The seamless integration of visuals and sound creates a lifelike atmosphere, making you feel like you're soaring through the clouds.

Your Journey Starts Here

Ready to take off? Whether you're starting your pilot training or looking for a thrilling flight simulation experience, visiting a flight simulator center is your first step toward aviation success. Experience the latest simulator facilities, explore advanced cockpit technology, and embrace the future of flight!

📢 Tag your friends who dream of flying and share this post to spread the word about the exciting opportunities at a flight simulator center! ✈️

[historyofguns]

The article "Dabbs: My Time in the U.S. Army Rotary-Wing Flight School" by Will Dabbs, MD, recounts the author's lifelong passion for aviation and his experiences in the U.S. Army's Rotary-Wing Flight School at Fort Rucker, Alabama. Dabbs reflects on his childhood fascination with World War II aircraft, leading him to pursue a career as a military helicopter pilot. He describes the competitive selection process, the various training phases, and the challenging yet rewarding journey through flight school. Dabbs particularly highlights his time training with the UH-1 Huey helicopters, his transition to flying CH-47 Chinooks, and the intense camaraderie and friendships formed with fellow soldiers. The article also touches on the inherent dangers of military aviation, including the loss of friends, and concludes with Dabbs expressing gratitude for his military experiences.

[kxsagi]

HEYYYY I JUST CAME HERE TO SAY THAT I LOVE YOUR WORKS!! And also, are perhaps a fan of f1? If you are, can you please make a blue lock boys x f1 driver!reader? I think it’s a cool crossover and I haven’t seen a lot of them in the blue lock fandom so it would be nice to have new contents💗

“𝐯𝐚 𝐯𝐚 𝐯𝐨𝐨𝐦”

a/n: THANK YOU BABES!!!

i'm not a serious fan, but i do think that F1 is cool as hell and i would def be down to see the movie!

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, shidou ryusei, kaiser michael, karasu tabito, and barou shoei

isagi yoichi

isagi’s already obsessed with reading plays, so the moment he saw you overtaking two cars on a rainy track at 300 km/h, he short-circuited. 

“did you see how she predicted that corner?? she didn’t even brake. she’s literally– oh my gosh i’m in love with her.” 

he’s your biggest cheerleader. he wears your merch to blue lock practice. he made his own "driver! you x isagi" twitter account and keeps replying “W” under every race win post. 

he tries to relate by talking about how football also requires good reflexes and team strategy… but you once let him sit in your simulator and he crashed in 0.4 seconds. 

“yoichi, there’s a wall, don’t–” BOOM 

refuses to let you drive him anywhere but gets incredibly flustered when you call him “slowpoke.” 

“i’m not slow! you’re just– you’re literally trained for this!!” 

when you bring him to a race for the first time, he wore noise-cancelling headphones, sunscreen, and packed three bottles of water. boy was acting like he was going to war. 

itoshi rin

rin swears he doesn’t care, but he has your race schedule memorized down to the millisecond. 

“you’re racing in monaco this week, right? i checked the weather. track’s gonna be tricky. don’t fuck it up.” 

he says that with his arms crossed, standing outside your trailer with a bag full of fresh fruit and electrolyte drinks. 

jealous of your car. not in a weird way, just bitter. “why does she talk to the car like that. i swear i heard her say ‘good girl.’” 

you offered to take him for a lap once and he glared at you like you just insulted his entire bloodline. 

secretly goes insane when he sees you in your race suit. he pretends not to look, but his eye twitches. 

if anyone tries to flirt with you on the grid, rin is immediately in silent death glare mode. 

“are they your engineer or something?” “that’s the FIA president.” “okay. and?” 

itoshi sae

sae fell for you the moment you told a reporter to “grow a pair” when they asked if racing as a woman was “too dangerous.” 

has a very dry but deeply supportive boyfriend style. posts one photo of you on his story like “podium again. cool.” 

but he’s literally watching the livestream, checking your sector times, and texting your team principal like “she needs new tires. tell her.” 

when he visits the paddock, everyone’s scared of him. it’s giving silent, rich, bored, and disgusted by most people. 

you once threw your helmet in rage after a DNF and he simply picked it up, handed you a water bottle, and said: “you’ll destroy them next week. now stop sulking.” 

secretly wants to kiss you after every race, but acts like he’s too cool for PDA. 

when you crash for the first time (even if it’s minor), he FLIES out of his seat and almost decks a camera guy on his way to the medical center. 

nagi seishiro

“woah, you drive go-karts for a living? sick.” “… it’s formula 1, sei.” 

doesn’t know what’s going on most of the time, but loves tagging along because the seats are comfy and you keep winning. 

he finds the speed kind of fun… until you take him drifting in a parking lot at night. 

“okay i’m gonna throw up. i saw my soul leave my body.” 

nags you to buy him team jackets in every color. now he’s got the full outfit: oversized jacket, hat, lanyard, and even a custom “NAGI” headset. 

he once got bored during qualifying and fell asleep in the hospitality suite. woke up when you won pole and went: “yay, good job, babe.” 

his phone background is you mid-race with your visor down. you asked him why and he went: “you look like a cool villain. i like it. run me over, next?” 

mikage reo

THE MOST SUPPORTIVE BOYFRIEND EVER. he’s literally built to be a paddock husband. 

walks around the grid with a rolex, sunglasses, and a laminated pass with “DRIVER GUEST - REO MIKAGE” like it’s the met gala. 

screams when you overtake someone. leaps up in celebration like he just won the world cup. 

“SHE’S P1! SHE’S P1, BABY, LET’S GOOOO!!!” 

once tried to bribe your race engineer to let him wear your helmet for “just one picture.” 

owns every possible merch item with your face on it. mousepads. pillows. tote bags. even a personalized coffee mug that says “#1 DRIVER GIRLFRIEND.” 

he is so down bad every time you take your gloves off. 

“how are your hands so hot when you just drove for 2 hours straight. what the hell. marry me.” 

already planning a rich people wedding at a racetrack. he’s dead serious. 

shidou ryusei

“babe. listen. let me ride on top of the car. just once. just while it’s moving. i need the rush.” 

absolute menace in the paddock. he’s not allowed to touch anything anymore after he once tried to rev the engine mid-setup. 

he finds everything about you so hot. the danger. the speed. the fact that you can do donuts in a $20 million car. 

“yo that crash was INSANE– wait, you’re okay right? good. now that crash was SICK.” 

wears your race suit around the house. nothing else. 

makes out with you after every race like it’s the end of the world. doesn’t care who’s watching. 

he yells your name from the grandstands. not even cheers. just: “I’M GONNA PROPOSE IF YOU WIN THIS!!!” 

and when you do win, he’s already climbing over fences like a madman. 

kaiser michael

he thinks you’re a goddess. 

he first saw you doing a victory burnout and now refuses to shut up about it. 

“do you know how fucking cool you are? i should be the one asking for your autograph.” 

ultra cocky boyfriend energy but he melts when you call him your “pit crew” after a long race. 

“pit crew? i’d change your tires with my teeth.” 

literally flexes you like a trophy. has you as his lockscreen, home screen, and contact photo. your name in his phone is “speed demon 🏎️❤️” 

gets super into the sport. buys your whole team dinner when you win. roasts rival drivers. 

“that guy behind you? yeah. he’s shaking. peed himself probably.” 

you let him sit in your car once and he wouldn’t get out. said “i live here now.” 

karasu tabito

okay so karasu is OBSESSED. 

he is a strategy nerd and immediately starts watching all your onboard footage, analyzing your corner exits like it's his life mission. 

“babe, you’re literally the queen of late braking. who taught you that? marry me.” 

wears a team jacket with your number embroidered on the sleeve. brags about you to everyone. 

“oh yeah my girl drives 350 km/h for a living. no biggie. she could probably drift better than you walk.” 

flirts with you while you're driving. always. 

“focus on the road,” you say. 

“oh i am, baby. especially when you’re in the driver's seat.” 

you once did donuts in a parking lot while he stood in the middle hyping you up with his phone camera. 

top commenter on all your socials: “she fast AND hot??? how is this legal???” 

barou shoei

he thought you were insane. like clinically insane. 

“why the hell would you drive that fast for that long. on purpose.” 

barou is a control freak and hates the idea of not being in charge, so the first time he sat shotgun while you were driving he nearly screamed. 

he clutched the seat. he held onto the door. he made you swear on your life not to drift again. 

“I SAID TURN LEFT, NOT LAUNCH INTO ORBIT–” 

but he deeply respects your work ethic and competitiveness. 

says stuff like “don’t let those bastards pass you” while tying your gloves for you pre-race. 

and when you win? he goes feral. 

doesn’t even celebrate, just pulls you into his arms and says “that’s my girl.” 

also the only one who glares at paparazzi until they get scared and run. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[itsnesss]

hey stunner

could I pretty please request Ollie with a girlfriend who always makes him packed lunches/meals for training and races and leaves a little sticky note with it every time and the rest of the team get jealous cause the food looks and smells amazing

thank you, have a lovely rest of your day💕💕

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐟 | ollie bearman × fem!reader

summary | you always prepare ollie's lunch and add little notes to it. It's your way of showing affection. he loves it and it makes his friends jealous

warnings | chef!reader, fluff humor, mild embarrassment, public reading of a flirty note, excessive cuteness, food envy

word count | 1.2 k

🖇 more ob87 🖇 f1 masterlist

The sun was just beginning to peek through the window when Ollie came downstairs, still bleary-eyed and his hair a mess. Despite the early hour, the kitchen already smelled delicious.

The sound of the pan led him straight to the scene he loved seeing every morning: you, in pajamas, hair clipped up, gently stirring with a wooden spoon.

"Up this early again?" he mumbled, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his forehead on your shoulder.

"It’s your simulator day, and then the gym, right? I wanted to make sure you ate something decent instead of those bars you swear are ‘super filling.’"

He let out a chuckle, pressing a kiss to your cheek before stepping away to pour himself some water. On the table, a bento box was already half-prepped, with vibrant compartments and fruit cut into star shapes. The little sticky note hadn’t been placed yet, but you had the pen in your hand.

Ollie came closer, curious, even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to read them early.

"What are you writing this time? Another ‘don’t forget to smile even if your trainer yells at you’?" he laughed.

"Close," you said with a mischievous grin. "This one says: ‘If you hit your best lap time today, I’ll make brownies tonight. If you don’t… I still will. But act like you don’t know that.’"

He laughed loudly this time, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you around to give you a kiss longer than strictly necessary.

"You’re the best part of my day, you know that?"

"I know. But tell that to your trainer after he sees I gave you rice cake as a snack."

Hours later at the training center, Ollie opened his lunchbox in the team’s common room. The sticky note was still on top. He didn’t have to say anything — the smell of sesame chicken filled the room, and one by one, the other drivers and mechanics looked up.

"Is that… homemade food?" Esteban asked, sniffing the air like a hound.

"Yeah," Ollie said casually, as if it were no big deal. He grabbed his chopsticks and started eating while Kimi peered over curiously.

"Your girlfriend cooks that for you every day?"

"Yes. Sometimes the menu changes. But there’s always dessert. And a note."

There was a moment of silence before someone muttered:

"Do you think she’d adopt all of us?"

And just like that, culinary jealousy spread through the team.

...

The atmosphere at the team base that Friday was relatively calm. Simulator in the morning, technical sessions in the afternoon. Nothing too exciting… except for Ollie.

He had an extra motivation to get through the day: his lunch.

As soon as he got out of the simulator, he walked straight to the hospitality fridge and pulled out his lunchbox, perfectly labeled with his name in a blue sticker. The sticky note was already attached on top:

“Reminder: you're stronger than you think. And yes, I added dumplings this time. Do not share, please!”

He read it with a smile. “As if I’d share,” he thought.

But someone was watching. Someone hungry. Someone named Kimi Antonelli.

"Does that have dumplings?" Kimi asked, leaning his elbows on the table like a hungry puppy.

"No idea what you’re talking about," Ollie replied, discreetly closing the lid.

"Come on, man. Just one. I just wanna see if they taste as good as they smell."

"My girlfriend said not to share. Her exact words."

Kimi rolled his eyes and walked away… but not for long.

While Ollie stepped away to take a call with his engineer, Kimi, like a thief trained by the F1 school of crime, slid over to the table. He lifted the lid with almost reverent care. And there they were: four perfect homemade dumplings nestled on a bed of sticky rice.

"Just one," he whispered, as if that justified the crime.

But just as he reached for one with Ollie’s chopsticks, he heard a voice behind him:

"Touch it and you lose the hand, Antonelli."

Kimi turned with a guilty smile.

"How did you know I was going to do that!?"

"Because you’re as subtle as a brick. Also, you left your fingerprints all over the tupperware last time."

The rest of the team burst out laughing. Esteban came over with a water bottle and added:

"Trying to steal his food again? This is becoming a ritual. Why don’t you just get a girlfriend too?"

Kimi dropped into the seat with a dramatic sigh.

"I don’t want a girlfriend. I want a chef."

"Mine’s both," Ollie said smugly, sitting down and picking up the first dumpling. "And that’s why you’ll just sit there and watch me eat this."

Kimi shot him a look full of culinary resentment while everyone laughed.

From then on, every time Ollie opened his lunch, someone would inevitably keep an eye on him. But Kimi… Kimi never tried again without permission.

(Technically.)

...

Race weekend arrived, and for the first time, you decided to surprise him in person. With help from Esteban, your trusted accomplice, you secretly traveled to the circuit.

The paddock was organized chaos: engineers running from one garage to another, mechanics fine-tuning details, drivers reviewing data. Everything buzzed with the usual pre-qualifying tension.

Except for Ollie Bearman.

Because you were there.

You had traveled in secret to the circuit a logistical madness that included a delayed train, a shared Uber, and a ridiculous number of messages with Esteban to make sure Ollie didn’t see you too soon.

And now, carrying an insulated lunch bag covered in cherry and bear stickers, you walked through the paddock looking for your boyfriend. You wore sunglasses, a cap, and had one mission: hand him his lunch before his technical meeting.

Esteban spotted you first.

"Hey! The star chef’s here!" he called out from afar, making several mechanics turn.

You just smiled, a bit embarrassed.

"Where is he?" you asked.

"Data room. But if you walk in now, you’ll scare the life out of him."

And so you did.

The door opened softly, and Ollie looked up from his tablet. The first thing he saw were your sneakers, he’d recognize them anywhere. Then your legs, your shirt, your cap...

"You?" he asked, stunned. "What are you doing here?"

"Is that your ‘Hi babe, what a lovely surprise’?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He stood up immediately, hugging you in a way that erased everything else.

"Sorry, I just… wasn’t expecting it. I thought you were at home!"

"Wanted to give you this in person." You pulled out the lunchbox, fancier than usual, with a big note on top.

Before he could read it, the data engineer walked in right behind him.

"Ollie, I need you to- oh."

Silence.

He saw the tupperware. He saw the note. And read aloud, instinctively:

"You don’t need luck today. You’ve got talent, hunger, and this mango rice to make you smile. PS: You have the cutest butt in the paddock."

You froze.

So did Ollie.

The engineer blinked once. Twice. And then, with all the dignity he could muster, said:

"I’ll just… leave this here."

When he was gone, Ollie turned to you, eyes wide.

"Why would you write that?!"

"It was meant for you to read! Not for public announcement!"

You both burst into laughter, covering your faces with your hands as you sat down.

"God, now everyone is going to know about the butt thing," he said through his giggles.

"Everyone already knows, Ollie. Now they’ll just have it confirmed."

Later, as he walked out of the garage toward qualifying, several team members sent him off with:

"Good luck, cutest butt in the paddock!"

[postracehair]

breaking zone

max verstappen x reader | 1.1k

max teaches you how to use his racing simulator.

cw: flirty fun, allusions to sexy fun, a lot of vague statements about the sim cause i don't know a damn thing

a/n: this came from a request! thank you, anon! sorry about the three pics of max up top instead of something aesthetic. i couldn't help it!

EDIT: found this in my drafts, too. wrote it aaaaages ago. have it for the no-race weekend.

--

Max is the one who suggests it.

"I don't want to break it," you protest. "You need that thing."

He rolls his eyes. "You won't," he says. "I just want to show you how it works."

You're on his couch, reading. He's just finished a stream and clearly has some energy from it -- which is why he's suggested, out of the blue, that you try his racing simulator.

There are some drawbacks to going along with his plan. First of all, you're very comfortable where you are. Second of all, you really just want him to lie down with you and watch a movie. He is a potent mix of adorable and devastatingly attractive in his low-slung sweatpants and Puma t-shirt. He's even wearing the glasses that rarely see the light of day.

Damn him.

"Alright," you groan. "Fine."

Max grins with his victory and tugs you off the couch and into his office.

"I'm not going to be good at it. Remember how the Playstation adventure went?"

You'd tried playing F1 2024 on Max's console. It became clear very quickly that you did not quite know how to get the hang of turning around the circuit without hitting other cars.

"Eh, you'd get better if you practiced," Max says. It's a combination of the somewhat undeserved unwavering confidence he has in you because he loves you, and the underestimation of a regular person trying to do his, in fact, very difficult job. But you let him think so.

"Sure, Max."

He turns on the monitors and boots up the sim system. It's maybe the most intimidating setup you've ever seen. Three huge screens curving in a half-circle around the seat, and another smaller one on top of the center screen. The wheel is like an oval dinner plate with so many buttons you almost laugh. You've seen it before, of course, but the idea that you're going to use that thing? Hilarious.

"You're going to sit here," Max says, patting the back of the chair. "Let's start with that."

He beckons you over and you gingerly slide down into the mock-seat. You misjudge how low it is by a few inches and plop down with a yelp.

"Jesus," you say. "This is so much lower then I thought it would be. There go my fantasies of having sex in your car."

"Your what?" Max sputters. His cheeks are red and you wink up at him. "I have other cars," he adds.

"I know," you laugh. "Teach me this, first."

Max sighs like the most put-upon man in the world and crouches down next to the chair so he's more eye level. His voice is right by your ear when he says, "Now, put your feet on the pedals. Do yo see them?"

You look under the screens and see what he's talking about. You stretch your legs and find yourself in a much tighter position than you expected, knees close to your chest and back at an angle.

"This is not comfortable," you grumble. "My abs already hurt."

"All the training isn't just for show, you know," Max teases.

"Yeah, yeah," you say. "You're strong and handsome and a WorldChampion. I know. Now tell me how to work this thing."

You gesture at the nightmare of a steering wheel.

"Okay," Max begins. "So, left to right, you have the radio button --"

Max does what he does best: explain. You already knew he was a good teacher, but to be on the receiving end of his knowledge about the thing he loves most and is brilliant at is kind of thrilling. Worth getting up the couch for, at least. He explains the buttons, the knobs, the clutch paddles. The tyre status, the DRS, the flag indicators.

You retain probably a quarter of it.

"And this is set up differently by each team?" you mutter. "Shit, how do you guys do this?"

He smirks. "Well, not everyone does it very well."

"Max."

"Time and training, liefje," he says. "If you had both of those, you could learn."

"Good thing I like listening to you explain it," you sigh. "It's hot."

Max clears his throat. "Flirting isn't going to get you out of trying it at least once."

"Fire it up, then," you goad him. "We'll see what it might get me after."

His hand darts out to squeeze your thigh, golden hairs on his wrist shining in the sunlit room, and then he stands. He fiddles with the program for a minute and then all three screens light up and you're basically in a Formula 1 car.

"This is Zandvoort," he says.

"Your track?"

"Mhm," he hums. "Figured you could start somewhere you know."

Know is a bit of an exaggeration -- you've been there with him more than once and even walked the track with him during race weekend.

"If you say so," you mutter. You look behind you and find him standing with his arms crossed, smirk firmly in place.

"Well, start it up, then."

As you predicted, the entire venture goes horribly. If this was a real car, they'd take away your license and ban you from setting foot on a racetrack ever again.

But this is your boyfriend's racing simulator. And he is a world champion as well as in love with you, so it's not as bad as that. He's patient -- more than you expected him to be, honestly -- and gentle with his instructions. He doesn't chastise you for things you don't know, instead coaching you to think about one thing at a time. As the laps go on you manage to achieve a low-level form of cohesion between your feet on the pedals and your steering.

It's fun. It's fun to have Max at your shoulder, his constant stream of commentary mingled with praise for your incredibly mediocre ability to follow his directions. It's fun to understand the thing he does all the time, the thing he is so good at, a little better. Sitting in the chair is a little like being inside his head.

You finish another lap almost in stitches from how hard you're laughing, Max's chuckles making it even worse.

"That certainly does not deserve a podium," you say, gasping. "God, get me out of this thing."

You pull your legs from the pedals, abdominal muscles aching, and Max maneuvers himself so it can grab your forearms and tug you up.

"I think you deserve a reward, anyway," Max says. You face him and find a neutral expression apart from a quirked eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah?" you muse. "What would that be?"

He tugs you a little closer. "I can think of some things."

Your noses brush. "Like what?" you ask, a little breathless. "Do you want to show me a lap?"

"No," he whispers, lips so close they brush yours as he talks. "I want to show you something else."

He grabs your hand and tugs to towards the bedroom. 

[humanoidhistory]

May 8, 1980 – Astronaut Anna Fisher suited up for training in the Neutral Buoyancy Simulator at Marshall Space Flight Center in Alabama. (NASA)

[lonestarflight]

"After the end of the Apollo missions, NASA's next adventure into space was the marned spaceflight of Skylab. Using an S-IVB stage of the Saturn V launch vehicle, Skylab was a two-story orbiting laboratory, one floor being living quarters and the other a work room. The objectives of Skylab were to enrich our scientific knowledge of the Earth, the Sun, the stars, and cosmic space; to study the effects of weightlessness on living organisms, including man; to study the effects of the processing and manufacturing of materials utilizing the absence of gravity; and to conduct Earth resource observations. At the Marshall Space Flight Center (MSFC), astronauts and engineers spent hundreds of hours in an MSFC Neutral Buoyancy Simulator (NBS) rehearsing procedures to be used during the Skylab mission, developing techniques, and detecting and correcting potential problems. The NBS was a 40-foot deep water tank that simulated the weightlessness environment of space. This photograph shows astronaut Ed Gibbon (a prime crew member of the Skylab-4 mission) during the neutral buoyancy Skylab extravehicular activity training at the Apollo Telescope Mount (ATM) mockup. One of Skylab's major components, the ATM was the most powerful astronomical observatory ever put into orbit to date."

Date: November 18, 1970

NASA ID: MSFC-7013601

[apollosimulationcenter]

Advanced Medical Simulation Training Courses: Master Clinical Skills

Medical simulation training courses provide a safe, supervised setting for experiential learning that simulates real-world clinical scenarios.

Through the improvement of clinical skills, decision-making ability, and teamwork, simulation-based training is essential for improving patient care and safety for a variety of healthcare providers, including nurses and aspiring doctors.

[mononijikayu]

merry–go–round–of life — ryomen sukuna.

👹: “I miss you so bad it’s leaking into my game. Satoru played Grease in the gym to cheer me up. It was terrible, babe.” Your reply is instant. 🧪🌌: “Please tell me it was ‘Hopelessly Devoted.’” 👹: “Of course it was.”

🧪🌌: “God. I love that man.” He lets out a laugh, short, breathy, wet with something he won’t name. He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at your texts like they’re the only thing grounding him to earth right now. He smiles as he types his next words. 👹: “I’ve got a window. A short one. I can maybe fly out tomorrow. Just for a day or two, babes.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Volleyball! AU;

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Baby, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Lovers, Marriage, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Long Distance Relationship, Frustration, Volleyball Pro! Sukuna, Astrophysicist! Reader, Husband! Sukuna, Wife! Reader;

Words: 9k words.

Note: i wrote this in a rush while im constipated and suffering in bed about it. and honestly, im glad i did because this is going to be a happy one, i know a rare treat. but there will be quite a lot of heartache here soon enough. also, yes, the signatures were created by me. i write like that irl. and yes, they both have autographs (reader gets asked by little kids who are interested in science for her signature). anyway, i hope you enjoy this as much as i do. i love you all so much!!!

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THIS WAS WHAT YOU WERE WORRIED ABOUT. It was fulfilling to be able to go and pursue your passions in your respected fields, that was true enough. But you knew this would happen. Your schedules aren’t overlapping the way you need it to be, and you hate it.

You hate how you and Ryomen Sukuna, your famous Olympic volleyball fiancé are like two stars in separate galaxies, orbiting each other from too far away to touch. You both were wanting to meet each other but the thousands of light years prevented you from even finding each other. 

It wasn’t always like this. Back when his training was domestic and your research wasn't demanding 80–hour weeks, you used to cook dinner together at least twice a week.

He’d lift you onto the counter like you weighed nothing, kiss you until the pasta boiled over, and say things like “We’re gonna have the loudest wedding in Japan.”

But now it’s missed calls, unsent voice notes, messages like “call me when you wake up.” followed by hours of silence because time zones are ruthless and the Olympics don’t wait for love. You’re lucky if you catch his voice once a week, muffled through tired laughter and stadium noise. 

And it’s bad that you were the same as him too.

You weren’t just the one being left behind you were running too, just in the opposite direction. You hated that about yourself. Hated how the very ambition that had once made him fall in love with you was now the same thing keeping you from each other.

The worst part?

Missing ten missed calls.

Sometimes more than that.

Seeing his name flash on your phone hours after he tried to reach you — each notification a little wound that you picked at without meaning to. Not because you ignored him. Never.

But because sometimes, you genuinely didn’t hear the phone ring over the sounds of your team discussing propulsion flow models or thermal regulation equations.

You’d come home and find the lunch he packed still untouched in your work bag. Rice cold, vegetables a little soggy from condensation. A sticky note on the lid with his handwriting which was messy and fast, like he was rushing out the door but still thinking about you: “Eat well, genius.”

You didn’t. Not because you didn’t want to. But because you forgot. Or because you were calibrating simulations past lunchtime. Or because you were sitting in some dark conference room answering questions from engineers twenty years your senior.

And the coffee, the one he brewed at 5:30 a.m. with the beans you like, poured into your favorite thermos? You’d leave it on the kitchen counter by mistake, still warm when you got home twelve hours later. That’s how you realized how bad it had gotten. You weren’t just missing him, you were starting to miss yourself too.

Ever since they assigned you to the development of a new rocket mechanism system, this new revolutionary propulsion array meant to change the trajectory of long–range space travel—you knew, in your gut, that this would take everything.

And it did. Your time. Your sleep. Your calendar. Him.

He was lucky to see you after 10:00 p.m — not in the romantic way, but in the “quick, I have five minutes before I pass out on this couch” kind of way. You'd sit side by side, half in your work clothes, his shirt still damp with sweat from training. 

You’d hold pinkies like kids and talk like strangers trying to remember the rhythm of your old conversations. Sometimes you’d fall asleep mid–sentence. Sometimes he would. Everything about it has just been rough.

It’s been a year and a half since he proposed to you. A year and a half since you said yes with tears on your cheeks and his forehead pressed to yours in a moment so still, so real, you swore nothing could ever pull you apart. And yet here you were. Not even a date set. No dress. No venue. No plans.

Not because you didn’t want it. Hell, you’d marry him in your scorched lab coat with grease stains and ink on your fingers if it meant being next to him when you woke up. If it meant not having to count days between kisses. You knew that. He knew that.

But life doesn’t care about how much two people love each other.

Every time you tried to plan, something got in the way. A training camp for the upcoming FIVB league, where he was captain and poster boy and MVP all rolled into one.

Then a week later it was the National League games or in the International Qualifiers. Or a media appearance. A charity match. A recovery period he had to take seriously or risk injury.

And for you, it was just the same. A last–minute research grant that couldn’t be passed up, not when it would fund your entire next project. A call from the head of the department asking you to lecture at an aerospace symposium.

Sometimes it was a request to mentor new hires or new interns. A sudden data spike that cracked open a new theory, one that would require late nights, recalibrations, endless documentation.

It always felt like one step forward, two steps away from each other.

No one was to blame — not him, not you. But that didn’t make it hurt less.

Because when he told you “I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked.”

And you told him “Then let’s do it, babe.”

The world said, “Not yet.”

And you both obeyed silently, painfully, hoping one day it would stop asking so much of you.

You’re sitting in the corner of the office lab today, shoulders slumped over your desk, staring at an untouched to-do list. You’re not crying, not really. But certainly, there’s a tiredness in your bones that not even coffee can fix.

Maryu Hana notices first. She always does. She walks over quietly, sits next to you, and just wraps her arms around your side like she's trying to hold the pieces of you together. Her hair smells like cherry lip balm and lavender softener. She doesn’t say anything yet, just rests her cheek against your shoulder.

“You okay?” Hana asks after a moment, voice soft and small, like she’s afraid that being too loud might break you further.

“No….not at all.” you admit. You don’t bother sugarcoating it. There’s no energy left to pretend you’re fine. “I miss him. We’re supposed to be planning our wedding right now, Hana. I don’t even know when he’s going to get home from his match abroad.”

Your voice cracks slightly on that last word. You hate the way it does. You hate that your chest feels heavy every time you think of him, of Sukuna with his duffle bags, his passport tucked into his pocket like a lifeline, his voicemail always full. 

You used to tease him for being impossible to reach. Now it just feels like the universe is playing keep–away with the one person you’re trying so desperately to hold onto. You could only sigh into your hands and feel the devastation.

Kenji, ever the loyal office goblin and chaotic gremlin of the lab, rolls over on his squeaky stool like a knight on wheels. His hoodie is inside-out, and he’s clutching an energy drink like it’s a sword.

“You need me to hack into the work calendar and ‘accidentally’ reschedule his matches?” he says, completely serious.

You let out a breathy laugh, weak but real. “That would start an international incident.”

“I’ve started worse, bestie.” he deadpans to you. And he was not lying. You knew he had. That’s why they can’t fire him. “Just say the word.”

“I’d….rather not.”

Haruki looks up from his soldering station, holding a screwdriver like it’s the Holy Grail. “Wait. WAIT. I volunteer as a wedding planner.” He rises with the gravity of someone delivering life–altering news. “I’ve been watching Downton Abbey. I’m emotionally equipped.”

“Yeah, me and Haruki could help!” Hana says, looping her arm around yours with a bright, unbothered smile. “After all, it would be like me and Haruki planning our own wedding. Since we had a court wedding.”

You blink. You’d almost forgotten that. It happened so quietly. A lunch break turned into a courthouse appointment. A blurry photo of them holding hands and a paper certificate posted in your group chat with no caption. You remember being stunned, speechless. But not surprised. They made it work.

You found yourself envious of that. Not in a bitter way, not in the why them, not me way. But in the aching, quiet kind of way. The kind where you smile and congratulate them and then cry into your pillow later because it reminds you that love can happen right now if you let it. If life lets you.

And yet here you are. A year and a half into your engagement with Ryomen Sukuna, and still floating in that weird limbo where you’re so in love and so ready but so impossibly stuck with the needs to please the roles you were meant to play.

Your colleagues, they had trouble even getting a proposal out. Haruki couldn’t string a proper sentence together and Hana had to say, “Do you want to marry me or not?” with a pen already in her hand.

But they got married. Quick. Simple. Straight to the point. No ceremony. No guests. Just them and their decision. And it was beautiful in its own way. It was what suited them and their personalities and wants, after all.

But you and Sukuna wanted something different, however. Not necessarily bigger, but shared. You wanted time. The time to plan, to invite everyone you loved, to dance until the floor cracked beneath you.

You wanted him there to argue over cake flavors and sigh at venue tours. You wanted photos in a sun–drenched field and stupid wedding favors no one would keep but you.

But time has not been kind.

“I’m happy for you guys, really.” you say softly, glancing at Hana and Haruki. And you mean it. But your next words are a little quieter. “I just wish we’d had that chance too.”

Hana squeezes your hand. “You will. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you will.”

“Unless Sukuna gets abducted by aliens.” Kenji adds. “Then I’m legally your backup husband.”

Haruki gasps. “Unacceptable. I already wrote my vows.”

Hana raised a brow. “Um, I am right here, as the actual deserving title of wife?”

“Well, if he does show up, I promise you, the wedding would be perfect if I plan it with you.” Haruki says, winking at you.

You snort through the lump in your throat. “Yeah? You're gonna walk me down the aisle too?”

Haruki grins. “In full 1920s suit attire. Ruffles and everything.”

Kenji adds, snickering. “And I’ll build you a hologram of Sukuna to stand in until the real one gets back. Super realistic. Only mildly cursed.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. Really laugh out loud. and it spills out of you in a way that’s raw and grateful and a little watery around the edges. Like your ribs were too tight until now, and something cracked open.

“I just…” You tug the sleeves of your lab coat down over your hands, swallowing the knot in your throat. “I didn’t think it’d be this hard. Being in love with someone whose life is on a global clock.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Hana murmurs, pulling you in closer, her cheek resting against your shoulder. “It’s hard. But not impossible. You and Sukuna are like… built different. You’ve always made it work, even when it sucks. And you know he hates it just as much as you do.”

You nod slowly. “He texted me last night… paragraphs of it. He said if he could, he’d cancel everything. Just to eat instant ramen with me on the couch. No cameras. No schedules. Just us. In our socks. Watching the same dumb reruns we’ve already memorized.”

Hana lets out a soft sigh, like your pain settles into her chest too. “That’s love right there. Instant ramen and reruns.”

“Haruki doesn’t even like instant ramen,” she adds with a pout, throwing a side-eye at her husband, who glances up, blinking in defense.

Haruki frowns. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I just make healthy options for us. Gotta keep you from living off potato chips and soda.”

Hana gasps dramatically, clutching her imaginary pearls. “Excuse me, sir, do you know how much junk I sneak when you’re not looking?”

“Yes!” he says, flinging his hands in the air. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about, babe!”

“You say that,” Hana points at him like she’s presenting Exhibit A, “as if you don’t drink an absurd amount of Asahi Dry every night.”

Haruki, affronted, gestures to himself with wide eyes. “That’s my only vice! And it’s cultural!”

“You’re such a hypocrite, aren’t you?” she groans, nudging him with her foot.

Kenji, never one to waste a perfectly chaotic moment, raises his energy drink like he’s toasting at a wedding. “Ah yes. Romantic, romantic ramen. Love brings you together!” he says sagely. “The cornerstone of any healthy relationship.”

You cover your mouth to muffle another laugh. “You guys are idiots.”

“Correct on that, captain.” Kenji says proudly.

“But you’re my idiots, to be sure.” you add, blinking away the dampness in your lashes. 

And for the first time in days, you feel… lighter. Maybe not fixed. Maybe not even okay. But held. In this tiny lab full of solder smoke, caffeine, and nerds with poor sleep schedules, you are loved. And that counts for something. Maybe everything.

You look down at your phone, Sukuna’s texts still sitting there, glowing softly against your palm like a heartbeat. Instant ramen, huh? You think you’ll message him back soon. Maybe you should even leave a voice mail.

Maybe even send him a picture of the lab gang yelling over takeout later.  Let him know you're not alone. Let him know you’re still here. Still his, still waiting for some time to just be together again and love each other again.

You tuck your phone into your pocket, your gentle fingers lingering against it like maybe….Just maybe. You could go on and press hard enough. Maybe, you might let him feel you from wherever in the world he is right now.

Hana gently nudges your side again. “You should text him. Or call, if he’s awake. You’ll feel better.”

You nod, already thinking about it. You’ll do it. After this moment. After sitting in the warmth of people who don’t ask you to be okay before you’re ready to be. “Yeah….I should….”

Kenji spins once on his stool, as if the energy drink has finally hit his bloodstream. “Alright, I’ve made an executive decision. Emergency wedding planning simulation. Just for morale.”

Haruki blinks. “What?”

Kenji claps his hands. “You’re going to hate this, but—boom. Picture this: rooftop wedding. At sunset. Hana officiates. Haruki cries.”

“I don’t cry!” Haruki objects.

“You absolutely do, a lot!” Hana says, smirking. “You sobbed at that ad with the puppy and the blind man.”

“It was emotional!”

Kenji continues like he’s narrating a movie trailer. “Reception at a space museum. Guests get party favors that are actually mini thrusters. There’s a robot bartender. And instead of a first dance, you and Sukuna spike a ceremonial volleyball at a target shaped like all your problems.”

“I can 3D print that target.” Haruki mutters as he opens his tablet. “Give me two days. I can reuse the program from the last rocket thrusters. Just need to edit them to smaller size, of course—”

You throw your head back and laugh again, tears still clinging to your lashes but now glinting with amusement instead of grief. “Stop, stop.” you groan, covering your face. “This is the dumbest thing—”

“—and yet you’re smiling,” Hana sings, pulling you closer. “Which was the point.”

You drop your hands and meet her eyes. “Thanks, everyone.” you whisper. “I’m grateful for all of you.”

Kenji gives you a goofy little salute. “Anything for our favorite overachiever–in–love.”

“You mean resident astrophysicist–in–love, no?” Haruki corrects, tossing a bolt across the table like a mic drop.

You shake your head, heart sore and full. There’s still that ache, that missing piece in your day-to-day rhythm that only Ryomen Sukuna fills. But tonight, for just a little while, it’s dulled by something soft and familiar. Love that stays close, even when your person is far.

Later, maybe after everyone’s gone home or dozed off at their stations, you’ll sneak into the break room and video call Sukuna. He might be in a different timezone, maybe halfway through his physio routine or brushing his teeth in some hotel room you can’t pronounce.

And when he picks up, and sees your face lit up under the sterile break room light, you’ll tell him: "Let’s eat ramen together this weekend. You, me, whatever city you’re in. I’ll bring the pocket Wi-Fi, baby. You bring the cup noodles. I love you."

Because if there’s one thing this moment reminds you, it’s that love like yours doesn’t disappear. It adapts. It lingers. It waits. And finds its way back. Always. Because love wins all in the end. It will always win in the end. 

IT HAS NEVER GOTTEN THIS BAD BEFORE. But now it has and there’s just really no way to stop it. Usually, there was a way to calm himself down. Yet, it's not working right now.

Since you are busy like him and you can’t call him often or spend time with him. Ryomen Sukuna is just as frustrated on the other side of the world. No, maybe not just frustrated. Since his spikes are getting everywhere.

The volleyball slams against the court floor with such vicious precision that it echoes like a gunshot, ricocheting off the walls in a wild blur of movement.

Coaches flinch. Teammates keep their distance. Balls aren’t just being served. It was like they’re being launched like warheads, and everyone knows better than to say anything about it now.

Everyone except Vice Captain Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru stands just beyond the service line, arms folded across his chest, sunglasses still on like he’s at a beachside photo shoot and not inside a national Olympic training gym. His expression is unreadable, but even he knows something’s off.

Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t talk.

He trains. He spikes. He glares. He barely sleeps.

And it’s getting bad. Because he misses you. Because he hasn’t held or seen you in over a month at the very least. Because he hasn’t heard her voice since three time zones ago. And it was obvious to everyone that he was just upset.

His chest is tight. His lungs feel too small. Every part of his body is coiled with an energy that doesn’t know where to go. Except into the ball, into the court, into whatever’s in front of him that isn’t her.

Another spike. Another blur of motion. Another dull ache in his wrist. But that didn’t matter. He doesn’t care about that right now. He cares about being able to air his feelings. And probably hearing your voice later, if you pick up.

“You’re gonna fracture something, Captain!” Satoru finally calls, breaking the silence.

Sukuna says nothing, panting through his nose. He’s drenched in sweat. Muscles straining. Every vein on his arm is a live wire right now. He huffs a breath as he goes on and picks up another ball.

“Y’know, Mr. Lover Boy….” Satoru continues casually as he fixes his jacket. “Most people go for a walk or write sad poetry when they miss their fiancée. You? You look like you’re trying to kill the floor.”

Sukuna turns his back on him, fists clenched, shoulders rigid. “I haven’t seen her in weeks, or spoken to her in days.” he mutters, so low Satoru barely catches it. “Didn’t even get to call last night. I fell asleep with my phone in my hand.”

His voice is rough. Like gravel dragged across asphalt. Like the exhaustion finally caught up to him. But that’s probably how it just is with his schedule.

He’s both in the National Team and in the V.League. Then there’s the training camps and the other stuff like the press. And it’s rinse and repeat, as always.

Satoru sighs and strolls over, dropping down into a squat like a coach babysitting a storm. “That’s rough, really.” he admits to him, still a bit playful. “Real tragic. Definitely calls for alcohol and sad jazz music.”

Sukuna’s jaw ticks. “We’re supposed to be planning our wedding, you know that?” he says after a long pause. “It’s been a year and a half. We haven’t even picked a damn date.”

Satoru doesn’t say anything. He knows better than to offer empty platitudes. “She’s got this new rocket system project. Her team’s finally getting funding, which is good. She deserves it.”

“Hm, you said that the other day.”

Sukuna’s voice is softer now, but bitter–edged. “But every time we try to plan anything….anything and absolutely anything, something comes up. Her lectures. Our training camp. Her research. The World Cup qualifiers. Another damn seminar or match or trip across the globe.”

He exhales hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate this.”

“I know you do.” Satoru says gently.

“She doesn’t say it, but I know it’s wearing on her too.” Sukuna looks down at his hands. The same hands that have sent balls flying like missiles, the same hands that haven’t been able to hold hers. “I don’t want her to feel like she’s putting everything on pause for me. Or that I’m putting her last.”

Satoru’s expression softens, sunglasses slipping down just enough for his eyes to show. “She wouldn’t stay if she felt that way.”

Sukuna finally meets his gaze. His voice is low, threaded with an ache he rarely lets show. “She’s the only thing I want more than this game.”

And that’s saying something, coming from Ryomen Sukuna, who loved volleyball with everything he was. Whose entire life has been volleyball since he was tall enough to touch the net. But he loved you more. He loved you more than volleyball. You were his life. You were his everything.

Satoru claps a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Then keep wanting her. But don’t burn the rest of your world down in the meantime. You’ll get back to her. Sooner than you think.”

But Sukuna’s heart is elsewhere. With you. Always with you. He dreams of the way you tug at your lab coat sleeves over your hands when you're tired.

The sound of your laugh through the phone when you’ve got your headset still on. The way you’d always try to make time, even when you couldn’t. Even when the world was pulling you in a thousand directions too.

He’d give up all of it in a heartbeat. He knew that. All the fame, the medals, the arenas, if it meant just waking up beside you every morning he has in this life, then he’d give it all up. No alarms. No training. Just you in his arms. Breathing soft against his chest. Home, in its purest form.

But he can’t. Not yet. So he breathes, barely.  And spikes another ball, like it’ll keep his heart from shattering. Sukuna’s next spike hits the far wall so hard it rattles the bleachers. It echoes loud and sharp, like the crack of something breaking. Satoru doesn’t flinch. He sighs, long and theatrical. 

“Well, that’s something.” he mutters, “He’s officially in full sad, long–distance lover mode. Talk–jutsu failed. We’re in phase two: Rage Despair.”

“Is that like a boss level, Gojo–san?” Itadori Yuuji asks, jogging over with a towel slung around his neck. His cheeks are pink from drills, hair stuck to his forehead, sweat still trailing down his temples. “Because he looks like he’s about to go feral.”

“Yuuji–kun.” Satoru turns to him, hands on hips. “It’s time.”

“Time for what?”

Satoru grins, wide and devious. “Operation Cheer–Up–Sukuna–With–Sheer–Stupidity.”

Yuuji blinks. Then lights up like a puppy who just got the go-ahead to fetch. “YES.”

Before anyone can stop him, Itadori Yuuji barrels toward Captain Ryomen Sukuna like a human golden retriever missile, arms open for a completely uninvited hug. Sukuna glared at him as he saw him coming towards him.

“RYOMEN SUKUNAAAAAA!” he yells mid-run. “YOUR SOULMATE WOULD WANT YOU TO SMILE!!!”

Sukuna turns just as Yuuji launches at him. His first instinct is to side-step and deck him. His second instinct is still to deck him. But he hesitates just long enough for Yuuji to latch on, full koala-style, arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs bracing like he’s riding a moving train.

“You smell like rage and heartbreak!” Yuuji wheezes against his chest. “Let it out, Captain!”

“I will kill you, Itadori!” Sukuna growls, trying to shake him off. “You best be fucking ready to do dive serves, you punk!”

“You need love!” Yuuji cries.

At the same time, Satoru pulls out a Bluetooth speaker from absolutely nowhere, presses play — and suddenly “Hopelessly Devoted to You” from Grease begins blaring through the gym. All the staff and coaching team were either about to laugh or disappointed. The rest of the team looks like they were used to this. 

“Oi, are you actually serious right now?” Fushiguro Megumi barks from the sideline, dropping his water bottle.

Nanami Kento walks in from the hallway, pauses at the doorway, and squints at the scene. Ryomen Sukuna dragging Itadori Yuuji across the court like a furious god with a clingy barnacle.

Gojo Satoru dramatically sings into a protein shaker. The ridiculously loud Grease soundtrack echoing like it’s karaoke night in hell. It was just not something that anyone can see everyday. And yet, this was the normal of the Japan National Volleyball Team.

“No, no.” Nanami says flatly, “No. Absolutely not.”

He marches toward the chaos with his usual calm menace. “Itadori–kun, get off him. Satoru, turn that off. This is a place of discipline. Not a high school musical.”

“Aw, come on, man!” Satoru whines back at them.“It’s a classic!”

“Sukuna doesn’t need musical numbers, Vice–Captain.” Megumi deadpans as he drags Yuuji off the fuming captain. “He needs peace and a phone call with his fiancée, probably followed by a ten–hour nap too.”

Yuuji flails dramatically in Megumi’s grip. “He needs love! Let the man feel things!”

“I am feeling things, you punks!” Sukuna growls, voice low and dangerous. “Like the urge to end your entire career.”

“You see?” Nanami says out loud. “This is what happens when you let emotions run unchecked. He needs focus. Structure. Calm.”

Sukuna, despite himself, lets out a sharp breath. Almost a laugh. Almost. “I need her, right now.” he mutters instead, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt. “That’s it.”

Everyone goes quiet for a beat.

Megumi, releasing Yuuji with a shove, glances at him sidelong. “Then call her.”

Satoru grins. “Yeah. Do that. And then I’ll serenade her on speakerphone so she remembers how charming we are.”

“Try it, Gojo. I’m telling you it will not end well.” Sukuna mutters, grabbing his towel. “See how fast I put you through a wall.”

But there’s less venom in his voice now. And maybe, just maybe…. a flicker of peace behind his eyes. Because even halfway across the world, in a gym where every breath feels like a battle, he can still hear her voice in his head. And maybe, if he hurries through the cooldown, he’ll get to hear the real thing.

Sukuna sits on the bench, finally. Shoulders hunched, towel draped over his head like a ghost of defeat. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers threading into his hair as he exhales sharp through his nose.

He’s not broken, he knows he’s not. But god, he’s tired. Of the distance. Of the ache. Of pretending it doesn’t chip away at him every day.

Megumi hands him a water bottle without a word. It’s cold. Reliable. Exactly what you’d expect from him. Sukuna takes it, mutters, “Thanks.”

Nearby, Yuuji’s still pouting on the floor with a bruise forming where Sukuna elbowed him. “I was trying to be supportive, you know!” he mumbles. “Hugs are powerful.”

“They are, Itadori. We know.” Megumi replies blandly. “But not when they come from a hyperactive golden retriever on suicide watch.”

Yuuji gasps. “I am a comfort animal, I’ll have you know.”

“More like a feral street dog, with Gojo around.” Nanami mutters, adjusting his glasses as he heads toward the exit. “You two make it too much when you’re together.”

Satoru lounges next to Sukuna now, tossing a volleyball from hand to hand like the whole near–homicide was just another Tuesday. “You know…..” he says casually at you. “You could surprise her. Hop a flight, spend a day with her before qualifiers start. No press, no entourage, no distractions. Just you and the astrophysicist hottie of your dreams.”

Sukuna gives him a side–eye like he’s grown a second head. “You do know how training schedules work, right?”

Satoru shrugs. “Yeah. But I also know how you work. If you don’t see her soon, you’re gonna combust and take the rest of us with you. God help us, we might even lose a game and miss international spots if this keeps up.”

“He’s not wrong, Captain. Stupid as he is.” Megumi adds, already back to stretching. “You’re like a ticking emotional bomb right now.”

“I could forge some documents, you know.” Yuuji pipes up from the floor. “Like a fake conference about biomechanics in volleyball and propulsion—”

“Absolutely not.” Nanami cuts in from across the court without even looking back. “We’re not being fined by the FIVB because of that, Itadori–kun.”

“But come on!”

“We’re abiding by propriety. No other words.”

Sukuna’s quiet now. Still. Because the idea’s in his head. You’re probably in her lab right now, probably up to your ears in data and test simulations. Probably hasn’t eaten since noon. Probably sipping cold coffee because you’re too focused to remember it’s there. 

You’ll have a blanket wrapped around her shoulders even with the heater on, hair in a bun you forgot to redo, typing with that deep furrow in your brows you always get when you’re close to a breakthrough.

God, he wants to see you. He wants to hear you mumble something scientific he won’t understand and then laugh when he repeats it wrong. He wants to lean against your chair, press a kiss to your temple and feel the tension in your shoulders melt. He wants to hold your hand. Fall asleep beside you all day in your comfortable bed, for once.

He stands. “Where are you going?” Satoru asks, though there’s a smirk forming already.

“To shower, you punks.” Sukuna mutters, already walking. “Then maybe check flights.”

Yuuji gasps. “IS THIS A ROM–COM AIRPORT MONTAGE IN THE MAKING?”

Sukuna points at him without turning. “You say one more word and I’m dumping you in baggage claim.”

“Don’t worry, you can come back in two days, one day at most.” Gojo Satoru says with a beaming smile. “We can say you needed the break. So, don’t worry too much. Plus, I’m sure Yuuji–kun here can cover your spikes while you’re out.”

“I’d be honored to do it in the name of love, Captain, Vice–Captain!” Yuuji beams at them, blush echoing in his face. “Let’s go, Fushiguro! I need to practice some spikes!”

“Itadori, wait! Fuck, you’re shoe laces are untied!”

For some reason, he didn’t hear that. What mattered to him right now was that his heart already feels lighter. And somewhere, even across time zones and orbit paths and Olympic demands, you’ll be surely feeling that too.

Steam still clings to his skin when Ryomen Sukuna steps out of the shower, towel slung low around his waist, hair wet and dripping onto the tile.

The exhaustion that weighed heavy on his shoulders during practice hasn’t disappeared, not completely, but it’s dulled now. It has softened at the edges like an ache he can almost bear.

He rubs the towel over his hair, muscles tense and jaw tight, still debating whether he should risk flying out or at least try to call again. And then his phone buzzes on the sink counter.

He doesn’t even bother drying his hands, just grabs it, breathless with the kind of hope that still manages to knock the air out of him.

It’s from you.

🧪🌌: “Just made instant ramen. No one to eat it with. Kinda dramatic of the universe, don’t you think?”

He stares at the screen. And for a long, quiet moment, his heart actually hurts. Not in the dramatic, movie-score way. In the real, gritty. It was like the ‘I’d give up gold medals and glory if it meant I could teleport into your kitchen right now’ kind of way.

Another buzz.

🧪🌌: “Don’t worry, I made two bowls. Yours is getting cold.”

He sinks down onto the bench, towel around his neck now, water still dripping down his back. For a man who could crush a ball at 130 km/h, his hands are shaking. It always is like that when it comes to you. 

👹: “I’ll eat it. Even if it’s cold.”

👹: “Save it for me.”

He stares at the screen for a second, then types again. This time slower, like the words are peeled straight from the ache inside his chest. In this moment, he feels like he could breathe again, even just a little bit.

👹: “I miss you so bad it’s leaking into my game. Satoru played Grease in the gym to cheer me up. It was terrible, babe.”

Your reply is instant.

🧪🌌: “Please tell me it was ‘Hopelessly Devoted.’”

👹: “Of course it was.”

🧪🌌: “God. I love that man.”

He lets out a laugh, short, breathy, wet with something he won’t name. He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at your texts like they’re the only thing grounding him to earth right now. He smiles as he types his next words.

👹: “I’ve got a window. A short one. I can maybe fly out tomorrow. Just for a day or two, babe.”

There’s a pause. You were taking your time to reply to him once again. He stares at the screen, every second dragging like an eternity until the typing bubble finally appears. He blinks at your reply.

 🧪🌌: “Come home, Ryomen Sukuna. Even just for a couple hours. Let me kiss you and love you. Please.”

He lets the phone drop onto the bench beside him, chest rising with something like relief, something like need. And then he stands. He felt renewed, unstoppable. It was like nothing could hold him down now that you're waiting with ramen in hand and love in your voice.

Because cold noodles and long-distance calls weren’t meant to be the shape of your future. You were. And he was going to get on the next flight home. Even if it was just to eat that cold bowl of ramen while holding your hand under the dim kitchen light.

YOU RUSHED AS SOON AS YOU GOT HIS TEXT. You barely told your lab mates where you were going. Just a rushed sentence was left in a haste: “Cover for me, I have to pick up my fiancé.”

And then you were out the door, heart pounding like a reactor core, goggles still pushed up on your head, lab coat half off one shoulder. You could feel everything in you alive for the first time in weeks.

Hana yelled something like “GO MARRY HIM ALREADY!!!” as you ran down the hallway, and you think you heard Kenji dramatically play wedding bells through his phone speaker. You didn’t care.

Not when you were already halfway to the airport, biting down the grin on your face like it might escape and take flight without you. And then you see him. He didn’t pack much. He just brought his so little with him. He had to leave in two days, after all.

Through the arrival gates, in sweats and a hoodie and still somehow the most magnetic thing in the entire terminal. Ryomen Sukuna, Olympic volleyball menace, shoulders hunched under the weight of sleep deprivation and a duffle bag, eyes locked on you like a man who’s been starved for years.

You drop your bag. He drops his. And when you run, you run. Straight into his arms, into the kind of kiss that knocks all the loneliness out of your lungs. You felt laughter bellow through your body, with him following.

“Hey, my love.” you murmur against his mouth. “You’re real.”

“I’d say pinch me, but I’ve been doing that all flight.” he mumbles into your hair. “You saved me some ramen?”

“Half of it.”

“Liar.”

You grin. “Okay, none of it.”

He laughs into your neck, voice low and raw, and holds you tighter like you’re the only thing keeping him anchored to this planet. And then, while you’re still pressed into his chest, flushed and breathless and so deeply in love it almost hurts, you murmur it.

“Let’s get married.”

He stills. Pulls back just enough to look at you. You meet his gaze, steady and sure, eyes bright even in the cold artificial airport light. “Not next month. Not next season. Not when everything settles. Now.”

His brows raise slightly. “Like… now now?”

You nod. “I don’t care if I’m in my lab clothes and you’re in flip-flops. I just want to be your wife already. We can do the big wedding later, during the off-season, when your training calms down. When I’m not deep in grant applications or papers. But right now, I just…” you breathe, “I want to marry you. Today.”

For a second, he just stares at you.

And then, he grins.

Big. Wide. Unbelieving.

“You really mean that?”

“Dead serious.”

He tilts his head. “Babe, you are so lucky I look this good in sweatpants.”

You laugh, swat his chest, then tug him closer with fingers curled in his hoodie. “So, my love? Is that a yes?”

“Hell yes, babe.” he says, already pulling out his phone. “Let’s find the fastest courthouse and the slowest cab.”

And just like that, as the world rushes by in blurry foot traffic and airport announcements, you and Ryomen Sukuna make a decision that was never really a question. You’re getting married. Right now. No frills. No formalities. Just love, loud and impulsive and completely yours.

You ended up in a government office less than two hours later, still in your lab coat, with Ryomen Sukuna beside you in his travel hoodie and scuffed–up sneakers.

Both of you were flushed with adrenaline, sleep-deprived, and radiating that wild, half–delirious joy that only comes when two people finally give in to the gravity between them.

It wasn’t romantic in the traditional sense. The walls were horribly beige. The seats were squeaky and plastic. A toddler was crying somewhere in the background and the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, like a glitch in a simulation.

But your beloved Sukuna was holding your hand.

And that was all that mattered.

This was all you could ever want.

He kept sneaking glances at you while you filled out the paperwork, like he still couldn’t believe this was happening. Like at any second, you’d change your mind and vanish back into the lab, sucked up by equations and theories and spaceflight mechanisms.

But you didn’t. You squeezed his hand instead. “Are you sure about this?” he whispered, voice hoarse from flying and feeling too much.

You turned toward him, eyes glassy but steady. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you, my love.”

His throat worked around a quiet swallow. Then: “I love you too.”

You signed your names.

Handed over your IDs.

And when the officiant finally called you up and asked, “Do you take each other—” you didn’t even wait for the full sentence. Your yeses overlapped, rushed and breathless, like neither of you could wait another second.

There were no rings. No music. No fancy outfits or curated vows. Just the sound of your heart thudding in your chest and the feeling of Sukuna’s hand trembling ever so slightly as he slid a makeshift band, his silver thumb ring, onto your finger until you got something more permanent.

It was messy. It was spontaneous.

It was perfect.

You couldn’t ask for anything more.

Afterward, he kissed you outside the courthouse under gray city clouds, holding your cheeks in his hands like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. You were just laughing, happily against the tenderness of his warm skin.

“We’re married, my love.” you said, stunned.

“We’re married.” he echoed, forehead resting against yours, breath caught between laughter and awe. “Wow.”

You ended up eating convenience store ramen in the backseat of a rideshare, legs tangled together, laughing with your mouths full like you were teenagers again. You fed him from your cup. He pretended not to burn his tongue. 

And when he leaned back and looked at you, really looked at you. It wasn’t the Olympic athlete who stared at you. It was Ryomen Sukuna. Your husband. The one you knew was the love of your life. Your beloved one and only.

“Okay, okay.” he said, mouth tugging up in that crooked grin. “Big wedding after the league. Deal?”

You nodded, cheeks hot and full of stars. “Yeah. With a venue and guests and upgraded rings this time.”

“And cake.”

“And fireworks.”

“And you in a real dress this time.”

You reached for another bite of ramen and grinned. “I dunno. You kinda like the lab coat.”

He groaned, collapsing dramatically into the seat. “God, I married a nerd.”

You turned toward him, your heart finally quiet, finally full. 

“Yeah.” you said. “You did.”

He laughs for a moment. When he calms down, he finds himself leaning close to you and kisses you with all his heart. This time as your husband, right there in a cab filled with instant noodles and laughter and the quiet, steady hum of forever.

IT WAS INSANE. The crowd is deafening. The overseas lights are blinding, white-hot and cinematic as the announcer calls Ryomen Sukuna’s name and the stadium roars like it’s shaking the foundation of the earth. 

He walks out of the tunnel with his signature swagger, jaw tight, warm-up jacket half-zipped, the captain’s patch sharp against his arm. He’s calm. Focused. Unshakeable. More than usual. Something’s different. Very different.

The people in the crowd began to notice it before the cameras did. Before the commentators do. Before even Vice Captain Gojo Satoru, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a lollipop between his teeth, leans forward slightly and mutters with a grin. “Oh, look at that.”

It’s small. Just a glint.

But unmistakable.

It was a bright shining ring.

Plain, silver, worn on his left hand.

For a second, the crowd is silent. It’s like the whole stadium collectively holds its breath, squinting as Ryomen Sukuna stretches out his fingers, flexing them as he preps his stance. There it is again. It was a shimmer of metal against calloused skin, just below his knuckles.

“Is that…?” someone whispers from the VIP box.

“No way fucking way—"

The commentator nearly chokes on his mic. “Wait—wait, do we have confirmation that that’s—?”

He doesn’t say it. But everyone’s thinking the same thing. Ryomen Sukuna was married. And as he takes his place by the net, tossing the ball with deadly precision, his eyes flick up, not at the court, not at the crowd but at you.

Seated just behind the bench in a crisp jacket, your hair pinned back lazily, badge still clipped to your belt like you came here straight from the lab. Which, in a way, you did.

You flew in two hours before the match started, thanks to a miraculous two–day leave and Haruki nearly forging an emergency form just to make it happen.

Ryomen Sukuna catches your bright eyes and grins, subtle but real. Then, as casually as if it were part of his routine, he walks toward you during warmups, slipping the ring from his finger. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t explain. 

He just approaches the barrier separating the court from the sidelines, hand outstretched. You stand up, breath caught in your throat. And when he places the ring in your palm, his fingers linger over yours like a promise.

“Hold this for me, yeah?” he murmurs low, so only you can hear.

You nod, fingers curling around the warmth of his wedding band. “Always.”

He smirks. “If I lose this match, it’s your fault.”

You smile, teasing, “If you win, I get the credit.”

“Deal, babe.” he breathes, leaning in close just enough to brush his forehead to yours. “....My wife.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Go do your thing, my love. My husband.”

And then he’s gone, with a grin that could never be wiped from his face ever again. 

Back on the court. Back in his element. The game starts, and it’s brutal. Fast. Electric. Ryomen Sukuna spikes like he’s got fire in his veins and gravity’s got nothing on him. Every serve is a message. Every point, a love letter sent from across oceans and time zones.

But that ring, that ring is safe with you. Pressed to your heart, warm in your hand like the echo of his pulse. And every time he scores, every time the crowd loses its mind over the King of the Court.

Your husband giddily glances at you, just for a second. Because the whole world might be watching him now, but he only ever plays for one. And you know who it was.

The final whistle blows, and the stadium erupts. The crowd is a storm of cheers, roars, and flashing lights, but amidst it all, the most intense sound Sukuna hears is the pounding of his own heart.

The adrenaline is still rushing through him, every muscle humming with energy as he pulls off his jersey and throws it to the side. He’s sweaty, bruised, and panting but the grin on his face says everything.

They’ve won. They’re in the semi–finals of the World Cup. He stands at the edge of the court, fists raised to the sky, basking in the electric atmosphere. His team is all around him, celebrating, high–fives and back slaps, but Sukuna’s eyes? 

They’re already searching for you. He doesn’t need to look long. You’re there, right in the front row of the stands, looking at him with that warm, steady gaze that’s always been his home.

His heart shifts. The crowd might be screaming his name, but there’s only one person he’s looking at. A reporter catches his attention as they move in for the first interview.

“Sukuna, congratulations on the victory! Amazing performance tonight! You’ve led your team into the semi-finals — how does that feel?” the interviewer asks, microphone outstretched, camera flashing.

He grins again, though it’s different this time. Not the typical cocky. ‘I’m untouchable’ grin. This one’s softer. Real.

“Feels like we’re one step closer to the real prize.” he answers, voice cool, collected. “But you know…” He pauses, glancing over at the crowd, catching your eye again. “It’s always worth more when the right person is watching.”

The interviewer blinks, confused, and the camera operator swivels to follow his line of sight. “Ah….” the interviewer says with a raised brow. “Is that—? That’s your wife?”

Sukuna’s smirk returns, a devilish edge creeping back into it. He nods, a single motion that sends the reporters scrambling to adjust. The camera zooms in on you as you wave back at him, smiling.

Your hand still holding his ring like a token, your face a picture of pride. In that same hand, your own wedding band was present with your engagement ring.

“That’s her, everyone.” he says, the words surprisingly quiet, but they carry more weight than the roar of the stadium. “I promised her I’d be back for her ramen. So I did come back.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, then the crowd catches on. Laughter and gasps ripple through the reporters, murmurs and shock sweeping through the air. Sukuna, the ever–intense, world-renowned athlete, has just casually dropped that he’s married.

“You’re married?” the interviewer asks, genuinely taken aback. “Since when? How did we miss that?”

Sukuna shrugs nonchalantly, “Two days ago. A bit spontaneous, but when you know, you know.” He’s almost too cool about it, though there’s a softness to his voice that gives away how much it really means to him. “This game… this whole journey? The merry go round of life, of everything, doesn’t matter without her.”

The crowd’s whispers grow louder. “And the ring?” the reporter asks, now genuinely curious. “Why wear it in the match? You took it off before the main bout, but you still wore it. Why?”

“I wear it because she holds the game for me,” he says quietly, though the words carry in the microphone, clear and true. “She’s my anchor. Keeps me grounded, keeps me sane. So yeah, I’ll wear it every time I step onto this court. She’s got my back. Always.”

The camera pans to you in the crowd once more, this time catching your reaction. You blushed hard, clearly overwhelmed by the attention, but you hold up his ring in your hand like a silent promise.

Sukuna catches your gaze again and, for just a moment, the world quiets down. The noise of the stadium, the flashing cameras, the cheers of the fans. Everything fades. It’s just him. And you. The way it’s always been. And then the interview continues, but his focus is only on you.

When it’s finally over, and he’s walking off the court, his teammates high-fiving him and calling out congratulations, he spots you at the exits to the back stage rooms.

You’re already standing, pushing through the crowd, and he’s there in an instant, his steps purposeful and quick. He’s still sweating from the match, still in his jersey, but nothing’s more important right now than getting to you.

You barely have time to meet him halfway before he’s pulling you into his arms, his lips pressing against your temple, his breath fast and heated, still catching up with the victory and the emotions all swirling around him.

“We’re in the semi-finals, wife of mine.” he whispers, grinning. “It’s gonna be amazing!”

You smile, gazing up at him. “And I’m so proud of you.”

“You better be, babe.” he says, his tone playful but genuine, eyes sparkling. “Next stop, finals. Then we’ll get that celebration.”

You laugh, bright eyes softening as you glance at the ring still safely cradled in your palm. “And then we can plan our real wedding. Just the way we want it.”

Sukuna leans in, pressing his forehead against yours for a brief, quiet moment. “I think the ‘real wedding’ has already started, don’t you think?”

You nod, your fingers curling around his hand, where the ring once rested. It’s just the beginning. The semi-finals are just a step on the way. But you and him? You’re already winners. And that, above all else, is the prize.

epilogue 

The day the statement went live, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. It was carefully calculated, perfectly timed. The World Cup season had come to a close, and the volleyball world was already moving on to the next tournament, the next match. 

But for Ryomen Sukuna and you, it was a different story. You both knew that the media storm was coming. The moment was too significant to let slip by.

So, you’d crafted a statement and not just a post, but something real. Something that would speak to everyone about the choices you’d made, the life you were choosing to live together.

It had taken a little longer than expected. Between the match finals and the whirlwind of excitement after Sukuna’s performance, you both finally found a quiet moment to put it together. The statement would go live at the same time, both on your accounts — a simultaneous declaration that would make waves.

[ Sukuna's Instagram Post : ]

The caption was simple, a few words that carried so much weight. He posted it with a picture of the two of you from the day after the World Cup finals.

The two of you standing side by side, laughing, relaxed, far from the intensity of the courts and the public eye. Your smile was soft, his grin was wild and carefree.

“Hello, this is the Japan National Volleyball Team Captain, Ryomen Sukuna.

For the past several years, my life has been defined by training, by competition, and by a relentless drive to be the best.

But none of that means anything without the people who support you. Without the person who truly makes the journey worth it. 

My incredible and loving wife, who’s been my backbone, my partner, and my everything for almost all of our lives.

Today, I’m announcing the effectivity of my break from the Volleyball field in order to have some adequate rest and focus on my personal life.

A break from the national team, from the spotlight, and from the game I love, to focus on what truly matters — her and us. Our marriage. And of course, our beloved dog.

I’ll be back, stronger than ever. But for now, I’m going to be the husband I promised to be all those years ago.

Thank you for all your support, not only for me but also for my beloved wife. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts for respecting this decision.”

[ Your Instagram Post : ]

You followed the post up almost immediately, a little more formal, but still deeply personal. The photo you chose was one taken earlier that morning, the two of you wrapped up in each other’s arms.

You both were leaning against the window in your shared apartment. The light from the early morning sun illuminated both of your faces, your eyes soft, your hearts content in each other’s company.

“Hello, this is astrophysicist of the National Astronomical Observatory of Japan, Ryomen [name].

After supporting my husband at the World Cup, it became more than clear that my work, my research, and everything else I’ve dedicated my life to doesn’t matter nearly as much as the person standing next to me.

I’ve spent countless hours in the lab, in meetings, in papers, all for the sake of progress. Doing what I can for our country and continuing my passions.

But today, I’m choosing progress of a different kind in my life. Ryomen Sukuna, my husband, my partner, the love of my life, have decided that we deserve some time for us to build something beautiful with this time.

I will be stepping away from my research and academic work for the foreseeable future to focus on resting and enjoying the beginning of our beautiful marriage.

This is a break I’ve been waiting for, and one I’m so grateful to take. Thank you for supporting me in this decision.”

As soon as you both posted, the world’s attention shifted. The responses came flooding in, and it didn’t take long for the media to catch up to the news. Headlines erupted from every corner of the internet.

“Olympic Star Ryomen Sukuna Steps Away From National Team for Personal Time”

“Breaking: Award–Winning Astrophysicist Ryomen [name] Takes Hiatus to Focus on Marriage” 

“Ryomen Sukuna and Ryomen [name]: Power Couple Taking a Break from Their Respective Careers”

It was unprecedented. No one had expected it. No one had ever seen athletes or academics alike step away from their careers at the peak of their success, especially after such a massive season.

Fans were stunned, others were supportive, and some were even more curious than ever about the couple who had kept their relationship so private, so guarded, up until now.

And then the follow–up began. Interviews with close friends and teammates started popping up. The bright eyed Gojo Satoru, ever the wise and eccentric vice–captain, was the first to speak out about the happy news.

“I can’t blame him. The man’s been running on fumes for years. And [name]? She’s been working like a machine, too. It’s about time they take a breath, enjoy life a little. I told him after the finals to take a damn break, and I’m glad our beloved Captain finally listened!” Gojo Satoru laughed in an interview with a sports outlet.

“Yeah, everyone’s talking about how he’s taking a break from the sport, but… he’s been juggling this whole marriage thing for a while.” Itadori Yuuji added when he was asked by a local news outlet. “He’s been way more chill lately. I think it’s the wife effect. Everyone needs balance in their life.”

Meanwhile when the Astrophysics department of the NAOJ were interviewed about this situation at a recent project you had finished together by the press, Keiji was the one who stepped in and spoke for everyone.

"It's important that Ryomen–sensei gets some time to just enjoy being married right now." Keiji smiled, leaning into the microphone. "Ryomen–sensei's worked incredibly for the past few years without any break whatsoever. This is the only time she's asked. Someone with such incredible contributions to the field like herself should get the chance to just relax too. Congratulations to Ryomen–sensei and her husband!"

Hana sent you a message in the middle of all the press: “You two are seriously the most chaotic but adorable couple ever. You deserve this break more than anyone I know. Have fun with it! You earned it. Me, Haruki and Keiji are cheering you on!”

The reporters were relentless, asking about future plans. Was Sukuna leaving for good? Would you ever return to the lab full–time? But you and Sukuna, in your quiet way, just smiled at the chaos from your apartment, reading the headlines side by side.

It wasn’t about what the world expected. It wasn’t about making any more headlines. It was about what you both had decided. To take the time to truly be together.

A few days later, as the media storm began to settle, Sukuna took your hand as you sat together on the couch, flipping through TV channels.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, and whispered, “You know, babe, we’ve got all the time in the world now. So... when should we take our honeymoon?”

You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair. “When you’re ready to let the press calm down a bit. I think we’ve given them enough for now.”

“I’m ready whenever you are, my lovely wife.” He smirked, his scarlet eyes glinting mischievously. “I’m just happy to spend everyday with you.”

And in that moment, as the world calmed down around you, you realized that this was the true victory. It was not the World Cup, not the research papers, not the games or the acclaim. It was simply being together. And for the first time in a long while, you felt at peace.

You looked up at Sukuna, catching his gaze. “Let’s take it one day at a time. Together, my love.”

He smiled, leaning in for a kiss. “Deal, wife. Let’s take it all in.”

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like everything was exactly where it should be.

[luvvyouforever]

training day - bob reynolds x reader ᡣ𐭩

synopsis: bob's training hard, but he keeps getting distracted by his teacher. you. content: fluff, bob has a sweet crush, smidge of fighting, mentions of smut and sexual references. 900-ish words. author's note: i'm so obsessed with bob it's bad

there's a room in the watchtower, made specifically for training. one half is a simulation style room, placing the new avengers directly into combat scenarios to work on their "teamwork and synchronicity" as valentina had so lovingly put it. the other half was a gym and sparring room, which you and bob were currently occupying, as you did every tuesday and thursday morning.

"come on, bob! i need you to focus up," you called out to the man who was staring at you wide-eyed from the cushioned floor. it was simple fighting techniques, something you were well equipped to teach him about. punches, kicks, dives, blocks, maneuvers, anything he might need in the field when his powers aren't within reach.

however, bob kept getting distracted. over and over. this time, it had been an expertly done swing of your legs that handed him on his ass, breath knocked out of his chest. he could only look up at you with the same expression he always did.

previously, bucky and yelena had taken to training bob. however, it more than once led to an outbreak of sentry which is what created the bucky-sized dent in the wall across from the mirror. of course, bob apologized and the guilt never went from him.

after a few weeks of getting closer to bob, it was decided that you'd teach him instead. now, there were significantly less appearances of the powerful god lurking beneath his skin, but how much was really getting done when bob would stare in awe each time you knocked him down or landed a punch (albeit a soft one) to his jaw?

"i know it's hard, but you need to be prepared for any situation out there, yeah?" you said, coming closer to him and extending your hand out to help him up.

he took it, a little red tint to his pale cheeks, and wiped the dust from his pants. "sorry," he mumbled, brushing his hair from his eyes. bob was really trying hard. so hard. when he was alone in the watchtower, he'd practice his punches and kicks on the dummies hidden away in a storage closet. he remembered what you told him. but when you were standing in front of him, clad in tight activewear, he couldn't focus on much else but the way your body moved fluidly and how strong you were.

besides, the punches and kicks and falls didn't phase him in the slightest.

"it's okay," you told him, moving to the side of the room to drink from your water bottle. you grabbed his and offered it to him. he took it with his signature awkward smile plastered on his face. "do you wanna keep going or call it for the morning?"

the last thing he wanted was for this to end. bob could feel your hands on him and watch you with a reason. it wasn't just what he wanted alone in his bedroom.

"no! uh, i wanna keep going. i'm sorry," he stammered out, taking a healthy swig from his bottle. "i'll focus up."

you gave him a nod and moved back to the center of the room. "okay, we're gonna go back to those grapples. i'm gonna grab you and you're gonna flip me over. get out of my grasp. and don't worry about hurting me either, yeah?"

bob nodded, taking a deep breath and going into position. seconds passed before he felt your arms wrap around his midsection. it was a feeling he really wanted to savour, to relish in. it was like a hug to him, so warm and close. he felt your chest against his back, your legs knocking against his own.

then he glanced up in the mirror and realized what he was supposed to be doing--breaking out, not enjoying your hold on him.

"come on, bob!" you called, your grip getting tighter around him.

bob clenched his teeth, letting a small wave of power course through his arms. his hands found purchase under yours and all of a sudden, you found yourself being practically flipped over his shoulder, landing on the floor on your back. though your bones flared in pain, you were happy to see him perform a move you were trying to teach for days.

bob watched you with a wince to his face, but it disappeared when you jumped up and squeezed him into a hug. a real one. he hesitantly wrapped his own arms around you and tried to casually bury his head in your neck.

"good job! that's what we've been wanting! you're getting it!" you cheered from behind him, a big smile on your face. when you pulled back, your hands rested on his shoulders. the happiness on your face spread to him and his lips quirked up in a smile. "wanna go again? different position?"

bob nodded and followed your move, getting in to the stance you wanted him to be in. once again, your arms wrapped around him and he felt at peace for a second.

several feet away, from a two-way mirror, yelena and bucky watched with their arms crossed, each with a knowing smirk on their face. "he's got the biggest crush on her and she doesn't even know it," bucky mumbled, shaking his head and turning to lean against the wall.

"she'll figure out soon enough," yelena said. "wait till they get to the ground and he's pushing her off his lap. she'll see."

the pair laughed and left the room, leaving you and bob inside a blissful bubble full of innocent laughter and unknown crushes.

[medvrdoctors]

Clinical Simulation in VR for Thorough Training

Clinical simulation in VR present the advantage of allowing learners to practice skills in realistic and engaging environments. There was a time when practical experiences in healthcare training could be gained by assisting senior doctors and by performing procedures on cadavers. With the coming of virtual reality medical simulation, the healthcare education scenario has undergone a massive change. Learners don a VR headset, step into a virtual environment that is fully equipped with all necessary equipment and perform procedures as they would in a real-world setup.

VR simulations provide a safe and controlled environment for training purposes. For very obvious reasons, it is not safe to practice medical skills on live patients. It could cause harm to the patient and also put the learner at risk, if the disease is infectious. Learners will have to be extra cautious and this may lead to a degree of hesitation. Trainers too would not want to put their learners or patients at risk. With clinical simulation in VR, not only is the environment virtual, but so is the patient. A mistake will not be life-threatening. Trainers can allow users to make mistakes to understand the effects it could lead to. When trainers are able to show the cause and effect of a certain action, they are able to draw home the message with greater clarity. On the learner’s part, this can be knowledge reinforcement and lead to enhanced learning experiences. With clinical simulations in VR, trainers are also able to present the learners with cases that are usually rare to come across in the real world. Though rare, training is required to be prepared. When trainers can provide this training, it ensures giving shape to a workforce that is ready to take on any challenge, no matter how tough it may be.

[reality-detective]

This is why Trump getting rid of FEMA is a big deal…

They were literally planning on putting US Citizens in FEMA Camps…

Did you know FEMA was developed as a Domestic anti-‘Terrorist’ Organization — Not Disaster Emergencies?

🔴 HAVE YOU HEARD OF REX 84?

• Short for Readiness Exercise 1984, was a classified scenario and drill by the United States federal government intended to test the capacity to DETAIN large numbers of American citizens in the event of a “national emergency or civil unrest”.

• The exercise was designed to manage a scenario where a significant number of people would be detained, focusing on potential "national security threats."

• Rex 84 was part of a broader continuity of government plan, involving multiple federal agencies and exercises like Operation Garden Plot, which deals with civil disturbances.

• The exercise included a scenario where the U.S. Army would airlift troops from Fort Bragg to simulate an invasion in Central America, under the code name Rex 84 Night Train.

• Rex 84 Alpha focused on civil mobilization, involving 34 federal agencies, while Rex 84 Bravo was the specific scenario for mass detentions.

• The plan included the capability to detain UNDOCUMENTED IMMIGRANTS and/or Americans labeled as security threats.

• It involved the potential use of MILITARY bases as detention centers, which could be activated if a national emergency was declared by the President.

- The plan was part of a series of readiness exercises that tested various aspects of national security and emergency responses.