#Tips to Win Call of Duty

[astonmartinii]

royally screwed | jack doohan social media au

pairing: jack doohan x fem royal!reader

head up king, your tiara is falling

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

f1

liked by jackdoohan, danielricciardo and 1,204,899 others

tagged: pierregasly & francocolapinto

f1: that’s something both franco and the alpine mechanics won’t want to see back… the argentine takes both himself and his teammate out of the race!

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user1: i’m so sorry all the karma got directed to you franco i was aiming for flávio i swear

user2: idk what kind of voodoo protection that old man has but even my etsy witch can’t defeat it

user3: what if we ALL paid etsy witches?

user4: not gonna lie guys there’s an easier way to deal with this… it’s called a dark alley and a charging car

user5: oh?!

user6: honestly? valid reaction at this point

alpinef1team: we’ll get them next time!

user7: but who is getting YOU?

user8: sorry social media admin but i’m sad so i fear you’re going to have to hear about it

user9: how DARE you make jack do all of those stupid ass tiktoks and let me get attached :(

user10: making him do all of this social media stuff and didn’t keep him around long enough to finish his soft launch

user11: do NOT remind me

user12: it was so carefully planned and everything

user13: really? that’s what you’re angry about?

user12: let me live? i’m in mourning and thinking about his actual career will make me crash out heavier than the alpines today

user14: okay you have a point

user15: rip alpine you would’ve love jack doohan … oh wait!

user15: @alpinef1team CHOKE

this comment was liked by oscarpiastri, daniel ricciardo, jackdoohan and yourusername

user15: oh WOW my comment collected some big likes

user15: oscar? yeah makes sense. daniel? cool aussie bromance. jack? obviously. y/n windsor? WHY THE FUCK IS THE PRINCESS OF ENGLAND IN MY LIKES?

user16: she has an account?

user17: it’s all her charity stuff mostly but she has been caught like sports stuff before lol

user18: y/n idk what kind of powers come with being a princess but i know you’re next in line so PLEASE GET JACK HIS SEAT BACK

user19: actually any seat will do we’re not fussy

user20: alpine… look at what you’ve made us

yourusername and jackdoohan

liked by oscarpiastri, kimiantonelli and 13,983,029 others

yourusername and jackdoohan: surprise! jack and i have finally decided to make our relationship public as we continue to prepare to settle down.

we first met many years ago when i was on duty at the british grand prix and met a very charming boy who was racing in formula 3 at the time, and i have been smitten ever since.

i have supported jack in his racing and wanted to make that support public in these particularly tough times.

while i’m sure this is a big shock for you all, we ask that you continue to respect our privacy.

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user21: i’m sorry

user21: WHAT THE FUCK

user21: i can’t tell if this is helping my alpine induced misery or not

isackhadjar: HUH?

jackdoohan: you knew i was in a relationship ?

isackhadjar: i’m sorry but how was i meant to deduce that “my girlfriend y/n” actually means the princess of england

jackdoohan: do i not seem princely to you?

isackhadjar: do not try and set me up

isackhadjar: unless there’s some eligible royals who can get down with a freaky lil guy like me

yourusername: probably not best to frame it that way?

isackhadjar: yes, your grace! (am i doing it right i’ve only ever watched game of thrones)

yourusername: you can just call me y/n, isack

isackhadjar: OMG COOL

user22: so i thought this would excite me more but now im just thinking we could’ve gotten these type of reactions on film and in the paddock

user23: how do we know they’re not being filmed

user24: i’m in their walls

oscarpiastri: what?

jackdoohan: can i have the aussie seat after you win the championship pretty please ?

oscarpiastri: i am not answering that until you tell me how the fuck you ended up in the british royal family?

jackdoohan: can you not read anymore? y/n explained it pretty well in the caption…

oscarpiastri: i’m gonna need some more detail

yourusername: you’re more than welcome to come for some tea at ours oscar

oscarpiastri: AT THE PALACE?

oscarpiastri: i mean - yeah that sounds good to me!

kimiantonelli: ME TOO IM COMING TOO

olliebearman: i can’t believe you’ve not invited the only british rookie jack :(

jackdoohan: idk if you guys missed it but im not a rookie any more, im not even a driver

yourusername: enough of that, you can all come for tea and we’ll do some visits to the london hospitals while we’re at it

gabrielbortoleto: yay count me in!!!

isackhadjar: today just keeps getting better and better

user25: dropping this news to distract from the fact that he got dropped for the far superior driver

user26: i wouldn’t be surprised if his woman drops him for franco as well

yourusername: first of all, i am no one’s “woman” get that right and second of all, jack is the kindest, funniest and most gentle man in the world and you’d have to move heaven and earth to take him away from me

jackdoohan: i love you <3

user27: oop - she told yall

kimiantonelli

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 1,023,488 others

tagged: olliebearman, jackdoohan & yourusername

kimiantonelli: yo this royal stuff is kinda crazy …

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user28: fomo has never fomo-ed this bad before

user29: the fact that she knew this would get a load of publicity so she used it for good >>

user30: and this is why she’s my fave royal !!!

yourusername: i hope you had a wonderful time kimi! thank you so much for joining us.

kimiantonelli: are you kidding? that was insane !!!!

kimiantonelli: and also it was very fun to meet all of the children

kimiantonelli: but can we please take the aston martin for a spin again ???

jackdoohan: kimi ???

kimiantonelli: like y/n didn’t tell us that you take her for drives in it all the time …

jackdoohan: y/n ???

yourusername: what? you’re an amazing driver and i love watching you do what you love!

user31: i wish alpine weren’t such FUCKHEADS i want this dynamic at silverstone so bad

user32: if they didn’t fumble this bad we could’ve gotten a monaco situ where she could’ve presented the trophies every year

user33: you could’ve shot me and it would’ve hurt less

maxverstappen1: hmm

charles_leclerc: hmmm

alexalbon: hmmmm

georgerussell63: hmmmmm

landonorris: hmmmmmm

carlossainz55: hmmmmmmm

lewishamilton: hmmmmmmmm

kimiantonelli: you guys good? sorry you weren’t cool enough to be invited

maxverstappen1: i’m literally an officer in the order of orange-nassau???

lewishamilton: IM A SIR?

lewishamilton: I WAS LITERALLY KNIGHTED BY Y/N?

yourusername: sorry gentlemen, you should’ve spoken up sooner. however, jack and i are hosting a charity ball between canada and the red bull ring?

alexalbon: IM SO THERE

alexalbon: i’m so there, security are telling me the ball is weeks away but im so there

charles_leclerc: YIPEE

georgerussell63: omg my first royal event… gasp!

user34: obsessed with how the grid get so excited about all of this

user35: max … asking to go to an event ???

user36: and to think we could’ve had it every weekend :(

yourusername

liked by jackdoohan, isackhadjar and 12,309, 788 others

tagged: jackdoohan

yourusername: it was such an honour to host this dinner to raise funds for the youth art network! so many children in our country are being pushed out of artistic fields because of the lack of funding, hopefully with these funds and the continued support from jack and i, we can help keep britain creative!

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user37: they’re actually so precious to me

user38: this is such a great initiative i’m so glad they do things like this with their money and time!

user39: i’ve honestly never seen jack happier

user40: good for him!!! making the best out of a bad situation - this probably also means he won’t be going back to f1, at least not with alpine

francocolapinto: jack might not be in this garage anymore, but i'd still love a visit from you

user41: ummmmmmmm… what?

user42: this is really not cool

pierregasly: let’s delete this while you can

francocolapinto: shooters shoot, isn’t that what you said?

pierregasly: yeah to a girl at the bar maybe, not a royal who is very clearly in a relationship

francocolapinto: i took his seat, i can take his girl too

yourusername: excuse me?

francocolapinto: you’re saying you can’t give me one chance to convince you of my worth?

yourusername: at this point you have one chance to convince me why i shouldn’t find the one legal loophole that means jack can kick your ass

francocolapinto: woah?

yourusername: there’s no charming your way out of this one, franco. jack has done nothing to you and yet you allow your fans to send him countless death threats and flirt with his fiancée openly. find some respect for yourself franco, you won’t be this young forever.

user43: HOLY SMOKES

user44: i can’t even get caught up on the way she snapped here because of the FIANCÉE mention

user45: no this bro must’ve been testing her patience because never in my life have i seen her snap at someone like that

user46: so valid from her though

user47: honestly i’d throw hands for less

jackdoohan: always an honour to just be at your side and help you achieve the wonderful things you do

yourusername: even when i accidentally reveal our engagement while having an argument on the internet

jackdoohan: especially then

yourusername: i love you!

yourusername: and i know doohan was a pretty cool name for merch before, but i feel like windsor could look pretty good on a car or a cap

jackdoohan: if it means i have a little piece of you wherever i go, sign me up

user48: aside from confirmation that he’s going to take her name - ON A CAR? doohan return confirmed ?

user49: they need to stop playing with my feelings so many times on one post

user50: so this might be a royal fuck up from franco right?

f1

liked by jackdoohan, yourusername and 2,309,472 others

f1: BREAKING: flávio briatore has been forced to resign from his position as team principal at alpine! princess y/n windsor and jack doohan attended the friday of the british grand prix where briatore was served by windsor’s legal team, who had found that the contracts given out by briatore were not legally binding. briatore left the paddock on the friday evening long before windsor and doohan, who were seen with a number of team personnel from across the paddock. Colapinto will complete this race weekend but his future with the team is now up in the air.

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user51: one moment of peace and quiet in f1, that's all i ask

user52: i can't even go to sleep without waking up to five breaking news graphics

user53: honestly? if they were all like this i wouldn't mind it...

user54: jack and y/n being in the likes is so funny to me

user55: babe they're not just in the likes, they were there in person to deliver the news

user56: i knew flavio should've been worried when the relationship was revealed... those royals WILL have the best lawyers

user57: i mean i only just found out that flavio is/was jack's manager?

user58: HE WAS JACK'S MANAGER?

user59: i know their lawyer was just as bamboozled as us

pierregasly: CAN I PLEASE GET A DRINK? PLEASE?

user60: bro it's only friday ...

pierregasly: I HAVE NO TP? I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT'S HAPPENING WITH MY TEAM?

jackdoohan: our bad!

pierregasly: no yall did what you had to do but i was hoping i could maybe get a bottle of something top shelf for my troubles

kikacgomes: and maybe a horse ride at the palace ???

charles_leclerc: can leo meet the corgis???

lewishamilton: u.k. met gala when?

jackdoohan: oh so i get engaged to a princess and suddenly you all want to be my friend?

pierregasly: WOAH ignore all of them, we're the victims here!

yourusername: at this point, if we can turn it into a charity event, we can do whatever you want

maxverstappen1: this is a dangerous precedent

maxverstappen1: and i'm willing to find the limits

user61: i'm having visions of the f1 grid at a royal wedding...

user62: does max know he can't wear skinny jeans to a royal wedding?

maxverstappen1: please refer to my last comment

user63: does he know that the secret service can shoot him on sight if he does wear them?

maxverstappen1: HUH?

jackdoohan: that's true... they told me themselves!

yourusername: jack...

jackdoohan: i am protecting the dress code of our future wedding!

kimiantonelli: i guess you could say he's royally screwed

kimiantonelli: ????

kimiantonelli: i thought it was funny :(

kimiantonelli: no worries guys y/n told me irl she thought it was funny

kimiantonelli: WAIT

kimiantonelli: I SAID NOTHING

jackdoohan

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and 4,920,482 others

tagged: yourusername

jackdoohan: jack WINdsor at your duty! i've been given a second chance at my dream, but i wouldn't be here without my family and my amazing fiancee. i promise i'll make you proud.

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user64: i WILL not cry about this

user65: i tried not to but BABY JACK

user66: i think people forget how young he still is :(

yourusername: i'll forever be proud of you, my love. no matter what

yourusername: however, i think the palace would look extra dashing with some trophies ...

jackdoohan: for you? anything

yourusername: oh my charming boy, i'm not sure i want to share you with f1 again so soon

jackdoohan: but you will come with me won't you?

yourusername: to be without you is a thorn in my side

user67: FUCK ME THEY'RE SO CUTE

user68: i love them so much

user69: i don't think yall are ready for the level of paddock fashion we're going to get with a literal princess...

user70: wait - what happens when as inherits the throne?

user71: i think jack would have to retire

user72: WHAT?

user73: that's just how the royal life is

jackdoohan: and i'll do it

yourusername: i appreciate the concern everyone, but my mother is in good health and has many, many years left as queen

user74: jack doohan/windsor first kilf (king i would like to fuck)

user74: i've been blocked by y/n ????

user74: AND JACK?

oscarpiastri: you got MARRIED WITHOUT US ???

jackdoohan: once again, can you not read a caption?

oscarpiastri: oh lol.

oscarpiastri: i just saw windsor and started yelling at my phone

user75: obsessed with how jack having a f1 seat is actually great for the british government

user76: diplomatic relations are on the UP because government officials come to races to meet and talk with y/n

user77: and the fact that they both still find time to do charity work in each country they go to.. they’re so precious to me

yourusername: i never thought i'd be planning a royal wedding around the formula one calendar, but there's a first for everything

jackdoohan: but a summer wedding is so cute?

yourusername: i know, my love

yourusername: but flower picking via face time has been a struggle

jackdoohan: i know whatever you choose will be perfect

jackdoohan: just like you

yourusername: i love you, sweet talker

jackdoohan: i love you too sweetheart

fin.

note: as you can tell I AM NOT HAPPY. i like franco but justice for my queen jack. updates for you all, other side of the moon chap 7 is about 80% done so that's exciting !!!! hope you are all good despite the many many horrors lol xx

[fans4wga]

Strike Support Declining - Here's how you can continue to support the writers

Since the WGA strike started on May 2, the public has shown immense support for the writers—sending food, snacks, drinks, and encouragement from across the world all the way to Los Angeles, New York, and other picketing locations.

But loud and vocal strike support—in the news and in public spaces—is notably declining the longer the strike goes on. So we're bringing you a few ways to show writers, studios, and fellow fans: we're still here, and we still stand with the WGA.

1. Post on Twitter (and other social media sites)

You might think social media noise won't be noticed by the studios, but it CAN encourage individual WGA members—and slowly but surely put pressure on the studios to make a fair deal.

If you follow WGA members such as Adam Conover (Adam Ruins Everything), John Rogers (Leverage, Librarians), Gennifer Hutchison (Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul), Javier Grillo-Marxuach (Lost, The Witcher) [and many many more you can find through their following lists], tell them you support them! Hashtag #IStandWithTheWGA #DoTheWriteThing and tell them that you and your fandom are prepared to support them as long as the strike lasts; that they deserve to have their demands met and you're with them all the way. Boost morale however and whenever you can!

Likewise, actively push back against misinformation/disinformation. See a TikTok claiming that all Hollywood writers are filthy rich and we shouldn't vocally support them? Correct it with well-sourced citations from the WGA, published news articles, and stories from those affected (like the time a writer on FX's The Bear attended the an awards show with his bank account balance in the negative, only to then win an award for Best Comedy Series—proving that good writers on award-winning shows still cannot make a living!)

Remember you can always link to Adam Conover's excellent explanation of WGA demands versus studio refusals, tweeted here.

2. Donate or boost fundraisers

You might be surprised to learn that the picketing locations are not always parties! Sometimes themed pickets are fun, and fandoms and celebrities occasionally are able to fundraise for a food truck or ice cream truck at picketing locations. However, that is the EXCEPTION and not the norm. Writers are asking for food & drinks at many locations.

There are many funds to donate to, and it can be overwhelming to pick one! But one that could use your support RIGHT NOW is the CBS Radford picket line:

-If you're in LA, you can bring food and snacks directly to that picket line (or get food deliveries sent there, with instructions to be given to the strike captain on duty.) Strike locations are available on the WGA West website and are updated there.

-Or there's a pizza fund for the strike locations (unfortunately Venmo is a US-only donation option)

-If you're not in LA, donate to the Entertainment Community Fund to support TV and film workers affected by the strike.

-More tips on donating to the strike in this great article!

-Lots of fandoms are organizing donations on their own, for instance the Our Flag Means Death fundraiser on Paypal (updated 30 July 2023 with new link) (available internationally). Check to see if your fandom has started a fundraiser... or start one yourself to show your support! We're happy to give tips on organizing your fandom!

As always, please boost this post and any and all well-sourced information that comes from the WGA or its members. We're happy to fact-check anything you send our way too.

[eunandonly]

BOYNEXTDOOR AS DIFFERENT ROMANCE TROPES

the different genres of romance between you and boynextdoor

( 対 ) boynextdoor x fem. reader 1247WC · so many different genres contains! skinship, mild swearing, cringe shit, terrible trope names / archive

은: i'm finally back after 589393 lightyears with a new boynextdoor fic ^^ i hope you guys enjoy!! since i'm here, i would like to remind you guys to not believe everything you see on the internet and that quick assumptions and accusations will cause regret in the future. let's always be kind instead of spreading hate ♡

myung jaehyun : playboy

cherry lollipops, smudged lipstick on his collar, lazy smirks, fingers tracing circles on your wrist

jaehyun is used to attention- he's practically bathing in it every single day. girls clamour for his gaze, hanging onto every teasing smirk, every lazy remark that drips with effortless charm. he plays his part well; never giving too much attention, always keeping them wanting more. one week he has a cute cheerleader clinging onto his arm and the next he has the school president walking by his side.

but with you, the game doesn't work.

you roll your eyes at every flirty thing he says, scoff at his cocky smirks, and call him out on his lazy drawl. it should annoy him, but it doesn't. and when he realises he doesn't want to play the game anymore, it hits him hard in the stomach.

the chase isn't about winning. really, it's about you.

one night, he leans in with his familiar grin, expecting you to push him away as usual. but you don't. instead, you meet his eyes, unbothered, and say, "if you're just playing, don't bother."

for the first time, jaehyun's speechless. he knows the truth, he knows that he doesn't want to play anymore, not with you.

park sungho : bodyguard romance

tension filled silence in the car, pulling you behind him without a thought, "stop doing stupid shit"

park sungho doesn't do stupid shit like romance. he's not paid to participate in whatever cliché, sappy things you see on the tv. he's paid to protect, to stay by your side no matter what and make sure you don't wind up stalked, injured or dead.

but you make the job so very difficult. always refusing to listen, constantly putting him into situations that make him heart race for all the wrong reasons.

park sungho doesn't do romance.

"stop doing stupid stuff," sungho mutters for the hundredth time, grabbing your wrist to pull you back from the crowd. you huff, yanking free, but you don't move away. the closeness between you two is suffocating, but neither of you step back.

sungho knows he shouldn't let his guard down, shouldn't let himself feeling anything beyond duty.

it's just a job.

so why is it starting to sound like he's gaslighting himself?

lee sanghyuk : unspoken love

lingering glances in crowded rooms, love letters never sent, late night walks, almost confessions

there are words left unsaid between you an riwoo, filling every silence, every stolen glance. you've been friends forever- so close yet so incredibly far. he memorises how you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're nervous, the way your voice gets softer when you're tired. but he never says anything, never lets those feelings spill past the walls. but still, he wonders if you notice the way his gaze lingers a second too long to be normal, the way his breath catches when you laugh.

maybe you do, maybe you don't.

the words are always at the tip of riwoo's tongue, threatening to spill out, but he manages to swallow them and keep quiet. even now, sitting next to you on the sofa of the dimly lit living room as you watch a movie. riwoo isn't focused on whatever that's playing on the screen. he's focused on you.

riwoo compensates lost words with silent care. his hands finds yours in busy streets, opens the doors for you, remembers your favourite snacks and buys them for you even when you don't ask.

riwoo likes to think that you're just waiting for him to speak first.

he will. one day.

han dongmin : academic rivals to lovers

scribbled insults on margins of papers, stolen glances over textbooks, clicking pens in silence, “admit it, you like me” whispered against your ear

taesan really, really, really wishes that you would just disappear.

he's always been the best- top of every leaderboard, fastest on track, the one teachers nod approvingly at when the test scores go up. he thrives on competition because, until now, he's never really had any.

then you show up.

scholarship kid, plucked straight out of your public school and into private after your all-hundreds on this year's exams. suddenly, taesan's name isn't the only one at the top of rankings. suddenly, there's someone who walks into class with the same cocky, unshakable confidence, someone who meets his gaze with a smug smirk when grades are posted. you sit in his usual spot in the library, take his record in the physics competition.

taesan hates you. really, he does.

but he hates even more that when you lean over his desk to throw a snarky remark at him, his heart races. he hates that he noticed the way your eyes light up when you solve a question before him, or the way his brain short circuits when your shoulder brushes against his in the crowded corridors. he hates how he can't deny how pretty you are.

taesan really, really hates that he might not really hate you at all.

kim donghyun : soulmates

the scent of home every time you’re near, deja vu, nostalgia, a warmth in his chest he can’t explain, blurry memories

leehan doesn't believe in fate. why would he? he believes in reality, in the tangible, in the things he can see and touch. love is just a series of chemical reactions, and the idea of soulmates- of invisible red strings tying two people together- has always seemed like something out of a children's storybook.

but then there's you. you, who appeared in his life out of nowhere. when and where and how, leehan can't really place. it feels like you've been around forever and for no time at all at the same time. you, who seem to understand him without words, who always knows when something's wrong before he even says it. leehan catches himself staring at the way your fingers brush against his when you two walk side by side, at the way your laughter sounds like a memory he can't quite place.

"it feels like we've met before," you say once, absentmindedly.

leehan freezes. because he's felt that too, that strange pull in his chest, the whisper of something inevitable. and suddenly, fate doesn't seem so impossible anymore.

"yeah, maybe we have."

kim woonhak : love at first sight

stammered compliments, heart racing, pink cheeks, “can i—uh—i mean, do you wanna—never mind.”

it's over for woonhak from the first time he sees you. from the second he lays his eyes on you, his brain short circuits, he talks faster than he can think, and he's grinning like an idiot without even realising.

he's hopelessly, embarrassingly obvious about his big, fat crush on you.

everyone sees it. you see it, which is new, since you're pretty oblivious about stuff like this. the way woonhak stumbles over his words when you're around, the way his ears turn red when you tease him.

you think woonhak's cute. woonhak thinks he's done for.

"you're staring again," you point out one day, laughing. woonhak panics, eyes darting everywhere but you.

“wha-what? no, no, i was just, uh, thinking! yeah, thinking,” 

you raise and eyebrow at him, and woonhak buries his face in his hands with a groan, face pink. he’s messed up. again.

“you’re so obvious,” you say, shaking your head at him. 

woonhak just grins, ears burning. yeah, he is obvious. hopelessly, shamelessly so. 

[yeagersss]

Sukuna who has defeated every sorcerer and rules at the top.

Sukuna who is utterly bored out of his mind now. His monotonous days pass with him sitting on his throne, listening to the pleas of humans to spare him, curses updating how far and wide his kingdom has stretched.

But none of that matters to him anymore.

He wants a challenge. He craves a challenge.

In comes you, a precious, little thing with a unique technique. A precious, little thing hidden away by your clan.

A clan who would rather let the technique die than let it be carried on in a woman's blood.

But your grandfather was a good man. He taught you the way of the sword. All the basics that helped you carry your own.

After all, you were the sole sorcerer left on this land. It was your duty to defeat the King of Curses.

But then your grandfather died and you were confined in your clan's estate.

But that didn't stop you. You were determined. You had a destiny that was calling to you.

And so, with your family's sword in hand, you ran away. You, a precious little thing, you had barely learned to control your technique and was new to handling a sword.

But you were determined and even Sukuna could see that when you stood before his throne.

His four eyes wandered across you. You were a pretty little thing. Looking at him defiantly with doe eyes while holding your sword firmly in your hands.

"Ryomen Sukuna, I-I have come to defeated you!"

And the King of Curses couldn't stop the maddening grin spreading across his face. A challenge. Even if it was from an utterly, weak thing like you... It was challenge.

His mind was reeling with what he could do with you.

He could toy with you. Play with you until he gets bored and finally silences you with a simple flick of his finger. He could make you think you were close to winning. See the joy on your face until he rips your heart out.

But when you charged towards him. Sukuna saw the potential in you. The potential to be strong.

The potential to be more than just a temporary plaything for him.

And that's when a thought popped up in his mind. He had all the time in the world. But the main thing was that he was bored enough to try something new.

So with each swing of your sword and each burst of curse energy, he huffed out brash comments your way.

"You call that an attack?"

"What is that? Even a child could do better."

"You're wasting my time, woman."

"Tsk. Slow. Sloppy. Useless."

It wasn't until after a desperate swing of your sword, did you find your chest pinned to the wall with one of his powerful hands with ease.

The curse had taken your sword and inspected the blade curiously. "Your form is pathetic. Who taught you to wield a blade?"

You gritted your teeth, refusing to answer until he pressed you further against the concrete.

"M-My grandfather... taught me...!" You cried out. Your bones would break if he pressed you further.

He snorted. "It seems that your grandfather is a useless man."

Anger boiled within you. You wanted to scream at him for insulting the only family who had ever loved you but you were tossed to the ground as if you were nothing.

Your tired body hit the polished marble. You were a mess. Your long hair had came undone in the middle of the fight. Your kimono had slipped off your shoulders.

And Sukuna wouldn't lie when he let his eyes wander across your form. You were a pretty, little thing after all. Even better now that you were on his knees in front of him, looking absolutely defeated.

You had accepted your death. You were about to die. This cruel, selfish being will never spare you.

But then you felt the cold tip your blade against your chin as the King tilted your head up to make you look at him.

"Don't think that I'm done with you yet, little one."

"W-What do you want from me?" You choked out.

And a cruel grin stretched across his face. "I will take you under my wing. I will teach you how to harness your curse technique and how to use a blade."

It wasn't a request or a choice. It was a straight out order.

Your eyes widened at his words. "W-Why...?"

Why indeed? Because Ryomen Sukuna was a selfish and bored man. He wanted a challenge? Then he will mold you into his perfect sorceress. His perfect little killing machine. And when the time finally comes, you will give him a challenge of a lifetime.

[thekinslayed]

The Young Heart Beats a Little Faster

summary | A certain knight earns the affection of a young princess.

pairing | gwayne hightower x targaryen!reader

tags | young gwayne, young reader, first crush <3 <3, depictions of violence, set in s1 ep1

wordcount | 1.8k

note | in a gwayne hightower mood bc i think he's just so perfect and handsome and–

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated! (divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more)

No other heart would beat faster than a young girl’s from the first strike of the arrow of infatuation. All it took was a moment, a fleeting glance, a quirk of the lips, and suddenly, her hands would start to feel clammy, her skin growing hot with its hairs raised, and her cheeks rightfully flushed like a blooming rose. After that, her mind would carry no other thought but those of her sweet gentleman, hoping for another moment in his presence, and perhaps something more.

It happened to you at four and ten. On a day filled with excitement and glee for the coming of your youngest sibling, the Keep was rightfully buzzed. King Viserys had called for a tourney to be held and with that announcement came a flurry of young knights and lordlings to the capital. You didn’t fawn over each one you passed in the halls, nor did you care for much of them at all. You were a princess. If anything, it was more sensible for them to crane their heads to look at you, not the other way around. 

Not one for pompous fests and stiff-necked boys on horses, you were sure to be properly bored at the tourney. One after the other, they were all fairly skilled and worryingly eager for violence— Massey, Baratheon, Lannister. You weren’t squirming in your seats in eagerness for any of them, not like Rhaenyra and Alicent were to your right, both of whose curious whispers about this mysterious Ser Cole were poorly hidden under bejeweled hands. You were starting to consider crouching low enough to sneak out of the royal box and back to your mother’s chambers instead, where your attention would be better directed, that was until the next challenger was called upon. Spectators’ intrigue grew as a knight embellished in green rode through the lists, the Master of Revels announcing him as the Lord Hand’s eldest.

Gwayne Hightower.

A young man of seven and ten recently bestowed with his knighthood. It was not his name that finally piqued your stubborn curiosity, nor the tasteful green velvet adorning his armor, but the fiery tresses that spilled once his helmet was removed… and those eyes. Blue like the sky on a clear spring day, careful in scanning his audience before him. It had laid on you for scarcely a second, but it was enough to render your heart pumping, the tips of your ears heating up as he rode closer. Your hands clenched your skirts as you craned your neck to get a better glance at Ser Gwayne. He asked for Lady Tarly’s favor, his lance receiving a circlet of peonies that were laid right under yours of leaves of pine and a spray of baby’s breath. Your stomach dipped in disappointment, and girlish lips frowned. Though, the sound of his voice made up for it, smooth as silk and deep with a sure confidence as he pronounced his promise of winning the tourney with her favor.

Ser Gwayne rode exceptionally well, knocking off the young Dondarrion lad in two passes. He’d sent House Thorne’s heir to the dirt in the next, then little lord Peake with almost no effort. With every victory, you applauded with zeal at the edge of your seat, and with every triumph, Gwayne’s eyes returned to the royal box. The dutiful son searched for the look of approval in his father Otto, who sat right behind you, but your foolish heart would like to believe he’d taken glimpses of you in doing so. Your dashing knight would be the victor by the day’s end, you were sure of it. 

That was until Daemon chose him to challenge.

Your uncle played dirty. Everyone knew that. Rhaenyra did, evident in the way she subtly smirked in interest, and so did Lord Hightower, who started to shift uneasily in his seat. Time seemed to slow when both men stood at either end of the tilt, shiny armor glinting in the afternoon sun. For a moment, Gwayne seemed to have fair chances of success when he almost knocked the rogue prince off his horse at the first pass, but his loss would soon come when Daemon swept at the horse’s feet with his lance. A dirty play, though unsurprising coming from your uncle. You gasped as your auburn knight was sent straight down, smashing head-first onto the ground. For a moment, you worried he had been injured too seriously when he lay unmoving for a moment, your heart thunderously beating in your ears as an anxious gnawing in your chest sent cold sweat down your spine. He was dragged off by squires, before coming back to his senses and limping off with a bowed head. Your amethyst hues stayed glued to the sight of his hobbling form as Ser Gwayne exited the arena, and with his departure went your heart. 

When the king was called to a matter regarding your mother, you’d taken the opportunity to sneak off behind him. As your father made haste to the royal chambers, you’d taken a different route. You wanted to find him, console him for his loss but praise him for the stunning skill he had displayed. With every step you took, you thought about what you wanted to say, how you would say it, and hopefully, what he would say back. 

You are a fine knight, Ser Gwayne.

Do not think of it as a loss, Ser Gwayne, you are the victor in my eyes.

Are you promised to anyone, Ser Gwayne? I sure hope not, for I think we are the most suitable match.

Ser Gwayne, do you think me beautiful?

Your mind ran in a frenzy while tried to look for those fiery locks as you made your way to the tents, though all you had gotten were looks of confusion from the young men who were unexpecting of a princess’s arrival. With an awkward smile and hasty steps, you scurried about, eyes earnestly searching for where you may find him. When your hope started to dwindle and you started to consider returning to the box with a dismayed heart, the sight of slender limbs and dirtied red hair greeted you. He was with a squire, grumbling in barely concealed anger as he limped back to the Keep to recover. You turned frozen in your tracks, the warmth in your skin returning and your palms dampening as he started to approach where you stood. His eyes met yours as you stood like a fool, recognition flickering in his blazing blues as he straightened his posture in respect to your station. The blooming of maturity at his young age made him tower over you, leaving you feeling smaller under his gaze. 

“Princess,” he bowed, your stomach fluttering with his address.

“S-ser Gwayne.” Your mouth closed and open as you thought of what else to say, the words you rehearsed in your mind wiped clean when finally stood face to face with the object of your girlish fancy. "Are you alright, good ser? You took quite a fall." Your heart clenched at the sight of him— nose bloodied, hair all mussed, and his cheek all scratched.

"I thank you for your concern, but I am alright. Such is the nature of jousting, I'm afraid," he dismissed, waving it off nonchalantly. “Should you not be at the box, princess? The tourney is far from over,” Gwayne noted.

“I…I have seen all I needed to see,” you responded, nervously biting your lip as you willed yourself to gather the courage to speak and not make a stuttering fool out of yourself. You swore the gods were playing a jest on you and twisting your tongue on purpose with the way speaking started to seem an impossible feat, managing only a few decent words with coherence.

“Ah, not a fan of it then?” he breathed out a chuckle. You could see all the tiny freckles that littered his porcelain skin with this proximity, though stained with dirt, as well as the light litter of stubble on his chin, and you thought him utterly handsome. His nose was perfectly sculpted, lips nicely rosy and you wondered if they had ever known a touch of a girl’s; you hoped they didn’t, you prayed you would be the first.

“I wasn’t, but watching you might have changed my mind,” you praised, though he seemed unbelieving of your words. His hand rubbed at his nape as his eyes flickered to his dirtied boots.

“I lost,” he muttered.

Emboldened, you took a small step forward. “My uncle is no honorable opponent, losing to him barely means anything towards your skill. The fact you did not yield to his tricks says something more of your dignity as a knight,” you said, hope gleaming in your young heart as his face visibly lit up at your words. 

“You were cheering for me when I won against Thorne,” Gwayne pointed out, lips lifting into a soft, shy smile. You were left stunned in surprise, having not expected him to notice.

Was he watching you as well?

“I-I was… as well as when you defeated all other opponents before Daemon. You were excellent, ser.” Your cheeks were sure to be a shade of beet red. The late spring air had suddenly turned much hotter in his vicinity, and your knee was starting to tremble in the effort of trying to remain collected. You were ill-prepared to face him, despite the inexplicable pull that made you leave your seat. 

“Perhaps I might have made a mistake in not asking for the princess’ favor. If I had, I might have had a better chance of winning,” he mused. You watched him watch you, his eyes running over your features as you fidgeted in your spot. An opportunity was presenting itself to you, one you might never come by if you missed it now. You swallowed thickly, calming your ever-beating heart. 

“I would still give it to you… if you asked."

“You would?” he asked, eyes flickering to your empty hands. Confusion painted over his features at the absent sight of your favor, and you thought him adorable with the way his brows furrowed.

“Mhm, should you want it," you nodded, lips lifted in a crooked smile.

“It would be an honor, prince—” Gwayne’s words were cut short as you took one last step closer and lifted to the balls of your feet to plant an innocent kiss on his cheek. Your lips tingled at the touch, though slightly dusted with the grime from his fall. An enormous smile threatened to break on your features, but your fingertips covered your lips shyly, giggles spilling through. Your knight was left stunned, his jaw slightly agape at your sudden act. The bubble of your moment was burst by the deep voice of Ser Westerling calling for you, bidding you to return upon your father’s behest. You lifted your skirts to return to the Keep, leaving a still dumbfounded knight in his spot.

“See you at the feast, Ser Gwayne!” you called back, excited laughter echoing through the hall as you ran back. What would greet you in your mother’s chambers would soon wipe away any semblance of happiness this small moment had gifted you, but the sight of Gwayne as you looked back, smiling with his fingertips tracing where your lips had been on his cheek, would be a memory you would treasure from that day.

[mononijikayu]

crazy little thing called love—ryomen sukuna.

Your jaw dropped. "Gold?" "Go big or go home, right?" He tilted his head, looking far too amused by your reaction. You scoffed, still trying to process how utterly ridiculous this conversation had become. "You do realize how insanely hard it is to even qualify for the Olympics, let alone win?" He shrugged, completely unfazed. "Yeah. So?" You rubbed your temples. "You really think you can pull that off?" "I know I can." he said simply. “I’m amazing. There’s no denying that, especially right now. But in the future? I know I’ll be a beast.”

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, Comfort/No Hurt, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Volleyball Pro! Sukuna, Astrophysicist! Reader, Fiancee! Sukuna, Fiancee! Reader;

Words: 8k words.

Note: people have been asking if there will be a part 2 where sukuna ends up proposing and i was thinking about how im going to do it because i want it to be fun and i want it to be as ridiculous as possible. and this is what i came up with. this is not the end for them, i think i will come by from time to time. i think i need to think about other stories too. in any case, i hope you enjoy this one!!! i love you all~

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THIS WAS HOW YOUR MINI DATES WERE LIKE EVERY LATE AFTERNOON. And you were more than content with that. After all, you were both too busy to always meet outside of school. This is why you became a manager in the first place. You wanted more time with him as much as you could. 

You knew that from the moment he became a part of the volleyball team. But sometimes, it was hard with him. In some ways, he had gotten so used to you being there that he doesn’t want to be without you whatsoever. He’s crazy about keeping his lover like that.

“My love, I’m going to go. I have to leave.”

“No, you’re not.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you slung your bag over your shoulder. “My club manager duty is done. I have a life outside of watching you hit a ball over a net.”

Sukuna scoffed, arms crossed as he leaned lazily against the gym wall. “A life? What, you mean going home just to do the exact same thing you’d do if you stayed here? Reading your physics books?”

Your eye twitched. “That’s not the point. You know that.”

He smirked, stretching his arms overhead, the muscles in his shoulders flexing obnoxiously. “It kinda is, babe. No offense.”

The rhythmic sound of a volleyball bouncing against the polished court filled the empty gym. The night was quiet, save for the distant hum of cicadas outside and the occasional squeak of Sukuna’s shoes as he moved across the floor. 

You knew exactly where this was going. Because it always went this way. You, attempting to leave. Sukuna, refusing to let you. It was routine at this point.

And you stay anyway, opening up your bag and taking your books and reading. And then taking his bag and then laying down on the benches, resting your head as you wait for him to finish. 

You wanted to change that today.

At least you hope you can change it.

Your boyfriend is way too good at being clingy.

“I need to study, you know that.” you tried again, hands on your hips.

“So study here.” He shrugged. “You do it all the time.”

“I want to eat.”

“There’s snacks in my bag.” He huffs, taking the ball in his hand once again. “I got your favorites from the store.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And what if I want actual food?”

“Then we’ll go after practice.”

“Are you—”

“Yes, I’m paying.” He confirms to you, not even looking at you. “Why do you think I have a part time job?”

You inhaled sharply, weighing your options. On one hand, you could still leave. You could be strong for once and walk out that door like a free person.

On the other hand…It was true that you’d just end up studying at home anyway. And eating wasn’t really an issue since you’d just steal whatever food was within arm’s reach.

And if you were really being honest with yourself, staying meant spending just a little more time with him.…Not that you’d ever admit that out loud. And not that he would admit that as easily either. It was just the way it was for people as prideful as you both.

You sighed dramatically. “You are so needy.”

Sukuna grinned, already knowing he won. “You call me needy for wanting you here and yet, here you are. Not leaving.”

You shot him a glare but walked back to your usual spot on the gym bench anyway, pulling out your notes with a huff. You take his bag and pull it closer to you. You unzip it as carefully as you could, as to not look desperate, and take out the snacks he packed for you.

Sukuna laughed, turning back to the court. “You look cute when you pretend to be mad, babe.”

You picked up one of the balls and launched it at his head.

He dodges it really well, diving down onto the floor.

He snickers, looking at you with those mischievous eyes.

“You’re really helping me practice here, if anything, manager-san.”

“Get to practice before I actually leave, dumbass.”

And with that, he did, all the while he was grinning like an idiot the whole time. Meanwhile you then continued to slouch by the sidelines, legs stretched out in front of you, your back resting against the cool wall. You flipped another page of your physics book, fixing your reading glasses. You let out a yawn. 

“I forgot you got reading glasses.” Your boyfriend whispers, as he stops to put away some of the balls blocking his way. 

You didn’t bother looking up, lazily flipping to the next page of your textbook. “Well, yeah. I don’t wear them all the time.”

Sukuna huffed, rolling a volleyball toward the cart with his foot. “Still weird seeing you in them.”

You arched a brow, adjusting them on the bridge of your nose. “Why? I think I look distinguished.”

“More like a nerd, babe.” he teased, walking past you to grab another ball.

You sighed dramatically, stretching your arms over your head. “Oh no, my boyfriend just called me a nerd. However will I recover from this devastating insult?”

Sukuna snorted, shooting you an amused look before getting back to practice. You returned to your book, the familiar sounds of sneakers squeaking and volleyballs hitting the floor filling the gym. The rhythmic thuds had become comforting at this point. It was a background noise you had grown so used to that silence would probably feel weird without it.

At some point, Sukuna jogged past you again, stopping just long enough to flick your glasses up your nose with his finger. You swatted at his hand. “Stop that.”

He smirked. “What? I think they’re cute now.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

He chuckled, going back to his drills, and you returned to your book, settling in for another night of studying while your ridiculously competitive boyfriend spiked volleyballs like his life depended on it.

"Do you ever think about the future?" you asked absentmindedly, setting aside your book. You lift your head watching as Sukuna spun the ball in his hands.

He scoffed, tossing it up lazily before catching it again. "What, like college and boring adult stuff?"

"Yeah, that. Or, I dunno… where we’ll be years from now." You say, putting away your reading glasses.

Sukuna’s smirk didn’t falter, but he paused just slightly, his fingers gripping the ball. "You mean whether I’ll go pro and become filthy rich while you settle for some dull-ass office job?"

You rolled your eyes. "That’s not what I meant, dumbass. I mean… what kind of lives we’ll lead. What kind of people we’ll become."

There was a beat of silence as he let your words settle. Then, as if dismissing any weight they carried, he sighed dramatically. "Ugh, don’t get all sentimental on me now, babe."

You huffed, throwing a stray piece of tape from the floor at him. "I’m serious, my love."

And for once, he looked at you. Really looked at you. Not with that usual cocky glint in his eyes, but with something more unreadable, more… thoughtful. But just as quickly as it came, the expression disappeared, replaced by a lopsided grin.

Without another word, Sukuna tossed the ball high into the air, stepped forward, and sent it flying over the net with a sharp, resounding spike. The force of it sent a slight gust of air your way, and as the ball slammed into the opposite court, he finally spoke.

"Well, I plan to marry you."

The words landed just as hard as the ball did.

Your breath hitched, your mind momentarily blank.

Your mouth opened, no words escaping from it.

"What?" You finally said, after a little while. “Are you serious?”

He turned, walking over to retrieve the ball as if he hadn’t just shattered the casual flow of the night. "You heard me."

You stared, trying to process the casual, almost nonchalant way he had just dropped that on you. "You can’t just—what the hell, my love? What do I say about that?"

He chuckled, tossing the ball up once before catching it again. "What? Not the answer you were expecting?"

"You—you don’t just say something like that after a spike!"

"Why not?" He smirked, tilting his head. "Figured I’d let you know my future plans, since you were so curious."

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you refused to let him see how flustered you were. Instead, you scoffed, crossing your arms. "You’re insane."

"And you’re stuck with me, you know that." he shot back, that grin never leaving his face. “I mean come on, babe. We’ve been together, what? Four years at this point?”

There was something about the way he said it. It was not just a teasing remark to him, but something firmer, something certain. It sent warmth creeping up your neck, and you hated how much his words lingered. You felt your face become insanely warm, red even as his words marinated even further.

“It’s a forever thing for me, babe.”

“You’re so—”

“Love you too, babe.” He grinned at you. 

Your boyfriend Sukuna turned back to his practice, as if the conversation was already over. But for you… you knew this night would be playing in your mind for a long, long time. It was like every other new information from your physics book escaped your mind instantaneously. 

The weight of Sukuna’s words still clung to the air, thick and undeniable. You tried to ignore the way your heart pounded, the way his declaration had knocked the breath from your lungs, but it was impossible. Your lips pursed into a tight line, still red in the face.

"You're insane," you muttered, shaking your head.

Sukuna only chuckled, tossing the ball up and catching it lazily. "Yeah? And?"

You exhaled sharply, standing up and stretching your arms, trying to regain some sense of normalcy. "You don’t just go around telling people you’re going to marry them out of nowhere."

His smirk widened. "I didn’t say people, though. I said you. It’s only going to be you."

You huffed, crossing your arms. You were pouting at this point. And Sukuna just found that too cute. "Oh, well, my mistake. That makes it so much better."

Sukuna spun the ball on his finger, his sharp eyes glinting mischievously. "Tell you what, babe." he started, voice laced with amusement. "Let’s make it a bet."

Your brows furrowed, wary. "...What kind of bet?"

He let the ball drop to the floor and stepped closer, standing just a little too close, his presence all-consuming. "I win a gold medal in the Olympics." His voice was smooth, deliberate. "And when I do, you’ll marry me."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

You stared at him, waiting for the punchline, the moment he’d burst out laughing and tell you he was messing with you. But he didn’t. His expression was unreadable, teasing but also impossibly serious.

"Ryomen Sukuna, do you even hear yourself?" You threw your hands up. "Winning a medal in the Olympics is not some casual thing you can just—"

“Hey, hey. My name is my love, we will correct that right now.” He cuts in almost too smoothly. “And second, it’s not going to just be a medal. It’s going to be a gold medal. And first try!”

Your jaw dropped. "Gold?"

"Go big or go home, right?" He tilted his head, looking far too amused by your reaction.

You scoffed, still trying to process how utterly ridiculous this conversation had become. "You do realize how insanely hard it is to even qualify for the Olympics, let alone win?"

He shrugged, completely unfazed. "Yeah. So?"

You rubbed your temples. "You really think you can pull that off?"

"I know I can." he said simply. “I’m amazing. There’s no denying that, especially right now. But in the future? I know I’ll be a beast.”

And the thing is, you do believe him. You believe in everything he does, in everything he is. Ryomen Sukuna isn’t just some overconfident athlete running his mouth. You know that his words aren’t just meaningless bravado thrown into the air for the sake of arrogance. 

No, everything he says, everything he sets his mind to, he backs up with raw, undeniable talent and relentless hard work. He’s never been the type to say things he doesn’t mean. If Sukuna said he was going to win, he was going to win. If he said he was going to be the best, he would make it happen.

And if he said he was going to marry you, it's not just words.

It’s his promise, one that he plans to fulfill no matter what.

Well, you didn’t stand a chance against that will, did you?

His confidence wasn’t just arrogance. You know that much. It was the kind of unwavering certainty that could only belong to someone who was born to be great. The kind of person who wasn’t just meant to exist but to leave a mark so deep on the world that people would still be talking about him years down the line.

He was the type of person who set his sights on the impossible and made it real. That’s why, even when he said something absurd, something reckless and unbelievable…..You still believed him. Because he was Ryomen Sukuna. And Ryomen Sukuna never lost.

But still, it was the Olympics. 

It was still something that was so far away.

Things could change from all that time.

"You’re making this sound like a joke, aren’t you?" you muttered, more to yourself than him.

He scoffed. "I don’t joke about things I actually want. You would know that best, babe."

Your breath caught. He was right about that. And you knew it. But there was something about the way he said it. There was no teasing lilt, no cocky edge. Just raw certainty. Just raw confidence. Endless bravado, endless affection. You could see it in his eyes.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus. "Fine, fine." you said, crossing your arms. "If….and that’s a huge if—you actually win gold, I’ll consider it."

Sukuna smirked. "Not good enough for me."

You rolled your eyes. "I’m not just gonna say yes to marrying you based on a bet."

"Then say yes because it’s me." He whispers to you, his eyes warmed with tender love. Tender love just for you. “Say yes because you love him.

Your heart skipped a beat.

The heat on your face triples.

Damn him, damn his smooth words.

He must’ve noticed the way you faltered because his grin widened. "C’mon, babe. Don’t be so serious about it, huh?" he coaxed. "Where’s your sense of fun?"

"This isn’t fun, it’s absolutely crazy." you shot back.

"And yet, you still haven’t said no."

You hated that he had a point, and hated how he knew you so well. He grins as you, watching your pout grow even more prevalent. You glared at him, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. 

"Fine." you relented, sighing heavily. "If somehow, you actually win an Olympic gold medal, then I’ll marry you, Ryomen Sukuna."

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, victorious. "Good. Promise sealed. No backing out now, okay?"

"But don’t get cocky!" you warned, pointing a finger at him. "It’s not gonna be easy, and I highly doubt—"

"You might as well start planning the wedding now, babe." he cut in, already walking back to his side of the court. “I mean, it’s going to happen no matter what.”

You groaned, sinking back onto the bleachers, head in your hands. What the hell did you just agree to? Why did it feel like a bad deal on your part? You sighed as you fixed your position, springing up from your slump. 

You really should have read the fine print before agreeing to this. Maybe ask your boyfriend to make a contract about this. Because now, as Sukuna continued spiking balls with that obnoxiously smug grin on his face, you found yourself staring at the court, your mind spiraling into an entirely new crisis.

“Wait, wait.” Your eyes narrowed. “What if you end up winning in the Olympics when you’re 18 or 19?”

Sukuna paused, ball in hand, and turned to you with a slow, knowing smirk. “Well, babe….” he said, spinning the ball lazily on his finger. “You know what happens.”

Your stomach dropped. “No. Ryomen Sukuna!”

“Yes.” He whistles back to you. “And that’s not my name, you know that.”

“Sukuna, that’s way too soon—”

“Too bad! You already agreed!” He pointed at you accusingly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “That’s a verbal contract, sweetheart. Legally binding!”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “Oh my god.”

Sukuna just chuckled, tossing the ball up and catching it effortlessly. “Not my fault you underestimated me.”

Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Oh, I underestimated you? You’re the one planning an Olympic medal-to-marriage speedrun!”

He shrugged, unfazed. “And?”

You gaped at him. “And!? My love, that is just…..You—You’re seriously okay with getting married as a teenager?”

“I mean, yeah. I was ready to bet my life on you when we were even younger. Why not?” He cocked his head, looking at you like you were the crazy one. “If I win early, I win early. Not my problem.”

“It is your problem!” You waved your hands around in exasperation. “You’d be legally stuck with me at a stupidly young age! What if you regret it? What if I regret it? What if we get sick of each other?”

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “Babe, I’ve been dealing with you for years. If I was gonna get sick of you, it would’ve happened already.”

You sputtered. “Dealing with me?! Excuse you! I should be the one questioning whether I want to deal with you for the rest of my life!”

He grinned, walking toward you with slow, confident strides. “Then don’t agree to stupid bets.”

You pointed a finger at him, almost so childishly. “You tricked me into this!”

He leaned down, resting his hands on the bench on either side of you, caging you in. “I didn’t trick you, babe.” he murmured, tilting his head. “I just made sure you didn’t say no.”

You blinked up at him, cheeks heating. Damn it. This was so unfair. How was he effortlessly cool and stupidly attractive even when talking about something as ridiculous as marrying you as a teenager? Sukuna smirked knowingly, clearly enjoying your flustered silence.

You swallowed, gathering yourself. “Still, my love….” you muttered, looking away. “You don’t even know when you’ll win.”

“Maybe so.” he admitted, standing up straight again. “But I will win. And when I do, you better have your dress ready.”

You stared at him, completely exasperated. “Oh my god, I hate you.”

He grinned. “Love you too, fiancée.”

You grabbed your physics book and whacked him with it.

Unfortunately, that didn’t wipe the smug look off his face.

If anything, the grin just grew wider than ever before.

YOU ENDED UP IN LOS ANGELES 2028, YOUR BOYFRIEND ON THE COURT IN HIS JAPAN TEAM UNIFORM. The deafening roar of the stadium echoed around you, a symphony of cheers and chants, many cameras echoing into a hail of flashes, and the pounding bass of the match music.

Bright lights shone down on the Olympic volleyball court, illuminating the players lined up for the final set. Each one a figure carved out of sweat, grit, and years of relentless training. But out of all of them, your eyes locked onto just one.

Vice Captain Gojo Satoru stood in the center of Japan’s national team, his white hair slightly damp with sweat, his uniform clinging to his lean frame. Even from the stands, you could see the cocky smirk tugging at his lips, his ever-present arrogance radiating off of him like a damn spotlight.

His blue eyes, sharp and glittering under the stadium lights, flickered toward Captain Ryomen Sukuna. Sukuna stood tall at the net, his scarlet eyes narrowing as he rolled his shoulders, muscles flexing beneath his jersey. There was no smirk on his lips, no taunts thrown across the court like Gojo was clearly ready to dish out. 

No, Sukuna was locked in. Focused, deadly, hungry. And across from him, standing with equal intensity, was the French National Volleyball Team.It was an even match, a battle of the titans, an Olympic final that had already left the world breathless.

Outside Hitter Megumi Fushiguro took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling steadily despite the sweat dripping down his face. He had been playing a hell of a game, his spikes cutting through the French team’s defenses like a blade. But there was no denying the exhaustion creeping into his stance, no matter how fiercely he tried to shake it off.

Middle Blocker Itadori Yuuji moved forward, cracking his knuckles as he bounced on his feet, a grin still plastered on his face despite the pressure. His energy was boundless, as always, but you knew he could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

This was it.

The final set.

One more for the win.

One more push, one more kill, one more moment of sheer brilliance. And they would either walk away with gold, or with the regret of coming so close and falling just short. You swallowed, hands gripping your knees as you leaned forward in your seat, barely aware of how tightly you were clenching your fists.

And then, in the middle of the tension, Gojo Satoru couldn’t help but grin. “Hey, Captain!”

“Huh? What do you want, Gojo?”

"Don’t choke, Captain!" he teased, just loud enough for you to hear over the roaring crowd.

Sukuna didn’t even blink. He just smirked, the look in his eyes dark and dangerous. "Just make sure you’re still standing when I spike the last point over your head."

The referee blew the whistle.

The ball was tossed into the air.

And the final set began.

Down on the bleachers, everyone was just holding their breath. Including you, who was just tense. Quantum Physicist Geto Suguru was sitting way too comfortably in their VIP seats, arms crossed, expression unreadable as he lazily popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth. He looks at you, offering you a snack. But you couldn’t help but shake your head.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, not even looking at you.

You huffed. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Because, isn’t this quite a moment?” Geto drawled, turning to face you. “Your fiancé is one point away from winning an Olympic gold medal.”

You glared at him. “He’s not my fiancé.”

He smirked. “He might as well be at this point. How long has Sukuna been bragging about it?”

“He still has to win the medal, you know.”

“Well, just one more set here, senpai.” Geto’s purple eyes echoed mischief. “You’ll see then.”

Beside Geto, your heart was pounding so hard you swore it was trying to break free from your chest. And through all the roaring cheers, the flashing cameras, and the tension thick enough to choke you—Sukuna’s voice echoed in your head, as clear as if he was sitting right next to you.

"If I win a gold medal in the Olympics, you have to marry me."

You could still hear the smugness dripping from his voice. The absolute certainty behind his words, as if he had never once considered the possibility of losing.

At the time, you had laughed. You had rolled your eyes, told him he was being ridiculous, brushed it off as just another one of his arrogant declarations.

But here you were, sitting front and center, watching the final match of the Olympics unfold right in front of you. And because the universe loved to mess with you, your boyfriend was about to win a gold medal. 

Suguru nudged you, his voice low and far too amused for the situation. “If you run now, I’ll cover for you.”

You scoffed, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “That’s tempting.”

Before he could respond, the stadium’s announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, shaking the very air around you. “Japan is at match point!”

The crowd roared, the energy in the arena reaching its peak. You watched as the opposing team served the ball, the rally hitting fast and aggressive. The players diving, blocking, setting, all fighting for the final point. Then, like clockwork, you saw it.

The perfect setup. You hadn’t seen anything like it. The ball went up, and just like you knew he would, Sukuna moved fast and jumped, soaring higher than anyone else on the court. His body twisted midair, his form effortless, his presence commanding. And then, it happened.

CRASH.

The ball slammed onto the opposing team’s side with terrifying precision. The whistle blew. The crowd exploded. Japan had won. After waiting for so long, there was finally a win for the country. And Sukuna led it.

Geto Suguru went up and started to cheer out loud.

But you just sat there. You had lost the bet once and for all.

The stadium was chaotic. Cameras flashed, confetti rained down, and the entire team tackled Sukuna in celebration. Geto stretched his arms behind his head, grinning. “Welp. That’s that.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I’m going to throw myself off this balcony.”

“I’d pay to see that, senpai.” 

You kicked his leg. “You’re so annoying.”

Suguru let out a low whistle, leaning back in his seat like he was watching the most entertaining drama of the decade. “Well….” he mused, smirking. “Guess I should start looking for wedding gifts.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Shut up, Geto Suguru.”

He patted your back, mock sympathy lacing his voice. “You really should’ve negotiated better terms.”

You sighed. You really should have. “Don’t rub it in.”

“Oh, senpai, on the contrary—I’m just telling you when you can tell yourself that with the future of time travel.”

You kicked his leg again. 

He just laughed at your response.

You purse your lips into a flat line.

Your entire soul had left your body.

The crowd was still screaming and celebrating, the commentators were probably losing their minds on live television, and yet none of it mattered right now. Primarily because Ryomen Sukuna was coming straight for you.

He cut through the chaos like a man on a mission, stepping over confetti and shoving past reporters with the kind of single-minded determination that should have terrified you.

He ignored his teammates still caught in their celebration, ignored Gojo, who was literally trying to climb him like an overexcited golden retriever, and ignored the cameras tracking his every move. 

Because all he cared about right now was you. 

Suguru, still lounging next to you like he wasn’t witnessing your impending doom, let out a thoughtful hum. “Y’know, this would be a really good time to run, senpai.”

The medal ceremony happened about twenty minutes later, but honestly? 

You could barely process the repercussions of all of this.

You still could not handle the fact that the bet was lost.  

The stadium was still in chaos, electric with the high of victory. The Japanese national team stood in a sharp line on the podium, sweat still glistening on their skin, their jerseys slightly wrinkled from the celebration. The gold medals around their necks shone under the stadium lights, reflecting the sheer magnitude of their win.

Sukuna stood front and center, because of course he did. He looked completely in his element, standing there with his arms crossed, his uniform slightly loose around his broad shoulders. His scarlet eyes gleamed with a mixture of triumph and undeniable smugness. 

The smirk tugging at his lips practically screamed, Yeah, I won. And yeah, I know exactly what that means.

Your stomach dropped.

Because you knew what it meant, too.

Your fate has been sealed with the win.

Twenty minutes. That’s how long you had to process the reality of your situation. That’s how long you had to sit there in the stands, listening to Geto’s barely contained cackling beside you while he kept glancing between you and Sukuna like this was the best entertainment he’d seen in years.

And, because the universe hated you, the moment the ceremony ended, Sukuna moved. Your breath hitched as he walked off the podium, cutting through the crowd like a man on a mission. People were cheering, cameras were still flashing, but none of it mattered because he was heading straight for you.

Oh, no. You knew that look. The second his scarlet eyes locked onto yours, something deep in your gut twisted. He’s not letting you get away, not right now. Not when his life long dreams came true at the same time.

“Well…..” Geto sighed beside you, stretching out his arms like he had all the time in the world. “Guess this is it for you.”

You glared at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

He grinned. “Oh, I am. That’s why I’m enjoying this.”

Before you could respond, Sukuna reached the barrier separating the court from the stands. The crowd reacted immediately, voices rising in curiosity, in anticipation because this….This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t something athletes did after winning a gold medal. 

And yet, Sukuna didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the top of the barrier and vaulted over it. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a damn obstacle at all. The gasps were instant, reporters scrambling to follow, the stadium cameras swerving to capture the moment.

“Oh my god, what the fuck?” you whispered, panic rising in your throat. “He’s coming.”

Geto, utterly unbothered, nodded sagely. “Yeah, I’d start running now.”

Your body froze in your seat, unable to move at all. Because Ryomen Sukuna was scaling the stands with ridiculous ease, weaving past rows of spectators, his eyes never leaving yours. Your pulse skyrocketed almost instantly. 

You gritted your teeth. “If I run, do you think he’ll chase me?”

Suguru snorted. “Oh, absolutely. And then he’ll catch you. Man’s an Olympian now.”

Your heart was pounding against your chest. Because he was right. You were so doomed. Then, before you could even react, Ryomen Sukuna vaulted over the barrier like it was nothing. You gasped at that, mouthing him to be careful with a panicked look.

Security barely had time to register what was happening before he leapt onto the stands, scaling them with ridiculous ease. People gasped and pointed, cameras flashed like fireworks, but you barely processed it because he was getting closer.

Suguru let out a low whistle. “Damn. He’s really coming for you.”

You shot him a glare. “You think?”

And all of a sudden, Sukuna was there. Still slightly out of breath, sweat-drenched, and absolutely radiating victory, he loomed over you with an expression that was both smug and dangerous.

Your body is locked up. For a moment, neither of you said anything. He twirled the Olympic gold medal between his fingers and smirked down at you.

“So, babe….” he drawled with a grin on his face. “Do you wanna pick the wedding venue, or should I?”

Suguru made a choking sound beside you. “Oh, my god.”

You froze in your place, still staring at him. Every neuron in your brain short-circuited. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be serious. You never expected this moment to happen whatsoever. He urges you to take the medal. But then you nearly fell on the side.

“Woah, careful there, babe.”

“My love, I….This is….”Your voice was barely above a whisper, your hands gripping the edge of your seat. “We are literally in a stadium. The cameras are still on you—”

“And?” he shrugged, smug as ever. “A deal’s a deal, babe. Verbal agreements matter too, you know.”

You wanted to die at this moment.

You were so red and flustered.

Suguru, meanwhile, was thriving.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever witnessed, oh my god.” he sighed dreamily, already reaching for his phone. “I need to record this for future generations.”

You smacked his arm. “Suguru, I swear to god—”

Sukuna crouched in front of you, his eyes gleaming with something softer beneath all that cocky bravado. He dangled the gold medal in front of you, letting the gold glint under the bright stadium lights. “You remember our deal, don’t you?”

Your breath caught. Because of course you did. He had said it years ago. So easily, so confidently, like he had already decided how your future would go.

"If I win a gold medal in the Olympics, you have to marry me." He smiled at you, so warmly, so full of love. “And that’s happened now…..So….”

At the time, you had laughed. Brushed it off. 

Thought, there’s no way that would happen just yet.

But here you were, sitting front and center—and he had won.

On his first try, nonetheless. 

You exhaled sharply. “I hate you.”

He laughed, that deep, victorious laugh of his. “Nah. You love me.”

Before you could respond, he grabbed your hand tenderly with a wide happy grin on his face. Your breath hitched as he placed the medal in your palm, his fingers brushing against yours, warm and solid. 

“Hold onto that for me, babe.” he murmured, voice dipping into something dangerously tender.

Your stomach flipped. “What?”

He reached into his pocket.

And your entire existence imploded.

Because between his fingers was a ring.

Not just any ring. It was stupidly elegant, clearly custom-made, and so undeniably you that it knocked the air from your lungs. The band was sleek and sophisticated, refined yet unassuming. It was something you could wear every day without it getting in the way. But the real kick? The centerpiece.

A gemstone, deep and endless, like the cosmos itself.

It wasn’t a traditional diamond. Of course it wasn’t.

Because Ryomen Sukuna knew you all too well.

You didn’t do anything ordinary, and he knew that.

No, what sat on that band was a star sapphire. It was a deep, burning ruby red, almost black under certain lights, with a radiant six-rayed star shimmering across its surface. A star captured in stone. Your own piece of the universe. And somehow, it was functional too. Because, of course, he thought of that.

The design was subtle, but you recognized it immediately. The band had fine etchings, equations so minuscule they were nearly invisible. But you knew them. Orbital mechanics, gravitational constants, the formulae you used daily in your astrophysics work.

Your throat closed up. “My love, you are so…..”

You felt Geto go still beside you, all traces of laughter gone. The crowd noise faded into a dull hum, the stadium, the cameras, the flashing lights.

All of it blurred into the background. Because Sukuna had designed this for you. Not just a ring. It was a promise. A piece of your entire world. Your world now interwoven into his, for all your lives.

Your vision blurred, overwhelming emotion just taking over you at this moment. You swallowed thickly, lips parting, but no words came out. Sukuna, smirking but softer than you’d ever seen him, twirled the ring between his fingers. 

“I figured you’d want something practical.” he murmured, voice lower now, quieter, like this moment was just for you. “Can’t have you taking it off every time you work.”

You stared at him, stared at the ring, at the undeniable thought put into every detail. Your hands trembled. He noticed, he always does. Smirk widening, because of course he noticed—he reached for your hand, effortlessly lacing his fingers through yours.

“Babe.” he teased, his voice so infuriatingly smug. “Are you crying?”

You sucked in a sharp breath, heart slamming against your ribs. 

“No.” you mouthed, obviously lying.

Geto snorted. “You absolutely are.”

You kicked him once again.

But your gaze never left Sukuna.Your stupid, cocky, unstoppable lover. Your future husband. A laugh, one which was helpless and disbelieving and overwhelmingly in love, escaped your lips almost instantaneously.

“I hate you so much.” you whispered.

His grip on your hand tightened, his smirk turning into something so devastatingly fond. “No, you don’t.” he murmured.

And ugh.

You really didn’t.

You never will.

You love him too much.

Sukuna, so unbothered, tilted his head. “Well? I’m cramping here, babe.”

Your entire soul felt like it had left your body. This wasn’t happening. There was no way this was actually happening. But it was. Because of course it was.

You forced yourself to look back at him. Slowly, hesitantly. And there he was right in front of you, hopeful, tenderly. Lovingly. He continued to wait there, patiently. 

Like he already knew your answer. 

Like he had always known.

Like he had never doubted it.

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. You groaned softly, dropping your head into your hands, as if shielding yourself from the sheer magnitude of this moment would somehow make it less real.

(And of course, it didn’t.)

He just grinned back at you.

Smug. Triumphant. Unshakable.

Because this was his win. His victory lap. 

You inhaled sharply, hands trembling, throat tight. Your vision blurred, your breath hitched, and despite everything. This ridiculous bet, the years of teasing, the absurdity of this entire moment. It was then where you nodded.

The movement was small, almost imperceptible at first, but then you exhaled and did it again. Much firmer this time, the emotion swelling so overwhelmingly in your chest that it nearly knocked you over. And then, voice cracking, eyes glistening, you let that word come out.

“Yes.”

The world just exploded. The stadium erupted into chaos. Cheers, screams, a deafening roar of noise as people realized what had just happened.

Confetti still rained from above like rain drops falling down, camera flashes went in wild abandon, and somewhere in the distance, Geto whooped so loudly you were sure he’d lose his voice tomorrow.

Ryomen Sukuna didn’t move. For a moment, he just looked at you, really looked at you. Like he was memorizing the way you said it, the way you looked at him when you did. He grinned. Bigger. Wilder. Brighter.

Without hesitation, he reached for your hand, your trembling hand, and slid the ring onto your finger, firm and decisive. Like it had always belonged there. Like you had always belonged to him.

Then, with zero shame and zero warning, Ryomen Sukuna grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you right into his arms. Into him. Into home. Into this crazy little thing called love.

“I love you.” You whispered to him. “So so much.”

He smiled at you, pulling you even closer. “I love you too.”

epilogue

You had spent years earning your place among some of the brightest minds in astrophysics. Late nights spent poring over research, heated debates about black holes and dark matter, and an almost unholy amount of coffee had gotten you here. 

You had co-authored the many papers that go through these doors, papers which pushed the boundaries of human understanding, worked on groundbreaking discoveries, and stood at the forefront of space exploration here in the office.

But, of course, that’s not always what goes on in the office.

Sometimes, it was pure chaos that comes and goes.

And today, unsurprisingly, was one of those days.

“So when’s the wedding, Mrs. Olympic Champion?”

You groaned, rubbing your temples as your lab partner, Hana, grinned at you from across the break room. “Not you too, Hana.” you muttered, slumping into your chair.

“Are you kidding?” Hana leaned forward, her mischievous smile widening. “Our very own genius astrophysicist is engaged to the Ryomen Sukuna—Olympic gold medalist, international volleyball star, walking menace and not to mention, hot? Of course I’m going to be all over this.”

A few of your other colleagues perked up at that, their heads turning toward you. Kenji snickers. “Wait, are we talking about senpai’s engagement right now?” 

You shake your head as you take a sip of your coffee. “Guys, seriously. This is not a big deal.”

“Oh, right!” one of the postdocs, Ren, chimed in. “I saw the proposal clip online. He really did it right there in the stadium, huh?”

“International and domestic television, no less!” another added, whistling. “That’s insane.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I hate all of you.”

Hana ignored you, her eyes glinting with amusement. “So, how does it feel knowing that your fiancé made the entire world witnessed your suffering?”

“Like I lost a bet I didn’t know I agreed to.” you grumbled.

Ren snorted. “Well, to be fair, you did agree to it.”

“I was a teenager!”

“Yeah, but he won, didn’t he?”

You groaned, dropping your forehead onto your desk as laughter erupted around you. “I hate all of you.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be shy, senpai!” one of your colleagues, Haruki, teased, leaning against your desk with a knowing smirk. “You’re engaged to Japan’s golden boy. Quite literally. The whole world knows.”

“Yeah.” Kenji chimed in, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You’ve been on, like, every news site. And Twitter. And TikTok. You’re basically an international event at this point.”

You peeked up from your desk, groaning. “I didn’t ask for it to be a national event.”

Hana gasped dramatically, gripping your wrist to examine the ring Sukuna had so proudly placed on your finger. “Okay, but look at this rock.” 

“It’s a beautiful rock, yes.”

She turned your hand from side to side, making the light catch on the diamond. “You could blind someone with this thing.”

Kenji whistled. “He really spent a lot of money on this, didn’t he? This is an expensive sort of build. Didn’t you say that he went and got this specially made at a lab? Insane.”

“But it’s still blinding!” Haruki says from the other side of the room.

“I wish it would blind you with it!” you muttered, pulling your hand away as another round of laughter rippled through the office.

Kenji smirked. “Bet you’re regretting that ‘at least he’s rich’ comment now, huh?”

You froze at them. Your head snapped up. “How do you know about that?!”

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s everywhere.” Hana drawled, pulling out her phone and flipping it around to show a very viral clip of Sukuna’s post-win interview.

There he was. He was grinning like the smuggest man alive, draped in his gold medal, bragging about how you totally proposed to him first. You could feel how your soul left your body as you continued to go through these pictures.

Kenji snickered. “You are never living that down.”

You covered your face with your hands. “I hate him more than I hate you guys.”

“Aw, that’s cute.” Hana cooed. “Saying you hate your fiancé instead of saying you love him. You guys have such a colorful language of love!”

“Shut up—”

BANG.

The office door slammed open.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

You didn’t even have to look.

Because there, standing in the doorway in all his Olympic glory, was none other than your personal menace—Ryomen Sukuna, standing ever so proudly as though knowing very well that he’s Japan’s volleyball hero and number one reason you were being relentlessly teased at work.

And judging by the absolute smirk on his face?

He knew exactly what he was doing.

You shake your head at him.

“My love.” you deadpanned. “What are you doing here?”

He waltzed in like he owned the place, sunglasses perched on his nose, hands shoved into his pockets, the picture of cocky confidence. “Visiting my fiancée, obviously.”

A chorus of gasps and ooohs followed.

You wanted to die almost instantly.

You will never live this down more than anything else.

Kenji leaned back in his chair, looking way too amused. “So it is true? You two have been together since high school?”

“Middle school, actually.” Sukuna shrugged, sauntering over to your desk. 

“How about the proposal?” Haruki comes around and asks. “Was that middle school too?”

“No, that was my last year of highschool. But I was always serious. She was just in denial about it ever happening.”

“But how about the post-win proposal?” Hana asked, a smile on her face.

“That was—”

You shot him a glare. “You ambushed me with a ring minutes after winning the Olympics.”

“And you still said yes, babe.” he said smugly, reaching out to tug your chair closer so you were practically against him. “Isn’t that the truth?”

Your colleagues were eating this up.

You could feel a headache coming on.

They’re going to be all too great friends here.

“God, this is better than TV, you guys!” Hana whispered.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “My love, I’m working.”

He grinned, clearly unbothered. “And I’m being a supportive fiancé.”

Kenji chuckled. “By interrupting her work?”

Sukuna shrugged. “Hey, I let her do her stuff about stars and galaxies and whatever science stuff she does all the time even when I was practicing and doing something else. I think I deserve some attention.”

“You get too much attention, if we’re being honest here.” you muttered.

He ignored you completely. “So, anyway, when are you guys throwing her an engagement party?”

Hana beamed. “Finally! Someone with real priorities!”

You gasped in betrayal. “Hana!”

Kenji smirked. “Honestly, it’s the least we can do for our future Olympic WAG.”

You froze. “What? What the fuck is that?”

Hana grinned. “You do know what that means, right?”

“Oh my god, don’t—”

“Wife And Girlfriend of an Athlete.” she said sweetly. “You’re officially a WAG now.”

You stared at her, mortified. “I have a PhD. I’m going to remain a doctor, thank you very much.”

Sukuna cackled. “And now you also have a husband—or you will soon.” He draped an arm around you, pressing a ridiculously loud kiss to your temple just to make things worse. “Though are we hyphenating our names or are you just taking mine?”

“Clearly hyphenating, I was the one who earned my degrees.” You pointed out to him and then your face scrunched. “Hold on, why are we talking about this right now?”

“Hey, it was a fair question, babe. Didn’t know it yet.”

“We could talk about that at home!”

Kenji snorted. “Guess we’ll have to change your office nameplate soon. Dr. WAG.”

Hana wiped a fake tear from her eye. “Dr. WAG sounds so powerful.”

Haruki, the ever-opportunist, grinned as he leaned lazily against your desk. “I’m sure the director would be more than willing to pitch in for that. Maybe even make it gold-plated, in honor of our Olympic champion.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto your desk again. “I hate all of you.”

Sukuna, who was enjoying this way too much, smirked and tugged your chair closer, effortlessly wrapping his arms around you from behind. His chin rested on your shoulder, his voice a teasing purr.

“Aw, babe, don’t worry.” he cooed, ever the menace. “At least I’m rich.”

You whipped around to glare at him, but he was already grinning down at you, looking so damn pleased with himself. And then, he winked. Winked hard and charming. Like he was the smoothest man alive. You kicked him under the desk. Hard.

He hissed, jerking his leg away. “Oi—”

“Shut up, Ryomen.”

“Ugh—that ain’t my name! Say it properly!”

Hana gasped dramatically. “Marital conflict already?”

Kenji shook his head. “Tragic.”

Haruki sighed, pressing a hand to his chest. “And they were such a promising couple.”

You threw crumpled paper at them, earning a laugh from them. Sukuna, having recovered,  was laughing way too hard against your shoulder. And despite all the teasing, all the chaos, and the endless insufferable smugness that came with being engaged to him, you wouldn’t have changed a thing.

Kenji smirked. “So, Mrs. Olympic Champion, when’s the wedding?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. Ask him.” 

“What about me?”

You jerked a thumb at Sukuna, who was still latched onto you like a koala. “When’s the wedding?”

Sukuna, ever unbothered, simply hummed. “Whenever she stops pretending she doesn’t want to marry me.”

Hana gasped. “Oh my God. You’re the one dragging your feet?”

You groaned. “I am not dragging my feet.”

“She’s in denial, still.” Sukuna stage-whispered to them, a teasing tone lacing his words. “But don’t worry, I’ll get her to the altar. One way or another.”

Kenji snorted. “Damn, you really did bag an Olympic gold medalist and a menace.”

Hana sighed wistfully. “Goals.”

Haruki grinned. “I give it two months before she caves.”

Sukuna smirked. “I’ll take that bet.”

You turned to him, incredulous. “Are you seriously betting on our wedding date?”

He grinned. “You know I love a good bet, babe.”

Hana leaned forward eagerly. “Okay, but what’s the wager?”

Sukuna thought for a moment. “If I win, she has to let me pick the honeymoon destination.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And if I win?”

His smirk widened. “Then you get to pretend you had a choice in marrying me.”

You kicked him under the desk again, mockingly smiling.

Hana, Kenji, and Haruki howled with laughter.

Sukuna winced but still looked entirely too pleased with himself.

This was what a happy marriage promises to look like. 

And you both could not be any happier about that.

[bumblesimagines]

Imagine:

Parting with Prince Jacaerys

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Bastardphobia (is that an actual thing), classism, soft angst

Someone get this twink away from me I've written too much for him

~~~

There was nothing Jace despised more than being reminded of his blood, of the parent whose looks he favored, and how starkly different he looked from his family.

At the time, he thought it'd been a bright idea to search for dragonseeds, for nobles who held even a speck of Targaryen blood in their veins from a close or distant ancestor and bring them forth to claim a dragon. His mother had even entertained it, the spark in her eyes when she realized his idea could work had filled him with an indescribable pride and rush of euphoria.

He supposed, though, he hadn't considered how picky dragons could be when it came to their riders, but the sacrifices would be worth it in the name of winning a war..

Until his mother and her new... advisor took his idea to the smallfolk. 

Truthfully, he knew blaming Addam of Hull was silly. He'd taken no part in willingly seeking out Seasmoke, although it stung that the dragon of the man who raised him had been the reason his mother felt confident enough in seeking out dragonseeds in the lowest of places.

The pungent, crime-riddled streets of King's Landing city had spread the news of their desire to find Dragonriders, and in strolled their very own army of bastards.. bastards who looked more Targaryen than him with their silver hair and violet eyes. 

He hated it. He hadn't known whether to shatter something or curl up into a sobbing ball when he first saw them walking down the path leading into the castle with their filthy clothes yet blatant royal blood.

Their existence, their looks, the confirmation there were bastards more Targaryen than him... not even any of Baela's coos and words of comfort could cease the turmoil turning endlessly in his chest, threatening to consume him if he didn't get a leash on it. And Gods had he tried to appease his mother by sitting down at dinner and pretending as if the loathing threatening to choke him wasn't there.. until he watched, with betrayal heavy in his chest, as his mother chose Addam over him, a bastard over her own son.

Jace knew sleep would evade him that night so he bid Baela goodnight and set off to visit Dragonstone's kennels, although they served more for breeding over hunting considering his mother cared little for the royal hunts.

He held a lantern in one hand as he headed to the lower levels where the kennels were, eager to spill everything on his mind and then promptly forget about it with the one servant he cared for deeply. 

"(Y/N)?" Jace called out softly into the kennels, the lantern and torches along the wall providing enough light for him to spot the young man doing one last round of checking on the hounds. He smiled immediately and lowered the lantern down, carefully setting it on the nearby table and releasing a heavy exhale. He lingered by the door, waiting for him to finish. 

(Y/N) glanced at him, peeking into the last kennel before he turned toward him and dipped his head. "Prince Jacaerys." He greeted, voice lacking its usual teasing warmth. 

"No need for formalities." Jace gave a breathless chuckle and stepped further into the room, watching him adjust and tidy some things in the room. He hardly considered the duties of kennelmasters to be as lengthy or as important as other jobs around the castle, but he loved how seriously (Y/N) took it. He dealt with the stink of dog for him, just as (Y/N) dealt with the stink of dragon that so often clung to the prince. "I wasn't followed, I made sure of it." 

Jace's brows twitched downward when (Y/N) simply hummed, his steps quickening into long strides until he reached him and stepped in front of him. He waited for (Y/N) to properly greet him, to brush back his brown curls as he so often did, and place a delicate kiss on the tip of his nose before asking how his day was as Jace melted in his arms. But (Y/N) simply stepped around him and picked up his coat from the chair, folding it over his arm and peering back at him. 

"The dogs must rest, Prince." 

"Are you alright?" Jace blinked, picking up the lantern and following like a helpless child when (Y/N) walked away, their combined steps echoing up the staircase. His mind flickered back to the last time they'd spoken, recalling it'd been a day or two since the last time they'd spent the night together, but surely it wouldn't warrant such cold treatment. Jace quickened his pace, reaching out to grasp at his arm when they stepped out into a hallway. "(Y/N)-"

"The hour grows late, Prince Jacaerys," (Y/N) spoke, voice sharp enough to make alarm rise in Jace, his head jerking back and eyes blinking wildly at him. Not even his mother spoke to him in such a harsh tone. "Whatever it is you require can wait til morrow."

Jace swallowed. "Are you mad at me?" He asked softly, and his question was answered when (Y/N) scoffed and peeled his arm away to depart to the servant quarters assigned to him. Shit.

Jace despised feeling small, feeling out of control but it felt entirely different when it came to (Y/N). Never in all the years they'd known each other had (Y/N) ever grown annoyed with him enough to ignore him, not even as boys when Jace would join Aegon in occasionally taunting the hunting hounds.

His heart raced, not with the usual feelings of adoration or anticipation he enjoyed but with pure panic and desperation. His feet followed him, throwing caution to the wind if it meant righting whatever wrong he'd unintentionally committed and ramming his shoulder into the door before it could be closed in his face. 

"Talk to me." He practically pleaded, setting the lantern blindly aside and closing the door behind him, fingers growing clammy at his sides. "What's happened? Why are you mad at me? Whatever it is I did, you have my apologies, I swear." 

(Y/N) tossed his coat aside and began peeling his boots off his feet, letting them drop to the floor with soft thumps. His silence was the worst thing imaginable, Jace decided. He preferred the teasing, the laughter, the grunts and heaves, anything other than silence. Jace hardly knew what to do with himself.

He'd seen Daemon grovel begrudgingly plenty of times throughout the years of his marriage to his mother, whether from a slip of the tongue or some kind of action taken she disliked, but Daemon had experience; Jace only knew what (Y/N) taught him. The bed creaked when he sat on it and he looked at him, expression unreadable and only fueling Jace's nerves.

"I heard you." He finally said, so quiet Jace almost hadn't caught it. "I heard what you said... about the smallfolk who came here, about the ones who live in Flea Bottom. Mongrels... is that what you see me as? What you saw my father as? Filthy animals with no morals, with- with no brains? Jus' some drunk imbeciles who steal and do as they please?"

"No," Jace breathed out and shook his head rapidly, a clawing feeling digging into his throat. "Of course not. You- You are not like them, (Y/N). You should have seen them. They came from- from the grimiest places of Flea Bottom. You are not like Ulf or Hugh or even Addam. You're... different."

"My parents were from Flea Bottom, Jace. I'm part of the smallfolk. I'm not some fancy noble or lordling."

"Yes, your parents are from Flea Bottom, but it's different. I-" Jace halted, breath catching in his throat for a moment. He'd said the words before, uttered them over and over like a prayer into his ear during the hour of the owl with his arms and legs thrown around him. His lips pressed tightly together, wishing for the feeling of distraught forming in his chest to disappear. "I love you, you know that very well. I did not mean to bring insult to you or the memory of your parents."

"You look down on them, Jace. You..." (Y/N)'s teeth dug into his lip, a frustrated hand rubbing into the nape of his neck. He tore his eyes away from the prince, lowering them down to study the stone floor beneath them. "Hearing you utter those words, those insults.. it allowed me to truly think for the first time in years about.. this. What we have is-"

"Special." Jace exhaled, his steps slow and short whilst he observed his lover with pleading eyes. 

"Temporary, Jace. It is.. temporary." 

"It's not-"

"It is." (Y/N) gave a dry, almost bitter chuckle, and stood up from the bed. "We're vastly different, Jace. You are engaged to another, to a lady. A beautiful and kind lady who does not deserve to- to be lied to." 

Brown curls bounced against his temples when he shook his head, his heart feeling as if it were curling into itself and threatening burst simotanously. "Baela will understand-" 

"Jacaerys." (Y/N) stared at him, his fixed brows softening when he fully took in the status of his lover. He exhaled through his nose, lips pressing into a tight line. "You are a prince. I have no noble blood. This was going to end one day or another." 

"It doesn't have to." Jace protested softly, his teeth digging into his lip to contain the quivering. "Baela will understand. It is not as if.. as if I will be making my mother's mistake." 

(Y/N) frowned. "I deserve more than being kept a secret, than being a paramour, and she deserves a faithful lord-husband. It is the least she deserves after everything she and her family have gone through." 

"Do not do this." Jace pleaded, his voice trembling with emotion he desperately tried keeping contained. "You cannot do this. Not- Not to me.. not us. (Y/N), please. I lov-" 

"I'm sorry, Prince Jacaerys, but this is how our story was always meant to end." 

[the-kr8tor]

Valentine's day Mishaps

Pairing: tasm! Peter Parker x fem! Reader/ Spider-Man x fem! Reader

Word count: 3k

Summary: Your first ever valentine's date as a couple goes haywire when spidey duties interrupt.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Reader has nicknames, CW food mentions, CW injury mention, established relationship, lovestruck! Peter, best friends to lovers/ childhood friends to lovers, fluff.

Requested by @yumeaoka-chan - Let's see. A Valentine's Day request for Peter Parker, please. Andrew Garfield's version, of course🤭💕It's your first Valentine's as a couple and Peter has planned this day/night out to a tee. Whatever he has planned can be up to you. However, nothing is going how he wants it to go, interruptions and accidents happening all throughout it. He's all upset and chastising himself, apologizing to you when you really don't mind it. You thought everything was going perfectly, just enjoying being with him. Something along the lines of that🤭💕

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“Pete?” You call out groggily from the bed, eyes scrunched up to look at the darkened silhouette by the door as you lean on the nightstand and click on the lamp.

Peter walks into the light, revealing his signature Parker smile while he carries a full tray of clinking dishes. The room is dark thanks to the blackout curtains that he gifted you a few months ago after briefly complaining about the sun shining right on your eyes at the crack of dawn. Of course he can't let the love of his life suffer.

“Sorry, did I wake you up?” He winces, socked feet padding on the carpet as he makes his way towards you. “This was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I thought you were my sleep paralysis demon.” Peter chuckles as you sit up. You give him your best smile even though sleep still clings to your lashes. “Surprise?”

Peter lays the tray carefully over your lap, revealing breakfast dishes that consist of fresh fruits that's drizzled in condensed milk. A hearty stack of waffles with whipped cream and honey, a cup of coffee, a glass of orange juice and a croissant. A long stemmed rose sits right next to the glass, you feel like soaring. Especially when he gives you a wobbly smile.

He expects you to grab the rose or a spoon, but you reach over the tray to grasp at his face, quickly placing a kiss on his lips. It takes him aback for a few seconds, but he quickly reciprocates, brown eyes closed, humming as you feel him smile against the lips.

The two of you part with a resounding smack, but your eyes never leave the lovestruck look on his face. “Happy Valentine's day, Peter. You already got me beat.”

“It's not a competition,” he shrugs, doing his best not to topple over the tray. “I'm winning though.”

Chuckling, you give him one last smooch on each of his cheeks, tip of his nose, temple and forehead. Which was not the last of it as you come back and chase his lips again to press a sweet kiss.

“You are, I'll get you soon.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time, honey.” Before you pull away, he takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. “Eat, I wanna see the absolute bliss on your face when you take a bite.”

“Where’s yours?” You ask as you pick up a fork.

“I already ate.” He says, nose scrunched up.

“You ate all the duds, huh?”

He nods, guilty.

You hum, grinning at him as you take a bite. Sure enough you showed him absolute bliss.

—

Peter helps you put on your coat as if you need help. But you let him, how could you not when he stares at you with those big puppy eyes of his?

“So, first Valentine's together, what do you want to do?” His warm palms close the buttons on your coat, and tucking in your pretty red scarf inside the collar. “I've got something planned for tonight, so we kinda have to wait for it.” Looking at you through his lashes, Peter seems apologetic even though you're staring at him with so much love.

“I know it's cold, Pete, but how about a nice walk around central park to start off?” You nervously say as your fingers play with his coat sleeve.

“Where we had our first date?” You nod, biting your lip. “And here I thought I'm the romantic one.”

“Just trying to one up you, Parker.” Giggling, you tie his scarf nicely, noticing that it's in the same shade as yours. He watches you with shining eyes, hands already on your waist. “We can stop by the same coffee stand, and get pretzels after. Only if you want to.”

“You could tell me we're going on a trip to the raft and I'll still say yes.”

You pat his chest with both palms, and he resists the urge to kiss you breathlessly in the small apartment hallway. “The raft? I don't think they let civilians have tours there. Why, you got friends there?” You joke.

“They should,” he chuckles out, not even completing his own joke. “There's probably good money in there— they actually shouldn't. That— that would be horrible.” He cracks, cringing at his attempt at a joke. His head falls on your shoulder as you laugh and hold the back of his neck. “Sorry, just…nervous.”

“Why? It's just me.” You mumble against his temple, lips brushing along his warm skin.

“I know! That's why.” Lifting his head up, Peter lets out a groan. “I just want it to be perfect. It's for you and you deserve perfection.”

“Oh,” cradling his face, you pout at his pout, while your index tucks a hair strand away from his face. “This…” You tap your foot on the wooden floorboards. “This is already perfect, Peter. Anywhere with you is perfect for me. Whether we're shitting on a terrible movie or out and about around the city, it's perfect.”

Peter sighs, wondering what he did in his past life to have this kind of life. “So you don't want your gift?”

You blow raspberries, rolling your eyes as your arms loop over his neck. “Of course I want my gift.”

Chuckling, Peter pulls you in by your scarf, careful of his own strength and kisses you right on his doorstep.

—

You made Peter wait on a bench while you buy a couple of hot steaming cups of mediocre coffee. He watches your back as snow slowly drifts down in tiny specks of snowflakes. You chuckle at something the old vendor said, and he smiles at how your smile lights up the whole park.

As he waits, he shifts in his seat. The spandex inside his clothes are uncomfortable as it clings to his skin. He knows he can't really leave his alter ego behind, but not even crime has holidays off. Sometimes he wishes it does though.

“Hey,” you beam at him, handing him a styrofoam cup. “Drink it quickly before it freezes.” Shivering, smoke billows out from your lips as you breathe.

Peter mirrors your smile, taking the cup from you as he pats the space next to him for you. He even wiped away the snow just for you.

“Thanks, gorgeous.”

“You're welcome, handsome.” Nudging his shoulder, you watch him drink over the rim of your cup as you take a hearty sip.

“What?” He notices your eyes on him, making him scooch closer to you. “Something on my handsome face?”

“And here I thought you're perceptive.”

Peter knits his brows together while you move your eyes down to his cup. He follows your line of sight, finding your unmistakable handwriting on the cup. His guffaw echoes out in the park, bouncing around the white powdery snow.

“It's a riddle.” He excitedly says, tone higher than usual. “With a warm cup you take a sip, but here I am cold as a statue on a winter’s day.” Making a face, he turns to you. “Is this your way of saying that you're freezing, babe?”

You take his cheek, leaving a kiss mark on the other after pressing a chaste kiss that has his legs wobbly. Good thing he's sitting down.

“Genius, it's for the next destination.”

“You—” he blinks, shock and awe evident on his face. “It's a treasure hunt?” Placing the cup on the bench, he twists in his seat and grasps at your cheeks, squishing it together. “Have I told you that I love you?”

“Numerous times before but I'd love to hear it again.” You say, muffled as he puckers your lips together, lips that he leaves an affectionate kiss on that lingers for a moment. Smiling and giggling, he places his arm around your shoulder. “So what's your answer?”

“Easy, the museum. It's where we bumped into each other after not seeing each other since graduation.”

You pat his chest for a job well done. “Correct, and here I thought I made it vague enough.”

“Please, I—” his senses go off as a resounding crash can be heard a few miles away.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I…” he sighs, defeated. “Would it be an asshole move if I leave right now?”

“Call of nature or…” you change your tone into a whisper. “... Spider-Man duties? Either way, not an asshole move.”

“The latter, babe.” Peter's shoulders slumps visibly. “I'll be back I promise.”

You nod, understanding completely. “I'll wait for you at the museum, okay?” Before he reluctantly stands up, you grasp his wrist. “Be careful please.”

With one last kiss on your temple, he rushes out of the park.

—

“Shit, shit, shit!” Peter bolts out of an alleyway and into a busy street, dodging cars and trucks while his shoe laces are still undone. “Fuck.” Almost slipping on a sheet of ice, he finally sees you beneath a lion statue in front of the museum. He expertly balances himself as snow crunches underfoot.

Your scrunched up face lights up when you see him. Waving him over, he runs to you, arms wrapping around you as he crashes against your form. His hands brace your back from smacking on the statue.

He heaves atop the crook of your neck, lashes fluttering close as he breathes you in. “I made it.”

Wrapping him in your arms, you hold him close. “You did. Are you okay? Nothing damaged?”

Peter lifts his head up as he fixes the scarf on your neck. “I'm fine,” he exhales deeply, now smiling through the ache on his ankle. “Barely broke a sweat.”

You sigh in relief. “Thank goodness.” Fixing his coat collar that his red suit peeks underneath from, you grin up at him. “If you're too tired we can go home.”

“And miss the treasure hunt? No way.” Reaching over you, he plucks a hefty gift box from the stone lion's mouth. “Besides, the presents might get stolen.”

Biting your lip, you watch as he shakes the present. “Open it before I burst a nervous vein.”

Peter chuckles, giving you a quick peck on your cheek before carefully unwrapping the gift. “You little shit.” His eyes are wide and a grin plays on his lips.

“I know, I'm good.”

He takes out the book from the box, revealing a first edition of the hobbit book. “Where in the hell did you get this?”

“I know a guy.” You shrug.

“It's Ned, right?”

“Yeah, it's Ned. I had to pry it off his hands after he found it for me.”

Opening his arms for a hug, you immediately place yourself in between, embracing him back as you lay your head on his clavicle. He kisses the top of your head with a resounding smack.

“Thank you, this is amazing.” He squeezes you. “You're amazing.”

“No, you are, Pete.” You peek over his arms, gazing at him with softness in your eyes. “I heard you saved a bunch of people on the subway.”

“I'm the latest gossip now?” Smiling, he pecks the tip of your nose.

“Yeah, the talk of the town.” Poking his side, earning a chuckle from him, you kiss his chin before reluctantly letting go lest you get a ticket for PDA. “Check page 164.”

Peter laughs, akin to a giggle as he opens the book to the page. He finds a pink sticky note with doodles of him and you in full tolkien regalia. Right next to it Is the next clue.

“Where boundless knowledge lies but where love most thrives.” He reads aloud, heart feeling like it's beating out of his chest. “It's our highschool.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, hand wrapped around his scarf as you play with the frayed edges. “I thought it would be fun to go where it all started.”

“Where the pining started?” He teases, taking your hand to hold it instead, letting his warmth soothe you.

“Yes, where the pining started.” You giggle as he embraces you again, swaying you to the imaginary music and the sounds of the city. “I love you, Pete, ever since the day I accidentally knocked off your glasses after you protected me from Flash. And way before I knew my eighth grade crush wasn't just a crush.”

Peter feels like he's about to burst into tears right in the middle of a busy New York street.

“I—” before he could say all the sweet words that have been in his chest since you punched Flash on his smug face, numerous sirens go off as police cars and fire trucks dash further into downtown. Once again, his senses go off. “Shit.” He turns to you and you're already nodding at him.

“Go, I'll meet you there.”

“I'm so sorry.” Peppers your face with kisses until you're smiling again. “I really am, I— I love you too, so much and I'll tell you some Shakespearean shit later but I have to do this first, okay?”

Chuckling, you kiss his calloused knuckles before he sprints off. You could only hope that he's going to be okay as you hold the book against your chest.

—

The cold nips at the tip of your nose as you wait outside by the old school. Snow gathers near your feet as the temperature drops down further into the negatives, teeth chattering cold. Shivering, you tuck yourself into the awning by the window, coat bundled up and tightening the scarf around your neck. You'd come inside the school but it's closed and even if it is open, it would probably be trespassing since you graduated years ago.

Trembling, you check your watch. As the hand ticks by, you feel icicles forming in your lashes. You're debating whether you should go home or not since you've been waiting for more than an hour now. But you can't do that to Peter. It'll break his heart if he doesn't see you in the meeting place. Why did it have to snow in New York after three years of not having any?

As you kick snow and watch it roll away, you hear your name getting called from above.

Peter, still in his Spider-Man suit, swings quickly towards you. His red and blue form landing down on the soft snow expertly.

“Oh fuck, I'm so sorry!” He jogs towards you, hugging you as he feels how cold and stiff you are. Rubbing your arms and back, he desperately tries to warm you up. “I'm sorry, god, you're frozen.”

“S–Still P–Pretty though, right?” You give him a small smile as you tremble through your words.

“Yes, still gorgeous.” He says with urgency. “I need to warm you up, okay?”

“R–Right here? That's i–illegal, Pete.” Despite the impending frostbite, you still manage to crack a joke.

Peter holds your face, palms warming you up. Smiling apologetically, he holds you close. “I'm going to get you home, we'll have hot cocoa and watch shitty television.”

“How— what about your gift?”

“Babe, you're a popsicle right now. I'll get it later, I promise.” He says as he lifts you up and readies to swing away.

“I–I have it.” You whisper, smoke billowing out from your dry lips. “Good t–thing this is the last one.” Patting your front coat pocket, you beam at him as he bundles you in his arm.

“I'll open it later,” your brows knit together. “I promise, after you get warm I'll open it immediately.”

You nod and he swings away quickly like he's after the Vulture himself.

—

“I was supposed to leave it on top of the flagpole for you.” You murmur against his stomach as you lay on his lap, all bundled up in blankets and warm clothes as the portable heater whirrs in the background.

“And how would you do that, hm?” He lowers the volume to the TV as his hands rub along your arm.

“I know a guy.”

“Yeah, me, I'm the guy.” He rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance. “Do you want more hot chocolate?”

“No, thank you. I want you to stay.” You shake your head, nuzzling his stomach lovingly.

“Okay.” Chuckling, you can feel that he's holding onto something in his genius head of his. “I’m sorry that our date didn't go as planned.” Laying his head on the top of the couch, he gazes down at you with love. “I promise you I rescheduled the reservation for next week. Then we can continue Valentine's day.” He sighs, clearly guilty. “Even if it's done already, we can— we can continue it, right?”

“Valentine's day part two.” You wiggle your hands behind his back, embracing him in an awkward angle but with affection nonetheless. “You really don't have to worry, Pete, I had fun doing all the riddles. And I knew that something like this could happen so I only made three.”

“How many were you originally planning?”

“Fifteen.” His eyes widened. “Maybe for next year, babe.” Biting your lip, you reach up to hold his cheek, reassuring him more. “Did you like them?”

Peter wiggles the simple silver bracelet on his wrist as he eyes the book on the coffee table. “I loved it all, thank you. The initials engraved on it was a cute touch.”

“Really? I thought it would be too much.”

“You're never too much.” He softly says, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “Please tell me when I make you unhappy.”

“I will, but I don't think you can ever make me feel unhappy. Not on purpose anyway.”

“That's impossible.”

You shake your head as you gently push his head down towards you. Peter lets you, noses bumping against one another. “I've known you since we were eating glue, trust me, I know, Peter.”

“So you're happy?” You nod, brushing your lips on top of his, a clear invitation for him to kiss you. “I didn't even get you flowers. I was supposed to, and chocolates and open the door for you and order dessert that's too expensive. Shit, we were supposed to go ice skating— and, I'll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You can buy me flowers and chocolates and do all that on Valentine's day part two.”

Peter finally kisses you, silently promising to give you that and more.

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[tennessoui]

werewolf wip wednesday 🐺

"Anakin--" the snarl is immediate and predictable, but Obi-Wan doesn't toss him out of his lap and onto the ground, which Anakin thinks must be a win. Which Anakin thinks is as good as a flag of surrender.

"That's not what you called me," Anakin says because he thinks maybe he should lay all of his sabacc cards out on the table. His knees slot naturally, perfectly around Obi-Wan's hips, and his master's hands fall to his waist. His grip on him is tight to the point of pain. Anakin relishes in it, the ache of it. He'll get bruises. Good. That's good. Obi-Wan had ordered--intimidated?--an entire tank's worth of bacta to heal Anakin of his other bruises and scrapes. It feels right that Obi-Wan should add his own now to the newly bare canvas of Anakin's skin.

"Padawan..."

Anakin rests his mech hand on Obi-Wan's chest and tangles his fingers in the short edges of his hair. "Closer," he murmurs, tipping forward until there's hardly breathing room between their bodies.

Obi-Wan's eyes fall shut as if he is in a great deal of pain. But--his mouth opens. Just slightly, almost as if he cannot help himself. Almost as if he is tasting the air for Anakin's scent. Maybe he is. After all, Anakin must not smell right. He must smell like chemicals, like bacta. He hadn't had the chance to wash off in a sonic between receiving the report from Rex and storming to Obi-Wan's quarters. If Obi-Wan had laid a claim to him by scenting him all those hours ago against that cliffside on Craul, it's most certainly been covered up and washed away.

But Anakin is a good mate. In fact, Anakin can be the best mate Obi-Wan could possibly want. He lets his head fall back further, highlighting the bump in his throat and its vulnerable tendons and what must be his racing pulse, and uses his hold on Obi-Wan's hair to push him closer until his nose bumps up against the edge of his jaw. He can't fight the shiver that rushes through him at the sensation, nor can he fight the way he can feel his body begin to respond to this position he's manipulated them into.

It's not his fault. Obi-Wan's beard feels indescribably good along his skin. It had all those hours ago too, but it's different now. It's different now that he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Obi-Wan does not view him as his pup who he must scent for his own protection. That any claim Obi-Wan leaves on his skin, he is not leaving out of some parental sense of duty or platonic weakness he cannot curb. Mate leaves no room for platonic. It leaves no room for parental.

"Why do you test me so?" his master murmurs, though it sounds more like a groan.

[sunsetchicane]

I love your post card series! Could I request Oscar with rodeo reader where they’re penpals and Oscar subscribes to the cowboy channel (that’s actually what it’s called) to watch his penpal and rodeo reader starts to watch f1 and then she gets invited to Austin?

love letters [OP81]

oscar piastri x fem!barrel racer!reader [from southern US]

word count: 4.2k

summary: The one where you meet a certain racing driver as you're both starting your careers and you decide to keep in touch.

warnings: fluff, fluff, oh and a little more fluff! angst maybe if you squint and tilt your head

author's note: To my dearest anon, this is MY love letter to YOU. Thank you for requesting this and letting me write about the rodeo; it brought me back to when I was just a little girl and was oddly healing?? Sorry for being a sap lol! I hope this is to your liking :) Feedback, comments, reposts, and likes are always appreciated!!! Peace and love babes. [xoxo elle]

“Speed. Agility. Determination. This barrel racing pair is one for the ages and the crowd here today knows it,” Janie Johnson says, a bright smile on her face while she stares down the barrel of the camera.

She turns her attention over shoulder when the crowd’s cheers hit a crescendo. You’ve just rode out into the arena, the American flag streaming by your side while you gallop around. Chants and cheers of your name fly from the mouths of onlookers, swallowing everything into a thunderous roar. For this moment, the entire world is yours. The other top riders follow you out into the dirt of the arena, hands waving and smiles flashing. There’s nothing quite like being at the rodeo. 

“And there she is, our winner today and her beautiful horse, Sweet Tea,” Janie says, unable to look away from the way you and your horse run the perimeter. You take your time, soaking up the glory of another win. 

You fly through your post-race duties, one thought constant in your mind: you have to write your letter to Oscar. It’s sort of a silly tradition, but you’ve been doing it for ages. After a rodeo weekend or a race weekend for him, you both would write each other a letter explaining everything in careful detail. You loved it. Even though the information about the rodeo and the race would be released ages before the letters arrived in your respective mailboxes, it was still amazing to hear about things from his perspective and explain your’s to him.

So, once everything is loaded up and you’re back on the road, you lean yourself back in your seat with a pen and pad of paper in your lap trying to put everything you’re feeling into words. Though your sports were different in a lot of ways, there were similarities that pulled the two of you together. The pressure, the adrenaline, the rush of a win. It’s what made you two so close even though there were vast oceans separating you. 

As you write, you can’t help but reminisce on the first time you ever wrote one of these letters. It was years ago, just as you started pro barrel racing. It was a rodeo early in the season. You were dressed and ready for your pool. Sweet Tea was edgy and nervous and so were you. You were the rookie pair that year, just a five year old horse and an 18 year old jockey. You remember that you felt way in over your head that day as you watched the vets take on the arena. 

To ease both of your nerves, you led Sweet Tea on a walk. Whispering to her with your head low, you didn’t even notice the group walk up in front of you. The voice of your manager made you tip your head up, looking at him under the brim of your hat. He smiled at you and introduced you to a group of young, thin, pale looking boys. He explained that they were from a Formula 3 team called Prema. You’d never heard of Formula anything before.

Your manager led the group of boys away after some small talk. They were nice enough, but you didn’t need any distractions. Just as the last of the boys followed your manager to your stalls, you thought you were free to go about walking Sweet Tea again.

“What’s your horse's name?” An unfamiliar voice with an unfamiliar accent said. You don’t get much for foreign accents at the rodeo, so it took you by surprise. Your eyes met his brown ones. His brown hair was cut short on the sides and the top drooped down over his forehead. He donned a white t-shirt that displayed the word “PREMA” in red, coupled with a pair of blue jeans and sneakers. It was the first of the few times that you’d seen Oscar Piastri in person. The memory lives clear and bright in your mind.

“Sweet Tea,” you answered him in a clipped voice. You were still uppity about your impending race and Oscar was quickly becoming a distraction. 

“Sweet Tea,” he echoed while taking a few steps closer. Tightening your grip on her reins, you waited for her to spook. 

“Wait-” you began to warn Oscar as he crept in closer. But you were swiftly cut off when all Sweet Tea did was bray and huff at him. You were nothing short of shocked. She rarely took to anyone, but she seemed to immediately like him. It made you curious.

“You can pet her, if you want,” you encouraged him while continuing to gauge Sweet’s reaction. Together, the two of you stroked the soft brown of her coat. You could tell that her mood was suddenly a lot sunnier, the moodiness exiting her body as you and Oscar brushed your hands over her.

“What’s your name?” you asked after a while. 

“Oscar,” he replied, his eyes darting up to meet yours over Sweet Tea’s head. For a moment, you studied his face. He looked perfectly calm, peaceful even, in the intense atmosphere that surrounded you. It didn’t surprise you that Oscar’s tranquil nature helped to set Sweet’s nerves at ease. His demeanor was even helping you. 

“She likes you,” you said, giving him a small smile while you dragged your hand over your horse’s nose.

“I hope so,” he said, his eyes flicking from you to Sweet and then back up. 

Everything after that was history.

You and Sweet Tea ran better than you ever had, placing in the top three. It was your best result yet and set you up for success for the rest of the weekend. You saw Oscar every day of the rodeo. He would stop by to say hello to you and Sweet Tea while you were prepping for a race or catch you after your pool. Awkward teenage conversation fell away quickly, giving way to long, easy conversations. 

On Sunday, you and Sweet Tea took it all. It was a huge payday which would boost the rest of your season. You were on cloud nine. Oscar walked with you while you led your horse back to the trailer. Back and forth you talked about the race and how it felt. You were so glad to have someone to talk to about all this. You used to talk to your grandpa about everything, dissecting the race and your rides with him. He’s the one who taught you how to race. But, he died shortly before the season started. He never got to watch you race at this level and you didn’t have him to talk to anymore.

“Sorry, I’m rambling,” you said while turning away and adjusting your hat, suddenly embarrassed at yourself. Oscar wasn’t a rodeo kid. He probably didn’t care how tight your turns around the barrels were or how responsive Sweet was today. 

“No,” he said, quickly cutting you off. “It’s alright. I like to listen.”

Not convinced, you stayed silent.

“It sounds a lot like how I feel when I race, you know. So, I get it,” he admitted then, his shoulders coming up into a shrug. You eyed him from under your hat, glad for the way the wide brim covered most of your face.

“I used to talk to my grandpa about this stuff,” the words tumbled from your mouth before you could stop them. If it would have been anyone else, you would have died from embarrassment. But, Oscar just blinked at you and waited patiently for you to elaborate.

“You remind me of him,” as you said it, you want to punch yourself in the face. You really went two embarrassing moments for two that day.

“Thank you?” he said, a small chuckle coating his words. He smiled at you so warmly that it thawed the icy shame in your chest slightly. 

“I just mean that,” you tried to salvage what you thought was meant to be a compliment but just came out really weird. “You’re a good listener, like him.”

Oscar nodded, his small smile still on his lips. His perpetually tired-looking eyes were soft and kind while he watched you walk your horse. You believe that it was in that moment that you became friends, good friends.

Coming up on your trailer, you slowed your pace, wanting to prolong your last moments with your new friend. Feelings that had been growing steadily over the weekend were at their peak, downing you in an intense feeling of longing. If you could do anything to never let him leave your side ever again, you would do it. In a heartbeat. In the span of just a few days, you’d grown so close that it felt like there’d never been a time where you didn’t know him. Friendly affection wasn’t an apt description of what passed between the two of you. A four letter word danced around in your teenage mind. But you couldn’t say that to him. You’d only known him for 72 hours. 

“We leave tonight,” Oscar said then, shoving the toe of his shoe into the grass. You leaned into Sweet Tea, stroking her neck and avoiding looking at your brand new best friend–your brand new obsession. Emotion roared like a tide inside of you, threatening to spill out from your eyes in tears and from your mouth in a confession. 

“Don’t be a stranger, alright?” your voice was thick with your southern accent. It always got heavier when you were emotional.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. Your eyes flicked to his then, taking in the soft look that graced his features. He seemed so sure of his words. It placed a little peace in you to know that he was just as intent on not letting go of the relationship you’d built as you were.

“Can I write to you?” you asked suddenly, not sure why this is the way you wanted to keep in contact with him. There was something inside of you that longed to write to him. Handwritten letters seemed deeply personal, intentional, everything that you wanted to convey to him. 

“Write…like letters?” he asked, his small smile turning into an amused grin. Instead of becoming embarrassed at your suggestion, you held firm. Nodding at his question, you sent him a small smile. He shook his head a little and asked for your phone. You handed it to him and he typed in his contact, only filling out the address line and his name. 

Once your phone was back in your possession, he said a goodbye to Sweet Tea while stroking her nose lovingly. She whinnied at his touch, tossing her head affectionately. Then he turned his attention to you, he stepped closer than he ever had. Invading your air, you thought he might kiss you. Your heart stopped for a moment, teenage love sending sparks across your eyes. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, giving you a tight squeeze. Your arms slung easily over his shoulders, holding him close. You relished the feeling of his chest against yours, his breath against the back of your neck. 

That’s the feeling that you’ve held onto over the last four years. It’s the feeling you hold close on lonely nights on the road. It’s the feeling you remember every time you pen a letter to your closest friend, wishing that you could’ve had the chance to be something more.

Over the years you’ve kept up with Formula racing, just for the sake of watching Oscar. Though, you’ve started to become quite the fan. Especially now, as Oscar is tearing it up for McLaren. He’s had an exceptional season. In his faithful letters, he writes in his subdued way about how thrilled he is about this season. His humility never fails to make you smile. It’s one of the things that makes him Oscar. 

He also writes about watching you on the Cowboy Channel whenever he can. You’re always surprised and warmed when he includes details of your race or compliments your skills. His words, though concise, are eloquent in their own way. Whenever you read his letters, you can hear his voice in your head.

So, as you wrap up your letter, you’re already anticipating his response. Your eyes drift to the window once you’ve tucked everything away. The familiar rolling fields of perfectly parallel rows of crops lull you into a sleepy trance. Dreams of seeing Oscar again flood your mind when your eyes slide closed and fall comfortably asleep.

The final turn into your gravel driveway pulls you from your nap. You’d slept for nearly the entire drive. You’re warm from sleep, your eyes still heavy but your body feeling refreshed after a long weekend. 

You and your small team unload the horses and the equipment quickly, desperate to return to your respective homes for a meal and your own bed. There’s nothing quite like returning to the ranch after a rodeo weekend. As you sling up your last saddle, you wonder if Oscar feels that way about home after a race weekend. You make a mental note to ask him about it in your next letter.

Before heading into your home, you run out to the mailbox and place your letter in it. Flipping the red flag of your mailbox up and walking away, you’re already anxiously awaiting his response. 

Instead of dwelling on your letter and Oscar, which will definitely send you into an anxious tizzy, you decide to catch up on a couple of work related things to keep yourself distracted. Snuggled cozily into your bed after a long shower, you pull out your laptop and open your email. There are a dozen different unread emails from rodeo crews, journalists, and ranch staff. However, one unfamiliar sender catches your eye.

It’s from McLaren.

Ignoring everything else for the moment being, you rush to open the email. Rarely have you received emails from the McLaren F1 team. Every once in a while, they send you PR gifts or things of the like because of your connection with Oscar. But this one looks different. It’s more personal than that.

When your eyes read the contents of the document attached to the email, you nearly fall off your bed. It’s an official invitation from the McLaren team to join them as a guest for the Grand Prix in Austin the following week. Slack jawed, you mindlessly follow the directions on how to accept the offer. Nothing matters right now except for this.

After four years, you’re finally going to see Oscar again.

—

Walking onto the Paddock, you feel oddly at home. The hustle and bustle of a race weekend reminds you of your weekends at the rodeo. Team members and journalists and officials stream around you, everyone hellbent and on a mission. You’re swallowed into the excitement of it all, fading into just another body in the masses. It brings you peace that you weren’t sure you were going to find here. 

“Miss?” a voice says from just behind you. Narrowing your attention to them, you turn around quickly. A small girl with bright blonde hair sends you a quick smile. She’s adorned with the bright papaya of McLaren. Her eyes drag from your hat-covered head to your boot-clad feet. Your light colored Wranglers hug your curves and flair out over your boots. A matching blazer covers your shoulders and the white button-up with the first few buttons undone. The look is complete by a dark orange, silk bandana tied loosely to one of your belt loops. You know you look like the epitome of country, but it was all intentional. 

The McLaren employee confirms who you are before offering to lead you to the garage. Swallowing hard, you trail behind her, cutting your way through the sea of people. Nerves dance around in your stomach. You feel like you’re back on top of Sweet Tea the day you met Oscar, wide-eyed and anxious as all get out. But there’s something deeper that keeps you moving, a desire–a need–to see Oscar again. This is the moment you’ve been dreaming of for years. 

Every letter has been in preparation for this moment. Every word you’ve ever written to him saying the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say all those years ago. For the past week you’ve been rehearsing exactly how you’re going to tell the love of your life that you’ve fallen for him, that you’ve loved him since you were just 18. There’s nothing that could stop you, not even the fear of rejection. Four years of longing have put you in indescribable agony. There has to be some sort of resolve, good, bad, or otherwise. Today is the day that you’re going to share the one secret that you’ve ever kept from him. 

The blonde employee, Julia, leads you into the garage and begins introducing you to the team. Smiling and snapping photos with some people, you lose count of how many names you’re told and hands you shake. Not that you’re really trying to keep track, your mind being pulled in a different direction. Desperately, your eyes scan the small garage for the only face that really matters. 

You’re in the middle of discussing your latest race with one of the engineers when some movement from the back of the garage steals away your attention. A mop of brown hair and a dashing smile that you’d never forget comes into view. He’s rounding the car, chatting with his engineers and crew while laughing. He’s dressed in his race suit, the arms tied around his waist and showing off his skin tight fireproofs. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him. The rest of the world fades into a blur while your living, breathing dream shimmers like a mirage in front of you. 

Finally, finally, he turns around with the soft smile that you’ve missed so much on his face. From across the garage, over the massive car between you, you lock eyes. Tears spring to your eyes as his jaw goes slack. You barely have time to blink or breathe before he jerks into action. He’s rounding the car in a hurry, whispering rushed apologies as he gently shoves people out of his way. You break away from your conversation with an ‘excuse me,’ meeting Oscar halfway.

The force of his hug knocks your hat clear off your head, but you hardly notice as he sweeps you up off the floor and into his arms. His arms, which are much larger than you remember, strangle you into the tightest hug you’ve ever experienced. His face presses roughly into the crook of your neck. Smiling like a fool, you keep your arms wrapped around his neck, never wanting to let go. 

When he finally sets you back down, you pull only one hand away to wipe furiously at the tears that have slipped out of your eyes. Sniffing, you laugh at what a mess you’ve become. But when you look up to find Oscar’s tear rimmed eyes and bright smile, you can’t help but choke on another sob.

His hands are still on your waist while you try to sort yourself out. Eyes shining, you take him in fully. He’s so grown. He’s tall and broad and all man. Except for his eyes, his gorgeous brown eyes, and his boyish smile. Those two things have stayed the same. Looking at them now, it’s like your past and your future have collided and coalesced into one man. Sighing, you shove him playfully in the chest.

“When did you go and get all grown up?” you say, your voice thick with emotion. He captures your hand on his chest, taking it into his own. With his fingers wrapped around yours, you feel perfectly at home. A slight blush has crept into his cheeks, painting a soft rose across his ivory skin. Your chest squeezes at the sight.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says quietly while reaching down to pick up your hat. Playfully, he shoves it back onto your head with a small smile. 

For a couple of comfortable seconds, you just stand there in each other’s presence. Soaking in everything he is, you bask in the moment. He’s here with you. Finally. And the way he’s looking at you with those brilliant brown eyes makes you feel like not a day has passed since he left. The feeling that was born inside of you when you were 18, is reborn with double the intensity. Your love for the man in front of you is overflowing; it’s drowning you.

“Do you have a minute?” you ask after a while, your eyes darting around to the crowd around you. Oscar snaps back into reality with you, following your gaze to the stray looks you’ve been getting. Nodding, he leads you by the hand back to his driver’s room. 

It’s a tiny space, just big enough for a couch and a small closet. But it’s private enough to have the conversation you’ve been equally needing and dreading. Oscar sits next to you on the tiny couch, his side pressed into yours. You can’t tell if the contact makes you more nervous or sets you at ease. For as many times as you’ve thought about and planned for this moment, nothing could have prepared you for the real thing.

Fiddling nervously with the hem of your bandana, you avoid looking your friend in the eyes. But, you can feel him staring at you. Suddenly, a large hand closes around both of yours, causing you to cease your fidgeting. Turning your eyes to his, you take in the crease between his brows and the small frown that pulls at the corners of his lips.

“Is everything alri-” he begins but you’re quick to cut him off. 

“Ah, hell,” you mumble quickly, making a knee jerk decision.

With both hands you grab him by the neck and yank his face to yours. His head knocks your hat back on your head, giving you enough space to kiss him. Pressing your unmoving lips to his, you hold him there in desperation. 

So much for the carefully crafted speech that you’ve spent four years on. 

For a couple heart wrenching seconds, he doesn’t move. He’s gone completely still under your hands, his lips slightly parted in shock. Shame pools low in your stomach as you begin to pull away. But your heartbreak lasts only a split second before his hand is on the back of your neck, keeping you in place while he bursts into action.

His kiss is just as desperate as you feel. Pressing into each other with all the passion you’ve been harboring for four years, you’re both consumed by the heat of the moment. Your head swims as his lips glide against yours, his tongue skimming over your bottom lip before pressing deeper. 

His free hand reaches out, grabbing your knee to haul you onto his lap. Sliding home over his muscular thighs, you sigh into his mouth. Nothing has ever felt more right. Perfection doesn’t do Oscar justice. He’s everything. 

He holds your waist tight between his large hands while your kiss slows down. Lazily, you suck at his bottom lip while he chases you backward. Once again his chest is on yours, your memory flicking back to the last time you saw him. You knew then that you were his, and he was yours. Nothing could keep you apart, especially not now. 

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, your breath hot and voice soft. You’d never been one to beat around the bush; so why even try when it matters most?

The payoff is better than you could have ever hoped. Oscar doesn’t waste a second before both of his hands cup either side of your face, holding a searing kiss to your lips. He’s firm but kind. He’s Oscar.

“I love you,” he replies breathlessly after a couple seconds.

Your heart soars, leaving your soul in outer space. Seeing stars, you lean your forehead against his, a small laugh bubbling from your chest. Oscar chuckles with you, his chest rumbling under your hands. Pulling back slightly, you take your time to just look at him. Soft brown eyes meet yours and there’s a look there that you know you mirror with your own gaze. Affection, longing, love.

“I had this whole speech ready, you know,” you accuse while adjusting your hat on your head. Oscar’s mouth falls open slightly, faux offense coming over his features.

“You’re the one who kissed me!” he accuses right back. “I was all prepared, too. But someone was just over eager to jump my bones.”

Pinching his side playfully, you watch gleefully as he yelps. Shushing him quietly, you place a chaste kiss on his lips. Silently, an agreement that this was far better than any words you could have said passes between you.

Shaking his head, he settles his arms around your waist and smiles despite himself. With callused fingers, you trace constellations between his freckles. Your heart sings and you wonder how you were ever able to stand being away from him. With Oscar next to you, with his breath on your face, and with his smile for just you, you know that this is it for you.

Four years have been spent dreaming of him. Now, the rest of your life will be spent dreaming with him.

[phoward89]

Banner by me, dividers by @saradika-graphics

Based on this ask

Young!President!Coriolanus Snow x Innocent!Reader

Coriolanus Snow was the youngest president in Panem’s history. He was cunning, charming, and very, very smart. Which is why he's the youngest man to hold the presidential office.

But that's not truly the reason why he's President Snow at the tender age of 25.

No….

He's the youngest president because he's a ruthless man. An evil man.

A snake that strikes both friend and foe with poison.

Nobody was safe from Coriolanus’ poisonous fangs.

Well, nobody, except his First Lady.

And you just happened to be First Lady Snow. The president's sweet, innocent wife who never saw his true colors.

Coriolanus, who you often called Coryo and even Snowflake (he'll kill anyone if they giggle, laugh, or snigger if in ear shot of you using the term of endearment for him), made sure that you viewed him as a loving gentleman. He never wanted you to see the cruel side of him.

You met him when you were both kids, before he became tainted and corrupted by the harsh cruelness of the world. You never experienced the cruelness of the world, being a bit sheltered by your family.

You were innocent, like a little dove.

And that's what drew Coriolanus to you. Your innocence enthralled him, memorized him even.

He made it his mission to keep all the horrors of the world away from you, to keep you innocent and naive.

Hell, you truly believed that he helped Lucy Grey win during his mentorship because he cared. You had no idea that he was thinking with his wrong head; wanted to get under her skirts.

You didn't know that he was sentenced to 20 years as a peacekeeper for his crime of cheating during the 10th Hunger Games. You truly believed his bullshit lie of wanting to follow in his father's footsteps (his father, Crassus Snow had been a general).

So, sweet, innocent, naive little you always believed what your Coryo told you. He was your perfect gentleman, your Snowflake, and you had no reason not to trust him.

President Snow, for all his faults and evil deeds, loved you with every fiber of his overly obsessive being. It's why he's done everything in his power to keep you from being corrupted by the world.

It's also why he had, nicely, forbid you from entering his office. Coriolanus gave you the excuse that he didn't want to be distracted from his duties of ruling over Panem, but in reality he couldn't risk you walking in on him while he had business meetings.

Some of which almost always ended with his visitor slumped over a teacup.

Dead.

Today tho, well, you didn't heed his warning and decided to visit him in his office instead of waiting for him to return to the living quarters.

You found out very exciting news and wanted to share it with him right away.

You put on a pretty pink dress, pulled your hair half back into a large bow (the way he preferred it), and picked some roses from the prized rose garden for the special announcement.

You happily made your way down the hall towards his office. His staff ignored you, knowing better to even look at you twice.

The staff wanted to live to see the next Yule season, thank you very much.

When you opened the door, you saw that your husband had a guest in his office. The man, who was stout with black hair; wearing a powder blue suit, was slumped over on your husband's desk.

President Snow wiped at the corner of his mouth with his handkerchief (his beloved one that you made special for him, embroidered with a light blue snowflake and his initials in maroon red thread) his icy blue eyes flickering up to the door to see who had walked in. He gave his staff specific orders not to be disturbed. He was ready to chew out whoever had walked it, but any and all retorts he had in the tip of his tongue had died when he saw you.

His precious, innocent, little dove.

Before he could ask what’s wrong (he knew something was wrong because you knew his office was off limits and wouldn't just walk in unless it was an emergency), you pointed to the man slumped over the desk and asked, “Coryo, is he passed out?”

“Oh, my little dove, don't worry about him. He just can't handle his liquor.” Coryo told you, even though the glasses on the desk were teacups and not rocks glasses typically used for liquor.

But of course, you believed your husband. He has no need to lie to you, has he?

Coriolanus stood up from his desk, only to walk over to you. “You know you're not allowed in here while I'm working, Y/N.” He reminded you as he stopped right in front of you. Your husband towers over you, taking in how you were all dolled up and had a bouquet of roses in hand. Arching a brow, he asked, “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, Snowflake, I know I'm not supposed to bother you while you're doing your presidential work, but I was so excited to tell you something.” You honestly told him, a bright smile on your face, as you handed him the roses.

“I'm usually the one who presents you with roses, my love.” Coriolanus chuckled, only to take the offered bouquet. “What's this exciting news that couldn't wait?” He asked, placing his large, calloused hand on your cheek only to caress your cheekbone with his thumb.

“I'm pregnant!” You joyfully smiled up at him.

“That's wonderful news, my little dove.” Your Coryo cooed, pressing a kiss to your lips. He grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together, and suggested, “Let's go celebrate this happy news with lunch in the sunroom.”

“Okay, but what about your guest? Shouldn't we wake him up?” You innocently asked, gesturing to the man lying dead on your husband's mahogany desk.

“I'll have one of the staff tend to him, Y/N.” Your husband assured you while leading you out of his office.

Little did you know what he really meant by that. But why would you, your husband's only ever showed you a soft, loving, gentleman. He's never shown you his true nature of being an evil, cruel, manipulative, murderous man.

Coriolanus is a snake, but to you he's Coryo, your Snowflake.

And he'll always be that to you since you'll forever be his sweet, innocent, little dove of a wife.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere ,@savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri, @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1

[muzansfangs]

Game over.

Starring: Satoru Gojo x f!reader x Ryomen Sukuna;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, threesome, alternative universe– University AU, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (Satoru!receiving), hair pulling, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, kind of power imbalance, rough sex, slut shaming, praise kink, creampie, use of pet names, language, dirty talk, impact play, size kink;

Plot: A basketball match. Satoru and Sukuna, two rivals ready to risk it all for winning the annual Cup. Becoming the head cheerleader comes with some peculiar duties and thus you found yourself pleasing Satoru right before the match. When he left you unsatisfied, Sukuna suggested to help you out in exchange of a ‘little favour’, in case he won the competition. You agreed, sealing a deal with the devil that earned you nothing but an extrosensorial experience, when you end up becoming the real object of the team leaders’s desires.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Your eyes were staring deeply into his piercing blue ones, his hand holding your ponytail so tightly your scalp felt numb, as he thrusted his hips forward relentlessly. Your make up was a mess at this point. Drool was dribbling down your chin, the tears brimming in your eyes were making your vision blurry and your throat contracted almost convulsively to adjust to the intrusion of his cock.

"Fuck— Are you sure you're a cheerleader? Taking my cock like that, you seem more like porn actress, you know?" Satoru hoarsely breathed out, gritting his teeth afterwards as he felt the tip of your nose pressing onto his navel. It was too much. Your jaw stung at that point, your mind blank, while you squeezed your eyes shut to focus on breathing through your nose.

Satoru grunted up above, his thrusts sloppy, by the time someone knocked on the door with urgency. The match was about to start and the squad needed their Captain to define the last details of their strategy.

Satoru Gojo, a myth, a legend around the Campus, was the Leader of one of the two basketball teams annually contending for the University Cup. The Blue Sorcerers had been winning for three consecutive years under the lead of Satoru. He did not feel any pressure for the upcoming match, choosing to fuck your mouth instead. It was a ritual, or so you had been told by the outgoing head cheerleader: before the match, whoever inherited that position had to please Satoru Gojo in the changing room.

You were kind of baffled by the unconventional duty weighing on you, but it was not like you were against it. After all, it was Satoru Gojo you were talking about. You had been daydreaming about him for a while now. Watching him training every single day under the scorching sunlight was not enough anymore. If you could get the chance to be bent over by him without patiently waiting for him to pick you among the crowd of his fangirls, well, screw your morals, you were totally in.

It had been quite simple to settle things up. Apparently, he already knew you had been chosen to be the next head cheerleader. Therefore, when you had subtly sneaked into the designated place for the filthy deed to be done, he was not surprised to see you. He had encouraged you to drop to your knees right away, claiming you did not have much time and now you still felt your cheeks boiling at the shameless way you had obediently fallen at his feet. Pathetic, was it not?

"I'm coming" Satoru sassed, his answer sufficing both for you as a warning and for the player calling out his Captain from the other side of the door.

A soft groan erupting from his throat was all your brain registered, when a warm, thick liquid flooded down your sore throat and he abruptly pulled out of your mouth with a pop. You almost gagged, the pads of your fingers wiping away the tears from your face as you swallowed whole, the salty taste of his seed making your tastebuds explode. You were a mess. The sky blue ribbon in your hair was undone, your panties were soaked, your clit throbbed in need and you had to go back to the girls in twenty minutes.

As you heavily tried to steady your breath, palms planted onto the floor, you looked up at him in a daze. How were you supposed to compose yourself and root for his team, when your pussy spasmodically clenched around nothing? You were surely going to be replaced as the head cheerleader, after the imminent failure awaiting for you in the gym.

“I ain’t got time for cuddles or whatever you want. I have a match to win, darling. — he promptly said, winking at you before grasping a towel and handing it to you in a hurry — I will get out first. See you later, alright? I might need to ask you for a second round or something” he fretted, before fixing his clothes and jogging towards the exit.

The sound of the door closing behind him made you flinch, as you sighed and stood from the kneeling position you were in. He had literally used you like a fuck toy and did not even worry about you reaching your climax. Well, Satoru Gojo was a selfish brat. The hot stud only chased his own relief, apparently. Tossing the towel away in frustration, you turned towards the mirror and hastily tried to give a sense to your hair and make up.

You could clearly hear the screams and the burst of applause to incite the teams to make their appearence, eachoing through the corridors. You definitely needed to get a grip and join your friends.

“Damn it” you hissed, dashing towards the door and opening it, only to bump your head against what felt like a wall, but actually was a broad chest.

You winced softly, hand massaging your forehead as you flicked your gaze up. The red hues scrutinizing your face were unmistakable, just like the red t-shirt he was wearing. The pink hair, the tattoos adorning his face and biceps, the smug grin he flashed at you.

Ryomen Sukuna.

“Watch out, doll” he croaked out, staring you down as he folded his arms against his chest, his imposing height making you feel like a hapless ant about to be squashed by a boot on the concrete.

“Yeah, sorry, I really have to go now” you replied, faking a polite smile as you whipped your head to the opposite direction and started to walk away from him. You did not want any trouble, especially with him, the new leader of The Raging Curses.

However, he was clearly not done with you. His hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist made you gasp. Eyes widening in panic, you twirled around to face him again. No good came from him, ever. Especially when he showed off that shit-eating grin you loathed oh so much. You had barely interacted since he had arrived at your Campus. You shared some classes with him and he always was that guy disturbing the professors.

“Was it Satoru the guy who ran out of the changing room less than five minutes ago?” Sukuna quizzically asked you, arching a dark eyebrow up as you felt your stomach churn in apprehension.

“No” you blurted out way too quickly for your own likings.

“Don’t fucking lie. I was waiting for him to check if the rumors were true. I have seen him fumbling with his sweatpants on his way out” he sternly said, his grip around your wrist tightening even so slightly as he tugged you towards him.

Stumbling on your feet, you glared up at him “Why does it concern you?” you asked him coldly, your heart drumming in your chest. Your breath was uneven and you truly feared you were going to collapse for the pressure. Well, Satoru not only had denied you an orgasm but he had also left you to deal with that brute everyone hated and tried to avoid all across the Campus.

“Actually, I am glad he had his dick sucked before the match. It’s well-known that sex before a competition is detrimental to the performance” he stated confidently, abruptly letting go of you, albeit he was standing still way too close for you to feel comfortable. You could smell his strong cologne and you recognized it to be Sauvage, much to your dismay.

That guy exuded masculinity and your hormones were making it hard for you to think straight.

Your upper lip twitched at his vulgar comment, though, and you fought back the instinct to slap him out of irritation. You were still tense, your hands trembling as you scoffed and tried to walk away once again “Okay, fine, good for you then. Bye” you dismissed him, forcing your legs to take heavy steps towards the stairs leading you to the gym.

Once again, though, his voice stopped you and this time you froze solid. Cold sweat collecting on the back of your neck, you faltered as you clenched your fists down your sides and hesitantly glanced at him from above your shoulder “What did you say?” you feebly inquired, hoping you had somehow misheard his question.

The pink-haired guy smirked and cocked his head to the side “He hasn’t even stuck a finger into your cunt, right?” he repeated himself, not a single ounce of remorse in his voice, the choice of words had been specifically oriented to achieve a certain kind of reaction from you.

You gaped, unable to move from where you were standing along with firing something back at him for several seconds. You had no time for that and, honestly, you were not in the mood to talk about your debatable sex life with a natural born bastard like him.

“Can you stop pesting me? Fuck off” you uttered, only for him to chuckle and ambling towards you with his typical jaunty step.

He was demonically perfect. You had to admit it to yourself, even though he was a despicable guy. A red flag, obviously, collecting hearts in his imaginary black-pitch jar.

“Come on, doll, I was kidding! — he started, winking at you before checking the area as if he was trying to detect any presence besides the two of you in that desert corridor — What if I want to help you out? It might be difficult for you to swing your legs in the air, landing in splits, or doing whatever shitty moves your choreography requires, if your clit throbs like that…” he seraphically said, the angles of his lips lifting upwards as his ruby eyes travelled up and down your frame.

Small. You felt so small and vulnerable under his attentive gaze. That wolfish grin never ceased to make your legs quiver in both dread and arousal. He was blatantly messing with your head, with your feelings and your body was screaming for that release.

“You are sick” you stated, trying to resist the temptation to give in.

“Isn’t what Satoru and you have done in there sick as well? Always jabbing your fingers at me, when he is just as devious as I am. — Sukuna chided you in a mocking tone, leaning his shoulder against the wall — I am serious, pretty thing. Would you like me to help you out?” he whispered, causing you to press your thighs together to relieve the pulsing need between your legs.

You hated him. You hated this. You hated Satoru for having put you in such a compromising position.

“We don’t even have the time for that” you hissed through gritted teeth, while the cheering crowd above you seemed to get impatient with every passing second. You were stuck in a whole other dimension, questioning your conscience and cursing yourself for having accepted to prostrate yourself at Satoru’s feet. Along with even considering the possibility of allowing him, the infamous Ryomen Sukuna, to please you in the middle of a corridor.

Your stream of consciousness, however, was soon interrupted by the player’s clarification.

“Oh, doll, I need less than two minutes to make you cream on my fingers” he remarked, causing your knees to buckle under his magnetic gaze.

The mere idea of getting rid of such a frustrating problem was surely giving you the incentive to agree and let him have his way with you, but you knew that if you gave him your consent to help you out, you would have also been expected to repay him in some wicked way. Was it worth it, though? And, above all, what could he ever asked of you to make you reluctant to keep your word?

“What’s the price?” you asked him through gritted teeth, mouth dry as he reached his hand out to grasp your hand and push you against the wall.

Caged between his massive body and the cool surface at your back, you knew your morals were completely gone at this point. Already bent by Satoru, they had been now disrupted by his rival. The moment his fingers crept up your thigh, smoothly slithering up to push the dampened fabric of your panties to the side, you lolled your head back against the wall and hooked your leg around his hip, granting him the access to your aching core.

“If Satoru loses the match, I want to fuck you” he declared, making your cheeks heat up at the mere thought of it happening.

You nodded your head, eager to feel his touch, to let his fingers explore your warm cavern and push you quickly over the edge. You were not worried about the deal, as you felt the pads of his fingers draw irregular figure eights on your bundle of nerves. You were sure Satoru was going to win. He always won. Soft moans falling from your lips, Sukuna grinned and soaked in the sight of you arching your back as his index and forefinger plunged deeply into your core.

“You think he’s going to win, don’t you?” he taunted you, thrusting his fingers into your soppy cunt.

Your eyes were half-lidded, thighs quivering as you choked out a brief answer “He has to win”.

Sukuna chuckled, speeding up his movements to reach that spongy spot within your walls that always drove girls nuts. Watery vision, you whimpered, not caring anymore if anyone passing by could hear you or see you like that. Your breath was erratic, his fingers curling into you made your mind go fuzzy as your hands clutched his t-shirt in your fists for dear life.

In a matter of seconds, your inner walls tightened around his fingers and you let out a strained moan of pleasure as the knot in your lower abdomen snapped. Your essence coated his fingers, your body finally relaxing as Sukuna smirked and slipped his fingers out of you. You were panting, flattening your back against the wall in the aftermath of a mind-blowing orgasm.

You watched him wrap his lips around his fingers, sucking them clean right before your longing eyes as he then hummed and took a step back from you “Now I am definitely fucking hoping Satoru will lose” he commented, before gesturing for you to see him later.

Fixing your panties underneath your skirt, you let the recent events wash over you, knowing damn wall that this little stunt had left you yearning for more. And when you ran up to your girls, white and blue pompons in hands, ready to cheer for The Blue Sorcerers, you realized that maybe Satoru deserved to lose, that your brain kept screaming in pain for wanting Sukuna, that letting his rival take you, the girl he thought was only destined to him for the season, was the right punishment for having been a presumptuous bastard.

Just like that, you led your team to the middle of the gym. All eyes on you, you began to dance for supporting Satoru’s team as if nothing had happened. But every single time you locked eyes with him, he saw defiance in your eyes. Swaying your hips, cheering the players up, you felt your heart thrumming in your chest in anticipation. Standing on the front line, you made sure to give it your best shot, while feeling Sukuna’s eyes trailing up and down your body in hunger. Maybe he was not just going to play for the glory, but for asserting his dominance on you, something Satoru claimed to be his and his alone.

When the two men shook hands, they coldly wished each other a silent ‘good luck’. The coin flipped by the umpire decided who was going to have the ball first and you closed your eyes, inhaling sharply as you heard Sukuna sneering. Only two words left his lips.

“Game on”.

Every time he scored a point, Sukuna made sure to look at you. Pride in his fiery eyes as Satoru cussed in distress, bickering with his fellow mates to focus and try to catch up with the opponents. Yet, when you saw a plethora of red and black flags waving and fluttering all around you, a shaky breath left your lips. Reality tasted bittersweet on your tongue as you lost yourself among the overjoyed crowd of cheering people.

Satoru Gojo had lost.

He was visibly baffled, shocked even, as he angrily tossed away a towel his friend Suguru had handed to him. His jaw was clenched as he kicked the door on his way out, people around you celebrating the victors as Sukuna’s eyes searched for yours among the crowd. A promise was a promise and your legs started to move almost under the influence of his demanding glare.

The dull sound of your back hitting a locker, knocking the air out of your lungs temporary, was just the beginning of the lewd act taking place after the match. As soon as he had gotten you alone, Sukuna had literally grasped your jaw and his tongue had invaved your mouth right away. The passionate kiss was meant to be a distraction from his hands roughly hiking your skirt up to tug your panties down your thighs.

The way he had picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, as he slammed your back against the locker had left you breathless. He was hungry but so were you at this point. Your hands gripped his shirt, prompting him to take it off to expose his chiseled abs to your lustful stare. Not much was said as he lowered his pants down enough to free his bulge from the restraints of his boxers and, while your tongue began to trace the patterns of his tattoos, he ran the head of his cock down your folds to collect your juices.

“What the fuck, you’re still soaked… You wanted this so badly, I could see the way you internally squealed out in joy when I scored. Maybe you should become my cheerleader, not his” Sukuna rasped out, pushing just the tip into your opening to test your reaction.

You whined, mouth hanging open as you tried to push yourself even closer to him to get another inch into you. You craved him, you needed him more than anything else right now.

“Fuck… You’re so needy. Here, scream my name, let them hear you” Sukuna rasped out, before snapping his hips forwards and sheathing himself completely into you. A strained moan erupted from your throat, as your walls clamped down onto him so deliciously, as you buried your head on the crook of his neck.

He groaned at your tightness, his hands squeezing your ass roughly, not caring for possibly leaving bruises on your skin as he began to set out a punishing pace. His thrusts truly left you breathless, his girth stretching you out so perfectly every time he pulled slightly out before thrusting in again. You were loud, too loud and someone clearly heard you, but you did not care enough about your reputation at the moment.

“Who are you?” Sukuna suddenly blurted out, his pace brutal as you whimpered out in pleasure and a sting of pain.

“W–What?” you meekly babbled out.

“Who are you, doll?” he repeated, hinting at something specific that only as he reached your cervix you realized.

“Satoru’s cheerleder”.

“And who is fucking you?”.

“S-Sukuna! Ryomen Sukuna!” you breathlessly said, right before the door banged opened and you both snapped your head towards the unexpected guess.

Your stomach dropped when a pair of sky blue eyes met yours, while you heard a dark laughter rumble from deep into Sukuna’s chest. Of course he was amused by that. Satoru closed the door with a foot, his eyes never leaving the scene playing before his eyes as he approached you. You did not know what to say, merely whimpering as Sukuna had only opted for slowing down his thrusts, not stopping them at all.

“I need her. Get your fucking hands off of her” Satoru flatly stated, earning a scornful glance from the pink-haired man.

“Ah, no, mate. There’s no way in hell I’mma stop now. If you haven’t noticed it yet, I’m balls deep into her. Waut for your turn” Sukuna grumbled, resuming his fast pace as you squirmed in total shock and on the verge of cumming all over his dick.

It almost felt surreal the way they talked about you, about using use as if you were not even there, as if you were a mere trophy to use to let them steam off the stress. Your vision was blurry as you clung to Sukuna, mewling at the way he held you still.

“S–Satoru, I–” you tried to retaliate, but it only made things worse as he gripped his hand and grasped a fistfull of your hair, earning a pained wince from you. His face was so close to yours you could feel his breath on your lips as he spoke.

“Shut your mouth, you slut. You could not wait until the end of the match to be stuffed full, could you? Fine, open that stupid, disgusting mouth of yours and make me cum” he hissed through gritted teeth, as Sukuna only pulled out of you to let you drop on your knees in front of his rival.

Was he willing to share? Were you going to be taken by them contemporary?

Your mouth watered and you had no idea of why your pussy clenched like that at the mere thought of pleasuring them both at the same time. Right, pleasuring them because you knew that once you became a piece of meat between them, your pleasure would have most likely became secondary. Did you want that, though? Yes. Was this something that could happen once again? No.

With your pleading out flicking up to lock with Satoru’s ones, you chewed on your lower lip thoughtfully, pondering what to do, before eventually nodding your head and watching as he tugged his pants down and knelt in front of you. Your mouth was right in front of the pinkish tip of his cock as he gave it a few languid strokes, before tapping with on your lips to part them opened.

“Man, you’re so pissed you might pop a vessel” Sukuna taunted Satoru before leaning his cock towards your core and sliding back into you with groan. His large hands gripped your hips possessively, as your moaned out around Satoru’s cock.

Drool ran down your chin as you swung your arms towards Satoru’s thighs for balance.

“Shut up. — Satoru deadpanned, pushing his cock into your mouth too quickly, causing you to almost gag around him — And you better be careful not to use your teeth, little slut” he then chimed, staring down around you sucking eagerly on his lenght.

The tempo they chose was mind-blowing. The sound of skin against skin echoed through the room like a pornographic soundtrack, as both Satoru and Sukuna’s grunts made goosebumps raise on your skin. Full of them, shared like an antelope between two vicious lions, you felt yourself driven towards your orgasm.

“Good girl… Coming on my cock already? Yeah, that’s it, give it all to me” Sukuna rasped out, landing a spank on your jiggling ass.

Satoru hummed and twitched into your mouth, sinking his foreteeth onto his bottom lip not to groan too loudly. But it was all too much to prolong it further, when Sukuna buried himself into you until the base, his heavy balls slapping your clit one last time, you came too and you shivered at the feeling of your juices mixing into you.

Satoru sighed, deciding not to let you feel as satisfied as you maybe wished. Right before he exploded down your throat, he pulled out of your mouth and let his cum drip down your face, down the length of your nose, letting it slide down your cheeks because he knew you were fine with it as well, because after all, you were a good head cheerleader.

And you had just fulfilled your mission.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! I am staring at the screen of my laptop not knowing what to say. Writing threesome is kind of fun, I got to say, albeit I hope I will be able to get better at it through the time. Let me know what you think about it!

As per usual, likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Until next,

X O X O

TAGS: @axesfordays @brittscafe @lawlerek @axeballs @sadmonke @cyberdazetragedy @some-thing-else-possible @genderfluidnuggettt @getoxmahito @levenlike11 @badbclub @natsukicookies @reinerbraunsodmgear @poisonssworld @allypercocett @sad-darksoul @superspideyparker @tamarasblogs @goose-peachy @fandomsinthegalaxies @lynnsemptymind @the-dark-creature @oneofthesevensins @devianisnottaken @omgimboredsoimhere @mirrormirrorpartii @dinomeow @eyeballpussy @camilalexa93 @huboi @teonawrites @o725v @kikosamus @rose-silk @flakeygod @sukunamylovexoxo @waiting4themoon @insanegirlbloging @ichikanu @tartagl @vimzya

[whisperofwonder]

Countdown

Todoroki Shouto x reader - 743 words

The New Year's Eve celebrations play on the TV in the background as you and your friends squeeze around your kitchen table.

"Uno!" Your friend slaps down a card as everyone else groans.

"This game's no fun when you win every round," her boyfriend grumbles. She only sticks out her tongue at him in retaliation. You sink back in your chair with a smile. Maybe you aren't spending this evening with Shouto like you'd hoped, but you're still having a good time. Your cozy apartment is so warm and cheery with your three friends (and two of their boyfriends) here to fill it up. You'd call your little New Year's Eve get-together a success.

Sure, when Shouto told you he was scheduled for a patrol shift New Year's Eve, you can't deny you'd been disappointed. You've been dating for ten months now, and this would have been your first New Year's Eve together - your first New Year's kiss. But, you tell yourself, it's silly. You can kiss Shouto any time you want. New Year's is just another day, really.

Soon enough, you're all herded to the couch to watch the final performances leading up to the countdown. Squeezed on the couch between your friends, talking and laughing, you can't possibly feel lonely.

Five minutes to go. You think of Shouto, just for a moment. Where is he right now? You hope he hasn't encountered anything too serious. Who knows what people might get up to on New Year's Eve.

Four minutes to go. It's not midnight yet, but you can already hear the pop of distant fireworks. Someone got impatient, you muse.

Three minutes to go. The excitement is building. You can feel it, like electricity in the air.

Two minutes to go. The fireworks are getting louder. In fact, it almost sounds like they're right outside. "Hey!" Your friend jabs you in the side. "I think that's someone knocking on your door!" Startled, you jump to your feet. Who would be here now?

When you swing open the door, you freeze. Shouto is standing behind it. "I thought you were on patrol?" It's all you can think to say.

"I am." He says with a nod. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," You wave him inside numbly, half wondering if you fell asleep on the couch and this is all some sugar-induced dream.

"Everything alright here?" He asks, looking to your friends as they wave and greet him before his gaze settles back on you, and you finally notice the smile playing just at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, just fine," You say with a serious nod, playing along. "Nothing out of the ordinary to report."

"Good," He says, inching closer to you as you notice the countdown at the corner of the TV reach one minute. "Still, I think maybe I should stay just a little bit longer. Just in case."

"Can never be too careful!" Someone calls from behind you, and you break then, smile cracking across your face as you let out a chuckle and drop your forehead against his shoulder.

"You came," You murmur as you feel his fingertips ghost against your sides.

"It's part of my patrol route," He insists, and you find yourself wondering just who mapped out this particular patrol route.

"Well," You look back up at him, "Can't have you shirking your duties."

"No," He agrees, hands finally setting on your hips as you hear someone crank the TV volume up.

"10! 9!" The countdown has officially begun, and you still can't quite believe he's actually here. Your friends are shouting along with the TV announcer. "3." Shouto joins in at the end, "2." His voice drops, and the tip of his nose grazes yours. "1." He says, barely a whisper, and then his lips are on yours, firm and warm. The kiss doesn't last very long, but you still feel breathless by the time he pulls away.

"Happy New Year," He murmurs, hands dropping reluctantly from your hips.

"Happy New Year," You echo, gripping the folds of his costume for just a few moments longer.

"I really do have to get back to patrol," He says apologetically. "I love you."

"I love you too." You tilt your chin up, greedy for just one more kiss. He indulges you, but in another moment he's gone. The warmth in your chest, however, remains long after you bid your friends goodbye and turn out the lights.

[badwritinghabit]

Wins and Losses | Chef Luca x Reader

A sort of prequel to Hello and Goodbye

No warnings for this one! Just cute flirty coworker vibes.

Summary: Luca helps you survive in a new kitchen and then takes you out to celebrate your recent success.

Word count: 1,859

Day two at Ever. 

Your first day started off well, Chef Terry had welcomed you and introduced you to all of the staff. Everyone seemed friendly and you were eager to get started. 

But you were nervous. And it showed. 

Your hands shook throughout prep. Carmen Berzatto, the chef that had started training you, was stern and intense. He wasn’t going to be training you for long, thankfully. He was taking over for someone who was out for the day. 

Your first day ended with Carmen sending you to clean, seemingly sending you out of everyone’s way. You were scared they’d fire you before you got a chance to really prove yourself. 

Your second day would be better. You got a half-caf coffee on your way, hoping less caffeine would make you less jittery. You knew you were good. You could do all of this in your sleep. You just needed to focus. You took a deep breath and walked in. 

Charles, another line chef who had been there for over a month greeted you with a smile. “Went to Forward? That’s my favorite coffee spot too.” 

You responded with a grin. “I’m still figuring out the area, good to know I picked the right one.” 

He eagerly responded with some recommendations and you felt relieved, at least not everyone was angry with you. 

You were assigned pea duty. You had to split the pea pods, leaving all of the peas on one half of the pod as a garnish for a gazpacho dish. It should have been easy, you’d shelled plenty of peas. And you’d always been skilled at intricate knifework. You liked small details and making things pretty. But the nerves had come back the second you felt Carmen watching over your shoulder. Your hand shook but you kept your head down and did the work. You slipped the tip of the knife into the seam, carefully sliced down without cutting any of the peas inside, twisted it around, and continued to cut a clean line down the other side. 

“Good. But pick up the pace,” Carmen said brusquely before stepping away. You did as he said. 

He kept coming by, counting, comparing you to the other line chefs. Your hands kept shaking, your nerves fraying. 

You were skilled. You knew what you were doing. You wiped away some sweat from your brow with your sleeve and then kept going. 

Slice, twist, set down. Only a few left. 

Carmen walked by again. “Faster!” 

“Yes, chef.” You kept working as he walked off. Only 9 more to go. 

8 more. 

Your thumb slipped a fraction of a centimeter and a pea rolled out of the pod and onto the floor. You set the pod down shakily, feeling tears build behind your eyes. 

You bent and picked up the pea that rolled away. As you stood, grabbing the ruined pod to put to the side, you heard someone ask, “do you know what we call a pea that fell on the ground?”

The voice was light but your heart was pounding too fast, anxiety spiking at being caught. “What?” you asked, tense, still feeling panicky from your mistake and unsure who this new person was. You turned to look at him and had to look up. He was tall, dressed in the same white uniform and apron as the rest of the team. To your surprise, a kind smile was on his lips. 

“An escapee.” 

You blinked. 

“Escape-pea,” he repeated, his smile getting the tiniest bit wider. 

You exhaled a small, shaky laugh, realizing he was joking. Your shoulders slumped in relief. 

“I’m Luca. Sorry I wasn’t here for your first day. But I’ve heard you are off to a good start.” You shot him a slightly suspicious look and he grinned. “You’re doing fine, really.” 

“You should have finished this by now,” Carmen interrupted, walking over. “We have more to prep.” 

“Give us another minute, we’ll be done soon,” Luca responded calmly. Something in his calmness gave you confidence so you grabbed another pea pod and got back to work. 

“Thanks,” you said to him, quietly, glancing over. 

“Any time,” he responded, grabbing one of the pods and helping you finish. 

And he meant it. He became your rock, buffering you from Carmen, teaching you but also interrupting your panicking with soft words and little jokes. You had never met anyone quite as warm and genuine. 

You’d developed a tiny crush. But you tried to put it out of your mind. He was – while not your boss exactly– still a sort of mentor. Your coworker at the very least. And dating in the kitchen was a well known bad decision. Besides, he was so kind and talented, you figured he must be in a relationship. Even though he never spoke of anyone. 

You kept reminding yourself he was too important for you to risk losing. He was a fantastic mentor. You’d learned more with him in three weeks than the year and a half you’d spent at your last job. 

His mentorship had helped. You’d had a dish accepted as part of a temporary menu. Chef Terry had all of the chefs, of every level, submit a dish and yours had been picked. Luca had cheered, seeming even more excited than you were. Then he cajoled you into going to the bar with him after work. To celebrate. 

He had lifted you in a hug as soon as you left the kitchen and you laughed along with him. He talked excitedly about your dish as you walked to the bar. 

“Just you two?” the bartender asked. You usually went with a small crew from the restaurant once or twice a week. 

“Just us today,” Luca agreed before regaling the bartender with your accomplishment. And then he ordered your favorite drink for you before you could ask. You blushed and fiddled with the little foam coaster nervously. You met Luca’s eyes and smiled, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

The bar was loud, you usually avoided Friday nights to not have to deal with the commotion. But you appreciated it that night. Luca sat close to you, the warm smell of his laundry detergent reaching your nose as he leaned closer to speak into your ear. He’d reached an arm around the back of your chair and his thumb had started stroking up and down your arm. Your brain had slowed, your thoughts brought back to the gentle drag of his warm hand against you. You fought off a shiver and blinked up at him, realizing you missed a question. You forced yourself to focus on the conversation at hand. 

He smiled when you asked him to repeat himself but before he could, you jumped as you felt arms wrap around you from behind. 

“I thought we’d find you here!” Kit said, pulling back from the hug and sitting in the seat next to you. Charles followed after him, claiming the last seat at the table.  

“You two disappeared before I could ask where we were going to celebrate,” Kit continued as he took off his jacket and smiled at the bartender who walked up to take their orders. 

“We never go out on Fridays,” you say to defend yourself. “It was a little sudden.”

He hummed with a smile. “Well we need to do a toast at least. You won!”

“I’m really surprised to be honest. Your soup was so good. The sweetness with the spice. I wanted a bucket full,” you complimented Kit. 

Kit laughed and Charles rolled his eyes. “I haven’t heard a single comment about my dish.”

“Because it tasted like ass.” 

Charles shoved him and the two broke out into laughter. You laughed along but looked back to Luca, realizing his arm had left the back of the chair. The temperature seemed to drop with the realization. He was facing away, looking behind the bar. You took a moment to admire his profile, the arch of his eyebrow, the ridge of his nose, his lips. You blinked and inched your foot forward, kicking his foot gently. He turned to look at you and you smiled, rolling your eyes teasingly and nodding towards your new companions. His smile returned. 

Charles produced a pack of cards and you groaned but were convinced to join. The distraction from Luca was probably good as well, you told yourself. It was too easy to lean into him when he was close. To hope for more when his arm was wrapped around you.

Poker was a good diversion. 

The night ended after a few hands of poker. You were tired. You’d spent most of the night before anxiously making and re-making your dish. You bemoaned your lack of sleep and after you finished your drink, you hopped off the stool. Luca stood as well, saying he’d walk you home. He’d started doing that at the very beginning of your groups' nights out, even though you lived just next door. It was sweet. 

He was sweet. 

He stood at the bottom of your stoop as you climbed one step and then turned back with a small smile. 

“Thanks for tonight,” you said, quietly. “It meant a lot.”

“Your dish deserved to be chosen. You made the best food today.” His decisive compliment warmed your heart. You smiled. 

“You helped me. I’ve only improved so much because of you.” 

“I’m glad you think I’ve helped. But today was all you.” His voice seemed to get lower. The stair put you at almost the same height so you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him in a hug. He seemed to freeze for a second but then responded, his arms coming around your waist and holding you to him. 

“Thank you,” you murmured into his shoulder. 

“No more thanking me.” He pulled away with his familiar grin. His hands still gripped your shoulders. “It’s my job.”

Something about that reminder felt heavy in your stomach. You forced a smile. He seemed to realize something was off and quickly added, “I don’t spend time with you because of work though. We’re friends too.” 

“Yeah, friends!” The tension was still there and you jumped in to break it. “I’m just tired. I should head up,” you pointed your thumb behind you and stepped up another step. 

He nodded, hands sliding into his pockets and shifting on his feet. “Good night,” he said. Your name a soft ending to the sentence, always sounding warm in his accent.

“Good night, Luca,” you said with a short wave, before turning and closing the door behind you. 

“You absolute prat,” Luca muttered to himself, heel of his hand pressed to his brow. He took out his phone as he walked towards his apartment and clicked open his messages, scrolling to your thread. Your picture was one he took with both of you sitting outside the restaurant. You were holding one of his desserts, half-eaten, and smiling for the camera. He opened the text chain, staring at it, debating. Then he sighed and closed it.

He would see you tomorrow.

[bones4thecats]

Hello! May I request headcanons for a fem!Giyuu reader and yandere!Poseidon from Record of Ragnarok? Thank you so much!

Poseidon Fighting Giyuu Tomioka! 'S/O'

Type of Writing: Request Name: Poseidon Fighting Giyuu Tomioka! 'S/O' Characters: Poseidon Requester: @a-bookworms-teashop

A/N: As I don't write yandere-stuff, I made Poseidon more canonical, since he seems like the kind of guy who has a yandere-vibe. And I know you Record of Ragnarok fans know what I mean

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🔱 Poseidon just wanted to go back to his castle under the sea and finish his duty, not participate in this useless trial of Gods vs Humans, it was obvious who was going to come out on top

🔱 As he sat among his fellow deities, he ignored the words of his youngest brother, not caring what human was up next in Ragnarok

🔱 But, once his brother brought up the fact that Brunhilde had added in another human, one to replace one that had gotten into an 'incident' and how they were specialized to fight Poseidon and Poseidon alone, he began to listen more

" Older brother, are you alright with fighting this human? " " I don't particularly care, they'll end up turning into complete dust in the end anyways. " " Alright then it's settled, Poseidon will be fighting against that wannabe human! "

🔱 Gripping his trident with more force, Poseidon stood and began to walk out the door, as the meeting had ended

🔱 But, he couldn't help but let his mind wander during his walk outside of the arena and into a more secluded area surrounded by water, his nature element

🔱 What kind of human could be 'specialized' to fight him and him alone? What kind of trick was that Valkyrie playing?

~

🔱 Once he heard the announcement of Round 2's ending; Zeus winning against Adam, Poseidon had to admit, he was getting quite energized as the thoughts of that human began to occur once more

🔱 How strong were they? What were they if they could challenge a God, nonetheless the Greek God of the Seas? And, most of all, just who was this human?

🔱 As the voice of Heimdall entered his ears, Poseidon began his entrance, allowing water to spill out and eventually separate for him to walk through

🔱 Poseidon stood and glanced around at the lowlife beings around him, these puny Deities and Humans were far from perfection, so how dare they go against him and try calling his name laced in their worthless filth?

" And the human going up against this graceful yet destructive God is one that has had stories told about them for many years! A human who has been hailed as a heroine to the many who served with them during Japan's Taishō Period in the war against man-made demons! The Water Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps! And the human who was a key-instrument in saving millions of lives from the grasp of the former Demon King, Muzan Kibutsuji. It is my honor to yell the name of the one, the only, Y/N L/N! "

🔱 As the water began to expand and rush away from the entrance of the human side, Poseidon cocked an eyebrow lightly, nobody noticing, except for his eldest brother watching from his residence in Helheim

🔱 Where in Valhalla was this human?

🔱 All of a sudden, the sound of a sword being sheathed entered the many people in the arena's ears, alerting them. The only ones not being surprised being the human allies of Kojiro Sasaki, Soji Okita, and the eldest Valkyrie sister, Brunhilde

🔱 The water that Poseidon had summoned began to rush with the God's irritation, why was this human not showing their-selves? How pathetic were they?!

🔱 Then, without the will of the God of the Seas, the water calmed down with the tap of a blade's tip, which caused the God to turn around only to see a human standing at the foot of the arena with their blade out and touching the water's top layer with such delicacy of a butterfly's wings

🔱 Before he knew it, Heimdall had cleared his throat and croaked out a reply to this event

🔱 As the Nordic God spoke into his horn, you blinked at the God with nearly matching empty eyes, and he noticed how you held yourself, stiff yet loose, you must have fought many demons to get to the level of being a human worthy of fighting a God, huh?

🔱 Poseidon looked at you and twirled his trident before gripping it tightly, he was not about to lose to a human of all beings. But, he'd have to admit, having your cold eyes look into his was quite attractive

🔱 Maybe, since he'll win no matter what, he'll spare your life at a cost; that you become his and his alone. You were said to be specialized to fight him and him alone after all, what would make this any different?

Ready?

🔱 He was going to win this no matter the cost...

Set...

🔱 But he will give you a chance of life vs death, be his or die... and if you say no? Well... you won't be able to say no now will you?

GO!

Let the love-lit bloodshed begin...

[lulublack90]

Prompt 18 - Workout

@wolfstarmicrofic March 18, word count 295

Sirius was on guard duty for the order. They’d got a tip-off that the next shipment of Dittany was going to be disrupted. So far, nothing had happened. Mad-eye had warned him to be on alert, but his mind kept wandering. This morning, Remus had been called away, but he wouldn’t tell Sirius who he was meeting or why. It wasn’t the first time Remus had been so secretive. It had been happening more and more over the last few months. He’d be called away at all hours, collecting pieces of parchment that he’d charmed so Sirius couldn’t read them and disappear, sometimes for days. They kept being warned that there was a spy in the order and Sirius was beginning to think… His thoughts were cut off when ten death eaters appeared in front of him. He drew his wand and started firing off spell after spell while flinging up a shield. This was going to be a major workout, he thought as he danced, his body in constant fluid motion as he took out enemy after enemy. Voldemort would not win today. 

When the last death eater fell, he sent off a patronus calling for Moody. He wiped the sweat from his brow and began ripping masks off faces. Rowle, Wilkes, Avery, Mulciber and a load of underlings that hadn’t been in Sirius’s league. 

“Go home, Black,” Moody barked in his gruff voice once the death eaters had been collected and Sirius had been debriefed. Sirius gave him a curt nod and apparated back to the flat. 

He paused with his hand on the door handle, wondering if Remus would be behind it or not. He took a deep, steadying breath and let it out as he pushed down and opened the door.