#I have literally fucking had this rattling around in my head for over a year

[palossssssand]

I'm going to be so ill. just thumbnailed the comic for trito and kinoga's surface reunion

[moe-broey]

I CANNOT BE DOING THIS. THIS IS NOT WHAT I INTENDED TO DO. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[bunny-jpeg]

hi love, may i have some sourdough bread and coffee with max (in a sort of twisted, claiming my rival as mine way). thank you so much and more power to your bakery 💚

bakery menu

feel free to submit your own order! i am happily working away at the bakery! clockin' in those hours!! this prompt made me shove all other projects to the side. you literally picked at two of my faves, haha. like YEAH!! so i hope you love this, this was a pleasure to write (now back to my other projects)!

sourdough bread ("i'm going to breed you.") + coffee (rivals au) served by max verstappen (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, rivals au, breeding kink, possessive behaviour, pregnancy, driver!reader, filth (!!!), smoking, baby trapping, missionary

you sighed and looked over your shoulder, the cigarette still between your fingers, "are you going to keep staring, verstappen or are you going to come over here?"

he uncrossed his arms and went over. he plucked the cigarette out from your fingers and took a drag, "girls like you shouldn't smoke. not very feminine."

you took the cigarette back and looked at him, "oh maxie, if you wanted a girly girl, you watched the ship sail years ago. i used to punch your bullies."

he sighed. you were right. childhood friends to rivals on the track with a dash of friends with benefits or whatever label of the month you chose to define your relationship.

max knew one thing. he wanted to mark you inside and out. he wanted to make sure that you were his. to call what he felt for you love was to call an inferno a spark. as he watched you smoke, he thought about putting his lips on your neck. he wanted to dig his blunt teeth into your throat and watch it bloom purple.

he also wanted to fuck you over the balcony, letting whoever down below know exactly where you belonged. under him. he hated you ferrari as much as he hated you in alpine only two years earlier. he always thought you belonged with red bull, not as a driver, but as a wag.

lately something else had been curling inside of him like a snake about to strike. the rattle of its tail warning his brain that this was what got him going. you. pregnant. with his kid.

end your name's legacy on the track and replace it with his. make sure that your name doesn't end up on the track for a good while, while verstappen survives, if not thrives for a long time to come. if you can't beat a rival on the track, get 'em pregnant!

you stamped out your cigarette of the cement ledge of the balcony before you dropped the butt to the ground. you looked at max, "you're staring at me like i'm a four course meal. can't find someone to get your dick went tonight?"

he had been lying for some time about getting sex elsewhere. it was impossible to sleep with other women when he was thinking about you. he even tried to find women that looked like you but it never cut it.

he snaked an arm around you middle and press his nose into your hairline, "it's been a while since we.. got together. don't you think?"

you looked at him and smiled a little, "are you asking me for sex, mister verstappen?" you chuckled, "i think that breaks several rules." you made a face.

he looked around briefly before he pulled you in for a firm kiss. when he pulled away and said, "if no one knows, is it really rule breaking?" he knew you could never say no to him, so after qualifier when he found a key card to your hotel room in his driver's room, he knew that had scored.

the sex between you two was passionate. it was never a dull moment. when he let himself into your hotel room like he owned the place, you were naked drying off after a shower.

"you dog." you said as you dropped the towel and headed towards the bedroom portion of the hotel room. max followed behind like a happy little mutt with his cock straining in his jeans.

he began to undress when you got up onto the bed. he watched you sitting at the edge while he took his belt off and jeans. you admired his toned figure. he wasn't ugly.

you had seen every phase of max, you two have known each other for far too long. that added to the rush of it all. it would make sense to anyone on the outside that you two would end up together and have like five kids. but instead the games you played were wicked.

once he was naked, he got on top of you. his impressively sized cock rubbed against your sweet pussy. he could feel the wetness against his achy tip.

"i'm going to breed you." he said softly, his blue eyes bore into yours as he made sure to tighten your legs around him.

you chuckled, "yeah right, verstappen. i think your swimmers died like a million years ago from all the racing." you held onto the pillow under your head. your legs wrapped around him tightly.

he laughed, "fine, fine. i'm joking. i think you're right." he was playing it off cool as if he didn't feel like he was going to jump out his bones at the prospect of getting you stuffed fat with his cum.

you laughed, "you and your dirty talk, verstappen. you always talk about wifing me up and me having your children. like i'm going to retire from racing." you tensed up for a moment when he eventually sank his cock into your soaked pussy.

he fit like a glove, that was how he knew. it was like he molded your pussy for him. no other man could have you and he was going to make sure of that. when he was done with you, you'd be at least five percent dutch.

that'll give you enough to give your hefty sons nice, strong names. legacy names for the track. he rutted against you, heavy, strong strokes. his cock nudged inside of you as he planted his hands on either side of you.

"you look good like this." he said as he pressed himself against you. your soft, pretty tits pressed against his chest as he moved against you.

you were only going to get more beautiful with time. the thought excited him. knowing that he had marked you in such an intimate way, a way that no other driver could. you were his, it was as simple as that!

the idea of you having another rival (or partner) made his skin crawl. he knew you better than you knew yourself. he could predict your movements easily both on and off the track. as he bullied his cock into your sweet pussy, he knew that he was the right fit for you.

he pressed his nose into your neck and continued to thrust into you. your pussy was soft and wet for him. a warmth went through his body as he rocked against you.

"i want to breed you. make you my wife. keep you home with our family. you don't need to be on the track anymore. you've scored more points than any other woman. so, it's time to settle down. we'd make some strong racers." he panted and felt the sweat down his back as he thrust into you.

you held the back of his head and whispered in his ear, "you're a funny guy, verstappen. if you get me pregnant, that kid is getting my last name. and they'll be racing under my country's flag."

he smirked to himself against your neck. you say that now, but a lot can change with time. he dug his fists into the covers and picked up the pace. he loved being so close to you.

your heart close to his. it was almost intimate if it wasn't for the hateful filth that was coming out of your mouths.

"i want you always. i want to ruin you for other men. and i'll make sure that you're not sleeping with other guys." he knew a sure fire way to prevent that, hard to fuck other men when you're full of his child.

"max. you're fucking insane." you panted as you looked at him once more. he knew that you were feeling the height of pleasure, and that honestly made him harder.

that he made you this way.

"i'm fuckin' close."

"good, good. my good wife." he purred, which only made you more turned on. god, what a possessive little freak with the breeding kink!

you clutched onto him tightly and almost bit down on his neck as you came. it washed over you and you tensed up for a moment before you relaxed. then you continued to cling onto him like a lifeline.

he liked the feeling of that and soothed you with gentle words and kissed as he felt close to his own climax.

"max... c'mon. fuck." you moaned as you dug your pretty nails into his back.

he soon after cursed loudly as he slammed his cock into you, making sure you took every last inch. he wanted to make sure that he finished far enough into you that his cum didn't have anywhere else to go but into your womb.

that was his objective. he kissed you once more as he gave a few more thrusts. you moaned into the kiss and laid there under him, breathless.

he slowed down his thrusts to catch his breath. you were still clutching the covers under you. you looked amazing under him, he was right. it was where you belonged.

he placed both hands on your stomach and started to thrust once again. one orgasm wasn't going to cut it for him. if he was going to make you a verstappen, it meant making sure his dna stuck to your sweet pussy.

you'd eventually race on sunday with cum still staining your panties and a pray that no one would notice.

-

it was july now and the heat was getting unbearable. it didn't help that sitting on your hips was a six month pregnant belly. you had spent since may in the nice little sundresses that max had picked out for you.

he was painfully doting, making sure the mother of his child had anything she needed. after all, you retirement was sudden and early. such a strong driving career cut short.

"you look so good." he'd often say and his large hands spanned your swollen middle in the hopes to feel his son shifting around. you knew the asshole got off to this.

you were trying to teach your unborn child as much of your mother tongue as possible, while he'd curl up with our middle at night and speak dutch. when you tried to stop him, he simply pressed into you further.

even parenthood felt like a small rivalry.

max believed that he won the rivalry, he was about to championship that year after blood tests came back that you were pregnant. you could've killed him when you stomped out of the doctor's office and almost strangled him.

you'd hate to admit it, but there was a domesticity that you sort of liked. while you were still trying to find things to do post-driving, it was nice to be in one place at one time. what had felt like your entire life had been on planes going between tracks. the press didn't bother you as much once the news cycle of your pregnancy died down and you could just be you.

while you wanted to kill max still, even as he was snuggled up beside you on the couch, his arm draped over your bump, you honestly couldn't ask for a better baby daddy. you wouldn't let max have his victory in your little rivalry, even as the gold ring you wore gleamed in the afternoon light, you'd never admit to your husband that he had bested you. because the way you looked at it, since you shared the same last name, it was your trophy too. <3

[californiaboytoybilly]

Eddie Munson would like to think that years of hunting monsters had taught him to be incredibly aware of his surroundings.

Over those years, lots of things- both of the human and creepy-crawly variety- had tried to get the jump on him and they always either ended up unconscious, or dead.

However, he must have missed something this time.

Pointed fingertips dig into his throat as his back hit the wall hard, enough to feel the aftershock rattle through his bones. The breath was punched out of him in one smooth whoosh.

His eyes shot to his attacker as he tried to rapidly calculate how to get loose.

“Got you.” The man purred. For the briefest moment, he almost could have passed as human with his golden skin and blue eyes, impossibly big and gleaming in the dim alleyway.

Gleaming like a cat’s eyes.

Not human. Vampire. Fuck.

“I will rip your head from your fucking neck—“ Eddie snarled, kicking out with his loose leg. He might as well have kicked a bag of flour for all the good it did him.

“Oh, I’d really rather you didn’t. I’m pretty fond of his head, especially attached.” A second voice chimed in from the other side of the alleyway, earning a snort from the creature who had him trapped.

“You’d just miss my tongue, sweetheart.” He said without hesitating, lips curling into a grin. His sharp teeth glinted. Eddie felt his panic spike as the other figure started to come into focus. He tried to suck in a breath, the hand on his neck a little too tight.

After everything he’d survived— everything he’d done and learned— he was going to be some vampire couples fuckin’ Happy Meal while they flirted over his cooling corpse.

“Mm, maybe. Now come on, Bils. Stop playing with your food, I want to go home.” The other creature stepped free of the shadows at last, studying his nails like a bored trust fund baby.

No, not nails. Claws.

He was tall, athletic in build and covered in lean bands of muscle. A trail of thick, dark hair disappeared into cut off denim shorts, which in literally any situation where his life wasn’t at stake he might’ve been distracted by. His amber eyes were lazily trained on Eddie and the vampire ‘Bils’ and there was a dog collar- with tags- around his throat.

A werewolf? Eddie’s baffled eyes darted between the two. He’d never seen a vampire and a werewolf in the same space unless they were trying to rip each other into tiny, bloody shreds.

What the fuck?

At least he got to see something new as a send off. Very little surprised him in general anymore.

“But he’s feisty. That’s half the fun, Stevie.” The bloodsucker honest to god pouted as he looked back over his shoulder at his partner, who just sighed.

“I’ll do that thing you li-“ Wolfy started, raising an eyebrow.

“Done. Deal.” That only earned him a bark of laughter in response.

Eddie, who’d been slowly getting his arm closer to the sharp dagger hidden in the holster on his belt, suddenly had the vampire’s full attention back on him.

“It’s a waste though. He’s kind of pretty.” He said, venom-sweet breath washing over Eddie’s face as he leaned in. The other one crossed to where they stood. Eddie flinched as a warm hand skimmed over his shoulder and into his hair, claws leaving a tingling trail in their wake.

“He is…” Stevie agreed, starting to sound a little foggy. Eddie felt the tension drain from his body, against his will. As he felt the sharp scratch of fangs on his throat, he sent a quiet apology to Wayne. Those razor sharp teeth cut his skin like butter, making him yelp out in pain. As ripples of euphoria began to spread from his throat to the rest of his body, he heard one last thing come from the werewolves' mouth. "Maybe we can keep him, if you don't make a complete mess of him anyway." Eddie Munson- from hunter to prized show poodle, he thought sardonically as his brain started to swim. And that's when he lost the battle against unconsciousness.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

i’d never even considered how the civil war would affect alfred during ww1, that’s a really interesting idea. would you mind expanding a bit more if you haven’t already?

fuck yes I can expand on that. TW for historic nastiness.

Okay to prelude— I don't typically do 1:1 state/gov to character but considering the cession of the south into a separate state and the US itself is the Union, my boy is in blue. In this blog's universe there is no schizophrenia or split personality or Doppelgänger or any other representation of the south. It gutted him and he lost feeling in a lot of his usual area and it severely weakened him but he represented the United States and that means union blue. And considering the north really doesn't have all that much moral leverage on the south especially in matters of racism, it's not much of a jump. If you aren't crazy about that, look away now.

So. Trench warfare. It's as old as humans bashing each other's heads in. Defensive ditches are an archaeological feature across the applicable world. But it's the American Civil War that might hold the gold medal for largest gap between how technology designed to kill had advanced spectacularly over any innovation that might save lives. I won't say deadliest because you do have the Taiping Rebellion around the same time but a lot of that was sièges and counter sieges and river based naval engagements. But anyway— rifled artillery and direct fire techniques had changed the game and soldiers were driven underground behind parapets and sandbags. Around Petersburg especially. And it's towards the end of the war when the Confederacy is increasingly desperate and hand to hand fighting is getting more common and more brutal. Entire regiments were lost in hand to hand mêlée. And if a soldier didn't die instantly, it was off to a field hospital. Guts ripped open by iron shells, lungs hanging from the tips of bayonets, wounds so infected they glowed, limbs hacked off by a surgeon who hadn't washed his hands in six days and sepsis rot so foul someone can taste it on the air even with the mouth closed. Malaria and typhoid so fucking bad the army cots would literally shake apart from how bad men shivered when the chills aspect of the fever cycle hit. I know it's fashionable right now especially on vintage fashion YouTube to say people in history weren't disgusting but like, I've been in archives for years. Yeah it fucken was. Never was medicine so far behind the ability to kill.

So Alfred's probably died a solid dozen times half of which from shitting himself because he's probably riddled with parasites. He's been shot, stabbed, slashed. Shaken, rattled and absolutely steam rolled. And the final part of his almighty trauma is this is happening just up the river from where he was born in Jamestown. Alfred is on his belly in the earth beneath the feet of the people that bore him and then rejected him, begging his Protestant God and any of his own people listening and the very earth itself to protect him, to keep him alive as shell after shell lands around him.

When every battle is over, the dead rot in piles across the fields and trenches. The famous photos of the Antietam and Gettysburg dead are days old, you can see some of the bodies had been looted. There were so many dead and so many dying that upon its tardy entrance into world war one, the US had a more coherent body management and disposal program than any other of the entente powers. Who had already been at war for nearly four years.

So yeah, in my opinion he got ten steps into a front line trench where the British and especially the French were just causally walking on bodies, he vomited so hard New York felt California rattling around in there and said fuck it. My boy was either off to cleaner pastures like Belleau Wood or the air corps. It was too much too soon and he just couldn't keep it together in those conditions. They knew what bacteria were by WW1 and he was a burgeoning world power. So he probably only went full himbo with dysentery twice in France so it wasn't as bad as his civil war flop era but oof. That smell, the screams, pressing himself into soil that is not his own yet again is too recent and too vulnerable. He can't do it again so soon.

[kirksfangrl]

kirk hammett x reader

warnings: rough sex, age gap (9 year difference, reader: 20 kirk: 29) arguing and angst.

please feel free to send request of any sorts, not new to writing but restarted.

era 1991…

Forgive ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀ

Kirk has to go to the studio today to record his parts with the band for the new song “Wherever I May Roam”. he was up all night stressed going over his solo not sure if it sounded right. He began to prance around the room in frustration hoping that the band wouldn’t be disappointed.

5 AM…

the sounds of his feet sweeping across the floor had a woken me up out of my sleep. i turn to my side and see a tall figure walking back and forth tracing the room while his hands rest on his chin as he thinks in distress. “hey kirky, are you okay?” i let out softly as he turns to me in shock. “not right now please y/n.” as he said ragingly. “im sorry if I’m bothering I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.” i said sickly. “just leave me alone. I can figure things out on my own.” as he left the room in complete disrespect.

as the time passes a hour later i rush out the room and head downstairs to check on him but there was no sign of him anywhere. “kirky?” i shouted in confusion. i were helpless trying to figure out where he would have went so i could come to terms with him about this morning.. but i have had just remembered that he had to record his parts at the studio today, so all the nerves calmly washed over me in relief as i headed back upstairs to lie down for a bit more waiting for a call..

10 AM…

i have woken up and checked my phone and all of my messages but still no signs of Kirk. i made my way downstairs to the kitchen to make something quickly as i hunger. craving him every way, missing him, thinking of him and wanting his touch. i began to let out a couple of tears. wishing he hadn’t talked to me that way this morning, really not meaning to make him upset. i then pick up my phone dialing his number hoping for an answer. a joyful answer. but nothing…

12 PM…

as the time began to pass, i heard footsteps leaning closer to the door and keys rattling trying to open the door. i get up from the couch, shutting the TV off and standing at the front door looking up with my pretty brown doe eyes waiting for his approach. Kirk opens the door with a neutral look on his face, but completely walks past me and heads up the stairs. “well that was just weird..” i sigh in sadness. as he makes it completely upstairs and into the room, he slams the door in anger. he slammed the door extremely hard to the point where i flinched, but i weren’t having that. i follow in his footsteps up the stairs and i knock on the door expecting an immediate answer. Kirk then opens the door and stares at my figure. “Kirk what the fuck is your issue today?” i asked in discomfort. “Nothing is the fucking issue. I’m just tired” he says aggressively but softly. “is it me did I do something wrong?” i said in concern. “no, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just-“ he was cut off by my attitude. “it’s just what huh? like it’s every day with you almost. I don’t even wanna hear the same fucking stories. I can literally tell that you’re not happy with me” i spit out aggressively. “you really think I’m not happy with you?” he said sadly.

“no.” while walking away.

i felt a strong grip onto my arm, pulling me in to the room. “kirk, let me fucking go. what is wrong with you?” i let out in frustration. “what the fuck do you mean? i’m not happy with you. you’re not gonna walk away from me without explaining that.” he implied. i snatch my arm out of his grip. “i’m not gonna fucking tell you what you know.” i say under my breath. he takes both of my loose hands and pins it against the wall. “what did you say huh? i didn’t quite catch that, little brat. why don’t you repeat yourself” as he chuckled. i felt a wave of chills and fright of how aggressive he was, but i loved it, i loved every bit of that. “Hm so we’re not gonna repeat what was said? guess i’m gonna have to make you tell me.” As he lifts me off my feet and tosses me into bed. “you wanna be a little slut hm? then i’ll treat you like one.” he said firmly while pressing his fingers into my hips pinning my body underneath his. “i fucking said you know what you know.” i yelled. “there’s what i wanted to hear slut. maybe you should have let me finish telling you how i’ve felt before cutting me off with ur attitude.” he degraded.

he presses his palm over my heated clothed pussy teasing every bit of that area making tears rush out of my eyes. “look how pretty my princess looks. tears rushing out of her eyes wanting more of my touch hm? what happened to that little brat energy i had to deal with minutes ago.” he exclaimed, gently pressing against my clothed clit as i thrust my hips into his hands wanting a firmer touch, he pulls away. “no no, this little slut can’t have her way from how she acted out there” he smirked while i let out needy cries begging him through my own body language. “please baby.. please i’m sorry. i need you so much. i miss this” i gasped. he looks into my brown dilated teary doe eyes laughing. “so now your sorry. how cute are you princess.” as he presses his palm against my clothed pussy harder making my eyes fill more and more. “look at you, you’ve become so helpless for daddy.” he says as he rips my light pink thong off of me revealing my swollen clit and my dripping wet throbbing core. “what do you want me to do princess.” he questions. i am at a lost of words gesturing him to put his mouth over my throb for relief. “use your words princess, i know your better than that.” he smirks “baby please.. put ur mouth over it.” i said shakily. he begins to attack my clit and starts to suck and lick, comboing both making my body tremble, hearing my pretty moans and screams.

i didn’t know how to react but just take this feeling that i haven’t had in so long, gripping my fingers into his long luscious curly hairs while he locks my legs around his arms as i squirm and look toward him while he manages to make eye contact with my teary eyes, so hazily. i’m in love with how he knows what to do to make me feel good everytime, i’m in love with him. “fuck baby… that’s so good keep going please i’m getting so close” my grip gets harder on the sheets and his hair as he gets me closer and closer almost ready to explode in euphoria. “baby i’m gonna cu-“ i cry out. “not quite yet, princess” as he rips his thick lips away from my needy parts. “holy shit what was that for” as i throw a fit. “hey.. you remember how you’ve been acting hm? ima need you to start begging if you want that release” he mischievously laughs. “fuck.. baby please i wanna feel good ill do anything. please” i cry. and without seconds going by he quickly slams his wet mouth over my needy bud licking into oblivion. “cum. princess. cum all over my tongue” i felt that knot tighten in my tummy “fuckkk!” i yelled. as i release every fluid while my clit throbs onto his tongue. “good girl” while he kisses my clit in reward. “but we aren’t done right..?” i ask. “of course not princess. were just getting started” he smirked.

he hovers over my body and gets up. i stare at his print through his black jeans in excitement waiting for him to release his length into my face. he began unzipping his pants taking his boxers down slowly. my eyes fluttered looking at him while he pulls it out and strokes in the distance making me want to reach out for it and just go crazy but i had to keep my patience although since i was being a bit bad earlier.. “you ready princess?” he whispers. “yes, please baby. i’m ready..” i cower. he grabs me aggressively and pins my hands down in restraint tackling my legs open ready to destroy every bit of me. again tears fill my eyes in need.

“it’s so cute when my baby gets all teary eyed and needy.” he smiles. fuck i love it when he talks to me like this. it honestly fucks me up, i mean look at me i’m a mess. he takes his loose hand and grips it around my neck firmly. he circles my entrance with his tip ready to enter and stretches me out. “fuck kirk.. fuc-“ i curse. and before i know it he started to pound me endlessly, until my tears emptied and filled my eyes again. “like that baby? you’re doing so good for me.” i couldn’t have understood how this man had me wrapped around his finger like this. i were so crazy over him. i were his and he was mine. “i fucking love you kirk i fucking lo-“ i cried out while he was destroying my insides, i could barely force more words out of me. i was out of it, hazily staring into his eyes while he took my soul. “i love this good girl taking every single inch of this dick.” he whispered into my ear. he never understood how good he hit that spot inside of me causing me to seek my release so quickly. i couldn’t take it anymore. “kirk i can’t take it, i can’t-“ i gasped. “you got it baby. you’re taking this dick so good, just a few more and i’m gonna make you feel so warm inside” his words.. his words had me ever so closer than before.. his dirty nasty words he let out emptied me until i was numb to the core. “baby i’m gonna fucking cum” i yelled out. “cum princess. cum on this dick for daddy.” and there, I’ve released all over him but he just wasn’t finished with me yet as he was still trying to make himself feel good. i was fully overstimulated crying and moaning loudly into his mouth as he leaned into my face and kissed me sloppy. i’ve sensed that he was getting close by the way i squeezed my sticky walls over his dick “i’m gonna cum all inside you baby, cause you’re fucking mine. all mine” as he huffed and grunted. i felt warm sticky liquids shooting inside of me..

he sighed in relief in my ear as he pulls out of me and falls beside me “you did so well for me princess. so good baby, i love that so much and i love you.” he said while pulling me in for a hug and kiss. “i’m also sorry about this morning baby but i had a hard time at the studio with my parts of the song. it had nothing to do with you princess and it will never.” he smiled as i cupped his face with both of my hands “it’s okay baby i know working seems rough and stressful, but i forgive you…”

[fandomwritingbit]

I don't know about you, but tests and all that scary stuff is coming around for me next week, and all year I've been having horrible little thoughts about William lately.

So get this, lets say you actually study for that type of stuff (i know i don't) and you just can't get the information to stick in your head!

✨Magically!✨ You or Will, idrc comes up with the bright idea on how to get it to stick in your head by sitting on his dick and reading or going over whatever you've gotta remember

i might've read this somewhere butttttt, i'm a needy little whore at 1 am lets goooo

Before I forget, I love your fics and I have never submitted one before so...! As usual, drink your water, eat some food, and remember to get rest! unlike some of us Lastly, don't forget to sexualize your favorite old man/woman/other

Hi, thanks for the request, this one was an absolute joy to recieve, I love all your little asides lol. Please feel free to send others!

Exams season is a killer and I really hope you get what you want out of it, just remember that tests and numbers and shit don't define you as a person Xx

That being said, whilst this may not be the most optimal way to study, its certainly the most enjoyable...

william afton x (gn)reader

A/N- Reader's between 18 and early 20s. William is a neighbour, for my plot convenience lmao.

You're sitting at the kitchen table to do some studying today, rather than barricaded in your room as usual. You'd read something online about a change of scenery being good for remembering stuff and because your parents were out it seemed a good opportunity.

With each passing minute, you dawned to the conclusion that that post was bollocks because it wasn't working.

You had your laptop open in front of you, surrounded by a frankly obnoxious amount of papers, trying to wrap your head around content for an exam tomorrow. But each time you wrote a line it was like your mind was rubbed blank, Men in Black style. It was so frustrating, and you knew you should have done it earlier but, good god, why was it so hard to remember anything?

So engrossed in feeling inadequate, you flip the laptop shut angrily, tilting your head back so it touched the chair in anguish. Defeated. It was as you did this that you clocked a figure in the kitchen doorway, making your body jerk up-right and turn round in one fluid moment.

Keep reading

"Mr Afton, how long hav- what are you doing here?" you blurt out, quick to try and compose yourself, you weren't physically or mentally ready for guests, especially ones you'd been casually hooking up with since you moved back home.

"Just dropping this off for your dad. I didn't want to interrupt cos you seem to be... trying not to cry?" 

He laughed as he said the last part, moving over towards you and helping himself to a chair. Pushing all your papers to the side without asking. "What's wrong then, been missing me?"

Usually you'd laugh at that but you just shrug at him, half angry at his expression and half at your situation. "You know, I could fucking cry." You do manage a laugh, but its shaky, "Because I'm going to fucking fail this fucking exam because I can't drill any of this shit through my fucking thick fucking skull." You rattle off quickly, each use of 'fucking' harsher than the last.

...

You hadn't really meant to let any of that out. But frustration had taken hold a bit too strongly there.

Afton just stared at you for a few seconds, his lips pressed into a hard line and you could tell he was trying not to laugh at you. You were a bit unsure how you'd react if he did.

After a few moments of silence you place your forehead in your hands and mutter 'sorry'.

"You're alright. Though you shouldn't be studying whilst you're upset, no wonder nothings going in."

"...If you tell me to calm down, I'll lose it." you say, head still in hands, laughing a bit at how much this was bothering you, it was an exam, a booklet of paper, what kind of melt would be this upset. Literally everyone else, you suppose. You take a deep breath.

"Right. Uh when's the test?" he asks you, half looking at a sheet of notes, his interest quickly peaked.

You laugh shortly. "9am."

"Then you've got... What, 20 hours? You've got time to calm down and revise." He put his hand on your shoulder, "You, sweetheart, need to relax."

You swat his hand away, laughing at his cockiness you could tell where this was going, "That's why you came over then? Heard dad's car door shut and your shoes were half-on I'll bet?"

He flashed you a smarmy grin, "You're not far wrong." You shake your head, messing about with this prick was the last thing you should be doing, but the first thing you needed.

"You know, if this type of revision isn't working for you... I heard that associating information with a sense can help you remember things."

You could hardly believe him, seeing you upset and still vying for what he came for. A risky move, Really. You suppose it took cojones, could have made you want to grab a hold of his, or squash them under your shoe.

"Oh yeah?" you ask sarcastically, "What are you suggesting?"

~

You're not sure how long it took for fresh marks to appear on your neck and your pants to be around your ankles, but you quickly find yourself sitting on his lap and letting his cock slip inside you.

As familiar as the low grunt from behind your ear was becoming, the feeling of him stretching you open always surprised you.

You raise your hips up and press back down again, moaning slightly, he let you slowly ride him for a few moments before, just as your rhythm increased, he grabbed your hips.

"Easy," his voice was thick, brushing against your neck, "You're supposed to be fucking studying."

You groan your protest, a hair away from booing him. "What is it you study again?" His question makes you laugh and you lean back against him with your back arching, causing him to grunt. He gripped your hips harder now forcing you still.

"Fuck 's sake. History."

He hummed in your ear, thinking for a minute, whilst your body throbbed around him desperate for some kind of stimulation. "And what's this on?" He could tell you were aching for something so he pushed you forwards, dragging you back, the angle allowing him to press so fucking deep.

"Come on, sweetheart."

"Civil war. Spanish."

Your gruff answer mirrored his growing frustrations.

"And uh... I don't- who won that?" The fact he couldn't move inside your tight hole was making him white-knuckled with restraint.

"-Nationalists."

With your one word answer that was enough studying for the both of you. He started to move your hips along him, letting your eager pace take over.

You knew that you were going to be up all night doing this now, but you didn't really mind.

[dinogoofy]

FIRST FIC OF HALLOWEEN LETS GOOOO

TW: Spectrophilia. Fingering. Rude Bi-han. Cold hands. MDNI!!!

No pronouns are mentioned, but reader is written as AFAB.

Bi-han X reader: Haunted House

Prompt: You moved into an old house last year, and strange things have been happening every time you bring a new date home. Doors opening, dishes rattling. Thing is- they only seem to happen around your dates. After the last guy breaks three of his fingers due to a cabinet slamming shut on him, you contact a friend that sends over her cooky spiritual aunt. She does some weird shit with some animal bones, and your house gets struck by lightning. Somehow, this must have charged the energies in the house, because now you can actually see the poltergeist. Turns out, he's in love with you, and has been jealous of all the living men who You've brought home.

   A lightning strike directly on your house sounds like a fucking bomb. For a minute, you had sworn that World War 3 had started and you were unfortunate enough to be the first to die. You had flinched away from the cooky older woman and into the floor. The candles that she had set up on your coffee table had gone out, leaving the room pitch black. If you weren’t still panicking, you’d be worried about your appliances and how long the electrical company would take to get your power up and running. Your ears are ringing so loud you can hardly hear the woman as she giggles and says something. You can’t even look at her, curled up on the floor desperately taking deep breaths to cool down. You hear a deep voice, a man’s voice, and it causes you to jump and look around frantically. Only you and Aunt Tessa were supposed to be in the house, so what was that?!

   “You’re certainly easily startled, aren't you!” The Aunt Tessa again. You glance at her, placing a hand over your racing heart. 

   “What was that?” You ask. She smiles in a weird way, and begins to pick up the strange little setup of bones and candles and herbs she sat laid out across your coffee table. 

   “Well, my niece might have lied to you a - teensy little bit! I- as a simple, homely witch, can’t actually dispel spirits!” You make a face of disbelief at her, and she giggles again. She leans down to help you up, and your hands are still shaking from the -literal- shock of having your house struck by lightning. You really needed to check the wiring or call someone to come make sure you’re house wasn’t going to go up in flames any minute, but right now you really just wanted to feel like you could breathe again. 

   “What I did do, however, is charge the energies of the house.” She declares excitedly. You Bring your hands up to your head, massaging your temples out of stress.

   “You what?!” You cry. She nods her head happily.

   “I figured this guy really needed to fix his little problem, so you know, might as well give him the power to do so!” She’s already collected her things, and even as you desperately ask her what she means by that, all she does is nod and smile contentedly as she walks out the door and shuts it behind her. You’re left reeling as she leaves the house in the pouring rain, but when you run to open the door and catch her, she’s already gone. There’s no trace of her anywhere. There's a cold prickly feeling that leaves goosebumps up your arm, one that you know for a fact you have felt before, off and on, but only ever when you had dates over. 

   “Crazy old hag.” At first, the words don’t quite register in your head. And then you wonder if you had said it without realizing it, but a cold feeling washes over you when you realize that the words were certainly too deep in tone to come from you. You slowly turn around and are met with the chest of a man no less than two feet away from you. You look up and are met with hardened honey-brown eyes. His eyebrows furrow after a moment of eye contact.

   “What’s wrong with you now?” He grumbles, clearly talking to himself. It didn’t seem to occur to him just yet that you could see him. You take a step back in disbelief before you remember to breathe again. You take a step back and hit the door, before bolting around him for your phone.

   “What. The actual. Fuck!” You’re exasperated, desperately fumbling with your phone to try and call your best friend.

   “You can see me?” The Man asks, but it sounds more like a statement. He’s close behind you when you turn around to pace, and you flinch.

   “No! No, I can’t. I can’t see you, I can't hear you, and I’m definitely not talking to you right now!” You can hear a small huff of amusement from him as you run into your room and close the door. The phone rings a few times before your friend picks up.

   “You need you call your Aunt back over here right now!” You demand before she can even get a word in. 

   “Why? What happened? Is everything okay?”

   “No!” You cry, beginning to ramble. “First she got the house struck by lightning, and then she was just talking absolute nonsense before she left about some guy and him needing to work out his problems and whatever, and then she left- and I can- I can see the freaking ghost now, dude!” You start off loud and fast, and by the time you get the last few words you’ve started to whisper-scream at the phone.

   “Hold on- you’re saying the ghost is a dude? Is he hot?” You are completely dumbfounded. What the hell man, you're having a crisis here!

    “I just need her to tell me when this guy is going to go away!” You whisper-shout at her. She humms on the other side of the phone. You’re still pacing around your room.

   “I can hear you.” A deep voice rumbles next to your ear, as you turn again, and he’s right in front of you. You hadn’t seen the ghost coming (probably because he's a ghost. A literal fucking ghost) and you scream in fright due to the surprise, before groaning in aggravation and running into the bathroom, slamming the door beyond you.

   “Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?!” You yell. You can hear him scoff, and that weird chilly feeling goes away, so you assume that he’s gone to another part of the house.

   “Wow, was that him? His voice is hot.” 

   “That doesn't matter!” You screech into the phone. Your friend is laughing at you now, and if you weren’t still losing your mind you probably would be laughing too. You take a second to collect yourself, taking a few deep breaths to calm down.

   “Okay, Look, I’m trying not to lose my shit here. I thought she was going to handle the ghost problem, but now I have a walking-talking roommate who can walk through walls and just disappear whenever he wants. How do I deal with that?” You ask frantically. Your friend hums over the phone, and knowing her, you’re positive she is going to come up with some optimistic answer that doesn’t include an eviction letter for the poltergeist in your home.

   “Aunt Tessa is tricky to get ahold of, so if she thinks she’s done what she needs to do, I doubt either of us will be able to get in contact with her.” She says, almost in a guilty tone.

   “Sooo, You’re stuck with him for right now, probably? Until he finishes whatever unfinished business he had in the living world, anyway. The point is, why not get used to him at least? Talk to him, maybe find out why he’s still in the land of the living or whatever. It wouldn’t hurt.” Your friend says over the phone. You sigh, knowing that she’s right. 

   “Fine, I guess. But if this goes wrong and he makes my life more of a living hell than it was before, I’m blaming you.” You grumble, she laughs at you, letting you know that she wouldn’t blame you if you did, and hangs up the phone. You lean on the bathroom counter with a sigh, and after a moment of dread and stubbornness, you decide to try and talk to the ghost.

   You march back into your room, and after being a little thankful he wasn’t just waiting for you outside your door, you walk into the hallway. You end up walking through the house looking for him until you find Casper the grumpy ghost in the kitchen, watching the rain through the windows. 

   You lean on the kitchen island behind him with folded arms, waiting for him to speak up. When he doesn’t even spare you a glance, you realize he’s ignoring you, so you speak up to break the silence.

   “Do you have a name or what?” You ask bluntly. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, keeping his eyes ahead of him.

   “It’s Bi-han.” He states. It’s a curt response, and it almost annoys you. After all that ruckus in the house, slamming doors and drawers and breaking the fingers of a date you really liked, this is how he acts? Quiet, grumpy, and not at all the hothead you imagined?

   "Do you already know my name?" You ask. Bi-han rolls his eyes, but nods. You eye him suspiciously. It's quiet for a moment, but all of the previous ghostly activity in the house is really bothering you, and you end up asking him more questions with more attitude than you usually give off.

   “So it’s been you with the cabinets and doors and stuff, right?” He hums gruffly in response, more interested in looking outside at the rain than listening to you. That's seriously all he has to say?!

   “Could you at least tell me why?” You snap at him. His face scrunches up into a snarl as he looks out the window.

   “Do I need to?” The nerve of this man!

   “Yes! Yes. You need to.” He rolls his eyes and turns around to face you. You’re reminded of just how tall he is, and you try not to let his attractiveness affect your very valid anger. 

   “If you want to know so bad…” He says, stepping towards you. “Every man you bring home is incompetent.” He’s almost uncomfortably close, and you start to take a step back before you realize you’re trapped against the counter. Still, you try to keep a brave face as he closes in on your personal space. He keeps eye contact with you the entire time he approaches.

   “They’re ridiculous and incapable of caring for a woman. Every one of them” His low rumble reverberates through your chest somehow and you realise that the icy, prickly feeling from before has increased tenfold.

   “Why should I let you waste your time?” He says. Your breath catches in your throat as he lifts your chin in his hand. His eyes only ever break eye contact to look at your lips, and before you know it, he’s leaned in to kiss you. His lips feel strange, not quite physical even though you can feel every part of him just like you would a living man. His kiss is hard and demanding, and you’re not sure what to do. In the end, you decide, fuck it! You may be pissed with this guy, but you haven't slept with anyone since you moved into this house. And despite being a phantom, Bi-han was really, really attractive. He makes a deep hum when you start to kiss him back. You set your hands on his ghostly chest, and his hand releases your chin to circle around your waist. He bites your lip lightly, causing you to gasp. He leans back just barely, and you can hear him huff in amusement. You open your eyes to see his smirk, and hold back a scowl.

   “What?” You ask. He presses a teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth, before trailing kisses down your neck. It’s like he knows all of your sensitive spots by heart, nipping and sucking to leave impossible bruises on your neck. One of his hands threads through your scalp and tugs, keeping your neck exposed to him. You can’t help but let out a little whine.

   “I knew you’d be easy, but I wasn’t expecting you to be quite this eager.” He rumbles. You scoff and then gasp as he nips at the hollow of your throat.

   “Excuse me?!” You breathe. He chuckles darkly before you feel a hand slip down your front, down, down, and then back up, under your shirt. You inhale sharply at the feeling of his cold hand as he caresses your breasts through your bra.

   He takes the moment to kiss you again, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You can’t help but let out an involuntary noise as he drags his ice-cold hand under your bra, flicking your nipples in a tease before removing his hands again. You huff in annoyance, and he tips your head back again as he tongues you. His tongue is cold, just like the rest of him, but it wasn’t unpleasant at all. You almost enjoyed the feeling of the cold appendage roving across your warm and living tongue and teeth.

   His free hand trails down your body and into the waistband of your pants. He presses your sweet spot over your underwear before slipping inside of the spandex. You inhale a sharp breath as he gives you a short moment to breathe before kissing you breathlessly all over again. His cold fingertips flick your clit and you let out a squeak. He chuckles before his fingers slip downward to circle your slit. He teases your entrance for a minute, collecting the wetness that had already started to accumulate. You feel him smirk into the kiss, before he plunges a finger into you. You moan, muffled by his lips. 

   He releases you from the kiss as he starts to finger you eagerly, sucking and marking down your jaw and throat. You try in vain to keep your noises down, but it’s a struggle with how expertly Bi-han is touching your body. He slips in a second cold finger, scissoring your insides, and you feel the knot in your lower regions start to tighten. He can feel you clench as you get closer and closer to cumming. You’re moaning and whining louder now, only able to care about the pleasure Bi-han is giving you. You’re so close, right there, and then… He pulls his fingers away, stepping away from you and leaving you hanging.

   “I… What?” You mumble, brain completely gone.

   “You didn’t really think you were going to get fucked tonight, did you?” He says gruffly. 

   “I had to watch you bring man after man home, watching them touch you when I knew I could make you feel better than they ever could…” He leans forward, whispering in your ear in a sexy, low voice.

   “You think you can get away with taunting me like that? Please. If you want me to fuck you, You’re going to beg me for it.” Bi-han doesn’t even lean back, he simply disappears in front of you. The cold prickle on your skin remains for a second, dragging from your jaw to your chin before disappearing similarly. All you can do is stand there, leaning against the kitchen counter feeling like your legs are about to give out. You learned three things today: One, your ghost most definitely was scaring your dates away on purpose. Two, He’s hot. Like really hot. Even his voice is hot, and you're kinda annoyed that you’re agreeing with your friend when you really wished you could say it wasn't doing things for you. Three, Jesus Christ, You really wanted to fuck your ghost. Wonder how long you needed to beg him to take you, and if you can manage to get him to do so sooner rather than later.

[bestworstcase]

Can you elaborate on what Salem meant with the "[...]when we could replace [these humans] with what they could never be?" bit of your recent post comparing her with Ruby? Because I feel like you either didn't address that or the point sort of flew over my head. Like, what else does she mean by replacing them?

my reading of the line is “why spend our lives trying to redeem these humans [before the gods] when we could replace [the gods]”—ie her proposed alternative to fulfilling the divine mandate is rebellion.

this is something i’ve talked about a lot before (<- if you poke around in my archive you’ll find it pretty easily) but in the essentials my argumentation for this reading is:

first, that “replace the gods” has much stronger congruence with salem’s characterization than does “replace humans.” she founded her rebellion upon the idea of humankind usurping their “old masters” in order to “perfect their own design” and told ozma very directly that they could supplant the brothers. this has been her driving ambition for quite literally millions of years!

in contrast, even now, salem thinks of humanity as “strong, brave, and resourceful,” recounts the discovery of dust as proof of human “passion, resourcefulness, and ingenuity,” calls the capacity for hope humanity’s greatest strength, etc. and she also doesn’t seem to value ancient magic, particularly: she spends V4-5 coaching cinder to “remember that [magic] comes with a cost,” she used dust rather than her own magic to make monstra fly, she leverages her power over the grimm expansively but we can count the number of times she’s used ancient-human-magic on one hand.

the first time ozma came back, he found her living alone in a rotting hovel with a fairly well-maintained path leading right to her doorstep. he heard frightened whispers about a witch who “commanded dark powers” and lived in the wilds, but this was also an era when faunus were hunted down and kept in cages—that’s important context to hold in mind when we evaluate where those stories about salem came from. everything we see in the lost fable suggests that salem just kind of… existed on the outermost fringes of civilization and mostly wanted to be left alone.

so, for salem to express a sudden interest in… what, genocide? some kind of fucked up breeding program using the one of their four daughters who ended up with magic neither salem nor ozma expected her to inherit at all? strikes me as startlingly out of character.

second, that grammatically the line does make sense to read as salem stumbling over her words. the verb ‘redeem’ implies a subject to whom the verb’s object is redeemed. in order for redemption to occur, there needs to be a debt owed to somebody; in this case the creditor is the gods. ozma’s mandate is to redeem humanity on behalf of the gods. reading salem’s meaning as “replace the gods” requires only that she have the implied antecedent of “redeem […] before the gods” in mind. (in much the same way that ruby clearly had jaune’s usage of the phrase “make-believe” in mind when she spat that in his face!) given her long-standing, passionate hatred of the brother gods, i find this much more plausible than not.

and third, salem is profoundly upset in this scene. she’s rattled from the second ozma says “this isn’t what she asked of me.” and while he reveals everything he’s been keeping from her—reveals that the cause she supported on his behalf for years was all secretly in service to the gods who cursed her to eternal suffering and annihilated humanity out of spite—she curls in on herself (arms tightly folded, face tense, leaning back into the desk) but hangs on his every word. she’s upset! she’s pressing it down as hard as she can, but it’s clear that this hits her hard—so it makes sense emotionally that she’s not able to articulate herself with perfect clarity in the moment. and then of course ozma just walks out without asking for clarification or giving her a chance to explain herself, so if she did misspeak it’s not as if she has the opportunity to elaborate.

and then ozma either took her literal words at face value or (i think more likely) heard what she really meant and, forced to choose between staying with her and remaining true to his mandate, chose the mandate.

[clatoera]

Always Remember We’re Burned for Better Chapter 5: It’s Been a Long Time Coming

Hey y’all! I am so sorry for the delayed update. I started a new speciality this week and it’s literally my dream. I’ve been pulling fifteen hour days, and simply have not had the time to give this the editing and writing it deserved until the last day or so. I think updates will be shifting to Thursdays until May, as that will be my most free day this month! The goal is still weekly, just..later in the week. I so appreciate your patience, I appreciate the besties, and I appreciate you all.

AO3

Masterpost 

Title from: Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince (Taylor Swift)

This chapter does allude to the things the victors experience, but neither Cato nor Clove experience them (and they won’t, promise). 

Twelve.

“At least we get the worst one out of the way first.” Clove mumbled as she unceremoniously flops onto the couch in the center of the traincar. “Why do we even come to twelve anyway, do they even count? I don’t think that guy has been sober since…he won fifty... Okay, so twenty three years.” She kicks off the silver heels, which then hit the floor with a satisfying clunk. Following the heels are heavy gold bracelets, rattling as the chain hits the hardwood. She kicks her feet out below the hem of the silver lamé fabric, rolling her feet from her ankles to her toes, listening to the mild crunch as the bones in her foot stretched and realigned after an evening in heeled shoes. She doesn’t have the energy to change out of her evening outfit yet- a very simple floor length dress, starting in gold at one shoulder and fading all the way to silver by her toes. The closest to silver or gold the people of twelve would ever see, Brutus had mumbled when she walked out in it before dinner that evening.

“It’s tradition, Clove.” Enobaria reminds her, curling her feet under her on the adjacent recliner, hands wrapped delicately around the glass coffee cup. “Besides, the tour is as close to a winner the majority of them will ever see. Consider it your charity work.” As the train begins to pull out of twelve and on towards the next district for tomorrow’s appearance, Enobaria relaxes back into her seat, closing her eyes in contentment.  This was her third victory tour in ten years, not bad statistics in terms of D2 wins. It was almost more than any other district, at the very least. However this one felt significantly sweeter a win than even last year. She had trained this girl since childhood to become the very victor she is today and maybe over time, Enobaria may have developed a soft spot or two for the kid.

Now speaking of last years tour-

“Did we leave your other appendage back at twelve? It’s too peaceful here.” Enobaria cranes her neck to look around, before looking up the length of Clove’s body that lays on the couch. “I don’t feel like I need to unlatch him from your neck like a little leech, clearly he isn’t on this train if he isn’t on top of you or inside of you.”

“He’s under me sometimes.” Clove rolls both her eyes and onto her side, using her hands as a pillow under her head. “I think Brutus put him to bed..” She nearly smirks, raising her eyebrows at her mentor turned friend. Turned aunt or sister, really, but she won’t address that right now. “Because somebody let him start drinking at breakfast. Whatever the fuck that was in the orange juice. Consider yourself lucky we even made it off of the train, you know how he gets..” Clove gives a little grin for herself, before glancing down at the glass in Enobaria’s hands. “Speaking of. Is that-”

“I have to deal with you two, Clove, I’m allowed to take the edge off. Enobaria watches as district twelve fades into the distance beyond the train, the darkness of night slipping over the interior of the cabin. “Why, you want some?” She flashes her a wicked grin, handing her mug out to the young adult woman. “Think you can handle it today?”

“Give me a break, it was my first time.” Clove scowls at her, remembering the night in Victor's Village not long ago when Enobaria and Brutus told her they had to start breaking her into the lifestyle of victors before the endless parties on tour. Noone had accounted for– or maybe they did and let her make her own mistakes– of the fact that physically Clove was small. She woke up in her own bed with a hangover and distaste for even the smell of vodka. Regardless, she holds her hands out to take the glass. The smell hits her first before she can even bring it to her lips. “God what is this?”

“Tea… with bourbon. And I know it was your first time. But, you need to figure out how to handle it within the next 12 days. I’m not dragging your stumbling ass through the party at the President’s mansion, and we aren’t letting Cato carry you home this time, either. We have reputations to uphold, and the newest little district two victor being unable to handle her liquor is not part of that.”

“It was not my fault-” Clove gingerly takes the tiniest sip of the warm liquid, and despite all her pretenses her face curls up in a distorted frown. Her nose scrunches as she shakes her head rapidly back and forth. “Nope, still disgusting, fuck-”

“Need something sweet and fruity? We could get some strawberries and lemonade…”

Clove pinches the bridge of her nose together before tilting her head back, intentionally downing the tea with no regard for the taste or warmth. She finishes the glass quickly, but has to suppress the natural inclination to cough at the taste. “I’m fine, see?”

“Aww see, that's my girl.” Enobaria pinches her cheek before she settles back on her seat, an amused smile on her face as she watches Clove try to recover. “Now you can’t just do that at the party, you know that right?”

“I’ll manage.” Clove chokes out, nose still scrunched in distaste.

They fall into a silence with the ease of many years spent together. Enobaria leans forward to grab the little remote off of the glass coffee table in the middle of the couches. She starts the electric fireplace, filling the now dark room with a warm and cozy glow accompanied by the sound of crackling wood. She notices the thick layer of snow dangling from tree limbs like icing on a cake, and thinks back to Clove in her games not long ago. The way the blood she spilled stained the snow like watercolors of a child’s play paint set. Violence was always Clove’s art, and blood was always her medium. She remembers it all too well, the day Sevina Kentwell took her home with her after training to meet this kid.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Enobaria asked, raising to the tip of her toes and back to her heels repeatedly, the nervous habit being one the trainers had not yet beat out of her yet. She was only twelve, she had years before going into the games, she had time to grow out of childish quirks. “I’ve never really interacted with a little kid like this before…”

“Yeah of course! She’ll like you.” The woman– girl, really, eighteen but still all the hope of a child– fiddles with the lock on the door. Sevina was one of the only students permitted to live outside of the academy, with special permission due to special circumstances. “It’ll make me feel better knowing she’s got someone to distract her during the games.”

Enobaria had looked up to Sevina Kentwell since she entered the academy last year, the girl was graceful, she was fast, and she was incredibly skilled in throwing a knife. She never missed. Unlike most of the older girls though, who were nothing but short of vicious to the younger kids (the hazing all but expected and even encouraged in the academy), Sevina was uncharacteristically kind. Not to the other trainees her age no, in fact Enobaria had watched her land a knife in the arm of an eighteen year old boy twice her size just last week, effectively ending his chance at ever volunteering by severing the tendons in his wrist with a single flick of her own.  He had made some comment or another about her chance at winning or something, and Sevina had stopped tolerating the snide remarks and comments from her peers years ago.

To Enobaria, and some of the other younger girls,  though, she was kind. She had the patience to put her hands on top of theirs and guide them in cleaning up a  technique, a gentle ease in her voice when someone was berated by trainers, and genuinely showed excitement for them when they succeeded at something.

She had the lethal, brilliant edge of a career, but a warmth towards the young girls unlike anyone else. There was some concern how she’d handle younger competitors in her games this year, but she was absolutely sure she’d be able to handle it. She had more reason to come home than she did to show mercy to anyone else.There was a buzz of excitement amongst the girls in the academy around her games next month, as she was already committed to coming back full time as a trainer after her tour.

That is exactly why Enobaria was standing on her doorstep, now. They had a deal. Enobaria would receive extra training time with her, essentially a one on one mentorship after the games, if Enobaria spent time with her daughter while she was gone.

“Mom, we’re home.” Sevina calls out as she pulls Enobaria into the foyer, quietly shutting the door behind them. Enobaria took in the way the initial living area in the house somehow looked untouched by the toddler Sevina claimed to have somewhere. They were met by a woman, clearly under 40, who came from the door adjoining the kitchen. She had a dish towel in her hands, and wiped something that had to be flour off of her arms into them.

It was striking, exactly how much both Sevina and her mother looked nearly identical to each other.

“Hey, baby.” The older woman greeted with a kind smile, one that crinkled to her eyes. “I have that bread you really like rising right now.” She directs her attention towards the preteen with her daughter, giving her a polite smile. “Welcome.”

“Mama, this is Enobaria, she’s going to come spend time with Clove for me while I'm in the games. It can give you some time to work…and go celebrate me, your victor daughter with your friends! Enobaria, this is my mom, her name’s Anise.” She grabs Enobaria by the hand and leads her towards the stairs. “Is she awake?”

“Your child doesn’t sleep when you aren’t here, Sevina, of course she’s awake. I put her down to sleep ten minutes ago, and I can still hear her.” There’s a heavy sigh and Enobaria can recognize something akin to resentment in her voice, but Sevina’s smile doesn’t falter even for a second as she starts to pull the young girl up the stairs with her.

“Don’t be dramatic, she’s just excited for me to come home.” She called back down to her mother, before reaching the room immediately at the top of the stairs. “She isn’t usually so pleasant. She’s starting to think I'm going to die or something, so she’s being extra nice.” Sevina explains before pushing into the bedroom.

It’s simple. A full bed, a couple of night stands, a closet, and a dresser. On top of any surface is a littering of stuffed animals and childrens books. It was clear, this is where they spent most time together. There's a lack of the militant structure and conformity of the academy dorms, with a slightly unmade bed and stray socks on the carpet. The biggest change, of course, is the little crib in the corner of the room, and the dark haired toddler peeking over the edge.

If Enobaria thought that Sevina looked like her mother, they could have been cousins compared to the way that little dark haired baby resembled the eighteen year old she admired.

“Hi baby! Did you miss me!” Her voice is higher than Enobaria’s ever heard as she scoops the toddler onto her hip, immediately placing a kiss on both of her cheeks and the tip of her little nose.

The little girl squeals when she’s lifted into her mother’s arms, immediately laying her head onto her shoulder. Their dark hair blends together in a mess of baby curls and Sevina’s long post-training waves, and the freckled skin of the baby’s cheek could be a continuation of the freckled covered shoulder of her mother. Even down to the eyes, this child is truly a fluid continuation of her mother.

“Hi, Mama.” Clove mumbles into her mother’s skin, a shy smile on her face before she turns and looks away from Enobaria, who is staring the girl down with curiosity. She’d never been around a toddler, let alone one who was the key to her future training.

“Enobaria, this is Clove. Clove, baby can you say hi? She’s going to be your friend while I'm gone for a few days.” She smiles and tries to raise her toddler’s hand to wave, but Clove just clings tighter to the straps of her mom’s training top. “She’s just really clingy to me, and kind of shy. She also falls asleep every day when I get home, so she’s a little tired too.”

“She looks just like you.” Enobaria says, awe in her voice. She looks like her parents, sure, but this is wild to her. “Literally just like you.”

“Thank you. I think she’s pretty cute, so I'll take it as a compliment. Sevina smiles, shifting Clove so that she is wrapped around the front of her, head on her chest. She is not asleep, but she is so content just to rest there in her arms after a long day of being apart.  “Me..her…my mom. We all really look alike. Good thing too. Because all we have is each other.”

“She’s three?”

“Almost, she’ll be three next month. During the games, actually. I feel terrible. I'll miss her birthday but, I’ll have to make it up to her next year. And by next year I'll be a victor, and I'll be able to give her anything she could want.”

“Is she going to be okay without you here.. If she’s so clingy…” Enobaria sits beside her on the bed, and cocks her head to get a better look at the girl. She was tiny, not like Sevina was very big, probably five foot four, but this kid was itty bitty. She can’t imagine a world where a girl so small would be okay without her mother.

“She’ll be kind of grumpy for a few days, I'm sure.” Sevina shrugged, rubbing circles on her little back. “But she’ll be okay, I'll be home for her. She’ll understand one day that having a victor for a mother is better than whatever else happens to a teenage mom after she ages out of training. Besides, that's why you’re here. You’re going to make sure she has someone to play with, and keep her company, and remind her that I love her and that I will be home to her soon. She’s got my mom, but she’ll need someone else, too. That’s where you come in. I like you, you’ve got crazy good potential. I’m going to be your mentor one day. ”

She doesn’t say it, but there’s something unspoken in Sevina’s words, too. Something shining in her eyes that neither wants to broach or risk speaking into the universe.

“So I am trusting you with the most important thing in the world to me.” She looks over at Enobaria with a smile on her face. “Do you want to hold her?”

“Enobaria?” Clove half whispers, breaking the peaceful silence between them. She blinks wide eyes at Enobaria, curling up on her side in a way that is so reminiscent of her little form as a toddler that the mentor nearly didn’t believe it. “Can I ask you something?”

A snarky response is on her lips until the moment she can practically see that younger version of Clove laying there, in a little dress that was purple and not silver, a tiny, sweet voice asking where her mother is and when she will come home again. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

“Do you think my mom would have brought me on her tour?”

“I do. They would have made her, you would have been a little favorite of the capitol. You never would have become a victor yourself, probably. You wouldn't have ended up in the academy.,,they would have treated you like a child star.” For the worse or for the better, is up in the air.

There’s also the likelihood she would have ended up in the games anyway, the chance of a child of a victor being reaped is always somehow higher than the average. The odds were not in their favor in all ways.  “She would have chosen to bring you, though. She wouldn’t have wanted to be away from you after that. When I went on mine, I even thought about bringing you with me, because it’s what she would’ve wanted. She had promised to be my mentor, you know?”

“Hey, Clove, it is okay. I’m coming back so soon, I absolutely promise.” The sixteen year old knelt to the child’s height, rubbing her hands over her shoulders gently. “When have I ever broken a promise to you?”

“My mom didn’t come back.” The six-- nearly seven– year old reminds her, a stony expression out of place on the face of such a young child. “My mom would have promised, too. Didn’t YOU promise my mom you’d watch me?” She may not be an emotional child– not that she was allowed, in the house of her grandmother– but Clove threw her arms around Enobaria’s neck without warning.

“Hey. I’m going to come back and I am going to train you, just like she was going to do for me, okay Kid?” Enobaira leaned her head back, holding Clove’s little face in her hands. She said nothing about it as her tears wiped away the tears starting to fall from those little green eyes. “You’re allowed to be scared, Clove. But I swear, I will be back. And when I do, you can come to my house all the time, and we’ll celebrate your birthday and-”

“And you’ll start to train me, too, right?” Clove reminds, firmly rooted in her decision, that she wanted to be just like her mother, except she wanted to win. She had started saying it a few years ago, and every single time she watched those damn tapes she was more and more sure. “That was what you said. You would start after you won.”

“Yes, Clove. I’ll start training you when I get back.” Enobaria sighs deeply, but agrees regardless. She had made that stipulation, knowing that by the time she won Clove would be nearly old enough to begin training if that's what she really still insisted upon.

“I want knives for my birthday. With my name on them.” Clove decides, bouncing onto her toes before hugging Enobaria once again. “I don’t want you to die because of me, like mama did.”

“Your mother did not die because of you, you know that. And I'm coming home, Clove. Just in a few weeks.” Enobaria tucks the girl under her chin for one last hug, letting her go as soon as the door swings open.

“Don’t die, okay?”

“Never, kid.”

Clove is silent, but nods, before she turns back onto her back. Enobaria and Brutus had suspected that this tour would bring up more memories and emotions in Clove than she would let on. She has forever lived with the “what-ifs” of being the child of an almost victor, the “what-ifs” of if her mother had come home to her. Now, as she is paraded between districts, it’s all in her face as a reminder of what her mother didn’t get to see.

Clove swallows hard, sitting up to stop this heavy feeling threatening the front of her eyes, the buildup of something she isn’t going to let release.

“I…think I should go to bed now..” She decides quickly, pushing herself to her feet, turning quickly on her heels. “Good night, Enobaria, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“ g’night Clove.”

Eight.

“Cato get out,” Her voice doesn’t even feel like her own when she is pushing his shoulder towards the door of the bedroom. She feels a wavering in her throat, a tension she has built up for eighteen years on that final strand before snapping entirely. “Just..just get out.”  

One of Clove’s hands is on her chest, settling herself on the bed, trying– willing– her breathing to slow, to level out. The other is desperately, aggressively trying to unlace the back of her dress on her own.

“Clove, let me-” He steps towards her before a dinner knife lodges itself  in the door frame only inches above his eye. Cato puts his hand up in surrender before turning to leave. “Fine. Help yourself.”

He immediately collides with Enobaria the second he is out of the door. “She’s being fucking snippy, Enobaria, I wouldn’t go in there.”

“I knew this was coming. I’ll handle her.” Enobaria whispers, not wanting Clove to hear the words she exchanges, knowing it would only make her feel betrayed.

“She beat that kid from eight, yeah, he almost had her in the end, but she came out on top.” Cato whispers in a hushed voice, craning his head over Enobaria to catch a glimpse of Clove if she decided to come yell at them for discussing her.

“She came out against the kid from eight, but her mother didn’t. How would you feel, if you just had to play nice with the guy who bashed your mothers head in?” Enobaria snips, looking over her shoulder with the same concerns and suspicions as Cato. “She puts on the proudest, strongest face in the world. She was born for this tour, she’s waited her whole life for this. You may now know her like I do–”

“I think I know her pretty fucking well, Enobaria–”

“Shut up, Cato. I have known her a lot longer than you, and she’s been building this up for a long long time..” Enobaria pushes her hand past his chest, moving him to the side so she can be with Clove. “I’m going to see her, you just…. I don’t know, make yourself useful. Somewhere else.”

Enobaria gives him no time to fight back as she pushes into Clove’s room, firmly shutting the door behind her.

Clove’s still sitting on the bed, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, breathing heavy and hard, hiding her face in her hands.

“Wanna talk about it?” Enobaria offers before daring to take steps towards her, eyes catching the stolen knife in the wall behind her.

“Get. Me. Out. Of. This. Dress.” It’s half-plea half-hiss, Clove raising her head to look Enobaria in the eye.  “I can’t breathe.”

From where she is bent in half Enobaria can see the red scratch marks at the top of her dress, a desperate indication that she tried to rip herself out of the fabric. She reaches for her, and skilled fingers rapidly unlace the ribbon corseting the back together. “You’re okay, Clove.” She ensures, pulling the back entirely undone. “You’re okay.”

“It was too tight, I couldn’t-” Clove gives as an excuse, but her breathing does not seem to steady with the newfound freedom to her ribcage. “I c-couldn’t.” She nearly stutters, the hand that was trying to steady her heart now holds the dress entirely up, “I can’t–”

“You can.” Enobaria’s hand lands on the skin of her upper back, gently running over the skin between her shoulder blades, something she had not done in nearly ten years. “You’re allowed to be upset.”

“Why should I be upset? I won. This is my tour, I have no reason to be upset–” Clove tries to convince herself, rocking forward back to her knees. “I have no reason to be like this.”

“You just met the person who killed your mother. Yeah, we’re all Victors. We’ve all killed someone’s kids. But still..” Enobaria reminds Clove, pulling her closer even if she doesn’t quite want it. “You have watched it thousands of times, It’s okay to be off guard. Clove, it’s okay to be upset. You are allowed to be sad, Clove. That was your mother. You were a child. You’ve seen it over and over and over.”

“I didn’t think I’d care.” She whispers, so quiet Enobaria barely catches her words. “I didn’t think I'd feel like this.” Her voice is nearly child-like when she admits to it, an innocence Clove has not had probably since the very games in question. “I don’t like this, I shouldn’t be–”

“Sad, Clove. You’re sad. You’re upset and you’re hurting and Clove, it’s okay to be sad.” Enobaria grabs the nearest clothing she finds, a shirt that has to belong to Cato, and hands it to her to change into. “You were just a baby, Clove. A baby who turned into a career within years, you never got to mourn your mother.”  She wraps her arms around the young girl’s shoulders, pulling her head to her own.  “You’re allowed to miss her and wish she were on this train with you.”

There’s always been such a fine boundary between them. Was Enobaria her friend or her mentor or her trainer or an aunt-like figure in her life? It wasn’t definable, and that was okay, because she somehow always knew which role to take on at the right time.

“I didn’t even know her.” Clove’s voice breaks, and that terrible heaving feeling in her chest starts again. “How can I miss someone I didn’t know. I only remember her from tapes, I had never even seen a picture of us together until that day I won–”

“You knew your mother, Clove. Not because of that bitch of your grandmother, but you knew her. When I met you, you wouldn’t sleep unless she held you.  She taught you what a clover looked like, and you’d pick them and bring them to us when we were talking. You still like the same snacks she would give you, you still do the same little scrunch with your nose when you say her name.” Enobaria takes the shirt and slips it over her head for her, Clove’s own hands shaking just a little too much to do it herself, her mind too occupied with other things. “When she died Clove, god you just cried and cried and cried. I don’t think you’ve cried since. It’s okay to do it now.”

“I wish I remembered her, anything about her, other than what I’ve watched on those stupid recordings.” She admits so softly Enobaria never would have believed it came from Clove if she didn’t know her so well. “What was she like, why did she even have me if I was going to ruin her life like I apparently did? She was the only family I ever had…that I ever will have.”

“Because she loved you. More than anything, really. She was something else, Clove. We all wanted to be her, She was so good. As good as you, you got it from her.  I remember when you were five, you could throw a tennis ball with alarming accuracy, and we all knew you were just like her. She was nice to us, the younger kids, but you should have seen her take out the kids her own age, my god. I’ve seen you do that, too. Her favorite color was green, and her favorite thing was you.” Enobaria feels Clove collapse against her, and tries not to draw attention to the sniffling she can so clearly hear from her. “You loved her too. You never slept for anyone else. When she died, I went to your house. It had been a few days, you were on the train and all. When I got there I could just hear you crying from outside.” She leaves out the part in which her grandmother had told twelve year old Enobaria to shut her up, that she had no reason to be crying because she was the reason Sevina died. She also  leaves out the part about going upstairs to the room of Clove’s dead mother to hold her, to listen to her ask for her mother over and over for hours until she finally exhausted herself, falling to sleep against her shoulder.

“I thought you finally smothered her, I probably should  have by now.” Came the exhausted, cold voice of Clove’s own grandmother, after she cracked the door and peaked in at the two. “She’s all I've got left of her, or I would’ve.”

For all the horror she may feel, Enobaria maintains a stoic expression, despite her arms encircling the toddler a little closer. “I promised Sevina I'd help with her as long as she was gone. If you’ll let me…well, it seems she’ll be gone a long while.” Something told the preteen that if she didn’t, the life ahead of this small girl was not going to be long, nor filled with anything but disdain. “I have training too, but I'll train her. When she’s older.”

“Be my guest. This is the first time she’s shut up in a week.”

“I’ve never thanked you.” Clove is ashamed at the realization, finally looking up to Enobaria with wet eyes and tear-tracked cheeks, looking for all the world like that little girl Enobaria had picked up from that crib fifteen years ago. “You didn’t have to like..do all this for me. Everything, really. The training, the taking care of me when I was little, sitting here as i’m fucking crying over my dead mother when I should be celebrating that I won the Hunger Games six months ago..”

“I certainly wasn’t going to let Cato handle the tears, he was going to lose his eye, I knew it.” She tries to lighten the mood, though her head is on top of Clove’s now, resting gently. “You never have to thank me, kid. I’m glad I got to do it. I feel like I get to claim you as my own victor.”

“I’d never let him see me like this, no way.” Clove half-laughs through her tears, bringing up to wipe under her eyes with the back of her hand. S

“He’ll see you like this one day, it’s inevitable. He's annoying as hell but he loves you. I don't think he's going to go anywhere, even if you show him you have some feelings once in a while.” Enobaria teases, allowing Clove to simply feel beside her.

“I haven’t cried in fifteen years, I think I can handle another fifteen.” She tries to retaliate, though there is no edge in her voice anymore.

“It’s only been eleven, you almost cried when I came home.” She's got a fond smile on her face at the memory of stepping off the platform in two to be met with an uncontrolled little girl, who had broken free of her grandmother’s grasp and snuck past dozens of peacekeepers with her stealth and petite size.  

Clove had SLAMMED into her legs the minute she was off the train, arms absolutely glued around her legs, holding her in place.

“You came back.”  Clove screamed into her legs, warm tears dotting the skin of Enobaira’s legs where she had buried her face.

“Of course I did, I promised I would, didn't I?”

“I used to think you were so over the top about the whole sex thing, you know. I get it, I do. But you know I wasn’t going to end up like her, right? She kept me but I never would have-”

“Yes you would have, You’re too much like your mother.” Enobaria brushes her fingers over Clove’s hair for a moment, gently slipping out some of the pins that still restrain it from the night and day they just completed. “I know you don’t remember or believe it but..” She releases Clove’s hair, falling in loose waves from the pins.

“You are just like her.”

Enobaria feels Clove snap next to her, in the exact moment she hears her finally let out that choking sob she had been holding in for fifteen years.

One.

“I like this color on you.”

Clove hears him whispering in her ear before she sees him, or rather feels his arms wrapping around her waist, tugging her flush against him. She feels his thumbs tracing the lace appliques that line her sides and up the front of his dress, artfully designed to look like emerald colored Ivy leaves covering her torso. One of his fingers catches her skin through the deep (as in nearly to the crest of her hip bones deep) V cut neckline of the dress.

She had to give it to the team on this one, it is a remarkable dress. The base of the bodice is a nude tulle, with the Ivy artfully designed to lace and overlap across her torso. There's some sort of rhinestone that catches the light, reflecting a million different ways to draw the attention to her. The skirt at first glance was an A-line, sparkling, deep green tulle, a modest contrast to the top of the gown. The second Clove moved to walk though, the slit from her toes to her hip bone revealed the entirety of her right leg.

Cato had nearly strangled her stylist on sight when he saw her in it that evening. The construction of the boning inside the hidden corset pushed her up and pulled her in in all the right ways for his consumption, but not the wandering eyes in district one, something he so indignantly insisted. Even now, as he stands with his arms around her, claiming her in all but words, he wants to yank the decorative, delicate V shaped straps closer, to at least cover something.

“You don’t seem to like it very much from the way you’re covering it up.” Clove teases, leaning her head back against his chest. She may not be one for open displays of affection mostly, but with the warmth of a night full of the luxury district’s finest drinks had her feeling a little more..open.  “You don’t look too bad in it either. I thought you were more into blue, but you really pull off the green, too.”  As usual on this tour they were conveniently coordinated, always perfectly complementary to each other.

Or rather, he was complimentary to her, who was always the well deserved center of attention.

“Maybe I don’t like other people looking. Doesn’t mean I don’t like it though. Though I’d like it a lot better if it were on the floor.” His lips start right below her ear, trailing down the side of her neck, craning her head back against him to give him better access to the skin of her neck. “What do you say..” Cato mumbles into her skin. “We sneak off for a couple minutes. Make it twelve for twelve…”

When Enobaria and Brutus had taught her how to drink, they surely hadn’t intended her to use her loosened inhibitions to sneak off to drunkenly sleep with Cato in every single district.

Hey, it was her Victory Tour indeed.

“What’s tomorrow in the capitol going to be? The final showdown?” Clove practically purrs, her hand coming up to gently grab at his chin.

“I was thinking more along the lines of grand finale but–” Cato’s leaning down, her leaning up on her toes, all the mixed confidence of their shared drinking adventures almost allowing their lips to meet in the middle when an absolutely grating voice interrupts them.

“Oh my god! I’ve been waiting to meet you!”

Clove audibly sighs as she falls back on her heels, Cato hiding his face in her neck with a frustrated groan, before he raises his chin to rest on her shoulder.

“Hello, Glimmer. I wondered when we’d be seeing you.” Cato smiles against Clove’s shoulder, and she can feel it. If she had been a less rational girl, she may have felt a tinge of possession, but there was just something about this pretty girl that didn’t feel threatening so much as…irritating? In the past, sure, she would have said this was his type. These days, though, Clove wasn’t too concerned about some shiny blonde with long legs taking him from her.

Glimmer. That name makes a lot of sense as she looks at the tall blonde in front of her. Perfectly styled curls frame an angelic face. A tight, sequined gold dress clings to the duration of her body. If Clove thought the neckline of her own dress was bad, it’s nothing compared to the deep, wide cut of hers. She has the same thought when it comes to the slit up her leg, which may not be bigger, but on the long, tanned legs of a district one victor, it certainly looked more open. Even in heels the same height, Glimmer had a solid four or five inches on her.

Comparatively, Clove felt like a child playing dress up.

The boy though.. Yeah, he had nothing on Cato.

“Glimmer. And you’re…Marvel, right?” Clove remembers him from the tour a few years ago. There was something about him that just seemed..so un-career like. He turned out to be a skilled killer, but was making his allies laugh until the very day he speared them like kebabs. It wasn’t often that a volunteer went with a funny angle, but it had worked for this one.

“You got it–” He smiles, before his arm is draped over Glimmer’s shoulders, pulling her in against his side. “We have been just waiting to meet you. We watched how this one acted during your games and just knew we’d have to get to know you.”

“You were impressive, too, of course!” Glimmer ensures, flashing her a smile that can be called nothing less than dazzling. “But the way Cato acted, it was so unlike the public persona! We were just dying to find out what that was about.”

Clove feels Cato shift against her, lifting his head and looking anywhere but the couple in front of him. “Okay, we don’t need to talk about–”

“No, no, tell me. What do you mean by how he acted?” Clove smiles, bringing her hand back to his chin and squeezing. “What did you do?”

“Oh you don’t know?” Comes from Marvel, who bursts into a fit of laughter, gesturing the champagne flute in his hand in Cato’s general direction. “This man thought none of us knew there was something going on there. As if it wasn’t obvious with the sponsors, and the way he would just get this look on his face when he talked about you.”

“And then of course anytime you were on screen he would completely forget what he was saying, and just stare at you. You’d get a kill and he’d get this little smirk on his face, he’d rub at his neck, once in a while he’d bite his lip. Oh it was so obvious if you knew what you were looking for.” Glimmer waves her hands as she talks, animated like a real life version of a child’s favorite doll, and Clove notices the way her nails somehow exactly match the sequins of her dress. This girl was the absolute picture of a district one victor.

“Okay, I think she gets the point–”

“And then you won, oh Clove it was the sweetest thing!” Glimmer brings her hand over her heart, a dreamy smile on her face. “It was scary there for a minute and the room was silent and this boy jumped off the couch and he was just so excited. He called you his girl, it was just the cutest thing!”

Clove cranes her head to look at Cato, who is firmly looking anywhere but them, redness creeping up the back of his neck to reach his face.  She squeezes her hand on his arm, choosing not to embarrass him now but would surely be bringing it up the moment they were alone.

“We all knew he was hooked on you before,” Marvel chimes in, the hand around Glimmer’s shoulder shifting to pull her in front of him, wrapping both arms around her waist as they stand there. “That boy was in deep but–”

“After that we all knew he was just so in love. Well, we already knew, but he may as well have said it then and there.” Glimmer leans her head back, relaxing into the man behind her.

“We knew we had to meet you after that, Glimmer’s been talking about it for weeks.” He admits, reaching up and pulling some of her curls behind her ear, so he can more easily lean in to kiss her cheek. “We’ll be spending a lot of time together, mentors for one and two and all.”

“It’s honestly probably a good thing that you two are so in the public eye. It’s much better to be the capitol’s favorite couple, than to just be individual favorites. I imagine it protects you from some of the less desirable aspects of being young, pretty victors.” Glimmer suggests, but there's a wistfulness in her voice Clove doesn’t quite know how to perceive.

“Okay, enough about us,” Cato decides his grip on Clove tightening as he stands a little straighter. “Since when are you two together? I saw whatever you had going on back in the lounge, but you definitely weren’t doing this.” He nods to their position, Marvel all but wrapped around Glimmer with his head against hers. “This is new.”

“Oh! You know, we toyed with the idea for a few years now, but after watching you two…well, we all know a little too well how short life is.” Glimmer explains, lacing her fingers through those of his that rest on top of her hand. “My brother and sister weren’t too pleased, but when you’re the third sibling to the twin victors, you get tired of living in the slightly dimmer spotlight next to theirs.”

“You could never be dim, Glimmer. You’re the brightest star in every room.” Marvel presses his nose to hers, earning a wide smile and an ‘aww, baby’ from the blonde.

Clove would have tried to suppress her eye roll, but the alcohol dulled her reaction time just enough to scrunch her eyebrows in disgust. “Okay, ew.  Didn’t need to see that.”  

Cato pinches her side just as she begins to speak again, earning him in turn a small smack on his hand.

“What do you mean twin victors, who are-” Clove begins.

“Gloss and Cashmere. They won..oh almost ten years ago now! Him, then her. Then me!” She gives a proud little raise of her shoulders, turning her head to the side and smiling into the shrug. “Three victors in one family. We’re the only ones who have ever done it.”

“I’m going to make my way into this family and make it four.” Marvel announces oh so proudly, and Glimmer gasps at the weight of the statement.

Clove cranes her head to look at Cato, and in louder than she intends she half whispers, “is this like...their version of foreplay?”

Cato hides his face in her hair, unable to hide the shaking of his shoulders that betrayed that he was in fact laughing at her and her lack of tact.

Neither of the other two seem offended– or really, like they heard at all, lost in their little world– until Glimmer’s head snaps towards them.

“Oh my god we can be in each other’s weddings! We’re going to become a little group of friends, we’ll become the absolute favorites of the capitol together, oh it’s too perfect.” Glimmer claps her hands excitedly, reaching both hands out towards Clove. “Oh I absolutely cannot wait!”

Clove takes a step back, pushing Cato back with her. “Are you crazy? Do I look like I do that, I met you ten minutes ago–”

“Oh yes but we’re going to have plenty of time together over the next few years! It’s inevitable, the idea will grow on you.” When the girl goes to hug her Clove takes another large step back.

“Not happening.” The audacity of this girl to try to..hug her? What happened to the terrifying, psychotic little trainee from two who had the girls that looked like Glimmer talking all their shit about her in private but conveniently hiding away when she needed a training partner.

“One day, Clove. One day!” Glimmer has decided, claiming the girl and her friendship as her own. “You know, we'll see you two tomorrow for your big party. We can continue this then!”

She waves once before lacing her finger’s back with her partner’s. “It was so nice to finally meet you! We’ll be seeing each other lots!”

As they walk away, Clove cranes her head to lock eyes with Cato, who is still chuckling to himself.

“That was the most irritating girl I've ever met. A little fucking warning would have been nice, Cato.”

“I don’t know, she seems to think she’s going to grow on you. I think she might be right.”

“At least I didn’t make an idiot out of myself in the victor’s lounge.” Clove shifts in his arms, a wicked smirk filling her features as her hands snake around his neck. “Your girl, huh?”

“Forever, baby.” Cato smiles as he finally succeeds in dragging her out of the prying eyes of District One and into an empty hallway.

Capitol.

“This is your moment, Clove!” Her escort reminds her, taking a moment to settle the stray hairs around her face into perfect position. “People have been waiting to meet you for months!” Her hands pull out a deep red lip shade, and tilt Clove’s face towards her to reapply one final time before her entrance. “There! Perfect.”

Clove turns to look at herself in the portable mirror positioned outside the entrance of the mansion, out of sight of the crowd waiting for her.

She had seriously doubted the white when they pulled it out for her that evening, but as she looked at the entirety of herself in the mirror, she understood the vision.

The dress is reminiscent of the one she wore in the tribute parade, an Ancient Greek inspired style. The gauzy white fabric drapes across her chest and hips, flowing gracefully to the floor. It’s tighter around her thighs than any other dress had been, and she knew it would make her walk just a little slower and stand a little taller. It cinches at her waist in a shining gold band that matches the embellishments at her shoulders. The entirety of the back is open, down to the small of her back. Stenciled details are painted onto her spine in gold paint, accented with rubies intentionally glued to her skin along her vertebrae. The draping is tastefully done to make her look oh-so-less-childlike than she had felt yesterday. There is a gorgeous beading on the entirety of the dress, that she realizes now resembles snow falling.

As Clove looks towards her feet she realizes the dress is not stark white at all, but at her knees fades into pink ombre that ends in a bright, crimson red.

Blood. She looks dipped in Blood.

“Oh, final touch!” Her stylist announces, approaching her with a long veil-like piece of the same ombre red fabric.

She catches the two gold hoops and realizes, as it is attached to her shoulders, that it is a long train, trailing from white to ruby for multiple feet behind her.

A trail of blood to follow her, then.

When she finally catches her face in the reflection, Clove smiles when she realizes that her eyes are lined with the same miniscule rubies of her spine. Okay, finally, they got something right.

“Our little ice queen.” Her escort announces, sounding almost tearful, as she settles her victor crown to her hair. “Oh you just look absolutely stunning.”

Snow. Blood. It hits her then that they are trying to evoke the image of her final moments in the games. Wild curls and wide eyes, covered in blood and snow. There's a perversion of innocence in this somewhere, in a tight white dress and blood stains, a commentary on the games stripping her of her youth hidden in the fabric.

That doesn’t matter right now.

She has waited far too long  for this.

“Let’s go, my little Crimson Clover.”

“Don’t call me that.” Clove warns, but lifts the dress to follow anyway. She wonders what Cato and Enobaria will think when they see her, having been banished by her prep team earlier that afternoon. She’s suddenly glad for that– she wants to see their faces when they get the full effect.

“Oh..Clove?” Her head stylist stops her, whispering in her ears. “You two give them a good show. Remind them that you are together, okay?”

Clove squints, but gives a short nod. She can remember Glimmer just yesterday saying something about being safer together, whatever that meant. “Did you tell-”

“You never have to tell him to be all over you. But yes. He knows.”

As tradition goes her Escort walks steps in front of her, guiding her into the formal induction of the life of a victor. It’s practically an aisle, a red carpet of sorts, as the Capitol elite reach out to touch her free flowing curls, to get a feel for the fabric of her dress under their fingers. She suddenly is all too aware of the hands on her, hands she does not want on her, and the voice of her stylist and glimmer ring through her ears.

The walk takes what feels like years, though Clove knows it can’t be more than a minute or two. Despite the discomfort of being touched, Clove wears a proud, cocky smile on her face. Yes, this had been a long time in the making, and she was going to enjoy every last minute of it.

Reaching the end of the long runway is what she was waiting for.

Cato, Enobaria, and Brutus all wait for her, in various degrees of coordination. Brutus wears black with deep burgundy accents. Enobaria wears a short, one shouldered maroon dress, with a long floor length accent from her covered shoulder. Cato matches best of all, a matching Crimson suit with deep charcoal accents.

It was a very clear commentary from the District Two Prep Crew. They were a team,  but she was the star.

Enobaria absolutely beams at her, giving her just the slightest little shake of her head. We did it kid, we did it.

Cato though, he can't help himself the second he sees her. Brutus has to grab his arm to hold him back, stopping him but all from running to her.  By the time she is only steps away, Cato frees his arm, closing the last few steps of the gap between them to meet her the rest of the way there.

“Don’t mess up my lipstick.” Clove warns, but the look on her face invites otherwise.

A show they want and a show they’ll get.

Cato’s hands are on the skin of her back, pulling her as tight as possible against him. “You look unbelievably–”

“Pretty. Ruthless. Bloody. Sexy–” She fills in, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull his forehead to hers.

“Deadly.” Cato mumbles, one of his hands fingering at the fabric of her side in a way that reminds her all too much of that day of his reaping, when he tried to burn that lace into his memory forever. . “Phenomenal, incredible, sexy, beautiful– but deadly.”

“You don’t seem to mind.” Clove teases, kissing the middle of the left side of his jaw, out of view of the spectators. She sees the print of her lips left behind and smiles. Perfect. “Did you get the show memo?”

“I’ve always seen you like this, now everyone else does too.”  Cato nods in response to her other question. “Like we need to be told twice.”

They are ushered into the party, where she is expected to mingle before the presidential speech and welcome, and the formal dinner that would follow throughout the rest of the night.

It’s like a drug, Clove finds, the attention allotted to a new victor (or two). Everyone wants a moment with her, to say a few words, to touch her hair or her dress. It would be slightly overwhelming, if she didn’t prepare for this her entire life.

They’ve stolen a moment away near a table of desserts, where Clove is breaking a cookie into small enough pieces to toss into her mouth without smearing her lipstick.

“Cora would love these, we should find a way to get her some.” Clove suggests before she is cut off by a soft, dreamy voice.

“Who’s Cora?” Finnick Odair inquires, the golden boy of four, chimes in as he pops an individual bite sized cheesecake into his mouth.

“She’s my sister. She loves these sorts of things” Cato fills in, nodding towards their fellow victor. He and Finnick had hit it off pretty instantly last year, further secured by their time in four last week. The two of them would likely grow to be friends in the next couple of years, with their time they would spend mentoring together.  

“Keep her out of this as long as possible.” Finnick half whispers, eyes craning around. “And keep up what you two are doing. It’s working.” He takes a long, intentional sip from the turquoise colored drink in his hand, the shade making his eyes and hair all the sharper in tone as he raises the glass to his lips.

“Where’s Annie?” Clove inquires, craning her neck around to look for the redheaded girl. She had been a little odd, but she was a sweet thing. Clove had liked her, in the short time she spoke with her. Finnick was clearly sweet on her, and it was uncharacteristic for him to have left her to fend for herself amongst this kind of crowd.

“She doesn’t come to these things, she isn’t too fond of my Capitol trips. Then again, neither am I.” Finnick faces the table of desserts, intentionally so no one could see his lips to read them. “She’s safer back home.”

There was something unsaid between Victors, Clove had learned in her past two weeks of meeting them. Something sinister, something exhausting, and something she was clearly somehow escaping with Cato.

She had been raised to believe the Victors lived the life of luxury, she couldn’t ever imagine there were ones who were so unhappy with whatever cards they were being dealt. Something told her, though, that she was far better off not knowing.

Glimmer and Marvel find them after they cycle through another dozen or so polite conversations, nearly cornering them at a drink table. They were in fact wearing bright fuschia as promised yesterday. Whether that was Glimmer’s choice or the stylists Clove wasn’t sure, but she did know that it seemed Marvel would have gone with it either way.

“Well…How’s it feel?!” Glimmer inquires, gently nudging Clove’s shoulder and showing no offense when she pulls it away. “You look incredible, Clove. This blood and snow vibe is phenomenal. Your stylist is a genius. It’s very regal, sort of bridal, very..goddess. Yes! That’s it. Like a goddess of all out destruction, violence, war. I’m obsessed, really. I was in an entirely sheer dress. Covered in rhinestones strategically.” Her beautiful smile falters just a little, her eyes fading at the memory.  “Stylists sure do know how to give the people what they want.”

Marvel is rubbing her shoulder again, comforting her from some memory Clove doesn’t want to even broach the topic of.

“Seriously, you two.. You look like you were made for each other. It’s working to your advantage.”  Marvel agrees, his free hand scooping an entire handful of the chocolate cookies up at once. “These are the best, I get them once a year, hide them in my pockets for the ride home.” As if to illustrate his point, he shoves his entire hand into the magenta, baroque patterned jacket.

Clove opens her mouth to comment, but the seal of the president stops them informing them that the welcome was about to begin.

“We should go listen, but hey, you two should come hang out with us later tonight. I know it’s busy being the victor, but we have a good time! And if not tonight, then soon.” Marvel invites, before he lets the two of them off on their own.

“I'm starting to like them.” Cato admits, leading Clove by the hand to the front of the crowd, where the President would soon address her.

The president’s speech is the usual. A great honor to be a victor, a great accompaniment, a great representation of the values of Panem. It was always greater fanfare when Districts One or Two took the win, greater pride would leak into his speech.

There’s a toast in her honor and there are fireworks that begin, when a snarky voice enters beside Clove.

“Alright, Miss Blood on the Snow.” Johanna Mason purrs, looking the two of them up and down.  “You look hot as hell, of course. Aren’t you two lucky to have each other?”

Clove is immediately thrown back to meeting her last week, when she immediately commended the way the two of them look together.

“Oh I liked you.” Johanna Mason announces as she wraps an arm around Clove’s shoulder, wasting no time at all with letting the girl warm up to her. “I thought pretty boy last year was the best thing I've seen come out of two, but you’re even better. Cute. Sexy in a scary way. Crazy as hell. I like it. Not all there in the head, neither of you, but really, who of us are?”

Johanna tosses back her drink, eyes narrowing towards the balcony. “I’d sure like to see some blood on that Snow.”

Clove’s eyes widened at the confession, head whipping back and forth to see who else could have heard. “Johanna you can’t say–”

“You’re both going to learn, what happens between Victors, stays between us.” She gestures towards the balcony again. “They can’t do anything to me, I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

After the dinner, it is Enobaria and Brutus who stand with them, sipping on colorful drinks. Clove leans against Cato, warm and tired, the weight and experience of the week finally crashing onto her.

“How was your big night?” Brutus asks, watching as the party begins to settle down, capitolites beginning to fizzle out. “Everything you ever dreamed of?”

“It was great.” Clove admits earnestly, wrapping her arms around Cato when she rests her head against his chest. It may have been a mix of the drinks and the endless warnings about the show they had to amp up tonight, or it may have just been a tired girl used to a new normal. “It was weird though.. The other victors were kind of cryptic? It was like they were all warning us about something, but no one would say what?”

Enobaria’s eyes go wide, and she cranes her head entirely around them, assessing who was within listening range. If Cato and Clove hadn’t known better, they’d think she was looking for a threat.

“Listen. Victors..we take care of each other. If people are telling you something…I’d listen.” It goes unspoken that they are at a great risk by even uttering a warning, cryptic or not.

“There's a lot more to this than we realize, isn’t there?” Cato asks, narrowing his eyes at their mentor turned friends.

Brutus nods. “You’ll learn.”

Cato tightens his grip on Clove’s shoulders, before pulling back and offering her a hand. “Come with me, then.”

���Huh? Where are we going? Party’s not over yet, don’t we have to stay?” Clove reminds, but lets him lead her by her hand anyhow.

“We can deal with the warnings and whatever it really means to be Victors tomorrow.” Cato suggests, pulling her with him towards the center of the room. “But today? You’re going to dance with me.”

[onward--upward]

word search game!

rules: share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you. (Optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word.)

thank you to @cowboy-buddie @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy and @megsvstheworld for tagging me!! this was so much fun!

my words were shift, caught, last, effort, sideways, tugs, sleep, tender, whisper, fall, hurt, hug, gaze, caress and morning

these came from a couple of different wips, mostly (but not all) buddie! enjoy xx

shift: It always makes the kids so happy, but now Buck is miserable and trying to ignore the throbbing, shooting pain that attacks him everytime he shifts. 

caught: “I had a bad night, and it just caught me the wrong way. That’s literally all there was to it.” 

last: Their LA Kings are sitting right atop the Pacific, battling with Vegas for the division title, and everyday it seems like the press are running another story about how “surprising” their rise has been, “despite” the media circus that has been following them around since Buck and Eddie came out last summer. 

effort: His Wednesday is a wash as a whole – he downs his painkillers, makes a half-hearted effort to scramble some eggs, and parks his ass on the couch to binge Masterchef and feel sorry for himself. 

(sorry in advance for this next one...!!!)

sideways: A horn blares, and Eddie snaps his head sideways just in time to catch the sedan careening across the divider before everything is lost to the sick crunch of metal and a tooth-rattling impact. 

tugs: “Mr. Buck,” Sadie tugs on the leg of his slacks. “We made you a get well card!” 

sleep: Buck (1:58AM): you can go to sleep at any time 

tender: Eddie’s gentle, probing fingers reach the tender spot, halfway up his forearm, and Buck hisses through his teeth. 

whisper: Even more so when he leans in close, lips brushing Buck’s ear when he whispers, “You’re not very subtle, you know.” 

fall: Eddie is going to think he’s ridiculous. “I was carrying a couple of the kids, and a different kid ran into me… It – it turns out that having two six-year-olds fall on you is not a recipe for healthy bones.” 

hurt: It makes him feel better just looking at it, even if it did kind of hurt like a bitch while they were all trying to tug him in different directions to draw on him. 

hug: He’s already fucking gorgeous, obviously, but with that soft smile on his face, he looks like someone you could come home to. Someone who will wrap you up in a hug when you’re having a bad day. 

gaze: Buck watches as the other man’s gaze flickers, straying from his face, wandering down over his bare chest and then snapping back up again.

caress:  It ends up being a strangely soft gesture, more of a caress than Leon had intended. 

morning: He gets absolutely swarmed by the kids when the bell rings in the morning. “Mr. Buck!” Aidan yells. “Mr. Buck, you’re back!”

Words for people I tag: bites, fingers, flush, soft, serious

No pressure tags!! i know i am like a day behind on this so simply ignore me if y'all have done this already <3 @eusuntgratie @gayhoediaz @jacksadventuresinwriting @drysdaales

[a-b-overwatch]

I'm not sure if your requests are open, but do you think you can do the same pre-heat scent request but with genji?

(It's been 3000 years...)

The post in question (this one's been Six years; hope i got it right because this request has been sitting in here forever)

As always, under a cut for length!

Edit: future mod coming to say i think i've written out of point. i. um. im sowwy ;A; i'll do better on another post lol

-------

The taste of iron fills your mouth.

Thick, cloying, unpleasant.

Vaguely, you feel your face scrunch up before you spit. Red hits the asphalt in a sticky glob before spreading into a sloppy stain - though, it’s nothing amongst the bodies littering the road, bullet shells glinting around them like fools’ gold in the woozy wash of the streetlights.

Yeah, maybe you were all fools.

Hefting your weapon in your arms, your filthy fingers reload it with practiced ease. There was no time to dally, not after getting into a literal scrap with a soldier twice your size.

Fuck, your jaw still hurt something fierce.

Your comm crackles to life as you inspect your weapon, but before you can acknowledge your caller their voice comes through with a burst of ear-grating static.

“We need backup over here!”

You recognise the voice. Despite its urgency, there's no missing its distinct Southern drawl over the rattle of compressed, tinny gunfire.

"I read you, Agent Cassidy. Send your coordinates and I'll be there asap, over."

Another crackle chases the end of your message and you pause. If someone else in need was closer, it would make sense to help them out first.

“This is Agent Genji. I will be with you when I finish-” He cuts off, and the sound of metal on metal screeches down the comm lines. Silence follows after, and you feel your heart frost over. He couldn’t be...?

“...My assistance will be delayed. My apologies. Over.”

The sigh you release makes your shoulders sag. Genji sounds lightly irked, as if what had happened was nothing more than an inconvenience. He was okay.

“Agents, I have sent Cassidy’s location to your HUDs.” The smooth clarity of Athena’s voice startles you out of your thoughts. Right. You were on a mission, not on some kind of field trip.

“Thank you, Athena. I’ll head over as soon as I can. Agent out.”

You click your comm and find yourself back in the aftermath of before. Adjusting your gear, you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. Something sticky smears and lingers along the side of your cheek, but you don’t bother to check what it is. Things like that came with the job description, after all. What mattered now was helping your teammates out.

Your HUD blinks to life and washes your vision with electric orange, several blinking dots giving you the information you need to start moving.

---

The sound of gunshots grows louder as you sprint up the hovertrack built into a steep hill. As your marker blips ever-closer to the highlighted signal, you figure that the conflict is taking place in the opulent-looking hotel up ahead.

You were so focused on your objective that you failed to notice the little red dot tracking your movement.

Pausing briefly by some sort of shattered partition, you ready your weapon and click your HUD. Alright, three of your people were in there, and there were... ten? Maybe twelve others? As you try to figure out the best way to enter, you suddenly feel the hair on the back of your neck rise.

You whip around, but it’s too late.

The flash of a muzzle.

A pop.

The droning zip of a bullet.

Nothing.

At least, that’s what should have happened. As you shakily open your eyes, you realise what’s left of the streetlight is no longer washing over your body. Instead, a shadow blocks out most of the light. The figure before you releases a soft hiss, and fluorescent green gently illuminates the small area around you.

Genji flicks his wrist, adjusting his grip on his blade. The edge is smoking, you note dumbly, and he finally turns to look at you.

“Caution is not your strong suit.”

His tone is scolding, as if this is a lecture he’s given many times over. Something in you finally snaps, and you sink to the ground with a stifled sob. Your grip stays on your weapon even as tears blur your vision, and you feel rather than see him crouch down next to you.

You vaguely hear his voice, smooth and a little robotic, speak words that don’t reach your ears. What does reach you though, is his scent. Underneath the metal, underneath the armour, it’s soft and grassy with a tinge of mint. It’s gentler than when you catch him normally, and you realise that he’s trying to comfort you.

To your horror, you feel heat begin to pool in the pit of your stomach. No. Not here, not now, not in the middle of a damn mission! Apparently common sense and dignity aren’t in your body’s skillset either.

You manage to hold back the keen on the tip of your tongue when Genji gets to his feet, tightening your hold on your weapon to stop yourself from reaching out to him. Thankfully, Genji doesn’t seem to notice. Maybe your scent isn’t that strong just yet.

“We should take the east entrance. The bulk of the conflict is happening on the ground floor. We can surprise them by dropping on them.” Genji, ever-focused, already has a plan of action laid out, and you can only nod along like an obedient puppy.

A soft hiss emanates from his body, your only warning before he takes off with hardly a backwards glance. You marvel at the way his footsteps are near-silent on the stained, cracked tile, and the way his lithe body springs forward like a cat, clearing obstacles with ease. Gods, what would he be like if-

Abruptly, he stops and turns to face you.

"Agent." His tone is chiding, and you find yourself scrambling to unsteady feet in a tangle of limbs. An apology tumbles from your lips as you catch up to him, which he regards with an incline of his head. Genji wastes no time in forging ahead once more, leaving you to awkwardly lumber after him.

---

The two of you manage to reach your destination without being detected – no surprise, since everyone's attention is likely focused on what's going on inside. Peering over the catwalk, the two of you assess the situation from far above. Or rather, Genji does. You’re more focused on the gentle heat he emanates, the quiet hiss and slide of his armour as he moves, and the ever-present aroma of lush mint.

“Agent.”

Genji’s voice, low and smooth, manages to shake you out of your thoughts. Strange. He normally isn’t the type to address you directly - at least, not by such an impersonal title. Does he know that you’re…?

“I’m listening,” you manage to grit out, mindful to keep your advantageous position hidden even with the cacophony of battle ringing around you.

“Good.”

Your instincts almost make you preen under his praise (if it could even be called that), but you hold yourself together enough to catch his next instruction.

“Cover me. I’ll focus on the backline. We can free up some space for Cassidy and the rest to start fighting back.”

Genji gives you a moment to get into position before he dives off the edge, leaving a streak of green light in his wake. By the time his targets realise that they’re under fire, it’s already too late - Genji’s taken them out in a flurry of swordsmanship and shurikens.

Remembering that you have a job that doesn’t include ogling the almost feline display of grace happening in front of you, you roll into a crouch and ready your weapon. Squeezing the trigger, you grit your teeth when it kicks into your shoulder, the dull but familiar sensation sharpening your focus for the moment. There’s something underneath that’s fighting to take over, but you’re able to push it down…

For now.

---

It takes almost no time for the two of you to subdue a few more Talon agents - a fact that you’re thankful for, because your vision is starting to cloud and your tactical gear is beginning to feel like a suffocating prison. Sweat drips down your nose and trickles down your neck in unpleasant rivulets. It soaks into your underclothes and makes them stick, bunching up in ways that makes your skin crawl. Vaguely, you hear someone panting - is that you? It takes everything in you to stay focused, hunched over into a tight little ball in the corner of the catwalk you were asked to stay at. Why were you staying there again? Something about support…?

At that moment, a familiar scent wafts past your nose.

Metal, grass, mint.

Somehow, Genji is by your side the next time you blink. His armour is stained with dirt and blood - an outcome of the work he just carried out. Despite this, his soft, lush scent persists, utterly enticing to the omega inside you that wants nothing but to rip off your gear, present yourself to him.

Saliva floods your mouth, threatening to spill down your chin.

By the grace of those above, you manage to keep your mouth shut, swallowing the evidence of your desire. It might be because of your heat-addled mind, but you swear that you see his visor flash, swear that his scent grows just a little bit stronger.

Suddenly, you make out a jumble of noises that sound like your name. Huh? Was someone calling you?

The sound repeats, and you realise that Genji is the one trying to get your attention. Heat rushes to your face, and your tongue feels thick and clumsy as you try to answer. You want to assure him that you're fine, that you'll continue to support him from above.

To your horror, the only sound you make is a whine - needy and undeniable.

No. No no no no! This isn't part of the plan! You're on a mission, for goodness sake. This is the last place you need your biology putting everyone at risk. Shame quickly makes your eyes grow hot, and you duck your head to stare stubbornly at the cracked tile beneath you. If Genji was going to regard you with any sort of disgust, you would rather have Talon execute you right where you were standing.

The sounds of the battlefield feel muffled through the cotton clouding your mind and the painfully awkward atmosphere does nothing to help that. You don't dare to lift your head, certain that you'll disintegrate the instant your eyes meet Genji's.

Suddenly, you feel something warm and soft wrap around you and almost instantly, you're enveloped by that awful, wonderful, distracting scent.

“Stay close to me. I will protect you.”

[norikuna]

user cuntyji fic post so you know what that means! buckle up 😫

sukuna and reader's meeting was sauuuur cute don't even joke. 'just be my girl already' well i'm sat straight up!!!!! sukuna trying to keep his bad boy image while living his pookie scenario out in his head. they've never had a bad track i fear

i love all the details in your fics, every character feels so lived into each story. not like...placeholders if that makes sense. like its so NATURAL and flows so well...like the settings, the descriptions, and the ambience feel so natural. the details about sukuna's room really makes his characterisation stand out sooooo well.

just know that u write so well that it had me tweaking out and yearning for a man i know...sat up straight and realised that i have actually have feelings for someone (this is quite crazy bc i think i've been in denial for years) enough on this one, lets move onnnnnnn but i'm telling u my smile dropped when i was reading the part abt sukuna being in his room/on tiktok/remembering his girlfriend. like life was no longer funny i was floored....FAWK i like a man.....this is a compliment to u tho, u just write that good!!!!!!!!

YUUJI CAMEO MY GOATTTTT (i say this literally all the time im crying)

gojo's promposal i was genuinely giggling...he needs to move over tho like he ain't all that...i need to ask suguru geto to prom actually 😭

me being 'girls crying harder'...

toji being written as down bad is so fucking funny, there's one braincell rattling around in there and its romantically determined to bag a baddie...mamaguro we love u!!!

IN TEARS. naobito zenin clicking suscribe + like as we speak!!!!

i love uraume so bad. need their number.........

need to know why nanami is reading vogue helloooooooo thats my king!!!!!!! 🫡

sukuna is so real bc why the FAWK are flowers so so expensive.

i'm crying bc the one thing a man will do is fumble

reader's personality is so cute. i love how her room and sukuna's rooms are SO different but there's still hints of each other in their respective rooms

NOOOOO the face i made when reader heard others bitching abt sukuna stringing her along 'apparently' in the bathroom i was literally devastated!!! don't listen to them!!!!! he loves u i promiseeeeee

sukuna commenting fire emojis, hes lucky he's got looks on his side because god knows he wasn't blessed with common sense 😭

SLAY. he made up for it!!!!!! #wanthimsobad

THE PROMPOSAL i haven't felt this emotion since i watched 10 things i hate about you for the first time. fawking gaggggggged and cheesin

how tf did yuuji get into prom, love that for him tho! <33

the ending i actually cried a little

u ever read a fic so fucking good that u believe in love and light once more. reading it literally put me in a good mood, made me a #lovergirl #gonnatexthimnow <3333333 sooo beautiful and captured the ups and downs of youth and young love im so obsessed!!!!!

CUPID'S DUMBEST SOLIDER ౨ৎ RYOMEN SUKUNA X READER

summary: ryomen sukuna, king of the school and reigning bad boy extraordinaire, has one rule: prom is for losers. but apparently, his too-good-to-be-true girlfriend (seriously, what are you doing with him?) thinks promposals are cute. so now he’s stuck planning the most over-the-top, cringe-inducing spectacle known to mankind. armed with zero artistic talent, a ton of misplaced confidence, and multiple dumb ideas, sukuna’s on a mission to prove that he’s boyfriend material. will he survive the humiliation of public vulnerability? will his classmates ever stop laughing at him? and more importantly, will you even say yes after watching him trip over his own ego mid-promposal? spoiler alert: sukuna might hate prom, but he doesn’t hate you — just don’t tell anyone or his bad boy reputation is toast.

warnings & tags: all characters except yuuji are high-schoolers [aged eighteen]. 100% sfw and crack. lots of high-school and social media related drama. sukuna is ooc but he's a loverboy. slight angst, misccommunication and misunderstanding, reader gets bullied. mentions of drugs & vaping. reader is sort of preppy [only when compared to sukuna], implied stsg and tomema. mentions of: yuuji, choso, gojo, geto, shoko, nanami, toji (zenin), naoya, yorozu, mei mei, uraume, mamaguro, wasuke itadori, mai and maki zenin.

a/n: i'm writing this because i'm thinking about my last year of highschool a lot. please enjoy <3

‼️i recommend reading on ao3 :) thank you for being here!

chapter one: love at first “you’re kidding, right?”

prom sucks. 

sukuna's decided this long before he even knew what it was, back when he was a kid and thought dances were just for the weak. now? the banners are inescapable, plastered on every wall like wanted posters, except the only crime being committed is how much glitter they used. seriously, who thought this level of sparkle was necessary? he doesn’t even want to look at them, let alone read the overly enthusiastic “prom countdown” in bold bubble letters.

but here’s the kicker—you’re excited. 

you. his girlfriend. the only person he’s ever willingly given his jersey to, the one he pretends not to care about but secretly loses his mind if you’re even five minutes late to meet him after practice. you’re actually grinning at the posters, casually mentioning how it might be “fun.”

fun. the word leaves a sour taste in his mouth, much like the time he accidentally puffed on his teammate’s fruit-flavored vape, pretending he didn’t low-key enjoy it. and now, just like back then, sukuna refuses to admit the truth: the idea of seeing you all dressed up, looking at him like he’s worth more than a fistfight and a bad attitude, is enough to make his brain short-circuit.

“you know,” you say one day, glancing over your shoulder at him as you tug on his sleeve. “prom doesn’t have to be a big deal. it’s just one night.”

“then why’s everyone acting like it’s the olympics?” he mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets. he keeps his eyes firmly on the ground, not on the way your smile softens like you already know what’s going on in his head.

because of course you know. you always know. it’s annoying.

but the thing is, sukuna’s always been a fighter. he knows how to take a hit, how to deliver one back, how to keep moving even when his ribs feel like they’re cracking under the pressure. this, though? asking you to prom? it feels like trying to fight blindfolded in a ring full of glitter bombs.

“you’re thinking too hard about it,” you tease, leaning closer, and he has to resist the urge to snap back with something sarcastic. instead, he just grumbles something incoherent, hoping you’ll drop the subject.

spoiler: you don’t.

“come on, it might surprise you,” you add, giving him that look—the one that makes his chest feel annoyingly tight and his brain feel like it’s melting. and just like that, sukuna knows he’s doomed. he doesn’t even know how you managed to turn this whole thing around, but here he is, contemplating how to ask you to prom like it’s some epic quest.

but for now? he’ll just keep glaring at the posters, convincing himself it’s all for you. definitely not because he’s secretly imagining what it’d be like to see you under those stupid lights.

yeah. that’s it. it’s for you.

why is sukuna losing his absolute mind over asking you, of all people, to prom? it’s not like you’re some untouchable deity perched on a golden throne. you’re just you—the one person who’s seen him shirtless and sweaty post-practice and didn’t immediately gag. the one who has the audacity to call him “cute” after he’s just finished smashing someone’s face in and honestly? he still hasn’t forgiven you for that.

and yet, here he is, spiraling like a damn teenager—which, fine, he technically is, but that’s beside the point. this isn’t just prom. this is war. but why does it feel like he’s already lost?

he doesn’t even know when this whole “you and him” thing started. 

oh wait. yes, he does.

cue the flashback: sukuna, bloody and bruised, crouched in an alley after picking a fight with college kids who were built like linebackers. he was sure this was it. the end. game over. then suddenly, you appeared, haloed by the sun.

or maybe that was just his swelling eye playing tricks on him.

“are you seriously bleeding again?” you’d said, hands on your hips like you were scolding a toddler who’d colored on the walls. you looked so annoyed, so unimpressed, so... angelic? he doesn’t know. blame the blood loss.

“what’s it to you?” he’d snarled, expecting you to walk away like everyone else. but instead, you crouched down, pulled out a first-aid kit from god-knows-where, and patched him up right there. like some feral stray, he’d just sat there and let you.

and then, because subtlety is not in sukuna’s vocabulary, he’d yelled at you a few weeks later to “just be my girl already,” fully prepared for rejection. except you’d said yes. casually. like it was no big deal.

liar. it was a huge deal. he’d wanted to cheer so loud they’d hear him across town. instead, he’d just grunted and said, “fine,” as if he hadn’t just won the lottery.

now, here’s the thing: sukuna doesn’t “do” feelings. or labels. or mushy crap like this. but somehow, you’ve made it your personal mission to take care of him, and the worst part? he lets you.

so, yeah, obviously he needs to “man up” and ask you to prom before some other idiot gets the idea. the thought of someone else—someone less deserving—getting to stand next to you in those ridiculous photos everyone takes? absolutely not.

but how is he supposed to ask you?

“hey, wanna go to prom?” no. too boring.

“you and me. prom. be there.” god, no. too aggressive.

“i’ll fight anyone who tries to take you if you say yes.” okay, maybe, but he doesn’t want to scare you.

and what if you say no? …no, scratch that. you wouldn’t. right?

“why do you look constipated?” your voice pulls him out of his internal chaos, and he realizes he’s been frowning so hard his face hurts. 

“shut up,” he grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. you just laugh, that soft little sound that makes his chest feel annoyingly warm. “you’re so silly sometimes.”

silly? silly? sukuna’s this close to snapping back, but he bites his tongue. for now. he’ll figure it out. eventually. probably. 

unless someone else beats him to it.

nope. not happening. over his dead body.

chapter two: swipe, stress, repeat

if sukuna from a month ago could see sukuna right now, he'd be frothing at the mouth. the self-proclaimed king of school, the untouchable badass who spent his time punching people and skipping class, reduced to lying in his bed, phone clutched in hand, scrolling through tiktok like some lovesick idiot? 

embarrassing. absolutely humiliating. 

the guy would’ve torn his own future self apart, verbally and probably physically, for this kind of behavior. but present-day sukuna? he couldn’t care less. if past sukuna had a problem, he could take it up with the tiktok algorithm because, damn it, he was busy right now.

sukuna's room is peak sukuna. the walls are painted a deep gray—an edgy, brooding shade that screams “it’s not a phase mom,” and yet the color somehow sets off the aggressively pink hello kitty lamp on his bedside table. don’t ask why he has it. it’s your fault, anyway, since you bought it for him, and when he told you he wouldn’t use it, you pouted. now the damn thing stays on every night. 

his bed is a mess of black sheets, crumpled in a way that suggests he both sleeps like a starfish and fights imaginary enemies in his dreams. the single poster above his bed is of some obscure underground metal band you probably pretend to care about when he rants, but the corner is peeling because he’s too lazy to fix it. 

on the desk? chaos. protein powder tubs, half-used cologne bottles, random dumbbells, and a notebook that’s only ever been opened once—probably because he mistook it for a coaster. nestled among this battlefield of masculinity is his phone charger, tangled in a knot that somehow feels symbolic of his life choices.

but let’s talk about the tiktok doom scrolling session. sprawled on his bed, legs dangling off the edge, sukuna clears out his notifications, which are predictably 90% you tagging him in ridiculous couple reels. “this is us <3,” you captioned one, featuring two lopsided cartoon bananas cuddling. another one? a video of raccoons stealing food with the words “me and you robbing mcdonald’s after your practice :3” plastered over it. he groans loudly but still clicks the tag, because god forbid he misses one.

and then he sees it: the initials trend. he stumbles across a video with the letters r + your initial floating on-screen, surrounded by sparkly hearts. it takes him a solid two tries, but when the stupid thing finally lands on the right combination, sukuna practically slams the save button. the smug grin on his face could rival the one he wears after winning a fight. “got it,” he mutters to himself, as if he’s achieved something monumental. and maybe he has��because nothing screams romance like a tiktok filter confirming your undying love. his phone buzzes again, and it’s you, sending yet another video. he opens it, and it’s a clip of two fat seals flopping in the water together. “this is us,” you text, followed by a string of hearts. sukuna lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “you’re so dumb,” he mutters, even as he saves the video.

but tonight, sukuna is a man on a mission. a stupid mission, in his humble opinion, but one he’s reluctantly accepted because of you.

his night started the same as it always does lately—on call with you while you go through your nightly skincare routine. he pretends not to care, half-listening as you ramble about serums and exfoliators, but if anyone asked why he knows the difference between niacinamide and retinol now, he’d deny it with his whole chest. “okay, goodnight,” you say eventually, and he feels weirdly warm when you pause, waiting for his reply. “yeah, yeah. goodnight,” he mutters, then sends you a five-line-long text he drafts with the precision of a tactical operation. it’s disgustingly sweet, full of things so cheesy he could probably use it as a weapon in a fight. 

of course, he ends it with a selfie—him lying on his bed, shirtless but casual, because he knows you eat up this couple-y nonsense. “cute,” you reply immediately, followed by a flurry of heart emojis that make him roll his eyes and grin at the same time. with that out of the way, it’s doom scrolling time. 

but tonight isn’t about your endless tags of raccoon memes or seal videos. no, tonight, sukuna is diving into the depths of promposal content.

his room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of his phone and the offensively pink hello kitty lamp on his bedside table. the contrast between the lamp and his deep gray walls is glaring, but he’s gotten used to it—he even mumbles a “thanks, kitty” when he turns it off at night. sitting cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by a haphazard array of items—a half-empty protein shake, a stray dumbbell, and a random sock he’s too lazy to find the pair for—he scrolls through tiktok like a man possessed. 

promposals flood his feed, one after the other, and his frown deepens with every video. flowers, posters, confetti—it’s all the same. one boy after another holding a sparkly sign with some cheesy pickup line, and a group of random bystanders shrieking like it’s the second coming of christ. “yuck,” he mutters under his breath, barely noticing when he tosses his dumbbell off the bed with a loud thud! “this is how people live? pathetic.”

then he sees it: a video of a guy holding a giant poster that reads, “are you a parking ticket? because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you.”

sukuna’s jaw drops. “oh, hell no.”

without thinking, he types out a comment: “i can do better.” and when the notifications flood in from strangers defending the boy’s cringe-worthy effort, he actually guffaws, shaking his head in sadistic satisfaction. but then a thought strikes him. what if this is what you expect? what if you want the cheesy pickup line, the sparkly poster, the ridiculous crowd cheering you on? the idea makes him physically recoil, but he can’t ignore the tiny voice in his head whispering, it’s for her.

and when he exits tiktok, his matching hello kitty profile picture with you stares back at him, painfully cute and obnoxiously pink. it’s a sharp contrast to the guy who spent ten minutes this morning threatening his neighbor’s dog for barking too much.

groaning, he sets an alarm on his phone for tomorrow morning. “five hours of sleep,” he mutters to himself, glaring at the clock like it’s personally offended him. with a dramatic sigh, he reaches over and switches off the hello kitty lamp. the room plunges into darkness, but his mind is already racing, plotting ways to outdo every cringe-worthy promposal he’s seen.

you’d better appreciate this, he thinks, punching his pillow into shape before flopping onto it. because if sukuna’s doing this, he’s going to do it better than anyone else.

—

the next day, sukuna wakes up with the vague hope that he’ll somehow embody the effortlessly cool energy of those coming-of-age movie protagonists you seem to fawn over. the universe, however, has other plans. his “cool boy” morning routine includes stubbing his toe on the corner of his bed, swearing loudly enough to make the neighbor’s dog bark, and grabbing a shampoo bottle to wash his face before realizing, mid-lather, that something isn’t right.

by the time he’s dressed in a ratty old lakers jersey his mom gave him ages ago (that’s definitely seen better days), he’s already on edge. he triple-checks that the beaded bracelet you made him is securely on his wrist. one time, he forgot it in the abyss of his bag, and you didn’t talk to him for all of lunch period. the memory alone makes him shudder. high school relationships are no joke; he’s convinced they’re scarier than any fight he’s been in. “yuuji!” he bellows, dragging his seven-year-old brother by the scruff of his neck like a misbehaving cat. “we’re gonna miss the bus!”

“but i’m watching powaaaaa rangerrrrsssss!” yuuji wails, kicking his legs in protest. for the fifth time. in a row.

“i don’t care if they’re morphin’ again for the hundredth time,” sukuna snaps, hauling the squirming kid out the door.

once on the school bus, sukuna practically shoves yuuji into the front seat with his group of loud, chaotic little friends—toge, the broody one, and nobara, the one who’s probably already plotting world domination. “don’t cause trouble,” he growls, earning a cheeky grin from nobara and a half-hearted glare from toge. then, sukuna retreats to his rightful throne in the backseat. people probably think he’s texting some gang leader to set up a fight or maybe coordinating a weed deal. but no. you know what he’s actually doing?

writing you the sappiest good morning text imaginable.

with his phone held at a suspicious angle, he types furiously:

good mornin sunshine ❤️❤️❤️ sorry this is late. woke up thinking about you and totally forgot how to function lol. you’re probably already looking perfect but don’t forget to eat breakfast okay???? can’t have my girl passing out and making me look bad 😏. also did i ever tell you your bedhead is cute? bc it is. anyway have a good day baby i’ll see you in school soon. love you.

he stares at it, debating whether it’s too much. but then again, you’re the type who sends him texts like, “did you know sharks existed before trees? good morning !! <3 :3” so he figures he’s safe. after hitting send, he leans back with a satisfied smirk, like he’s just conquered the world. if anyone dares to ask, he’ll lie through his teeth about what he’s doing. but deep down, sukuna knows he’s whipped. totally and utterly.

—

sukuna’s morning ritual of chaos continues as he practically shoves yuuji toward the elementary school section, muttering curses under his breath while dodging questions about his bracelet.

“but when can i get tattoos like yours?” yuuji asks, for the millionth time this week.

“never,” sukuna snaps, ruffling yuuji’s hair just hard enough to mess it up.

“but why nooottt?” yuuji whines, pouting. “they’re cool! toge said they make you look like a bad guy!”

“tell toge to mind his own damn business,” sukuna growls, ignoring the way yuuji’s tiny friends scatter at the mere sight of him. when one of the kids starts crying, he scoffs loudly. elementary schoolers are weak.

with yuuji safely deposited, sukuna sprints—yes, sprints—to the high school section, expertly weaving through crowds of students. if anyone asks, he’ll say it’s because he’s late to class, but really, he’s looking for you.

when he spots you at your locker, a familiar warmth floods his chest, but he quickly shoves it down, replacing it with a carefully practiced scowl. if sukuna could have it his way, he’d profess his undying love for you in the most dramatic way possible—on his knees, quoting some shakespeare nonsense about your ethereal beauty or whatever the old dead guy used to write about. but alas, his bad boy reputation is at stake. 

so instead, he settles for a gruff, “yo,” as he leans against the locker next to yours, arms crossed, trying to look casual. you glance up, smiling brightly. “morning! did you sleep okay?”

“yeah,” he lies, conveniently forgetting the part where he only got five hours of sleep because of tiktok research.

you go on, oblivious to the way he’s fighting the urge to smile like an idiot. “ugghhh, i got up five minutes late today. five whole minutes!” you pause dramatically. “so i didn’t have time to pack my stationery, and now i have to use my backup stationery pouch from my locker. do you know how annoying that is?”

“devastating,” sukuna deadpans, nodding solemnly. “truly, the world is cruel.”

“right?” you huff, pulling the pouch from your locker. “like, what if the backup doesn’t have my favorite pens? what am i supposed to do then?”

he watches you, amused, as you rummage through your locker like your life depends on it. secretly, he loves how animated you get over the smallest things, but god forbid anyone else find out. “wish i had backups,” he mutters, half to himself. “my locker’s just got junk. extra shoes, pants, a charger, and, uh…” he pauses, eyeing you carefully. “a vape.”

you turn to him, raising an eyebrow. “a vape?”

“it’s not mine,” he says quickly, standing straighter. “holding it for a friend.”

“sure,” you tease, smirking. “it’s true!” he insists, trying to look indignant but failing because you’re smiling at him, and it’s making his brain short-circuit.

as you shut your locker, you start rambling about your next class, and sukuna does what he does best—stands close, nods occasionally, and tries to act nonchalant. inside, though, he’s cataloging every word you say like it’s gospel, marveling at how even your complaints sound cute. he stuffs his hands in his pockets, pretending not to care, but the truth is written all over his face: sukuna is hopelessly, ridiculously in love. and it’s a problem he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

as you and sukuna make your way down the hallway, everything seems normal—or as normal as a high school hallway can get. the fluorescent lights buzz overhead, lockers slam shut, and a cluster of juniors are trying to tape a "kick me" sign to someone’s back. sukuna’s tuned most of it out, but that’s when the universe decides to test his patience. smack dab in the middle of the hallway, it happens.

“oh my god!” you squeal, tugging on sukuna’s sleeve.

he already hates this.

in front of you both, a whole crowd has gathered. there are girls crying into their hands, boys hooting like it’s a football game, and teachers yelling about how this is a fire hazard, which no one is listening to. and at the epicenter of it all is none other than gojo satoru.

“suguru!” gojo announces, holding up a bucket of kfc chicken in one hand and a bouquet of roses made entirely out of dollar bills in the other. “you’re the butter to my biscuit, the drumstick to my chicken, and the love of my life! if you don’t go to prom with me, i’ll throw myself into oncoming traffic!”

“oh my god, he’s so dramatic,” you whisper to sukuna, but your voice is dripping with excitement. “this is adorable!” sukuna blinks at the scene, trying to process what’s happening. “adorable? this is a migraine waiting to happen.”

meanwhile, geto—poor, unsuspecting geto—is standing there looking like he’s debating whether to run or laugh. “satoru, what the hell?” he finally manages, his voice somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

“it’s love, suguru!” gojo declares, dropping to one knee for added effect. “say yes, or i’ll never recover!”

“that’s definitely not true,” sukuna mutters under his breath.

“shh!” you scold, hitting his arm lightly. “this is so cute!”

“it’s cringe,” sukuna grumbles. “he’s holding chicken.”

“the chicken makes it better!”

“the chicken makes it worse,” sukuna counters, crossing his arms. but he can’t deny that the bouquet of dollar bills is kind of genius. if he had to respect one thing, it’s that. geto sighs loudly, clearly resigned to his fate. 

“fine,” he says, shaking his head but unable to hide the small smile on his face. “i’ll go to prom with you, satoru.”

the hallway erupts.

girls start crying harder, like their hearts have been ripped out of their chests. “geto’s off the market!” one of them wails, collapsing into her friend’s arms. the boys cheer, probably just glad they don’t have to be involved in anything like this. and gojo? gojo lets out a triumphant yell, pumping his fist in the air. “i told you he loves me!” their friend group immediately piles on, clapping geto on the back and hyping up gojo like he just won the lottery. you, meanwhile, are clutching sukuna’s arm and bouncing on your toes. “oh my god, that was so cute!” you gush. “did you see the chicken? and the bouquet? sukuna, that was so sweet!”

sukuna looks at you, then at the chaos, then back at you. he feels a headache creeping in. “sweet? that was... loud.”

“you’re impossible,” you say, laughing as you let go of his arm to keep walking.

but sukuna isn’t laughing. oh no, because now there’s a new problem: he has to top that. as he follows you down the hallway, he rubs his temples, muttering to himself. “chicken and dollar bills. great. what’s next? fireworks? a live band? a damn parade?”

you glance back at him, raising an eyebrow. “what are you mumbling about?”

“nothing,” he snaps, quickening his pace to catch up.

but inside, he’s panicking. topping gojo satoru’s level of absurdity is a tall order, and sukuna isn’t sure whether to be pissed off or impressed. probably both. one thing’s for sure, though: he has his work cut out for him.

sukuna finally wades through the chaos of the hallway—largely composed of gojo clinging to geto’s foot like a very loud termite—and drops you off at your first class of the day: english language and literature. you sigh dramatically, digging through your bag and muttering about how your lack of highlighters is basically a crime against academia. “how am i supposed to annotate macbeth without my stationary pouch?”

sukuna, leaning against your desk with all the casual confidence in the world, rolls his eyes. “it’s not that deep.” but then, in a move that makes you freeze, he pulls a neon highlighter out of his pocket and tosses it to you. “use that,” he grunts, like he just handed you a scrap of paper, not an intimate act of love. 

you blink at the highlighter, then at him, like he just gifted you the moon. “did you just—where did you even get this?”

“don’t ask questions,” he snaps, already looking like he regrets the decision. (he definitely stole it from someone’s pouch months ago.) but you’re staring at him with so much adoration it’s almost embarrassing. 

“this is... this is the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for me.”

sukuna freezes. “you’re joking.”

“i’m not joking.”

he looks like he’s questioning every life choice that brought him here, but before he can respond, his phone buzzes in his pocket. it’s a text from toji zenin. the message is cryptic and infuriatingly vague: “grounds. now.”

sukuna sighs loudly, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “gotta go,” he mutters. he leans down and plants a quick kiss on your cheek before bolting out the door, and you both freeze for half a second, equally flustered. “uh—bye!” you call after him as he practically sprints out of the classroom, the beads on his bracelet jingling against his wrist.

by the time sukuna reaches the school grounds, he’s already mentally prepared for a fight. he’s even got his tough guy face on—jaw clenched, shoulders squared, the works.

but when he spots toji zenin and shiu kong standing by the bleachers, something feels off. toji isn’t cracking his knuckles or smirking like usual. instead, he’s pacing, running a hand through his hair like he’s stressed. 

sukuna narrows his eyes. “what the hell is this? if this is another one of your stupid pranks, i’m decking you both.”

“relax,” toji says, holding up his hands. “i’m not here to fight.”

“yet,” shiu mutters, earning a glare from toji. sukuna crosses his arms. “then what do you want?”

toji looks around, as if checking to make sure no one else is listening. then, in a voice so low sukuna almost doesn’t hear it, he says, “i need your help.”

sukuna blinks. “what?”

“you heard me.”

“no, i definitely didn’t. because it sounded like you said you need my help.”

“i did.” toji looks like admitting it physically hurts him. “look, it’s about fushiguro.”

sukuna raises an eyebrow. “who?”

“you know, my... my...” he gestures vaguely. “crush.”

sukuna stares at him. “you dragged me out here to talk about your love life?”

toji groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “listen, it’s not that simple. i need your help to... to bully her.”

“...what?”

“bully her,” toji repeats, like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “you know, make her life miserable so i can swoop in and save the day. it’s foolproof!” sukuna stares at him for a long moment, trying to process the sheer idiocy of what he just heard. 

“you want me to bully your crush so you can play knight in shining armor?”

“exactly.”

“you’re an idiot.”

“c’mon, sukuna,” toji pleads. “you’re good at the whole intimidation thing! you don’t even have to go hard, just—”

“no.”

“but—”

“no.”

shiu snickers from the sidelines. “told you he wouldn’t do it.” toji glares at him, then turns back to sukuna. “fine. then give me advice or something! how am i supposed to ask her to prom?”

“i don’t know, maybe try not bullying her?”

“wow, thanks for the groundbreaking advice,” toji says, deadpan. sukuna rolls his eyes. “look, just—give her something she likes. flowers, chocolates, whatever. don’t overthink it.”

“flowers? chocolates? what is this, a rom-com?” toji scoffs.

“then figure it out yourself,” sukuna snaps, already turning to leave. “i’ve got better things to do.”

“like what?”

“none of your business.” sukuna snaps, already regretting every second of this interaction.

this is the point where toji is wailing, absolutely wailing, and it’s honestly one of the worst things sukuna’s had to witness, and he once saw yuuji eat spaghetti with his hands. 

“you don’t get it, sukuna!” toji cries, pacing back and forth. “if i don’t get fushiguro—mamaguro, the love of my life—i’ll look like a fool for calling myself toji fushiguro all year! do you know how many people think we’re already married? do you understand the pressure?”

“no,” sukuna deadpans, crossing his arms. “because i’m not insane.”

“this is a matter of marriage or death,” toji insists, dramatic as ever. “marriage! or! death!”

shiu, leaning against the bleachers, snickers. “it’s more like marriage or public humiliation, but yeah, sure, toji. go off.”

“shut up, shiu!” toji snaps. then, in the most embarrassing move yet, he turns back to sukuna, clutching his arm like he’s begging a god for salvation. “please, sukuna. please. i’ll do anything!”

sukuna yanks his arm back with a grimace. “don’t touch me.”

“i’ll pay you,” toji adds, desperate now. “how much do you want?” shiu, ever the opportunist, pulls out a wad of cash from his jacket. “i’ll double whatever you’re thinking.”

sukuna glares at him, then at the money, then back at toji, who’s practically vibrating with nerves. the sheer audacity of these people.

“what do you two think i am?” sukuna growls, stepping closer. “someone you can just buy?”

toji and shiu exchange a look.

“yes,” they say in unison.

“you’re not wrong,” sukuna mutters, snatching the cash out of shiu’s hand.

and that’s how sukuna finds himself storming into the art room, where fushiguro—lovingly dubbed mamaguro by the school fraternity, who is also the unknowing subject of toji’s unhinged obsession—is peacefully painting a landscape. 

“yo,” sukuna calls, making sure his voice sounds just gruff enough to make an impression. mamaguro looks up, confused but polite as ever. “oh, sukuna. what brings you here?”

“uh…” sukuna falters for half a second. then, remembering the script toji forced on him, he clears his throat. “your art sucks.”

mamaguro blinks at him. “excuse me?”

“you heard me,” sukuna says, louder this time. “these clouds? they look like—like… mashed potatoes!”

“mashed potatoes?” she repeats, her tone teetering between disbelief and amusement.

“yeah! and this—this tree? it’s—it’s… ugly!”

he’s running out of insults fast, but thankfully, he doesn’t have to keep going because, right on cue, toji bursts into the room like a man possessed.

“stop right there, sukuna!” toji yells, pointing dramatically.

sukuna rolls his eyes so hard he nearly pulls something.

“how dare you insult her art?” toji continues, marching forward. “you know nothing of the beauty and grace she pours into every stroke of her brush! apologize to her, right now!”

sukuna glances at mamaguro, who’s now staring at toji like he’s grown a second head.

“um…” she starts, clearly confused.

“and not only that,” toji adds, dropping to one knee, “i, toji fushig– i mean, zenin, would be honored if you would accompany me to prom!”

the silence that follows is deafening.

“…what?” mamaguro says, her voice a mix of shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“say yes, please,” toji begs, still on his knee.

sukuna takes this as his cue to leave before his brain cells start dying en masse. as he walks out, he hears a mixture of toji’s frantic pleading, mamaguro’s incredulous laughter, and shiu’s obnoxious whooping from the hallway. “cringe,” sukuna mutters to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets. on the way out, he snatches the rest of the wad of cash from shiu’s hand. the guy doesn’t even protest; he’s too busy recording the whole disaster on his phone.

normally, sukuna would use this cash for something like a new vape or a pack of cigarettes. but now? now he’s a man with a mission. he’s going to use this money for your promposal.

assuming he can think of something. preferably something that doesn’t involve dollar bill bouquets or public humiliation.

as sukuna storms off the art room steps, he’s already thinking of how he could possibly top the circus act he just witnessed. whatever he comes up with has to be cool, low-key, and—most importantly—not the type of thing that makes people point and say, "look at ryomen sukuna doing that." because if there’s one thing sukuna won’t tolerate, it’s losing to toji zenin in a battle of charm.

he stuffs the cash into his pocket, muttering to himself, “this better be worth it.” and by "this," he means putting up with high school drama, helping idiots like toji, and figuring out the best way to ask you to prom without looking like a total sap.

little does he know, shiu is already uploading the footage of toji’s “promposal” disaster onto his burner account with the caption: “zenin family downfall: live footage.” 

and in the back of his mind, sukuna knows one thing for sure—he needs to act fast. whatever he does has to blow everyone away, especially you.

—

sukuna leans against the wall outside the school gates, trying to look as nonchalant as humanly possible despite the fact that his brain is doing cartwheels. his day’s been an absolute dumpster fire—between toji’s soap opera, shiu’s cryptic smirks, and some freshman mistaking him for a guidance counselor (how? how does that even happen?), he’s just about had it. and then, like the climax of one of those rom-coms you force him to watch, you step out of the school building. sukuna swears he hears a choir of angels, some harp strings, and maybe even sees a glowing halo over your head.

but of course, he’s ryomen sukuna, and he’s supposed to be the "bad boy." so instead of saying something poetic like, “you’re the light of my life,” he settles on:

“what the hell took you so long?”

your indignant pout hits him like a sucker punch, and he immediately regrets his choice of words. “excuse me, mister,” you huff, hands on your hips. “i was finishing my community service hours.”

“community service?” sukuna raises a brow. “what’d you do this time? steal a library book? jaywalk?”

you roll your eyes. “not everyone’s a delinquent like you, ‘kuna. i was helping clean up the school garden.”

“right. of course you were.” sukuna mutters, trying to ignore the sharp contrast between the two of you. while you’re out here being a model student with a résumé the size of a textbook, sukuna’s résumé might as well just say “can punch really hard.”

you don’t notice his inner turmoil as you launch into your usual spiel about your packed schedule. “so after that, i had drama club practice, then i’m helping with the fundraiser for the library, and then i have to—”

sukuna zones out for a second, overwhelmed by the sheer productivity radiating off of you. jesus, she’s a walking linkedin profile, he thinks, mentally comparing your extracurriculars to his…well, lack thereof. unless fistfights, bad decisions, and looking hot in leather count as extracurriculars.

“—and next week i’m presenting at the school board meeting!” you finish, beaming.

“you know, some of us don’t have time to kiss ass,” sukuna mutters under his breath, though there’s no malice in it.

“what was that?”

“nothing,” he says quickly, reaching out to grab your hand before he can think too much about it. he gives it a small squeeze, hoping it’ll shut up the voice in his head that’s been nagging him all day. you glance down at your intertwined hands, your expression softening. “you okay?”

“yeah, fine,” sukuna lies, looking away so you don’t catch the slight pink tint creeping up his ears. you let it slide, leaning closer as you walk beside him. “you know, you don’t have to wait for me every day.”

“and let some idiot try to ask you out while i’m not around? yeah, right.”

you laugh, and sukuna feels his chest loosen a little.

“you’re silly,” you say, swinging his hand a little as you walk.

“and you’re too good for me,” sukuna blurts out before he can stop himself. 

you stop in your tracks, blinking up at him. “what?”

“uh—nothing,” he says quickly, his brain screaming at him to shut up. but you don’t let it go. you tighten your grip on his hand and give him a look so sincere it nearly floors him. “sukuna, i like you for you, okay? not for some résumé or checklist or whatever you’re overthinking right now.”

“who says i’m overthinking?”

“your face.”

sukuna scoffs, trying to mask the relief that washes over him. “yeah, well. you’re lucky i like you too.”

you grin, leaning up to kiss his cheek, and sukuna swears he hears those angel singing again. maybe you really are untouchable, he thinks. but then again, you’re holding his hand, choosing him out of everyone else. and maybe that’s what true love is—messy, imperfect, and way too good to be true.

—

sukuna stumbles into his room after the long, exhausting day. his feet drag on the floor as he sheds his jacket, but leaves his shoes on—he's too tired to even care about a single thing right now. his bed looks like a warzone, clothes scattered across the floor in what can only be described as a "i’m a badass" fashion, but anyone who’s seen it knows it’s just laziness masked as chaos.

one of his dumbass bandanas is hanging off the lamp, and his hello kitty nightlight still glows faintly by his desk, casting a strange aura around the room. a vape lies carelessly tossed beside his pillow, some loose change, and a stack of junk food wrappers. he’d never admit it, but there’s a half-open box of chocolate chip cookies on his nightstand because, surprise surprise, he bought it for you earlier but kept it for himself when you weren’t looking.

ryomen sukuna, ladies and gentlemen.

plopping down onto his bed, he lazily scrolls through his phone before flopping down, leaving the screen bright enough to nearly fry his eyes. as if the day wasn’t already overwhelming enough, now he’s doing something even dumber. he opens discord. 

and without thinking twice, sends a message to uraume, the e-friend he’s been talking to for months, mostly while they’ve been playing apex legends. he had no clue how this strange friendship even started, but honestly? uraume was sarcastic, annoying in a way that made him laugh, and didn’t take his “bad boy” persona too seriously. 

he leans back, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds, holding the vape in his mouth while scrolling mindlessly through tiktok videos, making mental notes about the stuff you liked—stuff like cheesy couple memes, random boyfriend-girlfriend skits, and, of course, the tiktok videos of couples doing those “promposals.” sighing dramatically, he sends the message to uraume.

kingofcursezz: yo kingofcursezz: how the hell do you ask someone to prom without making it cringey kingofcursezz: help me out bro kingofcursezz: i'm trying to avoid looking like an idiot

he exhales a puff of smoke, irritated with himself for even reaching out to uraume about this. this is beneath him. but the thought of you—and how you’re so sweet, how you deserve the best….

yeah... he can’t screw this up. not now, not after all the effort.

his phone pings with a reply, and sukuna, having put it off for a second, glances down at the screen:

starume666: LOL starume666: are you seriously asking me this?

kingofcursezz: if you don’t help istg i’ll show up with a bucket of chicken and a bouquet of dollar bills. that’s my backup plan so you better give me something good.

he pauses to let out a tired, humorless laugh as he wipes his face. god, he’s not gonna survive this.

starume666: lmaooooo starume666: dude you’re way too hard on yourself starume666: just do smth simple but meaningful  starume666: what’s the thing you know will make her smile?

kingofcursezz: uhhhhhhh kingofcursezz: how about not being a weirdo who doesn’t know what the fuck a promposal is?  kingofcursezz: i’ll be the guy in the background who just buys her flowers and does the bare minimum like some jock that’s been forced into this tradition 💀💀💀💀

starume666: yeah but you’re not a jock bro  starume666: you’re a bad boy 😹 so act like it starume666: maybe do something unexpected n go off-script.

kingofcursezz: i mean ig she’ll like it if i show up in a full suit kingofcursezz: but i don’t have a tux so kingofcursezz: 💀

starume666: i swear if you don’t do this right i’m flying to your school and putting a bucket of kfc on your doorstep starume666: figure out what she likes and then do that. just be honest dude.

kingofcursezz: okok fine kingofcursezz: i’ll show up and do smth kingofcursezz: if you could stop texting me like my mom, that’d be great.

starume666: [reacted 😹 to your message]

sukuna rolls his eyes as the conversation ends, staring at his phone for a long while. he can’t help but think about you and the fact that he might actually care enough to make this promposal thing work. he shakes his head and grins at the absurdity of it all. for you, though? he’ll do anything. even if it means figuring out how to pull off the world’s least embarrassing promposal.

with that, he flicks his vape one last time, sits up, and starts brainstorming—maybe a simple bouquet? or, wait—does she even like roses? the inner turmoil continues, but one thing's for sure: he’s committed to this, for you.

chapter three: flowers are expensive, but regret is worse

sukuna’s day is just one monotonous loop of chaos, like some cruelly predictable high school sitcom. the cycle starts as usual: he drags yuuji, still wailing about his half-finished power rangers episode, onto the bus. the kid still begs for face tattoos, and sukuna swears he’s about to lose his mind if yuuji brings it up again. after that, he waits for you by the school gates like some lovesick loser who’s too proud to admit it, walks you to class, and then spends the rest of his day dodging every cheesy, cringe-worthy promposal happening at every corner.

but today? today, he’s got a mission. because apparently, the hellscape of high school doesn’t just end at promposals. no, the school administration has to rub salt in the wound by charging $20 per ticket for prom. 

$20. per person.

“are they funding a space program or what?” sukuna mutters under his breath as he trudges toward the admin desk, a wad of cash in hand. the admin, of course, isn’t at the desk. instead, gojo satoru is standing there, grinning ear to ear, holding a stack of offensively pink prom tickets. sukuna stops dead in his tracks.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” sukuna grumbles, glaring at gojo. “good morning to you too, sunshine!” gojo chirps, twirling the tickets between his fingers like he’s actually enjoying this. “what are you doing here?” sukuna asks, shoving the cash across the desk with zero ceremony.

“volunteering,” gojo says, batting his lashes as if he’s some kind of saint. “community service, you know? unlike you, i’m giving back to the school.”

“you mean they forced you here after you nearly set the chem lab on fire last month,” sukuna deadpans. gojo gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “how dare you? those were experiments! i’m a man of science, sukuna.”

“you’re a man of stupidity,” sukuna snaps, snatching the two tickets from gojo’s hand before he can start twirling them again. the pink nearly burns his eyes.

“aw, come on, don’t be like that,” gojo says, leaning over the desk like some smug cat. “you excited for prom? oh wait, let me guess. you’re one of those guys who’s too cool for prom, huh? you’re just going for your girlfriend’s sake, aren’t you? how adorable.” 

sukuna grits his teeth, refusing to give gojo the satisfaction of a response. instead, he grabs the clipboard to sign his name and yours, hastily scrawling the details. “oh, and while you’re at it,” gojo continues, leaning further into sukuna’s personal space, “you should totally sign up for prom king. i mean, look at you. tattoos, brooding face, bad-boy aura. the people would eat it up.”

sukuna freezes, pen hovering over the clipboard. “prom king? really?”

“absolutely!” gojo beams. “and hey, if you win, you’ll get to dance with your queen on stage in front of the whole school. talk about a moment, right?” sukuna scoffs but signs his name anyway. not because of gojo, of course. but because there’s no way in hell he’s letting some random idiot stand next to you on stage as prom king. 

gojo squints at the clipboard, noticing sukuna’s addition. “wait, you’re actually signing up? no way! oh my god, this is going to be epic. i can already see the headlines: ‘bad boy turned prom king—how sukuna stole the crown.’”

“shut up, gojo,” sukuna growls, shoving the clipboard back across the desk. “you got it, your majesty,” gojo smirks, giving a mock bow.

sukuna storms off, tickets in hand, muttering to himself about how much he hates this school. but deep down, he’s already imagining you as prom queen, standing beside him, both of you looking annoyingly perfect.

sukuna’s first instinct when he spots you walking toward him is to shove the glaringly pink prom tickets into his mouth and chew. problem solved. except, knowing his luck, you’d catch him mid-act, choke on the damn thing, and die right there in the middle of the hallway like some bad joke. 

so, instead, he opts for plan b: stuffing the tickets into his shirt. brilliant. considering you’re shorter than him and can’t reach his chest, it’s practically foolproof. he adjusts the tickets awkwardly under his jersey, patting them down like some suspicious drug mule as you get closer. totally suave. totally inconspicuous. 

“hey!” you chirp, completely oblivious to his internal crisis.“yo,” he grunts back, hands jammed into his pockets like they’ve been superglued there. 

you squint at him. “...you okay? you’re standing like you’re hiding a bomb or something.”

“nah, i’m good,” sukuna says quickly, shifting his weight like he suddenly forgot “how to human.”

you tilt your head, but thankfully don’t push it. instead, you start talking about your day—something about a community service meeting and a teacher who forgot their own syllabus—and sukuna does his best to nod and grunt in all the right places. but his mind? it’s running a marathon.

how the hell is he supposed to propose?

the obvious answer is to just...hand you the tickets. easy, straightforward, zero theatrics. you’d say yes, because of course you would—it’s not like you’ve been subtle about dropping hints that you wanted him to ask you. but then he remembers the look on your face every time you watch one of those elaborate promposal videos on tiktok. the way your eyes light up, how you gush about the effort people put in, how cute it is.

and that’s when it hits him like a brick to the face: this isn’t about proving a point to the rest of the school, or even about outdoing gojo’s obnoxious stunt with geto. it’s about you. about making you smile, giving you a moment you’d remember fondly for years. he’s gotta do it right. for you.

but how?

his brain is a war zone of terrible ideas:

buy a giant teddy bear and make it hold the tickets? nah, too cutesy.

write a message in the sky? too broke.

pretend to lose the tickets and ‘find’ them in front of you? too stupid.

he realizes, with a sinking feeling, that this is why he’s been spiraling. because this whole relationship thing? it’s uncharted territory for him. you’re his first relationship, his first everything, and the last thing he wants to do is screw it up.

goddamn it.

you’re still talking when he zones back in, noticing the way you’re looking up at him expectantly. “...so? what do you think?”

“uh,” he says, blinking. “yeah. sounds good.”

“sukuna, i just asked if i should shave my head for charity,” you deadpan.

he stares at you, caught red-handed. “...no?”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and he feels something in his chest unclench. for now, at least. he’s got until the end of the week to figure this out. totally doable. right?

wrong.

sukuna slumps onto the gym floor after basketball practice, sweat dripping off him like he’s just crawled out of a swamp. he grabs a water bottle, downs half of it, and tosses it aside like he’s starring in a gatorade commercial, all while muttering to himself, “this is a nightmare. i’m surrounded by idiots.”

“what’s the crisis this time, king sukuna?” naoya zenin drawls, leaning against the wall and doing absolutely nothing productive. the guy wouldn’t even break a sweat if his life depended on it, yet somehow he’s always the loudest voice in the room. “none of your business, zenin,” sukuna snaps, trying to ignore the fact that he even brought this up.

“aw, come on,” naoya smirks. “let me guess. girlfriend troubles? did she finally realize you’re all bark and no bite?”

sukuna shoots him a glare that could probably set someone on fire. “i’m trying to plan a prom-posal, dumbass.”

“oh, that’s why you look constipated,” toji pipes up from where he’s sprawled on the bleachers, looking like he’s auditioning for a mattress commercial. “need me to step in? i can bully her a little for you. worked like a charm with my mamaguro.”

“toji, shut the hell up before i make you swallow that smug look,” sukuna growls, though toji just chuckles, completely unfazed. “don’t listen to him,” nanami says, peeling off his sweatbands like he’s had it with everyone’s nonsense. “if you want a genuine suggestion, vogue says simplicity is key. a heartfelt speech, some flowers—”

“you’re reading vogue now?” geto interjects, raising an eyebrow.

“it was for a research paper,” nanami replies, deadpan. “and no, i will not elaborate.”

“you’re all useless,” sukuna groans, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. he turns to geto, the only one who hasn’t actively annoyed him yet. “what about you? you’re practically married to gojo at this point. what worked for you?” geto groans like he’s been asked to relive a traumatic experience. 

“please, don’t remind me. the guy brought kfc and roses made of dollar bills. do you know how many times i’ve had to explain to people that i didn’t say yes because of the chicken?”

“but you still said yes,” toji points out, grinning like the devil himself.

“because he threatened to throw himself into traffic if i didn’t!” geto snaps, throwing his towel at toji’s face. “what was i supposed to do, let him die in front of the school?”

“yes,” sukuna mutters under his breath, earning a snort from nanami.

“look, you’ve got this,” nanami says, attempting to be the voice of reason. “just think about what she’d like. something meaningful. and maybe, just maybe, don’t get advice from this crowd.”

“i hate all of you,” sukuna announces, standing up and grabbing his bag. “but especially you, toji. never speak to me again.”

“love you too, bro,” toji calls out as sukuna stomps out of the gym, muttering curses under his breath. he’s no closer to a plan, but at least he’s 100% sure of one thing—he’s never asking these idiots for help again.

—

sukuna drags himself into the house, tossing his bag onto the floor like it’s personally offended him. the sound echoes through the living room, but yuuji doesn’t even flinch. the kid’s sprawled out on the couch, a juice box in one hand and the tv remote in the other, utterly engrossed in mean girls. “the hell are you watching?” sukuna asks, toeing off his shoes.

“mean girls,” yuuji replies, eyes glued to the screen. “it’s ‘bout some mean girls, duh.”

“you’re seven, yuuji. why are you watching a movie about high school drama?”

“’cause i gotta get ready for high school. duh again.”

sukuna rolls his eyes but stops when he catches the prom scene on the screen. his brows furrow as he watches. could this help? nope. just people dancing and some heartfelt speech about how everyone’s a queen or whatever. useless. he groans and flops onto the armchair, rubbing his temples. out of pure desperation—and because his brain’s running on fumes—he asks, “hey, yuuji, how would you ask someone to prom?”

yuuji pauses the movie and turns to him with the seriousness of a kid about to give the most groundbreaking advice in the universe. “easy! dress like their favorite power ranger.”

“what.”

“and then you go, ‘will you go to prom with me? hiya!’” yuuji does a karate chop for emphasis, nearly spilling his juice. “and if they say no… boom! mass destruckshin.”

“mass what?”

“mass destruckshin!” yuuji repeats, puffing his chest like he’s just dropped the most foolproof plan of the century. “you gotta show them you mean business!” sukuna stares at his brother, wondering if it’s possible to feel both amused and like his life is spiraling out of control at the same time. 

“yeah, no. thanks for nothing, yuuji.”

“you’re welcome!” yuuji chirps, unpausing the movie. “don’t forget to do the hiya part!”

sukuna groans and leans back in the chair. he’s not about to karate chop his way into a promposal. that’s a one-way ticket to you dumping him on the spot. his mom would’ve been a better bet, but she’s probably halfway through her night shift by now—and even if she were here, she’d skip prom entirely and go straight to planning your wedding. he shudders at the thought. not because he doesn’t like the idea of marrying you—hell, the thought of you in a white dress has his brain short-circuiting—but because his mom would absolutely order a three-tier cake before you’d even said yes to a prom date. “get a grip, sukuna,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head. prom first, wedding later. priorities. 

yuuji, oblivious to his brother’s existential crisis, pipes up again. “hey, ‘kuna, if she says no, can i have your power ranger costume?”

“i’m not wearing a damn power ranger costume!” sukuna snaps, chucking a throw pillow at yuuji, who ducks with a laugh.

“okay, okay! fiinnnneee. but if you mess up, can i have your juice money?” sukuna glares at him. “shut up, yuuji.”

“love you too!” yuuji sing-songs, turning back to mean girls like nothing happened. and sukuna? he’s mentally preparing himself for what feels like the most important mission of his entire high school life.

—

sukuna woke up with the enthusiasm of a cat being dragged to a bath. it was the weekend—not the artist, fortunately, but the actual day—and the irony of hearing the weeknd's "reminder" on loop in his brain from all those tiktok promposals wasn’t lost on him. tiktok really had a way of making everything worse, didn’t it? he groaned, rubbing his face as he sat up in bed, his hair a complete mess and his shirt wrinkled from falling asleep in it.

“alright, flowers,” he muttered, standing and grabbing a hoodie off the floor. it was one of those old, oversized ones with some random logo he’d stolen from his cousin choso. paired with his basketball shorts and beat-up sneakers, sukuna looked like he was ready to run errands or rob a gas station—either worked.

the neighborhood was its usual weekend self—kids playing, dogs barking, and aunties gossiping by gates like it was their full-time job. sukuna stuck out like a sore thumb as he wandered from florist to florist, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, trying not to look like he was about to hold the place up.

his first stop was a quaint little flower shop with pastel walls and a ridiculously cheery name: bloom haven. sukuna stepped inside, immediately overwhelmed by the overpowering scent of roses and lilies. “good morning!” the florist, a middle-aged woman with a bright smile and an apron covered in flower prints, greeted him. “how can i help you today?”

“uhhh… bouquet?” sukuna said, voice low like he was ashamed to be seen in public buying flowers.

“wonderful! who’s the lucky someone?” she asked, practically sparkling with excitement. “just… someone,” he grumbled, glancing at a bucket of roses. “how much for these?”

“oh, roses are $5 per stem!” she chirped.

sukuna’s brain screeched to a halt. “five bucks? for one flower?”

“they’re premium quality!” she said, as if that justified daylight robbery.

“yeah, premium my ass,” he muttered under his breath, leaving the shop before she could try to sell him anything else.

the next place wasn’t much better. a hipster-owned flower truck parked near a cafe, blasting indie music and decorated with fairy lights. the owner had a man bun and greeted him with, “peace and petals, brother.”

sukuna hated him immediately.

“you got bouquets?” sukuna asked flatly.

“absolutely, bro. we handcraft our arrangements using sustainably sourced—”

“how much?” sukuna interrupted.

“oh, a bouquet starts at $45,” the guy said, like that wasn’t insane.

“forty-five?” sukuna’s voice cracked. “for flowers?”

“yeah, but they come with vibes,” man bun said, gesturing to the arrangements like they were ancient artifacts. sukuna turned on his heel and walked away, muttering, “i’ll give you vibes, idiot.”

by the time he’d hit his fourth florist, his mood was sourer than expired milk. flowers were so stupidly expensive. why did people even like them? they just died after a week. he considered the idea of pulling a tree out of the ground—free, big, dramatic. totally memorable. but then he imagined you looking at him like he’d lost his mind and immediately scrapped the plan.

“what are you even doing, sukuna?” he mumbled to himself, stopping on a street corner to rub his temples. the hoodie wasn’t doing much to hide him from people who were now giving him concerned looks as he stood there, muttering like a lunatic. eventually, he caved and called the only person who might understand his suffering: geto.

“yo,” geto answered, his voice muffled. “what’s up?”

“how the hell do people afford flowers?” sukuna barked into the phone.

“uh, normal people have jobs?” geto replied.

“i have a job,” sukuna snapped. “it’s called surviving high school and taking care of yuuji. do you know how much that little monster eats?”

“okay, calm down,” geto said, laughing. “why are you even buying flowers? is this for her?”

“obviously,” sukuna muttered, lowering his voice like the trees might overhear. “just go to the supermarket,” geto said. “grab some from there. they’re cheaper.”

“supermarket flowers?” sukuna sneered.

“they’re not bad,” geto said. “it’s the thought that counts, right? plus, you’re gonna make up for it with the rest of the promposal, right?”

“...yeah,” sukuna lied, glancing at his empty hands and feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. “good luck,” geto said, clearly trying not to laugh.

“shut up,” sukuna muttered, hanging up and sighing. supermarket it was, then. hopefully, you wouldn’t mind flowers that came with a discount sticker.

on his way to the supermarket, sukuna didn’t plan to get distracted. but there it was—a tuxedo shop with mannequins that practically mocked him, standing tall in their fitted suits. he told himself he’d just peek. just a look. but somehow, sukuna was inside, staring at a rack of tuxedos, his hoodie feeling embarrassingly out of place in the crisp, polished environment. he ran a hand through his hair, eyes landing on a sleek black tuxedo with satin lapels. it was classic, clean, and exactly the kind of thing you’d probably love seeing him in. just try it on. what’s the worst that could happen?

five minutes later, sukuna was glaring at his reflection in the mirror, fumbling with a tie that refused to cooperate. “stupid, overcomplicated—” he grunted, yanking at it so hard he nearly choked himself.

“you’re gonna kill yourself before prom, kid.”

sukuna turned to see a short, older man with a grumpy face and an air of authority that reminded him of a drill sergeant. the man—wasuke, according to his name tag—walked over and snatched the tie out of sukuna’s hands.

“stand still,” wasuke barked.

“i’m not a kid,” sukuna muttered, but he stood still anyway, letting wasuke adjust the tie with the precision of a man who had probably done this a thousand times. “you’re fidgety. just like i was before my prom,” wasuke said, his gruff tone softening slightly. “you nervous about asking someone?”

“...something like that,” sukuna admitted. wasuke grunted, finishing the tie and stepping back. “i was nervous too. didn’t think she’d say yes. but she did.”

“yeah? how’d you ask her?” sukuna asked, genuinely curious despite himself.

“showed up at her house with a dozen carnations, a guitar, and no plan,” wasuke said, chuckling. “played the worst version of wonderwall you’ve ever heard. still don’t know why she said yes, but she did. forty years later, she’s still here.”

sukuna blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity. for a moment, he imagined himself and you forty years from now. he hated how much he liked the thought. “cool story, old man,” sukuna said, brushing it off.

“you’ll figure it out,” wasuke said, patting him on the shoulder. “just don’t overthink it. and maybe don’t strangle yourself with the tie.”

with that, wasuke waddled off, leaving sukuna to face the mirror again. the tux fit perfectly, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering at the waist. the black-on-black look was sharp, especially with the skinny tie wasuke had wrestled into place. he looked...good.

too good, apparently, because he did the dumbest thing imaginable: he pulled out his phone and snapped a mirror selfie. “what am i even doing?” he muttered, staring at the photo. it was too late to stop himself, though—his thumb hit send before his brain could catch up.

the text went to you.

you.

“shit,” sukuna hissed, panic gripping him as he watched the message deliver. seconds later, your name flashed on his screen. video call. “hey!” your voice came through immediately, bright and excited. “are you trying on a tux? lemme see!” sukuna groaned, holding the phone at arm’s length so you could see the tux. “don’t freak out,” he muttered.

“oh my god, you look so good!” you squealed, and sukuna swore he felt his soul leave his body. “is this for prom? are you finally gonna ask me?” 

his heart slammed against his ribs. “uh, no,” he said quickly. too quickly. 

and then, like the coward he was, he hit end call.

he stared at his reflection, his ears burning. “god damn it,” he muttered, yanking the tie loose. wasuke’s voice echoed in his head: you’ll figure it out. “yeah, right,” sukuna muttered, shoving his phone back into his pocket and heading for the fitting room. he wasn’t sure what was worse—your reaction, or his. probably his. definitely his.

—

a hello kitty phone charm dangled from your phone, clinking softly every time you tossed it onto the bed after furiously texting sukuna. you giggled like a maniac, clutching your phone with both hands as his unread replies piled up.

you: omg you’re SO HANDSOME, why didn’t you tell me sooner???!!! you: can’t believe you look THAT good, excuse me while i pass away you: also if you’re dressing like that for prom, consider me yours all over again </33

your fingers flew across the keyboard, unable to stop yourself. there was just something about seeing him all polished up that had you swooning, even if he couldn’t see your reaction. sukuna being flustered? rare. sukuna being flustered and looking that fine? a national treasure.

your room was the perfect mix of chaos and comfort, a little shrine to your personality. fairy lights twinkled around the edges of your room, casting a soft glow over the colorful mess that was your bed—a heap of throw pillows and the softest blanket you refused to part with since middle school. your laptop sat open in front of you, the screen glowing with pinterest boards full of prom dress inspo: sleek satin silhouettes, dreamy tulle gowns, and even some edgy alternatives, because why not keep your options open? stickers covered your laptop’s lid—mostly cute animals, a few doodles of your favorite characters, and a sneaky, ironic skull-and-rose design that reminded you of sukuna.

your room smelled faintly of vanilla candles, the remnants of last night’s study session still lingering in the air. posters of your favorite bands and a few anime characters covered the walls, some slightly crooked but perfectly placed in your eyes. your vanity table overflowed with skincare, hair clips, and makeup products, while a laundry basket overflowed in the corner—a battle you’d deal with later.

you rolled onto your back, phone still clutched in your hand as you refreshed sukuna’s chat. no reply yet. that was fine. you grinned, imagining him struggling to come up with something cool to say.

you: don’t tell me you’re too busy being HOT to reply now 🙂‍↕️😹 you: also hi ily bye 🤭

closing your chat for a moment, you leaned back against your pillows and stared at your laptop screen. prom dress inspo was serious business, and as much as you wanted to keep teasing sukuna, you couldn’t ignore the excitement bubbling in your chest. prom was coming, and with a boyfriend like sukuna, it was going to be perfect—even if he was probably sweating bullets over the whole promposal thing. let him sweat a little longer, you thought with a giggle, clicking on yet another gown that made your heart skip a beat.

chapter four: gossip girls and a guy who can’t communicate

the bathroom was dimly lit, the flickering bulb above one of the stalls doing nothing to make you feel any better. you hadn’t even been planning on overhearing the conversation when you snuck into the last stall, phone in hand, planning to scroll mindlessly through pinterest to distract yourself during the break. but then their voices carried in, sharp and intentional, like knives aimed straight for your heart.

"i mean, can you believe she hasn’t been asked yet?" yorozu’s saccharine tone dripped with malice, her voice echoing off the tiled walls. "like, it’s kind of embarrassing at this point. you’d think someone as clingy as her would’ve forced sukuna to do it by now." 

mei mei let out a low laugh, the kind that made your stomach twist. "maybe he’s just not into her like that. i mean, bad boys don’t exactly do promposals, do they? unless it’s for someone worth the effort."

"exactly," yorozu snickered. "like, if he really cared, she’d have already been bragging about it all over instagram. but nope. maybe he’s keeping his options open? can’t blame him." their laughter cut through the air, and you pressed your hand over your mouth, trying to steady your breathing. your chest felt tight, and for a moment, you thought you might actually cry. not here. not in front of them. not where they could hear.

from the sinks, shoko ieiri’s voice came sharp and cutting, a stark contrast to her usual laid-back drawl. "god, can you two shut up? it’s break, not your audition for mean girls 2."

"what’s your problem, ieiri?" yorozu snapped, but there was an edge to her voice—shoko wasn’t someone to mess with lightly. 

"my problem is your ugly-ass voices ruining my smoke break," shoko replied, exhaling a cloud of smoke with practiced indifference. "if sukuna hasn’t asked her yet, it’s probably because he’s not a performative little attention whore like, oh, i don’t know, you two."

mei mei sniffed. "whatever. we’re just saying what everyone’s thinking."

"yeah, everyone," yorozu added, her voice dripping with mock concern. "but hey, maybe sukuna will surprise her. or not."

their laughter followed them out the door, and the sound of it made your stomach churn. the bathroom felt unbearably quiet once they were gone, the only noise the faint hum of the fluorescent lights. you stayed in the stall for a moment longer, gripping your phone so tightly your knuckles turned white. their words circled in your head like vultures, each one pecking away at your confidence.

maybe he’s just not into you like that.

bad boys don’t exactly do promposals.

someone worth the effort.

your mind spun in spirals. was it true? sukuna had been acting distant lately—or was that just your imagination? he hadn’t replied to your texts about the tuxedo selfie, and now that you thought about it, what if it wasn’t meant for you? what if it was meant for someone else? maybe mei mei and yorozu were right. why would someone like sukuna—brooding, aloof, undeniably cool—want someone like you? you heard the stall door creak open, and shoko’s voice startled you out of your thoughts. 

"hey. you okay in there?"

you hesitated before opening the door, forcing a tight smile. "yeah, i’m fine."

shoko frowned, her cigarette dangling loosely between her fingers. she looked at you for a moment, as if debating whether to say something, before finally muttering, "those bitches don’t know what they’re talking about."

"it’s fine," you lied, brushing past her. your hands were trembling as you gripped the strap of your bag, and the lump in your throat made it hard to breathe. shoko didn’t stop you as you left, her awkward, apologetic smile lingering in your mind as you walked down the hall, head low, trying not to let the tears spill over.

is he really stringing you along?

does he even care?

two days until prom, and he hasn’t said a word.

the voices in your head were relentless, their whispers feeding your growing self-doubt. and for the first time in your relationship, you wondered if you’d been wrong about sukuna all along.

the day had dragged on forever, the weight of yorozu and mei mei's words pressing heavily on your shoulders. by the time school ended, you were so emotionally drained you couldn’t even think straight. but when sukuna pulled up on his bike, leaning casually against it with that stupidly handsome smirk of his, you plastered on your best smile, determined not to let him see how much you were spiraling. "hey, handsome," you chirped, sliding onto the back of his bike, your voice just a little too bright. "miss me?" 

he glanced back at you as he handed you the helmet, brow furrowed slightly. "you good? you sound... weird."

"weird? no way!" you forced a laugh, strapping the helmet on. "just, you know, long day. classes were boring. people were annoying. the usual."

sukuna didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged it off, revving the engine as you wrapped your arms around his waist. the ride home was silent, save for the growl of the bike and the occasional honk of a car passing by. usually, you’d chatter about everything and nothing, filling the air with your stories, your laughter, your plans. today, though, the words felt stuck in your throat, your mind too tangled in thoughts of prom and sukuna and you. when he stopped in front of your place, you hopped off and handed him the helmet, hesitating for a moment before blurting out, "can i ask you something?" his eyes narrowed slightly, his usual nonchalance giving way to something more guarded. "what’s up?" 

you took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. "why haven’t you… you know… said anything about prom?" sukuna blinked, caught completely off guard. "huh? what d’ya mean?"

"i mean…" you trailed off, suddenly feeling stupid for even bringing it up. "it’s just… prom is in two days, and everyone else is, like, getting these cute proposals and stuff, and i thought maybe… maybe you’d—"

"oh, come on," he cut you off, his tone more defensive than he intended. "you know i’m not into all that cheesy shit. i’m not gojo or toji, running around making a scene." your heart sank at his words, and you tried to keep your voice steady. "it’s not about making a scene, sukuna. it’s about—"

"about what?" he snapped, rubbing the back of his neck. "you already know we’re going together, right? so what’s the big deal?" you stared at him, your chest tightening. "the big deal is… i just wanted to feel special, okay? like you care. but if that’s too much to ask, then—"

"you think i don’t care?" he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. "you think i’m just stringin’ you along or some shit? what kinda dumbass idea is that?" the tears you’d been holding back all day threatened to spill over, and you quickly looked away. "forget it. i shouldn’t have said anything."

"no, seriously, where’s this coming from?" he pressed, his frustration clear. "you’ve been acting off all day, and now you’re throwing this at me?"

"you’re impossible," you muttered, turning on your heel and walking towards your door.

"wait, hold up—" he started, but you didn’t stop, the lump in your throat making it impossible to respond. sukuna sat there on his bike, watching you walk away, his chest tightening in a way he didn’t know how to describe. he wanted to call after you, to explain that he was trying, that he wanted to give you something special, but the words just wouldn’t come out. instead, he clenched his fists, cursing himself under his breath. 

as you closed the door behind you, you leaned against it, tears streaming down your face. your thoughts were a chaotic mess. does he even care? am i being unreasonable? is this all in my head?

meanwhile, sukuna sat outside for a few moments longer, staring at your house with a sinking feeling in his stomach. he’d messed up, and he knew it. but how the hell was he supposed to fix it?

—

sukuna was lying on his bed, arms splayed out like he’d just been KO’d by life itself. staring at the ceiling, he let out a groan so deep it rattled his soul. it’s so over, he thought. this is it. the end. the fat lady’s singing. the curtain’s dropping. i’ve fumbled my way into boyfriend hell. his phone was propped up on his chest, the screen dimmed but still visible, waiting for the one thing that could bring him solace: a notification from you. no cute animal reel, no cheesy meme, no “omg this reminded me of you <3 :3” tag. nothing. nada. silence. sukuna stared at the unlit screen like it was actively mocking him.

so this is how it feels to die inside, he mused, scrolling aimlessly through tiktok, where every other post was either a cringy promposal or a “men ain’t shit” rant. great. he tossed his phone aside, facepalming hard enough to leave a red mark.

"bro, can you NOT," yuuji’s voice boomed through the thin wall, followed by the sound of something heavy slamming against it. "some of us are trying to get good sleep over here!" sukuna didn’t even flinch. "and some of us are trying to figure out why we’re the literal worst boyfriend on the planet, yuuji," he shouted back, voice muffled by his pillow.

there was a pause, and then yuuji called back, "sounds like a skill issue!"

yeah, thanks for the moral support, kid, sukuna thought bitterly, rolling onto his side and glaring at his phone like it held all the answers to his problems. should he text you? call you? grovel at your feet and beg for forgiveness? nah, too much. probably. "but what if it’s not too much," he muttered to himself, his overthinking spiraling like a tiktok rabbit hole. he grabbed his phone and opened your chat, fingers hovering over the keyboard. he started typing:

sukuna: "hey."

no, too casual. she’s probably still mad. delete.

sukuna: "sorry for being a dick earlier."

ugh, too vague. she deserves better than this half-assed apology. delete.

sukuna: "pls don’t leave me i’m stupid and i love you."

god, get a grip. delete.

he groaned again, tossing his phone across the bed and burying his face in his hands. he was spiraling, and not in the cute “omg i like her so much” way, but in the “my life is a flaming dumpster fire” way. the worst part? he couldn’t even properly apologize yet because the grand promposal he’d been planning wasn’t ready. and if he apologized now, you’d probably forgive him, but it’d ruin the big moment he was hoping to surprise you with. but what if waiting too long means she never forgives me at all?

“fuck,” he muttered to himself, staring at the ceiling again. “why is being in love so goddamn hard? people on tiktok make it look so easy. just dance, propose, and boom, happy ending. where’s my happy ending?”

from the other room, yuuji shouted, "SHUT UP, ROMEO!"

"eat shit, yuuji!" sukuna barked back, even though the kid was right.

god, he needed to get his act together before you realized you could do way better than him. but for now, he just laid there, shriveling up and dying like the dramatic dumbass he was, waiting for a miracle.

—

your room was a disaster zone: laptop open on your bed, your playlist stuck on “prom dress” by mxmtoon like it was 2019, your phone precariously balanced on a pile of mismatched socks, and tissues littered around like you were auditioning for a sad indie movie. the death metal hello kitty pajamas—thrifted with sukuna—clung to you like a bittersweet hug, the fabric somehow feeling heavier tonight. you weren’t about to cry over a boy. but also… you might cry over a boy. the duality of woman. and because emotional self-destruction is best paired with a sprinkle of pettiness, you grabbed your phone, snapped a cute selfie in said pajamas, and slapped a caption on it: “cozy nights >>>> everything else 💕”

posting it was an impulsive decision, but it was also calculated. you knew the power of a cute, casual post. it wasn’t technically aimed at sukuna, but you also weren’t about to sit here and pretend you didn’t want him to see it, to notice you, to maybe—just maybe—grovel a little in your DMs. the likes and comments started flooding in immediately because your socials were basically the hub for school tea and wholesome vibes.

mamaguro: our little fashionista!!! thrift QUEEN 😍

god bless that woman. she deserved the world.

shoko: (attached gif of a woman dramatically fainting on a chaise lounge)

classic shoko.

maki: ugh, if i thrifted this, mai would burn it out of spite. cute though. thumbs up. mai: shut up maki. also, not bad. 8/10. maki: don’t rate her outfit like it’s your stupid games, nerd. mai: cry about it.

sibling banter in your comments? worth it.

and then, of course, there was:

naoya zenin: so glad someone else noticed how good you look in pj’s 😏

you rolled your eyes so hard you saw another dimension. of course he had to slither in. you didn’t even bother giving it a pity like.

you refreshed the page once, twice, twenty times. still no sign of sukuna. no like, no comment, no DM. you threw yourself back onto the bed, groaning into your pillow like a banshee. was it really that hard to double-tap? and then, the spiraling started.

what if he didn’t like it?

what if he thought it was cringe?

what if he saw it and scrolled past, thinking about how much of a baby you are for posting this in the first place?

or worse — what if he thought it was for someone else? like naoya? 

ew.

you shook your head violently, trying to physically rattle the thoughts out. sukuna wasn’t that stupid. right? he had to know this was for him. but as the minutes ticked by, and the comments from your friends kept rolling in, the notification you wanted most stayed stubbornly absent.

boys are so stupid, you thought bitterly, scribbling “stupid sukuna and his stupid abs and his stupid everything” in your spiral-bound diary. it stayed locked away in your closet, expertly hidden in the event of an accidental snoop, because some things were too raw to share with the world. you hit play on “prom dress” for the 17th time that evening, feeling the lyrics a little too personally as you kept refreshing the post like a woman possessed. love, as it turns out, was truly exhausting.

—

sukuna had just slumped back in his chair, doom-scrolling tiktok and internally mourning the lack of a “girlfriend tagged you in a tiktok” notification, when your instagram post pinged onto his phone. for a solid five seconds, he froze. like a caveman discovering fire.

you looked ethereal. the death metal hello kitty pajamas, the soft glow of the fairy lights, the cozy chaos of your room in the background—sukuna didn’t even know how to process it. you looked like, uh, a… renaissance painting? yeah. except, sukuna was 98% sure he couldn’t spell renaissance if his life depended on it. 

r-e-n-a…sauce? god, no.

whatever.

like an idiot, his thumb hovered over the comment section for too long, his brain scrambling for something cool but romantic but not cringe but also boyfriend-worthy. and then, because he was absolutely useless under pressure, he panicked and commented:

sukuna: 🔥🔥🔥

the second he hit send, he let out the longest groan known to mankind, slapping his hand over his face. what the hell, sukuna? he might as well have sent a dm saying, “wyd ;)” for how basic that was. wasn’t he your boyfriend? he was supposed to be above fire emojis!

meanwhile, across town, your phone buzzed, and when you saw the notification, your entire soul ascended for half a second before crashing back down. fire emojis? that’s what he gave you?

your reaction was visceral. 

a gasp so loud it nearly knocked the fairy lights off your wall. your heart rate skyrocketed. every fiber of your being screamed, is this what my life has come to? my boyfriend thinks i’m fire-emoji-hot, not love-letter-hot? "oh my god, no," you muttered, pacing your room. this is it. the tiktoks didn’t work. i failed as a girlfriend. what’s next? marrying someone who comments ‘send bobs and vagene’ on my posts?

but before you could plan the ultimate self-roast in your diary, another notification came through. sukuna, clearly in full damage control mode, had added a second comment:

sukuna: my girl. 💪

you stopped mid-spiral, blinking at the screen. the simplicity of it. the possessive undertone. my girl. two words, and somehow your heart went from shriveled raisin to blooming flower.

back at sukuna’s place, he was staring at the new comment with narrowed eyes, second-guessing himself yet again. was that too much? was it cringey? what if she thinks it’s corny? what if she screenshots it and sends it to shoko, and they both roast me? what if—

and then, your like on his comment came through, followed by you pinning it under the post. sukuna let out a dramatic exhale, flopping back onto his bed. ah, love. exhausting, anxiety-inducing, and, somehow, totally worth it.

chapter five: when subtlety isn’t an option

dragging yourself onto campus that morning felt like a herculean effort. you were running on fumes and whatever scraps of serotonin sukuna’s ridiculously over-the-top goodnight message had left you. sure, it was sweet—ten whole lines about how he’d “reshape reality” for you or some nonsense—but was it an apology? was it a promposal? absolutely not. boys were a disease.

as soon as you stepped through the gates, gojo’s obnoxiously loud voice rang out, cutting through your existential crisis like a foghorn. “diva down!” he declared dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d personally betrayed him by showing up in less-than-perfect condition. before you could even muster a glare, geto’s hand shot out, smacking gojo square in the stomach. “read the room, satoru,” he said, shaking his head in disappointment. “ow!” gojo wheezed, doubling over. “i was just stating facts!”

you ignored their antics, trudging toward your locker, when the crackling intercom interrupted the usual morning chaos. nanami’s voice, as calm yet strained as ever, floated over the campus. “attention, students. all of you are required to assemble on the football field immediately. this is not a drill.” a murmur rippled through the halls. was it a fire drill? a surprise pep rally? something worse? you glanced around, half-hoping to see sukuna leaning against a wall with his usual “i don’t care about anything” face, but he was nowhere to be found.

“weird,” you muttered, joining the slow shuffle of students heading outside. on the field, clusters of confused teenagers were gathering under the bright morning sun. you scanned the crowd, squinting against the light. no sign of sukuna. where was that idiot? meanwhile, gojo and geto had caught up to you. “what do you think this is?” gojo asked, clearly already bored.

“hopefully not another motivational speaker,” geto muttered. “or a fire drill,” you added, your voice flat.

“whatever it is, it better be quick,” gojo whined. “my skincare routine does not involve standing in direct sunlight for this long.”

you rolled your eyes, turning your attention back to the crowd. something about this felt off. and you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was happening, it had something to do with sukuna.

the murmurs in the crowd were growing louder, restless. one of the jocks inhaled, clearly gearing up to yell something stupid—probably “this is so lame” or some other brilliant insight—when the jumbotron sparked to life with a loud buzz. everyone froze, heads snapping toward the giant screen.

there he was. 

sukuna. 

in a tuxedo.

he looked… disheveled, to say the least. his tie was slightly crooked, and his bloodshot eyes gave him the appearance of someone who hadn’t slept in years. or maybe ever. but the way he leaned back in a chair, dressed like a mob boss with the confidence to match, had the crowd whispering excitedly.

“oh my god, is this for real?”

“is he—he’s wearing a tux! is this, like, a movie?”

“is he single?” one girl whispered, earning a sharp glare from her friend.

you? you were just standing there, slack-jawed, because what was he doing?

on screen, sukuna let out a deep sigh, his voice lower and rougher than usual, probably from the late hour. “hey,” he started, glancing off-camera like he wasn’t sure how to say this. “so, uh. this is for… my girl.”

your heart stuttered.

“listen,” he continued, running a hand through his hair, “i know i’m the world’s worst boyfriend. like, bottom of the barrel. absolute trash. no one’s worse than me.”

“i mean, he’s not wrong,” gojo stage-whispered from behind you. geto smacked him again.

sukuna’s voice dropped even lower, making half the girls in the crowd swoon. “but i’m trying. and if i have to humiliate myself in front of the entire school to make it up to you, then so be it.”

your breath caught as the screen cut to black with a simple message: turn around.

you whipped around just in time to see sukuna—your sukuna—riding his motorbike onto the football field like he was in a damn action movie. the crowd gasped, screamed, and scattered as he skidded to a stop in the middle of the field, yuuji riding behind him, holding on for dear life. “this is better than coloring claaaasssss!” yuuji yelled, his little voice carrying across the field. in his tiny hands was a bouquet of… lego flowers? some of the pieces were dangerously close to falling off. behind them, sprinting full speed like his life depended on it, was choso, carrying an actual vintage boombox over his head. half the girls in the crowd were now screaming, but not for sukuna.

“who’s that?”

“he’s so hoott! does he go here?”

“you’re all so basic,” geto muttered under his breath.

as sukuna parked his bike, yuuji jumped off and ran toward you, yelling, “you hafta say yes! otherwise big bro will cause mass destrunkshun!” 

sukuna groaned, glaring at his little brother. “yuuji, shut up!” but yuuji ignored him, shoving the lego flowers into your hands. “here! they never die, just like big bro’s love for you!”

the crowd erupted in a mix of laughter and cheers as sukuna finally got off his bike and walked toward you, his face red but determined. “listen,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “i know i’m an idiot, and i suck at this whole ‘romantic boyfriend’ thing. but i love you, and i want to take you to prom. so… will you be my date?”

you blinked, tears welling up as the boombox suddenly blared heart of glass by blondie. choso gave you a thumbs-up, still holding the boombox over his head like a champ. “say yes! say yes!” yuuji chanted, jumping up and down.

“oh my god, yes!” you finally shouted, throwing your arms around sukuna’s neck. the crowd roared, clapping and cheering as sukuna hugged you back, a relieved smile breaking across his face.

“finally,” gojo muttered. “that was so painful to watch.” but you didn’t care about the crowd, or the noise, or even yuuji yelling, “yay! no destrunkshun today!”

all you cared about was the way sukuna looked at you, like you were the only person in the world.

—

sukuna flopped dramatically onto your bed later that evening, still in his slightly wrinkled tuxedo from the ridiculous escapade earlier, his head hitting the pillow with a soft thump. “do you even understand what i went through to pull that off?” he groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “i might as well retire. i’m too old for this.” you snorted, sitting cross-legged on the floor, your gaze flicking to the lego flower bouquet proudly perched on your desk. “you’re eighteen, sukuna. relax.”

“eighteen with back pain,” he muttered, shifting to look at you. “and a vendetta against a certain flower set. do you know how many pieces are in that thing?”

“clearly, enough to drive you insane,” you teased, reaching over to nudge his shin. “so… tell me how it all went down. i need to know what mastermind put this together.”

he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow with an exaggerated sigh. “fine. but just know that i better get some kind of boyfriend-of-the-year award for this.”

“you’ll get a sticker. now spill.”

“okay, first of all,” he started, counting off on his fingers, “i had to beg nanami to bend the rules. i was like, ‘listen, dude, just one announcement. i swear i won’t get detention for the rest of the year.’”

“and he believed that?” you raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

“well…” sukuna grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “i might’ve also thrown in a promise to help him clean the chem lab after school for a month. he was this close to saying no, though.” you laughed, imagining nanami’s face at sukuna’s desperate pleas. “sounds about right. and choso?”

“ah, choso,” sukuna said dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like he was reciting a shakespearean monologue. “the real goat. he flew in from across the state—i’m talking dead of the night—to bring me that stupid lego flower set.”

“you made him travel for legos?” you gasped, barely holding back laughter.

“hey, it was symbolic!” he defended, pointing a finger at you. “and he didn’t just deliver it; he stayed up with me all night building it. i thought we were gonna lose a piece at one point, and let me tell you, i almost cried.” you couldn’t stop giggling at the image of sukuna and choso frantically building lego flowers in the middle of the night. “okay, okay. what about yuu?”

“oh, he was the easiest to convince,” sukuna said, smirking. “i just told him, ‘power rangers need good deeds on their resume, like helping their big bro.’ he was all in after that.”

“of course he was,” you muttered fondly, shaking your head.

“so, there you have it,” sukuna finished, stretching out on your bed with a satisfied sigh. “a night of blood, sweat, and legos. all for you, baby.” you smiled, leaning back against the edge of your bed. “you’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“yeah, but you love me,” he shot back, his tone smug.

“unfortunately,” you teased, though your cheeks warmed at his words. there was a brief silence before you hesitated, biting your lip. “sukuna?”

“hm?” he hummed, eyes half-closed.

“mei mei and yorozu said some stuff yesterday. about you and… us.”

his eyes snapped open, narrowing. “what kinda stuff?”

you shrugged, trying to play it off, but he wasn’t having it. “they said you were stringing me along. that you’d never—”

“oh, hell no,” he growled, sitting up so fast he almost hit his head on your fairy lights. “i’m gonna—”

“no, you’re not,” you interrupted, grabbing his arm before he could launch himself off the bed. “we don’t beat people up, remember?” he grumbled under his breath, clearly displeased. “fine. but if they say one more thing—”

“they won’t,” you said firmly, giving him a look. “because we’re gonna ignore them and enjoy our nap instead.” sukuna sighed, flopping back onto the bed with a resigned groan. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, tugging you down beside him.

“and you’re lucky i put up with you,” you shot back, settling into the warm space next to him.

the two of you lay there under the glow of your fairy lights, the faint scent of your vanilla candle filling the room. the lego flower bouquet sat proudly on your desk, a quiet reminder of sukuna’s chaotic but heartfelt effort. as you drifted off, you couldn’t help but smile. love with sukuna was messy, dramatic, and over the top—but it was yours.

you tried. you really tried to fall asleep. but how could you, when sukuna had casually dropped an “i love you” like it was just any other sentence? sure, he said it before when he asked you to prom, but that was in the middle of a chaotic proposal involving legos and yuuji screaming about power rangers. this? this was casual. this was deliberate. this was real.

your brain spiraled faster than your pinterest boards during finals week. did he mean it? like, really mean it? was it a slip-up? does he just throw around the word “love” like that? you stiffened in his arms, your body going ramrod straight like a ruler, and sukuna, ever the perceptive one (at least when it comes to you), noticed immediately. “you good?” he mumbled, voice groggy as he cracked one eye open.

you didn’t respond right away, too busy drowning in your thoughts. was this what all those romance novels meant by ‘confessions catching you off guard’? but this wasn’t a confession, was it? or was it?

“hey,” sukuna nudged you lightly, his brows furrowing. “you’re acting weird. what’s up?”

you sat up suddenly, twisting to face him, your fairy lights casting a soft glow on his confused expression. “you… you said you loved me.”

his eyes widened slightly, and for the first time in… well, ever, sukuna looked genuinely nervous. “uh… yeah? i mean, yeah. i did. i do. why?”

“you do?” you pressed, your voice rising slightly. you couldn’t help it; the man was notoriously bad at expressing his feelings, and now he was just casually confirming his love for you like it was no big deal? “uh, yeah?” sukuna scratched the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in the corner of your ceiling. “i mean… why else would i do all this crap? the flowers, the tux, the boombox…”

“so you’re saying you really love me? like, love-love me?” you clarified, your hands now gesturing wildly because, of course, this needed to be crystal clear. at this point, sukuna’s face was turning an alarming shade of pink—like, my melody type pink, and you could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. “yes, okay? i love you. love-love you. happy?”

you blinked at him, your heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it always did when he looked at you like that, all flustered and frustrated but undeniably sincere.

“wait, why are you smiling?” he groaned, covering his face with his hands. “this is so embarrassing. i knew i should’ve just—”

you didn’t let him finish, leaning forward to kiss him, your lips cutting off whatever self-deprecating nonsense he was about to spew. when you pulled back, his ears were now as red as his eyes, and he stared at you like you’d just stolen his soul. “i’m smiling,” you said softly, “because i love you too, dumbass. and because i think it’s cute when you get all flustered.”

“cute?” he repeated, deadpan. “did you just call me cute?”

“yep,” you chirped, lying back down and snuggling into his chest. “get used to it, my melody.”

sukuna groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes, but you could feel the way his heartbeat quickened under your cheek. and as he tightened his hold around you, mumbling something about how you better not tell anyone about this, you smiled to yourself. maybe you wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, but at least now, you’d be lying awake with a warm, fuzzy feeling instead of overthinking yourself into oblivion. love-love really was something else.

chapter six: the painting, the prom, and the prince

the evening of prom was finally here, and sukuna rolled up to your house looking, dare he say it, hot. okay, maybe he wouldn’t say it out loud, but judging by the double-take you gave him when he stepped off his bike in that sharp tux, it was safe to assume you thought so too.

and then you walked out.

he swore his brain short-circuited. he’d seen you in a hundred different outfits, every single one somehow better than the last, but this? this wasn’t just a dress. this was art. 

“you…you look…” he stammered, his usual cocky bravado completely out the window. “uh…you look like…you know…like…a renaissance painting or something.”

you blinked at him, clearly amused. “a renaissance painting?”

“yeah,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck, clearly regretting his life choices. “you know, like, those really fancy ones. with, uh, good lighting.” you bit back a laugh. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”

“you should,” he grumbled, averting his eyes because looking at you too long felt like staring into the sun. “you look perfect.”

as the two of you got on his bike and headed to prom, sukuna felt like he was riding on air. that was, until you turned to him halfway there and asked, “so, do you have the tickets?”

oh, shit.

his mind raced as he remembered exactly where those tickets were: stuffed into his t-shirt so you wouldn’t find them during his promposal planning. and then, last night, in a frenzy of cleaning and trying to look cool, he’d tossed the shirt into the laundry. “uhhh…” he stalled, trying to come up with a lie, but your raised eyebrow told him you weren’t buying it.

“‘kuna,” you said, already exasperated. “please don’t tell me—”

“okay, okay, maybe i left them in the washing machine,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. you groaned, but to his surprise, you didn’t seem mad. instead, you reached into your purse and pulled out two tickets. “lucky for you, i bought these ages ago,” you said, smirking.

“wait, what?” he blinked, genuinely stunned.

“what? i wasn’t about to risk you being unprepared,” you teased.

“okay, wow, first of all, rude,” he said, though he couldn’t help but grin. “second of all, you’re amazing. third of all…can we pretend this didn’t happen?”

“not a chance,” you replied, laughing.

fast forward to the gym, where the school had, of course, gone full cliché with the decorations: fairy lights, balloons, and a weirdly overused “enchanted evening” banner that looked like it had been recycled from at least three other events. but none of that mattered when you spotted yuuji and choso standing near the punch table. well, you saw them. sukuna, on the other hand, saw chaos.

“why the hell is yuuji here?” sukuna hissed, his hands already on his temples. “don’t ask me,” you said, equally baffled. “how does a seven-year-old even get in here?”

“puppy eyes,” sukuna muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.

sure enough, yuuji was grinning ear-to-ear, his hair plastered to his head in spikes from what must have been an entire bottle of power ranger-branded gel. “big bro! you made it!” yuuji shouted, running up and practically tackling sukuna in a hug. “yuuji,” sukuna groaned, prying the kid off him. “what are you doing here?”

“helping!” yuuji declared proudly. “plus, i used your tickets!”

sukuna’s jaw dropped. “what?”

“he’s surprisingly resourceful for a kid,” choso muttered, clearly wanting to be anywhere but here as he adjusted his tie. “next time, don’t leave important things lying around.”

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” sukuna grumbled, running a hand down his face.

meanwhile, you were barely holding back laughter, especially when you noticed the cluster of girls gawking at choso from across the room. “looks like choso’s got some fans,” you whispered, nudging sukuna.

“yeah, well, they can have him,” sukuna muttered. “i’ve got everything i need right here.”

and just like that, the stress melted away, replaced by that smug, confident grin you loved so much. prom was a mess, but it was your mess. and honestly? you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

—

the night was winding down, and with prom nearing its end, you and sukuna made your way toward the photobooth. sukuna had his arm slung over your shoulder, and you leaned into him, already envisioning how cute your pictures would turn out. but, of course, peace was short-lived.

“oh, look who it is,” came mei mei’s unmistakably smug voice.

you stiffened, turning toward her and yorozu, who stood there with their arms crossed, both looking like they had nothing better to do than spread bitchiness. “figures you’d show up,” yorozu sneered. “thought you’d be too busy fixing your ‘perfect relationship.’”

“is this where you get your weekly drama fix?” sukuna drawled, his voice low and sharp. he glanced between the two with a look that could’ve cut glass. “or did you just run out of things to do since no one wanted to take you?” mei mei opened her mouth to retort, but before she could get a word out, sukuna bent down and scooped you up bridal style.

“sukuna!” you yelped, clinging to him in shock.

“don’t waste your energy on people like them,” he said simply, striding past the two women without so much as a second glance.

“you can’t just—hey!” mei mei called after him, but sukuna didn’t bother stopping. yorozu muttered something under her breath, but even she knew better than to push it.

“you really didn’t have to do that,” you mumbled, though you couldn’t hide the warmth in your voice. “didn’t have to?” he scoffed. “like hell i’d let them talk to you like that.”

the line for the photobooth wasn’t long, and before you knew it, you were stepping inside with sukuna still holding you as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“you’re not putting me down?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “nah,” he said with a smirk. “you look too good tonight. gotta keep showing you off.”

you rolled your eyes, but your cheeks flushed all the same.

once inside the booth, sukuna finally set you down, pulling you close for the first set of pictures. the two of you posed like a typical couple at first, all smiles and laughs. then sukuna decided to make things interesting by pulling faces, sticking his tongue out in one, and pretending to bite your shoulder in another.

“these are gonna look so stupid,” you laughed, pushing at his chest. “nah, they’re gonna be fire,” he said, grinning.

just as the final photo flashed, the curtain whipped open, and toji’s booming voice rang out.

“move over, lovebirds! we’re crashing this party.”

toji and mamaguro squeezed into the booth, nearly squashing you and sukuna against the wall.

“what the hell, toji?” sukuna groaned, glaring at the intrusion.

“what?” toji said innocently. “you think i’m missing out on free photobooth pics?”

“scoot over, lovelies,” mamaguro chimed in, pushing toji aside so she could squeeze into the frame.

“there’s no room!” you said, laughing as you were squished further into sukuna.

“there’s always room for one more,” came another voice, and before you could even register what was happening, gojo leapt into the booth, landing half on toji and half on sukuna.

“what the—get off me!” sukuna growled, shoving at gojo.

“smile, everyone!” geto called, popping his head into the frame at the last second.

the camera flashed, capturing the chaos in all its glory. by the time the prints came out, you were crying from laughter, holding onto sukuna to keep from doubling over.

“what a night,” you said, wiping tears from your eyes. “yeah,” sukuna said, his voice warm as he looked at you. “what a night.”

—

the picture on sukuna’s instagram was a beyonce level of iconic. the both of you stood side by side, wearing your prom king and queen sashes, though sukuna refused to actually wear his properly—it hung off his shoulder like he was in a fight club. you, however, looked perfect as always, your sash gleaming and your tiara slightly askew from all the dancing. sukuna was leaning just enough to rest his chin on your head (a “power move,” as he called it), and you were holding the bouquet of lego flowers proudly. the caption? equally sukuna.

prom king and queen, obv. any losers who’ve got something to say can take it up with me. she’s the queen, i’m the muscle. try us, idk 🤷‍♂️ also yeah, she's mine. no refunds.

within seconds of posting, the comments started flooding in.

gojo: the muscle? more like the court jester 💀

yorozu: lmao no one even voted for you two 💀💀💀

choso: solid pic 🔥 i’ll be charging for the lego flowers btw

mamaguro: MY BABIES LOOK AMAZING!!! 👑😭💕

toji: me and my girl did it better 😹

“yorozu really can’t keep my name out her mouth,” sukuna muttered, already cracking his knuckles. “ignore her, my king,” you teased, throwing a pillow at him from your desk chair.

your room was a warzone after the night’s chaos. your shoes were discarded near the bed like a crime scene, your fairy lights had a sad strand that had gone out mid-celebration, and your makeup wipes, bobby pins, and jewelry were strewn all over your vanity. you’d kicked off your sash somewhere in the mess, and your dress was neatly hanging off the edge of your chair because despite the chaos, you couldn’t risk ruining it. meanwhile, sukuna was lying sideways on your bed, scrolling through his phone like he owned the place, his tux jacket slung over the back of the chair you were sitting in.

“should we clean up?” you asked half-heartedly, already knowing the answer.

“nah,” he said, throwing his phone onto the bed. “it’s post-prom. chaos is mandatory.”

before you could argue, sukuna’s phone buzzed. he picked it up, squinting at the email notification, and then froze.

“what’s up?” you asked, turning to look at him.

he stared at the screen for a second before a grin slowly spread across his face. “i got in.”

“what?”

“sports scholarship,” he said, holding the phone up like it was a trophy. “same college as you.”

your jaw dropped, and then you were practically tackling him onto the bed, laughing and hugging him at the same time.

“we’re going to college together?” you asked, beaming.

“hell yeah, we are,” he said, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “best decision ever.”

and as the night wore on, with your messy room, tired limbs, and full hearts, you realized he was absolutely right.

epilogue

the morning sun cast a golden hue on your driveway, and there was a quiet buzz of excitement mixed with nervous energy as the taxi rolled up. your suitcases, meticulously packed with everything you thought you might need for college, sat neatly by the curb. sukuna, leaning against the taxi door, looked as relaxed as ever, though his towering frame and sharp features gave him an intimidating edge. “you ready?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. he was holding your suitcase because, apparently, carrying your own bags was “not allowed” anymore.

“as ready as i’ll ever be,” you said, patting the strap of your carry-on bag nervously. the realization that you were actually leaving home was starting to hit.

“you’ve been glowing lately, by the way,” sukuna said casually, as if he hadn’t just paid you the highest compliment. “probably ‘cause you’re spending all your time with me.”

you rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the small smile creeping onto your face. “it’s called a skincare routine, sukuna. maybe you should try one.”

before he could retort, a loud, familiar voice shattered the morning calm.

“WAIT! WAIT!”

both of you turned to see yuuji sprinting toward you, waving something in his hand like a man possessed. “YOU FORGOT THESE!”

you squinted, trying to make out what he was holding. as he got closer, it hit you: your prom queen sash and tiara. “oh my god,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands. “i knew i was forgetting something.”

yuuji skidded to a stop in front of you, panting heavily. “you’re welcome,” he wheezed, thrusting the items into your hands. “how could you forget these? you’re a queen!”

“thanks, yuuji,” you said, taking the sash and tiara from him and trying not to laugh at his dramatic delivery.

“don’t forget to wear it on your first day of college!” he added, grinning ear to ear. “yeah, sure,” you said, ruffling his hair. “and maybe i’ll wear a ball gown to class, too.”

“you’d still look better than half the people there,” sukuna chimed in, snatching the sash from your hand and draping it over your shoulder like he was crowning you all over again. “okay, that’s enough theatrics for now,” you said, adjusting the sash so it wouldn’t wrinkle. “we’ve got a flight to catch.”

yuuji’s face fell slightly, and he threw his arms around you in a sudden, tight hug. “i’m gonna miss you,” he mumbled into your shoulder.

“i’ll miss you too, yuuji,” you said, squeezing him back. “but we’ll visit, okay? and you better facetime me every week.” he nodded, pulling back and giving sukuna a pointed look. “you better take care of her, big bro.”

“always,” sukuna said without hesitation, ruffling yuuji’s hair in return. “and don’t eat all the snacks mom buys, okay?”

“no promises,” yuuji replied, grinning.

as you settled into the taxi and it pulled away from the driveway, you glanced back to see yuuji waving wildly until he was out of sight. you leaned back in your seat, holding the sash and tiara in your lap. “i can’t believe i almost forgot these,” you said, shaking your head.

“you packed a literal hello kitty lamp,” sukuna said, one eyebrow raised. “but not your prom queen stuff. priorities.” you laughed, swatting his arm. “the lamp’s for your dorm, thank you very much. i’m not letting you live in a depressing man cave.”

he smirked, but there was a softness in his eyes as he looked at you. “yeah, yeah. but hey, this is it, huh? college.”

you nodded, the weight of the moment finally settling in. “yeah. it’s the start of everything.”

“good thing we’re doing it together,” sukuna said, reaching over to take your hand.

and as the taxi sped toward the airport, you realized he was right. this was just the beginning—not just of college, but of a whole new chapter of your lives. and with sukuna by your side, you had a feeling it was going to be a damn good one.

thank you for sticking till the end <3 this was a drabble i decided to format into a full length fic because i recently came across my old prom photos and the nostalgia was very real. while i can safely say i did NOT have the ideal high school experience, i am deffo making my reader[s] have it 🙂‍↕️ if you'd like to find out what type of reader are you (based off of my fics), click on the quiz link here <3 thank u for reading !!

[scrumptious-finicky-illusion]

This has been going through my mind a lot lately. It's such a devastating reply to wield against assholes, bad-faith arguers, and the fucking fun police (aka puritanical busybodies, terves, and fascists).

I got fired from my new(ish) job 10 days ago. I loved the little group I worked with and a lot of other employees outside of the group. But I was a bad fit for the way the company wanted things done. I wasn't methodical enough, organized enough, or fast enough. I got written up for the things I did to address the problems they wrote me up for in the first place, and I didn't even think to push back on anything they said, even though I was literally using their methods to try and "improve." My last week there, my supervisor pretty much acted like I didn't exist. Which made me think that maybe, just maybe all the maximum effort I was putting in was finally paying off. Boy, did I feel extra dumb walking out of the office on Friday. Getting the silent treatment now makes me think they made the decision to let me go even before my probation period was up. I was am devastated.

Even though the job (technically the employees) gave me some weird this feels wrong vibes from my first week. At least it was better than my last job, which was pretty abusive from the get go, that I just kept tolerating and working around, for many years.

Cue me using all of last week to not get out of bed but also to go through all 5 stages of grief in random order (with the support of my partner). Financially we're okay. Mentally I've had my entire (tiny) stock of confidence in myself pulled out from under me, and my depression, which was slowly starting to lessen with me having a job, hit some new lows. Do you know how shameful it feels to talk to people who ask me about my job that I got fired? I don't either. I've just avoided talking to anyone who isn't either my bestie or living in my house (a whole two people).

But that picture up there, that particular quote, from a website I used to enjoy that got hijacked by a real life Justin Hammer, those words, now try saying something true and beautiful kept rattling around in my head.

I've been avoiding food. Feeling shaky because of low blood sugar feels better than feeling like I was so wrong blind about how things were going at my job.

My partner was away at a convention all weekend, so I got to be alone with myself in a way I don't often get to. No agenda, no plans, no putting everyone else first to allow me to neglect myself, just doing what I wanted when I wanted. It was great, because my life was finally quiet enough for me to hear what I wanted to do (or not do).

I left all my work crap in my car for most of the week. I brought my office plant into the house and saw it had a post it note stuck in the dirt. It had a phone number I thought I'd forgotten to get.

I cried.

I went to the grocery store to get one thing that my brain allowed me to eat (an ethnic cookie). I also bought a bunch other stuff, anything my brain even perked up a little bit at the thought of. I was debating fast food options while at the market, and once I was out, I decided not to think about it anymore and just go get the Loki Season 2 meal from the drive through. It's been so long since I just-- ordered a combo, the cashier had to ask me if I wanted a Coke. Yep. Large? Yep. So I got my two packets of Loki-show branded sweet and sour sauce.

<Kronk voice>And I drank most of that there Coca Cola fountain drink at 3pm in the afternoon. The one with the real sugar in it. The kind of soda I don't normally drink. You know, one that had more caffeine in that serving than I'd had over the entire month before. The quantities of caffeine I usually avoid.

The Large®.

</Kronk voice>

And then came the ideas. There were plot bunnies that I didn't just sit around and dream about. There was writing. There was some rewriting. There was more writing. I was up until 3 or so. Lay in bed until about 8:30 am continuing to work (but on my phone) Came out and put it on my laptop, kept going all day yesterday until 2am, and started again today until I felt about 80 percent done with the barf-it-all-out-on-the-page kind of writing and 20 percent done with the snap-all-the-pieces-onto-the-timeline-slash-grid editing.

I noticed that my writing is both architectural and garden-like at the same time. Like an espaliered apple tree.

(I think that's an apple tree.) You can make trees do tricks like this, and they'll produce hella more fruit in way less space, but only if you train it on a grid or wires or a lattice from a very young age. Every year the tree branches get a little bigger and a little longer, and you bend them carefully until they go the way you have planned. It's fussy. It takes time and regular attention (exactly the way my brain doesn't work).

But I can throw a few sentences on a page, keep going, look up at what came before and see that it needs a few words added in here and there, keep going, look up again and add a few more words in other places, again and again, etcetera, ad nauseum. Start at the top and do it all again. It's cool to see my sentences grow like that.

Should I say that acquiring The Loki Sauce cured my writer's block? It would be irresponsible to. But I think I will anyway.

If you are reading this, all the way down here at the end of the post, bless you. Thanks for reading.

[sunriseverse]

i don’t follow anyone else into mdzs and i’m having thoughts so they’re going into your inbox (sorry… *rattles my cage*) but you know that quote that’s like “when is a monster not a monster? oh, when you love it” well i’m thinking about it specifically in the context of yi city. that’s all bye bye (*cage rattles louder*) (wait i have more to say because in the short time xue yang was actually shown friendship or love or care or however you wish to think of it he just decided to stop being evil. he just got bored. and then it crumbled in an instant and he started being evil again and *i’m shot by a sniper*)

okay. first of all. how dare you come to me, in this the time of my convalescence, and whack me over the head with the iron anvil that is this quote in this context. i’ll literally never be the same again and it’s your fault (<3333)

secondly. i am so honoured you came to me with this!!!!!! i am not generally someone people turn to with their concepts and thoughts (as much as i wish it was different…………alas!), so thank you! i will attempt to answer this with the same care and love i can see even in your short ask. this is going under the cut because uh. it got long. oops!

the thing about xy is, to me, he reads very much as the other side of the coin that jgy is on, to drag my other mdzs beloved into this. in both cases, they’re seen as the lowest of the low—jgy’s mother is a sex worker, and xy is an orphan with no social status. both of them are demonstrated to be talented and have a drive to learn—jgy is a fucking excellent…….whatever his position with the nie is (i can never remember what it’s called, in cql or in the novel, but it doesn’t matter much; he’s undeniably good at his job), spy, sect leader, and yes, xiandu/chief cultivator. xy, on the other hand, is undeniably fucking brilliant—he manages to drag himself into cultivation basically without any help for most of his formative years, and then makes sense of wwx’s basically incoherent ramblings and more coherent, but still incredibly hard to parse to anyone who doesn’t 1. know what they’re looking at or 2. isn’t able to make incredible leaps of logic to connect his work—because wwx wasn’t just a genius, he was a literal, actual pioneer; no one had done what he was doing before—notes. i think this is part of why jgy keeps xy around for so long, even if he doesn’t enjoy his methods—he sees a bit of himself in him. (also, xy is dead useful—dead messy and slightly sadistic, too, but hey, we all have our faults, some of us are just a bit more bloody about them.)

the thing is, though—xy demonstratively did not have any sort of love shown to him at all, possibly ever, in any way, up until yi city. jgy, whose life sucks in so many other ways, had two saving graces of connection: his mother, and lxc. xy had………….no one. zilch. nada. sifir. ling. and so forth. you could argue this is because he makes himself unlovable, but if you think about that for more than three seconds, it’s wildly clear that it’s a (very shitty, self-destructive) coping mechanism—if they’re going to call me trash, if they’re going to call me insane, if they’re going to call me a monster, a nightmare—fine, i will be. i’ll take control of the narrative and show them just how bad i can be.

and then…………yi city. a man who doesn’t even know who he is finds him bloodied and weak, and doesn’t stab him in the back. he carries him to his home, and he cares for him. and xy, i would imagine, is waiting, this entire time, for the other show to drop. surely, he’s going to recognise him. surely he’s going to turn around and say, ah hah, i’ve got you now, you monster! i’m going to take you to the authorities and have them finish you off, because you are a bad person and i am a good person and that’s how this goes. and the entire time, he’s telling himself—as soon as it does, i’m going to kill him. as soon as it does, i’m going to take my revenge. but it………..doesn’t. xxc keeps weaving baskets with him. and going to the market with him. and living his life with him. turning his back and not assuming xy is going to stick jiangzai in it. (and probably telling him terrible jokes that barely count as jokes that xy laughs at far more loudly than he really needs to, because half the comedy is watching the gentle breeze be so goddamn bad at something.)

and xy, for the first time in his life, realises: oh shit. maybe i do want this. maybe i do want peace, of a mundane variety. maybe making myself sharp and harsh and hating and deadly wasn’t making me happy. maybe…………..being happy is letting your guard down around someone, and they don’t take advantage of it. (he would never think the word love, i think, even with a sword at his throat—“trust” is as close as he is ever going to allow himself to come to conceptualising it, less a fuckton of emotional development and growth, but i digress.) and like………..yes, it’s functionally a castle built on a bed of sand. at the start, xy deceives xxc into doing a fuckton of objectively bad shit. he’s the reason sl lost his eyes, and the reason xxc gave his up, and the reason the gentle breeze and the winter frost are no longer spoken of in the same sentence. but also—not to engage in therapy speak here, but this is something where you kind of have to employ dialectical thought: he can have done horrible fucked up things, and still want love. he can have hurt xxc, and be loved by him. he can have done bad, and have stopped doing so. he can be bad, and still be a person. (that last one, i think, is something xxc would fully agree with—were he to have found out xy was, well, xy, but living with him and not causing any trouble (unless you count threatening the farmers at the market who try and cheat a blind man out of his meagre savings, but i think a qing and i are both in agreement that this isn’t really a crime), i think he would not have killed him. i don’t even think he would have turned him in to the authorities. i think xy would be in for, possibly, in the future, a very long conversation he wouldn’t particularly enjoy due to its necessitating of laying things bare, but he would survive it. i think, at the end of things, xxc’s guiding philosophy in life is not, for all his idealism, that things are immutable—i think he would be pleased that xy has changed his ways, and decided to do good, rather than continuing to harm others.)

and then he fucks up. or sl fucks up. or they both fuck up. whose fault it is doesn’t matter; the end result is the same: xy’s temporary peace, his safe haven, crumbles. and he turns back to who he was before, because at least that’s easy. at least that’s certain. peace, happiness, trust—that’s all dust on the wind. you can’t put stock in that, his experience has clearly taught him that, once again, more harshly than anything else. you can love a monster, but if you leave it—it’s going to be a monster again, because that’s easier than trying to crawl on its hands and knees through the mud and pay penance by itself.

[sugarpearsao3]

ZoSan witch!Sanji and human!Zoro AU

Sugar Pears drabble 🍐✨

I've always loved the trope of a strong, immortal witch finding an abandoned human child by the side of the road and taking them in.

That human becomes the witch's protector and stays with the witch. The human continues to grow, but the witch remains immortal and unchanged.

Until they realized that the little human they found not too long ago... Was suddenly all grown up.

"Well, what do we have here," a gorgeous blond witch hummed as he flew down on his giant, wooden spoon. Despite the harsh rain, the drops failed to fall onto his body, an invisible barrier placed above his head.

He stopped to hover over what seemed to be a pile of mud, but when you looked closer, was actually a small child.

The male witch stared for a few moments, when suddenly, the small child's hand twitched.

"So it's alive..." the witch said amused.

Then, with a wave of his hand, the child was lifted from the growing puddle of mud, and placed to lie on his giant spoon's circular end.

"I'm taking you home with me."

The child, as it turned out, was a young, green-haired boy. Instead of thanking the witch, the first thing the boy did was bite the witch's hand.

"AGH FUCK--!"

Immediately, with a little magic, the rabid child was placed inside of a small, wooden cage.

"I won't let you eat me, witch!" Snarled the child.

"Relax, kid! I don't have a taste for eating seaweed, thank you very much," the witch grumbled and cradled his hand close to him. The bite was deep enough to make his hand bleed. "What's your name?"

"Im not telling a witch my name! You'll curse me!"

The blonde witch rolled his blue eyes and said, "Okay, right. Yeah. Well, my name's Sanji. I'm a gourmet witch."

"I knew it! You're gonna cook me up and eat me!" The boy screamed as he rattled the wooden bars of his cage.

"For fucks sake-- I'm not!" The blonde witch groaned and threw his hands up in the air. "I literally saved you!"

"Liar!"

It took a long time with lots of convincing, but after a year, the green-haired boy had settled in with the blonde witch.

"Zoro!" The witch called as he stirred a pot of shimmering liquid. "Get me those herbs over there!"

The little boy pitter patter to the witch with the herbs in his hands. "Stop ordering me around!" He complained.

"Little brat. The least you can do is earn your keep." The witch sighed and took the herbs from the boy's hands. Then, they were carefully placed in the boiling pot.

Zoro's eyes became drawn to the witch's hand stirring the large spoon. On his pale skin were teeth marks he made just a year before.

"Why don't you make that go away?" Zoro asked in a small voice.

"Hm?"

"The wound... On your hand... You're a gourmet witch. Aren't your hands important?" Zoro whispered.

"Awww, is our little marimo feeling guilty about biting me?" The blonde witch teased.

The boy sputtered out and turned red, but he didn't deny anything. Sanji then smiled.

"My hands are fine, Zoro," the witch chuckled and ruffled the boys green hair. "I can get rid of the scar if I want to, but why would I erase such a memory? Don't worry about it."

The witch turned back to his boiling pot to hum a tune as he stirred, but it was at that moment that the human boy made a resolve.

Right here before him was the most beautiful person in the world. The kindest. The bravest. This person was a witch, and Zoro was but a mere human who would be worth only a fraction of Sanji's life... But regardless, he would protect this man with all his body and soul.

Years later, a group of witch Hunters loitered in the woods.

"Get the fuck out," snarled a deep voice.

The witch Hunters turned behind them and saw a tanned man with green hair. Attached to his hip were three scabbards.

"You there," called a hunter, "We're looking for the witch's lair."

The man only let out a sarcastic laugh and drew one sword. "You ain't getting near the witch's lair."

"It can't be..." Whispered another hunter, staring wide-eyed at the sword-wielder. "Is this... The Mad Dog?"

"Mad Dog?"

"The Mad Dog! Green hair, three swords, and a scar running down his left eye... Then the witch dwelling in this forest is--"

The Mad Dog cut him off and growled, "--The Golden Gourmet, Sanji Black." He tilted his head to the side and placed a sword's hilt in his mouth with a dangerous glint in his eye. "I do more than just bite."

Screams spread through the forest, and that night Zoro returned to the cozy hut bathed in blood.

A beautiful witch with golden locks turned to him from his cauldron, and furrowed his enchanting, blue eyes.

A witch that has not aged a single year. A witch who looked at Zoro as the child he raised. Except, Zoro's feelings towards the witch were anything but that of a child and his guardian.

They were something more.

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.

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END