#i don’t have many friends and so i don’t want to lose then ones i have

[nanamiscocksleeve]

LADS Men With a Plus Size Reader

Warnings: None! This is actually very fluffy! Maybe PG13 at most! (OMG NCS, no smut?!😲😲😲) A/N: Finally, got around to writing one of the promised headcanons! Now, allow me to be clear here. The amount of customization the game allows is incredible but MC is a little bit on the smaller side, and I would have loved to see an option for a more robust body build. The same way there are naturally thin and petite women, there are also bigger and more rounded women as well and I think there was an opportunity lost there. Anyone that tries to hate on this will be blocked immediately.

Zayne:

Zayne’s large hand envelopes yours as you walk to the cafe he’d recommended. You knew it was popular amongst the hospital staff and weren’t surprised to see familiar faces; one of the tables was completely occupied by some of Zayne’s surgical nurses. 

“Why don’t you get a table?” Zayne brushes a kiss on top of your hair. “And I’ll get the food. Do you still want a hazelnut latte with your cake?”

“Yes please!” Zayne’s eyes fill with warmth as he squeezes your hand before walking towards the cashier. You wander over and pick a table near the nurses. You take out your phone and start to browse Instagram when a snide voice is heard from the table behind you. 

“Gross.”

You freeze but don’t dare turn around. Maybe it wasn’t directed at you. 

“That’s Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend?”

Shit it was.

“Why is he with that porker?”

“You’d think a man like that would have better taste.”

“I heard that they were childhood friends. He’s probably dating her out of pity.”

Even as your blood rages, you feel tears pricking the backs of your eyes. Were they aware you could hear them? And they had just said your worst fears out loud; that Zayne was dating you as a favor, not because he was actually into you. It was an old insecurity you hadn’t really grown out of. You startle slightly as Zayne suddenly sits down opposite you, food and beverages in hand. He sets down your coffee and cake while taking his own plate and tea off the tray.

“Why are you so upset?” He immediately observes the distress on your face and the way your eyes are glistening. You shake your head and dab at your eyes with a napkin, Zayne watching you intently. The cute slice of cake he’s gotten for you sits temptingly in line with your vision but right now it might as well be a lump of clay, all appetite for it gone. 

Zayne’s eyes flick to the cake and back to you. “Did I get the wrong one?”

You’re about to shake your head no when the conversation at the table behind you picks up again. Clearly, they hadn’t noticed Zayne sitting down. 

“He deserves so much more than that blob. There are so many attractive women at the hospital.”

“I agree. He could get anyone he wanted. Someone who actually takes care of their health and watches their figure.”

Shame fills you and you’re unable to look at Zayne in the eyes, knowing he had heard them, even though you know it was far from the truth. You ate all your vegetables and exercised frequently. But your body just refused to slim down no matter what you did. No matter how much you tried to lose weight, the weight just didn’t want to lose you. You’re about to get up and leave when Zayne speaks up, loud and clear, in a scathing tone. 

“Right, because weight is the only indicator of a person’s health, isn’t it?” Zayne’s words drip with sarcasm. 

The entire nurses’ table jumps at his voice, turning around to look at him.

“Oh, Dr. Zayne! We weren’t-”

“I don’t care what you weren’t doing. Do not talk about anyone that way, patient or not. Were you not taught compassion as part of your medical training? Or is it reserved for people who look a certain way?” His eyes are narrowed and the table looks tense. One by one the nurses start to get up, quietly murmuring apologies to him as they exit the cafe. 

Zayne watches them go, anger still visible in his eyes before turning his attention back to you. His hand covers yours on top of the table. “Are you all right?”

You sniff. “I try. You know I try. I cook all my meals. I exercise. We work out together. But I can’t get the weight to go away.” 

“No sweetheart. I know how much you take care of yourself.” Zayne reaches across the table to wipe your tears. “You do not have to lose any weight. You’re perfectly healthy, and as long as that’s clear, nothing else matters.”

“You’re not dating me out of pity?” You look at him uncertainly. 

“Pity?” Zayne chuckles in disbelief. “Darling when you first started coming to my office I was sure you were out of my league.” His thumb strokes your hand reassuringly.

“You’re so amazing. Talented, compassionate, considerate. And all those things will always matter more to me than anything else.”

He looks at your neglected slice of cake. “Now don’t take out your sadness on the dessert. If you don’t finish it in 5 minutes, it’s mine.”

Rafayel:

You grip your wrap firmly around your shoulders, stepping with grace into the dazzling venue. You never missed Rafayel’s shows if you could help it but this time around, you had a skin in the game. Literally.

One night after a round of passionate lovemaking, you had woken to find Rafayel painting, and when you saw what he was working on, you’d blushed and smacked him on the shoulder.

There, in the brush strokes, he had painted you sleeping on his bed, your hair in disarray as it cascaded down your back, your face buried into the pillow and not quite visible. The sheets covered you modestly but the wide curve of your hips, the pudges of fat at your side, and the bra rolls under your arms were all painted with clarity and you found you couldn’t look at it. A feeling of unease had settled in your stomach. Was this the way your boyfriend viewed you?

You had brought it up to Rafayel in a small voice. “Do you think I’m fat?”

Your heart sank as Rafayel’s face, which had been so soft, a curve in his lips as he had painted, changed into a mask of dismay. “Fat?” he had asked, looking quite upset. “Where in this painting have I made you look fat?”

“Here. And here.” You point out the areas and Rafayel pulls you against him, holding you fiercely. 

“Cutie, I swear to God I’m just painting you as you are. I don’t think you look fat at all. I’m just painting my beautiful girlfriend in all her glory.” Crushed against his chest, you try to talk. 

“But, most women in paintings don’t look like that, they have smaller hips and thighs and mine look so…ugly.”

You thought Rafayel’s heart might have broken as he heard your word of choice. “There’s nothing about you that’s ugly. None of this is ugly. It’s a body. Your body. And baby I love every inch of it exactly as it is. I didn’t mean to make you sad while I painted all the pretty little pieces of you that make you whole.” His hands trace your sides, squeezing you reassuringly. 

“There’s so much beauty in you baby. That’s all I see in this painting. You’ll always be the biggest masterpiece in my life.”

Knowing he held you in such high esteem had done wonders for your confidence, which was what you were trying to emulate as you walked into the gallery. Rafayel had hesitantly asked for your permission to showcase that painting for this show, promising he’d never use it without your consent. Nervous as you were, part of you was actually thrilled that it was going to be used. It was difficult to make out who the subject in the portrait was since your face wasn’t entirely visible. 

Still, it felt like an out-of-body experience as you approached the hung canvas, observing the crowd that flocked to it. Some people nodded at it quietly before moving on, others commented under their breath that Rafayel should have chosen a more appropriate model. 

“Can you imagine this woman being naked in his bed?” One of them asked and her friends snickered sycophantically. “He must have been drunk or something.”

“And why is that?” You turn in time to see Rafayel, dressed sharply in a couture outfit approach you and pull you to his side, his hand resting possessively on the jut of your hip. The woman backpedals.

“Mr. Rafayel! I mean, obviously, your work is unique but I can’t help but wonder what you might have been trying to convey when you painted someone with such a…heavy structure.”

Rafayel pretends to consider her words. “I suppose…people have different views on what beauty is. All I was trying to convey was how much I loved the person in the painting. Anyone that doesn’t see the beauty in this particular painting, well I’m afraid they have poor taste.”

Grinning at the affronted look on her face, Rafayel whisks you away, but not before you throw her a smug smirk over your shoulder. 

Sylus:

Who knew underground mafia bosses loved their parties as much as their money? As strange as it was, the cliques had started becoming familiar with you hanging around. Anytime Sylus was invited to a gathering, it was expected that you were his plus one. While most of the men entertained polite conversation with you, it was no secret how coveted Sylus was by the women in the N109 zone. 

They wrinkled their noses as you walked by, your head held high, knowing you shouldn’t let their words get to you but it was hard. You tell the bartender your order and put a $100 bill into the tip jar. After all, you couldn’t embarrass Sylus by handing out a miserly tip when he was supposed to be the richest man here.

You knew you looked good enough to kill; Sylus had chosen the gown you were wearing himself, even hiring a personal tailor to fit the dress to flaunt your best assets and a thick choker of diamonds glittered on your neck. The plunging V-line of the dress showed off a tempting display of creamy cleavage, the bodice of the dress pushing up your impressive bosom. The material crept over your belly and hips, your fupa visible a little more than you would have liked but Sylus had refused to hear otherwise. You remember the way his hands had caressed the bulge of fat after helping you zip up the gown, his low, contented, purr ringing in your ears.

“Kitten, you’re going to be every man’s envy tonight. How delightful that I get to flaunt you as mine.”  

A group of women, all model-thin and gorgeous, approach the bar, their cold eyes fixed on you, wearing smiles that could cut glass. Your fingers drum nervously on the counter as you try to ignore them. One of the women spies the tip you had put in and jerks her chin at you, her lips twisting into what looks like a sneer. 

“So Sylus has the money to let you throw around $100 bills into tip jars. I wonder…” She pauses and the group draws collectively closer like a cackle of hyenas. “Wouldn’t his finances be more wisely spent on other avenues?”

“Such as?” You ask carefully.

“A good plastic surgeon perhaps? Lord knows you could use some liposuction in more places than one.” Her entourage leers at you while covering their mouths to stifle their laughter.

Your back stiffens and your eyes widen in shock. You resist the urge to cover your middle. You knew you should have pushed harder to have the gown loosened. Your fupa, the soft squidge that bulged under the material of the dress…it was a mistake thinking you could attend a party with it showing up so obviously. 

A million retorts form in your head but they all die weakly on your tongue. You had no defense, and you felt pathetic that you were sitting here and taking their abuse but your mind felt frozen, like you couldn’t plan your next move. 

“How did you ever think that someone like you could pull off a dress like that?” The woman presses, her eyes boring into yours. Your pulse quickens as you try to find a way to escape.

“You’re right, she can’t pull off a dress like that.” A rich, deep voice answers the woman who pales as she sees Sylus drape his arm possessively around your shoulders. “It’ll wrinkle. That’s why I’ll be pulling it off for her as soon as we get home.”

His eyes flash scarlet as he signals to the bartender, who immediately starts pouring him a drink and expediting your cocktail, setting both glasses on coasters in front of you. You flush but try not to look too pleased as you take a sip, feeling the alcohol loosen you. 

“Mr. Sylus.” The woman’s voice changes immediately and she steps back. “We were just talking about fashion.” she fibs hastily, trying to cover up her reason for using the word ‘dress’.

“Fashion?” Sylus looks at her patronizingly. “Do tell.”

Caught, she wets her lips before saying, “Oh we were talking about jeans and how they never fit or have pockets-”

“Hmm. I can understand these problems. After all, jeans without pockets are like women without curves…there’s nowhere to put your hands.” His broad hand shifts to your hip, his fingers subtly signaling it is time for you to go. You pick up your glass and Sylus holds onto you firmly as you walk back to the crowd. 

Xavier:

You’re sweaty as you and Xavier walk back from the office gym to the locker rooms. Xavier drinks from his water bottle, swallowing zealously. “I think we’ve exercised enough for a whole week,” he says as you walk. You laugh and shake your head.

“We only did a half hour of cardio!”

“Yeah, but we lifted all those weights too! In fact, my muscles already feel stronger.” Xavier flexes his arm and a visible bicep forms, making you grin. 

“Oh so strong,” you say as you reach out to squeeze. Xavier winces slightly and you quickly withdraw. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok. I’m a little sore.” You reach the locker rooms.“I’ll wait for you outside.”

You nod and he disappears into the men's locker room. You wander into the women’s, undo the lock, and retrieve your bag, finding a stall to change your clothes. You peel off your damp leggings which stick to your plushy thighs and you drag them down, sighing in relief as the skin jiggles freely in the cool air after being stuffed in the heat of polyester for so long. 

The skin on your butt and stomach are dimpled, something you’d come to terms with. You recall how nervous you’d been to let Xavier see you in a bathing suit at the pool but now you barely glance at them. 

“It’s like your skin is smiling at me when I kiss it.” 

That’s what Xavier had said as he kissed the soft flesh lovingly. Who could possibly feel self-conscious after that analogy? As you fold away the sweaty clothes into a garment bag, you hear several of the other changing room doors open and a group of voices fills the locker room as you change. You normally wouldn’t have paid attention but you freeze when you hear Xavier’s name.

“Why do you think Xavier works out with her of all people?”

“I know! They workout together like almost everyday and she hasn’t lost any weight!”

“She probably lacks the discipline to go on a real diet. It doesn’t matter how much she exercises, that fat isn’t going to go away if she doesn’t eat healthier.”

“Xavier really needs to find a better workout buddy. She only slows him down.”

Your heart clenches in your chest as you hear the cruel commentary. How dare these women talk about your body like it was a source of entertainment for them? Both rage and sorrow fills you as you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. Suddenly all you can see are the flaws.

How cute, to call cellulite ‘dimpled skin’ like it was something to be adored. You stare at the lumpy skin, at the way your stomach and arms have stretch marks everywhere, the way your skin bulges over the band of your bra. You wait in silence as the women finish their chat and you hear them exit the locker room.

After what seemed like ages, you finally finish dressing and leave the changing room feeling humiliated. The post-workout glow had all but vanished from your system and you couldn’t shake off the feeling of being perceived like a huge, hulking, ogre; built big and lumberingly, not at all cute like the princess Xavier claimed you were. You leave the dressing room, then stare in disbelief as the same group of women crowd around Xavier as he waits for you. You lurk, not wanting to be seen, then one of the women speaks up.

“Xavier, if you’re looking for another workout buddy I’d be happy to tag along.” One of them chirps perkily.

Xavier chuckles politely and shakes his head. “Thank you, but no. I have a workout buddy.”

“Oh cmon Xavier, don’t you think you need someone who can challenge you a little more?”

“I do actually. That’s why I work out with her.”

“Does she really challenge you?”

“I think she challenges me more than you. Didn't you finish last in the company relay race?” The woman’s face falls and your heart skips a beat. 

“And you,” Xavier says as he turns to face another woman. “Forgive me if I’m wrong but you struggle to push anything more than 75 pounds. My workout buddy does 150 easily. She’s very strong. Perhaps you might benefit from training with her.” The second woman looks offended even as she’s being chastised. 

Feeling your confidence soar, you skip over to Xavier feeling as light as a feather. Xavier’s eyes light up as you approach. “Ladies,” you say smugly to their scandalized faces before pulling Xavier away from them, holding his arm as you walk away. 

© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[whtepony]

NSFW ALPHABET | eijiro kirishima

ft. eijiro kirishima x afab reader

warnings: no pronouns used but reader has a vagina, cucking, i think that might be it? this one isn’t too crazy y’all!! not proofread!

notes: for everyone who asked for kiri!!! he’s so husband material aghhhhhdbdndjdj hope u guys enjoy

aftercare: what he’s like after sex

i think he’s one of the most attentive partners you could have! he asks you directly what he can do for you while he’s cleaning you up a bit with a warm towel. he’ll give you anything you ask for, whether it be food, water, a shower, something funny to watch, or to just cuddle and be together. he likes to massage your hips while you spoon just in case he hurt you (even if you tell him a dozen times he didn’t). he just wants to make sure!!

body part: his fav on you and his fav on himself

on himself, eijiro likes his back and shoulders. he puts in a lot of time at the gym and it shows! he’s very proud of it and loses his mind if you compliment his back muscles. god damn. on you, he likes your legs - yeah, mostly your thighs, but really all of your legs. he loves when you wear things that show them off and has a tendency to kiss you from your ankles alllllll the way up before he eats you out. he has a picture of him laying between your thighs that was definitely his lock screen for a long while.

cum: anything to do with cum

eijiro is a smart man. unless you’re actively trying for a baby or it’s a really special occasion, he avoids cumming inside you so you have a lower chance of any surprises. but goddd if it isn’t his favorite thing in the world. he enjoys finishing on your ass or stomach but nothing compares to how it feels to paint your insides. he thinks it’s partly a possessive thing - seeing his cum drip out of you makes him feel like only he could ever do this, like he’ll be the only one to ever claim you that way. asks you soooo politely to take a picture on the few occasions it does happen and keeps them in a hidden folder that he opens when he’s missing you.

dirty secret: a dirty secret of his

he secretly would like to be cucked but doesn’t think it’d be emotionally healthy for him, so he never brings it up. he’s actually very possessive and probably couldn’t handle sharing you like that. but every once in a while, he’ll fantasize about watching katsuki fuck you in front of him, only to shake the thought from his head immediately afterwards. he’s more likely to bring up a threesome than to ever bring up this fantasy of his, because then he could be involved in some way - he’d have some sense of control then. as hot as it could be, he’s worried that his best friend would fuck you better!

experience: how experienced is he?

you’re definitely not his first, but there haven’t been very many before you. i’d say he’s probably had three or four previous partners and he clearly learned a lot from being with them! he’s a very attentive lover and a quick learner. he pays attention to what you like and don’t like, and he’ll check in with you often to make sure you’re enjoying yourself.

favorite position: self explanatory

he is a doggy and prone bone LOVERRR. literally anything that lets him look at and grab your ass. he’s an ass man and these give him a great view!! he loves how deep he can get in either position, and especially likes being able to put his full weight on top of you in prone bone. he won’t hurt you, but he knows you like being pressed up against each other like that and it gives him easy access to kiss your neck n talk in your ear. it also makes him feel hugeee bc he easily covers your entire body.

goofy: is he more funny or serious in the moment?

i think he’s a good mix of both! he loves to make you laugh but is capable of completely ruining you in the next second. he’s aware that sex is kinda funny sometimes and will take advantage of that (especially if something isn’t going as planned) but not to the point where it ruins the mood.

hair: anything to do with grooming

he doesn’t shave but keeps it in check. he keeps it trimmed fairly short and is pretty good about maintaining it, but he doesn’t mind shaving if you ask him to. he couldn’t care less about whether or not you shave bc either way he is IN THEREE. truly does not have a preference and will tell you how pretty you look no matter what. he just wants you to feel confident in yourself, so he likes whatever you like!

intimacy: how is he with the romantic aspect?

he is very tender and loving. not to be mistaken with gentle. he could be fucking the life out of you but you can still tell he’s doing it with soooo much adoration for you. this man worships the ground you walk on. he kisses every inch of your skin and tells you how incredibly beautiful you are to him because he means it! eijiro is the number one loverboy and plans out super romantic sex for anniversaries and your birthday. he’s the type of man to hit you with the trail of rose petals and candlelight before fucking your brains out just because he loves you!

jack off: anything to do with masturbation

he has a pretty high sex drive so depending on how much he gets to see you, he jerks off fairly often. he doesn’t like porn but has an album in his phone full of pictures you’ve sent him or the two of you together. sometimes if he knows you’re not busy but can’t be with you for some reason he’ll call you for phone sex because the sound of your voice helps him get off. bonus points if you’re touching yourself at the same time

kink: a kink of his

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again. eijiro kirishima has a size and strength kink. he LOVES being bigger than you and showing off his strength in bed. a big fan of a mating press because it’s just so easy to fold you in half! even if you’re tall or plus sized he is so so strong and the way he handles you makes it seem like you’re tiny. he’s also like. huge. so you probably are small compared to him, no matter what. this extends to how big his dick is as well - he’s thick and seeing the way you literally stretch around him drives him insane.

location: his favorite place to do it

eiji just likes to have you in bed, away from anyone else’s eyes or other distractions. he likes having the space to kinda toss you around and wants you to be as comfortable as possible. he’s okay with other places around your place if you live together, but ultimately he’s gonna want to have you in bed, which also makes aftercare and cleanup easier!

motivation: what gets him going

uh, the wind? anything you do has this man bricked up. wearing his clothes? doing your makeup? talking? laughing? bending over? kissing him? he’s ready. everything you do is sexy to him. he does especially love when you initiate though; you coming to him and letting him know you’re in the mood will always do it for him. he likes to feel wanted by you, so tell him you want him! if you come up behind him while he’s doing something and start rubbing his shoulders while you whisper in his ear he will take you to bed as soon as humanly possible.

no: something he won’t do

i feel like he isn’t into degradation at all. he thinks it doesn’t feel natural and why would he want to be mean to you anyway? he doesn’t mean any of that, so why would he say it? the most you could get out of him is him calling you a slut or something but even then it takes some convincing and he’ll only do it if he’s absolutely positive you want it. he has moral qualms with slut shaming and doesn’t really like calling you anything in that vain 😭

oral: preference giving or receiving

d1 eater. munch. face seat. this guy loves eating pussy and genuinely could die happy between your thighs. he likes receiving, don’t get me wrong, but he absolutely adores making you cum on his tongue. he’s waking you up with it and putting you to sleep with it. if he grew facial hair he’d be one of those guys that has bleached patches because he is just alwayyyssss eating you out. he likes having you sit on his face and will pull you down onto his mouth if you start to lift your hips. argue with the wall he is a MUNCH!

pace: fast, slow, stamina, etc

i think his stamina is pretty average and he tends to go fast and deep. his strokes are consistent and he’s good at pacing himself so he won’t get too tired before he can make you cum. he never ever finishes before you because he’s a gentleman! he usually is done after one round but if you want more he’s happy to use his mouth and fingers until you’re satisfied.

risk: is he game to experiment or take risks?

he has no problem trying new things but it’s usually something brought up by you. he knows what he likes and doesn’t typically feel the need to switch things up unless you express that desire. he isn’t particularly risky (e.g public sex) but he’s happy to experiment privately! sometimes he’ll see a tiktok or tweet about something you haven’t tried together and send it to you in case it was something you were afraid to bring up. he wants you to be able to tell him about the things you’re curious about so you can try them together, and he isn’t particularly bothered if it doesn’t work out!

stamina: how many rounds can he go?

like i said he’s usually satisfied after one round but on occasions where he’s particularly excited or pent up he can go two or (rarely) three rounds. you guys have sex often so he usually doesn’t feel the need to go several rounds, and he also gets overstimulated pretty easily, so he needs a little bit of downtime in between!

toys: does he own toys? does he use them?

he owns one fleshlight from before you got together but hardly ever uses it. once in a blue moon if you’ve been apart for a long time he’ll bring it out but he usually doesn’t feel the need to. he doesn’t mind using toys together but i don’t think he necessarily goes out of his way to do so! but uh if he catches you using one he’s finishing you off with it before fucking you himself.

unfair: how much does he like to tease?

eijiro kinda spoils you but he doesn’t really care. in his eyes, you deserve it! he doesn’t tease you too much because if you even give him the slightest signal that you want something he’s folding immediately. he just wants to make you happy! he’s not a fan of orgasm denial, he much prefers to overstimulate you if anything.

volume: how loud is he?

like i said before he’s all in your ear lmao. i wouldn’t say he’s loud but he’s very vocal. he moans so so so pretty and gets louder when he cums. he’s fairly talkative as well, he tells you alllll about how good your pussy feels and how good you’re taking him. he’s capable of being quiet but why would he be? he wants you to know how good you make him feel so why would he ever hold it back? he doesn’t understand guys who are quiet in bed and never has. he loves to tell you how much he adores you when he’s giving you the dicking down of the century and he thinks it’s cute when you get all flustered from it!

wild card: random headcanon

he whines if you pull his hair. that’s it.

x-ray: what’s going on underneath those clothes?

whew. 6.7 inches hard and sooo thick and heavy. slightly thicker just below the tip. he has a few prominent veins and it’s so so pretty just like the rest of him!! his tip is slightly pink and tbh he leaks a lot of pre, especially when you start touching him. he’s just gorgeous. i can’t even explain it.

yearning: how high is his sex drive?

high!! his love language is physical touch and this definitely extends into your sex life. he’s crazy about you and genuinely always wants to be touching you. if you’re living together, you probably have sex four or five times a week on average; he specifically makes time for it, even if your schedules clash. he wants you to know how much he appreciates you and shows it through world ending orgasms

zzz: how fast does he fall asleep afterwards?

he gets a short little burst of energy directly afterwards, which he uses to clean up and get you taken care of in any way you might need. but honestly, he is crashing not long after. he puts a lot of effort in! once he’s sure you’re comfortable he is knocked tf out in minutes and sleeps like the dead. he gets great sleep because if you’re around, you’re basically fucking each other to sleep most nights!

[shuafiles]

lie to girls [l.jn] preview

SUMMARY | it was hard watching jeno struggle with his relationship, but it was even harder when he ran to you for comfort every time. especially when you, his long-time best friend, have been in love with him for the longest time. but when jeno starts lying about where he’s going and who he’s with, you realize the biggest lie might be the one you’re telling yourself—that he’ll ever choose you. or girls will cry, and girls will lie, and girls will lose their goddamn minds for you.

PAIRING | nonidol!jeno x afab!reader

CONTENT | university au, angst, best friends to ?, aespa members included, cheating, swearing, drinking, smut (not everything is included in the teaser yet but just so you know whats in store)

WORDS | 855 (just this teaser)

A/N | sneak peek of what im working on! im planning on making this a looong one but i was too excited so i decided to share without spoiling too much. let me know if you like it! total wc is still unknown and the release date will hopefully be before november ends. also its my birthday today so heres my gift to you :D

“hey.” jeno greeted you, standing at your front door, which only meant one thing. they fought again.

you pushed the door wider, letting him inside. he looked like a mess, his shoulders slumped, dark bags around his eyes, hair disheveled. even from afar, you could tell he was going through something. his phone was in his hand, checking for notifications, but he let out a huge sigh when the home screen was empty.

“do i even want to know?” you prodded, eyes watching him as he plopped down on the couch. his head tilting back on the headrest, head filled with thoughts.

“you know how she is.” jeno mumbled, rubbing his face with his hands. “said she needed some space.”

unfortunately, i do know how she is. jeno’s girlfriend, karina. they’ve been together since first year of college when jeno met her at some random party. they were the kind of couple on campus that, at first glance, seemed perfect, but you knew all too well what kind of chaos haunted them in private. you were too familiar with how she behaved with jeno; most of the time, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

jeno didn’t even have to say anything when you saw him at your front door. you have grown accustomed to this pattern: the same heartache, apologies, and cycle of hope and disappointment. and every time it occurred, jeno ended up here—at your door, at your couch, sulking.

you wanted nothing more than to scold jeno for letting himself get run over by her, but you kept your lips sealed. deciding that giving him comfort and support was probably what he needed right now.

“again, huh?” you sat down on the opposite side of him, tucking your legs beneath you.

“i don’t even know what that means, y/n.” jeno sighed, running his hand through his hair. he lifted his head to face you, gaze soft as he held eye contact with you. “one minute, everything’s perfect, and we’re fine, but suddenly, i’ve apparently done something wrong, and she won't even tell me.” his voice cracked, hopelessness evident in his tone. it pained you to see him like this. how many times is he going to let her do this to him?

“well, did you do something wrong?” you asked, but you knew jeno too well, he wouldn’t do anything to sabotage his relationship. sure, he has made mistakes in the past, but he was a good person, a good friend, and a good lover, you suppose.

jeno stayed silent for a moment, recalling if he had done something to make his girlfriend upset. “i–no, at least i don’t think so.” he shook his head, “i’ve just been busy with classes, but i always make time for her. and everything we’re together, i always try to make it special. you know?”

you nodded along to his words, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. you have heard this story countless times, so you could probably recite it to him. it wasn’t unusual for karina to act like this; she’d get upset over something vague, and then jeno would beat himself up for it, but he’d still bend over backward to get her back.

“maybe she’s just going through something?” you said, trying to think of what to say to ease his mind.

you and karina were acquaintances at best. it’s not like you didn’t try to be her friend, but something about her attitude just seems so off-putting to you. you weren’t entirely sure if karina was fond of you either. of course, you never told jeno any of these. you knew he wouldn’t listen, not when it comes to her. he loves her. he’d return to her every time, like a moth to a flame. and you’d be there, picking up the pieces when he got burned.

“i wish she’d just tell me what’s on her mind instead of leaving me wondering what i did wrong.” his face twisted into frustration with a mix of confusion.

“jen, you know i can’t help you if you don’t tell her what you’re feeling.” this time, you couldn’t hold back. “you’re supposed to tell her these, not me.”

jeno flinched at your words, somehow unsatisfied with your advice. “yeah… you’re right.”

you watched his expression, his eyebrows furrowed while he was deep in thought. “i’m sorry if it’s not what you wanted to hear.” you hesitated, knowing you were treading dangerous waters. “i just think… you deserve someone who actually appreciates you.”

jeno stayed silent, processing your words as if he hadn’t told himself that a million times. but for some stupid reason, he couldn’t keep it in his head. he looked down at his phone, tapping the screen once more, but to his disappointment, there was still nothing. “i know you’re just looking out for me, y/n. but… i just can’t give up on her. not yet.”

and just like that, you could feel him slipping away, back into her orbit, leaving you alone with all the things you couldn’t say, wondering when he would run back to you again.

[curtins]

HOLY GROUND — geto suguru

prologue. → suguru geto is effortlessly stylish, and impossibly charming, and it's no wonder that everyone loves him. and you're absolutely crushing on him. and without fail, he takes you out each afternoon, after school, to a sweet cheesecake shop, saying that it'll be nice to grab a quick treat. but as a friend...right?

pairing. geto suguru x reader

warnings+. nothing, just sugary sweet fluff! reader has some self doubt and is a bit nervous, has a bit of a crush on ol' geto.

word count. 3.03k! song inspiration. holy ground — taylor swift

a/n. this post by @shokosmokes got me thinkin...mind u i love a good angst story but its nice to just have something sweet. like cheesecake 🍰 anyway this is short but i had fun writing this short lil piece <3 lmao this is the first time i think i've written a story without someone dying or losing a limb. not beta read, we die like warriors.

mp3. tonight i'm gonna dance, for all that we've been through. but i don't wanna dance, if i'm not dancing with you.

you sat across from geto at a small table by the window, marvelling at how the warm sunlight spilled in and caught the edges of his profile, lighting his features up with the last rays of summer's sweetness. you can hear the usual bustle of life on the streets of tokyo, with cars roaring down narrow streets and voices floating on the air. but here, it's just you and him.

there's a single strand of his hair that's perpetually falling out of his knot, falling against his face in a way that makes your chest tighten. the light has caught the feathery edges of his raven hair, turning the black into deep shades of brown and caramel that you want to capture within your fingers.

"you're quiet today," geto says, and he's leaning back in his chair, legs stretched wide beneath the table as he always tends to do.

you're glad you both took the time to change out of your uniform, at the dorms. the loose charcoal top drapes well against his lean, sculpted frame. his faded black jeans and scuffed docs complete the look, as though he stepped out of a glossy streetwear magazine and into your hands. there's two silver bracelets stacked on his wrists, gleaming faintly and you watch as the faint dusting of dark hair on his arms look translucent in the afternoon light.

great, you've been staring. again. heat rushes to your face, and you quickly look down at the cracked screen of your phone, hoping he didn't notice how you were practically unthreading each stitch that held him together.

"just tired," you say. though the truth has nothing to do with exhaustion, and everything to do with him.

geto tilts his head, watching you, "long day?"

you trace your finger along that shattered screen as you flip your phone open, "something like that. you know how they train us at the end of the day."

his eyes narrow for a split second, like he's the one solving a puzzle right now, but he shakes his head, "let's just go and order now. 'm starving."

this bakery is known for its whimsical creations, and you stare at the menu above the counter, wondering how many crumpled bills you can scrounge up for this outing. geto's leaning against the glass case, shoving his hands in wide pockets as his bracelets clink softly at the movement.

his eyes skim over the vibrant slices of cheesecake on display, but you know he's not really looking at the desserts. he's just giving you time.

"what do you think?"

"i don’t know," you say, dragging out the words as you squint at the labels. "how am i supposed to pick between strawberry matcha swirl and honey lavender? they all sound so - " you pause, schooling your face as the woman behind the till gives you a side-eye, "complicated."

geto chuckles, a low, warm sound that feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. "why don’t you go for something fun? you always play it safe."

his words make you pause. maybe he’s right. maybe you do tend to pick the familiar, the predictable. but not today. today, you want something different — something bold. you glance at the menu again, and your eyes land on a slice that looks like a kaleidoscope of colour: tropical mango-passionfruit cheesecake with swirls of raspberry and a delicate coconut crust. it’s so bright and summery, it feels almost impossible not to smile just imagining yourself biting into it.

"that one," you say, pointing to it.

geto raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, his lips curving into a faint smile. "and for me…" he looks over the options for barely a second before he says, "just plain vanilla."

"tch! vanilla?" you repeat "you’re so boring."

"hey, it's a classic."

you roll your eyes, but you are so endlessly fond of him that you're smiling.

a few moments later, you’re back at your table with your slices, and the tropical cheesecake looks as perfect as it did in the case. the vibrant layers of mango, passionfruit, and raspberry practically glow in the sunlight streaming through the window.

ignoring geto's snarky comment to breathe first before inhaling it, you take your first bite, the fork sinking into the creamy texture, and for a moment, you’re hopeful.

but then...ugh. the sweetness hits you all at once, overwhelming your senses. it’s not bad, but it’s...too much. too bright. too cloying. you hesitate, unsure how to admit the mistake of your overzealous choice.

geto notices immediately, because of course he does. he leans forward, resting his arms on the table, his bracelets catching the light again, "what's wrong?"

"nothing," you say quickly, but your face must give you away because he narrows his pretty eyes in suspicion.

"you don’t like it." it's not a question, he’s grinning now.

"it’s fine," you insist, though your tone lacks conviction, and you shovel another wide piece into your mouth.

geto doesn’t say anything. instead, he picks up his fork and, before you can protest, scoops a bite from your slice. you watch as his pink lips part, and he tastes it before pulling a face, "that's sweet enough to even knock out satoru."

"hey!" you protest, though you can’t help but laugh along with him, thinking of your white-haired friend bouncing off the walls. "it’s not that bad."

"you don’t have to eat it," geto says, sliding his plate toward you and nudging your slice away. "here. take mine."

"but you don’t even like sweet things."

geto shrugs, picking up your plate and taking another bite of your overly sweet cheesecake like it’s nothing, and you watch as a mild spasm twitches across his features, "it’s fine. it's no good if you sit here and suffer through something you don't like."

you try to pretend like your chest doesn't tighten at the gesture. he doesn’t even look at you when he says it, focusing instead on his plate.

you take a bite of his vanilla cheesecake, and it’s perfect — not too sweet, just creamy and subtle enough to make you sigh in relief, "where would i be without you?" you hope that the teasing in your voice is enough to smooth over the cracks in your beating heart.

geto glances up at you then, his violet eyes meeting yours, and there’s something unguarded in his expression, something raw and warm and so achingly tender it makes your pulse skip, "i could say the same for you," he says quietly, almost as if the words weren’t meant to be heard, and far too quietly for something as trivial as an afternoon date in a café.

there's a warmth pooling in your cheeks, making your face hurt. and your thoughts loop back to the same quiet ache that you've carried for a few months now, like a sealed and perfumed love letter carried in your pocket.

every time he takes you out after class, you tell yourself, this is it. this is when i'll say it. haven't you rehearsed the words in your head, simple and clear each time?

i like you. i actually really like you a lot, suguru geto.

and every time, like clockwork, the words dissolve on your tongue, swallowed by the noise of your own uncertainty. it is hardly the case that geto isn't kind nor attentive. it's not that he's distant or cold, entirely the opposite.

if anything, he always seems...present.

but then you think about how he walks through the school hallways with that same quiet storm of charisma and charm, how his laughter draws people to him like moths to a flame, boys and girls alike.

in contrast, gojo satoru is far too much for many. there are many who choose to take a step back from him, away from the whirlwind and electrifying storm that is the six-eyes user.

but everyone wants a piece of geto's world, to be his friend or a confident, or something.

and you, what are you? just another friend he takes out after school? someone he doesn't mind spending time with when the day winds down?

your heart is once again acquainted with a knot of longing and fear that’s become far too familiar. geto doesn’t look like someone who would hesitate. he looks like someone who would know exactly what to say, exactly what to do, without second-guessing himself.

and yet, every time you’re with him, you catch these small moments of quiet — when his gaze lingers just a fraction too long, or when he says your name like it’s heavier than it should be. those moments make you wonder. what if…?

and as if he's reading your thoughts, geto shifts forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table now, and that single loose strand of hair moves with him, falling further into his face.

"something’s on your mind," he says, his pretty eyes searching yours. there’s a teasing edge to his tone, but it’s tempered with genuine curiosity, "you can tell me, you know."

you can’t help but wonder — how are you supposed to tell him that he’s the one taking up all the space in your mind? that his voice is the soundtrack to your thoughts, his smile the thing you find yourself chasing in every quiet moment?

instead, you give a small shrug, "maybe i’m just distracted."

"by what?" he presses, leaning just slightly closer, the teasing note in his voice softening into something warmer, a sincere question.

you hesitate, and you want to tell him the truth, but it feels too big, too fragile to let out into the open and so you blunder around, "maybe it’s the cheesecake," you say instead, your voice light, though the thrum of your pulse is anything but, "vanilla really is a classic."

smooth. utahime is going to be so disappointed in you. you know that she's tired of hearing about your crush by now, twirling the ribbon in her hair as she groans each time you tell her that you think you're going to pack your bags and move countries away from geto.

but now geto laughs softly, and the sound wraps around you like warmth, like home, "guess i picked the right place, then."

"you always do." your fingers brush against the cool porcelain of your plate, though you barely notice. your heart is often a traitor to your rational peace of mind, and your attention is all on him, on the way his smile lingers, softer now, the edges of his usually confident expression unraveling into something more tentative.

for a moment, geto's quiet, his gaze falling to his hands. his fingers toy with one of the silver rings on his right hand, twisting it in slow circles. It’s a small, nervous gesture, and it catches you off guard — suguru geto is never nervous.

the silence stretches in the late afternoon light, but then geto shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly, his hands fiddling with the silver rings stacked on his fingers. the movement catches your attention, and when you glance up, you notice something different about him. the easy confidence that seems to follow him like a second shadow is nowhere to be seen. instead, his jaw is tight, his shoulders tense, and there’s a flicker of something nervous in the way his fingers twist the largest ring around and around.

he's looking at you, meeting your gaze, and you’re startled by the uncharacteristic seriousness in his eyes.

"hey," he says, his voice quieter than usual, a touch rough around the edges.

"yeah?"

geto exhales slowly, his lips pressing into a line before he speaks again.

"okay, look. i -” he pauses, running a hand through his hair, dislodging the tie holding his hair together, so choppy, dark locks fall around his shoulders. you school your face well enough so you don't look like you've been punched in the gut by cupid.

"i like you," he says finally, his words tumbling out in a rush, like they’ve been bottled up for too long, "i’ve liked you for a while now. and - and i’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you without, like… messing everything up."

your breath catches, the words landing like a firework in the quiet space between you. geto likes you? he likes you?

geto keeps going, as if he’s afraid to lose his nerve.

"i asked gojo for advice — stupid, i know, don't make that face — and he told me to just… keep taking you out and hope you’d get the hint. said that you'd realise eventually," and one of the strongest jujutsu sorcerers you know groans, covering his face briefly with one hand, as if he's embarrassed.

"which was a terrible plan because i'm awful at hints, and apparently, so is he, considering he’s never had a girlfriend in his life."

you blink, the shock giving way to a surprised laugh, the sound spilling out before you can stop it.

"wait — gojo? he's the one who gave you advice? he doesn’t even know the first thing about relationships! do you remember the time that he went on one date, and got dumped the next day for trying to buy dinner out of the vending machine."

"i know!" geto says, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation, but there’s a small, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips now, "i know it was a bad idea. i just wanted to tell you, straight up. but I didn’t know what else to do, okay? i didn’t want to screw this up."

you fall silent at that, your laughter fading as the weight of his words sinks in. he's looking at you now, his expression open and raw in a way that makes your chest ache.

"i just — i want to do this right," he says softly, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. "i want to be your boyfriend. properly. i want to take you out, and to be able to call you mine, and — i don’t know — do all the cheesy stuff couples do."

his hand brushes the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the table for a moment before flicking back to yours, "but if that’s weird, or if you don’t feel the same, it’s okay. you don’t have to say yes. promise i won't cry in front of you."

Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it, a wild, dizzying rhythm that drowns out everything else. You stare at him, your mind struggling to catch up with what he’s just said, with the fact that he likes you. geto—cool, effortlessly charming geto—wants to be your boyfriend.

"wait," you manage finally, your voice shaky with disbelief. "you… like me? like, you really like me?"

geto laughs softly, though there’s still a nervous edge to it. "yeah, i really do. it's probably stupidly obvious by now, isn’t it? i mean, everyone said it was so obvious, and shoko said you already knew."

you shake your head, bewildered. "no! i mean, yes — but no! i just thought you only saw me as a friend. i never thought — "

you stop yourself, realising you’re rambling, and take a deep breath. then, before you can overthink it or possibly faint, you say, "yes."

geto's thin brows furrow slightly. "yes?"

"yeah," you repeat, a smile breaking across your face. "i'd really like that. i do want to go out with you, suguru."

relief washes over his features, followed by a grin so genuine and bright it leaves you breathless. for a moment, he just stares at you, his eyes warm and full of something you can’t quite name, something that makes you feel like the centre of the universe.

"oh my god, thank god, you don't even know, i was actually going to have a heart attack..." he mutters, almost to himself, before he blinks, like he's forgetting something. then, with an almost comical jolt of realisation, he clears his throat.

"right," he says, the word drawn out, as if he’s trying to ground himself. "i need to pay for the tab."

you laugh nervously, still reeling from everything that’s just happened, and shake your head quickly, thinking back to the meagre bills in your pocket. "oh, it’s okay! i can pay for my own -"

but geto's head snaps up at that, and he fixes you with a look so incredulous, so utterly affronted, that it startles you into silence.

"no way," he says, his voice firm but laced with humour and he leans forward slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a glimmer of warmth that sends your heart racing all over again, "i’m your boyfriend now. you really think I’m going to let you pay?"

it's unfamiliar and thrilling all at once. your cheeks burn, and you can’t stop the laugh that escapes you, a mix of delight and disbelief.

"unbelievable," you say, shaking your head, but there’s no real protest in your voice.

geto grins, the expression crooked and self-assured in a way that’s so unmistakably him, and it takes your breath away. then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches across the table, his hand brushing against yours before his fingers gently curl around them.

it's such a simple gesture, but it feels monumental, like the air around you shifts in response. his hand is warm, slightly calloused at the fingertips, and the way his thumb grazes over your knuckles sends a quiet thrill through you.

you glance down at your joined hands, unable to stop the soft, surprised smile that spreads across your face. when you look back up, geto is watching you, his expression open and unguarded, as if he’s memorising every detail of this moment.

"so," he says quietly, his voice softer now, "is this the part where you say you’re going to let me spoil you a little?"

you laugh again, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand in return. "i guess i don’t really have a choice now, do i?"

his smile widens, and there’s a faint pink tint to his cheeks that makes your heart ache with how much you like him.

"nope," he says, his tone teasing but earnest. "you really don’t."

and as you sit there, your hand in geto's, surrounded by the golden light and the lingering sweetness of cheesecake, you think that maybe — just maybe — this is what happiness feels like.

[itsabouttimex2]

any lmk ideas you wish were touched on more often in fanfic??

Underused LMK Premises

Oh so many dude you don’t even understand-

1. Courtnapping as a legitimately bad thing. Not “ooh it’s romantic for demons” or “it’s just part of their culture” or “it’s proof of how much they love you” but like… a portrayal of courtnapping that actually demonstrates how viscerally dehumanizing it is to be stolen away by someone you might not even know and treated like a prize who can be won with the right application of charm or power.

(Like I’ve used it I think only once before and pretty much stopped at the “this is what demons do in general thing, but the potential for varied application is just… so high.)

Especially for mortals- imagine being bruised and battered from a long period spent unconsciously slung over someone’s shoulder or under their arm, strewn over a lounge chair or tied up in front of the kitchen table, seething. Eyes focused and hateful, knowing that this would happen eventually if they let down their guard or let a demon too close. It doesn’t matter how the monster peacocks about with that tome or this battleaxe, it’s not attractive, it’s not sexy,- and nothing can steal the feeling of violation that settles in over having been stolen from home in your sleep so you could get an extended IRL version of “I showed you my dick please go out with me” from a thirteen foot demon who is more interested in wooing you than actually wanting you.

Or just… old demons who mumble and huff about “losing their traditions” or “young demons going soft” as they look at woven tapestries in their homes, proud depictions of past conquests standing frozen in time, unaware that their great-great-grandson would lose his newest baby to a hysteric mortal’s iron-toed boot, wild with unforeseen hormones brought on by demonic birth, unaware that his youngest granddaughter would face a life of misery as she grew up, constantly stolen back and forth by two demons as part of a glorified pissing contest, both more interested in one-upping each other than the sapient being they steal from her room each night.

Young demons secretly taught by the last crotchety stalwarts of an old generation that “What you want is yours to take, if you can take it,” before their parents can snatch them away from great-great-great-grandfather and hurry off, praying their little one is too young to understand what was said. Growing demons brought up with those horrid words rattling their horned skulls, heeding and obeying them, then wondering why their dearest friends snap and crack as they’re “spirited away”. Grown demons who come up lonely and tired, seeing their diminishing race in a world flourishing with soft little mortals and wondering spitefully “Why did we ever stop conquering”, only learning the answer at the blunt end of a glowing golden staff when their time is near, the finishing blow timed to the cheers of their captives.

(If I ever write a satire fic, it will 100% be about a Y/N who gets isekai-ed into LMK, but instead of any of the cool or attractive protagonists, they get courtnapped by a crusty-handed, balding and portly demon who doesn’t practice hygiene or housecare. Just to put into perspective how actually awful the whole “I’m being kidnapped as a spouse” thing would probably really be if it wasn’t your attractive, young, in-shape, washes regularly blorbo doing the snatching.)

2. With this, demons just… not understanding mortals. Not for lack of trying, and not for lack of wanting, but through simple psychological incompatibility.

Demons struggling with empathy toward mortals because their minds are shaped by instincts that value strength, endurance, and survival of the fittest. Emotions that seem obvious to humans, like fear, discomfort, or sorrow simply not registering for demons in the same way. They see these reactions, but interpret them through their own lens, often believing that mortals are playing games or faking them or maybe outright performing.

Communal demons in broad daylight snatching up children for hours or days, only to return them with scars and bloodshot eyes, and wondering why they receive no gratitude for, in their opinion “taking up parental duties” without so much as being asked. After all, isn’t a little bit of “toughening up” good for children?

Demons who don’t understand “allergies”, especially when they range from “mild cough” to “near-instant death” and maybe misunderstand how epi-pens work- “Is stabbing the flesh a way to bleed the illness”, asks an curious demon with ancient eyes, worn hands, ragged skin, “and will any weapon do?”

Demons who become artists that need calligraphy tools so large they get mistaken for weapons. Demons who don’t understand tipping culture and assume they’re being fleeced. Demons who need custom chairs and custom clothes and custom bedding. Demons who pick fights on behalf of their friends and coworkers, and then to combat this, demons who get hired on as protection against “honor battles”.

Demons being demons, not just immortal humans.

3. Characters with variable ages that widely differ- like, I’ve gone on here and there about my view on ambiguous ages for characters and why I love that trope so much and how it makes a series infinitely more attractive to larger crowds and audiences than a concrete “14” or “23” or “46”, you know? And the fact that MK and Mei and Red Son could be sooo many different ages all in different configurations is super interesting to me!

Like, imagine- Adult!Red Son with Teen!Mei and Teen!MK, having an absolute full-throttle meltdown when he realizes that the two upstart semi-mortals who keep beating his demonic ass are teenagers. Red Son being both mortified at his continuous defeats and furious at these children’s parents for allowing them to fight in such high stakes.

And then with that slowly growing sense of pity and anger he just scoffs and shakes his head the one time they maybe aren’t in such high spirits (drenched from rain and wind and exhausted from the vigor of battle) and whisks them off to his family’s lair, throwing a demon-sized towel for them to share as he whips up something spicy for the kids.

Children.

They’re children.

He goes home and thinks on that, and then decides that maybe he just doesn’t want to fight them anymore.

Red Son then being reverse adopted by Pigsy + Mr. and Mrs. Dragon because, hey, if he’s playing big brother, might as well let him. Then Red gets to learn what (mostly) healthy family dynamics are through direct interaction and then hold his parents to those standards and basically everyone heals together.

Or hey, Red Son being a teenager while MK and Mei are adults! The two heroes doting on this ever-furious demon with treats and drinks to “cheer him up” after his frequent losses and kinda… accidentally teaching him what unconditional kindness is by becoming surrogate older siblings to the kid.

Red Son freaking out because his parents are going to be mad about this loss or that failure, and

(Red Son getting a phone call in the middle of a fight because PIF is mad he didn’t take out the trash lmao)

4. Y/N being protective of Sun Wukong.

Man, I don’t know if it’s just me but I don’t touch most romantic Shadowpeach x Y/N fanfics at all because I know I’m in for more of the same “Macaque legitimately being an awful person to someone he’s sharing a mate with/to one of his two mates and Y/N thinks it’s funny/doesn’t care” and just like… dude.

Like I know I’ve talked about how much I hate Fanon!Macaque, the simpering sadsack who only exists to get babied and patted on the ass, all his actions whitewashed and cooed over, so like, obviously I wasn’t gonna be a fan of this.

Maybe I’m just not the target audience here but like holy shit… why? It’s never portrayed as unhealthy or anything more than a silly goofy thing that Macaque is constantly tormenting someone he either is supposed to love or share a lover with, and the reader in regard to that mistreatment is little more a drooling dumbfuck without enough braincells to breath through their nose.

I don’t get it. A Y/N who says “Teehee my mate is being abused ‘oh noes’ but Maccy needs cuddles so I’ll disregard one half of my relationship~” is not a Y/N I care about, and I don’t see what’s so compelling about neglect and mistreatment portrayed as the order of the day. I don’t see the merit in “I’m Y/N, and I’m stupid and blind to abuse!”

Cause I think it’s so much more interesting if it’s like…

“Do that again and you’re out.”

And Macaque whips around in shock, looking up from the shadow portal he just shoved Wukong into. “Excuse me-“

“Do that again,” you repeat, voice low and tense- Wukong would be fine, you were more angry than worried-, “and you’re out. Gone. Out of my house and out of my life.”

“I wasn’t-“

“I don’t give a fuck, Macaque! You will not MISTREAT my mate in my own house!”

“I- it’s not- I don’t-“

“I DON’T FUCKING CARE! HE’S NOT A FUCKING PUNCHING BAG, SO I’M NOT LETTING YOU TREAT HIM LIKE ONE!”

You know, a scenario where Y/N isn’t a passive enabler of abuse and bullying, and they actually have a voice of their own outside of “Teehee Mac you’re sooooo mean to my lover but I’m totally okay with that for some reason!~” but also gives Macaque explicit instruction on what he needs to do in order to better the relationship (ex: not abuse their other mate), in which they aren’t stupid or unforgiving and all three can grow together, instead of the usual: “Macaque isn’t ever a bad person. But when he is it’s not a big deal. But when it is his victims “deserve” it.”

5. Transhuman identities and abilities. I mean, just… there’s shapeshifting and magical artifacts and all manner of mystic trinket in the world. Does being gay or trans really matter when anyone can learn the 72 Transformations and become what they wish? Is it any bigger a deal than your child deciding they’re going to live life as a dog, or a demon? Are there potions to make these transformations permanent? Can a person become a demon, instead of transforming into one?

Does being immortal fuck with your taxes? Does knowing magic fuck with your insurance? Does your family look at you differently after you’ve tasted that ambrosial nectar, consumed that slice of eternity? Do they fear or long for a taste? Does your grandmother refuse to come to your wedding, ashamed that you would “break yourself from the cycle”? Does your mother cry into her hands that you wed a demon? Do you run to an old monastery to elope, wed by an old monk with ancient eyes because no other soul will officiate you and that demon? Will you be welcome in the celestial realm if you wed a heavenly soldier? If you take the hand of a god? What will you have you learn? How long until you feel at “home”?

Just… humans getting into mystical trouble outside of battles.

(If anyone else has some stuff they’d wish was expanded on more often, feel free to add on in the comments or reblogs!)

[silentscrying]

🏀 buzzer beater | chapter TWELVE.

nba!gojo x manager!reader

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, implied sexual content, playing dirty, not how basketball administration works, so many italics, the LAST CHAPTER! || sfw. 6.6k words.

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

It comes out louder than you’re intending, but still goes unheard in the overwhelming noise of the stadium. Game two of the championship series is in full swing. Satoru throws his hands out, arguing with the ref, both of them talking over each other, and then Kento pulls Satoru away and says something else to the official. Ever the diplomat.

Mahito smirks, everything about the way he holds himself self-righteous and arrogant. Your nails dig into your palm and leave crescent-shaped imprints as the team falls into position for the free throws. What a stupid fucking call. And it’s not even the first questionable choice the ref’s made this game. Mei Mei looks all smug across the court, and it’s making your bones shake with anger.

Geto steps up with an unnervingly calm expression, bouncing the ball once with a resounding thump before taking the shot he shouldn’t have gotten in the first place. Swish.

If Sukuna was still here, he’d be rioting, but he only made it halfway through the second quarter before getting escorted out because “OH, YOU THINK YOU’RE HOT SHIT, YOU PONYTAILED PRICK, DON’T YOU?” and “WHAT ARE YOU COMPENSATING FOR WITH THAT NUMBER ONE ON YOUR JERSEY, PATCHWORK PRINCESS, HUH?”

Shigemo and Mahito definitely heard, and you swear Shigemo tripped a little.

You don’t disagree with Yuji’s uncle, really. You were honestly a little sad to see him leave.

In his place, you’ve picked up a steady stream of cussing under your breath, and beside you Nobara looks almost impressed by it.

Geto does that infuriating little half-smile and nails the second free throw, and you have to turn away, pace a few steps back and forth to collect yourself as the ball launches back into play. It’s third quarter and you’re losing, 64-79. Fuck. Fuck.

Ieiri’s hand comes down on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks, and you raise your head to meet her eyes. She doesn’t say anything, not calm down or stand still or there’s still time to turn it around. She just looks at you like she knows, because she always knows—knows it wasn’t a fair call, knows the stakes are high, knows the tension is squeezing the blood out of your heart and the air out of your lungs like a vice.

She nods. I get it. I’m with you. You nod back.

You walk back to the sideline, fists balled at your side, and you watch. Satoru turns around, raking a frustrated hand through his hair, dislodging his headband. He turns around and you catch his eye, offering him a small smile. You hope it doesn’t look as strained as it feels.

Even from here, you can see some of the tension ease from his shoulders. He cracks a half-smile back.

At the start of the fourth, you’re 75-83, the headset around your neck instead of over your ears—you can’t listen, don’t want to know what the odds are, don’t need to hear the commentators’ pessimism on top of your own.

It’s only eight points. They can do this.

At some point, the Curses sub Dagon on, and after a while he and Yuji are getting a little too physical—or Dagon is, while Yuji tries fruitlessly to not get obliterated. He’s just trying to get open for Satoru, but Dagon is practically on top of him. He’s playing dirty in a way that reminds you of Hanami. At this rate, Yuji’s going to end up on the ground.

“Fucking call something,” Nobara practically growls, eyes narrowed on the ref, who either doesn’t see or just doesn’t care.

Satoru, ball in hand, locks eyes on Dagon as he clings doggedly to Yuji’s side, backing up into him, sticking out an ankle in hopes of tripping him. Only Jogo stands between Satoru and the basket. Jogo swipes a massive hand at the ball and Satoru reaches out and just—fucking catches it.

He palms the ball in his left hand and uses his right to intercept Jogo’s fingers as they reach out, stopping him in midair, a flagrant foul, and the ref blows the whistle, calling the play. Jogo goes still and just stares at Satoru's hand around his, shocked. Yuji stumbles back as Dagon finally lets up.

“Holy shit,” Ieiri murmurs beside you.

“He did that on purpose?” Nobara says, but it’s not really a question. Satoru just fucking fouled Jogo to stop play before Dagon could hurt Yuji. You pull one side of the headphones up to your ear to hear the call.

“And that’s a personal foul by number six, Satoru Gojo, against San Diego guard Jogo.”

Megumi storms over to Dagon and shouts something sharp and fast that you can’t hear, and Yuji puts a hand on his shoulder and turns him away. Kento says something to the ref and it must finally hit home, because the ref mutters something to Dagon before the free throw, and after that he doesn’t try to pull anything shitty over on Yuji again.

Maybe it’ll be fine, you think as you hit the halfway point of the last quarter. The Sorcerers have already won once. They can do it again.

And then they lose.

The Sorcerers, they fucking lose. And as the stadium erupts in cheers and the Curses subs swarm center court, you’re suddenly worried that somehow the first time was a fluke—after all, the Curses are first seed, aren’t they? They’re supposed to win. They’re projected to.

No. It wasn’t a fluke. You know your team, you have faith in your team. They can turn this around, they have to. They’ve defied the odds before, and they’ll do it again.

This doesn’t mean anything.

On the jet, Satoru buries his head in the crook of your neck and you let him, playing with his long, slim fingers in your lap. When you land, he doesn’t go home, and you spend the night trading kisses and reassurances on the couch, against the wall, possibly atop the kitchen counter, and then your bed, and you fall asleep beside him thinking, It’s not too late. There is still every chance the Sorcerers can take this title home.

And even if they don’t, you think, listening to Satoru’s steady breathing in your ear, there are more important things.

—

The week passes in a blur of basketball, training, travel, late nights with Satoru and stolen kisses in offices and cars and bedrooms. The ref from the last game racked up such an outrage online that by the third game of the series—this time on your home court—you’ve got a new official entirely, one who has a great track record with the league. Hiromi Higuruma is actually fair, and things start to run more smoothly.

If someone asked you for a play-by-play of the two home games, you couldn’t give them one, just a vivid recollection of a few scenes, compiled in the back of your mind like a highlight reel.

Satoru and Geto facing off for the tip-off, eyes narrowed and bodies tense, nearly colliding as they both stretch for the ball.

Megumi coming off a dunk and breathlessly grinning at Tsumiki in the stands.

Satoru turning around at the last second to block Jogo like an instinct, like he has eyes on the back of his head.

The Sorcerers winning game three.

Higuruma fouling Mahito when he snags Yuji’s shirt in his hands, and Yuji nailing the free throw like it’s nothing.

Shigemo leering at Kento, only for Kento to pass the ball right around him, straight through the long, blond ponytail. Ino palming the pass and lobbing the ball into the net from the three-point line.

The Sorcerers winning game four.

All the built-up, coiling anticipation has you losing sleep, the knowledge that if you can hang on to this lead, just win one more, it’ll be over, you’ll have won.

The night the Sorcerers win the fourth game, you’re putting away laundry, listening to Mitski and humming to yourself. And then the music fades out and you frown, thinking your phone is just tripping out—until it segues into your ringtone and an unknown number lights up the screen.

You have no idea what to expect from this. The last time you answered an unknown number, you ended up talking to Takada.

“Hello, is this Sorcerers management?”

Definitely not Takada.

“Uh, yes. How can I help you?”

“Well, hey, glad I caught you! This is Yuki Tsukomo with the WNBA.”

Your breath stalls in your throat, fingers tightening around your phone. Yuki Tsukomo. The fucking commissioner of the WNBA. What the fuck?

You knew her in college, briefly, in a peripheral sense—her fifth year was your first, and she played for your university’s rival school. You crossed paths a number of times, but not in any way that would have been significant to Yuki.

Now, though, she’s a household name, a massive WNBA star in her own right before she retired and rose up the corporate ranks. She’s amazing. She’s an idol. And she’s on the phone with you right now.

“So, I’m calling about a career opportunity. I know this is a bit unorthodox, and if you’re interested I will certainly redirect you to our HR manager, but I wanted to speak with you personally. Is now a good time?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, sinking down onto your couch, trying to keep your voice even. “Yeah, now’s great.” Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

“Wonderful!” Yuki says. “Alright. So we have a vacancy this upcoming season for a conference coordinator. It’s a fairly big role, but I understand you’ve had a great deal of success in NBA management over the last few seasons. Your name comes highly recommended. And, I mean, I remember your work ethic back in college.”

The first thing that sticks is that Yuki actually remembers you. You’re astounded. You were so sure she’d have no idea.

The second thing hits a moment later, taking a second to process. Career opportunity. Upcoming season. Conference coordinator. Conference coordinator.

Where the NBA is divided into six divisions, the WNBA has only its two conferences, six teams in each. Coordinating a conference would entail, essentially, managing half of the WNBA.

“I appreciate that,” you manage, and feel your eyes widening the more Yuki lays out the details of the position.

The pay is actually higher. Right now, you’re just managing one team. This, though—this would be monumental for you.

Relief floods your entire body when she says Eastern. You could stay here. You wouldn’t have to move. The WNBA operates on a different schedule than the NBA—you’d be able to maintain a relationship with the Sorcerers, travel during the WNBA season.

You could do this—you could have both.

“Just think about it,” Yuki says brightly, wrapping up the call. “I know it’s a bit out of the blue, and you’re busy with the championships right now. I know this is a tight deadline, but if you could get back to me before the end of the season, that would be fantastic—the vacancy was a bit unexpected and we’re trying to get a jump on things.”

“Yeah, absolutely, I—I’ll think about it. Thank you, Yuki. So much.”

“Absolutely,” she replies. “Thanks for taking the time to speak with me. You have a good one!”

The line goes dead before you can reply. “You too,” you say to the open air, falling back onto your couch, boneless. Holy. Shit.

You only give yourself a minute before you open up your phone again.

“Toru,” you say, when he picks up on the first ring. “Can you come over?”

Fuck your laundry. It can wait.

—

He wants you to take it.

“This is fucking amazing!” he shouts, sweeping you into a hug, your feet off the floor. “Oh my god! This is so cool. My girlfriend is so fucking cool.”

“Toru,” you laugh as he sets you down. “I didn’t say yes yet. I just—”

“Hey,” he interrupts, pulling you over to the couch, sitting down beside you. He pulls one knee onto the cushions, angling himself toward you, and takes both of your hands in his. “Do you remember that night in the gym?”

You snort. “No, Satoru, I don’t remember the first night we f—”

“Not what I meant, but yes, that was wonderful, let’s do it again,” he says. “Listen. I asked you, if you got a better job offer right now, if you would leave.”

Oh. You remember. Define better, you said. Better might mean a pay raise, an admin opportunity, a move back into the women’s basketball sphere.

Not for another team, you told him. You wouldn’t leave the Sorcerers for the Curses, or for some other group of players on another coast. But for higher-level management, something with the league—isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?

“Don’t let us hold you back,” he says gently. “That’s the last thing I ever want to do to you.”

You look at him, sitting here in your apartment, looking like he belongs. Hair like silk under your fingers, eyes the color of oversaturated photos of a summer sky.

You realized a lot of things in the gym that night.

One was that you won’t leave behind what you love.

Another was that you still have higher aspirations, places you want to be, things you want to change.

And taking this job, saying yes? It’s not leaving.

Satoru will still sit on your couch and hold your hands and look at you like you’re the world. And then you’ll go watch him kick ass on the court, and you’ll go to dinner with him and Megumi and Tsumiki and Yuji, and you’ll spend the rest of your time investing in women’s basketball, that thing that’s had so much of your heart for so, so long.

But you can’t—you won’t—leave this team with just anyone.

“It has to be the right person,” you finally say, squeezing his hands. “I’m not saying yes unless I know you’re in actual, really good hands.”

“Well, I really don’t think anyone’s gonna use their hands quite like—”

You glare at him and he shuts up, biting back his laughter. He nods, releases one of your hands to push a strand of hair out of your face. “Then let’s find the right person,” he says.

An hour later, you’re both sprawled out in the living room with computers and phones and papers and a thousand tabs up, scrolling through pages of Google search results, scanning old rosters, throwing out names of a few standout NBA and WNBA managers, debating whether they’d leave their own teams for the Sorcerers.

And it hits you all at once, as you scroll through your contacts. You think about the small forward who was a freshman your senior year of college. She was a business management major, a great player, but you could tell she didn’t want to go pro, not like that.

“Oh,” you breathe, feeling like this answer’s been right in front of you the whole damn time. “Yes.”

Satoru perks up beside you, nudging you with an elbow. “Yeah?”

You look at him and feel the grin spreading across your face, hope sparking in your chest.

You should give her a call, you think.

But Satoru has already sat up, and he’s pulling you toward him with a devilish grin on his face. He shoves the papers and laptops out of the way and pushes you down with a hand on your shoulder, straddling you on the floor, white hair hanging down around his face like a curtain blocking out the rest of the world. It’s just you, and him, and his breath on your lips—

Yeah. The call can wait.

“You are,” he says, tracing the line of your jaw with one hand, “the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” The blood rushes to your cheeks unbidden, and you pull him down to press his lips to yours before he can comment on your blush.

“Not so bad yourself,” you breathe against his neck, and he takes your wrist and holds it above your head, kissing a line down your collarbone.

You have no recollection of getting to your bedroom, shoving the just-folded laundry off your duvet. All you know is Satoru’s fingers at the hem of your shirt, your eyes fluttering closed at the feel of his mouth on yours, wishing you never had to come up for air, thinking maybe you don’t need to. Maybe you and Satoru can just breathe each other’s air forever, and you never have to let him go.

—

“And I'm sorry to throw this on you during championships, and I know that if—”

“I’m happy for you.”

“What?” You blink at Yaga, sitting across from you in his office with his fingers steepled on the desk. His collection of little crochet animals lines the windowsill behind him, a procession of colorful little creatures that feels wholly disparate from his dark clothes, his serious eyes, his broad-shouldered and imposing stature.

You thought this conversation would be harder. You were ready to lay it all out, to thank him for making this the best place you’ve ever worked, to apologize for hanging him out to dry, to tell him that this way he won’t have to deal with any complications that might arise from you and Satoru being together. You talked it over with yourself in the bathroom mirror and in the shower and before you fell asleep, like a final presentation in a class you needed to graduate.

As a conference coordinator, the WNBA will pay you almost 20% more than you make right now. You’ll be running the whole Eastern division. It’s everything you wanted when you first started in sports management. It’s everything you want now—you won’t have to move, you won’t be traveling during NBA season, you can have everything you’ve built here and everything you’ve been working toward all at once and it feels too goddamn good to be true.

“Look,” Yaga says, leaning back in his seat. “You have been instrumental to this team. And I would love to have you here. We all would. But you deserve to go where you want with this career. And if the WNBA is where your heart is, I know for a fact every guy in that locker room would back you.”

And you realize, abruptly, that Yaga was never going to be a real roadblock. That speech you rehearsed wasn’t for him; it was for you.

Yaga is happy for you, in that calm, unbothered way of his, and Kusakabe will be too. You’re suddenly kind of emotional about it, their unwavering acceptance, the encouragement, the truth in Yaga's words. That this team would—will—back you. Even if you tell them you have to pass your position on to someone else.

“I haven’t accepted yet,” you clarify quickly. “I just—there’s a lot of things to think over. But I didn’t want to leave you in the dark, in case… I mean. I love it here. I do. This is just… a big opportunity, I think.”

“Well. If you do choose to take the job, and you have a recommendation for me,” he says, “I would be very inclined to listen.”

Satoru thinks you should take it. Kasumi practically begged you. And you did make that call—you do know someone who could step into your place, someone who would love this team the way you do.

“Yeah,” you tell him, letting the tension melt out of you with the word. “Her name’s Riko. Riko Amanai.”

—

The series goes on, and you push the offer to the back of your mind, heading out to San Diego in hopes of taking home the title. You stand between Ieiri and Nobara, Charles Bernard and Rika Orimoto talking rapid-fire in your ears.

They become background noise as the game launches into motion—not a good start. Geto wins the tip-off. Satoru misses a free throw. Mahito fouls Kento so hard that Ieiri has to pull him off court to check for a concussion. (He’s clear, but he has to sit out for a moment to get his bearings, and you want to punch someone. Preferably Mahito.)

You lose.

The team's mood tonight is a few shades darker, yours saved only by an influx of photos of the dogs from Tsumiki back home.

tsumiki: [4 Image Attachments] tsumiki: [1 Movie Attachment] tsumiki: cuddle mode!!

Satoru steals your phone and sends her a .5 selfie of him wrapped around you in the hotel bed.

you: CUDDLE MODE

Still, the loss is a blow to the ego, and now the Sorcerers are three to the Curses' two. But there’s hope. The next match is a home game, and you could win it and take the series in six games.

Back at Jujutsu Arena, Naoya Zenin (you wonder what the relation is to Maki as she commentates dryly in your headset) pounds two three-pointers in the first four minutes. Takaba makes two free throws, and Geto just will not give Satoru a breath of air. Every time one of them scores, so does the other. It’s a brutal back-and-forth and you abruptly feel like you’re watching a tennis match instead of a basketball game.

Jogo and Mahito couldn’t be more different as guards—Jogo as a point guard is hulking and stands like a wall between the forwards and the basket, but Mahito as a shooting guard never stays still, launching himself around the court with all the abandon of a fucking trapeze artist, anything it takes to knock the ball from Yuji and Megumi’s hands.

Game six is a tight call, but the Curses win by two and cement the tie. It’s running the full seven-game series, the first one the Sorcerers have had since mid-season. The final game in San Diego will decide everything.

You spend the night before the flight at Satoru’s place, all the pent-up frustration and aggression and nerves spilling out in kisses and gasps and his hands in your hair and your lips on his neck, and when you both collapse into bed a few hours too late for a reasonable amount of sleep, you wonder if tonight was more of a workout than a basketball game ever was.

The Sorcerers reach game seven 3-3 and angry. It’s the most stressed you’ve been in what feels like forever.

“We’re gonna win,” Ino says as he paces the common space of the visitors’ locker area. He’s trying to be entirely unbothered, but he can barely stand still. You can’t help but crack a smile, though, as he enlists Yuji and the two of them bounce around trying to hype up the rest of the team, to ease the tension. It seems to work—Satoru laughs, and Megumi is trying to bite back his own smile as Yuji’s arms flail around wildly in an unprepared, spur-of-the-moment pep talk. Ino’s encouragement even seems to get to Kento.

“Let’s put this rivalry to fucking sleep,” Hakari says with a sharp-edged smirk. “Beat ‘em on their own floor.”

“Stay sharp,” Kusakabe demands. “Stay alert, stay calm. Fast on your feet, strategic with your passes.” He glances at Yaga to see if the head coach has anything to contribute.

He shrugs. “End of the season, boys. You walk out of here winners or you walk out of here with a fire under your ass to do better next season.” He crosses his arms, the fingers of his left hand drumming on his right arm. “Let’s try not to set any fires.”

Junpei laughs nervously. Making it all the way to championships in your first season must be a whole different kind of stress. You hadn’t even considered it until now.

Toge wraps an arm around him and ruffles his hair in some kind of half-noogie that is very sibling, or maybe just very boy. Yuta grins, and then everyone looks to Kento, waiting for the captain’s final orders.

“Do what you always do,” he says, looking at each of the guys in turn. “Stay open. Communicate. Weigh the risks. Seventy percent smart—”

“Thirty percent ballsy,” Ino finishes. Not Kento’s word—he usually opts for chance or risk. But the smallest twitch at the corner of Kento’s lips tells you he’s optimistic, despite everything. He nods at Ino.

“Right,” he says finally. “Let’s play some damn good basketball.”

The guys break into a chorus of cheers and Nobara laughs beside you as she films it. Nothing fails to get a rise out of the team like Kento dropping a swear word.

Before the team files out to the court, Satoru grabs you and pulls you into a kiss, heated, bruising, full of nervous energy.

“Score one for me, Six,” you say, and he grins before disappearing down the hall. Ieiri and Nobara start after them and look at you expectantly. But there’s something you need to do.

It’s the last day of the season, regardless of what happens. There’s no more pushing this back. You need to call Yuki back with an answer.

You hold up your hand, waving your phone for them to see. “I’ll catch up.”

—

The double doors leading into the gym are like a huge, metal sound barrier. The moment you open one of them even a crack, the noise comes flooding through, anxious and excited and face-painted fans spilling into the aisles, waving signs and jerseys and those stupid foam hands.

You tuck your phone into your pocket as the door slams behind you, and Nobara immediately catches your eye and grins. She points up into the visiting section.

For a moment you aren’t sure you’re seeing correctly—it’s weird to see them in colors that aren’t their own—but the woman at the end of the row, purple-streaked hair pulled back into a bow, leaves no room for doubt. The Samurai are here. All of them.

Akari waves at you, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and yanks on Utahime’s sleeve until she notices and grins at you, too.

“Ready for this?” Ieiri asks, her med bag ready at her feet—just in case—and you shake your head.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

“Well,” Nobara says, taking her place between you and Ieiri, “we don’t have much of a choice.”

Twelve minutes feels shorter than it ever has. The first quarter passes in a blur, with Satoru winning the tip-off and both teams scoring well into the twenties within nine minutes flat. The visiting section is louder than it’s ever been, giving the home fans a run for their money—likely because of the Samurai, you think. Todo is hollering like it’s his last day on earth, and Haibara is as invested in this game as any one of his own.

Yaga lets Yuta and Toge on in the second quarter to work their magic, and they don’t disappoint, passing and scoring seamlessly before the Curses can ever hope to pick up on their silent signals.

Satoru is playing harder than you’ve ever seen him play. He’s lightning-quick, all reflexes and instinct, but Geto matches him in speed and strength and skill and strategy and god, it’s like they’re mirrors of each other. Halfway through the second, Hakari goes on to give Satoru a break, and the Heat follow suit with Ryu Ishigori.

You, Nobara, and Ieiri have given up saying anything, all of your attention on the court, rapt. At the start of the third, Kusakabe gives Junpei a long look, considering.

This right here is the highest the stakes can get. Nobody is expecting a rookie to come onto the court and score against a number one seed in the last game of the NBA season.

Maybe that’s why they do it.

Junpei is fresh off the bench, full of energy, and he’s small. He’s fast. He’s exactly what the Sorcerers need to get past Jogo and Mahito, while all of Geto’s attention is focused on Satoru.

The Curses make exactly the mistake they’re supposed to: they don’t take Junpei as a serious threat until it’s too late, and he’s already racked up the score by a solid nine points.

He comes off before the end of the third, after the Curses have caught on and ganged up on him on defense, but he’s grinning and exhausted and happy. You can’t help but catch his smile, let his enthusiasm send sparks of hope through you, too, as Ino goes back on in his place.

“They never stop underestimating,” Nobara muses, looking across the court at a tense Mei Mei.

“Good,” Ieiri says.

For the whole of the fourth quarter, the difference in score is never more than four. Back and forth, back and forth, squeaking shoes and high-pitched whistles and shouts and cheers and boos and the thudthudthud of the ball on the court, or maybe that’s just the noise your heart is making as it tries to break out of your ribcage.

They break the hundreds with a minute left in the game.

98-100, Curses.

You don’t know the last time you breathed.

101-100, Sorcerers.

Every muscle in your body is tense.

103-100, Sorcerers.

You feel detached from your own body, your own breathing loud in your ears.

103-103.

Geto has the ball and Satoru sprints, crossing the court to him in a few long strides, coming face-to-face with the man he’s known since they were teenagers in a high school gymnasium.

Geto’s dribbling, running, and then Satoru stretches out a hand and snags the ball in the blink of an eye and pivots on one foot, his whole body leaning in the direction of the basket, half-court.

Two seconds left on the clock.

There’s no way, someone in the stands is shouting. You want to tell them to shut up. You don’t have time.

You don’t know if it’s an accident, if it’s malicious, if Geto is really just trying to snatch the ball from Satoru’s hand—but you watch with your heart jumping into your throat as his fingers brush Satoru’s headband, dislodging it, pulling it down over his eyes. Like a blindfold.

He can’t see.

One second.

Satoru winds his arm back and throws the ball, blind, right over Geto’s outstretched arm, headband still covering both eyes. He wrenches it off in a flurry of movement and stumbles back, following the arc of the ball as Geto’s head turns to do the same—

Half a second.

Please, you pray to whatever fucking basketball god might be paying attention. You’re too scared to blink. .439 seconds. Time has never felt this slow, the whole of the stadium holding a collective, shocked breath. Orange numbers in your periphery, moving so rapidly you can’t keep up. .004, .003, .002, .001—

And then the world explodes.

“AN AMAZING BUZZER BEATER BY SATORU ‘SIX-EYES’ GOJO! ASTOUNDING SHOT, BLINDFOLDED, WELL PAST THE THREE-POINT LINE—”

“106-103 IN THE SORCERERS' FAVOR! ONE HAND, DID YOU SEE THAT, CHARLES? ONE HAND!”

You rip off the headset, maybe drop it to the floor, you’re not even sure, because the ball went through the net right as the buzzer sounded, and the screams are so deafening you can barely see, and Nobara is shaking you and Ieiri’s jaw is hanging open and the Sorcerers fucking won the NBA title.

Satoru’s surprised gaze finds you from across the court. He’s beaming, drunk on shock and skill and victory, and you are too, and maybe a little drunk on him.

Your feet are moving before you realize they are, pounding across the court like you’re the one playing, and then he’s sweeping you into his arms, his lips on yours, and you’re laughing into each other, and you don’t even care that he’s a sweaty mess because he made it and you beat them, you beat Geto and Mahito and Shigemo and Mei Mei and you won.

Yuji grabs you and Satoru both and drags you into the swarm. You catch Kento’s eye, and he nods at you, blond hair mussed and messy, and it might be the least put-together you’ve ever seen him with his playing goggles knocked half-off his face by the force of Ino’s hug, and he’s full-on smiling.

Megumi launches himself at Yuji and hugs him and it’s the most affection you’ve ever seen him show in public, and Nobara’s filming but not even looking at the screen as she jumps around, hooting and hollering and practically tripping over Junpei’s feet. Yuta has Toge on his shoulders and Hakari is suddenly standing next to Kirara, his secret-not-secret WNBA girlfriend—you didn’t even know she was here—and then the Samurai are jumping out of the stands and there are so many people and life could not get any better than this.

This was your home court, once. You feel like, somehow, you’ve taken part of it back.

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU? THAT’S MY FUCKING NEPHEW!”

You whip around to find Sukuna in the front row, and your jaw drops not because he’s here and yelling and cussing but because oh my god, did he make it the whole game without getting kicked out?

Two security guys abruptly look at each other in alarm and start picking their way through the crowd toward him. Never mind. You’re fairly certain he already got kicked out and somehow just… got back in.

Ieiri yanks you into a hug, then makes a disgusted expression at Satoru when he tries to do the same to her. “You are so sweaty!” she shouts over the din, and he gets that shit-eating grin on his face and runs after her, throwing her over his shoulder despite her protests. You’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe.

—

When the celebration dies down and your cheeks hurt from smiling, the teams line up and shake hands, one by one like a bunch of high schoolers forced to mutter half-hearted good games to the assholes from the other side of town.

Satoru and Geto are the last ones in both lines. And you expect them to brush past each other, not stay in one another’s orbit for a second longer than they have to, but—their interaction is lasting a bit longer than it’s supposed to. Their lips are moving, words you can’t make out. You’re honestly surprised they’re shaking hands at all.

But neither of them seem tense. To your surprise, Satoru barks out a laugh—just once, like he’s surprised by it himself. Geto looks down at his feet, smiling, and when they part ways, it’s with a clap on the back. Like old friends, maybe—or at least, not like enemies.

Interesting.

As your boyfriend—your NBA champion boyfriend—makes his way back to you, your fingers twist in the fabric of the jersey you’re wearing, GOJO printed along the back in blocky white letters.

You raise a brow when he’s within range, looking pointedly between him and the cluster of the other team.

He shakes his head, a little disbelieving, hair falling into his face with his headband slack around his neck. “He, uh. He said good game. But I think it might have also been an apology?” Satoru says, looking a little puzzled. “And… I did too?”

“Good game is… an apology?”

“It just—the way he said it. I don’t know how to explain it. But there’s something there.” Satoru shrugs. “We both could have handled a lot of things better. I’m… I don’t know that we’ll ever go back to the way things were. But he said we don’t need to worry about Mei Mei’s scheming anymore, either.”

Skeptical, you ask, “He can actually talk Mei Mei down?”

Satoru shrugs. “I’m not sure, honestly. But I think she might respect you a little bit for how much she didn’t manage to pull one over on you this season.”

It’s like she knows you’re talking about her. She turns to look at you across the court just as you look at her, and when your eyes meet, the smallest smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Just for a second, and then she turns away.

But it’s enough for you. Enough for you to believe that things between the Sorcerers and the Curses—between Satoru and Suguru—might change for the better.

You find yourself thinking about shifting dynamics, the way the environment of the team will already be different next season—it always is, you suppose. Nothing in the NBA ever stays still for long. It’s not trading season, but there have been rumblings about Choso Kamo being traded to the Sorcerers. You can only imagine the havoc he and Yuji will create together on the court.

But you’re thinking about that, and you’re thinking about Riko, and you’re thinking about the WNBA and you and Satoru and all the ways this is going to work. You know it.

He must see it in your eyes, because he doesn’t ask what you’re thinking about. He just says, “It’s not a pay cut, and even if it was, you could take it.” He grins, ruffling your hair. “Your boyfriend is super rich, you know.”

“Hah, hah.” You swat his hand away from your hair, but lace your fingers through his, pulling him down toward you for a kiss. “Toru?”

“Mm.”

“I took it.”

Yuki was ecstatic when you called before the game, chattering about emails and paperwork and HR and meetings before cutting herself off and telling you to go enjoy the game. “I’m not a betting girl, but if I was,” she said, “I think things are looking good on your end of the court.”

“Oh my god.” Satoru’s smile could power whole galaxies. “Oh my god. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say back. “You just won the damn NBA Championship.” But he just smiles at you like the title means nothing to him, not when you’re standing right in front of him. “You know it means I won’t be traveling with you all the time. You’ll see me less.”

“And we’ll make it work,” he says without hesitation. “Because A, I made you a key to my place.” You blink, every word on your tongue suddenly falling away.

“You—what?”

He grins. “And B,” he says, tugging you closer, his voice getting softer as he leans down to whisper in the shell of your ear. “I love you.”

The world around you is still. You’re still, except for the slow, steady smile spreading across your lips. “I have loved you for a long time,” he tells you, “and I don’t plan on stopping.”

“Presumptuous,” you say eventually, and kiss him again. When you pull back he’s grinning, and so are you. “I love you, Toru.”

And the warmth in his eyes lights up the stadium more than the floodlights, more than the scoreboard, more than the camera flashes.

You thought the most electric you’d ever feel would be on the court, dunking, or on the sidelines, watching the ball soar through the air and slip through the net with a swish right as the buzzer went off. But you were wrong on both counts.

The most electric you’ve ever felt, the most yourself you’ve ever felt, is now, is here, is with Satoru Gojo and his hands around your waist and his lips against your lips and his heart beating against yours.

You’re just as proud of him as he is of you, and something deep in you knows this is what love is supposed to be, even footing on a basketball court, love and respect and pride in equal measure, bright eyes and warm hands and the feeling of the whole future at your fingertips.

Today, you watched the man you love score a one-handed three-pointer from half-court with a blindfold over his eyes. Score one for me, Six.

“Was that last one for me?” you ask, grinning up at him. “Some buzzer beater.”

“Oh, yeah.” The smirk his lips curl into makes you want to take the words back, wipe them away before Satoru can say whatever bullshit is on the tip of his tongue, but it’s too late.

“You can beat my—”

“Satoru!”

FIN.

directory. || prev.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro

a/n: THE END!!! crazy. never written a tumblr fic before. or a jjk fic. or a x reader fic in general. it absolutely was not supposed to get this long, but oops! wild stuff. sad to see it end, but i’ve got something in the works for my man ino!! if there’s anything about the buzzer beater universe you want me to expand on/things you would like to know, flood the asks and i’ll answer. thanks for reading, friends :)

[fluorynn]

〴 📘 — AU!𝙃𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣!𝙇𝙤’𝙖𝙠 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜 : @jioohyo @bambithewriter @rivatar @sunofpandora @xylianasblog @ikeyniofthetayrangi @plantgirliewholovespandora @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @pandoranbean @literallynpbody

𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚢 : @cafekitsune !!!

Subject that human!Lo’ak doesn’t like ?

MATH. ANY type – algebra, geometry, calculus, precalculus – human!Lo’ak might be shit at it

Or rather, people THINK he’s not very good at it — geometry, algebra, calculus, precalculus, anything math related — and he even believes that he is not good at it because he just lets others’ opinions get to him

It isn’t precisely that he doesn’t like the subject - it just has too many numbers, strategies, and – letters???

I’m sure he’s the type to think once he sees letters involved in an equation that he will be very, very dubious and not at all try to solve it.

“Why can’t you just let numbers have their own category and leave the fucking alphabet out of it bro-”

HOWEVER, if he does try, he comprehend and is actually very good at it.

Very smart, just people think him to not be “Neteyam smart” that it pisses him off, drains him, then he doesn’t give a shit in trying anymore

Leave the poor guy alone though, he tries his best and is VERY INTELLIGENT.

… I see Lo’ak being into video games — try tearing the guy away from a game console.

Human!Lo’ak is that guy during gaming nights—loud, animated, and absolutely relentless. He’ll trash-talk like there’s no tomorrow, but he’s the first to cheer everyone up if they lose.

From COD to Minecraft and Fortnite and NBA2k24 and Roblox and Mario Kart 8 Deluxe

it is freaking WAR when the entire family plays Mario Kart.

Just imagine that. Paint the picture, folks.

Don’t want to? Fine, I’ll more than gladly paint it.

I think while Neytiri thinks and finds video games to be stupid, she overhears Lo’ak saying she just sucks and is scared to lose.

It may be war with the entire family playing, but it is scorching HELL when she’s playing only against him.

Even Jake sheds a sweat, and he’s already out of the round.

Kiri, who didn’t really want to play to begin with, actually perks up a bit while sitting on the sofa, even cheering and siding with her mom

Tuk would be that one person who doesn’t know who to cheer for so she’s cheering for them all —

Best believe momma Neytiri is gonna beat the shit out that game though.

And a rolling on the floor while sobbing Lo’ak too after savoring her victory.

Jake is so proud to call her his wife akakkssklksls

Oh, and COD, call of duty, is definitely his father-son bonding time with Jake. They’re a badass duo when playing a match— it’s like the one of the rare times that they’re on the same page and Jake’s giving him compliments back to back—

Prides himself with all them compliments, even rubs it in Neteyam’s face who would just smirk and roll his eyes but let his little brother have his enjoyment

Human!Lo’ak probably teaches Tuk how to play video games —

While he’s doing his own thing she probably goes into his room and plays on his computer or X-box.

Tuk will definitely get him to play other games like Stumble Guys or download apps on his phone that he pretends not to like but secretly plays them on his own.

tuk : “hey how did I get 1st on the leaderboard??”

She’s not complaining tho —

Also, plays Roblox a LOT with Tuk, Kiri, and if Neteyam is not busy with his own thing, even him.

Group chat between the Sullys, Spider, Ao’nung, Tsireya, and Rotxo.

When they all play roblox, it gets wild.

Human!Lo’ak definitely gets banned for a week from the dumb shit he be saying with Ao’nung — even sometimes Neteyam.

“Mom, you’ll never believe why Lo’ak got banned from [👠HEELS baddies]”

“Kiri, shut up! — ”

One time invited Tsireya to play rainbow friends with Tuk

Tsireya would be sobbing as to why her crush / boyfriend and his little sister play such things —

Human!Lo’ak is intelligent— VERY intelligent but like … chooses not to use that intelligence quite often and wounds up in trouble?

Definitely let’s intrusive thoughts take over.

He’s washing the dishes, holds a spoon, stares at it for awhile before putting it under the water when already knowing it’s gonna create a whole frigging waterfall.

Human!Lo’ak is very goofy — this very natural charm that’s almost so ridiculous?

But, human!Lo’ak has the best sense of humor, naturally funny — can make one laugh with anything.

If he heard someone try to crack a joke that’s not exactly funny, he pats them in the back and just gives them a small smile and laugh. “Bro— you tried.”

Acknowledges the joke though, because he know how it feels to be in awkward situations and how it feels to go by ignored.

And if he heard someone make a joke that makes someone uncomfortable or is just something mean and stupid, he looks at them with a ‘wtf’ stare, or looks at them as if they’re high and tells them to shut up.

Definitely had an Xxxtencion phase, a Captain Underpants phase, a Dog Man phase, and a Rocket Raccoon phase.

Human!Lo’ak tries and pretty much is caught up with the latest rap music — he vibes to it.

Give this guy some Afrobeats — he thinks he’s the shit

Human!Lo’ak would be randomly bursting to song in Neteyam’s perplexed face or Kiri’s annoyed face while Tuk sings along with him and makes the identical face Lo’ak makes.

I’m certain human!Lo’ak discreetly listens to K-Pop.

Kiri and Tsireya — even Rotxo gets him into it.

“What’re you guys even listening to? This is so lame.”

Meanwhile, his AirPod is blasting ‘Cherry bomb’ by NCT 127 —

Oh my gosh, Kiri would be listening to “House of Cards (Full Length Edition)” in her room and Lo’ak could come in to ask her some random ass shit while the main part of the song is playing, and he could be getting into some body rolls to go along with the song’s rhythm.

Meanwhile, Kiri’s just sobbing in the corner because of the meaning behind the song — (iykyk)

Very much The Neighbourhood and Chase Atlantic coded.

Even Bryson Tiller — he can vibe to SZA too.

Definitely yells the lyrics to her SOS album — especially Open Arms to Tsireya as he holds her face in hands, singing Travis Scott’s part to her.

Meanwhile poor cutie is just confused but is allowing him to express himself in however way he needs to, lmao

Sprinkles of Bruno Mars and Coldplay. Ali Gatie, Arctic Monkeys and MANESKIN too in his taste of music ( just my opinion —)

Human!Lo’ak loves snacks and always seems to have a stash of chips, candy, or homemade treats. He’s also the one who combines weird flavors (“Trust me, it’s good!”) and gets surprisingly defensive about his food experiments.

I also feel he can be one of those guys that can eat 5 cheese burgers, yet also remains shockingly toned and fit?

While going to the gym is somewhat a priority for him, he might skip leg day here and there. ( regrets it tho, Kiri could make fun of his skinny legs. Even Neytiri tries to feed him more.)

Human!Lo’ak enjoys adventure. Growing up close to the land (thanks to Jake and Neytiri’s influence), he has a deep respect for the outdoors.

I think while he enjoys his video games and playing sports ( see him doing basketball and baseball. Would even try soccer ) he likes departing from that for a bit and wants to go exploring.

Wether it be around the neighborhood, a random Walmart, the park, forest, hiking

He has a hobby for photography has a secondhand camera that he takes everywhere, snapping candid photos of his adventures, friends, and the moments that matter to him.

His photos are raw and authentic, capturing life in a way that reflects his love for the untamed.

He’s the type to go to the park and walk with siblings ( spider included ), friends, and while you’re down the path you’re supposed to be following, and if there’s a deep forest to the side he’d definitely be the one to suggest — more so already be doing — to go down there and check out if there’s anything interesting.

He hears a branch break? He’d either be, “nope, why’d you make me do this” or, he’d hold it together and tease the others if their scared when he’s the one secretly crapping himself —

Sensitive.

Human!Lo’ak is definitely sensitive, but chooses to mask the hurt with something harsh or very, very teasing when it’s actually a jab of an insult.

Human!Lo’ak has a loud laugh and loves making others smile with his antics, but he sometimes uses humor as a shield for his insecurities.

He hides the fact that he feels like he doesn’t quite fit in anywhere.

Human!Lo’ak might cry when he’s angry or very frustrated. The browns of his eyes become more clear and their shape more prominent — he looks so much like Neytiri when this occurs.

When human!Lo’ak is alone and he trips over air, he definitely laughs to himself and gives himself a face smack.

Human!Lo’ak’s room is a chaotic blend of random posters, discarded clothes, and half-finished DIY projects. Despite the mess, there’s an undeniable charm to it—it feels alive and uniquely his.

Eats cereal out of the box and drinks milk out of carton — Neytiri smacks him for it while getting Jake to scold him ( even though it’s Jake that taught him how to do that when he was little and ever since has always done it —)

Human!Lo’ak wears the necklaces Tuk makes for him — pretending he doesn’t like them and makes the excuse that they don’t go with his fit, but, he still wears it because why would he not?

At some point him along with the rest of his siblings, including his parents, have matching jewelry because of Tuk

Human!Lo’ak has a phase where he wears Kiri’s old magnetic earrings before she got her ears pierced because he was too scared to get his own pierced.

Eventually he goes and gets them pierced with Kiri who’s getting, like her fourth piercing on her ears —

Human!Lo’ak messes with Kiri just for fun, but he likes hanging out with her — won’t admit it to her of course , but if anyone else bothers her, he’ll beat their behind — no matter if they’re 10 times bigger than him.

Definitely gets introduced to customizing his shit because of Kiri.

From his sneakers to his backpack, Lo’ak loves personalizing his belongings with graffiti-style art, stickers, or patches. Everything he owns reflects his bold and creative personality.

Human!Lo’ak sings at least one of Taylor Swift or Britney Spears’ songs very randomly — or if he hears Tuk singing a Disney song, he’d get into character and dramatically sing along — even if he hears Kiri softly singing to herself, he’d do the same too.

Gets into character, gets a little sassy and does these hand waves.

( kiri definitely records Lo’ak without him noticing and later on sends it to the gc they have with their other friends)

Oh my gosh I’m sure him and Spider had the idea to start a band and join the army, including Neteyam when they were between 7–10

Neytiri, despite thinking Spider might be some kind of bad influence on her kids, allows this — she even records them ‘performing’ when they’re just really banging shit and singing God knows what —

They look so goofy when they try playing soldiers, they’re wearing Jake’s and Quaritch’s old clothes that’s too big for them, but it’s adorable

Human!Lo’ak looks very happy, jumping over Neteyam’s back as his big brother smiles largely and freely, while Spider’s head is hooked beneath Neteyam’s arm with a two-front teeth gone smile, and Kiri’s in the back using the camouflage gear as a way to blend and connect with nature —

Human!Lo’ak is not used to physical touch.

He somewhat shrinks away from it, unless it is from someone he is 100 percent comfortable with.

Physical touch is not a major thing I think is included in his family. Unless it’s something grand.

HOWEVER, I do think when it’s an s/o, he’d like the idea of them being around.

Not entirely PDA, but he would have their arms ‘accidentally’ bump into one another while walking side by side, or s/o catches on, and just lets their arms touch at all times.

100 percent a hopeless romantic.

Human!Lo’ak has a soft spot for love stories, even if he’d never admit it.

He’s the type to scribble cheesy lines in his notebooks and go all-out for someone he cares about, like creating a mixtape or planning a starlit picnic.

Human!Lo’ak was definitely dropped by Jake as a child, so many fucking times to the point where Neytiri did not allow Jake to grab him.

Neytiri dropped him once too though— that was Lo’ak’s fault for squirming too much though, Jake never let her hear the end of it whenever Tuk was born and she was hesitant to let him hold her.

Human!Lo’ak fell off the bed a lot during his nap times as a toddler

Definitely almost accidentally always bangs his head against something 😭

At this point, do not be surprised if he’s in the state of memory loss

Human!Lo’ak definitely let’s put a random screech of anger after doing something that’s so frustrating for a long time

Human!Lo’ak is a magnet to stray animals — they’re practically drawn to his energy.

He’s the type to bring home stray dogs or befriend the random raccoon that keeps raiding the trash.

His family often rolls their eyes, but most definitely find the whole thing amusing.

Tuk goes to school and flexes that her brother is King of Animals —

Neytiri ensures her kids remain connected to their heritage, and human!Lo’ak appreciates it more than he lets on.

He wears small tokens or bracelets that symbolize his culture and finds solace in its traditions, even when he feels out of place.

Human!Lo’ak dreams big, even if he doesn’t know how.

Lo’ak often talks about grand ideas—traveling the world, building a better future, or making a name for himself.

He doesn’t always have a plan, but his enthusiasm is infectious.

[kuiinncedes]

:c

[ozcarma]

Trying to watch 999 let’s plays is such hell to me - NO ONE PLAYS THE GAME RIGHT just shutupshutupshutupshutup and play the game!! Stop trying to make jokes!!!!

I’m too autistic for this, I cannot bear hearing let’s players doing their own voice acting when I adore the game’s VAs too much. Everyone always fucks up Santa’s and Lotus’s voices especially.

I understand the draw of Let’s Plays are largely the people playing them who have gained their own following, but as someone who just loves the game I don’t wanna hear ur stupid banter 💥💥💥 play the game and be intrigued but not TOO intrigued because give it a fuckin minute it’ll explain what’s going on 🙄‼️

[idontliketomatoesleavemealone]

I think my mom doesn’t understand that people grow apart sometimes and that’s okay

[tariah23]

Outside of all of… that happening to Gojo, and finishing Snowfall the other day, eek……..

[mel-loly]

-“2022..”

(read the tags)

[shivermewhiskerz]

.

//Venting in Tags:: TW Sewerslide and shit like that

[t0nixium]

Honestly, this is why I like age ups; they allow my comfort characters to keep growing alongside me. I don’t want to outgrow what feels like a lifelong childhood friend to me, so it’s comforting knowing I’ll always have fanworks to fulfill that desire.

the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.

[scientia-rex]

When I was in ninth grade I wanted to challenge what I saw as a very stupid dress code policy (not being allowed to wear spikes regardless of the size or sharpness of the spikes). My dad said to me, “What is your objective?”

He said it over and over. I contemplated that. I wanted to change an unfair dress code. What did I stand to gain? What did I stand to lose? If what I really wanted was to change the dress code, what would be my most effective potential approach? (He also gave me Discourses on the Fall of Rome by Titus Livius, Machiavelli’s magnum opus. Of course he’d already given me The Prince, Five Rings, and The Art of War.)

I ultimately printed out that phrase, coated it in Mod Podge, and clipped it to my bathroom mirror so I would look at it and think about it every day.

What is your objective?

Forget about how you feel. Ask yourself, what do you want to see happen? And then ask, how can you make it happen? Who needs to agree with you? Who has the power to implement this change? What are the points where you have leverage over them? If you use that leverage now, will you impair your ability to use it in the future? Getting what you want is about effectiveness. It is not about being an alpha or a sigma or whatever other bullshit the men’s right whiners are on about now. You won’t find any MRA talking points in Musashi, because they are not relevant.

I had no clear leverage on the dress code issue. My parents were not on the PTA; neither were any of my friend’s parents who liked me. The teachers did not care about this. Ultimately I just wore what I wanted, my patent leather collar from Hot Topic with large but flattened spikes, and I had guessed correctly—the teachers also did not care enough to discipline me.

I often see people on tumblr, mostly the very young, flail around in discourse. They don’t have an objective. They don’t know what they want to achieve, and they have never thought about strategizing and interpersonal effectiveness. No one can get everything they want by being an asshole. You must be able to work with other people, and that includes smiling when you hate them.

Read Machiavelli. Start with The Prince, but then move on to Discourses. Read Musashi’s Five Rings. Read The Art of War. They’re classics for a reason. They can’t cover all situations, but they can do more for how you think about strategizing than anything you’re getting in middle school and high school curricula.

Don’t vote third party unless you can tell me not only what your objective is but also why this action stands a meaningful chance of accomplishing it. Otherwise, back up and approach your strategy from a new angle. I don’t care how angry you are with Biden right now. He knows about it, and he is both trying to do something and not doing enough. I care about what will happen to millions of people if we have another Trump presidency. Look up Ross Perot, and learn from our past. Find your objective. If it is to stop the genocide in Palestine now, call your elected representatives now. They don’t care about emails; they care about phone calls, because they live in the past. I know this because I shadowed a lobbyist, because knowing how power works is critical to using it.

How do you think I have gotten two clinics to start including gender care in their planning?

Start small. Chip away. Keep working. Find your leverage; figure out how and when to effectively use it. Choose your battles, so that you can concentrate on the battle at hand instead of wasting your resources in many directions. Learn from the accumulated wisdom of people who spent their lives learning by doing, by making mistakes, by watching the mistakes of their enemies.

Don’t be a dickhead. Be smarter than I was at 14. Ask yourself: what is your objective?

[dogearedheart]

I am so bad at being casual about anything