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steviewashere · 3 months

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Dream Come True

Rating: General CW: Minor internalized ableism on Steve's end Tags: Established Relationship, Married Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Future Fic, Adopting a Child, Parenthood, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Let Them Live a Quiet Life God Damn It, Mild Hurt/Comfort

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is about healing each other's wounds."

💕—————💕

They haven’t discussed children since the second month they were together. Was that probably a little too early in their relationship? Probably—Eddie will be brave enough to admit that right now. But, considering where they’re at now: Steve is forty-seven and Eddie’s forty-eight, their wedding bands are simple and gold (something easily spotted amongst the silver ones that Eddie still wears), the house they took a loan out for is painted yellow with white shutters installed (well, they paid Dustin and Will to do it. They were happy to help), they live in Massachusetts away from public eye, and though they don’t have a dog—not yet, the service dog process has been a long and weary one on Steve’s end—they have their little brown tabby cat. They’ve got a well furnished home. And years of love between them.

Nearly twenty-eight years in total. Nineteen years wedded. Six years of that are legally recognized. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is they stopped talking about the prospect of having kids.

Eddie’s initial answer at the beginning was, “Maybe. I think it would be neat. But, I’m gay, Steve. That isn’t really a possibility.” He chuckled a little bit. “I meant like adopting, but in a technical sense—Considering what’s in my pants, the possibility is still out the window.”

Steve’s was changed from what he told Nancy in that Winnebago. “I still want children. Or, just one. I want a quiet life. Even if you make it as some big rock star, I want a quiet private life.”

It was doable. What Steve had whispered on Eddie’s shoulder, that was doable. The question for years though was, When does he want that? And also, When will he leave to pursue that?

The answer was clear. Steve was never going to pursue that. That, sure, they’d have the quiet life. But never have children. And Eddie saw him wilt a little further and further. When they passed by the playground at the park. The daycare up the street from their home. After the seizure diagnosis, Steve stopped looking and thinking about it all together. It hurt Eddie’s heart.

He may have got the quiet life. And Eddie may have lived out his simple dream. He’d been a rockstar for a little bit in the late nineties and early two-thousands, retiring before they got married. But…Steve hasn’t lived his dream. Eddie hates that he thinks it’s being held back from him. Eddie’s determined to heal that hurt inside him.

——— Steve comes home from his Wednesday teaching shift around four in the evening. Eddie’s already on the couch, combing Poncho’s fur, watching the local news. He’s got a very important print out laid neatly on the coffee table. He hears Steve set down his briefcase on the dining table, his footsteps retreating to their kitchen to rinse out his thermos, coming back to the front door and placing his loafers on the shoe rack, and he hangs up his coat. Then, he enters the living room, hands scrambling to undo his tie, body leaning over the arm of the couch to press a kiss against Eddie’s mouth.

But then he pulls away, turning his whole body to watch the news. And that’s when he spots it. The flyer. He shuffles over on his mismatched socked feet, hands falling away from the collar of his dress shirt. He swipes up the paper. Behind his glasses, he squints.

It’s advertisement for the adoption agency some forty minutes out. Eddie hopes, by everything, that this will heal the pain in his own chest, and the emotional line of thinking in Steve’s brain. Hopes with everything that his body can physically give.

“What’s this about?” Steve asks. His voice is neutral. Almost…dare Eddie say, steely. Okay, maybe he made the wrong move. “We haven’t even—“

“I know,” Eddie immediately says. “I know we haven’t talked about it. But, sweetheart, just listen to me, alright?” At Steve’s confused and hesitant nod, Eddie tries to arrange his words. “This is something you’ve been wanting since forever ago. And I know that I haven’t really voiced my wants on it. But I also thought that it would never happen.

“That it would never be something people like me—“ He raises his eyebrows and points to the keyring attached to Steve’s belt loop. The short rainbow garland that sits discreetly among his keys. “—Would ever get the chance to do. But I—Steve, god, I want it so bad. I want to be able to be a dad and chase around a kiddo of our own while you’re busy at work. I want to see one off for school for their first day and cry like I’ll never see them again. Wanna make them a lunch they can bring to school, the same time that I make your lunch for your school. I want to watch them grow up with your goofy dancing skills and our combined love for music. And I—I want to be a better parent that I could’ve ever imagined.

“I want it with you,” Eddie breathes. “I want all of that with you. And I know that you still want it. Your forlorn looks at couples with babies. Every time you see Lucas and Max and their spitfire teenager, your eyes get this brightness to them that I—I have to be honest, I don’t think I’ve seen you happy like that since we got married.” He swallows at some of the implications there. And it’s not meant to be accusatory, but gosh does Eddie notice. The way his sunflower wilts. “This is just something for you to think about, okay? I know my decision on it. But think about it.”

Steve’s grip on the paper trembles. And his eyes are searing Eddie in a way that melts him. Blazing with adoration and love. “You want that?” He shakily asks. “You want to raise a kid with me?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, baby. I really, really, really do.”

“Even though…Even though I have seizures that could scare them shitless? And I get so angry some days that all I can do is hide in our bedroom and cry? And I—You want that with somebody like me?” He hesitates to ask again. Eddie doesn’t answer, but his arms open in comfort and his eyes soften with earnest. Steve doesn’t move from his spot, though. He looks back at the paper. “What’s the—Our first step?”

“We apply. And they determine if we’re worthy and that it’ll be safe,” Eddie answers. “If they see us fit, they’ll look at our house and things like that. We’ll come back to that later on. If that’s something you still want.”

“Okay,” Steve states with fervor. “Let’s do this.”

——— After a tedious process, Eddie realizes how correct he was.

It’s a Saturday. The curtains are open. Dinner is simmering on the stovetop. And Eddie stirs the soup while he listens in on Steve’s activity in the living room.

“There you go, sweetheart,” Steve is cooing. “Good job, Carmen. Look at you.” He’s been supervising her tummy time everyday he’s able to. Loves being able to lay on his back on the floor, eyes watching their daughter, his fingers combing through her hair as she uses her wide brown eyes to wonder about the world around her.

Eddie bites back a smile.

“That’s Poncho,” Steve is saying. He’s introducing them like they’re all acquaintances around a water cooler. Eddie, maybe, snickers a little bit behind his hand. “He’s gonna be your buddy. He likes the space between his shoulder blades scratched. Just like you, huh?” And hears the moment that Steve dully traces his fingernails on Carmen’s back. She gurgles a little excited babbling. “That feels good, doesn’t it?” Steve murmurs. “Daddy likes that, too.” He’s talking about himself. Because he practically fought tooth and nail for that title. Eddie wouldn’t have it any other way.

From the kitchen archway, Eddie surveys the display on the living room floor. And Steve’s on his back in his pajamas. Glasses smooshed awkwardly up his face as his cheek is pressed against the carpet, eyes gone soft and glistening while Carmen is on her belly. Her hands are sprawled in front of her, squeezing at the soft toys they had gotten. He’s brushing his fingers through her short, curly wisps of brown hair. Then, his hand travels back down to massage and scratch at her back again. She’s wearing a pink striped onesie and a pair of white socks on her little feet.

He clears his throat to make himself known. Steve looks up at him, softly smiling. “I reckon things are going good in here?” Steve only nods, too enamored with petting at Carmen’s back. Eddie finally smiles at him. “Good,” he whispers. He leans his weight on the doorway. A dish rag thrown over his shoulder, arms crossed low over his belly, hair thrown up in a loose bun on his head. Domestic life has really begun to suit him, if he’s honest. He finds himself at ease about it now.

As he turns back to the kitchen, to serve up their bowls of soup, Steve calls his name. He immediately turns back around. Greeted with his husband’s soft face, his deepened smile lines, his messy hair spread on the carpet. He’s more youthful than ever, fatherhood has changed him for the better, at least Eddie thinks so. He hums to see what Steve needs, because by god, he’ll do anything for him.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers.

“For what?”

“Making my hurt go away,” Steve says. But Eddie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. And Steve clarifies, “Allowing me to accomplish my final dream. I’m really happy that it’s with you.”

Eddie crosses into the living room, crouching down to kiss Steve’s forehead, pecking Carmen’s soft head, too. He combs his own fingers through Steve’s hair. Smiling at the way he keens. “You made me believe that I could be a good dad,” he admits. “I can’t wait to do this right.”

Steve brings a hand to Eddie’s cheek. His index finger softly tracing down the side of his face. “Love you,” he murmurs.

Turning his face, Eddie kisses the tip of Steve’s finger. “Love you, too,” Eddie easily says in return.

Sure, he got to be a rockstar, but he thinks that this life—Steve soft and middle aged and smiling at him, petting down their daughter’s back, cooing soft as if he’s not almost fifty—is much better than anything he could’ve ever dreamed. Maybe filling the hole in Steve’s soul, the remedy that their daughter brings—Maybe that heals something for Eddie, too.

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 16 #domestic fluff #domestic steddie #fluff

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doormatty3 · 5 months

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Pushing Further (Josh Lambert x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Summary:

[Josh Lambert x Female Reader] [Josh Lambert x You] There is nothing more stressful than moving day - the campus is packed with freshmen and their parents. And you just want some peace and quiet. However, amidst the tumult, a tall, broad, and handsome man grabs your attention that is until he sends you sprawling to the floor. Annoyed you go on with your life and meet Dalton who you soon befriend. When you find out that the stranger is his father - you're doomed. Josh Lambert is everything you want in a man but there are reasons why you should not give in: He's almost two decades your senior, divorced and most importantly your friend's dad So you go out of your way to avoid him and walk the tightrope between attraction and avoidance. That doesn't make him any less hot though - even more when you discover that the attraction is mutual. OR: And they were friends - except you fucked his dad.

Wordcount: 7,134

Warnings: 18+, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, smut, dirty talk, older man/ younger woman, daddy issues

A/N: There is a criminally small amount of Josh Lambert ffs, so I decided to change that

ALSO: Insidious 5 plot (Josh Lambert) >>>>

You hate move-in day.

The college campus swirls with a kaleidoscope of emotions. Freshmen, wide-eyed and eager, navigate through the labyrinth of unfamiliar buildings, their parents hovering nearby, taking in the scenery, a mix of pride and reluctance in their gaze as they prepare to part with their newly-minted scholars.

The sun bathes the bustling scene in its warm rays, transforming the campus into a vibrant panorama. The old grey stone building looms tall and resolute against the canvas of the sky. It wears the patina of years with a dignified charm, its weathered facade a testament to the countless stories etched into its walls.

As you observe this annual rite of passage, a sense of nostalgia mingles with a tinge of wistfulness. Your own move-in day, with its mix of excitement and trepidation, feels like a distant reverie. Now a senior, the campus teeming with eager newcomers stirs conflicting emotions. The excitement and youthful energy are heartening, yet the multitude of people and the bustling activity feel almost too much, too overwhelming.

You sit at a secluded spot beneath the sprawling canopy of one of the many trees that grace the campus. From this vantage point, you observe the ebb and flow of people, hesitant to venture into the dorms that will surely be crowded.

The leaves above gently rustle in the breeze as you sit, absorbing the sights and sounds of the day.

Your attention is drawn to a cluster of fellow students distributing flyers, unmistakably advertising a fraternity event that you have never attended and will never attend - the frat boys just creep you out. Self-assured and arrogant has never been your type to hang out with.

However, amidst the lively scene, your gaze lingers on a lanky young man strolling by, seemingly impervious to the flyers being thrust into the hands of passersby.

Artist, you think. Everything about him just extrudes an artistic flair and you’re sure that your assumption would be right if you were to ask him.

You watch him stride away from the frat boys and you can’t help but think that he made a good choice by not interacting with them.

Your attention shifts from the bustling crowd to the presence of a man making his way down the path. Intrigued, you furrow your brow, momentarily curious about whose father he is. Your eyes linger on him, drawn by a magnetic quality.

As he walks, you find it hard not to notice his striking appearance. Despite the rough edges, there’s a rugged handsomeness about him. He is tall, with broad shoulders and his short, wispy light brown hair catches the sunlight, adding a subtle sparkle to his presence. A scruffy stubble grazes his face, enhancing that rugged charm.

Your gaze can’t help but follow the flex of his muscles as he carries a considerable amount of stuff for his child. The hot summer day is a blessing, you think, since it prompted him to don a tight polo shirt and shorts. You silently appreciate the view - the way his biceps and triceps tense with each step, and the way the shirt accentuates the breadth of his shoulders and chest.

Silently observing, you witness him engaging in conversation with the fraternity members, taking one of their flyers, presumably for his child. You can see him being a frat boy in his younger years - he certainly has the looks.

As he walks away, the flyer securely in his grasp, your eyes remain fixed on him. The contrast between his mature, composed stature and the frat boys is striking. His steps are deliberate, and everything about his presence seems secure and strong.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you watch him and you’re somewhat surprised - even if also glad - that he doesn’t acknowledge your burning gaze since you’re practically undressing him.

Part of you hopes that you’ll see him more often on the campus and that that won’t be the last time your paths cross - maybe you’ll be able to strike up a conversation with him.

Your gaze lingers in the direction where the broad man disappeared and you find yourself momentarily lost. The vibrant energy of those who come after him seems to pale in comparison, they fail to capture your interest and it begins to feel boring.

With a sigh, you stretch your limbs, the pull of your muscles urging you to stand up. The prospect of a quieter atmosphere within the dorms becomes increasingly tempting, and hope that the flow of people there will have dulled.

_____

Rounding the corner and approaching your dorm, you eagerly open the door, hoping for a reprieve from the bustling crowds. However, your optimism is quickly diminished as you find the space still densely packed with a mix of eager freshmen, parents, and the occasional irritated senior, annoyed at the number of people - a hive of activity and a melting pot of an array of voices.

Undeterred, you press forward, determined to make your way to your room despite the persistent throng.

Navigating through the diverse sea of faces you make your way down the corridor. The air is charged with a blend of anticipation, familial warmth, and a touch of exasperation from those who had hoped for a quieter return to their familiar living spaces.

The sounds of conversations, laughter, and occasional sighs create a lively symphony that fills the air, providing a vivid backdrop to the varied emotions playing out in the cramped dormitory corridor.

Turning another corner, your curiosity is piqued, and you slow your pace to observe the activity around you. As you walk past a series of doors, your attention is drawn to the scenes unfolding in each room - freshmen unpacking with enthusiasm and parents offering last-minute advice.

Lost in this observational moment, you’re caught off guard as someone collides with you, sending you sprawling to the floor suddenly. A breath escapes you and you blink disoriented.

In the abrupt stillness that follows, you glance up to see the source of the collision, and to your surprise, it’s the handsome man from earlier. In the fleeting seconds your eyes lock, and you notice the striking shade of blue in his gaze and the sadness that seems to emanate from him.

Rather than offering a hand to help you up, he mumbles a quick apology and resumes his stride without missing a beat. A sense of frustration flares within you - as handsome as he is, his manners are clearly lacking.

Arsehole, you think as. you gather yourself from the floor with a shake of your head.

The brief encounter leaves you with a mix of bewilderment and a lingering sense of irritation as you make your way to your room.

______

Professor Armagan’s voice reverberates through the expansive art studio, commanding the attention of her assembled freshman class as she introduces you.

“Today, I want you to meet one of our seniors—she’s really gifted, and it’s important to me that you get to know more students of mine,“ she declares, her enthusiasm evident in the cadence of her words.

You raise your hand in acknowledgement, a subtle greeting to the newcomers, and take a moment to let your eyes wander across the room. The art studio, a sanctuary of creativity, is filled with eager faces, each potentially harbouring a unique artistic voice.

As your gaze travels through the room, you spot the lanky boy from the first day.

Ha, I knew it, a quiet sense of validation washes over you - your intuition about him being an artist appears spot-on and judging by the strokes on his canvas, a talented one at that.

The lesson unfolds with a straightforward tempo, and your role is mainly confined to sharing insights about the college and providing a glimpse into how art functions in Professor Armagan’s class. The information is delivered efficiently, and you find yourself relieved as the session concludes.

“Hi, I’m Dalton,“ the lanky boy strides up to you, extending a hand in greeting.

You reciprocate with a friendly smile, taking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Dalton,“

As your eyes fall upon Dalton’s pencil drawing, you can’t help but offer a genuine compliment. “Wow, this is really good. You’ve got some serious talent,“ you remark, appreciating the skill evident in his work.

Dalton’s face lights up with a grateful smile. “Thanks, I appreciate that,“ he replies, the sincerity in his tone confirming your initial impression of him as a genuinely nice individual, and you find yourself thinking that Dalton is the kind of person you could see yourself being friends with.

“You have to work on your disguise though - I could tell from a mile away that you chose the art program and was just wondering whether you made it to her class,“ with a playful grin, you jest to Dalton.

Dalton chuckles at your remark, and there’s a warmth in his response, “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty obvious, huh? Can’t hide the artist in me, I suppose.“

As you both exit the art studio together, the door softly closes behind you, the ambient sounds of the campus filling the air. The sunlight casts a warm glow over the pathway as you begin to make your way through the bustling campus, the occasional laughter and conversations of students blending into the lively background.

Turning to Dalton, you initiate a conversation about his college experience so far.

“So, how are you finding college so far? How’s it treating you?“ you inquire, a casual smile accompanying your words.

Dalton reflects, “It’s been an interesting ride. Meeting new people, navigating through classes, and, of course, diving into the art program. It’s everything I hoped for, honestly.“

The two of you continue to stroll, the campus unfolds around you.

Dalton shares more about his classes and the artistic projects he’s eager to explore, and you reciprocate with your own anecdotes.

Continuing your conversation, you find a natural segue to inquire about Dalton’s residence on campus. “By the way, which dorm are you in?“ you ask curiously with a casual tone.

Dalton smiles, “Oh, I’m in the last one down the path. How about you?“

As he reveals his dormitory, you can’t help but feel a spark of excitement. “No way! Me too,“ you respond, a genuine grin spreading across your face.

Dalton’s eyes light up with joy, and you pick up on the enthusiasm that suggests he might not have a large circle of friends.

He suggests, “We should totally hang out sometime. And you’ve got to meet my roommate, Chris – she’s really cool.“

You quirk an eyebrow and playfully tease Dalton, “Rooming with a girl, huh? The administration must have a wild sense of humour.“

Dalton chuckles, “Yeah, it was a bit of a surprise for both of us. Chris is fine, though. We make it work.“

You share a laugh, the notion of unexpected room assignments becoming a shared source of amusement. “Well, I’m definitely looking forward to meeting this mysterious Chris. Maybe the three of us could grab a coffee or something,“ you suggest, already envisioning potential hangout sessions.

Dalton’s eyes light up with genuine enthusiasm. “That sounds awesome! Chris will love it. She’s been itching to make some new friends around here.“

“How about this? There’s this amazing little coffee shop I’ve been a regular at since my first year here. It’s got this cosy vibe, and I think you and Chris would really enjoy it,“ you suggest, your enthusiasm echoing through your words.

Dalton’s eyes light up even more, his excitement matching yours. “That sounds awesome! I’m in, and I’m sure Chris will love it too.“

As you and Dalton walk through the dormitory halls, he suddenly comes to a stop and points to a door. “This is my room,“ he says with an appreciative smile, gratitude evident in his eyes.

You return the smile and quip, “Well, look at that! I guess I’ve been on the unofficial welcome committee. My room’s just further down the hall.“

Dalton laughs, appreciating the light-hearted exchange. “Thanks for walking with me. Do you wanna stop by tomorrow? I’d introduce you to Chris and we can get that coffee?“

“Absolutely, sounds like a plan,“ you respond. “See you tomorrow, dude,“ you add with a nod and a parting wave, continuing down the hall to your own room.

_____

The next day, you make your way to Dalton and Chris’s room, thankful to do something today. The familiar dormitory halls lead you to their door, and you give a light knock before it swings open.

Dalton greets you with a welcoming smile. “Hey! Glad you could make it. This is Chris,“ he introduces, gesturing towards a short, black girl with braided hair, vibrant clothes, and a warm smile.

“Nice to meet you! Dalton’s mentioned you,“ Chris says and extends her hand, you grab it and shake it.

Upon entering the room, your eyes are immediately drawn to Dalton’s paintings adorning the walls. “These are really nice,“ you remark, genuinely appreciating the artistic talent displayed.

Dalton beams with gratitude. “Thanks,“ he responds, a hint of pride in his voice.

As the three of you settle into conversation, you decide to delve into a bit of small talk. “So, Chris, do you also major in art?“ you inquire, curious about her academic pursuits.

Chris chuckles, her demeanour warm and friendly. “Nope, not at all. I’m actually a math major. Total left brain-right brain dynamic we’ve got going on here,“ she says with a playful twinkle in her eye.

As the conversation flows, a sudden knock interrupts the camaraderie. Chris and Dalton exchange confused glances, both wearing expressions of mild bewilderment. “Were you expecting someone?“ Chris asks, looking at Dalton.

Dalton shakes his head, equally puzzled. “No, I have no idea. Were you?“

“Nah,“ Chris mirrors the headshake.

The room falls into a brief silence as Dalton opens the door, revealing a man standing on the threshold. Dalton’s confusion is palpable as he utters, “Dad?“

A breath hitches in your throat as recognition sets in. It’s him - the handsome man from your first day, the same person who unintentionally sent you sprawling to the floor and didn’t have the decency to help you up. The lingering ache in your hip serves as a constant reminder of that memorable encounter.

“Hey. Sorry for the surprise visit. I was in the area and thought I’d drop by and talk to Dalton,“ he says, his eyes widening a bit as they lock onto yours. Recognition flickers across his face. “I’m Josh, by the way.“

Holding his gaze, you find yourself momentarily captivated, drinking in the details like a starved soul. His blue eyes, once a passing detail, now reveal a depth that draws you in. The slight curl of his hair at the nape of his neck and around his ears adds a touch of casual charm, accentuated by the scruff of his beard that now appears more prominent. Your gaze appreciatively lingers on the nuances, savouring the details.

Your appreciative gaze shifts downward, taking in the way his dark blue, tight dress jacket with rolled-up sleeves complements the form-fitting light blue t-shirt beneath. The fabric spans deliciously over his broad shoulders, chest, and the little tummy he has, accentuating his physique effortlessly. It makes you want to be under him, your bodies pressed together while he thrusts inside you, holding you tightly with his strong body - you’re sure that he’s soft in just the right places while being muscular and powerful.

The spell of fascination is abruptly broken as Chris, standing next to you, coughs purposefully to snap you out of your trance. The sudden interruption startles both you and Josh and you tear your eyes away from him.

You can’t shake the feeling that the attraction is not one-sided. Josh’s lingering gaze and the subtle shift in his expression suggest that he, too, was captivated.

The realization that the attraction might be mutual, even in this unexpected and somewhat inappropriate context, leaves a tinge of discomfort. Josh is not just a stranger; he’s Dalton’s dad, Dalton who is your friend. You silently hope that Dalton didn’t pick up on it.

Meeting Dalton’s gaze, you instantly sense that hope is futile - his raised eyebrow speaks volumes,

Josh clears his throat and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, your eyes involuntarily follow the movement, captivated by the subtle gestures.

For a brief moment, you indulge in the thought of his lips on yours, and his tongue on you. You wonder, if the stubble would scratch you, leaving marks on your skin so you could remember and feel him days later.

“Well, I should get going—I didn’t want to interrupt you,“ Josh says, directing his gaze at you again. “It was nice to meet you.“

As Josh offers a tight-lipped smile and exits the room. Once he’s gone, both Dalton and Chris turn their attention toward you.

“What was that?“ Chris’s inquiry comes with a hint of humour.

“Could you not undress him with your eyes next time - he’s my dad,“ Dalton says to you and you feel your cheeks heating up.

“I’m sorry, man,“ you mumble, a tinge of embarrassment colouring your words, “It isn’t my fault he’s hot.“

_____

The next time you encounter him, you’re on your way to your dorm as Josh is just leaving.

“Hey, Josh,“ you greet him with a bright smile.

He responds with a big, bright, and goofy grin etched on his handsome face. You can’t help but think that he looks good when he smiles.

“Hey, it’s nice to see you again,“ he greets you, his eyes sweeping over your form, lingering longer on the neckline of your tight shirt than is appropriate.

“I’m sorry for running you over when he first met,“ he starts, scratching over the hair on the back of his head, “ Or at least just walking away and not helping you up again.“

You reach out to place a reassuring hand on the skin of his arm. Intending for it to be a featherlight, brief touch, as soon as your fingertips trace over his arm, it feels like electricity is being passed through you.

Josh, in response to the touch, swallows heavily, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a visible display of tension. Instead of pulling away, he surprises both of you by taking your hand in his. Intertwining your fingers, he begins to rub soothing circles over the back of your hand with his thumb.

You notice the size of his hands—big and fitting for a man of his stature.

At that moment, it feels as though time stands still. Both of you just stand there, locked in a gaze, drinking in each other’s presence.

As he moves a bit closer, you become acutely aware of him, and his scent engulfs you like a private cocoon. It’s uniquely him - a blend of cologne and something inherently Josh. The cologne carries a woody fragrance, specifically dry wood, with nuanced undertones of sandalwood and amber.

The sun casts shadows on his face and accentuates the contours of his features. You observe that the short beard framing his face is threaded with salt-and-pepper hair. The interplay of light and shadows makes him more than just attractive—it renders him captivating.

His blue eyes, sparkling in the sunlight, reveal a depth that draws you in. They are akin to fire in water, reflecting a passionate intensity that burns within the warm sun-lit undercurrents of his gaze.

The healthy shine of his hair catches your attention, and you can’t help but notice the vibrancy it adds to his overall appearance. Your fingers itch to push the wayward locks behind his ear again, to feel if it is as soft as it looks.

The enchanting moment is abruptly shattered as someone carelessly bumps into you, jolting you out of the reverie. In the sudden disturbance, Josh releases your hand.

“I-,“ he clears his throat, the remnants of the charged moment still lingering, “should get going.“

There’s a palpable pause, a shared awareness of the disrupted connection. At that moment, you sense that he, too, is affected by the sudden intrusion into the private bubble you unintentionally created. The unspoken understanding between you deepens, and as he looks at you with an intensity that mirrors your own feelings, you find yourself nodding in agreement.

As Josh begins to move away, you’re left standing there, your gaze fixed on him. Your eyes trail along his departing figure, captivated by the sight of his muscular back.

_____

The inappropriate thoughts about Josh weigh heavily on your conscience, creating a turbulent storm of emotions within you that refuses to settle. Part of you acknowledges the relief of not having seen him in quite some time, while another part feels a twinge of sadness - There’s an undeniable sense of loss or longing; you want to see him again.

But you cherish your friendship with Dalton and don’t want to jeopardise it. It feels like you walk on a tightrope between desire and loyalty, especially because you’re fairly certain that this perpetual tension will snap at some point. So you find yourself consciously avoiding Dalton and Chris’s room. The fear of running into his handsome father fuels you, in particular, because he seems to make frequent visits - and the question lingers in the front of your mind: does he purposefully stop by so often, driven by a desire to see you?

Your gaze drifts around your dorm room, and you spot a sketchbook that isn’t yours. A moment of realization hits you like a sudden jolt—shit, that’s Dalton’s. He’s forgotten it again.

With the certainty that both Dalton and Chris are currently in class, you entertain the idea of stopping by to return the forgotten sketchbook. The timing seems opportune—no risk of encountering them, and by extension, no chance of a surprise visit from Josh, Dalton’s father.

The thought forms a plan in your mind, and you decide to seize the moment. The dormitory halls echo with quiet solitude as you make your way to Dalton and Chris’s room.

The door swings open, and to your surprise, the room isn’t as empty as you expected. There, standing in the middle of the room is Josh,

Time seems to slow as you lock eyes with him, and an involuntary thought escapes your mind— Jesus, your memories really didn’t do his handsomeness justice.

You find yourself taking in the details—the way the room frames him, the play of light accentuating the contours of his features, and the way his presence seems to fill the space.

All the subtle nuances of his appearance, from the slightly tousled hair to the hint of scruff on his jaw, draw your attention. His blue eyes, usually a captivating shade, seem to shine darker than normal, adding a layer of intensity to the moment.

“I didn’t expect you here,“ the words escape your mouth, almost breathlessly, and you curse the involuntary reaction you have to Josh.

Instead of responding immediately, he looks you over, his gaze lingering on your form. Then, he opens his mouth and says, “You’ve been avoiding me.“

It’s not a question; it’s a statement, and it holds a truth you can’t deny. You have been avoiding him, but it’s more about not trusting yourself in his presence than anything else.

As you remain silent, Josh takes a step closer, closing the distance between you. His hand lands on the wood of the door, near your head, applying gentle pressure. The muscles in his chest and arms tense as he leans against the door, closing it with a quiet click.

Instead of moving away, he keeps standing there, effectively boxing you in between the door and his body.

He maintains an unbroken gaze on you, his eyes locked onto yours. The close proximity allows you to observe the intricate details of his eyes. They are not uniformly blue; instead, there’s a fascinating interplay of shades. A ring of light blue delicately encircles the pupil, creating a mesmerizing gradient with the darker blue that surrounds it. The hues blend seamlessly, forming a captivating dance of colours within the confines of his gaze.

The fragile silence hangs in the air, and a subtle fear lingers—fear that any spoken word or sudden movement might shatter the enchanting spell woven between you and Josh. In the cocoon of quietude, you choose to remain still, each heartbeat echoing in the confined space, cautious not to disrupt the delicate equilibrium of the moment.

You can’t help but feel lazy arousal starting to pool through your veins, fueled by Josh.

“Tell me to stop,“ Josh speaks, his words almost a whisper, “tell me to walk away.“

The quiet plea hangs in the air, revealing the internal struggle he faces. He’s your friend’s dad, divorced, and almost two decades your senior—valid reasons to resist the magnetic pull drawing you both in. Yet, in this charged moment, those rational arguments seem to lose their significance in the haze of him that clouds your thoughts.

Your eyes flicker to his lips, and as quietly as he had spoken, you finally respond, “Kiss me.“

And so he does.

Josh’s lips descend to yours, capturing you in a kiss that feels both urgent and consuming. His warm hand gently cups your cheek, adding a tender touch to the intensity of the moment. It’s a kiss that feels like an act of hunger as if he’s been starved and you are the only remedy to satiate it.

Your hands find their way to his strong shoulders, instinctively pulling him closer as you reciprocate the kiss. The texture of his lips against yours becomes a tactile language, each brush and press conveying a depth of emotion words might fall short of capturing. You feel his stubble scrape over your skin. The taste of his kiss is a fusion of want and need, a shared desire that resonates between you, eclipsing any reservations that linger in the back of your mind.

Josh breaks the kiss, and both of you are left breathless. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,“ he confesses, his voice laden with a mixture of desire and relief.

He starts leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jawline, and you laugh quietly in response. “Well, I have an idea,“ you playfully remark and reminisce of when you first met him - you wanted to do that since then.

“Yeah, tell me,“ Josh smiles, his hand finding its way into your hair, tightening its grip. He is looking directly into your eyes smouldering blue burning into you as he leans down to bite into your bottom lip lightly.

“Josh,“ was all you managed to say in a breathy voice.

His lips move to your jaw, leaving soft kisses and sucking a mark into the soft skin of your neck, letting his teeth nip over the spot before moving on. You let out a moan and dig your fingers into his shoulders, before loosening your hold and roaming his whole back. You feel the strength of his muscles between your hands as well as the heat he emanates.

Not being able to contain yourself, you are desperate for some skin so you lift up the hem of his shirt and slip your hands under it, feeling his skin.

With a groan Josh presses his hips into yours, making you feel the hardness of the erection he is sporting. You grind against it as you feel your heart beating fast in your chest.

Josh pulls back, his eyes dark and glinting with arousal.

He slips his thick fingers under the thin straps of your dress and pulls them over your shoulders, leaving burning pathways in the wake of his touch. At that moment, you’re so glad you decided to wear a dress. And you second that again, when he tucks down the upper part of your dress, exposing your breasts to his nimble fingers and hungry eyes.

Almost instantly his hands find their way to your tits and you groan when he rubs the pad of his thumb over your nipple.

Josh takes his sweet time exploring you and finding out which sound he can wring from you by just his hands touching your chest. Deliberately, he flicks his forefinger against the hardened bud before capturing it between two fingers, rolling and tugging on it.

His lips skate over your collarbones, nibbling and sucking leaving more marks in his wake.

Something shortcircuits in your brain when you notice how his hands span over your ribs, making you feel fragile beneath him. And in that moment you want nothing more than for him to just lift you and impale you on him, manipulate you to his liking until the only thing you can remember is his name.

You hook your fingers in the belt loops of his jeans, pulling his hips against yours, wishing that he wasn’t wearing anything. You feel the hardness of his cock pressed against your belly as you grind down on him.

When his lips and fingers leave your skin you almost whine at the loss of contact but Josh wraps an arm around your back, pulling you flush against his thick frame before covering your mouth with his own again, possessing you.

He presses one of those strong thighs between your legs, pressing it against your clothed cunt, locking you against the wood of the door again. Without a coherent thought, you moan into his mouth as the rough fabric of his jeans rubs over your wet pussy.

Frantic your hands undo the belt and open his jeans, pushing it down, before tugging on his shirt, desperate for more skin. Josh takes pity on your frazzled attempts and takes off his shirt, pulling it over his head as well as letting his jeans fall to the floor with a quiet thud.

His skin is damp, a thin sheen of sweat giving it a dewy glow that catches the light of the room. Your eyes trace over him appreciatively, taking in the details that make him undeniably attractive as he just watches you with dark, hooded eyes.

The rise and fall of his chest, accompanied by a scattering of sparse chest hair, draws your eyes. Your gaze lingers on the muscles that play beneath the softness of his belly. In this moment, you find that he is a perfect harmonious mix between being ripped and soft.

Driven by a need to touch - to feel - him your fingers trace a delicate path across Josh’s chest, shoulders, and belly, exploring the terrain of his skin with a gentle curiosity.

As your fingertips navigate the expanse of his chest, you feel his breath and breathing heart, a subtle rhythm syncing with the beating of your own heart. The transition to his shoulders unveils the sinewy strength that lies beneath, a testament to the physicality that drew you in. Moving lower, your touch encounters the softness of his belly, tracing the trail of hair that leads into his briefs.

Without warning you cup his hard cock that’s straining against the fabric of his underwear, making him groan, a deep sound that reverberates through his chest.

Josh wraps his arms around you, lifting you up as he dips his head to kiss you. He bites your lip, the sharp nip of his teeth making you whimper into his mouth. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass as he carries you, prompting you to wrap your legs around his thick middle.

With one fluid movement, he sets you down on the desk, dimly you register the books on the table being swept to the floor. He slots himself between your legs as he tangles his hand in your hair to tilt your head back to force you to meet his gaze.

“If you want to stop - at any point - you tell me,“ Josh’s voice is a quiet, husky murmur, the darkness in his eyes reflecting the pleasure shared between you. His lips, now deliciously pinked from your kisses, hover close.

Wordlessly, you nod. In this moment, he embodies everything you desire and more, a captivating presence that has ensnared your senses. If this is your only chance at tasting him, feeling him, having you - you’ll gladly take it. If not somewhat sad, because you’re sure you will not be able to forget him.

He captures your lips in another short kiss while hitching your dress up higher. Josh’s hand is between your legs now, rubbing one finger over your clothed cunt. You just know that the cotton has to be damp, that he now feels how much you want this - want him.

When he applies more pressure, scraping over your clit you arch your back into his touch. His eyes are on yours, drinking in your every reaction.

Josh repeats the act and you rake your fingers over his back so hard you’re certain to have marked him. It’s making him moan, low, deep and frantic as if he’s enjoying this as much as you. Your entire skin fizzles with electricity upon his reaction.

In one fluid motion, he seats himself beneath your things and yanks your ass off the edge of the desk. His fingers curl around the waistband of your panties and he pulls them down, off your legs.

Just the sight of Josh between your legs edges you closer to an orgasm. His big hands are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you open for him. If you had to describe the look in his eyes you don’t know if another word than feral was fitting.

He makes you want to paint him, to capture this moment for eternity, with his messy hair and dark eyes.

Your head falls back and every thought becomes impossible when he presses a featherlight kiss on your clit, the stubble prickling like electricity. You cry out when he draws a circle around it with his wet tongue.

“You need to be quiet, sweetheart,“ he says, voice low, rough and deep. “Wouldn’t want anyone to come in here, right?“

You can’t do much other than nod - you know that you can try but you also surely know that you will fail.

As soon as Josh presses his palm across your stomach to hold you down and tastes your cunt with a long lick you lose that train of thought again.

He builds you up with a slow and dexterous tongue, determined to make you cum beneath him. Your back arches off the desk, only held down by his strong arm as you whimper.

You feel your cunt clenching and you’re sure that you’re staining the desk with your wetness.

Arousal crashes through your vein and you feel yourself getting closer - and he apparently also does because he hooks his arms around you, to pull you closer to his mouth.

A curse rolls over your tongue when he sinks two of his thick fingers into your cunt, curling them inside your so you spasm around him.

While you know that your orgasm is drawing closer it still hits you like a freight train. The mixture of his fingers and his mouth on your clit brings you over the edge.

You cry out and your back arches off the desk, fire pulsing through you. Josh’s mouth is still on you, licking through your wet cunt, catching every drop. You feel like your muscles are locking up and the fire has extended to your lungs as he continues to work you through it. Only when you whimper against him, overstimulated he pulls back.

Josh’s neck and chin are coated in your wetness, glistening in the light of the room. A blinding smile is etched across his features, reaching his eyes. The pleasure radiating from him is palpable and genuine, he likes how you react to him.

Your fingers instinctively dig into the firm contours of Josh’s shoulders, a desperate longing urging him to rise and meet your lips. In response, his strong arms envelop you, pulling you irresistibly close as your mouths meld together in a fervent kiss. You taste the salty tang of yourself on his tongue.

His hard cock is pressed against your bare cunt and you grind down on him, making him groan into the kiss. Just from feeling him, you know that he’s big and you ache to get your hands on him.

You reach into his briefs, following the trail of hair. Josh’s cock is thick and twitching in your palm as you smear precum over him to jerk him off easier.

God, he’s going to split you in half, make you burn from the stretch as he forces you to accept every thick, hot inch of him.

Driven by need you push his underwear over his hips, mesmerizes as you finally see him naked. His dick stands proud and hard in neatly trimmed pubic hair. You wrap your hand around him again, tracing the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock. Josh jerks his hips into your hand and you wet your lips as you clench around nothing.

It’s almost surreal, the realization that this handsome and gorgeous man is as captivated by you as you are by him and you itch to return the favour and take him into your mouth to see what sounds you can elicit from him.

But when you show signs of slipping from the desk he stops you with a long-fingered hand on your thigh.

“You can return the favour next time, we have to be quick,“ Josh’s voice is husky and dark as his eyes are on you intently.

Next time? Fuck, yes, you really hope that there will be a next time because you don’t think you can get enough of him.

His arms wrap around you again to claim your mouth before lifting you up from the desk. The dig of his fingers into your skin lingers are you just hope that they will bruise. He walks both of you over to a bed in the room, laying you down on your back.

Josh is a solid form above you, chest heaving as he braces his weight on his elbows. He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, before licking a stripe along the length of your pulse.

The feeling of his weight pressing you into the bed with his bare chest on yours is indescribable. The soft swell of his stomach against yours is heavenly s you claw into his shoulders and back to pull him further on you,

“Fuck me, please,“ your voice wrecked and hoarse as you buck against him, feeling his hard dick press against you.

He pushes his cock against your cunt, nudging your clit with every stroke, just slicking himself with your wetness.

You whimper when you feel the tip of his broad dick slide into you, keeping it buried inside you, “Josh, please .“

Josh takes pity on you. He leans forwards and his eyes are on yours as he fills you with short and shallow thrusts, inching his cock further and further inside you. Your eyes fall closed at the overwhelming feeling of him in your cunt and he stops again.

Your eyes fly open when his hand finds its way around your throat, wordlessly telling you to keep your gaze locked on him. The slow drag of his dick elicits a high-pitched whine from you.

When his hips are flush against yours, he stills, giving you time to get used to him.

“Just like that…. You’re doing so well,“ his voice is low as he praises you.

The combination of the barely contained edge in his voice and the praise causes you to clench around him, making Josh groan. You’re drunk off him, off how you feel every ridge, every vein against the wall of your cunt.

When he pulls back and only leaves the tip inside you again, you whine. That is soon replaced by a loud moan as he slams his whole length into you.

He feels impossibly deep in your cunt, like he’s carving himself inside with every slap, stroke and thrust of his hips. There is nothing you can do but lay there and take it.

With every thrust, he almost growls into your ear as he possesses you. The slap of his balls against you and the wet squelch of your cunt is loud in the room as he continues to wreck you.

The head of his cock drags over that spot that makes you see stars and you twitch and jerk against him, completely overwhelmed by him.

You hiss when he reaches between you to press the pad of his thumb against your sensitive clit. He flicks it against it before starting to rub small circles that make you quiver under him and clench around him.

Josh’s face is the epitome of concentration as he drives his dick inside you again and again, his brow furrowed as he fucks the both of you towards your high.

You scream when you come. Blinding pleasure shoots through your veins, expanding from inside you and engulfing you. His lips come down to kiss you, capturing you in a feverish and feral kiss. Your teeth click together as he devours you and continues to slam into you.

With a load groan, he pushes into you as deep as possible, clutching you tightly as his hips jerk and he spills inside you.

He kisses you, hard and short while he keeps his hips flush with yours as he rocks them, milking himself dry.

It feels almost soft when he pushes your damp hair from your face and cups your cheek as you catch your breath. The kiss you share is lazy and soft, your hands comb through his hair lightly. You wrap your arms around him tightly, holding him close and savouring the feeling of his body on yours.

The post-orgasmic bliss disperses suddenly when you feel him soften inside you, his cum leaking onto the bed.

“Shit, Josh,“ panic is evident in your voice, “Get up.“

The realisation hits you, that Josh just ruined you in the room of his son - on his desk and bed. You know that you can’t pretend that this never happened, not when you know how perfect he feels inside you or how he looks when he comes.

His quiet laugh irritates you at first but your eyes flutter closed again when he presses his lips against yours.

“It will be fine,“ Josh’s blue eyes shine bright as he traces your lips with his thumb, “Let’s get cleaned up first. And then I’d like to take you out for some food.“

“Yeah… yeah,“ you start, a smile on your features, “I’d like that.“

#patrick wilson #patrick wilson x reader #patrick wilson smut #the conjuring #ed warren #insidious #fanfiction #josh lambert #insidious smut #josh lambert x reader #josh lambert smut #orm marius #aquaman #insidious fanfiction #insidious the red door #aquaman the lost kingdom #aquaman and the lost kingdom

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sourmiguel · 1 month

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Reach Out by weathervaanes (wc20246, explicit)

Summary: Or, In Which Stiles Falls in Love Twice...With the Same Person -0- Stiles sees the flyer on his very last day at Beacon Hills High School. It’s hanging, unassuming, in the hall near the front entrance along with bulletins and other flyers, advertisements, posters for free student concerts, but the fact that the word “sex” is written in a font two times larger than the rest of the page catches his attention. It’s an advice hotline for a whole range of things, from teenage angst to how to deal with your parents telling you you’re adopted and a whole mess in the middle. Stiles thinks it’s funny, though, that they offer advice on sexuality and sex education. It makes sense on the one hand, since high school sex ed does jack shit for actual learning, but anyone who really wants to know stuff has an infinite source of knowledge right on their phone—the internet. So it starts off as a joke.

I am a SUCKER for two person love triangles. This one doesn't disappoint.

#fic rec #sterek #sterek au

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paperultra · 3 months

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THE FIVE NONSENSES

[ SOULMATE!AU ] Pairing: Miya Osamu x Fem!Reader x Miya Atsumu Summary: Like most people, you do not meet the Miya twins so much as they are thrust upon you. Unlike most people, you are thrust upon them as well. read on ao3 | read on quotev

CHAPTER THREE: SMELL Word Count: 8,205 words Warnings: Swearing

“Hey, you! Join the photography club!”

You narrowly dodge the flyer thrust in front of your face, knocking back into someone in the process. Flustered, you move in the opposite direction, only to knock shoulders with another student walking the other way. Both of your apologies get lost in the noise.

“Join the basketball team! Winter Cup finalists two years in a row!”

“Improve your focus in calligraphy club!”

“Join kyudo club!”

“Join marching band!”

With a small huff, you grab the strap of Osamu’s schoolbag and squeeze through the crowd. Osamu looks over his shoulder at you, and you meet his raised eyebrow with a grimace; not long after, a hand presses between your shoulder blades to usher you forward.

“Dammit,” Atsumu grumbles, digging his phone out of his pocket. “Where’s the volleyball club?”

“Hell if I know,” Osamu says. “Call Aran.”

“’S what I’m doin’, dumbass.” Punching a few buttons, the other boy presses his phone against his ear with visible impatience. “Aran!” Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as Atsumu’s voice carries high over the clamor surrounding you, causing several students to swivel their heads. “Where the hell’s the volleyball club? … Class 1-7? Seriously?”

Hanging up without so much as a thank-you, Atsumu quickens his stride down the congested hallway. Osamu follows suit, and you end up seizing the back of his blazer as the three of you head to Class 1-7, evading arms and signs and flyers the entire way.

Having visited the school before to watch Ojiro play, you had known that Inarizaki High School is big; navigating it as a student on the first day of school, however, is a whole different animal. You hadn’t realized it was this big. Or this crowded. After a year of being large fish in a small pond, you now find yourselves in an ocean.

At least you have the twins to rough it with.

(It should be noted that your thankfulness varies wildly from hour to hour.)

Near the entrance to Class 1-7, you spot Ojiro wielding a bright sign advertising the volleyball club. He easily stands head and shoulders above most of the other students, and the sight of a familiar face helps you relax – even though you’d just seen him at graduation a few weeks ago, he somehow looks older here, comfortable and self-assured in the raucous halls of Inarizaki.

“Yo! Aran!” Osamu and Atsumu call out, running up to the second-year. You, still holding onto Osamu’s blazer, are unceremoniously yanked along.

Ojiro perks up and grins widely when you all reach him, freeing one hand to bump fists with the twins. “’Bout time you guys showed up. Thought ya chickened out or somethin’,” he exclaims, then nods at you with a grin. “Good to see you here too, [L/n]-chan.”

You smile back. “Hi, Ojiro-senpai.”

(Of all the people the twins consider friends, which have always been rather scant in number, you like Ojiro Aran the best.)

“Chickened out?” Atsumu scoffs. “No way. You scrubs are gonna need us if ya wanna win nationals this year.”

A laugh bursts out of Ojiro’s chest. “Don’t ya think you’re gettin’ a little ahead of yerself?”

“Yeah, well, what’s new?” Osamu pipes up. He elbows his brother’s side, jabbing a thumb at the doorway when the latter chokes up and glares. “Hurry yer ass up, ‘Tsumu, we haven’t even signed up yet.”

You cough. Ojiro laughs again, leading the three of you into the classroom.

There’s a ton of students already inside when you enter. In one corner of the room is the girls’ volleyball club, and in the other is the boys’, though many are mingling and wandering around to chat. A few are upperclassmen wearing the Inarizaki volleyball team’s jacket – the rest, you assume, are first-years hoping for a chance to join.

It’s not surprising for a school that’s gone to the Spring Tournament almost thirty times. Most of these applicants will be benched for their entire high school career.

Following Ojiro to the desk for the boys’ volleyball club, you encounter the two people sitting behind it.

“Arata-senpai, Kobayashi-senpai,” Ojiro announces, clapping one hand on Osamu’s shoulder and the other on Atsumu’s, “got a package deal for ya.”

The first thing you notice about Arata is how tall he is when he’s sitting down. Then he slowly stands up, and your eyes widen as he keeps going and going, finally stopping about half a head taller than Ojiro.

Arata breathes in, vulpine eyes narrowing, before he slams his hands down on the desk with a loud thwap.

“If it ain’t the Miya twins!” he chirps, voice much peppier than expected, and you choke back a surprised laugh. “I watched yer match last year at nationals. You two think ya have what it takes to be part of a powerhouse?”

“Why talk big when we can just show ya, senpai?” Atsumu says, as if he hadn’t been gassing himself up to Ojiro moments before. He pulls out his signup sheet, already filled out in his usual large, messy print, and slides it over to the captain, leaning over the desk with one hand on his hip. “Got yers, ’Samu?”

“Yup.” Osamu slides his over as well, handwriting slightly neater.

Arata takes the sheets happily. Your gaze falls upon his hands by chance, and then it remains there, taking stock of the scribbles of purple and red decorating his skin.

Ojiro whistles. “Looks like yer soulmate’s havin’ fun with some gel pens,” he comments, pointing at Arata’s hands.

“Hm?” The other boy blinks and takes a moment to inspect the words curving below his knuckles. His brow furrows, and he squints before finally breaking out into a goofy smile. “Ah,” he says, and his voice takes on a distinctly fonder, dreamier tone, “guess they are. They’ve been practicin’ hiragana a lot lately. See? Pretty good, eh?” Arata stretches his hands out face-down, showing them off.

(You can barely read the characters.)

“Neat,” Atsumu says, though his tone has flattened just slightly.

“Right?” Arata doesn’t seem to notice. “We’re gonna finally see each other in person next summer after I graduate. They’re graduating high school this June in Spain …”

“He’s really excited,” Ojiro mutters to the three of you, “in case ya couldn’t tell.”

The volleyball captain’s cheeks turn an endearing shade of pink. “What’s wrong with that, huh, Ojiro? I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with them, so it’s a good sign I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

Next to you, Osamu shifts and shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. You feel his elbow brush against your arm, bare skin separated by layers of fabric.

The rest of your life.

A strange feeling forms in the pit of your stomach. It’s the same kind you get whenever your parents ask about Osamu, and whenever you see couples wearing matching outfits at the mall – a feeling a little less than longing, and a little more than guilt. Like you ought to be doing more, saying more, expressing more. Feeling more.

You wonder what it is like to be Arata, infatuated, proudly flaunting the colors on his hands.

The girl sitting at the desk finally speaks up.

“I thought we were talkin’ about volleyball, not yer love life, Arata.”

Your gaze moves away from Arata’s wrists and onto the girl.

Still sitting, she and the captain paint a picture of a mouse and an elephant, her tiny form complemented by large, expressionless eyes and a small nose. The maroon jacket hanging off her shoulders looks one size too big.

And yet, when her gaze flicks over and meets yours, you’re overtaken by a sudden chill.

Scary.

Arata jumps and glances down at her. “O-Oh, right! Sorry, Kobayashi-chan, I guess I got carried away.”

“It’s fine.” Kobayashi continues to stare at you, and you start to feel slightly uncomfortable. “’S why I’m here.”

“Yeah!” Coughing, Arata rubs the back of his neck and turns his attention back to the twins. “Gettin’ back on track … if it isn’t obvious already, Kobayashi-chan is our manager. She’s real good. Real detailed.”

“But I’m also in my third year, which means we’re currently lookin’ for a new manager for next year,” Kobayashi supplies. “So if ya happen to know any first-years who’re qualified and willing to apply for the right reasons, please let me know.”

Your brow furrows at that.

“Whaddaya mean, ‘the right reasons’?” Osamu asks.

A sheepish laugh escapes Arata’s throat. “Well … the volleyball team’s pretty popular, so we get a lot of folks wantin’ to be manager just to get closer to the team and see if one of the members is their soulmate.” He sighs. “It’s not that I wanna keep any soulmates apart, but those kinds of applicants slow down the search, and obviously, we want a manager who actually wants to manage.”

Ah. Already, some of your peers already seem like they’re on a time crunch to find their person. Soulmates are getting to be a bigger and bigger deal as you get older, and with that comes certain expectations. It’s not hard to figure out why some would hope to have someone popular and athletic.

“Sorry, don’t know anybody like that,” Atsumu replies at the same time Ojiro says your name.

You look at your senior, surprised.

He directs a finger upwards. “Ya know volleyball pretty well,” he points out. “Wanna apply? You already manage the twins, after all.”

“Oi, what’s that s’posed to mean –”

Arata seems to finally notice you, eyebrows raising. “Oh! Sorry, didn’t see ya there,” he exclaims. “What’s yer name?”

Reluctantly, you step up next to Osamu and introduce yourself.

“[L/n]-chan. So ya know the twins?”

“I’ve lived on the same street as them since elementary school.”

“Really! Ya must know them well, then.”

“More than well,” says Kobayashi.

She points down at your hand. Arata follows her finger, and you resist the urge to curl your pinkie when his mouth drops.

“Oh, damn, you’re soulmates with – er, uh –”

Osamu and Atsumu just stand there, watching the captain flounder. After a few seconds, you reach up and tug Osamu’s earlobe sharply.

“Osamu,” you say, both as an answer and as a scolding, ignoring the muttered ‘ow’ coming from your right.

Clapping his hands, Arata nods. “You’re soulmates with Osamu-kun! Wow, that’s amazing. And you’ve been together since elementary school? He’d think and play better with you just bein’ there.”

You smile, embarrassed.

“That doesn’t make her the right candidate, Arata,” says Kobayashi. “Even if she really wants to manage the team, she might still prioritize Osamu-kun over everybody else. The last thing I want is a manager who picks favorites.”

She says it so bluntly, so seriously. Your smile weakens as her words hit a sore spot you didn’t know you even had.

There must be a good way to disagree. The two truths of the matter are that being a good manager would mean risking being a bad soulmate, and that being a good manager is a risk you can afford. Osamu isn’t the type of person who needs to be worried about. He gets scraped up, but he doesn’t mind it, and he knows his limits. If a player got hurt right as Osamu called you for something, you know you’d check on the other player first. Even if the other player was Atsumu. (Maybe.)

Osamu simply does not need you to take care of him. You don’t know how to express this without seeming like you don’t care as much as you should.

Atsumu cuts in before you can organize your thoughts into words.

“She wouldn’t,” he says, “unless it’s me. But ’Samu and I are soulmates, so we’re already at our best when we’re on the court.”

The upperclassmen before you tilt their heads simultaneously.

“… Wait,” Arata says after a while, slowly. “You’re tellin’ me that Osamu-kun has two soulmates?”

Osamu glances at you, eyes half-lidded, and you can only meet his eyes for a few seconds before you have to look at the ground.

“Guess I’m favored,” Osamu replies.

“Wow.” Huffing out a laugh, Arata crosses his arms. “Two soulmates … huh. I wonder how that works …” Kobayashi grunts and he clears his throat. “S-Sorry. Anyway, [L/n]-chan, if you’re interested in the manager position, just fill this out and give it to Kobayashi-chan. We’re taking applications until July first or until we find someone, whichever comes first.”

He hands you a sheet of paper, and you take it tentatively.

“My phone number’s at the top in case you have any questions,” Kobayashi adds. Her voice lowers, but its monotony remains. “And if ya end up applying, know that I won’t show any favoritism just because of yer soulmate.”

You take in a breath through your nose, fingers curling into the application in your hands. “Yeah, of course.”

She nods once, then leans back in her seat. The set of her mouth relaxes just slightly, and she crosses her arms, morphing from a cutthroat manager to a tired senpai.

“See ya after school. Good luck,” she says. Her eyes bore into yours. “To all of ya.”

There’s a moment of silent surprise between you, Osamu, and Atsumu. Then all three of you bow as Ojiro and Arata chuckle.

“Thank you!”

—

The twins, predictably, become one of three first-year regulars on Inarizaki’s boys’ volleyball team. You place your manager application in the top drawer of your desk, which you pull out frequently over the next three weeks just to stare at the blank form, unsure about the whole thing.

Saturday afternoon rolls around, and you’ve taken the paper out of your binder and set it on top of your desk at home when your phone buzzes.

Osamu: you home

You: yeah

Osamu: ok

And that’s it. You stare at your screen for a few seconds, unblinking, before you shoot up from your seat and scramble to your dresser to get changed.

Five minutes and a bit of haphazard cleaning later, there’s a few firm knocks on the front door, followed by incessant banging. You stalk over to open the door before it’s knocked off its hinges.

“I could hear you,” you tell Atsumu, unimpressed, as the two enter and shuck off their shoes.

“I know.”

He deftly dodges the kick you aim at his ankle. This usually happens nowadays, unfortunately, but it doesn’t stop you from trying.

“’S just you here?” Osamu asks, shuffling into some slippers and walking further into the house. His gym bag hangs from his shoulder, big and bulky, and you look at it curiously.

“… Yeah?”

“Fer someone left home alone all the time, you’re duller than a rock,” Atsumu says. “Folks’re gone and ya don’t even throw a party? Geez.”

You narrow your eyes as he grins. “Maybe I just want peace and quiet after havin’ to sit in class with you all week, Atsumu. Anyways, why are you guys here?”

You receive no answer. After eyeing the kitchen, Osamu turns and heads down the hallway, prompting you to follow. You’re further confused when he enters the bathroom and sets his bag on the countertop.

As he unzips it, Atsumu squeezes past you and reaches into the bag, pulling out a –

A shower cap.

“… Is the shower at yer place broken or something?”

“No,” Osamu says, and he pulls something else out. “Ma’s home.”

You stare at the box in his hands. Then you look back up at the twins.

“She’s gonna kill you.”

—

Watching Osamu and Atsumu bleach each other’s hair is like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

Their dark T-shirts have speckles of orange on them, there are bits of foil littering the sink and the bathroom floor, and the acrid stench of bleach filling the bathroom is starting to creep down the hallway. You can only hope it doesn’t linger past Sunday night when you go back to the dorms.

“If you screw this up, I’m shaving yer giant head in yer sleep.”

“I’m doin’ it better than you did, ya scrub!”

You stand outside, shirt collar pulled up and over your nose, as Atsumu finishes combing through the top part of Osamu’s hair. It’s an incredible thing to witness: Osamu sitting on the shower seat, hunched over and holding a sheet of foil over his undercut while Atsumu hangs over him, wearing one of the shower caps to keep his own hair out of the way. It’s also a disaster.

You lift your phone up to snap a quick picture.

“Oi! What’re ya doin’?”

“Making a present for Ojiro.” Upon viewing the photographic evidence, you realize something. “You’re not gonna tell Auntie that you dyed yer hair at my house, right?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Osamu assures, letting Atsumu hold onto the foil while he pulls on a shower cap. He sets a timer, and the two of them hurry out of the bathroom to escape the fumes. “She won’t be thinkin’ about the details when she finds out.”

“Like she’d ever blame ya, anyway.” Atsumu scoffs. “You’re the favorite and you ain’t even her kid.”

“Well, I don’t wanna take my chances.” You recall the countless number of times the twins had received a whooping for something stupid they did, and the countless number of times you had just barely managed to slip under the radar by keeping your mouth shut. “Y’know, she might make ya dye it black again if the school doesn’t like it.”

“Please. If anything, they’ll thank us fer givin’ them an easy way to tell us apart.”

“Is that why you’re dyein’ yer hair? You’re already in different classes.”

“It ain’t fer class,” Osamu says. “It’s fer volleyball.”

Atsumu presses his back against the wall and slides down to the floor, pulling up a game on his phone. “Some of the scrubs still can’t tell us apart on court,” he sniffs. “’M tired of it.”

That, you think, makes a lot more sense.

Osamu and Atsumu have always taken full advantage of being identical twins. You’ve seen them pull just about every stunt in the book – switching the way they part their hair on random days, pretending to be the other when one of them gets in trouble, making money off classmates who bet on knowing who’s who (and lying on more than one occasion). Looking alike isn’t usually a point of contention between them.

When it does bother them, volleyball is usually involved. They don’t always wear different shirts or numbered jerseys at practice, and you’ve been to enough of them to know that this can cause issues at the beginning of the year. The coach calls out the wrong name, a teammate calls for Osamu when they mean Atsumu, things like that.

They get especially miffed when one gets praised for something the other did. Atsumu, in particular, hates that the most.

“Ya have anythin’ to eat?”

Head snapping up, you look at Osamu and nod halfway through absorbing what he’s just asked. “There’s leftover onigiri in the fridge and snacks in the cupboard,” you reply, stepping over Atsumu’s outstretched legs to lead his brother towards the kitchen.

(“Heat up an onigiri fer me,” Atsumu calls out.)

(“Get it yerself, lazy-ass,” Osamu shoots back.)

In the kitchen, you fish out the last two onigiri the twins’ mom had given you yesterday and present them to Osamu.

“Here. You and Atsumu can each have one.”

“These the ones with salted salmon?”

You nod.

Osamu thinks for a moment. His lips purse, his eyelids droop, and even though he kind of looks like a lunch lady with that shower cap on, it’s cute.

“I’ll make ochazuke and yaki onigiri,” he decides. “What do ya want?”

“I’ll just have some chips or something. I just ate lunch, so I’m not that hungry.”

He stares at you, then accepts the onigiri from your hands. “Okay.”

Putting the rice balls on the counter next to the stove, Osamu retrieves a small plate, a bowl, and a mug from the cupboard. He finds most of everything else pretty quickly – the cast iron skillet under the oven, the spatula in the drawer right next to the fridge, and the soy sauce and oil in the lower corner cabinet. The only thing he asks for you to locate is the green tea, which you get from the depths of the second shelf in the pantry.

While he works, you grab a bag of your favorite chips and pop it open, leaning against the unused counter on the other side of the stove to watch.

You like it whenever Osamu cooks. The click of the stovetop turning on, the curve of oil being poured into the skillet, and you’re rocking gently in a small boat, curled up in an overstuffed chair on a rainy day.

(It’s an extension of how he feels, you’ve learned – for as much as Miya Osamu loves volleyball, he loves food just a teeny bit more.)

When the oil is hot enough, he unwraps one of the onigiri and places it in.

You turn the opening of your chip bag towards him as he wipes his hands on a towel. “Here,” you offer once he notices.

“Thanks.”

Atsumu’s onigiri sizzles in the skillet while the water for Osamu’s tea continues to heat up. Osamu mirrors your posture on his side of the stove, messily crunching down on several chips, and the two of you wait.

“Didja apply for the manager position yet?”

You swallow too early, rough shards of chips cutting down your throat. Fighting the urge to cough, you shake your head and reach for the water you’d left on the table this morning. “No. Still thinkin’ about it.” He hums. “You guys haven’t found one yet?”

“Kobayashi-senpai’s real picky.” He flips the onigiri over with one sharp push of the spatula, brushing soy sauce over the freshly grilled side. The water boiler beeps right after, and he seamlessly transitions over to pour the hot water over the teabag in his mug. “Most of the applicants we saw were annoyin’, anyway.”

“Oh.”

You recall the last practice you’d attended, watching from the balcony with your homework as the team ran laps around the court. The applicant on trial that day had watched them go by a few times, still and proper, before suddenly turning to Kobayashi and excusing themselves from the gym. They never came back.

On the walk back to the dorms that evening, Atsumu explained that the student had a counter for how many times their soulmate would pass by them.

(“Waste of time n’ space,” he’d complained. “Who’d wanna be with someone that desperate?”)

“Ya wouldn’t be half bad at it.”

“… Yeah …”

“If ya don’t wanna apply, just say so.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t know if I’ll wanna do it for the next three years.”

“Whaddaya want to do, then?”

“I dunno.” With a sigh, you set your bag of chips down. “I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to apply.”

Osamu shrugs. “If ya are,” he says, turning off the stove top, “don’t do it just ’cause of me.”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip, sharp and knowing as he flips the yaki onigiri onto the plate he’d pulled out earlier.

After calling Atsumu, who had migrated to the living room couch while he had been waiting, the twins scarf down their afternoon snack in no time at all and raid your cupboard for the complimentary snacks your parents usually bring back from their trips.

Halfway into his fourth wafer, Atsumu’s timer goes off.

“Oh, shit.” Shoving the rest of the wafer into his mouth and silencing the alarm, Atsumu gets up and eagerly makes a beeline to the bathroom.

“… Do ya think it worked?” you mutter as you and Osamu stand up more slowly.

“I dunno.”

A loud swear explodes from the bathroom.

You look at each other sharply. Wiping the crumbs from your lips, the two of you run over to investigate.

As you get closer, you hear the sink running, then Atsumu muttering underneath his breath.

When you peek into the bathroom, your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit,” Osamu says, leaning past you to get a better look. “’Tsumu, ya look like a carrot.”

“Shaddup, ’Samu,” Atsumu moans, rinsing his hair angrily. “I know. Fuck.”

Hair bleach on dark hair, as you find out, works similarly to hair bleach on dark fabric. Contrary to the sandy blond the older twin had desired, the result he had gotten is instead a bright, burnt yellow-orange matching the stains on his T-shirt. Not carrot, necessarily, but definitely not blond.

“Ugh.” Nose and forehead wrinkling, Atsumu leans toward the mirror, pinching a section of hair between his fingers. “It … it ain’t that bad, right?” His pitch rises with the slightest hint of denial. “I’m pullin’ it off.”

“It’s that bad,” Osamu says.

“’Samu!”

“Maybe you can bleach it again?” you suggest.

“And then his hair falls out? Bad idea.”

“Dye it, then, like you are.”

“We don’t have money left to buy a different color.” With a sigh, Osamu puts his hands on his hips. “Damn. Sorry, ’Tsumu.”

Atsumu groans and thunks his forehead against the mirror, dripping water all the way down its surface onto the counter. His frustration is so palpable that you can feel it prickling your skin.

If he hadn’t been so excited before, you’d probably poke fun. You should poke fun, but the disappointed twist of his lips and the droopiness of his sopping wet hair just makes you feel bad. He looks like a wet puppy.

Dammit.

You take your phone out.

Osamu tracks the movement. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Lookin’ something up.” You press on the first link you see, skim the webpage quickly, and put your phone back into your pocket. “I’m headin’ out fer a bit. Stay here.”

“… ’Kay.”

“Whatever,” Atsumu grumbles.

After grabbing your wallet and checking its contents, you head outside to drag your bike out from underneath the vacant carport. And as you hop onto the seat, pedaling down towards the nearest drugstore, you tell yourself that Atsumu better thank you on his hands and knees once you get back.

—

“Blue shampoo?” Atsumu’s tone is suspicious as he slathers the back of Osamu’s hair in grey dye.

“It’s supposed to cancel out the orange.” Turning the bottle to face you, you read the description beneath the brand name. “‘Eliminates brassy, orange undertones.’ See?”

“It ain’t gonna fuck up my hair even more?”

“’Course not,” you retort, all hopes of veneration quickly fading away. “I ain’t an asshole, Atsumu.”

His eyebrow twitches, hands slowing. You take the opportunity to place the bottle sideways in the crook of his neck, forcing him to tilt his head to hold it in place.

“Oi –”

“Go try it. I’ll finish Osamu’s hair.”

“Yer so bossy,” Atsumu grumbles, but he lets you nudge him out the way, peeling his gloves off and grabbing the shampoo.

You snap some gloves on in turn, keeping one eye on Osamu’s hair and the other on Atsumu as he ducks his head beneath the sink faucet. They’d pretty much finished up applying the dye for Osamu, at least from what you can tell, so you start combing through the locks with your fingers to make sure everything is covered.

Miya hair is very thick. Soft, too. You hope all this bleaching and dyeing won’t ruin it too much.

“Hm,” Osamu hums abruptly.

You stop. “What?”

“Nothin’.” You furrow your brow but resume, only to just barely hear him mumble, “… Feels nice.”

Oh.

A smile crawls onto your lips without warning, the space behind your ribcage suddenly cozy and soft.

“Alright, I’m doin’ it,” Atsumu announces. You look up just in time to see him squeeze a dollop of shampoo into his hand. “Euch! It’s so blue!”

“Why do ya sound so surprised?!”

“Shaddup, I just wasn’t expectin’ it to be so dark! … Smells okay, though …”

While the shampoo does its work on Atsumu’s hair, you take a little extra time combing Osamu’s. He remains quiet and still, thumbs tapping idly on the dark screen on his phone. You wait for him to make more snide remarks at Atsumu’s expense or complain about the smell of the dye, but he doesn’t.

You eventually finish up while the water still runs blue and sudsy into the bowl of the sink. Osamu mutters a thank you and ambles off after eyeing his brother for a few seconds. You linger for a while longer.

(God, you hope it works. If not for Atsumu’s sake, then for your pride and your wallet.)

After what seems like forever, he rinses out the last of the shampoo, wrings his hair out a bit, and straightens up to look in the mirror.

You examine his reflection as well. It’s less orange, yes, but still not as light as he had wanted, more gold than sand. Not necessarily good, but certainly less bad.

Atsumu fixates on the more muted shade of his hair for a minute or two. His lips press downwards at the corners, and then they part to say your name.

You blink.

“What?”

“Why’d ya buy the shampoo?”

He sounds almost accusatory, but not quite; there’s an undertone that you very, very rarely hear in his voice. He meets your eyes in the mirror, hair a dripping, tangled mess.

“… ’Cause I felt bad fer ya,” you admit unwillingly. Atsumu makes a face, and you sharpen your tongue, because that is what feels comfortable with him. Normal. “And I didn’t want to hear ya mopin’ and complainin’ about it all week.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” he persists. “I coulda pulled it off.”

You scoff. “Just ’cause you’re taller than most of the school doesn’t mean they wouldn’t’a noticed. And anyways, it’s better now, ain’t it?”

“I didn’t ask ya to buy it.”

“Ya didn’t even know what it was until I told you.”

“An’ if I did, I still wouldn’t’ve asked!”

“Yeah, ’cause yer prideful ass would rather die than ask fer help!” you snap, jabbing his bicep with your finger. “God! I knew ya wouldn’t even say thank you!”

“Well, if ya knew I was gonna be a dick about it, why’d ya waste yer money?!”

“I felt bad fer ya!” you screech. “My mistake!”

“Yeah, yer mistake!” Atsumu shouts back.

Chest heaving for breath, you glare at him. He glares in return. Temper pinks his face and the tips of his ears, flares his nostrils and curls his lip in that fierce and familiar way. In the back of your mind, you know you are doing the same.

Asshole.

You’re angry, yes. And offended, and exasperated, and and and –

And hurt.

“It’s so hard,” you say, your voice deciding to crack at the worst time possible, “to be nice to you sometimes, Atsumu.”

When the words leave your throat, his face grows blank in that way you’ve always hated, his mouth pressing into a fine line.

“So?” he replies.

You roll your eyes. “Forget it.”

Casting one last glance at the bottle of shampoo next to the sink, you clench your fists and turn to leave. What a waste of money. This is the last time you’re ever going to feel bad for him.

A hand wraps around your elbow upon your first step outside the bathroom.

“… Are ya cryin’?”

“No,” you bite, wishing he hadn’t asked because now you do feel like crying, just a little bit.

Atsumu pauses for an excruciating moment. You can practically feel his distaste for whatever words he’s about to say.

“I’ll pay ya back,” he mutters. “Fer the shampoo.”

“No.”

“Whaddaya mean, no?”

“I don’t want yer money.”

“Well, what do ya want, ’cause I ain’t owin’ ya anything.”

“I want a thank you.”

“… Can’t I just –”

“No.”

Atsumu throws his hands up. “Fine!” he says. “Thanks fer buyin’ somethin’ I didn’t ask fer! There, ya happy now?”

“I want ya to mean it,” you say quietly.

“I did mean it.”

You cross your arms.

He groans. Glancing around as if checking for hidden cameras, Atsumu slowly pushes his bangs away from his face and wipes his nose, sniffing.

“… Fine,” he eventually grumbles at the floor tiles. Cheeks puffed, he looks up at you from the corner of his eye and scratches the back of his head. “The shampoo fixed it a little bit,” the words struggle their way out of his mouth, “so … thanks … fer gettin’ it fer me. Ya didn’t have to.”

He looks like he’s just eaten soap, his ears still red, and that’s how you know he’s being sincere. Your shoulders relax a little bit.

“You’re welcome,” you say.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Atsumu’s expression, almost doleful for just that moment, blooms into something more sarcastic once you accept his gratitude. He gestures at the doorway behind you. “Can I go now?”

“Dry the mirror and the counter first.”

“But I said thank you.”

You throw a towel at his face and walk away, more satisfied than not.

—

“How’s Osamu-kun doing?”

You prop your phone up against the wall behind your desk, tilting your pen between your fingers. “He’s fine, Ma.”

“Did ya tell him how good his curry is? He makes it better than me.”

“Yeah, he says he’s glad you guys like it.”

After resolving the blue shampoo issue with Atsumu on Saturday, you’d gone back to the kitchen and found Osamu chopping vegetables and tofu next to the sink. At first, you figured he was hungry again, but upon your questioning, he’d only denied it.

(“’S fer you.”

“… Fer me? No, you don’t have to –”

“Yeah, I know. Ya don’t like the curry at the cafeteria, so bring mine back to the dorm and save it in the fridge fer later. If ya don’t want it, leave it fer yer folks to eat when they get back.”)

He didn’t leave much room for debate. And since he was using your family’s food to make it anyway, you accepted, a bit perplexed but happy nonetheless. You hadn’t expected him to remember your complaint about the cafeteria’s bland curry.

The amount he made was enough to fill two Tupperware containers, one of which you left for your parents when they returned two days later. Needless to say, they were delighted.

“What a thoughtful boy. He’s so good to you, honey.”

You smile, walking back to your desk. “Yeah.”

(“Ya like dark chocolate in it, right?”)

Your mom sighs. It’s a familiar sigh, and you click your pen, knowing what she is about to say before she even takes a breath.

“I just don’t know why he hasn’t asked ya out yet.”

You can hear your dad speak up between chews in the background. “It ain’t like how it was back when we were young, dear. Soulmates these days don’t like makin’ things so formal and official.”

“Oh, I know, but wouldn’t it be sweet? I was so happy when we went on our first official date.”

“The one at the konbini ’cause I couldn’t afford anythin’ nicer?”

“Yes. I loved it.”

“I know. You were smilin’ the whole time.”

“Glad you’re still in love,” you say dryly when they giggle over the phone, your nose wrinkling when your dad comes into view to give your mom a loud smooch. During these moments, you wish you’d called instead. “I’m still here.”

“Oh, I know, I know. Honey, you should bring Osamu-kun somethin’ fer his next game! A snack fer afterwards. He’ll like that.”

“Okay.” You’ve done that before. The first time you gave him an orange in your first year of junior high, he and Atsumu squabbled over dividing it for five minutes. Now you get double portions whenever you have the compulsion to bring something after games, just to keep the peace.

“Speaking of games …”

Here we go.

“… Have ya applied to be the manager for the volleyball team yet?”

“Um.” Glancing at the wall to your right, you click your pen some more, taking your time to answer. “I filled the form out …”

“[Y/n]! If ya dawdle, someone else’ll snatch it up. When’s it due?”

“July first or until they find someone.”

“Turn it in tomorrow!”

“Okay, okay.”

Your mom sighs again, and she places a bowl down onto the table. “… Otherwise, are ya okay? I’m sorry we missed ya at home.”

“It’s fine. I hung out with Kokomi and the twins. How was yer anniversary?”

“We’ll make sure we’re home next time you’re on weekend leave. And it was lovely! Oh, honey, ya should’ve seen the fish yer pa caught …”

You talk with your parents until they finish their dinner, hanging up once they’ve started cleaning up. As soon as the video cuts out, you release a breath and turn your phone face-down.

You don’t know why you’re so nervous about applying for the manager position. It’s the natural thing to do, because it’s natural to want to be involved with something Osamu is interested in, his own opinion on the matter notwithstanding. You think you might like being a manager. It’s not like you want to do something else more.

Getting rejected by Kobayashi would be horrible, though.

Maybe you’ll wait a little longer to turn your application in. Polish it up some more, and such.

—

After volleyball practice ends, and after everyone who had lingered behind to practice some more is ready to call it a night, Atsumu tells you and Osamu that he’s staying a little longer to practice his jump float serves.

“Are ya sure? Cafeteria’s servin’ all-you-can-eat pasta for dinner.”

“I’ll be done before it closes.”

Osamu doesn’t look convinced. To be fair, neither are you; Atsumu often loses track of time when he stays behind, resulting in an extra hungry, extra irritable Atsumu.

“Atsumu,” you say.

He huffs at you. “Seriously, I will!” he insists, before turning to walk back to the end line. You, Osamu, Ginjima, Akagi, and Ojiro all look on helplessly as he throws a volleyball into the air and gives himself a running start.

“Don’t worry,” Kobayashi says, grabbing your attention just as he jumps. She holds up the key to the gymnasium. “I’ll kick him out before he misses dinner.”

Ojiro, ever the responsible one, lets out a noise of protest. “Senpai, I can lock up. You should go.”

“No, it’s fine.” Though her tone is impassive, she makes it clear that her mind is set as she waves him off. “I’m goin’ out to eat with my boyfriend later, anyway.”

You blink.

Though Ojiro is visibly reluctant, he acquiesces. “… Okay. Thank you, Kobayashi-senpai.”

“Mmhm,” Kobayashi hums, and her gaze falls upon you. “Make sure they get to the cafeteria in one piece, [L/n]-chan.”

“I will, senpai.”

You wait outside while the guys change out of their gym clothes and gather their things. Once they exit the building, you join them, listening idly to their chatter about today’s practice as the five of you trek towards the cafeteria.

“Hey, Ojiro-senpai, Akagi-senpai,” Ginjima speaks up during a lull in the conversation. “What Kobayashi-senpai said earlier …”

Attention piqued, you look at your upperclassmen for their reactions to Ginjima’s question. Next to you, Osamu does little to hide his curiosity as well.

Ojiro and Akagi, in turn, share a glance, and Ojiro raises an eyebrow at Ginjima.

“Yeah?” Ojiro replies.

“Well, y’know …” Ginjima presses expectantly, “when she said that she has a boyfriend, did she mean …?”

“That’s somethin’ you can ask Kobayashi-senpai about, ain’t it?”

You imagine doing just that and cringe.

Ginjima’s eyes widen, and he clears his throat. “Well –!” he replies, a bit too loudly. “I would, but I don’t want her to think I’m bein’ judgmental or somethin’. Plus, I’m just a first-year …”

“Aw, I think it’s fine if they know, Aran. It ain’t like she’s hidin’ it or anythin’,” Akagi says. Ojiro looks up for a moment in thought, then shrugs tentatively, and Akagi smiles at you and the two boys. “Kobayashi-senpai’s not datin’ her soulmate. They’re pretty serious, too.”

Ojiro rests his hands behind his head. “He’s a nice guy. Comes to games sometimes.”

“Oh, I see …”

You nod slowly, absorbing this new piece of information. Kobayashi has a boyfriend. A boyfriend that she goes on dates with, one she really likes. You wonder how long they’ve been together.

You wonder if Kobayashi’s met her soulmate yet.

“E-Excuse me! Hello!”

The quick patter of footsteps interrupts your train of thought. Glancing behind you, you stop short when you see one of your classmates running up to your group, waving one hand and holding a camera in the other. The golden orange of the sky burnishes her red hair.

“Naruko-san,” you and Ginjima greet at the same time. Ginjima laughs.

“Sorry to bother ya!” Naruko bows and quickly straightens, holding her camera up and smiling nervously. “I-I was just takin’ some pictures for photography club, and I was wonderin’ if you guys would mind me takin’ a picture?”

“How long’s it gonna take?” Osamu asks.

“Not too long. Five minutes? U-Unless y’all are in a hurry to get somewhere …”

“Not too much of a hurry. Just wanna make it to dinner.” Ojiro smiles, patting Osamu and Akagi’s backs. “Where do ya want us?”

Naruko brightens, her cheeks going red. “J-Just keep walkin’! The lighting’s perfect right now, and I wanna take a picture of yer backs with yer volleyball jackets on.” She glances at you, and her expression grows more nervous. “Er …”

You lock eyes with her for a few seconds before catching on. Nodding, you take a step towards Naruko to join her.

Osamu’s hand grasps your shoulder.

His hold is loose, but you bite back the urge to slump over at the sudden warmth of it, pausing instead to look back at him.

“Where’re ya goin’?”

You answer tentatively. “I don’t have a team jacket.”

“That’s fine. You’re walkin’ with us too.”

“Yeah, but …” You wet your lips. “Like, visually, it’ll look weird if one person doesn’t have one on …”

The corner of Osamu’s mouth twitches, and he frowns. You watch as his gaze moves past your shoulder. A sudden, brief twinge of irritation, not belonging to you, zings through your ribcage.

“Why’s that matter?”

“Yeah. C’mon, it’ll be fine,” Ojiro says.

“It’s okay!” Naruko suddenly blurts, and you jolt slightly, looking back at her. She bounces on her feet, voice even higher pitched. “I can do a more candid shot, now that I think about it! A-Actually, Miya-san, could ya give [L/n]-san yer jacket? And Ginjima-san, you can keep yers around yer waist …”

Her sudden change in idea perplexes you a bit. But Osamu seems to be satisfied, and he shrugs his jacket off, placing it over your shoulders.

After a bit of hesitation, you slide your arms through the sleeves.

(It’s just as warm.)

“Ooh, [L/n]-chan’s wearin’ Osamu’s jacket,” Ginjima teases behind his hand, and your face heats up.

“Okay.” Behind you, Naruko lets out a wistful-sounding sigh. “I’m ready. Y’all can start walkin’ now, just like ya were before.”

With only a bit of self-consciousness, the five of you follow her instructions. There are only a few clicks of the camera before Naruko calls out her thanks and goes off without another word, leaving you and the boys to speculate whether you’ll ever see the results.

“How cute,” Akagi comments. “She looked like she was gonna throw up, though.”

“I hope those were conflicting statements.”

“Okay, Aran, I wasn’t implying …”

While the two upperclassmen start to banter, you move to take Osamu’s jacket off, only for him to stop you.

“’S fine,” he says. “You can wear it if ya want.”

“Oh. Okay.”

And so you do.

—

The boys’ first practice game in July is brutal.

Many of your peers have come to watch. It’s a favorite after-school pastime of Inarizaki’s student populace, you’ve quickly discovered, to hop from one athletic club to the other simply to spectate and speculate. People pack the balcony and peek around the doorway, catching the scent of blood and sweat.

Between the crowd’s cheering and jeering, the squeak of sneakers on the gym floor, and the sound of palms ramming into volleyballs, the atmosphere is sharp, almost electric – something that you feel tingling on your skin as you stand on the sidelines, Kobayashi right by your side.

Atsumu delivers another devastating service ace. It ricochets off the corner of the other side of the court with a thunderous boom.

“Did you catch that, [L/n]-chan?” Kobayashi asks, arms crossed. “That was one of his better ones.”

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t.”

“Hm.”

You watch the slow, satisfied stretch of Atsumu’s smile, and wait patiently. “It’s okay. He ain’t done yet.”

Indeed, Atsumu is just getting started. You spare an amused glance at Osamu in front of the net, his hands locked protectively behind his head, before turning back to Atsumu as the volleyball is thrown back to him.

Raising your camera, you adjust the focus, finger ready on the shutter button.

Toss. Run. Jump.

Click.

On your other side, a girl pumps her fists and cheers.

“Wow! Another one!” she gushes.

You smile behind your lens. “Ya always sound so impressed, Tsubaki-chan.”

“I’m just excited! We’re crushin’ them in the last set!”

“’Course we are,” says Kobayashi. “Our offense is that much better. I’m a little disappointed.”

As your upperclassman patiently points out each player’s strengths and weaknesses, you keep an eye on the team and crouch low. You’ve got plenty of photos now that the game’s nearing its end – lots of sets, a few spikes and digs, some flashy jump serves. Hopefully, some of them have turned out halfway decent. Even though you’d widened the aperture to make up for the gym’s crappy lighting and adjusted the shutter speed for blurring, you still worry about your timing.

By the time Inarizaki scores the winning point, you’ve moved to the opposite end of the court and have to race back to capture their reactions.

One thing you like about the volleyball team is how expressive they are. Joy, passion, pride – off the high of a victory, they bare everything, whether it’s through their expressions or the way they move or both.

Tsubaki says your name excitedly as soon as the teams have finished thanking each other, tugging on your arm. “Can I see the action shots, [Y/n]-chan?” she requests.

“Ah, sure.”

You turn the camera towards her, and she leans in as you scroll through the photos, her grin widening.

“Wow! Yer timin’s amazin’. They look so cool!”

The praise brings summer to your cheeks. “Thanks,” you reply genuinely. After a moment of hesitation, you lift the camera again. “Smile, Manager-san?”

Tsubaki doesn’t hesitate to broaden her already present grin, throwing up a peace sign for good measure. Kobayashi looks your way as well, and you take one shot, knowing it will be kept.

“Cute!” Tsubaki exclaims.

Two shadows loom over your shoulders as the girl bestows you with another compliment. When you turn your head to the right, your nose nearly brushes Osamu’s cheek.

“Ya got any good shots of us, [Y/n]?” Atsumu asks expectantly.

“Yes, actually, I did,” you reply, going back through the camera roll with a particular image in mind. You’re only vaguely aware of the warmth they exude as they budge into your personal space, the smell of sweat lingering on their skin. “Here.”

You’re particularly proud of this one. It had been a split second of pure luck, standing on the sidelines when a window of opportunity opened for a fast-tempo set. You had felt it – you knew Atsumu would set to Osamu, and as Osamu jumped, arm reared back as Atsumu sent the ball to him, you had captured it.

Somehow, you always get the timing right with them.

“Cool,” the twins approve proudly.

“Email that one to us, will ya?” Atsumu says. “I ain’t lettin’ you photography nerds hoard it away.”

“She’s sendin’ all these to Arata-senpai, ya dolt.”

“Hey, I wanna see!” Gintama breaks into your little group, trying to sneak a peek in. “Did ya get one of my spikes?”

“Yeah, how about my jump serve?”

“That super cool block me and Ren did in the second set!”

“Didja get one of Coach?”

One by one, the team gathers around you, eager for a glimpse of their successes. The crowding is uncomfortable, but you try your best to show them what you can anyway, feeling a rare sense of pride about your own accomplishments.

You’re happy with your choice.

Tsubaki will be a great manager. Even when you first met her, you knew she had everything she'd need for the job – a passion for the sport, a desire to help others succeed, and an endless amount of perseverance. Inarizaki couldn’t ask for a better person to replace Kobayashi next year. She’ll do well in what she’s decided to do.

And so will you.

—

#haikyuu #hq #miya atsumu x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya atsumu #miya osamu #miya atsumu x reader x miya osamu #haikyuu fanfiction #reader insert #fem!reader #soulmate au #yeah i got carried away LOL #the miya twins giving themselves terrible dye jobs lives rent free in my head #atsumu's especially. i KNOW they screwed up with his #that color looks way too close to a bleach gone wrong on black hair and he just made it his brand for the rest of high school #this is spiraling i am spiraling #kobayashi i'll miss you i loved thinking you up #the five nonsenses

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laylawatermelon · 24 days

Text

Side Eyes or Raised Eyebrows

Buddie: Marketing Tatic or Something Else?

Hello! Back on my big brain I cant sleep stuff.

I've been a Buddie fan for over a few months now (idk how time works) and have lived through the beautiful bi buck confirmation.

Now I do have some think pieces about queer representation in American media and in different countries (i literally spend all my time watching tv I'm a conessiur or sorts) and how they differ on impact/deal with issues etc.

What I woke up thinking about is something that's bugging me a bit about Oliver and his interviews.

If we're (both the ga and buddie fans) supposed to be convinced about this new relationship the writing and promotion MUST be changed.

Let me explain.

Tommy, Tevan whatever you want to call it is Buck's newest relationship.

It's a new relationship with a similar set up/feeling around it.

The only way I think Buddie can be override/mitigated is if they have a doctor love interest who consistently stays over the course of seasons who has their own backstory and storyline.

I'm starting to swing my eyes at ABC and their marketing team now.

Madney's wedding coming up and we barely saw either of them ( granted kudos on keeping this all under wraps y'all) and they've been hanging a shiny bell in front of us as distraction like a baby.

Look at the shiny buddie then BAM character death!

Please don't take this serious, please don't take this serious, Tim! PLEASE don't take this serious.

But anyways, I have been thinking about Oliver and all of his recent press and just the way Busdie has been uttered and whipped around like a tennis ball.

He currently has a boyfriend but the way it's been discussed and portrayed has me a bit dazed.

I wanna be a bit objective (I'm asking the big questions here)

The main problem is the Buddie relationship and how it's portrayed/written and had continued to be this season.

If you compare the past seasons and how they've developed as let's face it a couple, because there's no way to deny it as they've been written to parallel in unverse and other show romantic heterosexual relationships.

They quite literally qualified for a queer platonic relationship (if you wanted to view it that way. I however have not. I say let the gays free!/j)

If they intended for it to be platonic let it BE platonic.

They shouldn't be doing an if, of the gender was swapped would it be romantic/ship coded?

They literally have that in the show already. Bobby and Chim, Bobby and Eddie, hell Chim and Eddie (do they even have solo scenes together???).

Bathena is a blatant parallel. The main one almost beat for beat is the orchard shooting and the hostage situation. (Pretty sure it's the same season I believe)

But those are just some examples of the show.

My main gripe is if it's not about buddie don't make it/lean to heavily into it as it can backfire.

I'm not gonna lie, bi buck episode was a bait and switch (beautifully done and still very infuriating all the same).

Oliver I gotta bone to pick with you (I really don't I'm side eyeing the network i know they approve questions).

He's also a Buddie warrior so I can't really fault him on how he talks about it it's been like 6 years he's had the same partner with the domestic (cough sexual tension cough) with.

So I don't really blame him tbh.

*Swings around and points fonger at marketing team*

It's all your fault.

I know the episode will feature Madney (duh it's their wedding episode and I'm ready to cry) but I'm pretty sure there could've been another way to advertise this occasion.

Use flyers (similar to the ones used to say that one of the dispatch crew was attending) to get fans buzzed about watching the show in a few weeks as though they're rsvp'ing, talk about past scenes, more interviews centering the couple and what they thought about the episode, a promotional photoshoot?

Photoshoot in a magazine with jlh and Ken would've been really cute. Madney fans would then be happy. (I'm included🙋🏾‍♀️ give the beautiful couple their photos i wanna see it😤 my little queer heart and eyes demands it)

Literally would've been the perfect time to pair up with some wedding magazine or something. Literally a million ways to go about it.

Madney in formal wedding clothes, then a dystopian kind of dress clothes to reflect the chaotic wedding ending.

Use a highlight reel.

Similar you are cordially invited to a 911 wedding -

Show madney karaoke, engagement ring being missing, proposal, hugs after hostage, this season cute date idea and excitement for the wedding then a simple where's chimney.

Then put the bachelor stuff then have him crawling.

Something as simple as that puts more of the focus on madney visually and marketing wise.

For the interviews they could've split it between Oliver talking about bisexuality and the other two talking about relationship and the high beats and low beats and how it felt to play.

How their relationship developed as costars and what the characters mean to them.

Split it down the middle so both fans are appeased.

I am a fan of all characters and this is really funny because I the first half of this one morning I woke up before the scene was even mentioned being cut but i was like there's a shift in something and it's not good🤣 as expected something went wrong)

Though I'm pretty sure the fans of both will be happy because Buddie are going to be the comic relief so they'll have a decent amount of time as the blockers so to say because we will know who's gonna kidnap Chimney. He only had one enemy??

But yeah this was a Tuesday thing I wrote and it's now very hilarious in hindsight and in the future.

Happy Madney day i guess!

This will be linked to Twitter cause whew...

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candyflossfairy · 1 year

Text

𝐺𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝑜𝑛 — 𝟶𝟷

—𝟶𝟷. 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑦

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: Corroded Coffin is an up-and-coming band gaining traction quickly; however, their lead singer just left to go solo. After finding a flyer advertising that they were holding an audition to find a new lead singer, you decide to take a chance and go for it. 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 18+ only, Wet dreams, fingering, petnames.

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 3.3k

This was it. It was your big break. Your opportunity. Your time to shine. Well… maybe not quite yet. You had to get through the audition first, and get the spot in the band, but… well, Corroded Coffin was up and coming. They’d already hit radio stations in your city, and when you’d seen the flyer that they were looking for a new lead singer you just… had to try.

It was a sign. It had to be.

Not to mention, hanging out with a bunch of cute boys and making music didn’t sound bad at all.

Even though this was a total long shot and you had to be amazing for them to pick you since their old lead singer was a guy. Their songs were made for a guy to sing, not a girl. Even still. You had to try.

You had to.

You stood outside in the line of others auditioning, every one of you dressed up in your best rocker attire. You thought a little cleavage and fishnets didn’t hurt, and you were the only girl in the line other than girlfriends who seemed to come and support their boyfriends in auditioning.

You were alone. You hadn’t told anyone what you were doing, out of fear of jinxing it. Your guitar was in its case at your side, being your only companion as you slowly moved up in the line.

Finally, you were inside and signed in with your name and phone number. The attendant handed you a number that you pinned on your shirt. Number seventy-six. Seventy-five other people were auditioning ahead of you, and god knows how many were after you. Your chances felt even slimmer.

Still, you would do your absolute best.

You sat with the others who were waiting to audition as another attendant called a number every once in a while. Your knee bounced with jitters as you played through the song you were going to sing and play for them in your head.

You had this.

“Seventy-six!”

Fuck. You were going to throw up.

You stood and grabbed your guitar case with shaking hands as you walked up to the attendant. It was only then that you noticed all of the stares. You were the only girl there; of course, people were staring.

“You’re seventy-six?” The attendant asked as if to check once more.

You nodded, wetting your lips. “I do have the number on.”

The attendant seemed to want to say something else but just opened the door for you.

You took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Sitting on one side of the room behind a table were the members of the band; and, of course, their manager. Your cheeks turned a little pink as they were all staring at you, surprised.

One of them, however, was grinning way too widely at you.

“Welcome to the audition. I’m Eddie. This is Gareth, Billy, Jonathan, and Steve; our manager.”

“Hi,” You greeted.

“Can we get your name, sweetheart?” Eddie asked.

You stated it, and then sat your guitar case on the floor to unlatch it and pull out your guitar as they scribbled down notes on their papers.

“Do you need anything? Maybe a bottle of water?” Steve spoke up next, leaning back way too far in his chair. He looked very different from the rest of them, more preppy boy than a rockstar. That was probably why he was their manager, you thought.

“Oh, a bottle of water would be nice.” You smiled.

Steve snapped, and the door attendant brought one over to you. You plugged in your guitar before flicking on the provided amp and stepping up to the microphone. It was a small room, so the volumes on both were pretty low. Shockingly, the acoustics in the room were very good.

You took a sip from the water before picking up your pick and giving your guitar a quick strum.

“What are you playing for us today?” Billy asked another person who looked way more pretty boy than rock band, but you couldn’t judge.

“A Rose Bush Symphony.” You stated one of their songs, and they all looked intrigued.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Eddie nodded.

You took a deep breath before you started strumming the opening notes on your guitar. It was only a little off with it lacking a drum beat behind it, but they were already aware of that.

This, in all honesty, was probably the best you’d played in a while. It was a good feeling, and you forgot that it was an audition at all as you strummed and sang along and hopped around like you were on a stage, playing at your own concert.

By the end, you were getting the big O from the band. A standing ovation.

“Damn, didn’t expect that from you.” Billy laughed, clapping slowly.

You licked your lips and flipped off the amp before unplugging your guitar.

“Thank you guys for this opportunity, I appreciate it.” You smiled at them as they started discussing quietly among themselves. You placed your guitar back into its case and closed it before standing.

“Have a good day, sweetheart. You’ll be hearing from us.” Eddie finger waved at you before Steve whacked him in the back of his head.

“What he means is that we’ll be discussing. If we pick you, you’ll hear from us in a few days. Thank you for coming.” Steve nodded to you.

“Thank you guys, again.” You gave them all a smile before leaving the room.

Jesus Christ.

They were a rowdy bunch. Whatever happened now, you did your absolute best. You knew you did. You were proud, regardless of if you got the position or not. You nodded to yourself and released a breath before heading home.

An hour car ride later you were back; you quickly put up your guitar before heading to work.

You stepped into the back of the dive bar and punched in before heading to the bar.

“Hey, Rudy.” You greeted your coworker. He was around your age and not bad looking — but definitely not your type. He smelled like an ashtray even though you knew he got good grades in school.

“Hey.” He grinned at you as you stepped up to take a patrons order.

Twelve orders later and the bar was pretty satisfied for the moment. You leaned against the back counter next to Rudy.

“Sooooo… how are things going?” He asked.

“Fine. Normal. Totally normal.” You sputtered.

“Sounds like things are not normal.” He laughed, grabbing you both a bottle of water.

“Oh, you know. I just… maybeauditionedtobecorrodedcoffinsleadsingertoday. Nothing crazy.” You laughed.

“I’m… You what?” He looked at you, confused.

“I… auditioned… to be—”

“Wait, wait, you’re telling me you actually auditioned somewhere?! That’s amazing!” He laughed, pulling you in for a back-slapping hug.

“Yes, yeah, I did. Actually. Corroded Coffin is looking for a new lead singer.” You told him after he let go of you.

“Corroded Coffin? Oh, honey. You could’ve picked any bar in town to play by yourself, and your first audition in years you picked something you can’t get?” He shook his head, “You’re just trying to put yourself down. I see what you’re doing.”

“Why—who says I can’t get it?” You huffed.

“C’mon. Their lead singer was a guy. They’re looking for another guy. They recorded their old songs with a guy. They’re not going to change their whole thing for some girl.”

Ouch.

“Well, nice to know I’m just some girl—”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I just mean that you’re not… that’s a total different level and you haven’t performed in a long time.” He explained.

“I am very aware how—”

“Ay! Gimmie another beer!”

You sighed and grabbed a fresh glass, pouring the mans draft for him before sliding it over and grabbing his ticket to add it to his tab.

“Look. I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just think you should’ve picked something more on your current level before you went straight for the big leagues.” Rudy bit his lip.

“They’re not a huge band or anything. They’re just… up and coming.” You tapped your fingers against the counter.

“They’re the biggest thing Indiana has had in a while.” He looked at you.

“Okay, I know it was stupid to think I could actually get it, but it got me back into it anyways, right? Like, that’s the scariest thing I’ll ever have to do unless my own career takes off, right?” You pointed out.

“Alright, alright. Just don’t get upset when they don't call you.” He sighed heavily.

“I won’t,” You promised.

Your shift ended around three a.m. and you drove back home. Rudy really did a number on your confidence levels, even though the band seemed to be excited about you after your audition.

Then again, maybe they acted that excited about everyone, just to make them feel better.

After a quick shower — and maybe a quick crying session in said shower, you were in bed; dreaming of what will never be.

Your pussy clenched tightly around his fingers as they pumped in and out of you, his mouth on your pert nipple; sucking, nipping. His fingers curled inside of you, pressing right into that spongey spot in you that made your back arch high and a moan leave your lips.

“Eddie—” You whimpered, “Please!” You cried out.

“Please what, sweetheart?” He looked up at you with those pretty brown eyes, his lips glistening slightly.

“Plea—”

You shot up out of bed at the loud ringing that flowed through your house, your cheeks flushed a deep red as you tried to catch your breath. It had been a long time since you’d had a wet dream, and even longer since you’d had one about a literal stranger.

The phone rang again, and you scrambled out of bed, trying to ignore the tingling between your legs as you made your way into the kitchen.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Hi, this is Steve Harrington with Corroded Coffin, how are you doing today?”

Oh shit. “Hi! Hi! I’m doing great, how are you?”

“Great, actually. We were really impressed by your audition and wanted to see if you could come in today and play with the band as a sort of callback situation.”

“Oh, oh shit, yeah! Absolutely! What time, and where?”

Steve gave you a time and an address, which you scribbled down on the palm of your hand.

You didn’t have much time to get ready. It was about an hour drive to Hawkins; but you would make it. Thank God you showered last night.

You slapped on some makeup and clothes; including the fishnets again because they seemed to give you good luck yesterday.

The drive into Hawkins was filled with you listening to the one Corroded Coffin CD you had, trying to make sure you knew the lyrics to most of the songs at least. You did know them; but you wanted to be sure.

Where you pulled up, after following the side streets, was a house. The garage door was open, and the band was all in it, laughing and talking together. Your nerves welled up once more, but you took a deep breath and got out, grabbing your guitar case from the back seat.

“There she is!” Eddie was the first to greet you with a wide grin and a wave. You smiled back and tried not to blush too hard as you remembered your dream from last night.

“Surprised?” Billy asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“A bit, yeah.” You admitted, placing your guitar case down.

“Well, don’t be nervous. You’re mostly just hanging out today.” Steve told you with a kind smile.

“I’m more surprised that we’re in a garage.” You laughed.

“Yeah, it’s Gareth’s. This is where we started.” Jonathan piped up. He wasn’t paying much attention to you as he was tuning his guitar.

"Cool," You nodded.

"You want a beer or anything?" Eddie asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked way too smug, and you couldn't help but wonder why.

"Maybe later? Beer isn't exactly good for the vocal chords." You laughed, pulling your guitar from its case.

"Well shit, look at her. She knew something that you didn't." Billy teased Eddie, slapping him on the back.

"Yeah, yeah. It's good to know, though. For concerts." Eddie huffed, walking over to grab his guitar.

Everyone got into place with their instruments, Billy on drums, Gareth on bass, Jonathan on rhythm guitar, and Eddie on lead. You, in all technicalities, didn't need your guitar. It was a comfort object for now.

"Alright, let's start off with A Rose Bush Symphony since we know you know that one." Steve piped up, taking a seat off to the side.

The drums started and you tried to not shake as you strummed the opening notes at the same time as Eddie, taking a deep breath before you started to sing.

"Alright, alright! Free concert’s over. Everyone shuffle along!" Steve shouted over the crowd you had accumulated in the driveway.

All of you were sweaty, despite the cool air. Spirits and adrenaline were high. You’d just played your first concert, and everyone enjoyed it. There had even been shouting for “Encore! Encore!” You felt lucky that you knew the lyrics to their songs. At some point, your guitar had been put down and you’d taken the microphone in hand, hopping around and playing off of everyone else’s energy. If you asked yourself, you fit right in. You just hoped the others thought the same.

“How about that beer?” Eddie laughed, brushing his bangs back. He’d pulled his hair up into a bun between songs around midway through to get it off of his neck.

Billy had done the same, but had also shed his shirt. You were trying to not drool over all of them. With their arms out and their skin glistening.

“A beer sounds great.” You smiled, your voice a little raspy from overuse. You’d definitely have to train it up if this was going to happen.

Gareth and Jonathan stepped inside of the house to grab everyone a beer while Steve approached you and gave you a pat on the back.

“Well, I think that answers that. We can draw up a contract tomorrow. How does that sound?” He grinned at you.

“You mean it?” You asked, a little giddy.

“Of course. You rocked the fuck out of that crowd!” Billy barked a laugh, finally standing up from his drum set. You got an eyeful of his abs and had to look away from him to keep from blushing.

“You don’t live around here, right?” Eddie piped up.

“No, I’m about an hour north.” You nodded.

“We’ll look into finding you a place here. We’ve already booked a few gigs out of state, so it’ll be tour bus city for the next month anyways.” Steve told you.

You went a little wide-eyed.

“We’re not that big, yet. What he means is we’ll be high tailing it out of here in about a week in a couple of vans. After these gigs, we should be able to afford an actual tour bus to take a US tour.” Eddie explained.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just dreaming big for us.” Steve huffed.

Gareth and Jonathan came back with the beers, passing them out. Gareth gave you a shy smile as he handed one to you, and you smiled back.

“What about my job?” You asked.

“This is your job now, baby.” Billy grinned.

“If you want, to save money, you can even live with us. You’ll have to get used to sleeping in hotel rooms and vans with us anyways.” Eddie pointed out.

“Can I think about it?” You prompted, not certain you really wanted to move in with five boys. That would be…definitely a lot. Especially if they weren’t clean.

“Yeah, of course. I didn’t think you would want to do that anyways. That’s why I didn’t suggest it. Living together permanently and sleeping in the same area for a month are completely different.” Steve said, shooting a look at Eddie, who held his hands up.

“We’d have to move our shit around anyways.” Jonathan huffed. “There’s not enough room.”

“Don’t be like that. We had room when Tommy was with us, we have room for her.” Billy grunted.

“I don’t want to impose.” You frowned.

“You wouldn’t be. Jonathan just takes a while to warm up to people. Don’t mind it.” Steve rolled his eyes.

You nodded, but you still couldn’t shake the feeling that Jonathan really didn’t like you. He barely spoke around you — the same could be said for Gareth, but at least Gareth smiled at you. He came off as shy more than he did mean.

After a little more chatting between you, Steve, Billy, and Eddie — with Jonathan randomly chiming in and Gareth saying absolutely nothing — they decided to take you back to their house to give it a look over, just so you could see what you would be getting into if you did end up moving in.

It was a pretty normal-looking house from the outside, but on the inside, it was… cleaner than you expected. There was a handful of dishes in the sink, but the counters were clean and organized, the couch was lacking stains, and the TV even had a VHS player and an NES attached to it.

Downstairs were two rooms, Steve and Billys, and upstairs were another three; Jonathans, Eddies, and Gareths. Steve and Billy were happy to show you their rooms, both clean for the most part — only a stray T-shirt or a cluttered vanity showing any mess. Eddie and Jonathan said no, Eddie being more sheepish about it and Jonathan being more… fuck you about it.

Gareths room was the last one, and his was spotless and organized. You suddenly knew who kept the kitchen so clean.

“So, if I did live here…where would my room be?” You asked, as the six of you came back down the stairs.

“Oh, right. This way.” Steve said, leading the group through the kitchen. He slid open the glass door to the backyard and headed towards a rather large shed.

He opened up the door and stepped in, you stepped in after him.

“We’ve been using it for storage, but this is where Tommy stayed. There’s heat and air, and no issues with bugs or anything. We can move all of this junk to the basement and attic; we just got lazy.” Steve explained.

It was just one big room with a couple of windows. There wasn’t that much stuff in it, really, but there was carpet on the floor and the walls were painted, so it was, really, like a room.

“The only downside is you have to come inside for a bathroom,” Eddie said quickly. “But you get to control your own temperature which is really nice!”

You nodded slowly, mulling it over in your head. It wouldn’t be an awful setup, honestly. You could see where your bed would go, and your desk, and you could get a vanity for your makeup and—there was even a closet.

“What’s this?” You asked, bending over to pick up an old shoe box at the bottom of the closet.

“Nothing!” All of the boys seemed to chorus at once, and before you knew it the shoe box was out of your hands.

You looked at them suspiciously. “It’s not drugs, right?” You asked.

“No! God, no.” Eddie laughed. “The worst we ever have here is weed. It’s just — This was Tommy’s. We should really get it back to him.”

“Yeah, Tommy is like.. Super protective of his stuff. He just forgot it.” Billy nodded.

“...ooookay, weirdos.” You pushed passed them and back into the room.

“My lease is up soon anyways, so… I don’t see why I can’t move here.” You told them.

“Awesome. We’ll start cleaning this shit up, and you can start packing. We need you back here tomorrow for the contract, and then we’re going to rerecord some songs with your vocals. Sound good?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, cool. I’ll be back tomorrow then."

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seiunzzz · 6 months

Text

XDINARY HEROES AS AESTHETICS.

🌐 seya : before we dive into an amazing world of web-aesthetics, there are few things that i’d like to point out. first of all, i chose aesthetic for each member based solely on my associations with their vibe. meaning: i associate the vibe of aesthetic with them, rather than the history behind it. secondly, some of the information was gathered from such sites as:

https://cari.institute/aesthetics.

https://www.are.na.

https://eyeondesign.aiga.org.

now that we got that out of the way — enjoy!

𝐠𝐨𝐨 𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐥 : 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐂𝐇

“baby boomer & silent generation revival of various 1940s-1950s cultural iconography, design, and kitsch associated with diner, drive-in's and malt shop culture. jukeboxes, poodle skirts, 1950s advertising kitsch, neon, chromed-out automobiles, metallic paneling, 'american graffiti'-style fonts.” — ©️ cari institute.

diner kitsch – aesthetic familiar to everyone, yet not that many people know it’s actual name (or that it is, in fact, an aesthetic!). checkered floors and walls, milkshakes, burgers, neon signs and, of course, waitresses on roller skates — these things define diner kitsch. originating from 1950s, when diners were seen as a place, where you could enjoy a hearty comfort food and have a good time with your family or friends it was finally revived in our years through media that depicts mainly high schoolers or travelers of any sorts, going out for a dinner.

🌐 seya : i chose diner kitsch for gunil because he is literally the embodiment of a nerdy boy who would definetely hang out with his group of friends in a place like that. doing homework, reading comics, getting cookies on the house because of how often they visit a diner… 🥤🍔 yum!

𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐮 : 𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐑

“the term neon-noir is a film genre, but it can also represent an aesthetic. this aesthetic includes a brooding, mysterious, cyberpunk, and dangerous atmosphere. the neon-noir aesthetic can be related somewhat to the sibling-genre neo-noir (without the “n”), including avant-garde fashion, femme fatale style, dark clothing, technology, and neon lights.” — ©️ wendy zhou (from her blog wendyzhou.se)

neon-noir (also known as future-, cyber-, tech-noir) was born in the film industry around 1980s, when sci-fi was blooming yet again. not so popular in web, it is still quite known in gamer community, thanks to such games like “cyberpunk 2077”, “anno mutationem”, “blade runner” etc. this aesthetic is mixing old-school noir with futuristic elements, giving it a whole new look. neon signs, robots, androids, futuristic technology are going hand in hand with good old detective genre, accented shadows, rain and fog.

🌐 seya : i find this aesthetic to be the most suiting to jungsu. i can imagine him in this type of setting so well and i’d actually like to read or even write something, where he is portrayed as a detective in a mysterious and futuristic setting!

𝐤𝐰𝐚𝐤 𝐣𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 : 𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐗

“rule-bending, medium-blending "instagram grunge". full of horror vacui, chrome type, oddball textures and self-referentialism.” — ©️ cari institute.

originated in the 1990s and revived in 2010s, acidgrafix (also known as: acid graphics and acid design) aesthetic is mainly seen nowadays on the covers of music albums. bright colors (usually red, orange and neon green, neon yellow, neon purple), wireframes, distorted images, liquid metal forms – all of these are key elements of acidgrafix. the term acid, as you might’ve already guessed, came from the acid house and rave culture. it first appeared on flyers, used to promote and to invite people to raves. smiley faces (of course, resembling nothing else but the actual drug), op-art-esque patterns, sci-fi futurism – all of these were such an eye candy for party-goers, that soon enough this style overtook the music industry. after being long forgotten in the 00s, acidgrafix finally found it’s new home in instagram, where musicians would design their insta-stories and albums with all of the key details of this aesthetic.

🌐 seya : aaand this is the part that i was worried about the most. this aesthetic took it’s origins not from the best culture, but i still find it’s style being quite suiting for gaon. it’s bright, innovative and bold – just like he is!

𝐨𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧 : 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐊

"the millennial and gen-z iteration of edgy grunge aesthetics, associated closely with "pop punk" and the store hot topic." — ©️ cari institute.

*puts a cd in the drive, "girlfriend" by avril lavigne starts playing* now that we're in the mood, let us find out what the hell is a teen punk. the dirty, the angry, the free and THE wild – this aesthetic conveys the whole essence of the rebellious period that every teenager eventually goes through. you can usually see this movement being expressed through clothes, style, make up and, most importantly, music, rather then the way you could draw something or edit a photo. mainly seem in early 00s, teen punk found it's new home in hearts of people through nostalgia that overtook us all as soon as pandemic started. this aesthetic combines different colors like foggy green and blue, obviously black, red and pink (yes, the tricolor of emo aesthetic is very important here). essential details of teen punk are denim jackets, torn jeans, big ass t-shirts with logos of musical groups, fishnets and those humongous military boots that everyone used to wear. the pioneers of this movement are mainly musical artists, like the infamous avril lavigne, all-time favorites my chemical romance, green day, paramore etc.

🌐 seya : now i need you to look me dead in the eyes and say that THIS isn't his aesthetic. bro literally dresses as if hot topic was more grunge and still managed to survive.

𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐮𝐧 : 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐈 𝐏𝐎𝐏

"first wave of corporate appropriation of graffiti culture. typically includes urban streetscapes & iconography contemporary to the time period (eg. trash cans, brick walls, chain link fencing, street lamps, sidewalks, industrial elements, general 'urban decay'). it's also associated with that eras' portrayal of street, hip hop, & punk culture." — ©️ cari institute.

disclaimer: this part is mostly retelling of an article from this site: https://www.grafftergallery.com/2023/08/graffiti-pop-art-vivid-intersection-of.html | i really don't think that i would be able to express myself better than they already did, so let me give the credit to the rightful authors!

this aesthetic is a firm proof of the dynamic between street culture and the world of art that was born in early 80s and was especially popular till the 00s. bright colors, bold splashes of different patterns, provocative slogans, popular singers, models, tv personalities – it screams fight for the freedom of self expression. this movement is first and foremost was heavily affected by socio-political issues, causing street artists to voice their concerns through art. graffiti itself is a rebellious act (you're literally damaging private property) and when you mix this with media icons and pop culture that was thriving, you're guaranteed to have all the attention that you need.

🌐 seya : i feel like this aesthetic really suits jun han because in my eyes he is one of the most brave idols in terms of expressing himself through his style and art.

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧 : 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐌

"let's take a look at what is included in such aesthetics as retro-surrealism (also known as airbrush surrealism and included in the subgenres of retro-futurism), shall we?"

retro is an imitation or conscious derivative of a lifestyle, trend, or art form from history, included in music, fashion, or looks. the retro art movement always invariably revives and in one way or another refers to everything that happened in the past. surrealism is an art direction that always strives to revolutionize human experience. it balances a rational vision of life with one that asserts the power of the unconscious and dreams. combining these two trends of media art, we get abstract paintings made in the style of sci-fi comics from the 70s-90s. very often they feature elements such as musical instruments, outer space and electronic objects such as telephones, radios, televisions, etc. usually such paintings are airbrushed, which gives them a slightly hazy, matte effect, typical for surrealism (promotes immersion into the unconscious me thinks!).

🌐 seya : i love, love, LOVE this one so much, i just had to give it to my favorite boy jooyeon! i feel like this one suits jooyeon just because he looks like that one dude obsessed with weird ass comic books, always going around with his old mp3 player and vibing to daft punk bangers. sorry not sorry, no one is getting this image out of my head.

#xdinary heroes #goo gunil #kim jungsu #kwak jiseok #oh seungmin #han hyeongjun #lee jooyeon #jun han #o.de #xh #🌐 : seya talks.

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jujumin-translates · 4 months

Text

Event | 7th Anniversary: All Actors Aboard! | Chapter 1: VELUDO STATION MEMORY ✕ Sakuya Sakuma

Sakuya: Put this book away over here, and…

Sakuya: Huh, this is… the issue of “VELUDO” when I was on the cover!

Sakuya: That’s so nostalgic. I remember doing the photo shoot while the staff gave me advice.

Sakuya: (Wait, but I’m in the middle of tidying up right now! I can read it later, I’ll move on to where I have things stored next.)

Sakuya: (That reminds me, I need to think about what I want to do my article on for the web edition of “VELUDO”.)

*Something falls*

Sakuya: Hm? Something just fell…

Sakuya: This is--.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Manager: Hmmh~m ♪ Cleaning, cleaning~♪ Pretending not to see the fine details~♪

Izumi: Hey, don’t pretend not to see them, do it right!

Sakuya: Manager!

Manager: Sakuma-kun? What’s up with that box you’re holding?

Sakuya: I was cleaning up in my room and found some really nostalgic stuff! I found something I just had to show you and…

Sakuya: Remember when you… wait, h-huh? Where did it go? I swore I put it in this box…

Sakyo: …Is this what you’re looking for?

Sakuya: Sakyo-san!

Sakyo: It was on the ground over there.

Sakuya: Sorry, I must’ve dropped it. Thank you so much!

Sakyo: What’s with those pocket tissues anyway?

Izumi: Pocket tissues?

Izumi: (There’s a small advertisement on the tissues. “MANKAI Company! Now Recruiting Theater Troupe Members!”...)

Izumi: This is unmistakably a design by the manager…

Manager: Uwoah! That’s a blast from the past!

Sakyo: I know that badly designed ads are a very Matsukawa-like idea, but… what the hell?

Sakuya: …The manager gave me these tissues on the first day I came to Veludo Way.

*Flashback*

Announcement: “The doors are closing.”

Sakuya: (I’ll be there soon…)

Announcement: “Next stop, Veludo~, Veludo~.”

Sakuya: --.

Sakuya: (I’m almost there. To the place I’ve always longed to go to--!)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Sakuya: Waah…!

Sakuya: (This is it, the holy land of theater…)

Troupe Member A: “Alright, I’m gonna build the best invention ever!”

Troupe Member B: “Aah, my beloved…! How can I possibly convey to you how I feel?”

Spectator A: I knew this troupe would be good~.

Spectator B: I wanna see their next play! Let’s go get a flyer.

Sakuya: (This must be a street act. There really is theater going on everywhere in town.)

Sakuya: (I wonder if I’ll ever be able to act like that one day.)

Sakuya: Umm, MANKAI Company should be… that way.

Sakuya: (I saw that they had a posting on their site that they were taking applications for a live-in theater troupe and I applied without a second thought.)

Sakuya: (I’m sure there’ll be auditions or something. I’m kinda nervous…)

???: KYAAH!!

Sakuya: !?

Spectator A: …Is that a street act too?

Spectator B: It must be, otherwise he wouldn’t have fallen down in such a cartoonish way like that.

Sakuya: (Is it… really a street act?)

Shaggy-haired Man: Ow, ow, ow…

Sakuya: U-Um, are you okay?

Shaggy-haired Man: T-Thank you! I was so distracted by these boxes that I didn’t notice the step and fell.

Sakuya: Are you hurt? I hope whatever is in those boxes didn’t break either or something.

Shaggy-haired Man: Yes, I’m okay! And what’s in the boxes isn’t breakable anyway!

*Rustling*

Shaggy-haired Man: Here, these are promotional pocket tissues~. I’d love for you to take one!

Sakuya: MANKAI Company, Now Recruiting Theater Troupe Members…?

Manager: Yep! I’m actually the manager of the troupe… I thought that tissues would be easier to hang on to than flyers.

Sakuya: …Um! I’m Sakuya Sakuma!

Sakuya: I recently applied to MANKAI Company after seeing you were taking applications on your website!

Manager: Huh!? You’re Sakuma-kun!? Well, what are the odds~.

Manager: I’m glad to see that you’re so lively and kind. Please to be working with you from this moment on, Sakuma-kun!

Sakuya: Huh!? R-Right!

*Flashback end*

Sakuya: And in the end, I decided to join the troupe as it was.

Sakyo: I see.

Izumi: So you never really auditioned, after all.

Sakuya: Back then, MANKAI Company was just me and the manager.

Sakuya: But I’m really glad that I have so many friends now.

Manager: Yep, yep, same here!

Izumi: Fufu, right.

Manager: I never thought I’d end up living with the same Furuichi-san who tried to destroy our theater with an excavator~.

Sakyo: If you hadn’t been wastin’ so much money back then, I wouldn’t have had to get the excavator out in the first place.

Sakyo: Typically, theater companies with no money don’t go outta their way to make tissues for advertisements and… blah, blah, blah…

Manager: Awahwhoa… b-but the past is in the past!

Sakuya: For me, these pocket tissues are also a memory.

Sakuya: It’s thanks to this that I can remember how excited I was when I first got off the train at Veludo Station!

Sakuya: …I’ve got it!

Sakuya: Can I use this as the topic for my article for the web series?

Izumi: Of course. I think it would make a very good article.

Manager: HUH!? So you’re going to write about me too!?

Manager: If that’s the case, could you say that I, MANKAI Company’s manager, am sensible and reliable…

Sakuya: Yeah! Understood!

Sakyo: Don’t make Sakuma tell lies.

Izumi: C’mon, just let him have a little something.

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

#a3!#a3! translation #sakuya sakuma #isuke matsukawa

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the-roo-too · 1 year

Text

fancy -> guitarist! bae

-a step by step tutorial on how to make advertisements, be painfully obvious and get a possible girlfriend

warnings: bae needs help; gay panicking on every corner

genre: fluff

notes: featuring itzy, rest of nmixx and jisung of nct; nmixx is kinda a band?; this was supposed to come out on valentine’s day…

↺͏͏ ° << ll >> ⋮≡

“you’re kidding, right?”

“i’m really sorry.”

you sigh. in front of you stands a boy from the upper grade, jisung. he was supposed to play the guitar and accompany you on this year’s school music festival, but as it turns out, that wasn’t happening anymore. a week until the event and you’re suddenly without a guitarist. it wouldn’t be that bad if jisung backed out a couple days earlier, before you submitted for the live performance section. technically, you could fake being sick on the day of the festival, but that would make your class look bad, as you were the chosen participant.

the only other logical option seems to be looking for another guitarist. the problem is, basically every good player is already busy. your section is one of the most anticipated but also biggest, with many people wanting to take part in it. if not that, you’d ask ryujin for help, she played with you last year. this year though, she represents some band she’s part of. you’re left at a dead end.

you text your group chat, asking for ideas. after most of them laugh at your misery, finally someone proposes to make a couple flyers and hang them around school. it’s a cliche idea, really, but with only a week to spare, you aren’t about to be picky. you text a upper grader who owns you after you covered for her at play rehearsal, choi jisu. she got out of the read-through of the script with your help, and went on a date with ryujin instead. jisu is a computer science major, so she’s the obvious first choice when you need to print some flyers out.

through the text, the older girl tells you to meet her at the lab, where she was testing some softwares. with a ‘be there in 5’ message, you make your way upstairs, towards the science department of the building.

“took you long enough.” you glare at jisu, who sits snuggly in her chair, her hair in a low bun and a pair of glasses perched on her nose. you greet her back, as she turns in her seat to face you.

“so you want to cash in the favour, huh?”

“you could say that.”

“what do you need then, y/nnie?” she scans you head to toe, as if the answer would magically jump out.

“you remember jisung? he bailed out on me, was supposed to be my guitarist on this music even next week.” jisu’s expression momentarily changes from curiosity to shock, to understanding, until she finally starts looking angry.

“i am so getting jinnie to beat him up.” you note in the back of your mind to never get jisu too mad at you, or you won’t avoid ryujin’s fist.

“uh, yea, point is that yeji suggested i ask you to make some flyers? like, ‘looking for a guitarist’ or something. i know how it sounds but that’s really the only idea i have-“

“i get it, kiddo. i’ll have something by tomorrow, how’s that? meanwhile make a ad on facebook or something.” you nod your head, turning on your heel to leave the room. with a quick goodbye, you’re already out the door, just barely hearing jisu shout ‘good luck’ from the inside.

↺͏͏ ° << ll >> ⋮≡

the school music festival is just ‘round the corner and jinsol’s having second thoughts. despite her friends begging her to join them at their performance, she declined, saying her guitar skills weren’t that much compared to the other band mates. which isn’t exactly the truth as the only other person who can play other than her is lily, and she practically fought jiwoo to be the one in charge of the drums.

the group consist of seven members during rehearsals, but on their first year, they all agreed that making it to the performances wouldn’t be mandatory. the band could always do it without one or two instruments. this year, after applying for the live performance section in the school’s music festival, the group initially wanted to play together, but kyujin backed out. she said some major exams were coming up and after showing haewon her reviser, which was almost as thick as bae’s guitar, the leader allowed the younger to sit out the performance.

now it’s five days until the event and jinsol’s talked her way out of the group performance. it’s not that she plays guitar badly, but truth be told, she’s learning the instrument the shortest, compared to the other members. she picked guitar randomly when they created the band, as that was what they were lacking, and she taught herself how to play it. the others all practiced their chosen instruments way before.

the true reason why bae decided to abandon the group (as jinni quite dramatically expressed) is actually really embarrassing. it’s because she saw this cute girl frantically running around the cafeteria the previous day, handing some flyers to people passing by.

to tell the truth, jinsol saw her once before. even back then, she thought the girl was pretty, but she couldn’t exactly express it, as she was busy apologising to her for hitting her straight in the face with a handball during p.e. she’s sure the girl doesn’t remember her nor the little accident (she really hopes so), but there is still something holding her back from confronting the latter.

jinsol’s gripping the flyer tightly in her hand as she knocks on the door of one of her best friend’s dorms. she’s fidgeting with the piece of paper, nervously waiting for the other to appear. she perks up at the sound of the doors opening. there stands her trusted right hand, sullyoon.

“bae? what’s up?”

“i need some advice.”

↺͏͏ ° << ll >> ⋮≡

“how’s the search going?” you resist the urge to roll your eyes as shin yuna, a dear friend of yours, speaks up.

“are you really curious about that?”

“i couldn’t care less to be honest but chae told me to be nice so…”

“i swear to god, shin.” the taller girl on your side laughs, attracting the attention of other’s gathered near the table.

“no but seriously, anyone messaged you or something?” lia asks, finally turning away from her girlfriend. ryujin also gives you her time of the day as she glances at you with a look of sympathy.

“no one. four days left and i’m at loss of options. if someone doesn’t show up today, we wouldn’t even have enough time to practice the piece.” you whine, hiding your face in your hands. lia hums lightly, but she also has no idea what to do.

“what about the girl who’s glancing over right now?” you glare at yuna, thinking she’s joking. with a roll of her eyes, she subtly points a group couple tables away from you, where in fact a girl seems to have her eyes on you.

“who’s that? she seems familiar…” you agree with ryujin as you try to pin point where you’ve seen the face before.

“and what about her?” you face yuna as you speak.

“didn’t you notice how she’s been observing you for like two days?” all the heads around the table turn to look at the younger shin bewildered.

“um, no?”

“gosh, y’all so blind!”

“you’re just staring at people unprovoked! it’s creepy?” you’re about to start a (hopefully playful) fight with yuna, when lia suddenly perks up.

“wasn’t she the one to hit your face with the handball?”

↺͏͏ ° << ll >> ⋮≡

“you’re staring~”

“hush!”

“if i were her, i’d be freaked out to be honest.”

jinsol glares at sullyoon, who smirks teasingly. after talking with the older girl, bae was set on facing the cute girl. she just needed a little preparation?

“stop it, i don’t need everyone around here to know about it.” she elbows yoona, hoping the other would finally keep quiet.

“know about what?”

“n-nothing, haewon!” surprised, she almost jumps out of the chair.

“did you forget the math homework i reminded you three times of?”

“uh, yea, sorry.” she gazes at the cute girl’s table again, surprised to see that one of her friends seemed to catch her staring. “shit.”

“what happened?”

“i forgot my lucky pen at mr son’s class, be right back!” bae bolts out of her seat, hoping it doesn’t look as awkward from the cute girl’s table. yoona doesn’t even get to question her further before she leaves the canteen.

“she has a lucky pen?”

“i thought i broke it last monday.”

↺͏͏ ° << ll >> ⋮≡

“there she goes.”

“yuna, please stop stalking people.”

“she stalked y/n first?”

“shut up everyone!” both lia and yuna look at you with a apologetic look. “can we just not? i am not in the mood for gossip.”

“jeez, you fine bro?”

“i’m bummed out about the performance, you know? i was really excited for it this year.” you mutter in response, hiding your head in your palms.

“the target reappeared?”

“shut up yuna i’m having a moment.”

“no because some girl bolted out of her seat when she left and now she’s dragging her back to the table by her ear?”

“yuna i swear to god-“

“just look over there!” so you direct your gaze to the table which the younger shin’s been obsessing over. the short haired girl who was staring at you earlier sits back at her seat, seemingly getting scolded by another girl?

“now i’m kinda invested.”

“can y’all shut up i’m trying to read their lips.” you shake your head at your friend’s antics. the girl at the far away table looks at you for a brief moment, then back at the other girl towering over her, then back at you. she pushes the other’s hand off her shoulder and stands up.

“she’s coming over here!” you’re sure the whole canteen is watching your table now because of yuna. but just as she said, the short haired girl is making her way towards you.

“um, hi!” she comes to a halt in front of you. she appears nervous under your friend’s stares, rightfully so. “i’m jinsol, uh, i saw you around.”

“y/n. that’s-“

“jinsol?” you glance at yuna, who squints at the newcomer. “aren’t you a friend of yoona?”

“yes!”

“what brings you here, jinsol?” you direct the girl’s attention away from the younger shin.

“ah, that. i saw you giving out flyers the other day and i picked up one of them and it said you needed a guitarist and coincidentally i’m a guitar player and sullyoon told me to talk to you but i-“

lia, who until now seemed to be deep in though, speaks up suddenly, cutting jinsol’s banter.

“yeah, you hit y/n with the handball! that was her, wasn’t it?” you see ryujin stand with her eyes suspiciously glaring at the newcomer, and you basically jump from the table.

“it’s loud in here, i can barely understand you. why don’t we talk in the library? there shouldn’t be anyone else at this hour.” and you grab jinsol by her wrist, saving her from facing ryujin.

↺͏͏ ° << ll >> ⋮≡

a million thoughts forms in bae’s mind as she lets the cute girl drag her from the canteen. not one of them is coherent as she wonders if the girl who glared at her just a second ago would hunt her down now. hopefully not.

it takes a while before they arrive at the library, where true to y/n’s words, seems to be little to no one. the girl leads jinsol to a more secluded table, where she’s sure no one will interrupt them.

“so, jinsol.” she gulps lowly. somehow now that she’s one on one with the other girl, the situation feels tense. “what we’re you trying to say before jisu cut you off? i apologise on her behalf by the what, that was rude.”

“no no, it’s fine! and i, uh, the flyers? i play guitar at my band but i already told them i won’t play this year because something came up so now i’m free and yeah.”

“you’re free?”

“i ditched them as jinni said. it’s just that- well- i don’t really know. i just saw you handing the flyers yesterday and thought you’re cute- yeah, here i am.” she swears her heart melts when the cute girl giggles at her banter.

“so you ditched a band just because you thought i’m cute?”

“kyujin ditched them too!”

“did she also think i’m cute?”

“…she had some major exams coming up.”

↺͏͏ ° << ll >> ⋮≡

in the back of your mind, it’s almost impossible how much chemistry you have on stage with the girl whom you’ve meet four days ago. as the two of you step off the stage after your performance, jinsol gets stolen away by jinni, a friend of hers, who firstly whines about how she ditched the band, and then congratulates the both of you. she says you were magical out there and she’s right, that was the best performance you ever had. definitely better than it would go with jisung.

“so… would you mind getting a coffee with me later, after this is over?” bae finally freed herself from the strawberry blonde. she came to you, a shy smile adoring her lips.

“gladly. thank you for playing with me, really. i thought i was doomed when jisung backed out.”

“i’m glad we could play together, y/n.”

she catches your hand in hers and smiles wider. you swear her band mates are groaning in the background.

“i’m glad too, jinsol.”

↺͏͏ ° << ll >> ⋮≡

#bae #bae jinsol #bae x reader #nmixx imagines #nmixx x reader #jyp nmixx #bae nmixx #jinsol x reader #nct jisung #jisung #guitarist au #itzy #itzy x reader

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cherry-pop-elf · 14 days

Text

S.P.E.W For Werewolves

Abigail Grey x Reader

Can be read as platonic

Ever since the HogsHead became a safe heaven for Abigail’s pack, she’s been busy with trying to help make the place more liveable and better for them. Along with bringing awareness to werewolves as well. As if you would refuse to help her!

Warnings: Werewolfphobia, Renka, disabilities, medical issues, small acts of violence

“Oh! Hey-!” Abigail would adjust her ever present scarf, as to make her words more audible. “I was looking for you. I don’t mean to bother, but do you think you can help me with something?” She asked you, with another fiddle to her scarf.

“Course, what’s up?” You asked, as you looked her over. She seemed to have her messenger bag stuffed with papers, and one was in hand even. Said paper was quick to be handed to you, as if it would explain it all.

The paper itself looked to be an advertisement of sorts. A means to ask the public to donate old books, clothes, what have you, to the likes of The Hogs Head In. A donation to the ‘local pack’ if you will.

“Werewolfism can affect anyone, of any age, as you are well aware of. Not a lot of my pack went to schooling of any kind. Would be nice for them to learn to read and write. More than just their name, ya know?” Abigail explain to you, as you kept looking over the flyer. Such a noble cost it was. How could you refuse?

“Where to first?” You asked her. The way her eyes lit up just had you beaming. It was a noble cause, after all. It’s also her family. Who could say no to family? Well, family you love anyway. As if anyone wanted to dive into that complicated mess.

Onwards you two went. Going through out the halls, and into classrooms that permitted you both to enter. A adventure of simple nature. Hanging up flyers on the hallways, talking to fellow friends to hang them up in their designated hang out spots when they weren’t all busy with whatever adventure the year brought them. Asking teachers if they would be ok with hanging them up. Noble cause. It was all going well. To well, and you both knew it would change. Change, it did.

“Donating to the HogsHead-? For one, why would a student need to donate anything. Second off, why such a place as that?” She scoffed, and that scoff was what you two knew so well. Cassandra.

“Because, not everyone gets an education like us. A lot of witches and wizards can’t read.” Abigail was quick to say, with a spin on her feet. Silvery eyes meeting those hypnotic emerald.

“Sounds like a them problem-“ The blonde scoffed, making Abigail bubble. She took a deep breath, before being more direct with her. Helped that you held her hand, so she could have support.

“Yeah, it’s them who are the issue. Not the fact they were cursed, and can’t do anything about it. Do you know what it’s like to not be seen as human, because of how you were born? How you’ll never be seen as equal, all because your blood isn’t ‘pure’ and is ‘tampered’ with. That you just will never be seen as anything more than inhuman?” Abigail asked, and….Cassandra paused.

You never seen Cassandra think so hard before. Her eyes avoiding both of you. Why was Cassandra not smarting off at you both? Why isn’t she scoffing, and calling you both some insult? What was she thinking?

“…..I’ll talk to Colby about this. He’s the poetry writer. I’m sure he has some old books he has no use for.” And she turned, with a snap of her dress, and left. You two were jaw dropped at the kind gesture. The hell? Cassandra? Kind?

“What was that about?” You whispered, as the two of you begun to head outside. A plan to hang them up around Hogsmeade. “Beats me. Maybe she has inhuman blood in her family as well. Maybe like Veela. Would explain how she seems to escape getting suspended, with all the crap she pulls.” Maybe. Maybe….

You tried not to stress over it, and instead focused on carrying all the flyers for your friend. Letting her skip in-front of you, with such pep in her step. So excited to make that old tavern way more friendly, and enjoyable. She was just so excited, she hardly could hear you call her name. The moment it dawned on her you called her, she crashed into the worse person to bump into. Renka.

Abigail would give a squeak, and was quick to run back to you. She’s no scardy cat, but Renka is the exception. Especially when it dawned on her who had crashed into her pink coat. Had her out right cast a cleaning charm on herself, as if Abigail would infect her. That had you glare, and the woman glared back.

“And what are you two doing here? Shouldn’t you be in that useless school, learning useless things?” She scoffed, as you would hold the flyers closer to your chest. Renka was quick to notice this, however, and was quick to Accio them away from you.

“GIVE THOSE BACK-!” Abigail shouted, throwing her fear aside. For her Pack. “Those are ours!” She added, as she tried to grab one of the papers, only for it to fly higher. Made her slip on the ice, and fall on her butt.

“Let’s see what you two gremlins are doing-“ She huffed, as she adjusted her glasses to read the paper. Meanwhile, you helped Abigail up. Dusting off the snow, and giving her respect and dignity.

“You are trying to scam people! Of course you two would! Trying to scam people out of what they rightfully earned, so you freaks can get a meal ticket!” She gasped, as that had Abigail pink in her face.

“None of that-“ You two gasped, as the papers were now engulfed in flames. “NO-!” Abigail shouted, as she tried to grab said paper. You tried to stop her, but her cry of pain said you were too late. She now held a burn on her hand, and stumbled back. You swore Renka smirked.

“Rabblehauser-! That’s enough-!” The three of you would look over, and see a sight. One being Mr. Weasley, with an older man. Worse for wears, that’s for sure. With a face that was scary to you, but nothing abnormal to Abigail. With his cheek missing, exposing teeth. Scars that cut into his brilliant red hair line, and an eye clearly blinded. The attire made it clear he was a curse breaker. Leather vest, white dress shirt, and a cloak over his shoulders. Fur edging for warmth. Quite the classy attire, compared to Mr. Weasley’s G sweater.

“Deal with her, I’ve got the kids-“ Mr. Weasley said, as he hurried over to you two. “Come here love, let me have a look at your paw-“ He tried to joke, to get her to smile through her tears. Of course, it worked. She smiled, you calmed down, and he worked on applying a palm to her burnt flesh. Something of his own invention, given it smells so sweet.

“Renka, you can’t just keep doing this-!” The curse breaker would shout at her, as he would steal one of the posters from the air. The moment his working eye fell on it, he gasped. Made his scars stretch out even farther. Made your stomach twist.

You had no idea what he said, but it was in a string or another language. One you didn’t know. Seemed Mr. Weasley did, as he snorted. Saying something about how ‘that must have been where Ginny got her potty mouth from-‘ or something.

“Thats Billy. He works at a little ole bank, called Gringotts-“ He explained, before Abigail was soon in his arms. Comforting her, as he would hold your hand as well. Her on his hip, and you close to his side. Comforting you both, while Bill and Renka were screaming at each other.

“He’s normally super calm, but he’s sensitive when it comes to werewolf stuff. That’s the face of someone who was attacked by Greyback. Because of his curse breaking skills, he didn’t get entirely infected. He still has side effects, but he doesn’t transform or infect.” He explained, as that had both of you light up. He was kinda like Abigail, but was still living a successful happy life. Hope. That was hope.

“I’ll bite you-!” Bill warned, and that had Renka run. Let her own stupidity chase her away. The man would shake his head, as he looked so exhausted. Seems it’s not the first time those two fought. With a brush of his cloak, he would return to his brother.

“Everyone ok?” He asked, as you just couldn’t stop staring. You wondered so many questions. How does he eat? How does he still have teeth? Is he actually blind? What happened?

“My posters….” Abigail sniffled, which caused Mr. Weasley to kiss her head. Comforting her. That’s when Bill offered his own arms, and Abigail was handed over. The moment she was handed over, it was like a switch. She seemed to instantly calm, and nuzzled his neck. The bond of wolves.

“Hey, don’t worry. I’ll talk to my pal, Ragnok at Gringotts. See if he can pull any strings on trying to help out the HogsHead. I know Georgie will, by seeing on making wolfsbane to supply the tavern.” That had you both gasp. You were confused. You were told goblins were greedy monsters. Was that a lie? A stereotype?

“They’ll listen to him. Billy is pretty much their kid there. Just a bunch of old men, and their favorite grandkid.” Mr. Weasley laughed, as Abigail had stars in her eyes. There was hope. So much hope for the future.

“Just leave it to us. Now, let’s get you two back to Hogwarts. Hm?” Mr. William said, as you two nodded. That was enough adventure for one day. Even for the likes of Hogwarts kids.

Through a secret passage way, that Mr. Weasley knew, you two were back in the castle walls. Sent away with a few sweets to calm the burns, and show your good deeds deserved compensation.

“He’s like me-!” Abigail couldn’t stop bouncing, as she bit at her Bloodlollipop. “He’s like me-!” Was her chant, as she bounced. He was just like her, and that had you smile.

There was hope for her, and her pack. People who actually cared about them, and wanted them to succeed. To be equal, and have as much of a life as they did. Help did exist, and not everyone thought like Renka. There were people who were even like Abigail, and could still live fulfilling lives.

The future looked bright, and damn. You wanted to keep seeing Abigail smile.

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winter-dayz · 8 months

Text

It's only a dream...

Pairing: Kim Jisoo x Reader College AU; Nightmare on Elm Street AU Genre: Horror Words: 2197 Warnings: implied major character death; implied murder; nightmares; strong language; violence

Masterlist | Fictober Masterpost

Taglist: @soobin-chois

“You think you can run from me?” Her voice echoed through the halls. “So cute~”

You huffed, darting through another open door into another empty room. You could do this. You could escape. Right?

“You can’t~” She giggled. Your footsteps echoed loudly, but hers were somehow totally silent. Her voice constantly floated through the mist, finding you around every corner and seeming to drift into your ear as if she was whispering right to you. “You can keep running, Y/N. But I will always find you~ I will always win.” She hissed, and you felt her nails scratch down your back.

“Stop!” You screamed, jolting upwards in your bed. You felt the sweat drip down your spine, your blankets so warm they felt suffocating.

“Y/N, you okay?” Your roommate called from the kitchen.

You breathed slowly, calming your racing heart. “I um… Yeah, I think so…” You finally called back after a few minutes.

A knock on your door made you jump once more, but you settled when you saw it was just Jisoo checking on you. She looked you over in concern, her eyebrows furrowed and lips pouted. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did you have another nightmare?”

Jisoo and you had met about six months ago. Your previous roommate, Lisa, had moved in with her girlfriend, and unfortunately, you could no longer afford the rent. After weeks of searching, you finally saw a flyer on campus advertising a room for rent on Elm Street. It wasn’t too far from where you had been living, and the rent was ridiculously cheap. So you went to meet the flyer’s owner.

Of course you were hesitant to live with a complete stranger, but after meeting Jisoo, you were pleasantly surprised. She seemed responsible and caring, immediately greeting you with a, ‘It’s so nice to meet you! Have you eaten?’ And as you lived together, you learned that, like you, Jisoo loved video games and snacks—particularly a good burger, ice cream, and iced americanos. The only quirk you really noticed was how much the girl slept. Truth be told, there were days you didn’t think she even left her bed. But regardless, she was an amazing roommate and became a fast friend.

“I’m okay, Soo…” You sighed, standing slowly. You felt a bit dizzy; you always did after those nightmares. And your back stung where your sleep shirt brushed against it. There would be scratches; you were sure of it… There always were when those horrible nails caught you. “And yeah… Another one…”

She pouted at you, “Aw… Do you want to talk about it, precious?”

“Not this time, I just really need to get a shower and to class…” You gathered your bathroom items, but noticed Jisoo still hovered in your door. “Did you need something, Soo?”

“Hm?” She had been staring at you blankly, but at your question, her eyes widened, “Oh, no… I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out this evening? But maybe if you’ve been having such bad nightmares, you should get some extra rest… Head to bed early, precious. I’m worried about you.”

You nodded in agreement, and Jisoo gave you one last pouty smile before heading to her own room.

🎃

The day passed quickly with your classes keeping you adequately distracted from the creepy visions that were floating in the back of your mind. However, before you knew it, night had fallen again, and you laid in your bed more exhausted than that morning.

You tried to keep your eyes open for as long as possible, hoping that it would somehow ward away the nightmares, but eventually you succumbed to the darkness.

And once again you found yourself in a smoky hallway with unending doors. Something was different though. This hall wasn’t neverending with more and more halls attached to empty rooms. It wasn’t a messy maze meant for you to be chased through. It was a single path.

The doors—all still open—were nothing but a black abyss when you peeked through them, as if in a video game that hadn’t finished rendering an area. You meandered slowly, as quietly as you could, down the singular hallway. One door stood at the end, closed, with light beaming through.

The door looked so familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you had seen it. Breathing out steadily and building your nerve, you slowly turned the handle. It surprised you that it was unlocked, but it terrified you when you saw what was inside.

The room was yours. You stared down at yourself, asleep in bed. You had passed out with the light on, that’s why there was light beaming through…

How was this possible? How were you awake but asleep? Could you wake yourself up from here? What was going on?

You took a gentle step toward your bed, barely brushing a finger over your cheek before long nails swiped down your back. You cried out in pain, watching your sleeping doppelganger whimper as well, and whirled around to find the culprit.

Cackling.

The laughter echoed and bounced down the hall, beckoning you to follow. To finally solve the mystery of your tormentor. To finally end your nightmare.

You ran.

Not away from it like you normally would. No, you ran towards the demon. It was time to face whatever was haunting you. This was a dream. A nightmare. It couldn’t actually hurt you… right?

Your steps faltered at the thought. You reached back and felt the wetness of your shirt where you had bled into it from the demon’s cut marks.

“C’mon Y/N… Don’t you want to chase me?” The voice floated from one of the open doors, no longer a black abyss behind it. “Don’t you want to solve your little mystery?”

You glared down the hall before making up your mind. You sprinted back towards your room, reaching your bed and shaking yourself awake. When you grabbed your own shoulders, you could feel the raised skin on the other you. “No! Stop that!” The voice screamed getting closer. It reminded you of someone, but you didn’t have time to dwell. You lifted your hand and struck across your own cheek, the slap reverberating and hurting the “awake” you as well. But it did the trick. “I won’t let you win!”

As you jolted awake, the pain hit you like a train. It took all you could to not scream or cry out. Instead, you scrambled out of bed and locked your bedroom door.

You couldn’t stay here.

“I won’t let you win!”

The last words you heard before you woke up bounced around your mind.

You had heard those words more than once during late night gaming sessions.

Your roommate was your nightmare.

Which wouldn’t normally freak you out so much except for the fact that you had really never had nightmares, or even dreams, before you moved here. Except for the fact that your hand and your cheek were stinging from that slap. Except for the fact that the gashes on your back and the tears in your shirt were definitely made by your nightmare’s nails.

With a heavy breath, and silent tears streaming, you threw together a duffel bag. You hadn’t heard Jisoo stirring about the kitchen yet and knew now was your chance to escape.

Moving in here had always seemed too perfect. Now you suspected why. You needed to get out.

Even if you were crazy. Making it all up in your head. You didn’t think you could face Jisoo in this mindset. Her voice, her laugh, her perfect manicure. It would trigger you.

“Just a few days…” You whispered as you slipped out of your room and darted for the front door. You hesitated, turning to look down the hallway towards her room, but shook your head and left.

You were probably being irrational. There’s no way she was somehow controlling your dreams, and even if she was, why would she have any reason to? But, you needed to feel safe right now, and unfortunately, you just didn’t in that apartment. Jisoo would understand…

🎃

You weren’t being irrational.

After your spontaneous trip to your parents’ house an hour away, the nightmares stopped. The strange cuts and injuries stopped. The fear stopped.

Jisoo had promptly messaged you that morning asking your whereabouts, and you had lied about a family emergency. She had left you on read.

Now, you were sure you weren’t crazy, and you were also sure you needed to move.

You had researched what had been happening to you. At first, you simply found a lot of articles and blogs to decipher dream meanings, but then that led to studies on sleep paralysis, which led you to old folklore about “dream demons.”

Mares—also called maere, mara, mahr, mahrts, and marts—in old Germanic, Anglo-Saxon, and Norse folklore were evil spirits that would sneak into people’s rooms at night and give them bad dreams to drain their vitality while they slept and feed on their victims’ fear. They were known for their psychological and physical abuse of humans, going so far as to injure them in their dreams, which would manifest in real life. Some even would commit murder, killing the victim in their nightmare, which killed them in the waking world as well.

Spiraling down the rabbit hole of your research, you found a blog thread of someone claiming that their aunt was the victim of a dream demon in the ‘80s. Some child-murderer named Freddy had made a pact with the demonic entities. They bestowed their power to him in exchange for his help to cross over into reality.

Of course the thread was bashed by other commenters saying that the man they were referencing was killed in a fire in the late ‘60s, and they were just trying to tell scary stories.

The story, though, sounded familiar enough to you that you believed them. Right down to the location’s name… Elm Street.

Fuck. You definitely weren’t crazy. Even though you kind of wish you were.

You really needed to move. You needed to get out of that place. You needed to get away from “Jisoo,” or whatever her name really was.

But you didn’t want to go back. You couldn’t. You were afraid if you stepped foot in that apartment again, she’d never let you leave.

No, instead, you would send some movers or something to pack up your things. It seemed reasonable. You would call them first thing in the morning.

You just needed to get some sleep.

You needed to rest.

And in the morning, this would all be over.

You’d be away from that demon.

“I thought I told you that you can’t get away from me, Y/N.” Jisoo walked towards you menacingly.

You tried to back away, but the hallway seemed to continue stretching on and on. More open doors, more empty rooms, all leading back to the same long misty hallway. She continued to stalk towards you, hands raising up, her nails looked longer than you’d ever seen, and sharp enough that they were cutting into the plaster. She was going to kill you. She was going to shred you to bits. You were fucked.

As if reading your thoughts, her lips curled into a horrifying smile. “That’s right, precious. Be afraid. Your distress tastes delicious~”

You wanted to scream; you wanted to run. But suddenly, you found that the hallway had shortened to a small box, the doors had all disappeared, and Jisoo stood in front of you. Her normally well-manicured nails stretched into long, knife-like claws.

“I told you I always win here, Y/N. Your nightmares are my creations. My realm. I control what happens here. I feed off your fear. But if you think you can just run away, you are so, so wrong.” Jisoo was furious, and she had you cornered.

You had thought you could escape her in the waking world, but her connection to you was too strong. You had lost before you even knew you were a part of her game.

She stepped closer to you, and you pressed your back against the cold, solid cement. There was nowhere to go. You really were fucked this time around. All you could do was try to calm your erratic heart and not feed into the fear any further. But that was easier said than done when you felt her grasping your wrists. Her grip was stronger than you thought possible, and you were sure you could feel your bones on the brink of fracture.

One of her hands trailed up your arm, almost as if caressing you, but the pointed ends of her nails left clean slices in their wake. Your blood gently spilled in small rivulets, dripping down your arm in a mirror to the tears streaming your cheeks.

“It’s only a dream…” You cried helplessly as her hand wrapped around your neck, her razor nails beginning to press into your artery. “A nightmare!” Jisoo closed in, whispering right in your ear as she had done so many times before to terrorize you and feed on your fear. “Come to Jisoo, precious.”

#blackpink #kim jisoo #reader #kim jisoo x reader #blackpink x reader #horror #college au #nightmare on elm street au #oneshot #fictober

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dameronscopilot · 2 years

Note

Omg happy sleepover can i request the fair with the triple frontier boys 😭😭😭 pleeeeease

I don't think words can express how excited we were to write this one, anon.

A night at the fair with the Triple Frontier boys

By @dameronscopilot:

Picture this—it’s a balmy evening in late September, and your four favourite boys just arrived to pick you up for a night out at the local fair.

Benny - One night when you’re out for dinner with the boys, you eagerly point out a flyer advertising the annual town fair. Everyone collectively groans—besides Benny. He subtly tears the paper off the wall and stuffs it into his back pocket. And when the week of the fair finally comes around, he surprises you by remembering that you wanted to go, and he drags the rest of the boys along (whether they like it or not).

When nobody else wants to do the silly “old time” photos, Benny obliges your request, grinning from ear to ear when he waltzes out dressed as a cowboy. He also disappears near the end of the night and returns with a ridiculous air-brushed t-shirt that says “Miller’s Good Luck Charm” with a pair of gloves beneath it. (You bet Frankie $20 he won’t wear it to Benny’s next match.) (He does.)

Frankie - After Benny blows nearly $100 trying to win you a stuffed animal from the water gun shootout game, Frankie quietly slips away and makes his way over to the game. With his pockets only $10 lighter ("That was my Fuck You money, Ben," he slyly remarks), he returns with an armful of prizes—most of which you insist he hand out to the small crowd of children now swarming around him—and a small smile on his face. (He gives Benny a ridiculous, sparkly, pink bear as a consolation prize.) And when you eventually make your way over to try your hand at the baseball toss game, he casually puts his hat on your head and coaches you through your throws.

Santiago - Santi spends the ride over to the fair browsing the website, and he’s intrigued when he comes across a flashy graphic claiming that you could “WIN $1000 DOLLARS!” He quickly enters all of you in the contest without consulting anyone else in the car. Unfortunately, when your names are called over to the main stage at the fair midway into the evening, Santiago is horrified to realize that he didn’t read the fine print—the contest is a team-based obstacle course. (Frankie talks his way out of it by claiming his stomach didn’t love the questionable chilli cheese dog he ate, Will and Benny nearly win the whole thing but are somehow bested by a pair of teenagers, and you end up sprawled on top of Santi in top of a pit of foam blocks, crying laughing as he groans about his knees.)

Will - The fair is bustling with people, and you’re disappointed when the crowd prevents you from finding a decent place to watch the fireworks at the end of the night. While the other boys begin to debate an increasingly ridiculous series of military-esque tactics to dodge and weave your way to the front, Will rolls his eyes at them and takes your hand, beckoning for you to follow him. As you make your way to the top of the Ferris wheel for what’s arguably the perfect view, you squint your eyes as Will points out the three tiny dots still animatedly arguing on the ground.

By @dieterbravospr:

Benny - Benny Miller has one goal at the fair: Win you the biggest stuffed animal there. He sets his sights on a massive otter hanging from the poles of the dart game’s tent and he’s found his match for the night. Except, he’s Benny Miller, so it doesn’t take long. The eye of a sharpshooter and the coordination of a fighter comes in handy as the popping of balloon after balloon fills the air, each dart hitting its mark with ease. Bonus: he carries it around for you all night as you sample the various fair foods and candies without so much as a groan.

Frankie - Of course he agreed to go, he always agreed to anything you asked because it made you happy, but you knew deep down he’d rather have spent the night in on the couch with you curled up on his chest watching a movie he wouldn’t pay attention to because he was too busy stealing glances down at you. He doesn’t like crowds, they make him feel trapped, uneasy, his eyes constantly darting to search for threats in the small town you called home. He always needs to be touching you, whether it be a shoulder nudging against you, his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt, or his hand entwined with yours, and you’re happy to provide the solace. When you get stuck on the top of the Ferris wheel it’s his turn to relay the favor, his soft, soothing voice breaking through your heart pounding in your ear as you rely on him to be your eyes until you're closer to the ground. A strong arm holds you tight as lips press to your hair, his hand guiding you out of the little car to the sturdy ground. Next is a stop for a candy apple for you and a beer for him before you make your way over to the other waiting at the water gun game he ensures you win three times over via sabotage and lighthearted threats to his three friends.

Santiago - It’s Santi vs. Benny as they cue up at the ring toss game, the prize being your affection and the stupid little stuffed monkey you want. Santi talks a big game, but Benny smokes him, handing you that dumb little primate with a cocky grin. While he may be disgruntled, he’s not giving up just yet, finding you the lemonade and apple fritters you’d been blabbing about for days, your eyes lighting up as he approached with your favorite snacks. When your hand slides into his he can’t help but shoot a victorious smirk at his adversary, the game once again beginning when you bolted to Benny’s side after an invite to that death trap of a ride his neck surely wouldn’t survive.

Will - The long-suffering elder Miller rolls his eyes at the bickering between Santi and Benny, most of his night spent standing off to the side with Frankie as they kept a watchful eye on the crowds. After your beer goes spilling down your shirt as a result of a careless shoulder check from a definitely drunk passerby, he has to fight the urge to grab the man by the collar and toss him to the side. He focused on you, quickly unbuttoning his overshirt and tossing it around your shoulders as you fretted over your decision to wear white to a fair, your eyes sweetly thanking him before grabbing Santiago as he went to chase down the unfortunate soul who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Join the sleepover extravaganza!

#sleepover weekend #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #santiago garcia #benny miller #frankie morales #francisco morales #ben miller #will miller #william miller #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #ben miller x reader #benny miller x reader #santiago garcia x reader #will miller x reader

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wosemi-sama · 5 months

Note

Can you do when a reader makes a plushie out of VBS? Separately pls!

hii!! ty for the request, i hope u like it :3

vivid bad squad x reader (separately)

kohane azusawa

Recently, you had been keeping yourself in your room and only coming out when needed. Kohane had been asking you to hang out as usual, and you felt bad whenever you had to politely decline.

Kohane spent weeks wondering if she'd done something. She's new to the whole relationship thing, so you've been extremely patient and kind with her.

Kohane was surprised when you first rejected her, but she understood the first few times. She was getting concerned when it happened so much.

You felt terrible, of course, but you knew it'd be worth it when Kohane sees the plushie you made of her.

The school day just ended, and you were running all the way across town to make it to Miyamasuzuka, the school Kohane attended.

You went to Kamiyama, which was across the entirety of Shibuya. You were running and out of breath, with just a sliver of hope that you would make it before Kohane left to practice with her friends.

You finally made it to Kohane's school, and she was just about to leave.

"Kohane!" You shouted out to her.

Kohane turned and looked at you.

"Oh, Hello!"

You gave her the tiny plushie you had spent long and hard on making for her. The plushie may had been small, but the love it was made with was noticeable.

Kohane looked surprised.

"D-did you make this?! It's so cute!" Kohane gasped.

You nodded and smiled at Kohane. She hugged you, holding the tiny plushie in her hands.

You were surprised as this was the first time Kohane had hugged you, but you quickly embraced her too.

an shiraishi

Despite the fact that the sun had barely gotten up, you grabbed your coat and dashed out the door of your house. You quickly stopped yourself from running, as there was no reason to. You took out the An plushie from your pocket and looked at it as you walked to Vivid Street. You had made plushies of all Vivid Bad SQAUD members, but you were most proud of the An plushie.

Upon arriving Vivid Street, you put the plushie back in your coat pocket.

An had texted you earlier about how she was putting up flyers all around Vivid Street for her upcoming show and she asked if you could help out. You agreed, thinking this was the perfect opportunity to give her the plushies.

You walked further into Vivid Street until you finally spotted An. She was putting up a flyer on a brick building.

"An!" You waved to her.

"Hey there!" An greeted you with a kiss.

She handed you a stack of flyers. "So, you want to start helping me put this up?"

"Actually, I wanted to show you something."

"Oh? What is it?" An raised an eyebrow.

You reached into your coat pocket and took out the plushies. An's eyes lit up upon seeing them.

"Woah, these look so cute!" An grinned. She grabbed them out of your hands to examine them for a moment before giving them back to you.

"I was thinking... since you wanted to advertise your next show, why not use these?"

"Great idea! I can put them somewhere in Weekend Garage, so that people will know we're performing there!"

The two of you walked over to Weekend Garage. Once you got there, An walked over to the counter and put the four plushies there.

"I'm going to keep my plushie after this, by the way." An laughed.

akito shinonome

Akito wasn't sure how, but your date ended up with the two of you getting dragged to store after store by Mizuki.

You and Akito were going to have a breakfast date at a diner Akito found recently. Ena took him there last week, and now he wanted to take you.

He seemed excited, talking about how good the pancakes were. You couldn't help but find it adorable.

As you were walking to the diner, Akito spotted Mizuki in the crowded streets.

"Oh no..." Akito seemed worried.

"What?" You asked him, puzzled.

"It's Mizuki."

"Oh no..." You were now worried too. That was, until Mizuki disappeared into the crowd somehow.

"Nevermind. They're gone now, see?" You pointed at the spot Mizuki originally was.

You felt a hand on your shoulder. Chills were sent down your spine, you slowly realized who it was.

"Hey guys!!" Mizuki exclaimed cheerfully with a sly smile on their face.

See, Mizuki was particularly known to third-wheel her friends' dates. Especially your's and Akito's.

"Where are you guys going?" Mizuki asked.

"None of your business." Akito responded, hoping Mizuki would go away.

"Awh, okay. Not like it matters anyway, because you two are going shopping with me!" Mizuki then proceeded to grab your wrist and drag you along to whatever stores she was planning on taking you two.

It wasn't until an hour later that Mizuki had brought you and Akito along to an anime shop, filled with plushies and anime merch.

Mizuki walked around and looked at the keychains of anime characters they like and Akito was on his phone, while you walked off on your own.

You had found a corner of the tiny store dedicated to plushies. Within that a plushie section, you spotted one of a character from an anime that Mizuki recommended to you. You thought about how the character reminded you so much of Akito during your first time watching it. Suddenly, a light bulb went off in your head.

This sparked your four-month long journey of making an Akito plushie. Your journey was filled with much procrastination and even thoughts of giving up, yet you persevered knowing that it would all be worth it when seeing Akito's face upon giving the plushie to him. And you were right.

You had asked Akito on a picnic date after school, and he agreed. Not only did you want to give him the plushie, but you also felt bad about the date four months earlier that Mizuki interrupted.

You had set up a blanket and a picnic basket under a tree for some shade. You had packed food for both you and Akito since you told him not to bring anything.

You proudly looked at the plushie you had been working on for so long.

You heard footsteps against the grass and panicked. You threw the plushie in the picnic basket without thinking.

Akito walked up to the blanket under the tree and sat down.

"Hey."

"Akito, I wanted to give this to you!" You said with a smile. You reached into the picnic basket

toya aoyagi

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chrisbitchtree · 7 months

Text

Everyone Say Thank You to Daddy Wade!

When Mobius's admittedly pathetic attempts at flirting fail, he resorts to letting Wade trick Loki into making a move!

Lokius - NSFW - 4.5k

***

With one last glance at Loki, Mobius turned the corner onto Wade’s street, picking up his pace, eager to escape the late November cold. It looked like it’d been raining, but it seemed to have stopped, leaving only a bunch of puddles and grey clouds behind. Mobius was thankful, since he couldn’t find his umbrella before leaving, and Loki had started to complain that Mobius was taking too long and was going to make him late to meet up with Thor.

That was one of Mobius’s favourite things about the new chapter of the TVA. The fact that with the newfound freedom to use his magic (by his own decree, his first, as co-director of the TVA with Mobius), he’d been able to use it to locate and reconcile with his brother. It had taken time, a whole lot of it, but now Loki and Thor were closer than they’d ever been before. Just thinking about it brought a smile to Mobius’s face.

Now that the two were thicker than thieves, they were spending a lot of time together, both alone, and frequently with Mobius and Thor’s boyfriend recently turned fiancé, Bruce. Loki had been shocked when Thor had announced that he was dating The Hulk of all people, telling Mobius privately that he couldn’t understand what the two saw in each other, but Mobius thought their relationship was sweet. They really seemed to balance each other out. Just like Mobius and Loki.

Not that Mobius and Loki were a couple, much to Mobius’s dismay. He wanted the man with every fibre of his being, wanted to kiss him and hold him, fuck him, court him, marry him. Not even his desire to own a jet ski outweighed how much he wanted Loki.

He’d tried his best to make his feelings known to the god, but he was a terrible flirt, so usually his come-ons either went unnoticed, or were brushed off as a joke. Mobius sighed, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets and walking the last couple blocks to Wade’s apartment.

Mobius has never actually intended to befriend Wade Wilson, and on paper, they were a bad match. Wade was rude and gross, his home and his life a mess, and the way he flirted with anything on two legs, and honestly, more than once that Mobius had seen, things on four legs, but somehow their friendship worked. They’d met at a party at Thor and Bruce’s, and had gotten to talking, finding common ground in their love of power ballads, video games, and surprisingly enough, tea, and had been meeting up to hang out when they could find the time since.

So, when Loki had told Mobius he was heading to New York to go suit shopping for Thor’s wedding, where Loki would serve as best man, Mobius had decided to tag along and go visit Wade, who’d told Mobius he had a new rooibos tea he wanted him to try.

He rang the buzzer for Wade’s apartment in his new building, and after a minute, the speaker crackled to life.

“What the hell do you want? If you’re selling something, we don’t want it. Unless it’s girl scout cookies, and only if it’s thin mints.”

Mobius smiled at the sound of Blind Al’s voice. “Hi, Al. It’s Mobius. Can I come in? Wade’s expecting me.”

She didn’t reply, but she did buzz him in, so that was something.

As he waited for the elevator, a flyer tacked to the bulletin board next to it caught eye. It advertised the knitting circle that Wade had talked about starting and had apparently finally gotten around to. It was supposed to be for residents only, but he’d invited Mobius, telling him he should bring Loki along. The flyer stated that the first meeting was in two weeks. He opened his phone and as he rode the elevator, he entered the details in his calendar, wondering what it would take to actually get Loki to come with him.

The elevator opened on the 10th floor and Mobius stepped out, knocking on the first door on the right.

“I’m finishing up on the shitter, but it’s open!” shouted Wade, much to the dismay of both Mobius and the woman fumbling with her keys and a bag of groceries three doors down. She gave him a startled look that he pretended not to see, quickly stepping through the door and shutting it behind him.

“There’s my favourite silver fox!” Wade grinned, stepping out of the bathroom and grabbing Mobius’s shoulder’s giving him a big, smacking kiss on the cheek as Mobius slid his coat off his shoulders.

“Wade,” Mobius replied, ducking his head. Feeling a blush beginning to creep its way onto his face, Mobius busied himself with grabbing a hanger from the hall closet and hanging up his coat and scarf. Before he’d made friends with Wade, no one had ever really flirted with Mobius, and all this positive attention still made him slightly uneasy.

Wade would wink, or pinch Mobius’s ass, he’d tell him how hot his moustache, or greying hair, or belly were, but he also knew that Wade was like that with everyone, so even if it did make him blush, he was fine with it, because he knew it was probably just a reflex for the other man at this point. See human, spew flirty comments.

“Make yourself at home, Moby. Preferably in my bed. I’m just putting the water on for the tea. I’ll be back in a minute.” Wade called, as he walked down the short hallway to the kitchen.

Mobius ignored the comment about Wade’s bed and settled into the couch, next to Blind Al, who had a book balanced in her lap as she ran the fingers of one hand over the braille and held a bottle of beer with the other.

They sat in silence as her fingers glided over the bumps so fast that Mobius wasn’t sure how she could even be absorbing the words, until Wade’s shouting broke through.

“Do you want a cup of tea, Al?”

“Do you think this one would taste good with PBR?”

There was a beat of silence, and Al returned to her reading before Wade replied. “I’m not sure. No, time like the present to find out though!”

With that, he re-entered the living room with a tray containing a teapot, three mugs with spoons, cream and sugar, and a platter of assorted cookies, biscuits, and jams. For a guy who Mobius had once seen with his own eyes eat, according to Wade himself, three-day old pizza from a box on his living room floor, he sure put together a nice tea party spread.

Wade set the tray down on the coffee table before turning on his Switch and grabbing the controllers. He walked back over to the couch, wedging himself into the frankly too small space between Mobius and Al, and started to pour the tea into the trio of cups. He slid the can of PBR out of Al’s hand and poured the remainder into her mug along with the tea before handing it back to her and grabbing a biscuit that he proceeded to slather in jam.

“This is awful, Wade,” Al said, a look of disgust on her face, but it didn’t stop her from taking another sip.

Mobius tried a sip of his. He personally thought it was delicious, but he also hadn’t cut his with cheap beer. Grabbing a chocolate dipped cookie, he settled back into the cushions as Wade started up Animal Crossing.

When Loki had once asked what kind of video games he and Wade played together, he mentioned GTA and Call of Duty, but the truth was that while yes, they had played both of those, they spent most of their time together working on Wade’s Animal Crossing island, taking turns planting flowers, redesigning his home, fishing, and trying to get rid of his most hated villagers. It was their (and Al’s) little secret.

They spent the better part of an hour and a half sipping their tea, picking at the cookies, and selling crops at Nook’s Cranny, and were headed to the Able Sisters’ so Mobius could give Wade his opinion on some items that were new to the shop, when Wade brought up his favourite topic of conversation, Mobius and Loki’s relationship, or lack thereof.

“You know that pathetic little meow meow has the hots for you, Moby.”

Now, Mobius knew he could play ignorant, pretend he had no clue what Wade was talking about, but that would only buy him an extra minute or two, so he took the bait.

“Shut up, Wade. We’ve been through this. He’s not into me.”

Wade laughed. “Then why the fuck does everything about him scream otherwise?”

Mobius tried to protest again, but Wade cut him off. “We’ve been through this a million times, so I’ll just cut to the chase this time. The way he clings to you like he’s scared that you’ll disappear. The way that as far as he’s concerned, everyone else ceases to exist the second you walk into a room. That weird, overly large smile that he only whips out for you. The “fuck me” eyes he’s always giving you. The fact that he never laughs at my jokes, but when you say something mildly funny, he acts like it’s the most hilarious thing he’s ever heard. Any of that ring a bell?”

Mobius shook his head. “Have you ever considered that he doesn’t laugh at your jokes because they’re not funny, Wade?” That wasn’t true, and Wade knew it, but he still needed to take the other man down a peg sometimes.

Wade clutched at his chest, over his heart. “Oh, how you wound me, Moby. And yet, daddy Wade is still willing to help you get yo man.”

“I’ve told you before. I’m not calling you daddy Wade.”

“Fine then, what about daddy Deadpool?”

“Still no.”

“Can I call daddy Moby?”

Mobius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to shoo away the headache currently brewing behind his eyes. He had no clue why he kept this friendship with Wade up. No, that wasn’t true. He did know. It was the massive collection of teas, and the fact that under his incredibly weird exterior, he actually had a heart of gold and would do anything to help his friends.

“Is daddy Moby staying for dinner? I hope so because I already took out porkchops to defrost.”

Mobius shook his head. “Sorry, but I can’t. Loki wants to make me some kind of pasta dish for dinner.”

“And you say that man doesn’t love you. Cooking for someone is the surest sign of true love!”

“Wade,” Al said, setting down her book. “Don’t forget your matchmaking plan. We worked hard on this. It can’t go to waste.”

Oh, great, apparently Wade was discussing his pathetic, non-existent love life even when Mobius wasn’t around.

“Right!” Wade replied, throwing an arm over Mobius’s shoulder. “So, hottie long legs is the jealous type, right?”

Mobius couldn’t deny that. Loki had a jealous streak three thousand miles long. “Yes? Where is this going?”

“Well, what Al and I were thinking was we just have to get your pal Loki to catch me flirting with you. He won’t be able to resist staking his claim like a cat pissing to mark its territory. Mobius had his doubts, but really, what could it hurt to try?

“Sure,” he said, hesitantly.

They were just finishing up at the Able Sisters’ when Mobius’s phone started to ring. Loki. He accepted the call, and barely had a chance to say hello before Wade was yanking the phone out of his hand.

“Hello, Mr. Laufeyson, Al and I are holding Moby hostage. If you want him back, you’ll have to come get him.”

Mobius could hear shouting from the other end of the line but couldn’t make out Loki’s words.

“Perfect,” Wade replied once there was silence. “Now we wait.”

***

Loki dug his nails into the palms of his hands, stopping just short of having a full on freakout on a street corner in Queens, as he waited for the light to change so he could cross. Before splitting up, the two had decided that they would meet at Thor and Bruce’s since they’d arrived much closer to Mobius’s destination. It had only seemed fair.

But now, Wade Wilson was insisting that Loki fetch Mobius at his apartment, and it’s not like Loki had much choice in the matter, since Mobius had the Tempad. He huffed and grumbled under his breath as he walked to the entrance of Wade’s building. He called Mobius again, and Wade picked up this time.

“Hello,” Loki greeted the other man curtly. “May you please release Mobius so we can return home?”

“Sorry, no can do, Amigo,” Wade replied. “You want him, you’re gonna have to come get him. I’ll buzz you up.”

Resisting the urge to stamp his foot like a child, Loki threw the door open as the buzzer sounded, almost pulling it off it’s hinges, and not caring one single bit.

He tapped his foot in the elevator, ignoring the glances from the woman and her two children who were occupying the space with him. Finally, after what seemed like eons, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. He rapped loudly on Wade’s door, and soon heard a reply from within.”

“Come in! It’s open!”

Loki pushed through the door, taking in the small space before him. He’d only been once before, and it didn’t look any less like a bomb had gone off in the room than the last time. He’d once asked Mobius what he saw in the other man, and he’d shrugged, telling Loki he was kind and funny, and had good taste in tea. Loki was hilarious, and could be kind if he wanted to, and he personally thought that most tea tasted like leaf juice, but he could get used to it if it meant keeping Mobius to himself.

He zoned back in, his eyes landing first on Wade’s creepy roommate the ridiculously, if aptly named “Blind Al”, and then beyond her, Wade, with Mobius on his other side. There was a loveseat to the right. Why wasn’t one of them sitting on that. And wait, was that Wade’s arm around Mobius’s shoulder? And his other hand on Mobius’s thigh? What on earth was happening here? Why was that human pile of trash flirting with Mobius?

Loki couldn’t have that. Mobius was his. But he wasn’t, not really. Because Loki had been too much of a fool, too wrapped up in his own feelings about not being good enough for Mobius to stake his claim. What if it was too late?

No one seemed to be paying any mind to Loki, Al running her fingers over the pages of a large book, and Wade speaking to Mobius in low tones, whispering in his ear. Loki cleared his throat, and Mobius and Wade turned their heads slowly towards him, as if they’d just realized that he was there.

“Oh hey, baby cakes, come in, make yourself at home. There’s room for a fourth here on the couch, if you want to join us?” There was most certainly not enough room, and Loki was about to say as much when something inside him snapped. He could not lose his precious Mobius to Wade Wilson, of all people.

He stalked over to the couch and yanked Wade’s hand off Mobius’s thigh, his arm from around his shoulder. He then took Mobius’s hand and pulled him free of the saggy cushions.

Mobius moved towards the front door of the apartment, but Loki redirected him, guiding him, with a hand on his back, down the short hallway. One of these doors had to have a bedroom behind it. After two false starts with a linen closet and a bathroom, Loki finally found a bed behind the third door, and shoved Mobius into the room, losing the door behind them.

Turning, he walked towards Mobius, until there was only an inch between their faces. Mobius stared at him as Loki slid one hand into the back of his silver hair, and settled the other onto his hip, and pulled him in for a kiss. It was short and chaste, just their lips briefly pressed together, but it was the best first kiss that Loki had ever had.

Pulling back, Mobius looked at Loki with wide eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

Loki bridged the gap again, and his face just a quarter inch away from Mobius’s, he whispered “What I should have done a hell of a long time ago.” And with that, he pulled Mobius in for another kiss. Where the last kiss had been brief, just a peck, this kiss was anything but. It took them a moment to get it right, their noses bumping as they met head-on, but then Mobius tilted his head just a little, and everything slotted into place.

Mobius fisted his hands in the front of Loki’s shirt, pulling him impossibly closer as Loki sucked on Mobius’s bottom lip and tugged on his hair. Mobius moaned softly, licking at the seam of Loki’s mouth, seeking entrance that Loki willingly gave. They stayed like that, pressed tight together, for an indeterminate amount of time, before they finally had to come up for air.

In the end, they never even made it to the bed. They panted into the small space between their mouths, and Loki turned them, so Mobius’s back was up against the door. Loki was glad the other man was wearing a button down as he made quick work of the first few buttons, just enough to gain access to the juncture between Mobius’s neck and shoulder. He sucked and bit and nipped and licked all over every inch of skin that he had access to, leaving quickly purpling marks in his wake. Good. He wanted Mobius to think of this every time he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the next few days.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Loki continued open the buttons of Mobius’s shirt, stopping first to suck on his nipples, one by one, deeply pleased with the increasingly loud whines that Mobius was emitting. At some point, he’d weaved his hands into Loki’s curls, and Loki could feel his already half hard cock jump in his slacks when Mobius tugged sharply.

He continued to work on Mobius’s pecs, rolling and pinching his nipples between his fingers as he bent down and sunk his teeth into the soft meat of Mobius’s belly, brain practically melting out of his ears as it quivered under his touch. It was something Loki had wanting since he’d met the man, and it felt like heaven on earth to nuzzle his face against the hair there.

His lips followed the trail of hair to the top of Mobius’s jeans, and he slid down to his knees, and he tilted his head up, meeting Mobius’s molten gaze and giving him a questing look as he slipped his fingers just below the waistline. He stood back up and pressed his lips hot to Mobius’s neck. “Can I? Can I please make you feel good, Mobius?”

He took the answering groan as an affirmative and made quick work of the button and fly on Mobius’s pants, not even bothering to pull them down, instead plunging his hand inside. There as barely enough room, but Loki made it work, circling Mobious’s cock with his fist. He thumbed at the head, already wet with precum, using the slick to ease the way.

Mobius moaned, his eyes squeezing shut momentarily, as if he was overwhelmed by the pleasure, as Loki stroked him fast and hard.

“Is that good?” he asked, continuing his ministrations.

Mobius, who by now had worked open most of the buttons on Loki’s shirt and was sucking marks of his own into Loki’s collarbone, pulled off, panting. “Yes, fuck Loki, it’s so fucking good. You’re so fucking good. I can’t believe this is happening.”

Loki chuckled softly, stroking faster. “You’d better believe it, because it is.” He could feel everything he’d wanted to tell Mobius the whole time they’d known each other about to spill out. He knew the middle of a hand job wasn’t exactly the best time for heartfelt conversation, but he couldn’t hold back. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Mobius. You’re so beautiful. So kind and smart and patient, so sweet to me, believing in me when no one else did.” Mobius was bucking into his fist, his breath becoming shallower, and Loki knew he should focus his attention on making the man come, but he couldn’t stop now. “I love you, Mobius.”

With that, Mobius was groaning loudly, his head banging on the bedroom door as he came, spilling hot into Loki’s fist. He kept his head tilted back, eyelashes fluttering as he caught his breath, coming down from his high. Maybe, if Loki was lucky, Mobius’s orgasm was so good that he hadn’t even paid attention to what Loki was babbling on about.

“Do think they heard us?” Mobius asked, sounding abashed.

“Who cares,” Loki replied. “Those perverts are probably out there getting off to this.”

Mobius laughed but didn’t disagree. He pulled Loki to him, wrapping his arms around his back and nibbling on his ear lobe. “I love you too, pussycat, for the record. I think a part of me always has.”

Pussycat. Oh gods, Loki was weak for this man. It was a good thing that Mobius was holding Loki to him, because Loki suddenly felt as if his legs were about to give out under him.

“Can I return the favour?” Mobius asked as his hands roamed over Loki’s exposed chest, his eyes reverent.

Loki nodded, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. He expected Mobius to slip his hand into his pants, but instead, he slipped down onto his knees, mouthing at Loki’s cloth covered cock, his breath hot against the fabric.

“Oh Mobius,” Loki breathed, his voice coming out like a whine. “You don’t have to.”

Mobius chuckled. “I’m well aware that I don’t have to, Loki. Have you ever considered that I want to? More than anything?”

Well then. Loki certainly wasn’t going to stop him if it was what he truly wanted. “Be my guest.”

With that, Mobius was quickly divested Loki of his pants briefs and mouthed at the flushed head of his cock. He ran his tongue along the dripping slit, and Loki gasped, sinking his hands into Mobius’s hair, and tugging hard. Mobius groaned at that, taking more of Loki into his mouth as his hands roamed up the back of Loki’s thighs before settling on his ass, which he squeezed, kneading the cheeks in the palm of his hands.

Loki loosened his grip on Mobius’s hair and used his hand to gently guide the man’s head as he took Loki all the way in, until his nose was nestled in the hair at the base of his cock. He bobbed his head a few times, and Loki could feel the coil of heat in his stomach tightening. He could tell this was going to be over embarrassingly fast, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when it felt so fucking good.

Loki tugged on Mobius’s hair in warning, but the other man only took him all the way back in, hollowing out his cheeks like he was trying to suck Loki’s soul out through his cock. He came close, Loki seeing white, going breathless as he came with a loud cry own Mobius’s throat.

In a moment, Mobius was back on his feet, and Loki pulled him into a kiss, licking into his mouth, not caring that he could taste himself on Mobius’s tongue. They stood there, trading lazy kisses, until Mobius finally pulled away.

“I think we should maybe go now, kitten. We’ve been locked in here long enough, and I’d like to get the walk of shame over and done with.”

Reluctantly, Loki agreed, and they got dressed, doing their best to smooth out the wrinkles in their clothes and flatten their hair.

They slipped out the bedroom door quietly, hoping that maybe they could leave the apartment undetected, but no such luck. Wade, who was laying on the couch, reading a magazine, let out a loud wolf whistle. “Hey cuties, glad to see you finally got into each other’s pants. I really fooled you there, didn’t I, Loki? I should receive an Oscar for my acting. Then I’ll be one letter closer to an EGOT. Or at least I’ll have one letter towards an EGOT. Actually, no letters, because I wasn’t acting. You’re hot hot hot, Mobius. It’s not hard to flirt with you at all! Do you two want to give daddy Wade a kiss as a thank you?”

Loki rolled his eyes, taking Mobius’s hand in his own. He had no clue what the man was on about, but he certainly didn’t want to kiss him, that he was sure of. “Thank you, Wade, but no thank you. I believe we’ll only be kissing each other from here on out.”

“Fine,” Wade replied, sticking his tongue out like a child. “I don’t want you anyway. I’ve moved on to daddy Wolvie.” At that, Wolverine appeared, inexplicably wearing a frilly pink apron over his clothes.

Loki’s cheeks burned with shame. It was one thing for Wade and Al to hear them, but quite another for Wolverine to hear. He was a real, distinguished man.

“Hi Mobius, Loki.” He greeted them. “Had fun, I hear?” He winked, and Loki had to turn, no longer able to look him in the eye.

“Uh, I didn’t realize you were having other guests, Wade.” Mobius said, reaching into the hall closet for his coat.

“Well,” Wade replied, not taking his eyes off his magazine, which Loki could now see was pornographic in nature. “When you ditched me for dinner, I had to make other plans. Couldn’t let those pork chops go to waste! How about you take a quick break from making my dinner and come give daddy Wade a kiss, Wolvie?”

“Never going to happen, Wade.”

“But it could!”

“But it won’t! Also, stop trying to make “daddy Wade” happen. It’s not going to happen.”

“If I stop, will you give me a little sugar, sugar?”

Wolverine rolled his eyes. “Maybe. If you’re a good boy for daddy Wolvie.”

Loki and Mobius took that as their cue to leave, and hand in hand, they slipped out the door, ready to head back home, far, far away from here.

#lokius #loki #mobius m mobius #loki x mobius #lokius fic #wade wilson #deadpool #wolverine #lemon #chrisbitchtree writes #my fic

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