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phantomrose96 · 3 years

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For Pennies

Warm-up mini fic. Consider this a doodle.

....

The Fentons were selling their house for pennies.

The “For Sale” sign out front was easily missed against the ostentatious display of the op center, and the “FENTON” sign, and the Fenton RV. Or perhaps, all that made it more noticeable. It bolstered the weird and unsettling mundanity of a standard-issue For Sale sign dictating the fate of a house so indescribably odd.

It took only a few curious gossips to find the listing, and to spread the news further when the listing asked for hardly a fifth of standard asking price. Real estate agents weighed in on town facebook pages that, yes, this was abysmally low. Others rationalized it. “It’s only natural. Those house modifications have killed the resale value. The basement is uninhabitable according to the listing. They’re selling an extreme fixer-upper.”

And when the house did not sell in the first week, the price dipped again. And when rumors spread that the house owners were responsible for the town’s ghost blight, the price dipped once again. Then nearly overnight, the op-center vanished, and the FENTON sign disappeared from sight. The Fentons were, if nothing else, impressive engineers, capable of undoing a lifetime’s work in a weekend. Soon after, the listing sold.

The buyer, Peter, was looking for fixer-uppers to flip and rent. He knew about the Amity Park rumors, but if the renting market proved stale for the fear of ghosts, he knew the airbnb market would thrive with curious tourists, so the property was a safe bet regardless.

He met the family once, in the house, when he came to inspect it and sign paperwork if he was satisfied. The husband was perhaps the biggest man Peter had ever seen, portly yet rock solid, clad head to toe in neon orange. The wife matched him in jumpsuits, a powder blue one. Their daughter seemed normal, though she and Peter only exchanged a handful of words.

“Where are you folks headed once this place is sold?” Peter asked, cordially, eyes flitting between the contract before him and the couple seated across the table.

“Westward, a bit. Um, Maddie’s got a sister out there. We’re trying to be closer to family.”

Peter nodded. “Always good to have family around.” He glanced in the daughter’s direction. “Are you excited to be moving closer to your aunt?”

The daughter met his gaze, level. “I’m not going with them, actually.”

“Oh?” Peter asked. “Headed to college? That would make sense.”

“I’m a rising senior,” the girl answered.

“Jazz is—” the mother, Maddie, cut in. “It’s well, it’s about to be her senior year of high school. Hard time to switch schools, you know? She’s going to be renting a place nearby so she can finish school here.”

“Oh? First time living all on your own?” Peter asked, initialing a page of the contract.

“I’m 17. It’s not that weird.”

“Never said it was. I remember my first place pretty fondly. It’s an exciting milestone, don’t waste it!”

Peter initialed another page. He spun the document back to the Fentons to sign as well.

“Well, I really like the place, is what I’ve got to say. The newly redone flooring on this floor was a perk I wasn’t expecting, can’t have been cheap. You still managed to keep the price amazing though. Don’t worry about the dings and scratches – I’ve got the art of fixing up places down to a science. I’ll take a crack at the basement too.”

“We’d rather you didn’t,” Maddie answered.

Peter waved her off. “I know it was some kind of lab, yeah? You won’t be liable if I say, spill acid on myself or dunk myself in radiation or, whatever you had going on down there. We can go over that clause of the contract again if you want. Ghosts, right?”

“It’s dangerous—”

“If I can’t hack it, I’ll seal up the basement for good. But I won’t know until I try. Seriously, don’t worry.”

The Fentons signed the final page, and flipped the contract back around to Peter. He pulled an envelope from his coat – a check made out with the full amount. No loan needed. No mortgage. Their asking price was practically pocket change.

The daughter excused herself from the room.

…

The Fenton basement had fewer wonders than Peter was expecting.

He swung a flashlight around, as the bulb hanging overhead had been cut from the main power supply. Most everything had been cleared out, leaving a room hollowed out. His feet clicked across the metal floor. Walls of bolted steel rose high on all four sides. On the opposite wall, the scars of heavy bolting remained, along with the smoky stain of something huge, and geometric, no longer bolted to the wall.

He swung his beam wide, across every which wall beveling with bloated shadows, until he pinned the electrical panel.

“There you are.”

It took some tampering, and some patience, because something had physically demolished the box before him. Peter knew his way around basic house wiring, so it took only a few experimental adjustments until he threw the breaker, and the industrial light overhead clunked to life.

Peter turned, surveying the mouse cage of pure, uninterrupted steel sheeting, bolted together wall to wall, across the floor, across the ceiling. It was an impressive expanse of space, and under the proper flood lighting Peter could make out the deeper shadowy stains of where industrial cabinets used to be affixed to the floors, the walls. He was staring into the burnt out afterimage of what, he could only conjecture, had once been an impressive scientific facility.

It wasn’t above being carpeted and turned into a rec room.

Peter paused, his eyes training to the back corner near the octagonal imprint left in the wall. Something seemed amiss, something with color, popping bright against a display of pure ash and silver.

Peter stepped forward, flashlight still pointed though it served little use now. The space took shape – a rectangular impression on the floor, about as large as a twin bed, formed a negative image. The rectangle was spotlessly clean, silver and shiny, as though recently cleaned and polished and recleaned and repolished.

It was the edges of the rectangle, the spatters of space stretching beyond it, that held Peter’s attention.

Green, verging toward a rusty brown, splattered the floor. He stepped closer, and knelt, and stared at the pattern. Like a dropped vial of green chemicals that shattered and spattered the floors, the neighboring wall. Like radioactive spill left to eat into the floor. Peter thought back to his radioactive quip, and wondered if he should perhaps back away.

He set a nail to one of the stains and scratched at it. It would not lift. It would not budge. He swung the flashlight beam, and he found the stains glittered, and then dulled where they edged closer to rust.

And it was the rust that confused Peter the most. That copper color, like pennies, that morphed away from the green. It wasn’t uniform. It did not eat away symmetrically at the edges of the stains. Instead it spattered, and dragged, and molded from droplets to long streaks dragging across the floor like chalk dust on a blackboard.

Peter followed them. The streaking ended. Beyond that, he caught a single droplet speckled into the floor a foot away. Another, when he swung his beam. And another. He followed them, one by one, tracing them back to the basement stairs, up, up, up, up.

At the top of the stairs, the trail vanished. The brand new hardwood flooring that stretched through the whole first floor was immaculate.

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #implied character death

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fuck-customers · 3 years

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DOG GROOMING PSA

*cries into hands* if you have a dog, please... please read this...

BRUSH YOUR DOG. Not just surface brushing, LINE brush your dog. Pull the hair back and brush down. NOT TOO HARD or too much in one spot or you'll give them brush burn. Use a SLICKER and a METAL COMB for best results. You wouldnt let your hair get pelted and then go to a hairdresser and ask them to keep all your hair.

If you get your fluffy dog wet, YOU CAN NOT LEAVE THEM WET. Double coated (huskies, shepherds, st. Bernard's ect) will get HOT SPOTS if they are left soaked. And any dog with longer hair WILL get matted if not dried properly.

STOP TAKING YOUR KITCHEN SCISSORS TO YOUR DOGS MATTS. If you dont know what you're doing, you'll cut them wide open. Also it's really annoying to have to even out chunks taken out. If you need to groom your dog at home, 30$ on amazon you can get a small grooming kit. I use it at home and it works just fine.

Wipe your dogs eyes. Seriously. It's not that fucking hard. Get some baby wipes, and wipe their eyes at least once a day. Wipe their ears while you're at it too. ESPECIALLY if they have a short snout, or are a senior.

Wipe your dogs ass too. Females can get UTI's if their back end is matted and soaked in fences and urine. I see it all the time. I dont like shaving out matted shit and piss.

Your dogs nails should never be touching the ground. Imagine walking on your toe nails. If your dogs nails are overgrown, take them every 2 weeks to get them done and the quick will recede eventually.

Your groomer is not responsible for BASIC maintenance on your dog. You wouldnt leave your child with matted hair, covered in their own piss and shit, and bring them to someone asking them to fix it. Your child would be taken away.

In my experience, some groomers will do just basic brush outs and maintenance (this would need to be done at least once a week at the bare minimum) IF YOU NEED AND ARE WILLING TO MAKE THE COMMITMENT. WE WANT TO KEEP YOUR DOG FLUFFY, WE WANT YOUR DOG TO LOOK AND FEEL THEIR BEST.

Also tip your groomer.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk

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demonslayedher · 2 years

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The other day I went to a neighborhood bathhouse to hang out with ten of my friends. One of them was a real person, the other nine of them were posterboard cut-outs.

Also, not my neighborhood. We had to go to a neighboring city for the closest Raku Spa, a chain of sentou-style bathing public facilities. At least for the one we went to, it seems to be popular with senior citizens. TAISHO SECRET!! It seems Raku Spa is also popular with Demon Slayer Corp members, with this "Tanjiro & Friends' Day Off!" collaboration. They had this series of profile images used repeated, basically. What you see here is basically the whole collab. But you know what? I love those outfits, especially on the girls, and I love the idea of them all lounging around the Butterfly Mansion in these and I want to wear them too.

Anyway, for Kimetsu fans, this collab has been popular for its merch and most of the popular items have been consistently sold out, so besides a dip in this week's "Shinobu Bath" (they hung a poster with a bunch of screenshots of her and dyed the carbonated bath deep purple), we were mostly there to enjoy the themed menu items.

As the theme of this collab was about relaxing, I'm going to be relaxed with this post and not very thorough.

Lots and lots of lemon flavored things, and lots of blue food coloring.

The drinks with character bottles you can take home were all sold out, but every item came with a coaster. We both got Kanao's butterfly pea tea parfait, my friend got the Giyuu apple-lemon drink and the Zenitsu "goro-goro"* curry, and I got the Uzui bubblegum cola and Giyuu's Wagyu roast beef and cold noodles. Yeah, kind of ridiculous prices, but we went into this accepting that we are ridiculous fangirls. By the way, Uzui's mixed sushi comes with flamboyant sparklers.

*goro-goro: something large rolling around, like the vegetables in this curry dish *goro-goro: the rolling sound of thunder *goro-goro: lazing around

With our purchasing power combined, which got the following fronts and backs.

I had found it kind of hilarious that you could go home with a coaster that was just a closeup on Inosuke's towel, but then I got Zenitsu's pants, so...

Anyway, food.

AND FRIENDS

Uzui is so freaking tall. Anyway, I loved the details like Uzui's painted toe nails, Nezuko's flushed cheeks, Rengoku being super sweaty (Taisho Secret: I hear the "Rengoku Bath" last week was extra hot), and Zenitsu being an image I can hear.

On the stairs up to the baths, there were screenshots with bathhouse rules, some of my favorites were: "Remember to remove makeup" (Zenko & Inoko close-up) "Don't get angry if the merch you want is gone" (Warabihime's glare) "Don't run in the halls" (Inoko, running in the halls) "Listen carefully to facility announcements" (Uzui listening) "Don't use a big voice or talk while you eat" (Rengoku eating bentou) Ah, there were occasional announcements in Tanjiro's voice, and I'm pretty sure it was the same one twice, but the TV news in the restaurant was playing too loud, and the running water in the bathing area was too loud to hear it clearly. ^^;; At other collab events you get a lot more variety, like different phases of the Sukiya collab had long conversations between, say, Uzui and Inosuke discussing what a good bowl of gyudon Sukiya makes, or Tanjiro contemplating how steam engines are such amazing technology that reminds him of Breath technique.

I didn't find this the most inspired collab event, but I'll state again how much I would love to lounge around in those outfits in real life. To wrap up this post, be warned: Poke Giyuu and Giyuu gets the last laugh.

#kny merch #kinda of #only because I don't have a tag for collab events #kny silliness

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ask-college-patrochilles · 3 years

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Pat: It's... a long story.

The first thing Pat notices as he comes out of the shower are the voices coming from the kitchen. It isn't exactly strange considering he lived with Achilles and they'd invited Bri over for the night. He and Bri didn't hang out like they used to, with both students caught up in the senior year and post-graduation plans. It had been nice to catch up, to have Pat's two favorite people together with him at the same time.

But the second thing he realizes is how hushed they are. Achilles never mutters, always keen to shout what's on his mind, and Bri certainly doesn't whisper to Pat's boyfriend on the regular.

He knows it's wrong- they're both so important to him, he could just… walk out and ask what's up- but Pat can't help himself. Quickly, he dries off his hair and discards the towel as quietly as possible into the laundry room. There's a wall separating the hallway to his bedroom and the bathroom from the kitchen. Pat presses his back against it and strains to listen.

There's the sound of the coffee machine running, almost loud enough to drown out Bri's question. "I wanted to know how you and Pat are doing," she says, followed by the pouring of coffee into a cup.

Achilles snorts. "I would think you guys have already talked about that." Always defensive, even when he doesn't need to be. It makes Pat's chest ache.

"Yeah, but I want to hear it from you." One of the chairs scrapes against the floor, and Pat assumes Bri takes a seat. "You're your own person. You might see things differently."

Pat isn't sure why, but he holds his breath for his boyfriend's answer. Everything has been… mundane, really. Nothing special. Achilles is like an extension of Pat: they always know what the other is thinking, are always able to finish each other's sentences. More often than not they're together, Achilles leaning against him or holding his hand.

"We're good," Achilles finally replies. "Really good." Pat deflates in relief. "You'd think by now we'd be sick of each other or stepping on each other's toes, but…"

"But?" Bri prods.

"But I still always want to be by his side." Bri makes a sound, probably exasperated. "It's cheesy, yeah, but I've never felt this way about anyone before."

Pat closes his eyes with a small smile. Of course they felt the same- Achilles has his entire heart. He'd know if something was off because it would be like his own heart was breaking. There was nothing to worry about.

He's about to walk around the corner to greet them when Achilles continues. "There's just-" He pauses for a long moment. "Can you keep a secret?"

Silence.

"It's nothing bad," Achilles reassures Bri in a rush. "At least, I don't think so, but I don't really know what to think if I'm being honest. It's all so confusing and terrifying and I-"

"Slow down," Bri cuts in. "Tell me what's wrong and maybe I can help."

Achilles takes a deep breath, something Pat has had to drill into his head to do when he's overwhelmed. Hopefully, he's counting to ten in his head like Pat taught him too. They were still working on it. "I love Pat," Achilles starts again. "A lot."

"Okay."

"More than anything. More than… running or school or whatever. He's the most important person to me." The floor creaks, and Pat can only assume he's pacing around the kitchen. Achilles can never sit still when he's anxious. "I'd do anything for him. I'd… I'd eat a whole raw onion for him or fight off sharks. I'd cut off my leg- although I'd probably ask if we could amputate an arm instead since I still want to be a track star-"

"Achilles."

"Right."

Pat's heart races in his chest. He can't tell where this is going, and he hates not knowing what was on Achilles' mind. They're connected at the hip, so why can't he understand what's wrong?

"I guess I'm trying to say I don't think I could ever be with anyone else- actually, scratch that. I know I couldn't."

Bri's nails drum against the tabletop. Click, click, click. "This is all really sweet, but I don't know why you're telling me."

Achilles inhales loud enough for Pat to hear. "I want to be with him for the rest of my life."

A pause. "Okay."

"I want to marry him, Bri."

Pat's eyes widen, and he's surprised his knees don't give out underneath him.

He's always assumed he and Achilles would always be together. After all, they'd been inseparable from the moment they'd met. Even before they were partners, Pat felt whole with Achilles. Their relationship was one that was bound to last.

He just… never exactly thought about proposing or weddings or any of that. They lived together, didn't they? That was practically marriage to Pat. Splitting rent and divvying up chores wasn't for the weak of heart.

Marriage was big. Marriage meant they would spend the rest of their lives together. There'd be a certificate and everything to say they belonged only to each other. There would be anniversaries and a family and growing old together. Pat can't even fathom it- he couldn't even think about what the next week would be like! He lives his life from exam to exam, shift to shift at the hospital.

Bri seems to be on the same track as Pat. "You're both only in your twenties," she points out.

"I want to propose," Achilles says as if he doesn't hear her. "I know I do."

"Now? What about-"

"I already have a ring." Now Pat definitely wants to collapse. He covers his mouth with both hands so he doesn't gasp out loud. This was all happening very fast. The room seems to spin, and he leans his weight against the wall so he doesn't fall over.

"What?" Bri's chair scrapes against the floor. "How long have you had that?"

"A little while."

"Have you talked about any of this with Pat?" Pat could easily answer that question. His racing heart and clammy palms are as good an answer as any. He's sure Achilles shakes his head since Bri sighs loudly. "Don't you think that's sort of important? You don't just pop a proposal out of nowhere."

"You don't?" Achilles sounds genuinely confused. He probably got his entire idea of marriage from movies and television. His parents certainly didn't seem to be much help.

"You have to talk about the future first. Talk about what you both want." Achilles is quiet. He must be frustrated- he hates waiting, and he hates too much serious talk. Pat knows he prefers to wing it. After all, life seemed to go pretty smoothly for him without any prior planning. "If you guys are on the same page, then- and only then- maybe it's time."

Achilles grunts.

"You guys have all the time in the world," Bri reassures him gently. "Pat's not going anywhere. Trust me on that one."

"I don't want to lose him," Achilles says. It shatters Pat's heart to little pieces. How could he ever think Pat would leave him? They were in this for the long run no matter what. They'd grown together as individuals and as a couple, and Pat knew they still had so much more to learn.

It's what finally draws him from his corner. Pat scrunches his hair with his hands like he just came out of the shower as he walks to the kitchen. Bri sits across from Achilles at the table. As soon as she sees Pat, she kicks his boyfriend in the shin to alert him. Achilles turns, and Pat catches him stuffing something small into his pocket.

"There's coffee made if you want some," Bri says. So they didn't realize he'd been listening. Pat seems to be off the hook for now.

"Maybe later." Pat's too overwhelmed at the moment to be anywhere but with Achilles. He wraps an arm around his boyfriend's shoulders and slides into his lap. Achilles gives him a smile and starts to say good morning, but Pat is already kissing him sweetly.

Achilles doesn't kiss back at first. He's too surprised, probably since Pat is never really a functioning human being in the morning before his coffee. But it takes him no time to hold Pat's hips firmly in place and part his lips to welcome Pat's tongue inside. Pat licks into his mouth, tasting maple syrup and sugar and everything Achilles.

Pat loves him. He loves him with his entire being. If Achilles dropped on one knee right now, Pat knows he'd say yes despite any doubts or reservations he might have. Because they'd figure them out together no matter what.

Bri's groaning is what brings Pat back to reality. "Can I please just drink my coffee in peace?" she begs. "One morning where I'm not assaulted by you two? Please?"

Achilles scowls in response. "If you don't like it, don't come over."

"You invited me!"

"Then you should’ve turned down the invite!"

Bri and Achilles bicker about the logistics of sleepovers, but Pat couldn't be happier. He presses his forehead against Achilles' temple and smiles wide. His Achilles, forever.

#i didnt forget i PROMISE

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adorethedistance · 4 years

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City Slicker, Cowboyfriend - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: Swearing, nerves, mentions of covid.

Words: 2163

Summary: You’re starting to have doubts about moving all the way to Norman until a shopping trip to Ikea turns into the meet-cute you’ve been waiting for.

A/n: This isn’t a request or one of my Valentines day fics, this is just something that I have had stuck in my head ever since Owen posted this on IG and bc I’m facing total writers block with my other pieces I cranked this one out in a few hours to get the ball rolling again. Hopefully. Enjoy this totally unproofed, fluffy madness!! (Because who doesn’t need more Owen content in their life?)

There are perks to moving and one of them is undoubtedly: shopping. For furniture, home decor, kitchen utensils, whatever! Granted, shopping alone can be tedious and, for some, like pulling teeth, thus, I’ve enlisted the help of my best friends Leila and Chelsea. I didn’t even have to bribe them to come because everyone loves getting lost in Ikea. It’s one of the best things about the human experience.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been in an Ikea,” Leila says to no one in particular as we walk through the onslaught of staged bedrooms.

“What?! Are you telling me you don’t get meatballs and lawn chairs on a weekly basis?” My exaggeration makes Leila laugh as she steps into one of the display kitchens. Looking between me and Chelsea she asks,

“What would you do if I turned the handle then a jet of water sprayed out?”

“Die, I guess.”

The three of us continue through the faux house displays and past the mattresses despite Leila’s urge to jump on every single one. As we walk through the section of different lighting features, I sigh with a frown as I think about college. I changed my bachelor’s to an associate’s so I could graduate in two years. Chelsea’s parents moved out here at the end of our senior year in high school, and she moved with them to study in Norman. Leila in turn went to Arizona for an athletic physical therapy gig, leaving me to face college alone in L.A.. In the two years the three of us were apart, we missed each other more and more, and after determining which of the three states we lived in was cheapest, we packed up and headed East. Covid kind of delayed our plans. But after a few months, I picked Leila up from Arizona and together we chased open job opportunities into Norman, Oklahoma. The three of us found an apartment space to live in together and thus, we ended up in Ikea on this fine Sunday afternoon.

Snapping back into reality I see Leila standing directly under a light that’s hanging very low from the ceiling. Once standing directly underneath it, she pulls down her mask and opens her mouth, rising to her toes to eat the fixture.

“Leila, don’t you dare fellate that light bulb! You’re gonna get us kicked out.”

I swear I’m practically their mom when it comes to behaving in public. Figuring they can’t hurt themselves in the college dorm section, I lead them quickly through it and into the giant furniture warehouse section. On the far wall, I see a large poster of a couple smiling brightly behind Chelsea, but I don’t bother to read the text. Leila and I spot the poster at the same time, and the imagery jogs her memory.

“Chelsea, how’s Hunter? Haven’t heard from him slash about him in like a week,” she asks about Chelsea’s boyfriend of a year.

“Oh, yeah, he tore a ligament in his wrist.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, I guess he moved it wrong or something and put too much stress on the area that it just tore. He was moving hay bales into the horse stables.”

“As opposed to the chicken stables,” Leila judges under her breath, which makes me snicker as a result.

“I still can’t believe you’re dating a literal cowboy,” I interject, “Like, I know we’re in Oklahoma, and he’s from Tennessee, but we saw Texas on the way out here and that’s cowboy country. Norman seems more...” I trail off in search of delicate phrasing.

“Just barely marry your cousin territory, but still downing chewing tobacco whilst driving a lifted truck?” Leila hits the nail squarely on the head.

“Yeah, that sounds about right-” Before I can continue giving my thoughts on Norman, I cut myself off at the sound of laughter behind me.

“Sorry. We weren’t trying to eavesdrop, that was just really funny.” When I turn around, I see a guy roughly our age dressed in all black with bleach-blonde hair, speaking through light, broken laughter.

“No worries,” I dismiss the apology as we pass by one another, and out from the dressers section. The three of us continue into the different sections, and come to a stop once I see we’re exactly where we need to be: dining room shit!

“Cowboy boyfriends aside- oh my gosh: cowboy boyfriends. Cowboyfriends,” I say getting lost in my new terminology. Both of my friends share a mix of laughter and gasps and my ingeniousness. “Anyway. Cowboyfriends aside, how is Avery?” I ask Leila who begins blushing madly.

“She’s really good. We were just making plans for our three year anniversary, which reminds me to tell y’all I’m flying back to Phoenix to surprise her.”

“Awwww,” I nearly tear up and the sweet image of Leila and her girlfriend reuniting, “Y’all are so cute. Both of you and your partners. You know, being the only single friend in this group has made life suck a lot. Y’all are so happy and in love and not dead inside. Honestly? Get fucked both of you.” Despite my harsh words, the three of us break into a lighthearted conglomerate of laughter.

“We’ll find you someone… eventually.” Leila pretends she also can’t hear the last part of her sentence despite being the one saying it.

“I know, but I don’t think it’s in the cards for me to find love in Norman. I don’t need a cowboyfriend, and we’re not gonna find a true city slicker here either.”

When I finish my statement, I see our blonde friend seems to have followed us. I observe he comes to a stop in front of another guy in a flannel with a shopping cart. The way they jump into conversation with one another parallels the animated body language Leila, Chelsey, and I share. I continue to watch their exchange as Chelsea speaks up.

“Maybe you need someone right down the middle.”

“Yeah, like a guy who drives a truck but uses it to transport Ikea furniture instead of a whole ass tree that he’ll carve into a chair.” A small laugh escapes my lips, at both Leila’s statement, and the scene ahead of Blondie pretending to strangle his friend over something. I’m snapped out of my nosy yet endeared stare as a third guy appears. He’s a sandy blonde with billowing locks tucked under a trucker hat. And he came from behind me and my two friends to place something in their cart which keeps his back toward me. When he turns back around, my mind goes blank. Any thoughts of shopping for dining room chairs has left my mind. He is wearing a face mask, but he has such nice eyes that he could have a giraffe snout under the mask for all I care. I see him look up from the shelves, directly into my eyes. We stay locked for a moment before he breaks away and turns to his friends. I slowly turn to my friends too who are both giving me the exact same look of excitement and conspiracy.

“He’s really cute,” I sigh out with a laugh, swooning much louder than I’d have preferred.

“He has a face mask on,” Leila points out, her expression dropping from excited to cynical.

“Still! I can just tell.”

“Girl, what are you doing? Talk to him!” Chelsea whisper-shrieks.

“Shhh, I cannot take you anywhere!”

Glancing back at the handsome stranger, we connect eyes once more and I feel my face heat furiously as I realize he was already looking at me. I’m the first to break; I consult my friends for the best course of action and as I’m turned 180 to face them, Chelsea starts pretending to hyperventilate excitedly. Leila looks over my shoulder for me, discreetly surveying the other trio in the dining chairs aisle.

“Don’t look now, but he’s talking to his friends and looking between them and you.” I can hear in her voice she’s trying her best not to smile despite wearing a face mask.

“Should I give him my number?”

“Yes!”

“What are you waiting for?”

“I’m nervous! What if he’s gay?”

“Will you just get over there? I promise you a gay man would not be wearing what he’s wearing right now. Maybe a lesbian,” Leila adds for good measure.

“You guys are freaking me out, I need you to leave so I know you’re not judging my flirting.” I shoo my best friends out of the aisle as inconspicuous as possible. Kinda wish blondie would’ve done the same because when I turn back around, the other trio hasn’t moved and the only one looking at me is the one in all black. He quickly averts his eyes though and I take one last deep breath before walking over to the stranger. I tilt my chin up ever so slightly to fake a sense of confidence that I unmistakably don’t have right now.

“Hey.” Really, Y/n? Hey??

“Hey,” he greets back breathily. Why is he nervous? I’m the one who gets to be nervous! Man, he’s really cute. I can’t fuck this one up. I’m not doing so stellar right now. Perhaps you should say something else, dipshit?

“Uhm,” I should’ve scripted this. “I just wanted to say that-” You’ve got this. Don’t be a bummer. “I-uh, I think you’re really cute and I was wondering if I could give you my number?” My speech is slow, each word deliberate in spite of the fact that I feel like I’m having an out of body experience right now. I’m not the one in control of the words that are coming out of my mouth.

Upon realizing why I walked over, blondie’s friends take the question as a sign to leave and less than inconspicuously back away from the two of us. Trucker hat spares them one last glance over his left shoulder and judging by the look flannel gives him, they were definitely talking about me in their team huddle.

“Uh, yeah. I was gonna ask for your instagram- if you have one, that is.”

“I’m cool with both.” The two of us reach for our phones and unlock them with anxious hands. I move to hand him my phone with instagram open, and he trades me for his which has a new contact open. I type my name and put my favorite heart emoji next to it after triple checking the number is correct. Wow, you’re just so ballsy today, Y/n!!!!! I give him back the phone, scanning the instagram account he’s just opened and followed for me. I hear him exhale a little harder as a small laugh and can only imagine it’s from the stupid heart emoji.

“Owen,” I say in a hushed, endeared voice, fully not intending to say it out loud. “You have a million followers?! Oh, you’re an actor. OH… You’re an actor.” I really don’t need to be speaking my entire thought process right now in the middle of this Ikea. Exhaling a small laugh of my own, I see we already have a small bunch of mutuals, one of which is… Chelsea??? Looking up from my phone I turn around to see Chelsea and Leila watching the interaction from around the corner of one of the industrial shelves.

In the flurry of scattered likes, I see him find my account and follow me back. I accept the request, nervous of what he thinks of me without a face mask on. What do I think of him without a face mask on? Going back to his account, seeing his entire face is even better than just his eyes. I was right, Leila: he is cute.

“You’re really pretty,” I hear him almost sigh as he combs through the grid of my account. The comment makes my heart beat all the much faster and I finally look upward to get a glimpse of Owen in the flesh. Still as beautiful as the last time I checked!

Sparing a quick glance over my shoulder, he looks back down at me and laughs,

“I think your friends got tired of waiting.”

“I think yours did, too.” The other members of our trios come back into the aisle we had kicked them from more or less two minutes ago. We connect eyes once more and stare longingly, wordlessly at one another, so lost in each other’s beauty our friends have to break up the staring contest of infatuation.

“Y/n?” I hear Leila behind me.

“Uh, well, I have to get back to chair shopping, but- text me later?”

“For sure.”

“For sure,” I mimic his voice.

“Guess I’ll see you later. Y/n.”

“Yeah.” And with that, we’re pulled apart by our respective best friends, through the vast expanse of the Norman Ikea.

“What was that?” Chelsea asks, excitedly linking arms with me.

“I don’t know I- Wait, you have some explaining to do!”

***

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @kaitlyn2907 @itz-jas @crybabyddl @kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @calamitykaty @morganayennefertyrell @n0wornever @dream-a-little-bigger-x @mrstodorooki @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys @amazinggracy @kaitieskidmore1 @asdfghjkl-fanfics @ghostlygreenbean @juliefromaustralia @merceret @jemimah-b99 @ifilwtmfc @thesweetestsinner @imsydneywalker @lovesanimals @thebloodthirstyvampress @bumbleberry-pie @losers-club6 @tefilovesreading @dmcfarland1@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz @talk-on-the-street @phantompogues @konciousdreamer @sunsetcurvej @warmnesss0ul @lilyjoyner

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levbug · 4 years

Text

𝐏𝐑𝐄-𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐉𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 — 𝐠𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐤𝐢 𝐭.

#pairings ー goshiki tsutomu x gender neutral! reader

#warnings ー second year! goshiki, self-doubt, panic attacks, swearing (courtesy of shirabu)

#wc ー 1.7k

the first match of the year was always important to the players of shiratorizawa. to some, it signified the starting of something new and exciting, a journey to make the shiratorizawa team better than they were previously. to remind others that they were still a powerhouse school, despite past losses. to others, it meant proving yourself as the player you wanted to be.

goshiki was torn between both categories. he wanted to carry his team as a strong ace (preferably deemed stronger than his predecessor) and with pride. he wanted to be reliable. the backbone of the team. the one everyone could count on when they were in a pinch.

but how could he do that when he had been reduced to a sobbing, shaking mess?

he was surrounded by his teammates, who were trying to calm him down. the second and third years were fussing over him, trying to hype him up while the shy first years stood quietly to the side, pitying their senior. however, the encouraging words of goshiki's teammates fell on deaf ears as his breathing only quickened.

"shit," shirabu cursed under his breath, standing up from his squatting position in front of goshiki. he knew exactly how the young ace was feeling since he had been made captain after all the third years left. still, he was level-headed enough to not have a panic attack just 30 minutes before their first game of the year.

"somebody find (last name)!" his order spurred the stagnant first years, who were waiting on the tips of their toes to be allowed to help their much-respected senior. one of them (shirabu wasn't too familiar with the players who weren't in the starting roster) nodded and immediately left the locker room to find the said person.

"i've tried everything," kawanishi muttered, toying with the tape he had on his fingers. shirabu sighed. "are you sure (last name) can calm the guy down?"

shirabu nodded, his nervous ticks coming out. he anxiously checked at his nail beds, teeth almost cutting through the skin. "let's just hope they can."

just as the words left his mouth, the door slammed open. all eyes were on the entryway, startled by the sudden entrance.

"i'm here! where is he?" your eyes searched for your boyfriend, who you had been told was getting some pre-game jitters. no one had been given a chance to respond to your question because once your gaze landed on the cluster of boys who were surrounding a bench, you made a beeline for them.

shirabu and kawanishi silently thanked all the deities that they believed in, just thankful that you were finally here. "let's give them some privacy." the shorter male nudged his friend, who immediately got the message. kawanishi silently gestured for the rest of the team to follow him and shirabu out of the locker room.

you and goshiki barely noticed the other boys leaving the room—you were too focused on fussing over the shaking boy.

"tsutomu? focus on my voice, love," you ordered softly, holding his trembling hands between yours. goshiki sniffled, muttering a string of incoherent words as his grip on your fingers tightened. "it's okay, tsu. i'm here now."

you wrapped your arms around his neck. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, unaware of the tears and snot staining your clothes. you didn't care though, you only held him tighter. "wanna tell me what's on your mind?" your voice was soft, not wanting to force him into telling you if he didn't want to.

goshiki lifted his head, eyes red and glassy. you brought a hand up to caress his flushed cheeks, a small frown on your face. "i-i...i'm not—" he started to say, but started sobbing again. you waited for him to calm down, muttering reassuring words and telling him he shouldn't have to worry now because it was just him and you. after a few moments, he was able to level his breathing. "i just—what if i'm n-not as good as ushijima?"

his voice cracked at the last syllable, clearly ashamed to admit this. "oh, tsutomu..." you sighed, resting your forehead on his shoulder. you couldn't see it, but you knew goshiki's lip was starting to tremble. "you don't need to feel that way. you know you don't need to compare yourself to him."

"i kn-know!" he hiccuped. "it's j-just that...what if—what if i'm not a-as dependable?" he asked, head hanging low. "i-if we didn't win against karasunoー" he clenched his fists "ーeven with ushijima, what makes you think we can win with me as the ace? i'm nowhere near as skilled as he is, even if i keep boasting about it..." he sighed. his tone had become sombre and the air surrounding you two became thicker.

tears sprang into your own eyes as he voiced his worries. the anxiety and pressure goshiki had been feeling in the days leading up to this point must have been a great amount. and to think that he must have been hiding all this from you for the past few days (weeks? months? you weren't even sure). 'he must have been so scared,' you thought.

"i'm sorry, tsutomu!" you apologized, surprising the boy seated before you. goshiki snapped out of his thoughts, head tilted slightly in confusion. "i'm sorry you felt like you had to keep all of these thoughts to yourself!" you bunched up the material of his jersey between your hands. goshiki tried to take your hands in his, but you wouldn't budge. instead, you stared him straight in the eye, gaze unrelenting. "but please, please know that you should never feel that way! ushijima may have been a strong player, but he got there because of his will to learn and improve. tsutomu, everyone has doubts about their talents or skills. everyone has that time in their life when they don't know if they're good enough. the only difference is whether or not you want to use that as a chance to improve or give up completely!"

tears were now flowing freely down your cheeks. goshiki stared at you, slack-jawed and eyes wide. "and i don't care which you choose, because i will always be with you. no matter what. and that's a promise." your voice wavered at the end of your sentence, too overwhelmed by your feelings.

goshiki barely felt the fresh round of tears rolling down his cheeks, but this time they were for a different reason. a cheeky smile tugged on the corners of his lips. "do you mean that? you'll always be with me?" he poked your cheek, clearly in a better mood now.

you wiped your tears, laughing breathlessly at his words. "is that what you got from my speech?" he laughed as well, eyes twinkling delightedly when you placed a soft peck on his knuckles. "but since you're wondering, yeah. i plan to spend my entire life with you, whether you want it or not!"

goshiki grinned, peppering your face with small kisses. you squealed at him to stop, and he did (but not without one last chaste kiss on your lips). he smiled at you, eyes filled with love and admiration. goshiki had never felt this feeling before, but he was glad that he felt that way for you.

"thank you, (first name)," he muttered into your hair. the strands tickled him softly when you nestled deeper into the embrace. "i needed to hear that." he whispered. you smiled, intertwining your fingers with his: your hand, just as always, fit perfectly with his.

"it's no biggie, love." you kissed his cheek, giggling when he turned a light shade of red. you sat with him a few moments more, just enjoying the peace and solidarity with your boyfriend. it wasn't until the faint cheering of the crowd outside did you realize that goshiki would miss his game if he didn't leave now. "tsutomu! what are you doing, just sitting around? you have a match in less than five minutes!"

"right, right!" goshiki scrambled to his feet, taking you with him. his tears had long ago dried, the glassy shine replaced by usual fire that burned within him.

he led you to the doorway, bouncing on the balls of his feet with an expectant look on his face. you smiled, knowing he was waiting for. "good luck out there, ace." you moved to kiss his cheek. feeling cheeky, goshiki tilted his head so you would kiss his mouth instead. you gasped in surprise, but melted into the kiss.

goshiki pulled away with a soft sigh, his hand cupping your cheek gently. "i love you." he whispered. you felt your cheeks heat up at the sincerity of his words. "i love you, too." goshiki beamed at you. his smile was infectious and you soon found yourself reciprocating it.

neither of you noticed the squeaking of rubber soles on the linoleum floor. one of goshiki's teammates rounded the corner, stopping abruptly when he saw the position that you and goshiki were in. "a-ah, sorry to disrupt you!" he quickly averted his eyes, not wanting to ruin the intimate moment any further. "c-coach washijo told me to tell you that the match will be starting soon."

you and goshiki parted from each other, wearing small, sheepish smiles. the ace scratched his head, a low, embarrassed chuckle slipping past his lips. "right," goshiki nodded at the first year, who bowed once more in apology before scampering away. "i'll see you later, yeah?"

you nodded, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "do your best out there, okay? no more of that self-doubt stuff. promise?" you held your pinky out to him. he chuckled before linking his pinky finger with yours.

"i promise," he grinned. a faint shout of his name from around the corner snapped you both out of your little bubble and goshiki finally let go of you. "i've got to go now," he said sadly. "but promise you'll keep your eyes on me the entire time?" he asked, eyes twinkling. you nodded, murmuring a soft 'yeah,' in response. "good! i'll see you after the game. i promise to make you proud!"

and with one last kiss on your head, goshiki left. you watched his receding figure with a dazed grin, butterflies erupting in your stomach just like they did when you had first met him.

"you always make me proud, tsutomu."

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sasuhinasno1fan · 3 years

Text

Crushing on the rival-Lukadrien June Day 3

Ok, yes I’m technically late, but I don’t care! I wanted to do a Glee AU so bad and this was so hard to do. Usually when reading Glee Klaine fics as lukadrien, Nino is at Dalton since either Nick or Jeff becomes Kurt’s best friend and you can’t split up Nino and Adrien. So Nino attended for a while before budget cuts messed up his scholarship. Kieran is from @depressed-teacup-inc and @sarcasticsparkles Divergence. I meant for him to featured just a little more but it just didn’t work out like that. Adrien’s mom is alive but is spliting up with his dad and I put Chloe in Rachel’s position when it came to dating the enemy first since it always comes up in Anderberry fics when Rachel doesn’t say who Blaine is because she doesn’t want to be accused of selling secrets to her brother. Anyway, please enjoy and we’ll see if day 4 actually comes out. Rival Musicians

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Nino said, adjusting his white tie. He’d forgotten how much he hadn’t been a fan of the Quantic Academy uniform. The pale blue shirts with the black blazers and white ties weren’t his aesthetic and even though it sucked to lose his scholarship, he’d been beyond happy to never put the uniform on again. He looked over to Marc and Nath, who seemed to pull it off with ease.

Totally unfair.

“I can’t believe you let Alya and Marinette bully you into coming to spy.” Nath said.

“No you’re not.” Marc clarified. “Remember how we got together?”

“Yeah, no. this fits perfectly. We should just be glad Chloe wasn’t the one to find out you used to go to school with our competitor. That would have been worse.”

“Yeah, especially since we all experienced her dating the ‘enemy’ last year. Last thing I need is her accusing me of giving secrets away. I really don’t want to bring up her asshole ex in her face. She’s finally starting to open up again.” Nino said.

“Where’s Adrien?” Marc asked, changing the subject. “You made it sound like we have a small window.”

“We do. Assuming things haven’t changed in a year, teachers take the afternoon to have a meeting while letting the students study and such. Or in the Warbler’s case, have impromptu performances to test songs out. If we don’t want to get caught, we need to be there when the mass text goes out and everyone is heading to the Senior Commons.”

Just then, a very familiar silver car pulled up in front of the boys. Adrien climbed out, in a black leather jacket and a white rocker tie but still in the same colours.

“Sorry I’m late. Mom promised the appointment would be over before I had to leave, but divorce proceedings involving my dad aren’t exactly easy. They were arguing over my ‘modelling’ career for a full hour before my mom’s lawyer managed to shut my dad up. I think, that woman speaks like a pirate and is just as ruthless and doesn’t like my dad, so she could have been insulting him for all I know.”

“Sorry you have to deal with this.” Nino said, patting his best friend on his shoulder.

“You haven’t modelled for almost 3 years. Your ‘career’ is just your dad reusing old photos of you for campaigns.” Nath said. “We can only hope we don’t have another instance like when it was your first day at school and you ran into the glee room to hide from your fans.”

“But, hey! We got you out of it.” Nino said. “You stick out like a sore thumb though.”

“It’s not my fault. You said you had enough extra uniforms. You’re the one who didn’t include yourself in the count. Let’s just be happy I have enough clothes to make an iteration of it.” Adrien said.

“Fair enough. Come on.”

All four of them walked into the main building. It was beautiful, a mix of old architecture and new, like a classic hotel or something along the lines. They slowed when Nino did as they approached the front desk, which was thankfully empty with a note to call when arrived.

“I’m so happy the headmaster uses the front desk secretary as his own. I mean, she gives as good as she gets and doesn’t take shit, but she’s also got a practical eidetic memory.” Nino said. “Ok, now there’s a student that we called the Caterpillar – he lived in my dorm and everyone had Alice in Wonderland names – who has access to everyone’s phone number and he’s in the Warblers, so he sends out a massive text message to everyone.”

“How are we even sure they’re planning on doing a performance?” Adrien asked.

“We don’t but I know so close to competition time Marin would want to practise when they have the chance, so at the very least we can peak into the Senior Commons were they practise.”

They got to the first hallway and Adrien saw that what he thought ground level was actually the first floor.

“Cafeteria is downstairs and exits for the gardens and the library. This floor holds some classrooms and common rooms, more classrooms and offices upstairs. The Senior Commons is actually down the hall and downstairs. They got first pick when the place was being built and it has the closest exit to where the dorms are.”

“Should we hang near there or somewhere else?” Nath asked.

However, before Nino could offer a suggestion, the one thing Adrien dreaded pierced through the empty and quite hallway.

“Ohmygod! It’s Adrien Agreste!”

Adrien liked anime, especially the feel-good ones. The one he liked the most was Gakuen Babysitter. The scene before him reminded him of when the twins’ father, a famous actor came to school and was found out by one of the students and suddenly the area around him were swarming with fans. What happened was a bit like that, except screaming boys instead of girls and Adrien actually got a head start in running away.

Nino hated his best friend had to suffer through this, so when he was separated from him and the rest of the guys and only found Marc and Nath not long after, he felt worried.

“Where’s Adrien?”

“We thought he was with you.”

“Ok, screw Marinette and Alya telling us not to get caught.” Nino said, pulling his phone out and scrolling through his contacts until he reached one with the name being just a butterfly emoji. “If they want info, they can come look themselves. My best friend is in a school that’s not desensitized to him being around and we’re find him before we leave.”

Of course, before he could call, he saw a text from the same butterfly named person.

I’m gonna let Marin yell at you for coming to spy.

Nino cursed. He’d been hoping to avoid that. Marinette and Alya were bad and Chloe worse, but Marin lording over him with his gavel, that was something he didn’t miss from attending school here.

But don’t worry. A certain blue haired Hatter was placed in the little Alice’s path. He’ll take care of him. Also, I know a certain March Hare misses you too.

Ok, maybe he’d have to kiss that Caterpillar after all.

____________________

Adrien slowly opened the door after finally hearing the hallway fill up and all move in one direction. Everyone was speaking excitedly, so no one noticed Adrien slipping out and joining the crowd. He looked around, hoping to see 3 familiar faces but no luck. he didn’t even know if this crowd was people going to see the Warblers. He bit his lip, trying to decide what to do. He could ask and then be in a bad spot if someone recognised him or he could ask what was going on and duck into a bathroom if it wasn’t Warblers related. He decided to risk it.

“Excuse me,” he said, tapping someone on the shoulder. The guy had dyed blue hair and when he turned around Adrien saw he had the piercings to match his punk look. The uniform really didn’t match him at all. “Hi, I’m new here. What’s going on?”

He gave Adrien this smirk as if to say, ‘I know why you’re here’. “I’m Luka.”

“Adrien, nice to meet you.”

“Adrien. Well, don’t worry, I won’t scream your name. and to answer your question, the Warblers are doing an impromptu performance.”

“Oh.”

“If you want, I can take you there. You know, bump into your friends who came to spy with you.”

“S-spy? I didn’t come to spy.”

“Right, so your lack of uniform and Nino being here is a happy coincidence.”

Adrien couldn’t really think of a lie, so thrown off. He let out a squeak when Luka grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hallway. This one was emptier and Adrien took a closer at Luka. his uniform was perfect but his shoes were emblem covered high tops. His nails were painted and fingers home to a few rings. He also noticed a few bracelets peaking out from under shirt sleeve. Luka seemed like such an anomaly in his perfect uniform but things that spoke to his personal aesthetic.

Before he knew it, they were back in a crowd as they entered a room, no doubt the Senior Commons.

“Shot, I do stick out like a sore thumb.” Adrien said, once he saw himself compared to everyone.

“I don’t know, I like your version better.” Luka said, tugging at one of the lapels of Adrien’s leather jacket. “Your friends are over there.” He nodded towards the door, where Marc, Nath and Nino were, all standing on their toes trying to look over the crowd. Nino got distracted by someone with light brown hair and purple rain boots, but Marc and Nath spotted him.

“How did…?”

“I’m sure Nino will tell you about the special ways of the Warblers.” Just at the front of the room, 2 lines of boys appeared as they started to create a beat. “Now if you excuse me. Kieran!”

The guy Nino had been talking to darted over to the lines and Adrien took his place, hearing his friends ask him what happened and if he was ok, but his attention was focused on Luka, who stood in the very front singing.

Before you met me, I was alright But things were kinda heavy, you brought me to life Now every February, you'll be my Valentine Valentine

Let's go all the way tonight No regrets, just love We can dance until we die You and I will be young forever You make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream

He was good, really good. And he kept staring right at Adrien.

“That’s Luka. we were roommates when I was here.” Nino said, finally getting his attention. “He was well on his way to being lead vocalist when I left.”

“He’s really good.”

“Yeah. Don’t let his accessories fool you, he’s a cool guy.”

Yeah, he was.

When the song was over and the room burst into loud applause, cheers and whistles, Luka found his way over, with the same guy who’d been talking to Nino before and two new people. They reminded him a bit of Marinette and Alya, though one of them had a sever expression currently directed at Nino.

“You come spy and you don’t even come to say hello? I’m ashamed of you Nino.” The one who reminded Adrien of Marinette said.

“Please give it a rest Marin.” Nino begged.

“No, no, let him suffer more. I’m enjoying this.” Kieran said.

“Just to check, you’re not going to report us, right?” Marc asked, looking nervous.

“Don’t worry. Your attempts are endearing and we know Nino wouldn’t bring you over here without good reason.” The other guy said. “we’re not planning on using that song for the Sectionals, so you won’t go home empty handed.”

“How about coffee? Nino doesn’t know this, but we finally opened the coffee bar in the cafeteria, student run. We can stay here if you want.” Luka offered.

In the end, Adrien waited in the room, with Nino getting dragged to be lectured by his old friends and Nath and Marc having such complicated orders, it just made more sense to go with them. Adrien looked around the commons, taking in the couches and many side tables. A few had an almost permanent show print in them, like they’d been jumped on. The few people inside the room still paid his no attention, other than glancing at him.

“Here you go.” Luka said, handing him a to go cup. “Nino mentioned you didn’t like coffee so I got you hot chocolate. Better than most cafes, we make our own with milk.”

“Thanks. Where are the others?”

“Kieran is still making Marin lecture Nino and it turns out Alan is a fan of your friends’ comic, so just me for now.”

“That’s fine. Maybe you can tell me why the tables have footprints on them.” Adrien said, tugging his jacket off as Luka plopped down next to him.

“I have a habit of jumping around on tables during practise. Marin yells at me for it, but I can’t help it. Which is surprising, since I’m pretty stationary during performances.”

Adrien let out a little laugh. “You sound like my cat. Doesn’t matter how many cat perches we have for him; he just climbs up anywhere else. Granted, focusing on him and glee has been a godsend for my mental health recently.”

“Yeah, I’m sure dealing with arguing parents and divorce isn’t easy.”

Adrien looked over at Luka, confused as to how he knew that.

“Oh, yeah. My mom is your mom’s lawyer.” Adrien raised an eyebrow not believing him. “She sounds like this.” Luka said in the same thick accent Anarka had.

“Holy, hey wait. Juleka is Anarka’s daughter, which means she’s…”

“My sister. Competing against each other, but don’t worry. Music is sacred in our house so we don’t play dirty.”

“Whoa.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t go fishing for anything. I just thought that things must be pretty difficult. Your dad makes mom pretty upset.”

“Yeah. It hasn’t been easy. The whole divorce hasn’t but this modelling thing is making things worse. Honestly, I’d be happy with glee drama. It’s the only thing that feels like it makes sense.”

“I get that. I’m older than Juleka, but I’ll be graduating at the same time as her because I ended up pulling out of school for a while. During all that, music was the only thing that made sense.”

“Was everything ok?” Adrien asked.

“Come here.” Luka led Adrien over to a piano that sat in the corner. “Take a breath and listen.” He ordered, resting his fingers on the keys. He watched Adrien do as he was told and he let his fingers move across the keys.

Adrien stared as he heard the emotions he’d been feeling were played. Every note and beat was everything.

“I’ve never been good at words. Mom struggled to get me to talk but she knew I liked music, so that started to become my voice. I guess the easiest way to explain it is I’m an empath. I can hear emotions and I tend to stay quiet. Some people at my old school didn’t like that I kept quite or I could play what they felt. Add on the muscle heads who didn’t understand that liking guys didn’t mean I liked them, things got insane. So I left and came here.” Luka ended Adrien’s song and sat on the bench to look at the blonde. “Even though music sort of got me into that mess, I get it being the only thing that feels like it makes sense.”

Adrien sat next to Luka. “And now you have glee. I was running from fans when I ran into our glee room. Mlle Bustier was ok with letting me hide there but when I saw how much fun everyone was having singing, I wanted to do the same. It’s been my escape.”

Luka bumped his elbow into Adrien’s side. “And people think models aren’t anything like us.”

“I’m really sorry you had to deal with that stuff, but I guess if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have met Nino and he wouldn’t have taken us here and we wouldn’t get to meet.”

“Guess there’s a silver lining for everything. It’s a shame we’re going up against each other in Sectionals. Hanging out with you would be fun.”

“Well,” Adrien said, shrugging, “No one said we can’t text.”

“I thought one of your team members dated a guy from an opposing team?”

“Who said anything about dating? We’re just texting. I mean, Nino texts you and the others, right? What makes me so different?”

Luka let out a laugh. “Fair enough. Adrien Agreste, rebel. I think you’ve been around my mom too much; she’s starting to take an effect on you.”

“You say that as if being a rebel is a bad thing.”

______________________

Well Adrien wasn’t a rebel, but he did enjoy talking to Luka. he was easy to talk to and they had a lot in common. When employing the same rules Juleka and Luka had on their houseboat when it came to glee, it was easy to forget he was competing against him. Nino encouraged it when he found out.

“Besides, if you end up liking Lu and asking him out, then I can ask Kieran out. Maybe. I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

It wasn’t hard to like Luka. he was good looking and funny and nice and his singing voice was amazing. But Adrien also knew dating during competition season was asking for another Chloe situation even if Luka would never do what that asshole ex did. So, Adrien made a deal with himself, he’d ask Luka out after Sectionals. One of them would win and then they wouldn’t compete anymore unless a space opened up. It would be fine.

I used to rule the world Seas would rise when I gave the word Now in the morning I sleep alone Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes Listen as the crowd would sing "Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"

One minute I held the key Next the walls were closed on me And I discovered that my castles stand Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

And of course listening to Luka sing Viva la Vida made Marc lean over to him and tell him if he didn’t ask him out, he would.

But like the world was against him, both the most amazing and worst thing happened. They tied. Chole had said how rare that happened. Adrien could only think about how he felt cheated out of asking Luka out. Which was why he waited in the bathroom, waiting for Luka to come in.

“Hi.” Luka said when he came in. he looked a bit disheartened and Adrien really hoped he was reading the reason right.

“Hey. Congratulations by the way. Your Viva la Vida was amazing. Chloe thought so too and she doesn’t compliment the competition much.”

“Thanks. I know you said you were a countertenor but I never expected you to hold that note in So much better.”

“Thanks. Um, listen. I really hope I haven’t been reading the signs wrong, but…I like you, enough to tell myself that after Sectionals were over, no matter what happened, I’d ask you out. But I wasn’t expecting us to both win. But that hasn’t exactly discouraged me.”

“You haven’t been reading them wrong. It was my plan too but it would really be a bad idea to date. The stakes are even higher now. Though…God, Marin might kill me for suggesting this, but how about one date? One date to get it out of our system and to also give us something to look forward to after Regionals. There isn’t a chance we’ll tie again so it’ll be fine after then, but I don’t think either of us can wait that long.”

The door to the bathroom opened and Nino poked his head in. “Adrien, bro. the bus is here, time to go.”

“Yes.” He said to Luka as he headed to the door. “I’ll text you.”

As Nino dragged him to the bus before the group got angry, Adrien told him what he and Luka planned on doing.

“As your teammate, this is a horrible idea. As your best friend, this is the best idea ever and I demand details after.”

#lukadrien june 2021 #glee au

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aoifeanamadan · 4 years

Text

After School Special

Fandom: Minecraft YouTube rpf (mcyt)

Word count: 6488

Relationship: DreamNotFound (DreamxGeorgeNotFound)

Summary:

The sky is blue, the sun is hot and Dream hates George.

Everyone knew Dream hated him, really hated him, all smug and sarcastic and closed off. Where Dream was friendly, loud and outgoing, George was quiet and pretentious. It was like he thought he was above everyone else.

Needless to say, neither of them were over the moon when they found out they had to spend two months working together in weekend detention.

Support this work on AO3 :)

Chapter Three: Rusty Swings

Dream was a winner, it was what he did. Ever since he was a kid, losing had always felt unnatural. It was wrong on a molecular level. The shame of it, the loss of control.

When he was younger, he used to challenge his older brother to wrestling matches. His brother thought it was fun, just some rough and tumbling. Dream on the other hand, Dream treated it like the Olympics. He would abandon any kind of formality if it meant he would win.

He would kick and scream, clawing and biting his brother. He ignored the feeling of skin under his nails, just focusing on winning. After the first few times, Dream’s brother stopped saying yes when Dream asked to wrestle. He counted that as a win.

He had the same spirit when it came to soccer. He had captained the school’s team to two state championship victories in two years. The entire school knew him, the entire state. They were the best team, in every soccer team of the entire state. They were winners.

It wasn’t all him, they were a great team, but Dream elevated them. When Dream got better, he brought everyone else along with him.

When college scouts came to watch their games, they were there to see Dream. But they couldn’t ignore the rest of the team. They worked as a unit, weaving and dodging as if they were all a part of one common entity.

Soccer was Dream’s life. He had been playing since he was a kid. It was easy. When he was playing soccer, he knew what he was doing. There were no big decisions to make, it was just get the ball in the net. It was as natural and breathing.

His talent was a huge added bonus, but even without it Dream thought he would still be playing.

Soccer was Dream’s life, but he now had other commitments. Well, one other commitment.

George.

More specifically, trying to figure out how to tell George he was going to need to reschedule the mandatory time they were meant to spend together. George was, in fact, the one who had managed to broker the weekend slots. He had saved the both of them from having to stay back after school three times a week. And, he had done it just so Dream would be able to keep going to his soccer training.

Considering all of this, it really was an annoying oversight that the soccer team had a training session scheduled for the exact time Dream and George had agreed to meet up. The fact that Dream had been the one to schedule it last month made it even more annoying.

So, Dream thought he justifiably worried about asking him to further change the arranged time. He had spent almost four days trying to figure out what to say, and how to say it without sounding like he was spitting in George’s face, when it struck him. The solution was so painfully obvious.

Dream was nothing if not consistent. He did the exact same thing he always did, the same thing he had always done. Lying on his bed, throwing his balled-up socks into a drawer across the room, he texted Sapnap.

Dream (10:41 am)

Ft?

Sapnap’s name was on his screen in seconds. Dream accepted the call.

“Sapnap, please help me.” Sapnap didn’t flinch. He just smiled warmly down the phone, a quiet giggle passing through the speaker.

“Okay Dreamie-Boy, calm it down. Whatever it is, it is not the end of the world. Chillax.” Sapnap had never stopped using chillax as if it was a regular verb, not since he started in 2011. Dream decided that right then was not the time to mention it - even if he wanted to.

“I can’t figure out how to reschedule with George.” Sapnap’s bark of laughter was not reassuring in the slightest.

“What?” Dream didn’t like the glee coming from Sapnap’s voice.

“I can’t figure out how to tell him I need to change our meeting time!” Dream hated the way his voice whined. “Dude.” Despite his best efforts to hang onto his panic, Dream felt the calm seeping in. The familiarity, it was an inevitable comfort. Sapnap continued. “You are a senior. ” “And?” Dream tried to throw one of his washed pairs of socks into the open drawer across his room. He missed. “I swear, sometimes you act ten years old.” His words were laced with annoyance but on his phone screen, Dream could see Sapnap smiling. He rolled his eyes. “Well, what do I do , Sapnap?” Instead of an answer, Dream was met with a change of scenery. His phone screen went to a close up of Sapnap’s face, to a blurry screen saying Paused. Sapnap had paused him to go to some other app on his phone.

“Chillax, and-” Dream’s frustration tipped over the edge.

“ Chillax is not a real word! Stop saying Chillax!” Dream groaned as another pair of socks missed his drawer. “Okay, well, hurtful. I know you don’t mean that. And I’ve texted George.” Dream froze.

“You what?” His words were full of warning. Saapnap either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“I just texted him, just there!”

“Sapnap! What the fuck? What did you even say? Oh my god, why would you do that?” Dream was cut off by a telltale ding emitting from his phone. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t move.

“I heard that!” Sapnap’s singsong taunt came from Dream’s screen.

George (10:48 am)

Cool

“Anything to say?” In FaceTime, Sapnap’s face was getting too close to the camera. Dream had to suppress his smile, he had to deal with George.

“Yeah, fuck you. And George says it’s cool.”

“Fuck you do, Dreamie-Weemie, Sapnap works his magic again!” Dream let his smile pass through, barely. Begrudgingly.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Sapnap was laughing as he hung up the phone. Dream was left alone with George’s text. He figured it was polite to reply.

Dream (10:49 am)

Sorry for not texting you myself

George’s reply was whizzing through the air in seconds

George (10:49 am)

its fine

Despite his common sense, Dream found himself replying. Every time George texted a reply, no matter how dry, how unenthusiastic, he kept trying to keep the conversation going. Eventually, he all but forced George out of his virtual shell.

Even as he was getting into Sapnap’s truck over an hour later, his face was stuck in his phone, in the conversation he had coaxed George into.

George (12:09 pm)

iron man will always be the best superhero. the whole mcu was built on his back that's just common sense

Dream (12:09 pm)

You sound like a nerd

George (12:10 pm)

well dont be rude

Dream (12:10 pm)

ughhh you sound like bad

You’d probably love him actually

George (12:11 pm)

Dream?

Dream didn’t think before replying

Dream (12:11 pm)

yeah ?

George (12:11 pm)

you know me and bad are like good friends

Dream ignored his burning cheeks as he got out of Sapnap’s truck and approached the soccer team. He had not known that.

The team were ready to go, as usual. They were dedicated kids. Dream had them running laps once he put his bag, and phone, in the changing room.

They were midway through a practice match, half of the team versus the other half, when Dream noticed him. George was leaning on the edge of the fence surrounding the pitch. He was early.

For Dream, an audience didn’t change his performance. He was good, he was always good. Behind all the training and technique was pure talent. A lot of the time, other players’ would bring along their girlfriends or some of their friends to hang around the training. Dream couldn’t have given less of a shit.

But there during that practice match, Dream felt something new. He hadn’t felt it at the State Championship. He hadn’t felt it when the scouts were analysing him. He hadn’t even felt it in his first-ever game back when he was 6 years of age. It was a kind of pressure, light and inconsequential. It was George’s eyes on him.

Normally when he was playing, there was a kind of understanding. The scouts knew he was good, the girlfriends and parents, the friends and families, the teachers, the coaches, even the other teams. They all knew Dream was good. They all expected him to play well. George was different. George didn’t give a shit what Dream was doing. He barely glanced at him. Somehow, the boy was more interested in his phone than Dream’s quest towards a hat trick.

He didn’t mind it, not really. It was just new. It was as if someone had gotten inside his mind and moved all the furniture ten centimetres to the left. If anything, he appreciated it. It kept him on his toes, gave him something to prove. It was another chance to see if he could up his game. Anytime he felt George’s eyes on him, it made him run faster, kick further, push harder.

The time went quick, and before long it was all over. Dream’s team had pummeled Sapnap’s, except for one goal. Sapnap had seen Dream’s weakness, he had stolen the ball right from under Dream when he was glancing over to see if George was looking.

After the handshakes, the water mixed with good-natured teasing, the lightening speed showers, Dream was left alone. His hair was dripping onto the hoodie he had pulled on. He was the last one in the changing room, he always was.

He told everyone it was because he was the captain. If anyone ever needed to talk, there was a sure place they could catch him alone. All they had to do was run back, claim a forgotten boot or hat, and he’d be there.

That was a part of it undoubtedly. But, if you stripped the layers back, peeled Dream’s skin away to look down at his pulsing core, you’d have seen privacy above all else. He kept to himself, minded his business. Other than Sapnap and Bad, no one fully knew him. And even that was pushing it. Sapnap and Bad knew the version of him that he showed. They saw some bad bits, but they’d never see the Dream that he hid.

They wouldn’t know the Dream that scrolled through Instagram on a Sunday night. They’d never know the Dream who cried when his toast got burned on a particularly stressful morning.

They saw him, the real him, but only the entertaining parts. They saw the anger and the tears, the elation and the subsequent fall, but they never saw him be boring.

If someone’s boring, they can be left. It’s easy to leave someone you don’t care about, and it’s easy to not care about someone boring.

So Dream let them see him, the real him, but only when it was entertaining. No one saw him alone in his room, watching podcasts on YouTube and folding his washing. That was the kind of person it was easy to leave. He couldn’t be that.

He kept it all to himself, the parts that didn’t fit into the Dream personality. Anything that didn’t match ‘State Champion Captain’. Anything that didn’t scream ‘Golden Boy’ was for his eyes only. No one can ruin something they don’t know about.

Dream was able to change his clothes quickly. He brought his body wash from home and he didn’t wash his hair. But, apparently, he wasn’t fast enough. Before he had his shoes back on, George was barging in, Sapnap trailing behind him.

“Sorry, I did try and stop him.” The grin on Sapnap’s face told a different story. Dream just rolled his eyes, grabbing his gear bag and leaving. They didn’t follow him out the door, but the room echoed. He could hear talking, mainly Sapnap.

“Wherever you guys end up going today, can you keep an eye on Dream? The adrenaline from training hypes him up too much. He might say something stupid and get punched.”

It was nice, to hear such solid proof that Sapnap knew him in the best way Dream would let him, that he cared so loudly.

“Oh, I get to see Dream being punched?”

George promptly snapped Dream out of his appreciation. Before Dream could move away from the door, they were walking on top of him. George’s smile dropped when he saw Dream eavesdropping, but Sapnap’s got bigger. He swiped for Dream. Despite Dream’s aching legs and exhausted lungs, he managed to dodge. Before Sapnap could swipe again, he was jogging towards the truck.

While Sapnap chased him, screaming about his stalker tendencies, George looked away, following slowly behind them. He had the decency to blush, slightly. Maybe manners weren’t completely dead just yet. Sapnap said his goodbyes before Dream could beg for a lift. He said he had ‘ errands to run ’. Which errands fell on the shoulders of an 18-year-old boy, Dream didn’t know.

Suddenly, it was all real. It was just George and Dream, staring at each other on an empty soccer pitch. Any words Dream tried to force out died in his throat. These were uncharted waters, George and him alone and civil.

To be George’s enemy was easy, but this new thing. This budding acquaintanceship. It was more complicated. It was so much easier to just go back to how it was, bitter and stinging. It was like a wound that had scabbed over, and Dream could never resist picking at a scab.

“Why are you here, George?” His tone was harsher than he intended, a cold contrast to the playful banter he had with Sapnap. Dream tried to ignore the split second of hurt he could see on George’s face.

“Sapnap got the time wrong.” George’s face was closed off again quickly. Dream felt guilt knocking at the door of his morality. He turned the key in the lock, determined to keep it out.

“Oh.” Dream hoped George couldn’t read minds. Because if he could, he would be able to see the way Dream’s conscience was floundering. This vague hatred was a lot less comforting when alone with someone.

Before Dream could ponder on George’s telepathic capabilities for too long, he was walking away. George’s back had turned on him.

Before Dream could make his protests known, George had turned his head in Dream’s direction.

“Come on, it looks like rain.” Dream glanced up, the sky was clear. He didn’t mention it. Instead, he followed George as he walked to the bus stop.

George took him to a café. It was a small place, quaint and cosy. The outside was a murky turquoise with glass panes everywhere. A pretentious coffee house. Dream thought it was a bit on the nose, even for George.

A tip jar was knocked over while George was ordering their drinks. Dream could hear the harsh clatter from the isolated table he had snagged them in the furthest corner. George’s face was burning red when he sat down with his americano and Dream’s hot chocolate, no marshmallows extra cream.

While George retrieved his things from his shoulder bag, folders, paper, pens, Dream started to think about the assignment. They were more complicated than they seemed, the speeches and the boys. The speeches had to have a five-page accompanying essay to explain how cooperation was beneficial, and to support all the points made in the five-minute speech. That was a page per speaking minute, if Dream’s maths was correct.

He tried to think, to plan how to go about it all. It was harder than he had expected. Most of what they had done the first day had turned out to be useless, upon Dream’s inspection when he got home. Before he could reach his epiphany, George was tearing him away from his introspection.

“I swear, if you keep doing that, I’m going to sew your eyelids to your kneecaps.”

Dream looked blankly at him, frozen in his confusion. George didn’t lessen up.

“Tapping your pen against the glass. Stop it.”

Dream hadn’t even realised he was doing it, an old nervous habit. Or it would have been, if Dream was the kind of person to get nervous.

He and George sat there, staring at each other. George didn’t look as embarrassed as Dream wanted him to. Dream didn’t look as sorry as George wanted him to.

“Please.” George looked like he had to force the word out of his mouth. The same George as always. Dream rolled his eyes, but he put down the pen.

“So,” Dream started them off. He was past the stage of letting any awkwardness seep in. “The speeches.” It took George a second to catch up, his mind was still at the counter where he had picked up all the coins individually.

“The speeches.”

The place to start seemed obvious to Dream,

“Tell me about yourself.”

George looked up at him, curious eyes and slouched spine. One of his eyebrows, just one, shot up. Dream rushed to clarify.

“I mean, for the speech. So I can write the speech.” George’s face didn’t change with the explanation. It was still staring at him from across the shitty coffee table. His brow was furrowed and his smile was appearing out of nowhere, slowly. Dream hated it. It was all so jarringly new, having someone in front of him who he couldn’t read.

George had this new kind of power over him. He’d felt it during the soccer training but here it was so much clearer. In the air between them, Dream was sure it would suffocate them both, that mantra of ‘what is he thinking ’, over and over. A constant roar. He was certain George could feel it too, he was giving himself away.

This wasn’t how Dream was meant to act. Dream was confident and collected, funny and commanding. Dream was the captain of the state goddamn champion team. Dream wasn’t on the edge of his seat, waiting to hear what George was going to say.

Before Dream could think himself off a cliff, George was breaking in.

“I fold my socks.” It seemed like a simple thing, but it stopped Dream mid-thought. It disarmed him completely.

Later, he would realise it was the idea that George did things that Dream didn’t know about that had caught him so off-guard. It was the realisation that Dream didn’t understand him as well as he thought he did, that he hated someone he barely knew.

From there, it got easier. George knew all the words to Doja Cat’s “Say So”. Dream had accidentally become a bit of a Barb, a title he had to explain to George, after his sister went through a Nicki Minaj stage. George pirated films from the internet. Dream had been leeching off his aunt’s Netflix for years. Dream thought zodiacs were stupid, but he always found himself looking his up. George loved astrology. They both liked the stars.

George proved Dream’s hypothesis from their meeting, the one held the previous week in Sapnap’s house. George was actually funny, and Dream didn’t mind being around him.

Eventually, George noticed the barista’s eyes shooting them daggers. Apparently, ordering a hot chocolate and an americano is not enough to warrant an hour of sitting time. They had to leave. George shouldered his bag and nudged Dream. He was trying to suppress his smile. It was all so different to the George Dream had known.

“Come on, let’s go.” He was already standing. Dream nodded up at him.

“Better to leave than to get kicked out.” George’s smile lessened.

“Is it?”

They walked through the streets, excited in a boring place.

They ended up in front of one of the city’s deserted playgrounds. No one wanted their kids to play somewhere you could find needles. Once he saw the empty swing set, Dream was running. George was zipping quick behind him.

Once they were on a swing set together, the competition was inevitable. Dream was swinging higher than George, but George was trying his best to dispute that.

Dream was throwing his full body weight into the swing, feeling his heels skitting along the floor, his legs careening through the air. He figured this must be what it feels like to fall, to jump. This floating feeling in his stomach, the lurch of it all. It must be what it feels like to fly.

George’s gleeful shrieks covered up the warning creaks of the rusty swing set. Dream wasn’t used to this kind openness around him. It was all so new, the giddiness. He tried to shift his swing into George’s path, the way his sisters used to when he was a few years younger. He got a slight kick in the back in response, but it was enough to dethrone him. He was left sprawled on the floor, George cackling behind him.

The time went too fast. Before long, they had tried everything in the playground. Dream was too tall for half of them, but he tried anyway. When he had stood on the swings, trying to copy George, he had banged his head on the bar supporting them. He could walk while doing the monkey bars.

They were back on the swings before long, swaying more than swinging. George was trying to make his swing work without any movement from him. Dream’s swing was drifting left and right. He didn’t do anything to put it back on the straight and narrow.

Dream’s mind was eating at him. The logic of it all didn’t add up. This was George, George , and George hated him. So why was he here, an hour over their mandatory time, on a rusty set of swings with him. Having fun, together.

“George?” The chains of the swing crossed over each other, trapping Dream between them. He threw his body weight the opposite way to free himself. A slow final battle.

“Dream.” George was looking at him, the same way he had been back in the café. All open eyes and open heart. Dream hated it.

“You hate me.” It wasn’t a question, Dream couldn’t bare a question. He just said it, hoping George understood.

George hummed in response, eyes locked on his shoelaces.

“I don’t.”

And that was it, that was what Dream was afraid of. This was skydiving without the parachute, he was freewheeling. Here he was vulnerable, here he was showing a soft spot. It was weakness.

He had always hated George, since age ten. And the reason, the pit of it all, it had always been because George hated him first . And George had kept hating him, for the last eight years. Without that, there was nothing there. Their hatred was the only thing binding them. But, it was apparently one-sided.

“Oh.” It was strangled. It was all Dream could manage.

“I could never do it.” George was still looking at him, unreadable. Always so unreadable.

“What?” Dream couldn’t look back at him. His eyes were locked on the soft ground below him. His voice was too strained.

“Hate you.” George’s voice showed no strain at all.

Dream hated the muffled ‘ Hmm ’ that left his throat in response. He didn’t understand how George could just say it.

Dream swung wordlessly, back and forth. Before the words had even entered his brain they were bubbling out of his mouth.

“Same.” It wasn’t eloquent, but George’s face showed that he understood. He had never hated him, not truly. Not in the real way, the irreversible way.

They were quiet then, just swinging together. George’s voice broke through the blanket of sedative still.

“You’re definitely not how I thought you were.”

Dream jumped at the opportunity.

“How did you think I was?”

George thought Dream was cocky. All he did was talk shit, and he could never back it up. Dream was quick to point out the two-state champion trophies his team had one, but George shook his head.

“No, not like that. I mean like, outside of sport.”

He was loud in class, talking over the quiet kids. And he never smiled at strangers in the halls. He never had his homework done on time, and he never got in trouble for it. He was mean, rough around the edges. George didn’t say cruel, but Dream could hear him thinking it.

He had figured that was what George thought he was - tough, angry, mean. But his edges weren’t that worn yet, he hadn’t learned enough to be tough.

He wanted to climb inside George’s skull and rearrange the pieces, sort it all out. It was true, a lot of what George said, but he wasn’t cruel. He was never cruel. He didn’t mean to talk over people, he was excitable. He didn’t notice the people in the halls, or the favouritism from the teachers

Above all, George thought he was fake. The act he put on, the loudness and confidence. He didn’t believe it.

Dream had thought the same about George. Alongside elitist, pretentious and stuck up. Also, plainwell rude. George listened as he explained it all.

“I just thought you thought you were like-” Dream looked up at the sky, letting his legs tilt-up above his body. He could feel blood rushing to his ears. “I don’t know. Like you acted like you were better than everyone else.”

George snorted. Dream’s head snapped towards him, incredulous.

“Kettle calling the pot!” George was smiling despite it all. It made Dream laugh as well.

“Actually though, why don’t you ever get involved? Like, ever.” Dream sat back up properly on his swing.

George just shrugged.

“I'd feel safer facing off a fucking pack of wolves." George’s voice was quiet, heading straight towards the ground. His feet kicked against the dirt. The swing wobbled.

Dream didn’t say anything, he didn’t think it was his place. He had never thought anything like that, it had never crossed his mind. He was Dream, being self-conscious wasn’t in his DNA. He wouldn’t have been able to bare it, the separateness of it all. He wouldn’t have been able to look in through the window at school life from the outside. But the way George was talking, muted and thoughtful, it made him want to understand.

Before he could think up a response, George was nudging his ankle.

“Come on, we should go. Before the sun sets.” George got up, started to collect his things.

Dream hadn’t noticed the shortening Autumn sunsets. He grabbed George’s sleeve.

“Watch,” he breathed, sacred. George’s limbs slowed, sinking him back to his swing.

Together, they watched the sun setting. The airy blues fading to dusty pinks, heavy orange. Before the sky was black, George was dragging Dream with him, mutters of Well, I’m not going to get mugged tonight Dream.

They ended up in the library, underused and underfunded.

Dream followed him inside, straight past the glaring librarian and up the stairs. He wasn’t used to it, following someone. Especially not George. But he knew the way and Dream didn’t, so he walked quietly behind him.

They turned a corner, and there they were. They were standing in a long corridor of computers, old and dusty. Dream wasn’t sure if it counted as a corridor, there was a wall at the other end, where the other opening should have been. There were long continuous desks on the two walls, and a computer every meter. They made the room thin enough to make them have to stand single file. He was practically standing on top of George, his toes brushing against George's heels.

Out of nowhere, George turned towards him. Dream flinched more than he would’ve wanted. They were left there, in the silence, George staring straight at him. Dream was a deer in headlights. He didn’t dare to move. They were barely inches apart.

“Dream, the door.” George’s voice was raspier in a whisper. His face was so close, Dream swore he could count the boy’s freckle. His lungs were burning, he had forgotten to keep breathing. “Dream?” George’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Right. Yes. The door.” He spun around, reaching for a doorknob to shut them inside the one ended corridor, but he was met with an empty space. There was no door. He heard George sigh in frustration. Dream felt his ears burning, he hated it.

“There’s no door.” He whispered it into the silence in front of him. George laughed, muted and soft.

“Here, show.” George tried to worm his way past Dream to get to the door, but the corridor was too narrow. His elbows banged into Dream’s gangly limbs, his knee hit the desk. His whispered shit came at the same time as the bang. They both froze, ears straining for any kind of ‘shhhh’ coming from downstairs. Nothing came. Either they both had bad hearing, or they were in the clear.

George managed to shove his way past a blushing Dream, where he easily grabbed the sliding glass door.

“Bullshit,” Dream muttered as George came back down the corridor towards him. George’s small, airy laugh accompanied the sound of Windows 8 booting up.

“Come on, get a seat. We’re under time pressure. I didn't expect you to be here for this.” One of the old computers was loading up a chess website.

“Wait, explain what’s going on now so you don’t have to midway through-” Dream paused. He didn’t know if whatever George was doing actually had a midpoint. “- midway through whatever you're doing.” Dream ignored George’s rolling eyes.

“Speed chess. Chess plus speed. Not hard to figure out Dreamer.”

Dream didn’t think George had noticed his quiet nickname, it made his heart stutter.

“Speed chess?” Dream looked at the screen. Rightfully so, there was a chessboard on it.

“Speed chess.” George pressed start.

Dream watched the pieces move, whizzing across the screen. It was like soccer, the speed of it all. The pace. Dream loved the quickness. Before he could catch his bearings, there was a banner on the screen and a smiling George was talking.

“So, that’s speed chess. But now I have to play an actual game. Against an actual person. It’s a tournament, every week. Normally it’s after school, but it got moved this week. And, Dream, I swear to god if you ruin this for me-” Dream cut him off before he could finish the thought. He knew George well enough now to know where it was going.

“I know, I know, you’ll kill me, no one will ever find my body, blah blah blah.” Dream ignored the way his heart lit up when George laughed.

George logged in and hit start.

Dream didn’t know anything about chess, he had never played and he never planned to. But he didn’t need to be a genius to tell that after a minute, George was losing. It was the furrow of his brow, the frown line set in his skin. It gave him away.

"You...do not look happy." Dream didn’t know how to help him, but judging by George’s gritted teeth, commentary was not the way to go.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

Before another minute had passed, there was a banner on the screen pointing out George’s loss. The ‘ Better Luck Next Time, Player!’ didn’t feel very sincere to Dream.

One glance at George and it was clear he was disappointed.

“Sorry, George.” Dream lowered his eyes from the screen. It felt disrespectful to even look at the message of pity. George shrugged his shoulders, shook out his hands.

“It’s okay, I have another game. I just can’t get a perfect score now, so I probably won’t win this time” His voice was dejected. It made Dream want to help him.

“Well, I mean, don’t be sad. Just, like, turn it off. Change it to anger.” George looked at Dream, brow furrowed again.

“Dream? That’s not, that’s not normal.” Dream froze. This was it, he was giving himself away. He wanted to reach out and scoop the pieces of him that he'd let out back between his ribcage. He didn’t want George to know about the switches and levers inside him, the careful calculation of his personhood.

Instead, he laughed lightly.

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t explain it very well-” Before he had to think up some other way to explain his inner workings, George was distracted. Another game was starting. Dream didn’t feel upset for the distraction.

The more Dream watched him play chess, the more he wanted to understand chess. The only thing he had to go off of was George’s closed face. As far as Dream could tell, he wasn’t doing well. The stitch of the skin next to his eye gave that away.

George’s mutterings of ‘ Shit ’, ‘ Fuck ’ and the classic ‘ Godamn it ’ also helped Dream reach his conclusion. George didn’t leave much up to the imagination.

Just as Dream was about to make his condolences known, all the stitches and the lines disappeared. George’s eyes widened then creased, and then out of nowhere the banner was back on the screen.

Except that time, it read ‘ Congratulations, Player!’

Dream couldn’t keep it in.

“Fucking clutch, bro!” George laughed at the congratulations.

“Careful Dreamer, you’re inner frat boy is showing.” He was grinning, giddy with the excitement of it all.

Dream tried to ignore the way the nickname froze his brain for a second, how every neuron stopped in their tracks to drink it in.

George got up from the chair. His smile was subtle but he couldn’t hide the energy, Dream could see him balling up and releasing his fists. He was just as excited as Dream at the win, just in a different way.

“Come on. I’m not playing anymore, plus I have to be home before my mother thinks I’ve been kidnapped.” Dream hadn’t thought about what his mother would say when he got home.

The guilt he felt, vague and untouchable, at being five hours late was pushed to the back of his mind the second it entered.

As Dream stood up, he felt his leg tangled between the chair and table. But it was too late. The second he pushed himself up he went careening back down to the floor. Before he knew what was happening, he was sprawled on his back, face on the dusty carpets. Instead of getting the sympathy he expected, George was standing above him, trying his best to contain his howls of laughter.

Dream cracked before he did. They stayed together, Dream lying flat on his back and George leaning against the desks, trying to muffle their shrieks.

Eventually, the librarian was standing above them. Dream wanted to say she looked more disappointed than mad, but she didn’t. She just looked mad. It was always so much harder not to laugh when you weren’t allowed to.

Dream tried his best to keep it in as she escorted them out but he didn’t stand a chance. The second he saw George’s foot catch on the last stair, he was a goner. George said only bats could have heard the frequency Dream reached when George fell.

Dream was like a tea kettle, crouched down next to George. George himself was a mirror of Dream in the computer room, sprawled on the floor, letting out sounds between groaning and snorting.

The difference was this time they had a stern librarian right next to them, shaking her head.

Eventually, the boys managed to bring themselves to their feet and stagger towards the door. Everything was setting them off.

“Shhh, boys.” Her voice was stern. Dream howled into George’s ear. He was leaning on the other boy to keep from collapsing.

“We’re already fucking leaving.” It was breathed into George’s ear - just for him to hear. There were tears brimming. George snorted, calling out to the woman at the desk behind him.

“Sorry Dorothy,” Dream’s wheezing upon hearing her name didn’t do their sincerity any favours.

“We’re leaving, we’re leaving!” The second they got out onto the library steps they were heaving. George had to sit on the step, he was in stitches.

It took them a while to calm down, for the giddiness to dissipate. The cold was a big help, as was the dark.

After they calmed down, Dream looked at him. He was slouched against the library wall, hair messy and cheeks red. His eyes were closed and his head was thrown back against the stone. The calm that filled him up when he was around George, it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t a regular thing. It compelled him.

“I’m sorry.”

George’s eyes opened to look at him, still smiling.

“Huh?” The way his head tilted to the side reminded Dream of the dog he had when he was younger.

“I’m sorry, for hating you.” George shook his head at Dream’s sudden apology.

“You don’t have to be.” But Dream still was, in every inch of his body. He wanted to take it all back, the years of bitterness. Even if it was replaced with nothing, it would take away his guilt.

George went home, and then Dream went home. The second he was in the door his mother was lecturing him. It all went in one ear and out the next The moment Dream’s head hit the pillow, it was a gearbox. There were new parts, cogs turning and wheels spinning. Dream couldn't stop thinking about it all. And, above all else, was the nickname. George had called him ‘Dreamer’. It was immortalized, cast in amber by his mind.

The next Monday, there was a routine soccer training after school. It was two days after Dream’s adventure in café’s and swing sets and speed chess but that day was still burned into the forefront of his mind. He was with Sapnap, doing a slow drill together, just passing the ball while they waited for the rest of the team to get changed. Dream decided it was time to let him deeper into his brain.

“Sapnap.” Sapnap passed the ball back to him gently.

“Dream.” He was smiling at him, always smiling.

“I have to tell you something.” Dream didn’t like the way his voice sounded. Sapnap and sombreness didn’t go together.

“Famous last words!” Sapnap had proven Dream right, he was still smiling at him.

“Well, I’m kind of- I’m making friends with someone. But I don’t know how you’ll react to who it is.” Sapnap was still smiling.

“Come on, dude. Just rip the plaster right off!” Sapnap jumped up and down on the spot, waiting for Dream to pass the ball. Dream passed it.

“It’s George.” Sapnap’s face didn’t change, but it froze.

“Put the plaster back on!” Sapnap kicked the ball, more towards Dream’s head than his feet.

#dnf #dreamnotfound #dream #dream smp #georgenotfound #dream/george #dreamxgeorge #rpf

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catharrington · 4 years

Text

1. Cream in my coffee

2. Honey in my tea

3. Rum in my cola:

Steve’s not in the best of shape to hit a party the next night, less than 20 hours from his walk of shame and he’s sporting bruises on his wrists and a migraine— but he’s a high school senior. Even if fallen from grace, has to keep face. Even if the only thing he’s had over the entire day was a couple cups of tea with way too much sugar dissolved inside the mug.

Steve knew if he drank on an empty stomach it wouldn’t take long to get drunk, and a part of him is counting on it.

The stainless steel kettle is still out on his stove top. The lights leading to his kitchen are all still flipped on. He doesn’t want to touch anything. Doesn’t want to disturb the cloud of cigarette smoke and bad boy attitude Billy left lingering when he came and went. Steve doesn’t touch anything for those 20 hours because it will feel too much like he’s trying to hold Billy’s hand.

Instead, he stayed in his room, washing his skin until it rubbed red and then washing it again. Running his fingers through his hair to work his organic, name brand product in fresh. No more somber burnt coffee feelings of itchy bed sheets on his skin.

Steve comes out of his bathroom with a towel tied low on his hips. He traces his hands over the back of his desk chair where he laid out Billy’s jacket. He didn’t ask to keep it, also didn’t offer to give it back. Just kept it.

That night, when he decides he is going to keep face and show up at the graduating class’ senior year bash, he reaches for the jacket again to slip it on. It goes on much easier than in the Camaro where he gingerly grazed it over open wounds. Now the marks on his wrists are sore purple and black, and less burning red, but he’s happy to have the longer sleeves to pull down. To cover up.

He backs his expensive BMW out his driveway, he flipped all the lights off so his house looks decrepit, abandoned, as he pulls away.

Tina’s house is big, not as big as his, but big enough to come to a party and go unnoticed if you tried hard enough. Steve’s plan was to swim in, drink some beer and mix it with harder liquior to get him drunk faster, say a few short quips to make someone anyone laugh, then leave where he came. Maybe stumble home and find a sickly grey, dripping blood from the knife edges of teeth it calls a mouth, demogorgon he can sink his boiling anger into.

But now, he felt along the floral wallpaper as he made his way to Tina’s kitchen. He gets there and wraps his hands around the bottle of a chilled beer right from the fridge when the remote control hits pause.

“Thought I might find you here,” a voice dribbles down the back of his neck like burning alcohol. “I’m happy you got home safe, Steve.”

The long sleeve shirt Steve picked for the night feels too high up on the collar for him now. Feels choking and painful as he hears that voice again. The voice that was disappointed, not mad, even when Steve wanted to fight.

“You gonna look at me?” The man asks. An uppity tone to his voice. Makes Steve whip around his head to level him with a glare. The bruises on his wrists move with how hard he’s gripping the neck of his beer bottle. If it was any weaker, if he was any stronger, he could shatter it in his hands.

“What’s to look at?” Steve says quiet. They’re mostly alone in the kitchen. But the fluorescent lights are much brighter than any light that should shine down on their relationship. “I told you yesterday, I’m finished.”

The guy sighs out, stirs his mixed drink he’s nursing before he pushes it towards Steve down the counter. Steve doesn’t touch it, doesn’t even think of touching it. If the little gesture has done anything, it’s been to make his teeth grind down.

“You’re really gonna throw this away,” the man says smoothly, scooting close as his drink.

“Yeah,” Steve flicks dark brown eyes from the drink to the man’s face, “I guess I’m just not cut out for what you want.”

“You don’t know that until you try. Experiment-.”

“We tried plenty, decided I didn’t like most of it,” and Steve’s vision doesn’t waver even if his voice slightly does, “decided I didn’t like you.”

The guy swallows thickly. Takes his plastic cup and takes a swig long and loud. He’s obnoxious in the way he gulps it down, licks his lips to chase the dark liquid from the corners of his mouth, and leans in close enough so Steve can smell the mix on his lips. Rum and cola, the easiest fucking thing. The cheapest fucking thing. He’s had it at lots of parties, now he just feels sick about it.

“Back off me, man,” Steve whispers.

“Don’t be scared,” he slurs, reaching one hand that isn’t swirling his foul smelling drink and uses it to cup over Steve’s arm. Slides his big hand down around his wrist, squeezes denim into bruises, drawls out a hiss Steve doesn’t have time to muffle. Squeezed again when he figures it out.

Steve yanks out the hold quickly, pulling his arm back to his stomach to protect it, the other one pushing his beer bottle between them as if that’ll protect him. Maybe he will smash it over this guys head. Maybe he’ll smash it over the counter and use the sharped neck to carve away the mold growing over this guys skin.

That would take all night, so Steve only throws a glare before he’s moving off the counter and into the party.

He gets lost in the waves of people on people, grinding and pushing and laughing and drinking all together. Steve bumps against a guy, dark hair and freckles on his face, gets a plastic cup poured down his shirt for his troubles. But Steve isn’t listening to the empty threats. He scowls, shoots a “fuck off, Tommy,” before he keeps going.

Ends up on the back porch, the nighttime air trying to curl it’s fingers into the warm denim of Billy’s jacket. It doesn’t stand a chance. But there are real fingers chasing the air. They wrap around Steve’s wrist again and again dig into his tender skin. He’s got the beer bottle still in his hand and it swooshes around as he grips it like he’s ready for a fight.

But when he turns around: it’s Billy, Billy Hargrove, curly blond hair and dark eyelashes. Groomed brows drawn to a straight line of worry on his face. His hand drops from Steve’s wrist quicker than Steve can drop the beer bottle with a clatter to the ground.

The amber liquid pours out like honey between the wooden deck to the grass below.

“Gonna take a swing at me?” Billy asks. His voice humored, gentle, infuriatingly relaxing.

“Don’t touch me, Hargrove.” Steve warns.

Billy holds his hands up in the air. He’s wearing a new jacket, soft brown leather that’s worn almost down to the thread, thankfully, he’s not missing his denim jacket that got adopted out too much.

“You can take a swing, I won’t punch back. But you’ll be stuck on full nerd car ride duty if I die so good luck with that, Stevie,” he says with a wink.

Steve doesn’t reply. Just glances around the porch until he finds a rail to lean against.

“Hey,” Billy keeps his soft voice low.

He follows Steve with the moonlight midnight blue dancing on his dark tanned skin. He lays a hand over Steve’s shoulder. One hand goes to touch his jaw so lightly Steve’s thinking he’s imagining it. Until Billy’s thick fingers slide up the bone and curl behind his ear. Tangled with the longest parts of his hair. It’s too familiar, far too familiar, for what little they are. But Steve can’t help but lean into the touch.

Coming to the party was a bad idea. He’s got half a beer in his stomach and a drink spilt down his shirt, and Steve’s already feeling sick enough to purr under Billy’s touch.

“What happened?” Billy asks. Steve doesn’t reply, lets his eyes slide closed and his skin soak up the warm fingers.

“It’s not... God- it’s not some monster shit again?” Billy’s voice is hushed.

Steve doesn’t know how to reply. No, he wants to say, of course not, but with the clawing rage building inside him mixing stiffly like a cheap drink with the fear he felt as he ran out of the kitchen; maybe it was a monster.

He doesn’t get to reply though, before the screen door to the porch is creaking open behind them.

“Steve?” the man, monster, calls out for him.

Opening his eyes, Steve sees the wild back of Billy’s hair, curled tight and sticky with hairspray, and golden, so fucking golden, in the single naked bulb on the porch. Steve doesn’t have to see him to see him. He’s been on the receiving end of Billy’s glare enough, just last night before he got in the Camaro. It makes his toes curl in his socks.

“Glad I found you, babe,” the man leaves the door open, the pollution of light and noise spilling out over Billy’s gentle touch. Turns his shoulders rigged. Steve wants to cup them as comforting as Billy did to him last night, but he can’t. Only holds his own hands, his bruised wrists in his cold fingers, while he watches.

Billy doesn’t step aside, says, “what’s it ya lookin for, buddy?” while blocking Steve’s view like a wall.

The man catches himself for a second, he’s older but not by much, not by enough. And nothing the rum in his cola wouldn’t have equalized. “Steve,” he groans annoyed, “let’s go, we need to talk this out. Like two adults.”

And that gets Steve’s skin itching, scratchy, wants to rip a bat hammered through with nails into something soft. “There’s nothing more I have to say to you, oh- except maybe one thing: fuck off!”

“Don’t be immature about this-,”

“Didn’t you hear him?” Billy doesn’t let him finish. Cuts off that tone of disappointment like he was made to do it. Sends a shiver down Steve’s spine. He sits up on the railing just enough to see the man over Billy’s shoulder.

He notices the way the open door let a few curious eyes gather. One red flushed freckled face and curly red hair stand out. Steve looks between Tommy and Carol and Billy’s lip turned up into a snarl.

“Pretty boy here said fuck off, bitch,” he snarls, dog like, and each word is angrier than the next.

Tommy smiles wide, Steve recognizes that more than he should. And it’s familiar in a familiar painful sort of way. He wishes he was back in his kitchen away from all this. With the Billy who made him tea. Now he’s with Hawkins High tip of pyramid, wolves looking out for their pack with the same fervor they have to taste blood on their fangs.

Steve doesn’t know if this is about him anymore, a part of him knows it is, a part of him wants to think Billy is doing this singuarilly to defend him, but a shadow from his past is creeping in the open doorways yellow light smirking as if it knows better.

“Let’s go, Billy,” Steve says. He’s tired of thinking so much. Exhausted from it. Just wants to sink into leather Camaro seats and upturn the collar of Billy’s jacket and smell again. “Let’s get out of here,” he repeats, stepping forward to get a hand on Billy’s back.

“Oh! You’re not going anywhere!” The man slurs out as he zeros in on Steve’s hand, but those were the wrong words.

Quicker than Steve can think through his headache, quicker than the man can see through the haze of alcohol, but just as fast as a high school student’s hyena laughter; Billy’s hand balls into a fist and cracks against bone.

Snap, and the man is lurching backwards, his hands flying up to cup around his nose. Blood pours down his face and between his fingers red like the plastic cup he dropped on the ground. More dark brown liquid sloshes around his feet.

Billy moves without mercy. He scoops the man up by the collar of his shirt, yanking him to attention, getting real close.

“No one tells me what to do,” he hisses.

Steve can’t fucking take it. He reaches forward again, this time getting a fist in Billy’s jacket and pulling the fabric tight to get his attention. Feels like he’s pulling on a wild animals leash but he keeps pulling.

“Let him go, Hargrove, he’s not worth it,” he tells him what to do. Voice quiet under Tommy’s laughter and Carol’s cheers.

“Let’s go,” Steve presses the point of his sharp nose into the soft spot behind Billy’s ear, whispers right to him.

It’s easy as pressing a button on the other boy. Billy drops the man heavy on the ground. Listens to Steve above all the noise. He turns into the touch, allows it when Steve’s hand slides from where his jacket is bunched in the back and down to his wrist.

Steve wraps his hand around Billy’s wrist and pulls.

They stumble together down the steps of Tina’s back porch. They stumble together across the dark grass in the middle of the night and search blindly for a baby blue Camaro. Billy finds it first, pressing his overheated skin against the chilled metal. Steve walks around the front, leading with his hands over hands across the hood to keep his balance. They drop into the leather seats. Steve takes a gulp of air that’s just as satisfying as lighting up his own marlboro red.

The engine starts to life, vibrating under his ass and pushing the blood through his slug stiff veins. Billy growls along with it. Throws his head back. His curly hair flattened on the back by his headrest as he opens his pretty mouth wide to holler. One hand gripping the wheel is skinned on the knuckles, blood just starting to drip out.

Steve lets his head fall back same as Billy. His chest heaving as hard as it was in the boys locker room showers, when his vision was orange glow and California sun kissed skin. And all he could think about was how mustaches feel when you kiss them.

Billy turns to him. Smug smile on his face. Trying to get a rise out of him.

“How’s that for fighting monsters, pretty boy?” he shouts.

Steve takes a second to breath. Closes his eyes and opens them slow just to make sure he’s got his head on right. Then he replies, “I fucking love fighting monsters with you, Billy,” and he means it.

#billy: i like hitting things #steve: yeah bae i know ur lucky ur hot #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic #my fic #harringrove fanfic #steve/billy #check this shit wont show up in the tags lol #but hey here ya go i finished it!!!#will likely post to ao3 later sorry it got so long lol

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trashfor-imagines · 4 years

Text

My Senpai | 1

Ushijima x Reader

Summary: You’re Goshiki Tsutomu’s older doting sister, second year at Shiratorizawa and captain of the girl’s track & field team. At your brother’s first practice you sneak in to support him and end up meeting the impressive force that is his captain. Warnings: None.

[1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5]

Glancing at your wrist watch, you quickly wrapped up your end of practice stretches with your team. Getting up, you motioned for a towel from one of your team managers, a nice first year boy that the third year managers scouted. Track & field was a large sports club with many events, so it was necessary to have several managers to take care of all of the members. He quickly brought one over to you before taking a few steps back, blowing the whistle.

“Okay ladies! Great practice today. Please check your emails later for notes I’ll be sending out regarding what I saw from you all today. Everyone’s dismissed,” you announced, smiling at your team.

“Thank you captain!” they replied enthusiastically with smiles as they bowed, despite having practiced hard this afternoon. Your leadership ability was revered, having the reputation as the dream captain.

During your first year, you joined track and field. The captain at the time had gotten injured and had to leave the team. The vice captain had only joined because of the captain so they left the team as well. This led to the third years fighting tooth and nail for the position. It was like your older sister instincts kicked in and you managed to impress the club supervisor and coach as you led the first and second years, giving them guidance and earning their respect. The rest was history.

Wiping down with the towel, you rummaged through your practice bag, re-upped on your deodorant, and slipped your hoodie over your sports bra, before tossing the towel back to the first year manager, flashing him a smile and peace sign before running toward the volleyball gym. You slipped in between the door frame and the protective netting, keeping to the wall as you found a spot in the corner. It looked like they were getting ready to practice spikes when you came in. This was perfect! It was what your brother was best at.

You watched as everyone seemed to move like clockwork, perfectly in sync as they tossed, set, and spiked, one after another. It kept everything in you to not cheer when Tsutomu’s hand collided with the ball. You remembered when he was first interested in volleyball. He asked you to play with him and be his setter. You were his biggest fan ever since.

A deafening slam echoed throughout the gym, grabbing your attention. Your lips fell into a perfect O as you watched that hunky powerhouse captain land back on his feet, jogging back to get in line for another go. You’d only seen Ushijima in passing every blue moon. As a third year, his classes were in a different part of the school, you didn’t play the same sport, and as opposite genders you lived in different dorms. Every once in a while you’d see him at lunch, or early in the morning while you were on the field training you’d catch a glimpse of him leaving campus to run in town.

You spent the rest of volleyball practice switching between watching your brother and on your phone typing out those emails to your teammates. You were on your last email when the coach blew the whistle signaling end of practice. Quickly finishing up that email, you got to your feet and watched as the team cleaned up. You leaned against the wall and stretched your legs, hoping to take your brother out for dinner.

“Hey first year, aren’t you related to Goshiki (Y/N)?” Shirabu asked, spotting you hanging out in the corner.

Goshiki looked up and his eyes landed on you, his hair standing on end in surprise. “What’s she doing here?!”

Tendo let out a low whistle, nudging Semi and nodding over at you. “Take a look at her.”

Growling Goshiki glared daggers at his seniors before stomping his way over to you. You spotted your brother looking at you and grinned, giving him an enthusiastic wave. Your doting expression didn’t change as he approached wearing an upset expression.

“Aren’t you embarrassed dressed like that?” your brother growled at you, his face blushing.

Blinking twice, you glanced down at your clothes. Your practice clothing, similar to your track uniform, was far from modest, but practicing in clothes similar to what you competed in helped you keep your head in the game. You wore black bun huggers and a peach colored cut off cropped hoodie over your sports bra.

“My practice clothes? No. Are you embarrassed?”

“Yeah!” he whispered harshly.

You laughed and ruffled his hair. “But Tsu, you’re not the one wearing this.”

“That’s not what I- Whatever!” He stormed off and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him go back to cleaning up the gym. You really loved your little brother.

When the team was done, you watched as they headed to the locker rooms. It was another thirty minutes or so before your brother came back out laughing with some of his teammates. His laughter slowly died when he noticed you were still there.

“What are you still doing here?” Goshiki asked.

You laughed lightly and decided to tease him. “How rude, Tsu. You’re not even going to introduce me to your teammates?”

His shoulders stiffened. “(Y/N), this is Tendo, Semi, Ohira, and Ushijima. Guys, this is my big sister.”

You exchanged pleasantries with them, asking what they thought of your little brother and what advice they had for him. Goshiki’s ears turned, but he stayed silent, wanting to know those same things as well. You took mental notes of everything they said. Your brother watched in awe as you easily conversed with his seniors about volleyball in-depth. Soon, Semi, Ohira, and Tendo excused themselves so you turned to your brother, breaking him from his thoughts as you reached up to rest a hand on his head, despite him being taller than you.

“I wanted to take you to dinner to celebrate first day of practices. Up for it?” Your loving smile never left your face. Though he was clearly frustrated by you, he couldn’t help return the smile.

Adjusting the bag on his shoulder he sighed, straightening up. “Not when you’re dressed like that. Call me when you’re dressed.” He excused himself and headed to the dorms.

Turning to Ushijima - who was surprisingly still there - you gave him a polite bow. “It was nice to meet you, senpai. Lets hang out sometime!” Standing back up, you smiled honestly at him, giving him a peace sign and running to the girl’s dormitory. Biting your lip, you slapped your palms to your cheeks. Adrenaline rushed through you as you felt your cheeks burn beneath your hands. You’d never spoken to an upperclassman boy like that before. Were you an idiot? Who even asks to hang out like that?

Keeping it quick, you showered and got dressed, throwing on a sweater and a mini skirt. Applying some light make up and slipping your feet into some fashionable sneakers, you called your brother to meet you at the school gates. When you spotted him waiting, you snuck up from behind before jumping on to his back. “Go, go, Tsu-to-mu!” you cheered, punching the air with one hand as you clung to him with the other.

“(Y/N)! Come on!” he groaned, acting as if you were heavy.

“You’re my strong little brother! Carry your big sister! I’m weak with age,” you claimed dramatically.

“Fine, then hold on!” He laughed and gave a small jump, adjusting you on his back before taking off down the street. The two of you were oblivious to the pair of eyes watching.

You took your brother to eat boiled flounder, his favorite. Without the attention of his teammates on him, he was so much more relaxed and natural with you.

“Hey Tsu, I’m really sorry if I embarrass you,” you sighed as the both of you walked back.

He turned a little red. “You don’t embarrass me. I just wish you told me you were coming to watch. And that you were wearing real pants when you met my teammates.”

“I understand. I promise to cover up more, but for you. You should really be more body positive, little brother. Hey! Treat your big sister to an ice cream.” You dragged him over to the 7-Eleven.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, but you wait outside. I’m not buying you everything in there,” he chided you for past behavior.

Pouting, you waited outside, sitting on an empty plastic crate. You tapped your toes against the pavement, sighing from boredom already. Closing your eyes, you wondered what was taking so long despite it not having been a minute since he’d gone in.

“Goshiki,” a voice sounded.

Opening an eye, you were surprised to see Ushijima standing in front of you. “Senpai, what are you doing out late?”

“Getting groceries,” he replied. “Are you going inside?”

“No. Tsu thinks I’ll try to get him to buy the whole store if I go in. He’s just inside getting ice cream.” Laughing lightly, you shook your head. When he didn't say anything or make to leave, you quirked a brow, your smile ever present. “Did you need anything from me?”

“You said we should hang out some time. You can join me at lunch tomorrow.” He spoke simply and direct. Your smile seemed to widen and he wondered how that was even possible; did it hurt to smile so much?

“I’ll see you at lunch.”

He nodded and went inside. A minute or two later, your brother came back, giving you your favorite strawberry yogurt popsicle. Your eyes lit up and you hugged his arm, happily walking with your brother to the dorms. He truly was the best sibling you could ever ask for.

“Hey Tsu? Don’t freak out, but Ushijima invited me to have lunch tomorrow.”

“What!?”

The next day, you did a little something different from the norm, tying a cute purple ribbon in your hair. There wasn’t much else you could do. Shiratorizawa was strict about the uniform, so you had to be subtle if you wanted to do something different, like shortening your skirt and varying the length of your socks.

Heating up some purple sticky rice rolls, you found your brother and handed him one, walking with him to the school building. Bee-lining to your classroom, you sat and ate your breakfast, day dreaming about how lunch would be like today.

Once lunch came around, you headed to the cafeteria. Your fellow students and members of the track team waved and greeted you as you passed in the halls and on campus.

“Senpai!” One of the first years from track team waved you over from their place in the lunch line. “Please senpai, go ahead of me.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” You waved your hands and laughed.

“No, please senpai! Go ahead. It would make us happy,” another chimed in. Two others in ear shot also gave their approval and you laughed.

You never really thought of yourself as popular, but you knew you were well liked. Life rewards you with great things if you are genuine; just show some kindness. That’s what your grandfather told you once when you were little. Nothing ever proved him wrong so you stuck with it.

“Only this once okay? I can wait in line like everyone else from now on.”

Sniffing the aroma of food happily, you smiled as you stared at your tray. They had hayashi rice as an option! You bid the younger students a goodbye as you walked through the cafeteria looking for the volley boys, having to stop and say hello every once in a while. Your brother spotted you and waved you over.

“Good afternoon, boy’s volleyball club.” Your expression was calm and cheerful as always. A laugh escaped you as Semi and Tendo pushed each other away, making room for you between them and across from your brother. Ushijima was a couple of people down from Tsutomu.

Your brother went to introduce you but Ushijima stood, gaining his team’s attention. “This is Goshiki’s sister. She’s joining us for lunch. Please treat her well.” With that said, he sat back down and returned to eating.

“Please call me (Y/N). Thank you for inviting me.” You gave a bow before sitting down, relaxing your smile and expressing content as you listened and joined in the conversation around you happily. You caught Ushijima’s eye and you smiled brightly at him. His face stayed neutral and you only wondered what he thought about.

Tendo had gotten you into a conversation about horror films. You felt a heavy shadow hang over you as he went into the lore and real life basis for some of these films and it had your hands shaking. You hated horror films, but you weren’t a wimp. This was just a conversation after all. You wouldn’t get haunted from just talking about a film. Right?

Your watch pinged and you glanced at the time. You had to leave for gym class. Your teacher expected everyone to be dressed and stretching by the time class began so you needed a head start.

“Excuse me everyone, I have go to. Thanks for today!” you spoke, standing and giving a polite bow to the table. You slid your untouched food tray - you’d been so caught up in conversation you didn’t even eat - over to your brother and smiled. “Eat up, Tsu.”

Throwing him a peace sign, you ran off to the girl’s locker rooms. There was a notice that your class would be swimming so you dressed in the school’s uniform maroon one piece. You neatly French braided your hair as you headed to the school’s pool. You loved gym class. It was just extra practice time for you. Honestly, if you could just train all day instead of going to lessons and studying, you would. Shiratorizawa really catered to their athletes when they organized the students’ classes.

Settling down, you started on stretches, other female students filing in not long after. You supposed they separated gym class by gender for some misogynistic reason based on tradition, but you were almost thankful for it. The girls were way more relaxed in your opinion when they weren’t trying to impress a boy. The lesson mostly focused on the four swim strokes and when it was over you headed back to the locker rooms for a shower.

A low whistle caught your attention as you were about to walk in to the girl’s locker room. Tendo stood at the entrance to the boy’s locker room with Ushijima, smiling cheekily at you. The volleyball captain’s expression was still neutral as ever. “Man I wish we had swim class today, Wakatoshi!”

“We did weightlifting,” Ushijima responded to Tendo plainly. “You should tell the teacher if you want to swim.”

“That’s not what I meant, Waka! Are you blind?”

Ushijima’s brow furrowed slightly. “My vision is fine.”

“Tendo senpai! It’s not nice to tease. Someone could think you’re a predator.” You laughed and threw your wet towel at the third year redhead who caught it easily. Before much else could be said, you smiled at Ushijima before hurrying into the showers, ready to be free of that chlorine smell.

You had a free period before practice so you decided studying would be a good break. It was no good to over do it and hurt yourself before the first track meet. Heading to the dorms, you did dress in your track practice clothes, the same style you wore yesterday, and packed a bag with your study materials. You made your way to the bleachers, sitting beneath them in their shade and settling in for the next hour and a half.

At some point you were lying down in the grass and enjoying the occasional breeze, reading The Dancing Girl by Mori Ougai, one of the required readings for your Japanese class, when the sound of foot sets approached. Peeking over the top of your book, you felt yourself smile automatically at seeing Ushijima standing there.

“Senpai, what brings you over here?” you asked, marking the page in your book and setting it aside. You leaned back on your hands, keeping your upper body propped up, and crossed your long legs at the ankle. “Would you like to sit with me? It’d make me happy if you would.”

“Would it?” he asked, taking a seat in the grass next to your feet and facing you, almost mirroring your body.

“Very much, senpai.”

“You may call me Ushijima, or Wakatoshi.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “But what if calling you senpai makes me happy?” It was subtle, but his brow twitched. He seemed unsure of how to reply so you continued. “I know, I’ll only call you my senpai on special occasions. How does that sound?”

A faint pink colored his cheeks and you were satisfied at the sight. He nodded without a word. Smiling, you scooted forward and closer to him, sitting with your legs crossed. Your bare thigh touched his hand and you desperately hoped that he’d take the hint. He didn’t move away, but he also didn’t say anything, simply staring into your eyes.

“So what did you need?” you asked softly.

“We didn’t speak at lunch.”

“Is this your way of making up for that?” He nodded and you smiled at his response. “It’s such an honor. I feel special.”

“You didn’t eat.”

Your brows raised and a blush crossed your cheeks. Mustering a smile, you laughed a little. “It happens sometimes. I get busy talking and just forget.”

“It’s not healthy. As an athlete, you should do better to take care of yourself.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he held out a protein bar to you. “Eat this.”

Studying the bar in his hand for a moment, you accepted it from him. “Thank you. I’ll try to do better then, Captain.”

“I’ll wait for you to finish it before we talk.”

Blinking, you laughed again, tearing into the wrapper and eating it in front of him. You openly checked him out while you ate, not even attempting to be sly. You studied his face, his neck and shoulders to his upper arms, his chest and abdomen. Licking your lips subconsciously, your gaze lingered on his thick, muscular thighs, before flicking up to meet his gaze, a cute and innocent expression on your face. Your watch beeped and you sighed softly.

“All done, my senpai. Unfortunately, I also have to start practice.” Tossing your things into your bag, you got up, offering him a hand. “Let’s do this again.”

#ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #fanfic #reader insert #imagine #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyu #shiratorizawa #volleyboys #my senpai

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