#thank u the regular gatsby! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

watevermelon · 4 years ago

Text

Jealous | Eita Semi x Reader

✧ Summary: You thought you were content with your relationship so far - Semi was your best friend and these past few years were some of the most memorable. But all of that quickly changes with some outside forces. ➳ Tags: Angst with a happy ending; some humor

Navigation

—xXxXxXxXxXx—

Four years ago, it would have been a strange sight to see you, an up-and-rising wing-spiker, sitting on the sideline of the Shiratorizawa volleyball team. Being the female team’s manager was nice, but just as ambiguous as the adjective. You sorely ached to be back as an active member on the court and you seemed to radiate that very thought throughout the schoolyear.

At the end of your first-year you were switched from official wing-spiker to sub-pinch server. That was a huge demotion in your eyes, but a position you would gladly accept now. You knees were deteriorating from overuse and it was only facilitated at the Spring Tournament during your first-year. A bad-land from a spike and you tore your ACL. From that injury, there was no going back. That took you off the regular team for the rest of the year, since your doctor recommended six-months of healing.

Torn ACL’s do not heal and you did not want to undergo surgery, since it would only prolong your time away from the court. That decision was terrible in itself, but you reasoned that your volleyball career would end after high-school. So the long-term implications did not affect your future in sports since you did not envision one.

But your career ended sooner than you thought.

You did not seek the advice of the athletic trainer or even your coach and attempted to do the same work-outs as the rest of the team. And for a good amount of time, they bought your act. It seemed you were a miraculous healer, despite the urgings of both your parents and physicians. Dates set aside for physical therapy were skipped and you opted to make yourself useful to the team.

But you were doing just the opposite.

The women of Shiratorizawa’s volleyball team had their eyes set on nationals and it seemed that you were on the right track. The team earned their spot in the finals of the Interhigh Tournament, garnering attention against Niiyama High. You were set to serve, aiming directly for the serious face of Amanai Kanoka. Mid-stride, something did not feel right and you landed, not on your feet, but on your front-side.

You looked up from your prone form on the ground to see the horrified faces of your teammates and opponents. The usually loud section of Shiratorizawa’s student body was stunned silent and everyone’s eyes were fixated on your figure. First aid was able to hoist your motionless body onto a stretcher and time seemed to momentarily stop. You could still distinctly recall the perturbed faces of your friends and family. In that very instant, you felt your heart crack and silently whispered goodbye to your beloved sport.

Your torn ACL developed into a long-lasting chronic deficiency and you were slowly losing control in knee movement.

Pity.

That was the only word to describe the certain expression other people gave you after the fact. Volleyball held a large amount of prominence on campus and the fact that nearly everyone saw your fall – it was humiliating. You were taken completely off the team and instead ushered into surgery and rehabilitation for your knee.

Many of your teammates attempted to show compassion and understanding for your situation, but they would never truly understand. You had accepted, deep in your heart, that even if you had undergone surgery early your knee would continually depreciate. It was only a matter of time.

The coach could understand your reasoning, but cursed your insolence. It hurt her that you desperately wanted to help the team, to the point of sacrificing your future. If she had known, she would have taken you off the starting-line in an instant. But there was no second chance, no benefit in asking what if’s.

The previous manager of the women’s team was leaving with graduation and you inherited her spot. On more than one occasion, you wondered if staying on as manager would really help you emotionally. It was your own personal hell, watching your previous teammates engage in volleyball and never getting the chance to join.

Graduation liberated many of your friends and majority of the people who observed your deterioration first-hand were gone. New volleyball teams were forming and you missed most of their names. Without the use of it on the court, it was harder to connect and really converse with the fresh first-years. You knew the names of the promising few – Goshiki Tsutomu was a hard one to miss. There were also two exemplary female wing-spikers, but Shiratorizawa’s team ran both deep and wide.

With all this distance, you would often miss much of the drama from those outside your year. Many of the other volleyball players made an effort not to bar you and updated you daily on news. Tendou was the number one instigator and you would often hear a warped version of the gossip from him first.

None of the male players were in the same class, ironically. There was one in each class and you shared yours with Eita Semi for the past three years. You were the closest to the mom of the group and he would usually clarify new gossip to you.

The groupchat shared amongst both the men’s and women’s volleyball team usually went ignored in your pocket. Once in a while, you would contribute a dank meme or comment. But for now, you tended to silently witness the drama unfold. Amongst the newly minted third-years was a groupchat just for you guys, both the girls and boys teams, which was the one you and Tendou seemed to haunt.

As such, you were texting away in the middle of class. You sat with Semi, who was diligently writing notes and following along with the teacher. Neither had yet to see you, but no matter who it was, they would pluck the phone right out of your hands.

GC: We’re the captains now. <(￣︶￣)>

12:43 From:s u f f e r i n g (。□°） I’m just saying, we can fight him.

12:43 From: Ushiwaka-sama I would prefer to leave the setter intact

12:43 From: Guess Monster（▼へ▼メ） Are we ignoring the problem of Goshiki????

12:43 From: Captain-Sama! He’s a wing-spiker not a middle-blocker. You don��t have to worry about your spot

12:43 From: Guess Monster（▼へ▼メ） ExCuSe youuuuuuuuuuu

12:44 From: Guess Monster（▼へ▼メ) I wouldn’t be afraid even if he was

It was severely clear to all volleyball members that your spot as a regular was never safe (unless of course your name started with a U and ended with -shiwaka.)

The coaches of either team were relentless in their words and would drop a team member if they showed enough weakness. And you would not be surprised even in the slightest if the essential vice-captain of the men’s team was benched for the newfound first-year. The anomaly of Goshiki Tsutomu could be found in the fact that he seemed to be the complete foil of his older teammates. Despite this, he showed the most promise and you almost wanted to bet money that he would be a regular by the Spring High Tournament.

12:44 From: Ushiwaka-sama Your numerable amount of question marks show your lie.

12:44 From: Guess Monster（▼へ▼メ） Why don’t you shut the fuck up

12:44 From: Ushiwaka-sama But I didn’t say anything

12:45 From: Captain-Sama! LMAO but seriously Soekawa has nothing to worry about

12:45 From: s u f f e r i n g (。□°） Even if he does I think we can take the coconut-head.

12:45 From: Guess Monster（▼へ▼メ） O mi god good one (f/n) I’m about to set his nickname as that

12:46 From: Okaasan/Eita Why don’t you take your own advice and stfu salami

12:46 From: Captain-Sama S C R E A M I N G

Okaasan/Eita has changed “Guess Monster (▼へ▼メ)” ‘s nickname to, “the most tender Salami”.

12:46 From: s u f f e r i n g (。□° ) I can’t breathe

12:47 From: Ushiwaka-sama Lol

True to your word, you were laughing with almost no control while Semi was trying not to have his smile break his stern façade. You covered your mouth to stifle the giggles and the fact that the literal volleyball idiot wrote “Lol” you had no doubt he was laughing as well a few classrooms over.

Those in your immediate vicinity subtly turned to look at you and you had to pretend to bend-down to pick up a pencil to hide your laughter. You thanked Semi for the umpteenth time for grabbing these seats in the back that were far from the teacher’s reproach.

Once you were settled, Semi commented, “The aim of my remark was to calm you all down.”

It was hard to focus in class usually, but after a morning like that you were done. English was your forte and you had no problems with the subject, even in an advanced class focused on the western world’s literature. The Great Gatsby was your shit.

13:34 From: Captain-Sama I have detention now Eita. I hope youre happy

13:34 From: Okaasan/Eita What did I do????

13:34 From: Captain-Sama I literally started screaming at the name

13:34 the most tender Salami At least someone else is suffering too

13:34 the most tender Salami My ass is getting blasted on the shared gc help

13:35 From: s u f f e r i n g (。□° ) Hey remember that time you locked me in the men’s locker room

13:35 From: s u f f e r i n g (。□° ) Karma beyotch

13:35 From: the most tender Salami LMAo thanks for that reminder ugh that was the funniest day I almost feel better

You frowned at your phone and Semi noticed your reaction, “That’s your fault. You brought it up.”

The two of you were done with class for the rest of the day and were casually lounging around his dorm room. His roommate, Reon Ōhira, was in class 4 and had a different schedule from the two of you.

You were laid-out across his bed, backpack carelessly thrown on the floor against his desk. Semi was previously occupied with whatever he does on his laptop, but now he was catching-up with the groupchat. This was incredibly normal and it was almost second-nature for you to lounge in his room. Your roommate, the captain of the women’s team, often noted this with certain intentions.

It was no secret that you and Semi were something.

You flirted nonchalantly and he had an overall friendly personality — it seemed entirely natural. Your relationship had blurred lines and no clear mutual understanding. The two of you could hold hands and he could get away with the occasional kiss on your cheek. And if anyone asked if you were in a relationship, you would say no. Semi would do the same.

There was one occasion during your second-year that pushed Semi’s buttons to the point where he made your relationship known. You could count the amount of female third-years on your hand and still have fingers to spare. This, in Tendou’s eyes, left barely any possible suitors that he would seriously be interested in. And of all people, the eyes of the guess monster settled on you.

Tendou was a somewhat of a Kuudere, in your words. He was not cold, but incredibly blunt and cared on the inside. He had the type of attitude that would not seem to care if their crush noticed them. Instead, he took it a step further, to compliment said crush to other people and claim not to like them. And because he was so damn loud and incredibly obvious, the other male volleyball players seemed to notice and their gazes would casually linger on you.

You would dismiss their sudden interest as only aesthetic-deep and not take any other crushes seriously, especially Tendou. His crush bounced from girl to girl and this was a well-known fact, simply because he could admire a good looking person and not get emotionally attached. However, this was easier when the girl was in his class and not as immediate as on the volleyball team.

Tendou would highlight the specific beauty of your smile or hair casually and the other third-years would calmly agree. Semi could see it all. He was in a private groupchat with those boys and you were the topic of their conversation more than once. He would see the friendly pat on the head from Reon as he complimented your cross-spike. Or how you would converse with Ushijima and his eyes would loiter even after you walked away. Or how you would smile brightly at Yunohama’s jokes.

Tendou and Ushijima’s shared dorm was secretly party central, the later surprisingly okay with socializing on a daily basis. But you normally hung-out with Semi, in his room. And recently you had been getting more and more invitations to their room. He was hella annoyed and would often drag you right after class to chill with him instead.

This did not change the fact that Tendou was aggressive and this led to the day of Semi’s snapping. Tendou was waiting outside of your classroom and once he spotted you, he stepped right between you and Semi to sling a lazy arm across your shoulders.

“Finally we are graced with Friday. No homework to worry about for tomorrow and even better, it’s a rest day for volleyball!” Tendou was narrating the day as the three of you walked, Semi pushed all the way to the side. “Shall we let go of our inhibitions to celebrate this rare occasion?”

You lightly attempted to push off his hold on you, but he did not budge. “Sorry Tendou, not exactly in the mood to go off campus tonight.”

“That’s perfectly alright with me,” He deflected the rejection, “Waka is leaving tomorrow morning so we can chill in the dorm.” Certain ideas were undoubtedly forming in the minds of two growing teenage boys and Semi did not hide his disapproval. Instead, he sighed loudly and had the urge to grab you right out of Tendou’s grasp.

“What do you plan on doing with just me tonight, Tendou?” You teased.

He only laughed and ignored your question, “So how about it?"

“I prefer to get my homework done before the weekend, so that’s what I’ll be preoccupied with tonight.” You answered and Semi smirked at your response.

He bristled at your retort and kept pushing, “Well. I know you like that cheesecake place downtown—”

“Can’t you take a hint, Tendou?” Semi asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, but once I lay my eyes on a beautiful girl there’s no way I’ll let her go.” Tendou affirmed and tightened his hold on your shoulders.

You blushed at his confidence, “Ha. Well, determination is a dangerous thing.” Semi noted your flushed appearance and the fact that you had not pulled away from his hold.

No way, not on his watch.

Your flustered looks and affectionate embraces were meant for him and him alone.

Was Tendou’s unwavering resolve really getting to you? The red-head would constantly shower you with compliments and it was only a matter of time that it would infiltrate your brain. Meanwhile, he would offer you vague responses and a sparse amount of sentiments.

With his mind made-up, Semi grabbed you right out of Tendou’s filthy arms and into his own. “Sorry. But she’ll be busy with me.” You were nestled underneath his neck and his arm was wrapped lightly around your waist.

The message he was sending was clear and if it was not, Semi sure as hell would be ready to provide more.

Instead of being heart-broken or defensive, Tendou immediately turned the situation around, “Busy doing what?” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

“Staying the hell away from you.” Semi sassily replied and attempted to walk away with you in his grasp.

Tendou took the message in stride and went further to ship the two of you together for the rest of the schoolyear. The others must have received the message and they laid off from their previous flirting. Well, most of them. The only person unaffected by Semi’s wrath was the great volleyball idiot himself. But it was generally understood that he never really knew the implications of his actions.

Since then, there was no real progression in your public and private relationship with Semi. You hit every milestone with stride: prolonged hugs, kisses on the cheek, and even a sleepover when your roommate was away with her boyfriend. You were happy with how things were now and you feared if you talked about it, it would end. With no real reason to address the subject, the two of you continued with your relationship. He was there when you were sad and you surely did the same for him.

The second-year of high-school was your turning point. Your first-year friendship could be described as average, simply two members of the same game. Classmates and admirers of volleyball, you were cordial for ordinary reasons. After your injury, it was hard to personally connect with anyone.

But Semi could do what the others could not. Your second-year came with the introduction of Kenjirō Shirabu. He was a salty little douche and before the Spring High Tournament he was the official setter for the men’s volleyball team. The teammates that Semi had fostered and grown with since middle school were suddenly dragged away from him. And there was nothing he could do. His best was suddenly not good enough and he fell short to a first-year.

You connected on a level that the others could not understand. Being cut from a team was like being abandoned, but it was no one’s fault but your own. And that fact hurt more than anything. Try as you might, there was nothing either of you could really do to regain your prominence.

You found comfort in one another and it was highly noted by the other team members.

“What’s with the face?” Semi asked, noting your saddened facial expressions.

You paused and then sat-up, “We’re graduating this year.”

“Just because we’re leaving this school, doesn’t mean we’ll stop being friends.” Semi comforted. Friends… That word would continue to haunt you. You were friends, incredibly close with few secrets between the two of you. Your relationship was once in a lifetime and soon there would be more than emotional barriers separating you two.

It was not until the autumn formal that you recognized first-hand the complications of desire.

Someone asked Semi to the formal. And it had not been you. But he still said yes.

You heard this secondhand from Reon, a week after the girl had initially asked. Did he hesitate? Did he even think of you? Did he… have feelings for the girl?

She was someone unrecognizable from Ushijima’s class and you had spotted her after having lunch with just the ace. Social Media was a big thing and of course Shiratorizawa Academy had a team-spirit page that highlighted all sorts of shit. And of course, there were the posts about who was going with who to the formal. ((promposals cough))

You were unsure if you had ever seen her before. But after noticing her, you seemed to see her everywhere. She was beautiful in every way you were not – incredibly feminine and keeping up with her appearance. Flowing blonde hair that went past her elbows and she seemed to always sport a dress. Semi was not distant in any way and it seemed like he was never going to bring it up with you unless you took the initiative.

You asked once or twice about the girl and he waved off that she was very pretty and very determined. She seemed to exceedingly fancy him and would not take no for an answer. And he had no real reason to say no. No real reason. Your heart ached at his simple words. If you were no “real reason,” then you sure were not going to continue this way.

There was a month until the formal and that meant an entire month with having this loom over your head. Semi never indicated he wanted more than friendship and it seemed that was not enough for him. So you pulled away. This was hard since you sat together, but it was definitely different than usual.

You would brush off his invitations to hang-out, which was increasingly hard since you literally spent every waking day together. It hurt you, but it was a good wake-up call. If he did not think more of you, then it was about time you lessened this heavy dependence you had on him. It was an eventual problem that he would find a significant other, but now it was finally before you. You were no masochist and distanced yourself from the constant sorrow. On one occasion, you replied, “Why don’t you hang-out with your date instead?” It was petty and low, but true. You were being replaced. Why would he hang-out with you if he’s got another female on his line?

You addressed this with Reon, but he defended Semi saying that the two were only friends. Semi agreed on a whim, with no real intention of dating the girl or progressing as far as he had with you. But you denied this and stopped talking about it with the two altogether.

You were gleaning out the window, ignoring your lunch and sitting with the guess monster and his ace. “Stop frowning, (F/N)-chan. If it bothers you that much just talk to him.”

“Why should I even bother? He already made up his mind.” You pushed your already minute lunch away.

“Wow, giving up already?” Tendou mocked.

“It’s been three years. If he wanted to do something he would have.”

“You’re wrong, (F/N)-chan.” Salami countered, “Semi has already done something. He told me off, that’s for sure.”

“That was so long ago.”

“What have you done?” Ushijima interjected.

“I’ve never accepted any other man’s affection - not dates, chocolates, late-night talks.” You outwardly groaned and nearly slammed your head on the desk, “I’m about to graduate high-school and I’ve never been kissed.”

Even Tendou laughed at this fact, “Wow, (F/N)! I’d be willing to volunteer.”

You lifted your head to glare at him, “That is unnecessary.” Ushijima stated. “You have proven a great loyalty, it seems.”

“Great.” You mocked, voice dripping with sarcasm, “And this worked out so well for me.”

“It is a rare quality, one that I surely admire you for having.” You sat-up completely, back straight from surprise and eyes glued to the auburn-haired ace that continued eating like his words meant nothing. Even Tendou paused from his causal demeanor to narrow his eyes at Ushijima.

A grin reappeared on his face, one that surely spelt trouble, and he proposed, “Why don’t you two go to the formal together?”

You both paused and shared momentary eye-contact. His eyes appeared mostly impassive, but you had spent enough time with him to notice his questioning gaze. His left eyebrow was slightly upturned and you tilted your head in question.

“I cannot see an immediate reason not to.”

“Me neither."

“Then it’s settled!” Tendou got up to stand by the middle of the table, flippantly placing his hands on both of your shoulders, “Let’s send a post to the Shiratorizawa page so it’s official. Ah so cute, Waka and (F/N) at the dance together!”

Ushijima commented that was extremely superfluous, why should anyone care/know? You reasoned the same way, but Tendou claimed that it was not official until it was on the social media page. You both shrugged and prepared to pose for a picture over lunch.

“No, no. This looks totally lame.” He ended up dragging the both of you outside, in the middle of the quad during common hour. Tons of students were walking by and watched as Tendou modeled the two of you.

He settled on putting Ushijima’s hand on your waist and angled your front facing the ace. Your head was turned back towards the camera and you had a hand on his chest. This position was entirely intimate and even the dense Ushijima commented this, but Tendou waved it off. You wondered what crazy things Tendou could get his roommate to do.

Tendou was having a blast, taking multiple pictures from different angles on his phone. You wondered: how good could it possibly look? You were sporting your Shiratorizawa uniform and Ushijima was in his usual track-suit. You could hear the whispering and it seemed that posting the picture would be redundant, almost everyone saw the two of you posing like this!

The three of you returned back to your lunch table and upon sitting down, you received a brand new notification.

[Instabook] Slide to unlock and see new tagged post

Looks like the two most elusive volleyball bachelor/ette’s have snagged each other! Be sure to check-out this cute couple at the fall formal! Tagged: Ushijima Wakatoshi and (F/N)(L/N)

Attached: 1.jpg, 2.jpg, 3.jpg, 4.jpg

“Was it really necessary to send in all those pictures, Tendou?” You asked.

“They tell us to send multiple and they’ll pick the best one! Whoever the account owner is, they are the ones who decided on showing all of those!”

“But four?”

“I sent in ten. And four is the max they can post, so they must really like you guys.” Tendou teased. Almost instantly, you were getting more and more notifications.

People you had never met before were liking the post and it was embarrassing at how much attention this was garnering! You weren’t even dating! Your phone was constantly vibrating from Instabook and you muted the app entirely – you’d return to it later at the end of the day. Sadly, the volleyball team was quick to react too.

GC: Caw Caw SHIRATORIZAWA ୧༼✿ ͡◕ д ◕͡ ༽୨

14:57 From: Captain-Sama! um wtf is this Attached: THEpost.jpg, receipts.jpg, wtf.jpg

14:57 From: Not-my-libero-Yamagata ( ´ ▽ ` ) Not the otp but I still ship it

14:57 From: Coconut-head Senpai’s gf is so cute (๑꒪▿꒪)*

14:57 From: the most tender Salami You can thank me

14:57 From: Captain-Sama! y tf would I do that

14:57 From: the most tender Salami I got the ship sailing

14:57 From: the most tender Salami And got usiwaka to ask (f/n)-chan

14:58 From: Kawanishi ✩꒳✩ And u stil cant get urself a date??

14:58 From: the most tender Salami I’m going to ignore that and show off this CUTE COUPLE Attached: lunchdate.jpg, imthechaperone.jpg

Tendou was showcasing photos he literally took then and there, of you and Ushijima conversing over lunch. It could be viewed entirely as innocent, but after the previous posts it seemed to imply something. Tendou noticed that Semi had seen the chat already, but had yet to respond.

14:58 From: Captain-sama! Are they dating???????????????

14:59 From: the most tender Salami Nah, but theyre too busy to respond to the chat ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

14:59 From: Kawanishi ✩꒳✩ OH SHIT

14:59 From: Not-my-libero-Yamagata ( ´ ▽ ` ) WE’RE NOT OLD ENOUGH ( ಠ - ಠ )

15:00 From: Captain-Sama! I WANT PICS

Reon and Semi were discussing the subject in the comfort of their private dorm. It was clear to the tan boy that you were bothered by Semi agreeing to go to the formal and not even telling you! It was only now that Semi was understanding this and he looked to his roommate for guidance.

“I already told that girl I’ll go with her…” Semi was attempting to sort his thoughts, “But I don’t want to hurt (F/N).”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Reon interjected, “You already did that.”

Semi burrowed his head into his hands, “Does (F/N) think I’m replacing her? She means so much to me, that’s absurd.”

“You didn’t exactly tell her that you were going to formal with someone else.” Reon explained, “How would you feel if your closest friend was going to an intimate dance with a date that you never met before?” Semi massaged his temples further, feeling the oncoming migraine that usually came associated with a certain second-year setter.

His thoughts were unclear and the constant vibrating of both their phones were not helping his mental state, “What is happening?”

Reon browsed through his phone first and frowned, “Well. It seems a certain someone’s affection never fully disappeared from last year.”

Semi narrowed his eyes and picked up his phone to see your face splayed across the screen. A smile graced your face and it was clear who was the cause behind it. Ushijima’s smile was rare and came at random moments, but it was encased in memory through the photograph. He almost screamed.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Semi threw his phone on the bed before collapsing face first into it.

“On the chat, it seems Tendou was the one who pushed them together.” Semi punched his pillow at the mention of the brash Salami. “And they’re not dating, just going to the dance together.”

Semi let out a string of incomprehensible words into his comforter. “This is Ushiwaka. He’s not like Tendou, with the endless list of crushes. He’s genuine all the time and complimented (F/N) without hesitation. As in, I’m fucked.”

Reon was inwardly rolling his eyes, it was only when Semi was entirely comfortable with the other person or very enraged that he let loose his short-tempered side. And it seemed Semi was both, right at this moment.

You broke off from Tendou and Ushijima to retreat back to your dorm room. Ushijima agreed to have dinner with you later, in hopes of coordinating your outfit for the formal. It seemed the post of the two of you was the most popular on the entire page and you would have to dress to impress the audience.

Upon entering, you were ambushed with questions from both your roommate, Reon, and strangely Shirabu.

“(F/N), what the fuck.”

“You better not hinder his abilities as ace!”

“Did you just come from lunch with him?”

You blinked at the assault and then sat-down. “One, we’re not dating. So I will not be a distraction for him, I assure you. This is mostly Tendou’s doing anyway.”

Shirabu nodded at the explanation and then walked towards the door, stopping to put a hand on your shoulder first, “Good enough. Have a good time then.” And with that he walked out of the room. Shirabu was a special type of kid, everyone knew. At least he had the best intentions at heart?

“Seriously?” Your roommate and captain of the female volleyball team asked, showing off her impeccable vernacular.

“Come on.” You threw your bag to the side of your bed.

“How did this even start?” She sat down on her own bed as Reon rested on your desk chair.

“I was talking about y’know, what’s been bothering me recently. And Tendou suggested that there was no real reason to stop Ushijima and me from going to the formal together.”

“And what? Ushijima just asked on the spot after that?” She asked.

“Yeah, pretty much. And then Tendou made a big spectacle of it by making us pose for a picture.”

“A top three ace in the entire country and 190 centimeter of pure man, and you are the one to have tamed him. Holy shit, good job.” She commended.

Your eyes nearly fell out of your head and Reon could not stop his sudden coughing fit. “We are not dating.”

“Just the pure fact that Ushijima had no reason to not ask you, wow.” She commented. “If it was any other girl he would have scroll of reasons that would hit the floor with a speech to go along with it.”

“There’s no way.” You countered.

“Do you honestly think there are no implications?” Reon asked.

“Yeah, if anything he’s doing it as a favor.” You answered offhandedly, realizing your mistake instantly. It was natural to speak candidly to the two. However, it was clear that Reon would die defending Semi and thus you stopped speaking to him previously about the situation.

“A favor?” He asked, just as you had thought.

You hesitated. It was not in you to lie and it was only a matter of time before Tendou gave further details to the rest about the situation. “We were talking about Eita-kun before he asked me.”

“What about Eita?”

“Just how really messed up this situation is.” You decided on being vague.

Reon did not take the hint and continued to push the subject, “Why is it messed up?”

“You know why,” You gave him that look, like really bro, “I guess that’s what I get for assuming.

“What did you assume?” Your roommate asked, this time.

“I stayed loyal to him and I never gave into anyone. Never accepted chocolates or dates or anything. And I just assumed he would do the same?” Reon sat back in the chair, obviously mauling over your words.

“Well that is mostly true, with the exception of one person.” Both you and your roommate shot him questioning looks, unsure where he heard that from. “Isn’t it true you did extra practice with Wakatoshi for a whole month?”

“I don’t think volleyball counts as accepting affection.” Your roommate countered.

“Do you see who we are talking about?” Reon explained, “Our beloved ace lives and breathes volleyball. And he shared a good amount of that time alone with you. If you wanted to practice so badly, why not with Eita? He was the official setter.”

“Because Ushijima asked me personally.”

“And you accepted. You voluntarily spent an extended amount of time with him, engaging in the sport he loves and you didn’t think anything of it?”

“Of course not! I would have accepted practice from anyone else on the team.”

“I think that’s where you do not understand.” Reon paused, attempting to fully devlop his next few words before conveying them to the two of you. “You’re treating this extremely casually. But these are all boys who had no problems with showering you with compliments last year. Take a step back and really think about the situation.”

Your roommate interjected, “Okay, hold on. So Tendou and the boys tried to carelessly compliment (F/N) and after that she accepted one of those boy’s request to spend time with him.”

“We are not talking about some irresponsible boy. This is Wakatoshi, the most serious and straight-forward idiot to exist.”

You were sat on the bed, hands currently encasing your head in obvious stress and over-thinking. “But that’s not how I saw it! Ohmyfuckinggod.”

“I suggest you amend the situation, (F/N)-chan.” Reon advised, “I left him alone in the dorm, please talk to him.”

But you were already out the door. You had a growing list of reasons why you were an idiot and this misunderstanding definitely topped the list. You had to tell Eita that Ushijima would never hold a place in your heart like he did. It was impossible for Ushijima to have feelings for you, that was definite. Ever since your unofficial parting from Eita, you had spending more time with the ace. However, you would often be expressing your sadness about Semi and he knew entirely about your feelings. Wakatoshi was a bro.

And it was important that Semi knew that.

You tapped on his door, rapid and loud enough that you were sure other people in the hall heard it. There was a light shuffling inside and it seemed like there were multiple voices.

Semi opened a slight crack of the door with narrowed eyes, but when they landed on you they widened with obvious shock. “(F/N), what are you doing here?”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I was talking with Reon and I think I need to say something before I regret it. Can I come inside?” Semi scratched the back of his ear in thought and did not move to allow you in.

“Who’s at the door, Eita-kun?” And right before your eyes was the blonde date he agreed to go to the formal with.

Semi could literally see and feel your heartbreak. When your eyes traveled from her smiley disposition to him, he saw the narrowing – the pure anguish written across your face. It was something he never wanted to see ever again. The poor boy would do anything for you and it physically pained him that the cause of your sorrow was from him.

You swallowed your pride and yelled out, “I’m sorry for interrupting!” You ran down the hall, not caring that the door to Tendou and Waka’s room opened as you sprinted past it.

“Did you hurt her?” Wakatoshi asked a stunned Semi, who was standing in the middle of the hallway with a hand outstretched.

“I hate my fucking life.” Semi slapped a palm to his forehead. He had something to do first before he addressed you. He slammed the door behind him quickly, so neither volleyball players could throw questions at him.

“What was that?” The blonde girl asked, still standing and silently waiting for Semi. He had called her here a few minutes ago, saying that they needed to talk.

“We can’t go to the formal together.” Semi stated. “I’m really sorry if I’ve led you on.”

“Is it because of (L/N)-san?” She asked, smile still evident on her face. He nodded lightly. “You two honestly suit each other. Even I was surprised when you said yes to me.” She moved to the floor to grab her bag and leave, “May I ask, why did you agree to go with me?”

“I don’t know.” He sat on his bed and wanted to scream, it was rare for him to be so confused.

“You better get your shit together, Eita-kun.” She gave a small laugh and then exited the dorm.

There was no way that you were returning back to your dorm. You knew that your roommate and Reon would still be there and expecting details. You should have known! If you kept distancing yourself from Semi, it was only a matter of time that he found comfort in another person’s arms. You deserved this, really. You had been so petty and jealous without actually affirming your feelings to him.

Text Messages:

17:32 From: the most tender Salami What was THAT?!

17:29 From: Ushiwaka-sama! Where are you???

The only place that you knew would be free of any volleyball idiots would be the on-campus café outside of the nursing building. It only accepted money and not swipes from the meal-plan, which in itself was a turn-off from most of the volleyball teams. It was on the complete opposite side of campus from the gyms and you were sure that none of the people you knew were enrolled in medical-specific programs. Of course, everyone except from her.

It had been a full hour of dodged texts and missed calls when she neared your table. “Hi. You probably don’t want to talk to me of all people.” The blonde started, but still made a motion as if asking if she could take the empty seat across from you.

“You can have the seat. I was on my way out.” You grabbed your various things from the table, readying to leave.

“Wait, please just listen.” You paused in your movements and nodded, “Semi called me to his room to call off our date for the formal. He never meant to upset you and I’m sure he’s looking for you as we speak. Please give him a chance.”

“You don’t have to do this.” You interjected, “He said yes to you and I don’t want to take him away from you just because I am the one who is upset. You asked and he accepted your affection, something we never did. We’ve only ever been friends. With Semi, all I want for him is to be happy. He deserves all the happiness in the world, even if it’s not with me.”

Your eyes were wandering around during your speech, jumping from behind the blonde and your surroundings but never focusing on her. When you gazed back at her, she was holding a hand to her nose and lightly sniffling.

“You two deserve to be together!” She shouted, “Oh god I am so sorry for getting between you guys.”

Behind you, Semi was scouring the café in an attempt to find you. He spent too damn long thinking and not acting, it was finally time that he made his feelings known. Grabbing his phone on the way out, he called Tendou and Waka and neither boys knew where you were. A quick text to Reon and your roommate and they both asked why you were not with him. Semi sighed and continued in his search. Finally, he received a text from the blonde that she found you moping around here.

Semi could spot you in a crowd of rowdy volleyball players within seconds. He found your luscious locks of hair across the very person he left. Damn, he really owed that girl. She took rejection like pro and even took it a step further to keep you here until he arrived.

“Please, you have nothing to be sorry about.” You responded.

A pair of large hands slid to lightly weigh on your shoulders, “Can I interrupt?”

“Please do.” The blonde replied and quickly gathered her belongings. “I wish you two the best.”

Semi quickly took her seat and reached across the table to hold your hands in his. “You said you wanted to clear misunderstandings before you ran off. I need to do the same.”

His grip tightened and you squeezed back. “Let me start, since I owe you an explanation.” He nodded. “Eita-kun, you’re the only man I’ve ever had eyes for. Even if I spend time with Waka-kun or Salami, they’ve never meant more to me than just friends. You’ve always held the most special and largest piece of my heart.”

Semi smiled and moved his chair closer to yours. “I want you to know that I feel the same way. It’s rather small of me, but after you spent so much time with Wakatoshi… I wanted to test if you felt the same heartbreak I felt when I saw the two of you together. I realize now how spiteful that was of me, to the very girl I had feelings for.”

You placed a gentle hand on the side of his face, rubbing rather affectionately and he seemed to lean into it. “Looks like we’re a pair of idiots.”

“But now you’re my exclusive idiot.” He staked his claim and you wondered how his seat suddenly was right next to yours!

Semi nuzzled your nose with his own, smile enrapturing you for the oomph time. You closed your eyes and leaned forward, bumping noses until you felt the gentle touch of his lips against yours. You were entirely receptive, even moving further into his body to get the full scape of his silky lips. The tips of his hair were tickling the sides of your face. And you would kill to feel this sensation for the rest of your life.

His hands lost themselves in your hair, preoccupied with keeping a steady hold on the back of your head. You returned the embrace and he took that as an invitation to glide his lips against yours, silently asking for entrance. You moaned in answer and opened up slowly, but he took it entirely in stride – not skipping a beat.

It was only when a flash went off that the two of you broke apart, gasping for air.

“Holy shit!” Tendou yelled, Wakatoshi clapping not too far behind him. You flushed with embarrassment. God you moaned in public! “This one is for the page.”

You were about to interject when Semi stated, “Finally. Maybe now you bastards will get the message.”

New notification:

[Instabook] Slide to unlock and see new tagged post

Hot momma! Finally, it seems as though the couple everyone shipped together are finally official~ Hopefully we don’t have to mark this page as 18+ Tagged: Eita Semi and (F/N)(L/N) Attached: 1.jpg, 2.jpg / 3.gif

Semi led you back to his empty dorm, your roommate and Reon were bro’s and willingly offered to have a sleepover to give you two alone time. You were currently encased between his arms, legs tangled and speaking in low voices. He had you nestled beneath his chin, but most of your weight laid across his chest. Semi did not want this moment to end. He waited three years for this, it was a moment of love in the making. You laughed lightly in his arms, not a care in the world keeping you from him. You were both on cloud nine, basking in each other's presence. You never took Semi as a closet cuddle-whore, but you were not complaining. His arms encased you perfectly and you could not hold back from placing butterfly kisses across his chest. You loved him, it was only a matter of time that you found out.

—xXxXxXxXxXx—

➳ A/N: This fic may seem familiar because it’s being brought up over from our earlier Deviantart account! <3

590 notes · View notes

nostalgic-pancakes · 4 years ago

Text

Watching the starlings as autumn draws in

Summary: Tommy and his friends try on some skirts, and he reflects a bit on how they all got here. (It's a happy story) Title from September by Sparky Deathcap

Pairings: None! Platonic everyone (esp in irl fics_)

Read on AO3 (preferred place to read)

Word count: 2570

Warnings: None, except for surface-level references to the exile/prison arcs, but not much.

Other notes: I wrote this in a fit of madness last night in like three hours at 2 am, so i’ll probably edit it honestly but for now, enjoy! (If the CC’s ever display discomfort with this type of fic I will take it down)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"WELCOME BACK TO THE STREAM, BOYS!" Tommy exclaims, rubbing his hands together as he starts rapid-fire answering questions about the stream, and the stream title from chat. It's funny, how over time, Tommy's come to see Chat as this one entity- an old friend. The nervousness of answering questions as a fifteen year old with nothing but a big personality, a twitch account and a copy of Minecraft is all but gone now, nineteen years old and happier than he's ever been.

Dreadfulzombie19: what are u doin this stream

"THANK YOU FOR ASKING, Dreadfulzombie19, today is gonna be a bit different, innit Tubbo?" Tommy raises his voice a bit at the end of his sentence, just loud enough for one of his flatmates to hear him. When Tubbo yells back an affirmative, Tommy turns back to his setup. Chat's gone a bit wild again, even though he, Tubbo and Ranboo have been living together for over a year now.

"Okay, okay, calm down chat- so recently I was at university, as usual right? And I had an eight AM class again, and… yeah I can see you all can relate."

"BUT! BUT! On my way back to the flat, I saw something really cool." Tommy hesitates in his speech to take a sip of coke again- his blood pressure's been acting up lately and watches Chat to wild again, asking him what he saw.

"Okay, so there was a shop- new place, which doesn't happen often this is fucking Brighton- and they sold skirts and dresses and stuff with adjustments for AMAB sizes!" Chat goes a bit bonkers, but Tommy's mod team- a little smaller than it used to be, now that he isn't the centre of YouTube or Twitch attention anymore, none of them are- are handling it, and pretty well.

"So I had to go, right? As many of you probably know, last year, I made the astounding discovery that gender-based stereotypes and expectations are, in fact, fake and I should not give a SHIT. And so I go in and look through the stuff- it's a really poggers shop by the way, and I find the perfect thing- it was the most poggers skirts and shit, okay? So, today's stream is going to have me wearing this pogchamp shit and wearing it right, with the help of…" Tommy ends his monologue by picking up the joke shaker-things that Phil had gotten him as a housewarming gift last year and indicates for his first two helpers to enter the office.

In walks his mother, face obscured from view as always, waving to the camera, and Wilbur, also wearing one of his only skirts for this occasion. Eret had taught him, on a phonecall in the skirt shop that week about the different types of skirts with a handy diagram. Wilbur's was a pleated circle skirt, brown to offset the bright yellow of his sweater and beanie, the same colour as his hair. It's very swoosh-y, so he's wearing black leggings with his regular shoes too. Motherinnit's also wearing her favourite skirt, a baby blue prairie skirt, Tommy thinks, and it's one he's seen fairly often.

Wilbur ducks down in order to show his face to Chat, and ruffles Tommy's hair while he's at it. Tommy's taller, but not by much, so Wilbur still fucking makes short jokes, That fucker.

Chat is now going so fast that he simply cannot read anything but some of the all caps messages and can barely make out some of the emotes.

"Okay, OKAY, CALM DOWN CHAT! WE HAVE TO GET TO FUCKING BUSINESS!" Tommy yells into the mix, like he did when he was sixteen and used the 'many people find me annoying at first' intro. Nowadays he just lets the content speak for itself. Anyone who wants to be here already is, by now.

Wilbur laughs a bit, and that hasn't changed at all. "Tommy, how is chat supposed to calm down if you're not calm?"

"I am their god!! They will obey via sheer digital willpower!" Tommy replies back, pretty zealously (What? An English Literature class is mandatory for his film degree, and The Great Gatsby by Zelda Fitzgerald is a good book, as are most of the other assigned ones. He's had entire conversations with Techno with just lit quotes and it drives everyone insane. Tommy loves it.) Chat seemingly has listened to his godlike abilities, with a few OG's spotting his half-quotation of one of Dream's last lines in the Dream SMP. The rest are spamming 'MOTHERINNIT'.

"If having a shitty magic trick book from a washed-up politician makes you a god, then what does that make me?" Wilbur replies, with one of Foolish's lines and swatting his hand at Tommy. Tommy swats back.

"Bitch" "Arsehole" "Shithead" "Fuckface" Wilbur finishes cheerily, as if this happens all the time. It does. Chat's used their antics now, four years of consistently making content together will do that for you.

Eventually Motherinnit reminds them both to get back on Topic, and Tommy goes back to facing the camera, addressing Chat directly.

"Today, my beloved mother, and my idiot brother-" "hey!" "And maybe my flatmates will be joining me to show off some cool as SHIT skirts! And a dress or two. We all have our selections, right?" Everyone nods in affirmative, even Tubbo and Ranboo. Though the camera can't see them. Ranboo's just come home from his final class, then. He should probably take the first hour back off, and judging by how Tubbo is forcefully judging Ranboo to the shower, he probably gets it. Tommy signs an affirmative to both of them, and gets back to the camera, where Wilbur's showing off all of his (very poggers) very stupid brown or yellow skirts. Tommy's are in cool colours, for fuck's sake.

"Oh yeah, Puffy just confirmed she'll be on stream! She'll be here in about twenty minutes, accounting for fucking traffic, and Niki' going to get onto VC after her own stream, what game is it this time?"

"GRIS." Wilbur answers.

"Poggers- she is the SHIT and will join us soon! So expect some QUALITY QUALITY content this stream!! Remember to not spam her chat to finish faster." Exclaims Tommy, even if it ends up as a light warning, as he picks up his own very poggers skirts from the extra armchair in his office to show the camera.

One is the classic red and white, mostly white but with bright red on the waist (elastic) and the bottom, and it reached to about Tommy's knee, if worn at the hip. It had no pleats, but the red bits were a very nice velvet texture, and while the skirt was heavy, it still had very much swoosh value, and pockets!! Big ones!! He slips the skirt on top of his jeans before entering camera view, the skirt visible in all its classic Tommyinnit glory, as he takes his place right next to Wilbur, who just took. a quick spin at the behest of several dono's., Skirt spying out from his lower shins all the way to his knee, making visible one of his (many) petticoats. ("What? It's cold all the fucking time here, Toms.") Tommy also makes a quick little spin, skirt flying outward, not upward, so it looks like he's hula hooping for a moment there. Lastly, Motherinnit spins around too, and while her skirts do not swoosh, she looks opulent, like she was about to go to waltz with the enemy, for whom she has a dagger in the back of her dress for. (He finished Anna Karenina and the Six of Crows duology within the same week and has not yet recovered. Jack Edwards is laughing at him as he thinks in his English Lit Graduate glory.)

It's fun, trying on different skirts- he and Wilbur accidentally bought the same dress at one point, which they paired up to wear, darting off into their respective changing rooms while giggling like idiots with their checkered blouses and the grindl skirts that Niki had sent over when she heard of this stream idea, laughing the whole time. Tubbo enters as dramatically as possible with Puffy, and while Tubbo looks really fucking good in his handkerchief skirt with embroidered bees and plain white shirt, it's Puffy who steals the show with an exact, real life version of her red banquet dress.

Fans from way back in the SMP, before Tommy had started branching out start going insane and are bringing back emotes Tommy wasn't sure were still available, but she is fucking stunning- deep shades of red and crimson, with slits on either side of her waist and all the detailing. She'd gotten the contact for her dressmaker through Bernadette Banner, Tommy recalls- she was so fucking cool when she streamed with him once, and gotten him to swear less and supplant those world's with bigger ones to intimidate instead. While he still curses like a sailor as part of his persona, it's less so and he does way less in real life these days, unless the situation calls for it. It's also just rude, especially in uni libraries, where he spends too much time these days wondering why he didn't read more as a kid.

Puffy's stolen his audience for a WHILE, and Niki coming on hasn't helped any, so Tommy exits camera view for a while to hug Ranboo really quickly- he's had midterms and has basically been dying all month.

Everyone on this stream- Tommy, Wilbur, Motherinnit, Tubbo, Puffy, Niki and Ranboo enter the camera frame after entering their dressing rooms for the last time on this particular stream, Puffy with full in-character wigs and makeup, Tommy in an Edwardian-Gothic reminiscent black and red dress, Ranboo in something he bought when he gap-yeared in Japan, punk lolita or something, Niki flaunting her pink in a Marie Antoinette style show of finery, Tubbo dressing in all green this time, something like a very deranged biology teacher who hasn't slept in days (Tubbo hasn't-Tommy has to get into that), Wilbur like a forest-nymph, all earthy tones and swishy fabrics and nature highlights, and finally Motherinnit, who hasn't changed but is here to take pictures as they all lean in together to fit into frame, as drastic as their height difference is. Niki is going to be edited in later, and everyone on the 'Dream SMP but nobody does Dream SMP and we're all fucking nerds' discord server is going to get a copy.

The stream wraps up there, after about two hours, and it's only about six in the evening- a far cry from the late nights and long hours from the beginning of Tommy's career, so everyone runs to their changing areas for the last time, into pajamas now, and packs away all of the clothes they wore, properly, as to not incense Karolina Zebrowska, and Jemma, Dan's wife, who would look at them disappointedly and nobody wants a sad Jemma because that means no cooing at their son. Also it just feels shitty.

Everyone huddles in Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo's living room, and they out on UP for like, the millionth fucking time (they still cry when Ellie dies), and Tommy is leaning into Wilbur's side and feeling his mum play with the hair in his very small, stubby ponytail he's developed by being in Uni as he and Tubbo intertwine their legs together and Ranboo rests his head in the tangle of limbs, playing with his fidget cube. Puffy stays on Wilbur's side, intently texting someone and smiling the whole while, and Tommy takes a moment to reflect (something he's been getting better at doing) on how the actual hell they all got here.

The Dream SMP was always going to end- everyone knew it, if course, they were the fucking writers. But by the time they did, not only were their respective brands too closely intertwined to just… sever that quickly, but they'd become too close to even want to. So the SMP discord never shut, even though Dream and George had planned it months ago, and they continued supporting each other with their interests. Wilbur made a lot more music solo, with his band and even just random ass streams where he practiced guitar for an hour. He kept playing Minecraft, but it wasn't his main focus. A bunch of people left. More stayed. YouTube left him alone.

Dream, George and Sapnap are still Minecraft streamers, but their YouTube channels are mostly blogs of them being poor excuses of adults with other former SMP members joining in sometimes. Tommy and the Dream Team were closer than ever, even though the seeds of their friendship had been sowed when they used to linger after heavy streams together, reassuring each other that none of that was true and that nothing like… that would happen in real life, because Dream had used real abuse tactics, and those still hurt unless immediately taken care of. So they were. It was a running joke that Dream was stuck at 99 million subscribers since nobody really wanted the face reveal anymore. The other Dream team members were doing peachy.

Phil and Techno were also still primarily Minecraft streamers, but they also released things like advice videos and mental health stuff, especially for relationships. They had a new scripted series where Tommy was a minor character. The dadza jokes were still as real, and yes, outside of streaming, both of them were lovely people and responsible adults (mostly). They collaborated with DanTDM and co a lot more now.

Puffy and Niki kept doing games, but did lots of different ones, testing point and clickers to triple A titles, and making it all fucking hilarious while they were at it.

So where had that left Tommy?

After the Dream SMP, he'd kind of had no idea what to do, and he was going to University for the first time, so he just… did whatever he thought would be fun. He learned about vintage fashion from the queens themselves- Mina Le, Bernadette Banner and Karolina Zebrowska and had fun learning how to sew for the first time, fixing and making his own clothes for the first time, clunky as they were, Wilbur had cried, genuinely, when he saw the Lovejoy shirts that Tommy had made for the band. He'd found a genuine love for literature in university, so Tommy started talking to booktubers and studytubers like Jack Edwards and Noelle Stevenson. Tubbo and Ranboo had joined him, fucking around in any YouTube niche they found even remotely interesting. Eventually, they all found a happy medium- a bit of everything.

Some people obviously weren't happy with that but Tommy was happy as he was, making what he liked with his best friend's, living together close enough to most of their friends (family) to have fun and drop in on one another at ass-o-clock in the morning to comfort, to laugh. His sub count hasn't gone up in a while- most of his audience is static, with about 80-90k online on a stream at any time.p

It was a nice feeling, to have carved out a space for himself and the people he loves, and be is so, so glad that he got this chance.

Looking at his mostly asleep family, Tommy thinks 'yeah. Life is good.' as the last thought before he sleeps.

#dream smp #mcyt #irl fic #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #tubbo #nihachu #ranboo #vee's writing #2021

5 notes · View notes

vexedtonightmares · 4 years ago

Note

Ahh I too am so sad the social media au is ending, I have loved it so much and enjoyed looking forward to each update 😭❤️ I saw you might have other fic ideas brewing?? Ahh that made me so happy ☺️ would you mind sharing what ideas you have so far? It's ok if not. I know I'm gonna absolutely LOVE whatever you write!!

🥺🥺🥺 thank u !!! also YES for sure i have a few sm ideas and a few regular fic ones because if i don’t have at least 20+ ideas at once i will explode 🤩 as for social media aus i literally fully plotted out an elu/manon x daphne skater au a while ago and keep side eyeing it now bc skate life y’know, and i also had an idea for a dark academia or murder mystery social media au 👀 and then for regular fics i’ve been chippin away at the eternal sunshine au which is prob just gonna be a long ass oneshot, and then i’ve literally been planning/starting to write a gatsby au FOREVER so i might actually start to prioritize it since i’m always on my gatsby grind 🤪

#ol asks

10 notes · View notes

julesblackthorns · 4 years ago

Note

to reply to ur tags: i feel like jem would indeed rlly like modern music and find it interesting as a Concept just bc music changed so much?? he probably still has a Musicians Ear™️ when choosing music to actively listen to but i def think he would be into very electronic/heavily produced music simply because its so different from what he was used to before

also i deeply believe in taylor swift stan kit herondale (he listens to ybwm locked in his bedroom and cries to it on a regular basis, you cannot change my mind) so i am a Big supporter of ts stan tessa. our minds!

tessa is a casual fan, kit has a whole stan account, all jem knows is that shes a lovely lady whos written some lovely songs and that there were, in fact, five holes in the fence and that kit is VERY upset about it still. i rest my case

omg thank u for sending this vic im literally dying dsjkfhdsjf and YES YOU ARE RIGHT ON ALL COUNTS

i think jem would be SO interested in many different types of music, with soft spots for classical stuff, indie folk music and like you said, heavily produced music that would be so wild to him!!!! i’m very attached to the idea of kit forcing jem to do his spotify stats at the end of the year and having his number one artist being yo yo ma followed by mozart followed by hans zimmer, then lorde, then phil collins and kit just collapsing

taylor swift stan kit makes so much sense!!!!!!!!!!! (i would also like to suggest kit dramatically dancing around his room to ‘haunted’ bc......... ya) and i do just think tessa would think she’s neat! like as a lover of stories she would enjoy taylor and u KNOW tessa is trying to slip the literature references to kit and he’s just like ‘i’m not stupid tessa i watched the gatsby movie with spiderman and leo’

jem likes miss swift’s music, she seems very lovely from the clips kit shows him and he’s glad to find another cat lover! he does find some of her messages to be very cryptic tho......... why is kit crying on the floor about holes?? nvm it’s the quickest way to shut him up ever

#kit: well I THINK #tessa: well u thought there were five holes in the fence didn't you #kit: I HATE THIS FAMILY #vic #tsc #kit herondale #jem carstairs #tessa gray #can we imagine jem having a weakness for like punk music? i would like to see jem go thru his emo phase finally #ANYWAY THESE MESSAGE BROUGHT ME SO MUCH JOY SDFJKHKDKSFJHFDS #solitairians

8 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

just let me adore you (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 4136

AN: Haven’t written a boy fic like this one in a while, too caught up in all the lesbian aus. Thank you writ and barbie for helping me with this and making me laugh my head off while writing it. Hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think if you want to! Title from ‘Adore You’ by Harry Styles. Thank you writ for betaing <3

Brock’s new LA apartment, despite being half the size of his Nashville place, feels bigger. Emptier.

Maybe it’s all the boxes he hasn’t gotten around to unpacking. Maybe it’s the way his cats are still nestled in their kennels despite the opened doors, too afraid to leave the fleece blankets and explore their new home. Or maybe it’s the fact that even though he’s spent a lot of time in LA, he’s always had somewhere else to go back to. Somewhere else that’s considered ‘home’.

Except now, LA is his home. Or it will be, eventually, once he gets used to it.

The move makes sense, career wise, because being anchored to Nashville when he’s outgrown it isn’t logical anymore. It’s a city of too many bachelorette parties at his home bar and way too much country songs playing on the radio, and the subtle southern twang in everyone’s voice that he’s been afraid of accidentally adopting himself, these last few years.

LA is where his booking manager is based out of. LA is where he can make stronger connections that’ll help catapult his career in the direction that it deserves to be in. LA is warm - as warm as Nashville, yes, but now he’ll have regular access to the beach, a chance to let his curls get wilder than usual in the ocean air, and to let his skin get a sunkissed glow, provided that he won’t burn to a crisp first.

Brock doesn’t have any connections left in Nashville anymore, either. Most of his friends have moved on to bigger things, left the city that had kept them in touch in the past. His family isn’t in Nashville, and neither is his work. But LA has many fellow queens and some friends, too, and even some distant cousins and-

Jose.

Brock hasn’t told Jose about the move. They haven’t really been talking much, and it makes sense that they’re growing apart, no longer tied down by NDAs and keeping up a storyline or by having to share a tour bus. It’s given them space to breathe, yes, but it also feels strange, no matter how freeing it is.

Brock doesn’t get a morning text when he wakes up anymore, texts that used to be filled with so many nonsensical emojis that he would have no idea where Jose even found them. But then again, Brock doesn’t send any himself, either. He and Jose don’t have their late night phone calls or facetimes that they used to when they’d miss each other just a little bit too much, and it’s not out of the ordinary, the fact that they’ve drifted. Because it’s been awhile, and the rubber band that had tied them together has snapped. They’re free floating, and apparently the paths drawn by their newfound ability to move aren’t meant to cross with one another.

Why would they? When they both travel, they both are free to involve themselves with other people, and they used to be based in different cities. Except that they’re not anymore.

They have the same home base now, because Jose lives in LA too.

Brock thinks back to a year and a half ago, when they were sprawled on Jose’s couch in his apartment and Jose had been poking his shoulder, trying to convince him to move to LA. Saying that it would be a good career move, and why was he still in Nashville, anyway?

Back then, things had been so fresh and new. They’d finished filming Drag Race, and their season wouldn’t air until the next year. Being able to wrap his arms around Jose, hold him close without any cameramen trying to capture the moment had been thrilling, almost freeing, even. But it had felt too soon. Too soon to leave Nashville because it still had been his home.

But now? It’s not Brock’s home anymore. Not when being able to perform, to do what he loves to do and dance every night gives him that same feeling of comfort, of security, that his bed in Nashville used to provide. The fact that he’s in control, the fact that he doesn’t have to be tied down to a certain place, but rather just needs that feeling of satisfaction in his heart to feel like he’s complete.

Brock wonders what the Jose from a year and a half ago would think. He wonders what Jose will think now.

He debates on whether he should tell Jose. Let him know. Do exes do that? Let each other know that they’ll be in the neighbourhood for the foreseeable future? A warning of sorts, or maybe a homecoming?

Brock’s not sure which one it’ll be, which one he even wants it to be.

The clock on his oven is reading 11:00 pm and he’s tired, way too tired to unpack much more than some of the clothes and toiletries and silverware and plates he’d gotten to taking out earlier, stuff he’ll need sooner than later. Everything else can wait for the morning daybreak, when the flashing lights of the cars outside are replaced with the LA sun that burns just a little too bright for his night loving eyes.

It would be too late to bother Jose, anyway, if they were in any other profession. Except all of their work is done in the evenings and nights, when the lighting is just a little bit more forgiving on their harsh makeup and the loud beats of the music are socially acceptable. Still, texting Jose to say that he’s in town feels a little bit strange, a little bit presumptuous.

He’s going to pull a Gatsby instead. Hope that Jose gets the message.

Instagram story posted by @bhytes. A panning shot of an empty apartment, stacked high with boxes against the walls and two kennels with open doors, one which has a grey tail sticking out of it. Location: Los Angeles.

It doesn’t take long until Brock’s phone lights up with an Instagram direct message notification. He’d fiddled with his settings to have most notifications turned off, his account too bustling to handle the onslaught of fan comments and messages and likes. Most of them, that is, except for his close friends, his family members, and Jose.

He’d never gotten around to turning Jose’s notifications off after they’d broken up, not when he dives for his phone the same way that he used to, back then.

vanessavanjie: LA huh

vanessavanjie: ur ass finally listened to me

vanessavanjie: all those boxes, ur ass just get here or what

bhytes: something like that

bhytes: drove over yesterday with everything, finally free of the u-haul

vanessavanjie: damn i thought it was only lesbians who u-hauled lol

bhytes: you around LA these days?

vanessavanjie: i see u watching my stories bitch u already know

bhytes: fair

vanessavanjie: u tired of unpacking everything or what

bhytes: a little, honestly

vanessavanjie: come out

vanessavanjie: can’t be a hermit already before ur even properly moved in

Brock doesn’t know why he says yes. Maybe, just maybe, in the back of his mind he does, because the lack of inhibitions from some alcohol and loud music creates the perfect setting in which to see Jose in again, after months and months of only seeing his face behind an Instagram profile. A club setting means no need for the awkward small talk, no conversations about the weather that always happen with people that feel too far away, unreachable, when they used to be close enough to touch.

Jose’s not hard to find. Not by the way he’s yelling up a storm in the corner of the club with a drink in each hand, surrounded by fellow queens and dancers and spinning in place as if no one’s watching him. And it’s true, no one really is, too busy wrapped up in their own conversations and dance moves.

Except for Brock, because Jose’s like a magnet, one that grabs his sight from far away and refuses to let him go and be free from his pull. Brock can’t tell if his heart is beating faster and faster because of the deep bass of the music, or because of Jose’s smile that lights up his whole face, one that Brock used to see all the time. He fiddles with his baseball cap as he walks over, because his curls had been too hopeless to be tamed by any amount of pomade.

Not that Jose really cares. He never did, not when Brock used to wear the same sweater for days in a row because he didn’t feel like rifling through his closet, not when Brock couldn’t tell apart Jose’s various outfits even if he tried. Brock’s energy for styling himself is just enough to get himself looking decent in drag. Out of drag? It doesn’t matter much to him.

Doesn’t matter, until Jose spots him and drops his drinks into the hands of those beside him, walking over with a glint in his eyes and a onceover that’s enough to make Brock pull in a breath.

It’s irrelevant that they’re not together, that they’re better off not as a unit. Because there’s something about Jose that’s magnetic and always manages to pull Brock in, makes him want to sidle up to him, close enough that the familiar scent of Jose’s cologne washes over him from head to toe and makes him close his eyes.

“Sleeping already? You on LA time now.” Jose brushes his fingers along Brock’s wrist and it feels like an electric current, one that travels straight to his heart.

“Moving is tiring.” Brock’s a bit distracted as he answers because Jose’s features are still so stunning, so precisely cut, balanced with the delicate flutter of his eyelashes, the soft curve of his mouth.

Jose looks the same as he always does, still as if it’s two in the afternoon and he’s fresh after a nap, rather than taking on the weariness that adorns the features of their colleagues from all of the travelling that comes with the job.

“Ain’t thought about asking me for help? We in the same neighbourhood now.” Jose raises one perfect eyebrow and Brock has to resist the urge to reach out, smooth it over, the way that he always used to.

“Didn’t think your small frame would be able to handle the giant boxes.” Brock grins and the light dig is worth it, because Jose lets out a little yell, swats at his arm, the ice shattering as it always does if they spend more than thirty seconds with each other.

“Forgot what a shady ass bitch you were.” But Jose’s smiling, the kind that reaches his eyes, and Brock knows that he’s not really mad.

Brock catches at Jose’s hand before he lets it drop, turning it over. “Damn. So the tattoo is real, huh?”

He’d had his doubts, because the ink had looked extensive. But Jose’s impulsive, guided by his heart and rash decisions and so it makes sense. The lines are deep within Jose’s skin, pretty patterns along the top of his hand and his wrist and Brock would be mesmerized by it, he would, were it not for the flashing lights of the club making it difficult to clearly see.

“You think I’d play with some Sharpie just for fun?” Jose lets out a scoff as he wiggles his fingers, letting Brooke get a view from all angles.

“I distinctly remember the time on the season eleven tour when you drew a mustache on Silky while she was sleeping, so yes. You’d play with some Sharpie.”

The memory makes Brock grin, remembering the cramped tour bus and the things that the queens would get up to in order to pass the time. It feels like a lifetime ago, one that’s been marred by tours that followed and geographical distance and other flings in between.

“Don’t know if you’d be able to scribble so nicely, though.” Brock flips Jose’s hand over again and Jose pulls it back with a huff, a little pout on his lips.

“I’m a modern day Mother Teresa and invite you out and this is how you treat me. Hateful, truly hateful.” Jose crosses his arms, taps one of his feet and Brock snorts, because it feels like old times. How they always used to act.

“Want me to kiss it better?”

Also how they used to act.

Maybe it’s a good thing that the dance floor is so crowded, that the WeHo gays have come out in full force on a Sunday night. It lets Brock pull Jose flush against him, a hand on the small of his back, without worrying about cameras or anyone else’s opinions. Because right now, the way Jose is looking up at him is all that matters.

Rihanna herself, Jose’s patron saint of music is blaring over the speakers and maybe that’s why Jose’s keening into his touch, losing himself in the music. The heat is radiating off of Jose’s body like a fire, and Brock’s not scared of getting burned anymore because he wants it, nights like this. Because he’s here in LA, and Jose’s here in LA, and there’s no rule that says that it’s bad to hook up with an ex after months and months and months, even though his sober mind likes to pretend that there should be.

Jose’s lips form the familiar pout that Brock knows so well, knows how to answer to. It’s as easy as breathing, kissing Jose. So familiar and right and yet somehow it still makes Brock’s blood pump just a little bit faster, makes his heart skip a beat when Jose whines into his mouth.

Brock ruts his hips forward slightly into Jose as he nips at his lower lip and it makes Jose gasp, open his mouth more as he deepens the kiss. Sure, they’re doing things on the dance floor that would make any good Christian woman weep but Brock doesn’t care, not when Jose’s in his grasp and so pliant and so willing to be there, wanting more and more.

Sue him, he’s missed this. Missed the way he can undo Jose so easily, pulling him apart with a strong touch and lips upon his skin. Not discounting how Brock can feel himself unravelling too, his brain only focusing on Jose and his cologne and his hands tugging on Brock’s belt loops and the way his stubble is gently scratching at his skin.

It’s inevitable, really, when Brock palms at Jose’s crotch, feeling the way he’s already halfway hard in the damn club, not unlike himself. Brock nips at Jose’s jaw before whispering right by his ear, close enough to be heard over the music.

“I’d invite you to mine but my mattress is sitting on the floor. No sheets, either.” Moving is hard, after all. Making a bed takes effort.

“Now ain’t you living like a prince? Mine, then. Reacquaint yourself with that headboard you chose.”

Brock tugs on Jose’s arm in lieu of an answer, already typing in Jose’s address for a Lyft because he still has it memorized, of course he does.

“When did you get that new mirror?”

“That really what you focusing on right now?” Jose tugs Brock’s head back down towards him, his kiss biting, taking, and Brock gives into it, lets himself get reacquainted with Jose’s breathing, his smooth skin along his hipbones when Brock pushes the edges of his shirt up.

“You redecorated, that’s all.” Brock lets Jose push him up against the wall beside the entrance closet, because he gets the feeling that Jose needs this just as much. This bit of release that no one else can even come close to providing, an itch that only the two of them can scratch for each other. The quickies in bathrooms and the rare nights in hotel rooms on tour that were so cathartic, so draining in the best way.

Brock needs it again now; they both do.

He pulls Jose close with fingers in his belt loops, catching the little hitch in Jose’s breath that matches the way his pupils are blown, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“You missed me, huh?” Brock bends down, kissing along Jose’s neck and oh, it’s already starting to bloom in maroons from Brock’s lips at the club. He knows Jose’s going to be pissed later, but he doesn’t care, not really, not when it’s so satisfying to see them there.

“Don’t get cute.” It comes out in a groan, an arch of Jose’s back, a flutter of his eyelids.

But then Jose regains his breathing as his eyes clear, and he’s pushing on Brock’s shoulders until he’s against the wall, like he has an agenda, like he wants to see it through. Jose’s on his tiptoes in his sneakers but Brock’s not going to make it any easier for him by bending down, because he likes it, seeing how bad Jose wants it, needs it, and is willing to make it happen. Except that he nearly does when Jose’s unbuttoning his pants and tugging on his zipper, dropping onto his knees, and it’s a miracle that Brock is able to keep himself up when he’s missed this sight more than he wants to admit.

Jose wastes no time in wrapping his hand around the base of Brock’s dick, swirling his tongue around the tip when a bead of precum leaks out and Brock has to squeeze his eyes shut, pull in a sharp breath because Jose’s too good at it, so close to making him come undone before they’ve even done anything. When he opens his eyes Jose’s looking up at him, keeping eye contact as he twists his hand, coordinating it with the movements of his mouth and Brock has to reach down, tug on Jose’s elbow roughly to pull him back up because he doesn’t want to come so fast, not like this.

Jose’s lips are swollen and his eyes wild and he looks satisfied already, and Brock kisses him partly to wipe that expression off of his face, and partly because he loves the low groan that leaves the back of Jose’s throat when he does.

Jose’s bedroom is the same when he tugs Brock down onto the mattress. There’s an unfamiliar scent of cologne coming from the pillow on what used to be Brock’s side, once upon a time. But Brock ignores it, pushes it away, preferring to focus his attention on Jose and on tugging his shirt off before pulling off his own so that they’re finally, finally pressed up against each other. Jose’s all taut underneath him, his skin hot like coals and it burns Brock in the best way, the heat warming his chest in a way that nothing else can.

“Hurry up.” Jose’s voice is gruff, his head lifting from his pillow to try and capture Brock’s lips but Brock pulls back, kissing down Jose’s chest and ribs and right above his hip bone. The broken noise that Jose lets out as Brock tugs on his shorts and underwear is worth it, a sound that Brock wants to be able to hear over and over again.

“Still kept in here?” Brock opens the first drawer on Jose’s bedside table and the lube and condoms are still there, like Brock remembers.

It’s a weird sense of deja vu - they’ve fucked all over the world, on tour and in between gigs but somehow being back in Jose’s apartment brings a feeling of familiarity, from when they were just beginning, when everything was still fresh and new. Kissing along Jose’s skin, the salty tang of sweat a taste that he remembers from their very first time, one that hasn’t changed.

Brock holds the condom packet up in question, and Jose shoots him a look. “What, you want me to do it for you, or something?”

“So impatient.”

“Shut up.” But Jose’s words are cut off in a groan when Brock pushes his legs open, teases his lubed up fingers by his entrance while he presses kisses along Jose’s hipbone, the crook of his thigh.

He loves seeing Jose come undone like this, so not in control of himself when he’s arching up from the bed, curses falling from his mouth already as Brock curves his fingers, along his prostate. Brock’s close enough himself, already on the edge because his own dick is leaking and he has to focus on the motions of his own fingers to distract himself, to keep going.

Brock pulls his fingers back when Jose whines, tugs on his arm until he crawls back up and captures his lips again. He lets Jose control the pace of the kiss, lets him deepen it but then hooks an arm under the small of Jose’s back, flips him over so he’s on his stomach, gasping and squirming underneath him.

He pushes Jose’s legs apart again after he rolls on the condom, kisses up Jose’s spine and by his shoulder until he’s right by his ear. “This okay?”

“Why you taking forever, bitch-”

Brock pushes into him suddenly, drawing in a breath because fuck , it doesn’t matter who else he sleeps with, who else he has close like this, because it’s different with Jose. Everything he feels so much stronger with Jose, and it makes his own body feel so much more electrified, so much closer to being bowled over. He tugs on Jose’s hips until he’s off the bed slightly, as close as possible so that he can drive himself deeper, faster. Jose is a mess of moans and swear words that blend into one another as his shaky hands fist in the sheets, his face burying in his own elbow.

“Fuck B, fuck-”

Brock makes up for lost time, the distance that’s been between them over the past few months, burying his face in juncture of Jose’s neck and gripping at his skin hard enough to leave bruises. Jose’s letting out broken noises beneath him that make Brock squeeze his eyes shut, push faster, harder, until the headboard is bumping up against the wall. Brock knows Jose’s close, he just needs a little bit more-

Brock lifts Jose’s hips up a little bit more so he can grab his dick, pump it while twisting his hand just the way Jose likes it, not letting up the motions of his hips. And then Jose’s whines become higher in his throat, until he’s coming all over the sheets and on his own thighs. Brock pulls his hand back, grabs at Jose’s hip again and speeds up until he’s gone too, shaking and trembling and trying to catch his breath, his lungs empty and gasping for air.

He turns Jose over, licks the come off his skin and crawls up until he’s at Jose’s lips, kissing him again and it’s less desperate from both of them now, slower. Calmer. Brock rolls off of Jose, rests on his side, and Jose’s the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, all breathless and fucked out but with eyes that are sparkling, warm.

Brock’s never going to tire of the sight.

“I just washed these sheets this morning, you ho. Gonna have to wash ‘em again now.” Jose’s voice is gravelly, a smile playing on his lips as he trails his fingers mindlessly along the veins of Brock’s forearm.

“I’ll help you in the morning.” The words roll off of Brock’s tongue without effort, as if it’s a given that he’s staying over, that trekking back to his own apartment as if this is a one night stand doesn’t make any sense. As if this is a normal occurrence for the two of them.

And maybe, just maybe, Jose’s on the same wavelength too, because he smiles, drops his head on his arm on the mattress. “You better.”

Brock should be worried, freaking out like he normally does, because this isn’t a random city on tour or an unknown dressing room backstage somewhere. It’s Jose’s room, Jose’s bed, somewhere dizzyingly familiar but Brock’s mind is clear, free of the buzzing thoughts that normally turn his brain into a highway of sorts.

It doesn’t have to mean anything, not yet, nor does it ever have to. Maybe it’ll just lead to their paths intersecting more often, crossing with one another more frequently because now they’ll have the chance to, living in the same city. They’re not tied down, nor do they have to be. But the way Jose’s already starting to drift off curled into Brock’s side, an arm over his waist, doesn’t feel restricting, not like it should. Not like it used to. It feels more like a homecoming, because Brock can already feel roots burrowing down into the LA soil and taking hold, anchoring him here, making it his home.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #smut #holtzmanns

20 notes · View notes