A/N:
Here's my submission for the
2025 Literotica Geek Pride Story Event
!
I found out just 5 days before the submission deadline about this challenge, and more generally the notion of Literotica writing challenges. I got instantly inspired and spent the next 2 days writing in a craze. This piece is the result of that period of manic writing and editing.
I've written it as a heartfelt love letter to fandom culture; drawing heavily on my experiences watching anime, playing games, and going to conventions with friends. It's equal parts slow-burn romance and sweaty, chaotic cosplay energy. It makes references to Jojo's Bizarre Adventure (JJBA), although you don't need to have watched that to enjoy the story IMO!
This is a complete story, but I wouldn't rule out a sequel if enough of you scream into my comments section. Enjoy the ride! Mistakes included for flavor.
---------------
I've always loved going to Comic-Con.
Not just for the panels, or the merch hauls, or the chance to finally see if that one obscure fan artist brought Hollow Knight stickers again (they never do, and I never stop looking). Not even for the cosplay--though I've spent weeks sewing hidden zippers into pants just to avoid wardrobe malfunctions mid-pose.
No, it's the chaos. The beautiful, ridiculous chaos.
The way the air smells like wig glue, churros, and ambition. The way complete strangers call out your character's name like they've known you forever. The way a throwaway joke can turn into a running gag that lasts the whole weekend. The way time doesn't work inside convention centers--you look down and it's noon, you blink and it's 7PM and your badge is sweaty and your feet hate you.
It's home, in a weird way. Loud, messy, sweaty, overstimulating home. A space where you can geek out and put your inner freak on full display. Because everyone's doing it right there with you. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll go home with memories that might last a lifetime.
And sometimes, if you're really lucky?
You might just score something you didn't expect.
---
The first thing I noticed about him was the hair.
I'd been standing dutifully in line, holding Renee's spot while she fixed a wardrobe malfunction. The convention center swelled around me in waves of heat and color and sound. Distant music from the DJ booth. The crunch of gravel under cosplay boots. The buzz of air conditioning that never reached where it needed to. Everything layered in a kind of overstimulated hum that I loved.
"Hey, nice Caesar!" A passing Cloud yelled at me. I grinned, shooting finger guns back at him before the crowd pulled him away.
This year, I was once again repping my favorite anime: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure. I'd always adored the series' absurd mix of jacked-up men, convoluted powers, and sheer, unapologetic camp. It was pure chaos with muscles -- and it oozed exactly the kind of unrepentant gay energy I thrived on. After some deliberation, I'd chosen Caesar Zeppeli, the lovable, headband-wearing best boy from my favorite season (Part 2: Battle Tendency). I'd spent months perfecting the outfit. Now, standing in the crowd with my costume set just right, I felt damn proud of the result.
Around me, wigs swayed like banners. Foam swords bobbed above the crowd. Somebody dressed as Sailor Jupiter just high-fived Pyramid Head. Nearby, a Deadpool was doing the worm. I let my eyes just flow across the crowd, taking it all in. Savoring the magical, chaotic energy that always pervaded the first day of any convention.
That's when I saw him. Joseph Joestar in the flesh, or looking damn close. Chestnut hair had been spiked and styled into artful chaos that spilled off his head like a waterfall. Somehow he made it look effortless rather than try-hard. A green scarf fluttered behind him like it had a personality of its own. His ensemble - minimal, tasteful - hugged his athletic frame pleasantly.
His eyes landed on me--bright, warm--and his whole face lit up like he'd found a long-lost friend. "Hey! Didn't think there'd be a Caesar here." He strode up, boots thudding lightly against the concrete, flashing me an easy smile. His voice had a casual, confident lilt to it, even though he stood half-a-head shorter. "Love what you did with the headband."
"Thanks, man!" I grinned back, stomach flipping stupidly. I'd spared no effort in putting together this fit, and it felt amazing to be noticed. "I jerry-rigged a wire frame out of old hangers. Kinda dumb, but it worked--makes it float a little, like they're rippling with Hamon."
I gestured at my temple. The headband wobbled helpfully, like it was showing off. He leaned in slightly, eyes scanning the detail. Close enough that I could smell sunscreen and something clean, citrusy.
"You nailed it," he said. "The shape holds really well."
"Oh, yeah, I had to redo it like... four times. The first version looked like a deflated balloon animal." I chuckled, a little too loud. "Pretty sure I stabbed myself with wire. Twice."
He grinned--wide and open. Damn if he didn't have a killer smile. I could have stood there all day admiring it. Admiring him.
Up close, he looked good. Like, distractingly good. His tank top clung in all the right places--pecs, biceps, flat midriff peeking out under his hem. I couldn't help a little twinge of envy. It was said that muscles were the simplest fit to wear, and the hardest to acquire. I worked out, but I'd never quite gotten the definition to pull off a daring ensemble like that.
Abruptly I realised I was staring. Way to ruin the vibe, Kyle, I scolded myself mentally. I yanked my gaze back up just in time to meet his eyes again, hoping the heat in my cheeks wasn't showing. Fortunately, he didn't seem to have noticed.
"You're looking pretty good too!" I recovered.. "Uh-- sick work with the hair. Can't believe it's not a wig."
He laughed, scratching behind his ear. "Oh yeah. Au naturel, baby. Just, like, three months of no haircuts and a small mountain of wax. My scalp's probably ninety percent chemicals by now."
We shared a laugh. There was a brief silence, before he stuck out a hand. "Kyle," I said, clasping his forearm. "Dylan," he replied. I felt his fingers give me a brief squeeze before letting go.
"Dylan," I repeated, mostly to make sure I didn't forget it. "You, uh... come here often?"
"Not St. Louis, no. Usually I hit West Coast stuff--AX, Fanime, that kind of thing. First time flying out for this one."
"Oh, damn. Well... welcome to humidity hell," I said. "Hope you brought a water bottle and mosquito spray."
He grinned at me like a megawatt lamp. I felt a warm, fuzzy feeling rise up my spine. God, keep it in your pants Kyle! I bit my lip.
"Do you do Jojo a lot, or is this a one-time thing?" He asked.
"Not all the time, but I rotate through it pretty often. I did Kakyoin once. Regretted it immediately. Too many cherry jokes."
"Yeah, those live in my brain rent-free too." He grinned again. "Caesar's a good look on you, though. Clean lines. Strong posing. Love the arm bands."
I gave a shaky laugh and gestured vaguely at my hips. "Thanks. I had to learn how to sew a hidden zipper so the pants didn't split when I pose. Ask me how many I ruined before that."
"I'm scared to," he said, mock-serious.
"Three. And a half."
He burst out laughing again, and it was a good laugh--full-bodied, warm, unpretentious. The kind that made me want to keep trying to be funny just to hear it again.
---
"Oh em gee, that's so iconic!" We both turned as a delighted squeal erupted to the side. Nearby, a gaggle of Sailor Moon girls stood giggling. One of them--Sailor Venus, freckles and a long, flowing wig--broke formation and skipped up, flashing cute dimples. I could practically see the anime stars in her eyes.
"You guys look amazing together! Can I get a picture?"
I blinked, glancing briefly at Dylan. He just gave a casual shrug and a smile. "Let's do it."
I grinned back, maybe a little too widely. Then I dropped into a classic pose--one arm raised, fingers flared, chin tilted like I was posing for a manga cover. My headband wobbled dramatically.
Nailed it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dylan fall into step beside me, flexing just enough to make it obvious. His scarf swished theatrically. He arched one brow, lips curling into a devil-may-care smirk.
The photo clicked. Sailor Venus clapped her hands like we'd just made her entire weekend. "You guys are so hot together," she said, eyes twinkling as she sent it to us via AirDrop. "Like--canon-level energy. Ship it."
I laughed, now sure I was blushing. Looking over, I caught Dylan glancing at the photo on his phone, eyebrows raised slightly. "Looks good," he said, with heartfelt approval.
It really did look awesome. We'd posed perfectly -- a real-life Joseph Joestar and Caesar Zeppeli, broad and muscled. Standing shoulder to shoulder, looking pumped and ready to take on the world like the best bros they were. It would have been hella badass, if I hadn't broken into a stupid grin at the last moment like a total dork.
Oh well. I turned back to Dylan, beaming. "Mind if I post it on Instagram?"
"Not at all," he said, pulling out his phone as well. "What's your handle? I'll drop you a follow."
"Oh--uh. It's @cosplaykyle97," I said, trying not to overthink it. "It's kinda just my cosplay stuff. I don't really do the whole influencer thing."
He typed in something quickly, then squinted at his screen. "Damn," he said. "These are really good. You do your own photography?"
"Sometimes," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "Mostly self-timer and panic. And, like... lots of editing." He followed me with a quick tap. The tiny heart on my screen lit up, and I tapped his profile pic, curious.
