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Laying on his bed, Asher replayed the day's events through his mind. It was a weekend day so he really didn’t have much to do. He was off from work and could do as he pleased. For most of the day, up until the evening.

That was when he had to come out with his volleyball team for practice or a game. He didn’t mind though, he loved it. Having always been a sporty person he adored being on the team. Especially since he was practically the star player. He loved it.

As he thought about today’s practice he remembered something about his volleyball gear, particularly his socks. He had had the pair for a while now and it showed. Their soles had completely shifted from a pristine white to a stained and worn drown and brown.

They had also begun to develop holes, some more sizeable than others. Still, he was going to keep wearing them, despite how he’d normally throw this pair away. He’d do so for two good reasons. 

For one they were lucky, he had been wearing them to his practices and games for so long that he felt they would add some much-needed fortune. That and what, or rather who, they used to be.

He had long forgotten which was which but the two socks used to be his ex-boyfriend and ex-girlfriend. Each transformed for practically the same reason. In Derrick’s case, it was after he insisted that he was gay.

In Samantha’s it was her finding it so hot that he also liked guys, she was acting like a fujoshi. With two people like that they deserved to become his socks, at least Asher thought so. Besides, it wasn’t like they had any right to argue with him, they were his socks after all.

Ever since he had transformed the pair he had put them through the wringer. From the outset he had been wearing them as much as he could, trying to show them how worthless they were.

Sometimes he’d wear them for multiple days in a row, his feet constantly inside them, at least until he joined the team. Since his first practice with them, his exes had been upgraded to his volleyball socks. He’d wear them for whatever game or practice then let them soak up his musk in his sneakers.

Day after day they’d be trapped, deep into the cavern that was his volleyball shoes. Unlike the rest of his uniform, he would barely wash the two, finding that it would better imbue them with his funk. Some days, after a particularly strenuous meetup he’d send them through the laundry, but most days they were kept in his gym bag.

On days like that, he often wondered how the two were doing, how they felt with the constant feeling and taste of his foot funk and sweat in their bodies. Although, for the most part, he paid them no mind. Why would he, they were just his lucky volleyball socks after all.

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