#It's possible that he got it while he was a spy

[davrinsleftpectoral]

Your OC in the Ballroom 💎

Thank you for the tags @notyourmamasdeerbat @aetherflowers

Clothing

What’s your OC’s go-to aesthetic for a ball? Is it consistent or varied? What’s their goal behind this? are they just trying to fit in, to distract, to mislead?

We’ve got two sets of options. First up, if the ball is for fun. Turvi is going to go as flashy as possible. There’s no such thing as too much gold. And of course Neve has to match. 

The second set is attending a ball for business. Then he’s going more classic but still chest out. (yes I did use Neil Newbon as inspo, he’s got a really unique sense of fashion). And Neve matches again. I also loved giving Turvi a skirt type thing to wear and giving Neve pants. 

Does Turvi love balls? They aren’t his favorite. His idea of a good time involves less clothing (so much plunderwear), more drinking, more stories, and likely also more dares lol (I mean, that IS what the Lords of Fortune do). But he will enjoy the chance to dress up over the top, especially if it involves getting Neve dressed up too.

Location

Where are you most likely to find your OC during a ball? Balcony? Bar? Spying behind privacy screens?

While he doesn’t necessarily like being the center of attention, he is extroverted enough to be found mingling. He’s happily chatting people up, but in his earnest way. He has no skills for playing social games. Neve handles that and can steer him and the conversation as needed. Turvi has more ability to put people at ease, which is still a useful skill.

Dancing

What’s their opinion on dancing? Do they have a favorite type of dance?

Turvi loves to dance. He doesn’t know any formal dances. But as a rogue, he’s very nimble and light on his feet. He’s also a quick study. Show him a dance and he’ll pick it up quickly. Lead him in a dance he’s never done, and he can get by quite well. The only thing that could hinder him, might be shoes. He’s not always barefoot, but fancy shoes can be a bother, especially if they’re particularly uncomfortable. He prefers sandals or boots to anything pointy toed or with a heel.

He can definitely do just fine in the main ball room, and enjoy himself. However, should they need someone to talk to servants, he’s also great at that. Dress him down, give him an ugly hat, and he can fit right in with the kitchen staff. He spent a long time working in the galley of a ship, so he’s also proficient at making food for larger groups of people. He wouldn’t pass for a chef. But a competent worker that could get others to talk would be easy for him. Despite his history with slavery, he has no problem posing as Neve’s elven serving man. In fact, he rather likes it lol. 

Bonus pic. His face after watching neve pretend to be a venatori, call him her entourage, and talk down to the guard. He’s trying to be so normal right now lol. (He’s definitely having some thoughts)

Passing along gentle tags to @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @chaosherald @serensama @jenn2d2 @woundedsoul12 @basedonconjecture @kabsey @pixiedurango @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai @mythals-whore sorry if anyone has already done this, I can’t remember anything lol

[random-mdzs-thoughts-dumpster]

I love hensheng but telling people about its name must have been so awkward. Imagine if someone said "that's a cool sword. What is it called?" and JGY responded with "hating life". I mean, what would you even say to that?

[orphiicheartd]

Currently Plagued by The Curse*

[brain4stew]

Thinking about reader being a “pupeteer” for their chosen killer/survivor, and the killer/survivor can see the reader’s avatar.

Survivors ♡

Chance 🪙

This guy, most likely would be confused, but probably wouldn’t mind you being there at all.

He thinks it’s cool that he can see “you” (avatar), and sometimes tries to talk to “you”…. No answer of course.

Genuinely is spooked when he sees, and knows that “you”’re controlling him in rounds.

He thinks he’s going insane overtime however.

Elliot 🍕

Genuinely confused, and even more worried than he normally would be.

Thinks that “you” (avatar) is an imaginary friend he thought of.

Sometimes just “talks” to “you” (avatar) as some sort of stress relief. (It sometimes helps, but when it doesn’t he’ll just laugh quietly to himself. Convinced he’s going insane.)

A bit thankful that “you”’re there helping him in rounds, but is also still terrified whenever “you” control him.

Guest 1337 🪖

Genuinely thinks “you”’re also an imaginary friend he thought of overtime. (Probably developed plenty of imaginary friends while in war too once or twice.)

Knows he can’t talk to “you” but would really want to. (He actually notices “you”’re following him, and it kind of puts him more on edge.)

He once tried to touch “you”, and the image of your avatar reacted a little at the touch, which kind of actually spooked him.

Shocked whenever “you”’re controlling him, and helping him out in rounds.

007n7 🍔

Thinks that “you” were made from his C00lgui, and immediately checked it. (He later thought “you” were an imaginary friend he made up.)

Would randomly, and rarely (when no other survivors are nearby,) would “talk”, and “vent” to “you”, even though he knows that “you” can’t respond and all that.

Genuinely got spooked when “you” just stood by him and followed him around. (He’s worried he’s going insane.)

Slowly noticed that where he wants to go, isn’t where he’s going, and notices that “you”’re the one controlling and helping him in rounds.

Builderman 🔨

Somehow, he suspects that “you” are a robloxian. (Don’t ask how he somehow knows, I headcanon that the admins and devs of Roblox know abt the robloxians.)

Rarely would inspect your avatar, mainly out of curiosity, and so he could possibly get some sort of ideas.

Actually was shocked when “you” followed him around, and whatnot. (He once saw your avatar dance, and it kind of confirmed his speculations.)

Genuinely very worried whenever he noticed “you”’re controlling him in rounds. Just how on earth can a robloxian, control him?

Shedletsky 🍗🗡️

Not the smartest, but thought “you” were a robloxian after a while. (He legit thought he was going insane at first.)

He once tried feeding “you” a chicken, but it just knocked over your avatar. Which he just… Stared at… (Basically watching your avatar flail around, before standing up almost immediately.)

Once tried to attack “you” with his sword as well, and noticed a health bar over “you”, as your avatar took some damage, and that made him think of “you” as a robloxian.

Legit thought it was cool and also creepy at the same time, whenever “you” were controlling him in rounds and all that.

Noob 🥤👻🪨

They were spooked upon seeing “you”, and actually thought “you” were some sort of spy, or something that helps the killers.

Eventually calmed down, and thought of “you” as some sort of imaginary friend.

Sometimes talks to “you”, even if you don’t respond and can’t hear. They’re just a bit glad they can “talk” to someone in the hell hole they’re in.

They genuinely were more spooked, startled and even terrified, when “you” were controlling them in rounds and helping them…

Two Time 2️⃣ 🕰️

Thought “you” were a ghost, and got curious and interested. (They actually thought that “you” are some sort of spirit that the spawn sent to watch over them.)

They sometime just, look at “you”, and pokes “you”, touches “you” and overall interacts with “you”. (Your avatar sometimes fall over from that, flailing around a bit, before standing up.)

They would thank the spawn for “you” coming to watch over them. And sometimes they just, stare at “you”, almost affectionately.

They noticed that “you”’re controlling them after a few rounds, and that fed their delusional ahh even more…

Taph 💥💣

Genuinely wonders if “you” can set off their tripwire’s and their subspace bomb. (You don’t, since your avatar can’t set off any traps.)

Rarely talks to “you” (emoji’s ofc), mostly about Builderman, but also about how to modify their bomb more.

Once, thought that “you” were a ghost when “you” somehow walked through a wall, and it kind of spooked ‘em. (They got over it after a while.)

Actually once cursed in emoji’s whenever “you” were controlling them in rounds, it felt weird to them.

Dusekkar 🪄(💨⚡️?)

Did not understand what “you” were wearing for a long while, and thought “you” were some imaginary friend he made up after a while. (He asked Builderman and Shedletsky about “you” though…)

Later figured out that “you” are a robloxian, and was actually a little bit excited and curious. (Mainly because of the clothes on the market and etc, etc.)

Was a bit spooked by “you” following him, like one of the pizza deliveries, or the minions of 1x4. But eventually relaxed after knowing “you” can’t even hurt anyone or anything.

Thankful, but… Also frustrated and terrified whenever “you”’re controlling hum in rounds.

Killers ☆

1x1x1x1 💚⚔️🖤

This, being of hatred… Hates “you”. He knows exactly what “you” are, and despises it. (They know that you’re a robloxian, due to Shedletsky knowing that, and all that bs.)

She wonders if “you” can be able to be attacked, damaged, and seen by the others. (They did attack “you” once, and actually regretted it for some reason. Because they saw your avatar flail a bit from accidentally getting knocked over from his attack, before standing up again.)

Randomly tries to “hug you”, but most of the time they either phase through “you”, or she manages to “hug you”, and accidentally makes your avatar flail a bit. (IN SECRET OFC, there’s no way he’d let the other killers see her being a bit soft.)

They genuinely were annoyed by “you” whenever “you”’re controlling her in rounds. But he’s also thankful for whenever “you” win for them.

John Doe 🖤0️⃣1️⃣❤️

More confused than he was before. Who are “you”? What are “you”? What can “you” do? Are “you” a ghost or something?

His corruption prevents him from actually knowing who “you” are and all of that. (Even if he asked the other killers, he’d forget about the information in about a minute.)

Accidentally gave “you” the corruption effect once, and became a bit worried. (Thankfully the corruption doesn’t last long, but it still made him worry a bit.)

Genuinely more confused whenever “you” control him, especially if you put the ‘Yourself’ skin on him. Genuinely wonders if “you” actually like killing survivors, and other robloxians…

Jason 🔪🪚

Confused. Even his mother is confused, but the both decided to just, let “you” be.

Once accidentally gave “you” bleeding, and actually panicked a bit. His mother tried to calm him down, but even she was panicking a bit. (When they saw your avatar was alright, they were practically sighing in relief.)

Once saw “you” flail around on the ground for a while, and get flung for a bit, before standing up, as if nothing happened. (It destroyed his way of thinking, even his mothers way of thinking was destroyed too.)

Spooked whenever “you” control him, and so is his mother, when she notices that her son isn’t controlling his own movements. But they’re both happy whenever “you” make Jason win.

Mafioso 🐰

Genuinely found “you” interesting, and actually wondered if “you” are like his boss, Eunoia.

One of his guys somehow accidentally put “you” on fire, and it spooked his other guys, and even him. (Your avatar was fine after a while, but it still spooked them.)

Actually saw “you” get flung at one point, watching “you” flail a bit, before standing up. (He found it a bit hilarious, but also got a bit worried.)

Genuinely thinks “you”’re someone that can posses him, and use him in rounds, which scares him a bit, but also scares his guys a lot. (They eventually all adapted to it however.)

C00lkidd 🧱

He actually was excited upon seeing “you”, thinking he finally has a friend to play with!

Was disappointed whenever he can’t really play with “you”. But, he killed “you” once on accident, and saw “you” either, collapse like the survivors, or explode. (Like when you reset your avatar in the lobby.) And it spooked him a bit.

He thinks of “you” as an imaginary friend, even though he doesn’t exactly know what imaginary means completely, he likes “you” still! Well… Until…

He’s genuinely scared, confused and downright hates it whenever “you” control him in rounds… LET HIM HAVE HIS FUN!!

Noli 👾

He probably knows who “you” are, but eventually forgot about “you”. And now thinks of “you” as some sort of ‘npc’ he made for himself, whenever he wants to talk with someone other than the other killers.

He rambles to “you” about every rounds he’s been in, even though “you” can’t hear it, he’s still glad he can ramble on and on to “you”.

(Prob ooc;) Whenever he’s too bored, or too tired, he’ll hug “you” and just, hold “you” in his grasp. (Whilst your avatar flails a bit, due to the collision- ik that roblox avatars don’t have that in the lobby.)

I think he’d be excited and happy whenever “you” control him, and makes him win. It makes him feel like he accomplishes things more quicker.

Azure ����

They dislike “you”, or hate “you”. No in between. Don’t get them wrong, it’s because they can’t trust “you” yet, completely. (Due to their past.)

After a while, they’ll gradually trust “you”, slowly but surely. I have a feeling that they’ll enjoy being near “you”, or in “your” presence sometimes.

Whenever they’re too bored, and trust “you” enough, they’ll probably use their tendrils, to wrap them around “you” and watch “you” flail around. It makes them laugh, they find it pretty amusing to say the least.

They’re confused and don’t really know if they can trust “you” with controlling them. But whenever they see that “you” make them kill Two Time, and give them wins… Then dang, color them surprised, they enjoy it.

Guest 666 👹

Probably confused about who and what “you” are. But doesn’t really care or mind it. “You” remind him of Noob, and it makes him a bit happy.

He’ll probably get exhausted at some points, and will probably, and I mean PROBABLY, drag “you” with him by his tail, before curling up around “you”. Like some sort of dog, or something. (Idk, an animal that does that at least-) and rests there, enjoying the peace he has with “you” there.

He occasionally pokes “you”, seeing “you” fall over and flail a bit, before standing up again. He rarely does this, but, he rarely whacks “you” away on accident with his tail, and he gets a bit saddened at that. (Cue his horns in his trailers going down, with a frown on his face.) He watches as “you” flail a bit, before standing and going towards him again, and just staying by him. (He’s happy and glad about that.)

Genuinely confused, yet also excited whenever “you” control him in rounds. He can tell that “you” hesitate for a few seconds on killing Noob, before “you” eventually make him do it. (He sees how “you” just stand still for a while, after hearing what he said when he killed Noob. He assumes that “you” are sad about what he said…)

(I’m tired y’all. 😞💔)

[yundeob]

A NIGHT IN HOLLYWOOD ☆ | ATEEZ SERIES

— featuring ot8!ateez in iconic HOLLYWOOD romance and rom-com movies

— TICKET BOOTH IS CLOSED! 🎟️ : the movies are about to start! all fics will have MATURE CONTENT! MDNI!

sit back, relax, grab your popcorn and tissues, and enjoy the silver screen . . .

THE PARENT TRAP ☆ | KHJ

TROPE: exes to lovers! divorced!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

AS DIVORCED PARENTS to two twin daughters, you and hongjoong have your fair share of work cut out. Driving to piano lessons, cheering at hockey games, drop offs at each other’s houses, it can all be a little much. But could a relaxing summer retreat as a whole family possibly rekindle past emotions you’ve swept under the rug? . . .

— IN THEATRES

DIRTY DANCING ☆ | PSH

TROPE: bad boy!seonghwa, enemies to lovers!au , 60s!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, angst, crack

THAT WAS THE SUMMER before JFK got shot, before the beatles came, and when you were working part time at your aunts summer resort. That was also the summer you met resident heart breaker and cocky entertainment crew member, Park Seonghwa. Remind yourself why you’re suddenly dance partners with him again? . . .

— IN THEATRES

PRETTY WOMAN ☆ | JYH

TROPE: dilf!yunho x formerstripper!reader, strangers to lovers!au, contract lovers!au,

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst

LIVING IN BEVERLY HILLS comes with its perks. But for two different people such as yourself and multimillionaire business tycoon, Jeong Yunho, both of you can’t seem to find what you’re looking for in the so called ‘Land of Dreams’. So the proposal is simple really… let him spoil you with money, jewelry and clothes while in return, you stay by his side. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

MR AND MRS KANG ☆ | KYS

TROPE: marriage!au, established relationship, spy!au, assasin!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, ANGST, crack

WHO WOULD’VE THOUGHT picture perfect suburban neighbourhood couple, Mr. and Mrs. Kang would be at each others necks trying to kill each other first. You’ve both come this far in your marriage while hiding your secret identities, but it looks like only one person can remain standing. I guess you both did promise “in sickness and in health”. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

ROMAN HOLIDAY ☆ | CS

TROPE: royalty!au, princess!reader x reporter!san, strangers to lovers!

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst

AS CROWN PRINCESS, you’re on a tightly scheduled tour of European capital cities. But after an especially rough day in Rome, you sneak out of the embassy to explore the so called Eternal City, running into no other than celebrity news reporter, Choi San, looking out for his next big royal scandal. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU ☆ | SMG

TROPE: college!au, stoner!mingi, enemies to lovers!au, fakedating(?)au, y2k aesthetic

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

YOUR YOUNGER BROTHER Wooyoung is desperate in getting you, his older sister in college, to date so that he can finally date in highschool. The options for potential candidates are scarce, considering men flock away like birds the second you’re near. Good thing campus stoner and weirdo, Song Mingi is the same as well. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS ☆ | JWY

TROPE: fashioncolumnist!reader x advertiser!wooyoung, y2k aesthetic, fake dating(?)au, enemies to lovers!au, mutual pining

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

LISTEN, IF IT MEANS getting a promotion at your editorial company as a news journalist instead of pop culture and lifestyle columnist, you’d do anything. And that includes pretending to be the most annoying and clingiest girlfriend to some guy for 10 whole days. But just so you know, Wooyoung likes clingy. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

ROMEO & JULIET ☆ | CJH

TROPE: unrequited love, star crossed lovers!au, mutual pining, secret romance (shakespeare be rolling in his grave rn)

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, ANGST

FOR CENTURIES, a plague of hatred and hostility has been present in the relations between the House of Choi and your own. You know you can’t be together, but yet why do you keep catching that dark haired boy staring at you so longingly? And why do you want him just as bad?. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

a/n: for updates, follow my blog! this will be a work-in-progress so I ask for your support:(🙏

taglist: @vent-stink @dazzlingstarrs @vcutparis @xpixie @potatos-on-clouds @showingmafandomlove @bibbleypoof @kpop-will-kill-me @avantalem @beabatiny @gabrielle-brugger @nsixns @amaranth1ne @stayminho @myblovedjyh @kkeshia @rebekah-reads @yoonbroom @4kwp @butterflydemons @iwaizumiismybae @soobinsputnik @stayatinykatsy @atitties @justconniez @kitten4sannie @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @cheolsthicthighs @morethingsfandom @geminiml95 @byuntrash101 @quailbagutte @syubseokie @newworldwritings @urmom26john @sleepy-kat-here @pearltinyy @hjshyhyssnmgwyjh @cursedeastern @starryunho @piratekingateez2001 @jiminbility @paumll @drinkingrumandcocacola @roomsofangel @channies-bbg-room @meanaonthemoon @teeztopia @pommelex @kiln9z @sanhwalvr @youresolivlie @edawg77 @a-0206 @summer-gyu @bvidzsoo @yoongzsmile28 @tournesol155

taglist became too long so find the second taglist here💀 no longer taking requests

11/1/25 update: i apologize for how slow this is taking😭 yes, i still am 100% fully committed to finishing this series! I ask for your patience and understanding🫶🏼

[chuluoyi]

the secret wife

- nanami kento x reader

follow the first years’ misadventures as they find out that apparently, the infamous 7:3 sorcerer is also a dutiful and loving husband in private!

genre/warnings: crack, fluff, the first years are simply chaotic, an attempt at humor, gojo cameo (he’s so insufferable), mentions of pregnancy, nanami being the best husband there is

note: based on an anon's suggestion, this is a spin-off to love entries' wife (so gojo is married to love entries reader naturally!) this is full chaos and crack omg so sorry and isn't proofread bc i’m kinda tired so pls forgive any mistakes and my dry humor :')

general masterlist

On one fine, sunny day, which was supposed to be a calm and relaxing afternoon...

“Hello? Yuji—”

Megumi could've sworn, they weren't usually this nosy.

“Gojo-sensei! It's urgent!”

Call it indulgence, because Nobara's curiosity just got the better of her.

“Oh? What's—”

“Does Nanamin have a wife!?”

And Yuji... well, he just needed answers, because the three of them were now in the ‘Mom and Baby’ section of department store, having just witnessed a monumental sight of their esteemed mentor, Nanami Kento—

—with a remarkably stunning woman hanging onto his arm.

“Huh?” Gojo's confusion was evident from the other line. Oh, yeah. Yuji had decided to cut to the chase and call him too, hoping for a swift clarification.

Okay, so why were the trio—plus Gojo on the speakerphone���hiding behind a pillar just to spy on Nanami and his very possible wife? Let us rewind 30 minutes before...

Yuji considers himself to have an exceptional eye and taste for women.

And 30 minutes ago, when he fell on his butt on the rough, hard asphalt in the jammed Shibuya crossing after accidentally getting shoved by the crowd, and encountered a kind, vivacious older woman—you, who extended a hand to help him up, he was even more convinced of that.

“Are you alright, Itadori-kun?” your soft voice entered his ears, catching him off-guard, and Yuji was certain of two things then.

One, that you were just like a literal angel descended from skies above, all dolled up and pretty with your flowy sundress.

“Ah, uh—” he stammered, eyes darting everywhere and anywhere at once as his palm started sweating after clasping your hand. “I-I am…”

And two, for the life of him, he had no idea who you were.

But it registered late in his mind to ask as he was busy controlling his ragged breathing and instant crush, and before Yuji knew it, you graced him with another kind smile and went on your way.

And did he feel so miserable afterwards.

. . .

“She’s sooo hella pretty, Fushiguro! And she knows me! Me!”

Megumi sighed, eyeing his friend in disgust. Truthfully, all he wanted was to return to the dorms and collapse onto his bed, and not listen to his friend’s incoherent ramblings.

"You sure you weren't imagining things?" Nobara questioned with slight irritation. "After you embarrassed us in front of Gojo-sensei's wife a while back, please think more before you act."

"I'm not, I swear! She said my name!"

"Itadori, can you please just not?" Megumi grumbled, having enough of this ruckus. "I want to walk back in peace."

And so tucking away his pout, Yuji walked in silence just as his best friend asked, and he was really going to leave it at that when suddenly he caught the sight of a familiar pristine coat and the sundress from earlier. “Oh?”

"Isn't that Nanami-san?" Nobara also spotted him, her eyes widening when she saw you, who was happily beaming as well as Nanami's light chuckle. "And wait, who is—?"

"That's her!" Yuji burst out, pointing decisively in your direction. "That's who I was talking about!"

Oh, no. Megumi dreaded it already. He could already see the utter catastrophe—

"I'm going after them!"

"Wait, Itadori! Me too!"

Too late. Before he could stop them, Nobara and Yuji had followed the pair. Reluctantly, Megumi trailed behind them too, albeit wearing a vexed scowl. Yet despite his misgivings, he couldn't deny that the things he saw over the next 30 minutes were genuinely unexpected.

Nanami consistently led you to a quieter spot away from the bustling crowd, his hand holding yours firmly. He would occasionally throw you a smile, or when you didn’t hold hands, then he’d wrap an arm around your waist. And to the trio's bewilderment, they also saw him tenderly brushing his lips against your head while on the escalator.

Soft and gentle. It was a side of Nanami Kento they had never witnessed—either with anyone else or even himself.

The two of you ventured through home appliances, visited food stalls, and eventually... the ‘Mom and Baby’ section.

"Do you want to rest for a bit?" Nanami's voice held a touch of concern as his hand settled on the small of your back, and seeing that, Nobara positively swooned.

"Oh, no, I'm fine," you responded with a reassuring smile. "Let's head over there. I'd like to see that next!"

Watching you and Nanami meticulously going through strollers and cribs like a pair of would-be parents was apparently too mind-blowing for Yuji and Nobara, leading to the decision to call Gojo right then and there. And, as they say, the rest was history.

"Last I heard, Nanami wasn't married," Gojo answered resolutely. "If he is, then it's the ultimate betrayal because he never told me!"

"But we see him with a woman! At mother and baby care section!"

Gojo hummed in thoughtful manner. "Okay, students. Now I'm tasking you to see this to the very end! Keep me on the line!"

With that, Operation: Uncover Nanami's Wife was officially underway, and frankly, the way the three of them were clumsily tailing the 7:3 sorcerer made Megumi want to facepalm. How was it that Nanami hadn't noticed their rather conspicuous attempts at all?

Now you were fawning over baby clothes, cutely trying not to squeal as you picked a little blue and yellow overalls. "Kento! Kento! Look, how cute!"

And all of them were floored once again when the expression on his face softened, as a warm smile adorned his lips. "Yeah, they are."

"Is she pregnant? She doesn't look it..." Nobara remarked, squinting and frowning, still watching the two of you like a hawk.

"Or maybe they're shopping for someone else?" Megumi suggested, earning teasing grins from Yuji and Nobara, to which he quickly rolled his eyes, as they chorused, "Looks like you're curious too!"

After a while, you moved from the clothes to sections stocked with mother's necessities. Yuji leaned against one of the racks, pressing his ear against it, with Nobara and Megumi crowding behind him, attempting to catch a snippet of your conversation with Nanami.

"I think we should get some heat packs and these pillows—"

"Oh, Kento! You're such a worrywart, I still won't need them for a few more months—"

"Wait, what?" Yuji whipped his head around in surprise, causing Nobara, who was leaning on him, to stumble and inadvertently collide with the racks.

"Eh? Huh!?"

Unfortunately, the racks weren't sturdy enough, and the force caused them to sway dangerously. Nobara, sensing her imminent fall, instinctively grabbed Yuji's arm to steady herself. However, he got tugged instead and their combined weight exacerbated the situation, leading to the racks quickly toppling over and a deafening commotion ensued—

Crash!

"Careful!" Nanami immediately pulled you behind him, a protective arm around your shoulder, sensing your shock from the sudden crash. He was on high alert, expecting some sort of attack of cursed spirits, but instead, he was met with the most astounding sight of the bickering culprits amidst the fallen racks.

"Kugisaki! What are you doing!"

"You dumbass! Why didn't you stop me from falling?!"

"Itadori-kun...?" Nanami called out in utter disbelief, his mind couldn't fathom as to why the first years were here. However, his attention quickly shifted to Megumi, who was seething and sending his friends a glare so hard it could drill a hole into them.

Then, the boy swiftly fixed himself into a low bow in front of him, ashamed, disregarding Yuji and Nobara's groans altogether. "Nanami-san, I'm very, very sorry on their behalf."

"What are the three of you doing here?" he inquired, and poor Megumi seemed at a loss, huffing as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of where to even start.

Meanwhile you were full of worry for the fallen kids. "Oh my gosh, are you alright?"

For the second time today, you tried to help Yuji to stand on his feet, and this time, he really had a good look over you.

It wasn't exactly noticeable due to how loose your dress was, but now he could see that under it, your belly was slightly rounded—an unmistakable baby bump.

Amidst his shock and pain, Yuji couldn't bring himself to take your hand as he inadvertently let this slip, "N-Nanamin! You knocked her up!"

Nanami blinked. You gaped. Megumi and Nobara went pale in sheer horror, ready to murder their friend on the spot for his extreme height of rudeness.

“Itadori-kun,” Nanami cleared his throat then, and if he was offended, then he chose not to show it. “First of all, I’m sorry for not introducing you sooner. This is Y/N, my wife, and yes,” his tone hardened slightly, “She’s carrying our first child.”

“S-so you are married!”

“Yes, that was what I—”

“What the hell?! NANAMIIII!”

Oh, the freaking phone. After his fall, Yuji’s phone ended up on the floor, and of course, Gojo did hear all of the entire madness, evident from how his voice blared from the phone.

Nanami frowned, unwittingly reaching out towards the phone. “Who—?”

“NA-NA-MI!" Gojo screeched in righteous exasperation, and the former immediately pulled away from the phone with a cringe. “How could you?! I invited you to my wedding! Are you a hermit or something—how could not tell anyone!? Didn’t you say I can officiate—”

“I said no such thing. Please refrain from saying outrageous things, it’s both annoying and misleading,” Nanami stressed, growing more irritated by the mere sound of Gojo's whining voice and feeling his patience waning rapidly.

"Aren't we friends?! How—!"

"Should I find you instigate one more of this... shenanigans with the kids, I won't hesitate to report you to Yaga and your wife," he interjected then with clear irritation, and right that second, Gojo shut himself up.

Yuji, Nobara and Megumi couldn't help drawing that one conclusion in wonder: So, that's what Gojo-sensei is afraid of.

Nanami swiftly ended the call with a flick of his finger, returning the phone to the still mystified Yuji. Turning back to the trio, Nanami's irritation simmered as he glanced at the mess of broken goods on the floor, as well as noticing the approaching clerks.

"You three..." Nanami started, his voice rising slightly, unfaltering even as the three of them flinched. "Do you realize what you've done? Are you so idle that you can ditch your assignments?"

"Kento, don't be too harsh," you rebuked, placing a hand on his arm with a frown on your face. Nanami sighed, looking over the situation once again. It was a whole rack of baby necessities destroyed; plates, glasses, and whatnot scattered across the floor.

Nobara bit her lip in anxiety. “Oh my god, who's going to pay for all this damage?” She could already imagine the staggering amount this mess would cost. This is worth millions, anyone can go bankrupt.

There was only one person who can and will. Immediately, both Nanami and Megumi turned to her with a shared resolve.

"Gojo," Megumi blurted.

"He will be charged for everything," Nanami added with spite.

Epilogue

"You just love those kids, don't you, Kento?"

That night, when both of you were ready for sleep, Nanami had one hand caressing your still growing belly, and you teased him with a chuckle.

"Huh?" your husband looked at you in mild confusion as he stopped stroking you. "What do you mean?"

You giggled again. "You said to put it on Gojo's name, but in the end, you were the one who covered the damages first."

Nanami huffed lightly. "That's because I can't get the kids in trouble. But mark my words, I'll make sure Gojo pays up later, by force if I need to." He made a face when he remembered just what a massive bill it was. "That's too much money to be spent carelessly. We have our child and our future to consider."

"You're always like that," you sighed fondly, taking his hand and placing it back to the swell of your belly. "Always on the first line of defense for the students." Your smile widened. "It makes me think... just how lucky our kid will be with you as their father."

"On the contrary, I'm counting my blessings that they'll have someone as soft as you for their mother," your husband retorted with a smile, kissing your temple. And your heart melted into a puddle by his affectionate gesture.

"That's too sweet... ah, yeah," suddenly, you were reminded of a critical thing. “Kento, have you ever considered telling everyone else that we're married? At least to people at school?”

Nanami always wanted privacy for safety reasons most of the time, and you understood that, but seeing that Gojo and the first years knew already, you thought it might be the best time to let everyone know.

"I honestly don’t see the need to, why?"

"People like Gojo are confused—"

Your husband rolled his eyes then. "Don’t worry, dear. People like Gojo exist to spread the word so we don't have to."

[kaidatheghostdragon]

Found this while going through my fanfic files, and i absolutely had to share.

Danny: i want in

Red robin: …what?

Danny: your bat family. I want in.

Red robin, blinking in surprise: i dont know what you think you know about my associates, but we're not-

Danny: dont be obtuse. I know youre the smart one. And i also know that your all one big relatively happy family. I want in.

Red robin: …why?

Danny: because you guys are the first people ive found that are wealthy, intelligent and powerful enough to take on my fruitloop godfather and win AND are decent enough human beings that i can be assured that when all is said and done, my well-being will remain a top priority.

Orphan, appearing out of nowhere: new brother!

Danny: *stares in shock*

Danny: *sudden uncanny grin* well that's one convinced. How do i win over the rest?

Orphan: no need. New brother!

Red robin: *pointed glance of betrayal* fine. Who is your godfather?

Danny: vlad masters. He's a fruitloop.

Red robin: for real? B's been investigating him for years! Tell me everything! *genuinely excited for a new lead*

Danny: well, he's tried to murder my dad and marry my mom, gained his wealth illegally, committed voting fraud to become the mayor of my hometown, has a secret underground lab where he does unethical experiments, and he's abducted me more than a dozen times even before my parents disowned me to make me his evil apprentice or whatever. Now that im homeless, he's literally out to get me. Oh! And he's cloned me too! She's cool though, we're buddies now.

Batman, who just arrived but heard everything over comms: hn. (Translation: who are you?)

Danny: my name is Danny. No last name anymore, but im hoping itll soon be Wayne! *winking suggestively*

Batman: hn? (how much do you know?)

Danny: enough to know that youre a much better alternative to vlad.

Batman: …hn (i dont know anything about you. What if youre a spy for vlad?)

Danny, giving his salesman pitch: i was a teen vigilante in amity park before i had to run away from home for my own safety. Vlad is one of my rogues. I know how to fight and defend myself, how to minimize collateral damage in a fight, and ive gotten really good and escaping kidnapping attempts. Ive also managed to reform and/or make allies out of approximately half of my rogues and can talk down about 30% of all rogue confrontations before they turn into a messy fight. The other things i can bring to the table are: one, i can teach all of you guys proper liminality self care; two, i can probably minimize and possibly cure red hood's anger issues; three, i can get along with stabby robin because i consider fighting a friendly social interaction - he can even stab me and i wont be injured by it; four, i can be your go-to guy for supernatural cases so you no longer have to deal with that sad trenchcoat man; five-

Red robin: *blurting* youre hired.

Batman: hn (i am deeply concerned)

Danny: if youre concerned now, wait until i tell you about the anti ecto control act

Nightwing, who showed up in the middle of the sales pitch: ive never seen anyone crack B's grunt language so quickly

Danny: grunt language? He's just using ghost speak - which will be covered by the liminality self care lessons

Robin, who arrived with batman: what is a liminal?

Danny: all of you, of course! Otherwise you wouldnt need to learn about it, obviously

Robin: and why would we trust you?

Danny: did i mention i have a pet ghost dog?

Robin: …you drive a hard bargain

Danny, fist pumping: yes! That's three!

Nightwing: four, you got me when you could understand B's grunting

Red Hood, arrived with nightwing: five, assuming you arent lying about the pit rage

Danny, hand to his chest: i would never!

Orphan: honesty. Earnest. New brother.

Oracle, over comms: six. The anti ecto acts are legit and im terrified for his safety, assuming he's phantom, who is the vigilante of amity park

Spoiler, arrived with orphan: seven, as long as youre down for a few pranks

Batman: hn (ive been outvoted)

Batman: hnn (i dont wanna hear any jokes about adoption habits when you all forced my hand)

Batman: hn (that said)

Batman: welcome to the family

Duke, the next day: man, i miss out on everything exciting.

Duke, blinded by danny: and who the fuck told bruce he could adopt the fucking sun?!

[voitier]

M.P.S - JJK

"Jungkook had a big problem. A serious one, too, at that. He was utterly, desperately obsessed with his roommate. You."

GENRE: oneshot

RATING: 18+

CONTAINS: masturbation (m&f), squirting, spying, stealing, teasing, getting caught, jk isn't as sneaky as he thinks he is, oc loves to play him as she pleases, alcohol, drunkness, obsession, underwear used in improper ways (?)

WORDCOUNT: 2k

TAGLIST: @jeeykey @songbyeonkim @yunhoswrldddd

Divider by @cafekitsune

Jungkook had a big problem.

A serious one, too, at that.

He was utterly, desperately obsessed with his roommate.

You.

You drove him absolutely insane while doing nothing at all to do so, had him gushing over you like a little kid with his first crush, turned him into putty with your words, even though he would never admit or show you that.

At first, he didn't even mind it too much attention. He told himself it was a little infatuation, nothing more nothing less, and it would go away with time, like it usually happened.

That was almost a year ago, though, and it did not go away. If anything, it only got worse.

As time went on, it came to a point where his obsession turned primal, raw, sexual. Slowly, his little crush transformed into a carnal desire he ached to have his hands on. He didn't just want to have his way with you, he itched to worship you the same ways preachers worship their gods. Cause that's what you were to his eyes, a goddess who had blessed him with your presence. And he strived to know what his goddess tasted like, what she sounded like.

He didn’t truly realize how bad he craved you until one particular day of april. Usually, you two would split the house chores and every new season you two would “exchange” chores: you spent all winter taking care of laundry, now it was his time to take care of it. The only boundary you two had agreed on in regards? Underwear needed to be taken care of by its rightful owner. Everything else was “public dominion”.

That day, though, something shifted in him.

“If this world were mine” he hummed freely alongside the song blasting from his headphones, luther (with sza), occasionally bopping his head to the beat while he folded the warm, soft towels, picking them straight from the dryer. You had gone out a few hours prior, grumbling about how much you hated your professor and their incapacity at doing their job. Jungkook smiled amused at your rant, having memorised it word by word as it never faltered, before turning around in his bed and snoozing off for a couple hours more.

“This world, concrete flowers grow, heartache, she only doin’ what–” he stopped singing briefly as he picked up another towel, catching the sight of a white cloth falling to the ground with the cornerof his eye. He bent down, not even watching where his hand was going, his eyes still fixed on the screen of his phone where the lyrics of the song changed every second.

He felt the light texture of the cloth under his fingertips, grazing it softly before bringing it up without too much thought. When he finally turned to look at it, he froze on the spot.

What he had grabbed so carelessly wasn't a normal cloth– it wasn't a cloth at all. Between his fingers, he had the delicate white fabric of your panties, which he must have accidentally thrown into the washer earlier on.

His fingers caressed the fabric gently, hypnotised by something so innocent yet so sinful in his eyes. He ran his thumb over the part where your lips would be, imagining how many times you had touched yourself right in this pair of pure white panties, soaking them in your arousal. His cock twitched at the thought, slowly getting stiffer in his sweatpants, but before he knew it the door of the entryway opened with a click, followed by your loud groan.

He gasped softly, bunching up the fabric in his pocket before darting for his room, closing it behind him as silently as possible, not wanting to draw any attention right now.

He relaxed against the door, exhaling a breath of relief as he heard you marching towards your room, slamming the door shut. His cock twitched again in his pants, begging for attention. His hand reached inside his pocket, fingers trembling as they found the soft, fresh fabric. He pulled them out slowly, bringing them to eye-level.

He exhaled a breath he didn't even know he was holding, his body still alert yet calmer now that he was hiding behind a closed door.

That day, Jungkook spent the whole day locked in his room, fisting his cock furiously while he held the clean pair of panties up to his face, his nose, wrapping them around his flushed red tip, until he had eventually milked himself dry, nothing else left in his spent body.

After that, he had a hard time looking at you in the eyes, and he spent approximately one week avoiding you as best as possible. He couldn't help but feel ashamed and guilty, yet, that wasn't the only time he had stolen something of yours.

That first accident only opened to his lustful mind the opportunity to steal more of your panties, trying to be sneaky about it, only taking one every once in a while. And while he thought he had mastered the art of theft, he didn't even suspect that you had noticed your panties progressively missing, catching the glimpse of your flimsy underwear peeking through the back pocket of his jeans once as he headed back to his room from the laundry room.

He didn't need to know, though.

Some things are better kept private.

You hated men.

Hated how entitled they can get, how stupid, incompetent and useless they are. Most importantly, you hated how much they turn you on, how they can play with you easily before you’re drenched and ready for them, despite all their flaws.

It’s during times like this that you have to remind yourself why the sentence “sexuality isn’t something we choose” is so fucking true to begin with.

You slam the door shut behind you, trying to be as silent as possible as you take off your high heels from your aching feet, accidentally knocking over the umbrella holder by the door. Maybe trying to be sneaky while drunk wasn’t the most intelligent thing you tried to do, but you really didn’t want to wake up your roommate at 3 a.m., especially not now that you had to take care of the tension in your body left unsatisfied by a guy you met at the bar you had spent the night at.

You groan frustrated at the aching throb between your legs, tiptoeing towards the shared bathroom quickly. You push the door closed behind you, switching the light on. Your eyes squint shut, the blinding light sending a wave of pain to your drunken mind, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bathtub for a few moments to recover.

Chills rise on your exposed skin at the cold feeling of the marble kissing your legs, yet it doesn't cool down the fire cursing through your needy body. You can’t help but let a hand travel south between your legs, pulling the fabric of your dress up until it leaves your lower body exposed to the cold room. You shudder, looking down to see a wet patch already soaking your black thong.

In your mind you silently curse the guy from the bar, thinking about the fact that you could have been entangled with his body in his sheets, body arching from pleasure, but instead you had to resort to your own fingers hidden in your bathroom while being silent to not wake up your sleeping roommate.

Your hips jerk once your fingers find your clothed clit, rubbing with featherlike pressure tight circles on your sensitive bud. A soft sigh escapes your lips, shoulders dropping in relaxation as the tension you had endured the past few hours starts leaving your body.

Your eyes close shut, head dropping back as you pull your panties to the side, running a finger through your folds to collect the wetness pooling before pushing it inside you, feeling your walls stretch pleasantly to welcome you in.

Slowly, you start to move your finger in and out your leaking hole, warming up before adding another finger in, curling them just right to hit that spot that has your body jerking in response. Your thumb finds your clit once again, rubbing it softly while you keep fucking yourself.

Your other hand grabs the edge of the bathtub, sliding off it before landing with your butt on the ground and your back slumped against the white marble, fingers still working lazily between your shaky thighs. Sweat glistens on your forehead, brows scrunched in concentration as the band inside you feels ready to snap any moment now, finally relieving your needs.

Soft gasps and moans fill the bathroom, and the wet squelches that echo in the room do nothing to hide what was happening behind the closed door. You pray that Jungkook is still snoring annoyingly in his room, blissfully oblivious to what was happening just down the hall. Just this one time.

Jungkook was, in fact, not oblivious at all to what was happening in the other room.

He had heard you knock over something in the entryway, the bang echoing so hard around the silent house that the whole apartment had probably heard you and woken up. You also weren’t silent at all while heading towards the bathroom, feet dragging to the floor like it physically pained you to lift them off the ground.

Anyway, he didn’t pay any mind to your failed attempts of silence, turning around in bed and dozing off to sleep again. What did catch his attention, though, came a few minutes later, right in the moment when reality and sleep collide in an intricate embrace where it’s not clear if you’re more awake or asleep yet.

A soft sound, coming from the bathroom, followed by another one.

Immediately he was off the bed and on his feet, padding towards the room he knew you were in to check up on you, worrying that the alcohol was making you feel sick and too weak to call for help.

He stopped right in front of the door, peeking through the little space you had left open unknowingly. You weren’t by the sink, that he could see clearly, nor by the toilet. Another gasp came from inside, followed by a broken “fuck” whispered to the air. Only in that moment his sleep drunk brain registered what was probably going on, but it was too late anyway, he had already pushed the door open a tad bit.

And there you were in all your half naked glory looking like an absolute wreck, body arching off the floor as your fingers pumped in and out of you at increasing speed, your orgasm clearly building quickly by the second. Jungkook gulped, hand squeezing the door to keep his body up as his eyes ran up and down your body shamelessly: head thrown back over the edge of the bathtub, eyes closed and lips parted in pleasure, your black dress crumpled and bunched around your waist that gave him the perfect view of your black thong messily pulled to the side to allow your fingers to work their magic, knowing exactly what felt good and what didn’t, thrusting and curling and stroking until your muscles spasmed repeatedly, body lifting briefly from the ground as you moaned loudly. A gush of clear fluids came spraying out of you, soaking your hand, your thighs, the pavement, even your thong. Jungkook’s eyes zeroed on it, quickly thinking of a way to have his hands on it before you could wash it.

His eyes scanned the room frantically while you recovered from the orgasm that had left you a whimpering and shaky mess, making it even harder for Jungkook to focus on his mission. He couldn’t get distracted, though, not when the prize was so damn high. Not when the mere thought had him squeeze his cock through his pants to relieve the throbbing, mouth watering as he imagined how good it would feel to have it in his hands.

His eyes fell to the two baskets under the sink, the ones where you two put your dirty clothes that had to be washed: one for you, one for him. He almost prayed out loud that you would throw the piece of garment in the basket, so that he could sneak in and take it with no problem whatsoever.

He was so focused on his little mission that he hadn’t even noticed your hands reaching for the hem of your dress, pulling it up and over your body then throwing it in said basket. He had to bite his lip in an attempt to not gasp as his gaze immediately snapped back to your oblivious figure now only covered by the skimpy thong, turned around and bent over the bathtub as you waited for the water to become warm before getting in.

“If I’m dreaming, please don’t wake me up,” he thought, feeling his briefs getting wetter by the second at the view of your perfect body now bent over in front of his own eyes. Images of him fucking you dumb right there flashed in his mind, clouding his senses with the hazy haste of lust.

His breath catches in his throat as he watches your fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and mindlessly throwing them away before getting in the bathtub, closing the curtains all around you.

Perfect.

He pushed the door open slowly, hoping it wouldn’t creak all of a sudden. Each step he took was precise, well thought, measured in pace and weight. He kind of felt like a ninja, or a thief trying to break into a bank to steal all the money stored. Except, his prize was worth more than a bank would ever offer to him, and way more rare, too.

His fingers reached for the fabric, wrapping around it before snatching it off the ground, quickly retreating back to his room all giddy and over the top. He didn’t even pay attention to the sound of his door locking behind his back, too caught up in his mind to notice it.

But you did. And you smirked, satisfied as you realized something.

The little mouse had fallen right into your trap.

Perfect.

© voitier 2025

other works here

part 2 here

[ssa-dado]

Burgandy Swim Cap

triathlon!Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: meet-a-cute but you're mainly just ogling at Hotch as he swims in a speedo. Summary: You know those encounters that last, like, five seconds where literally nothing happens but still manage to blossom into a full-blown crush? Yeah. That. Partly because you're chronically single. Partly because you’re starved for attention. Mostly because you saw him in a speedo. A tight speedo. A tight, half-metallic speedo. A tight, half-metallic, very low-waisted speedo. So really, it’s not a crush, it’s cause and effect. Also… he’s a dad. Too. Warnings: objectification of the Hotchner body (called out twice for not having an ass, affectionately), implied age gap, sexual jokes and cuss words Word Count: 4.7k Dado's Corner: I genuinely don’t know how to tag the reader... but she’s giving me fleabag energy… so, uhmmm, let’s roll with that. Huge thanks and smooches to @hotchology for developing and proofreading the snippets I dropped in your dms at 11 pm unprompted 🧎‍♀️

masterlist(s)

It’s not your fault you’re staring out the cafeteria window that just so happens to overlook the pool. You’re literally facing it. What else are you supposed to do - dislocate your neck inhumanly to look the other way?

That window was meant for people-watching.

Specifically, for anxious parents to spy on their kids mid-paddle without interrupting the lesson every time little Aiden coughs. It’s not your fault you’re childless and currently repurposing the feature to ogle burgundy-swim-cap guy in lane four.

You’re just… respecting the building’s original design intent.

You needed the distraction. Desperately.

Because beside you, your friend is once again delivering the extended director’s cut of that five-minute interaction with the guy she’s allegedly, absolutely, 100% over.

The conversation happened three months ago.

You know this.

Because she has broken it down line by line for three months.

Every pause. Every blink.

So maybe you are a bad friend. Possibly a terrible person. Because while she unpacks every microscopic detail of his “Oh, I’m sorry I stepped on your toe”, you’re mentally calculating burgundy-swim-cap guy’s exact height.

From twelve feet up. Through water. And glass.

And okay… maybe it’s not just the height.

Maybe it’s also the length of his... arms.

Arms.

His arms.

Long, sinuous things slicing through the water like art. Like poetry. Like that one ballet you pretended to enjoy but secretly napped through.

This is different. This is science. You’re just appreciating form. Physics. Hydrodynamics, anatomy, geometry… all the -ometrics.

You’re not objectifying. You’re observing. A selfless academic pursuit, really.

Especially when he glides under one, two, three lane dividers in a single breath, back muscles shifting and flexing with each kick.

And God… his back. You can’t stop staring at it.

Wide. Solid. Disproportionately large, especially considering the man has absolutely zero ass. None. Negative ass. Just ten uninterrupted feet of legs. Stunning.

But it’s the manners that do it.

Because the moment he reaches the ladder and sees the lady from lane one headed there too?

He pauses. Actually waits. Even though he got there first. Doesn’t try to squeeze past her or pretend he didn’t see - no, he stops.

Gives her space. Gestures her to go. Looks away, even.

Eyes politely drifting up the tiled wall, to the stands below you where the suburban invasion of moms has taken hold, to the bright flags swaying just behind the cafeteria window -

Until he lifts his head a little too high.

Fuck… did he just catch you mid-stare? You can’t tell. The goggles - those hideous, mirrored cheap goggles - reflect everything and nothing at once.

Maybe he sees you.

Maybe he doesn’t.

Maybe your face is just a blurry little ghost in his periphery.

Either way, your entire body goes hot and rigid. You peel your eyes away - casually, discreetly, nod to your friend to pretend you’re still listening to her - but not entirely.

You still watch. You have to.

Because he’s about to rise from the pool. And you need to see it.

For research purposes.

For the sacred cause of scientific accuracy. You have to confirm if your earlier measurements were correct the moment he steps out of the water.

They weren’t.

Because he’s bigger. So much bigger.

You can’t tell exactly by how much, though, because the moment his biceps flex - thick and veiny - as he hauls himself up the ladder, your brain just… packs its bags and leaves.

Bye.

All higher function is instantly rerouted to the way the water clings to him - refuses to let go, even gravity is struggling to move on.

(Honestly? Fair. You wouldn’t want to let go either… you’re actually kind of jealous.)

Jealous of how those droplets trace his body - how most of them drip obediently, following the grooves of his muscles, but some linger. They pool in the thick mat of dark curls across his chest, clinging for dear life.

And why wouldn’t they? He’s covered in them.

A slick, glistening mess of wet hair clings to his pecs - dark curls matted down and glinting under the pool lights, looking so soft and stupidly biteable you could probably get arrested just for thinking about it.

Then the curls start to gather. Real organized.

Forming this tidy relatively thin line that runs straight down the center of his chest, gliding over the elegant suggestion of abs - not shredded, but sculpted. Classy, if that’s even possible.

The line of hair dips past his belly button and practically screams into your long-gone neural functions: lick here.

(And you would. With honor. For science. For the flag.)

Because then the trail spreads at his waistband, curling out along his obliques, a pair of sirens luring you to the main event: his very, very low-waisted speedo.

Duo-chrome. Black and something... metallic. Wicked.

The black half pretends to behave.

It lies to your face, “Look at me, look at me,” it says. “I’m discreet. I’m functional. I’m keeping things tasteful.”

But it’s a filthy little traitor. Because right next to it, the metallic side is doing everything but staying subtle. It wasn’t camouflaging a damn thing.

Topography: fully visible. The contour. The definition. The godforsaken outline.

Traceable. With a pencil.

Or your tongue.

Preferably your tongue.

Preferably slow. Possibly kneeling. Definitely grateful.

Because whatever anatomical miracle is happening beneath that lycra – truly might be the eighth wonder of the world built between two hipbones.

These are sickeningly good dick proportions.

Burgandy Swim Cap guy peels off the ugly goggles.

Be fucking damned. That is a hell of a face.

The suction rings frame his eyes - tender little indents where he clearly strapped those goggles too tight.

He’s a try-hard.

A confirmed overachiever - you can tell. It’s in the way he did those laps earlier - efficient, ruthless, mechanical - and in the speed too. Like every stroke was on a timer. Like there was something at stake.

Is burgundy-swim-cap guy training for something?

Maybe he’s a professional swimmer.

Maybe he’s training for a triathlon. The 2012 Olympics in London. A shot at some world record no one else cares about.

Maybe he’s an eldest son.

Maybe he’s got a dad who never said “I’m proud of you” without a follow-up critique.

Maybe he’s still trying to earn praise that never came.

Maybe it’s daddy issues - maybe it’s mommy issues. Issues… in general.

Maybe he’s spent his whole life needing to be exceptional just to feel enough.

Maybe he’s been through a heartbreak. A divorce. A loss.

Maybe he just has a lot of feelings and refuses to talk about any of them unless he’s actively swimming them to death.

Or maybe he’s just that guy - the kind who doesn’t do anything unless he can do it at 120%, even when no one’s watching. Especially when no one’s watching.

Maybe he holds himself to impossible standards because he doesn’t know how not to. Who swims like this because it’s the one place he can fail in private.

Who knows. Who cares.

He’s just a guy.

A man.

A stranger you’ve never even spoken to.

You don’t know his name, his voice, anything.

And yet, there’s something about him.

Something in the slope of his nose, in the way his flushed cheeks are still chasing the rhythm of his pulse, in the rise and fall of his chest. It’s not bodybuilder-big, not exaggerated - but it feels massive.

Maybe it’s just because it’s him.

Because every breath he takes stretches that hairy chest just a little wider, a little broader, until the space around you feels like it’s shrinking, like there’s not enough air left in the room that isn’t his.

You’re fine. You are totally fine.

You’re also clenching your thighs for absolutely no reason. None.

Until - he removes the burgundy swim cap.

Now you do have a reason.

Because beneath it is this obscene head of raven-black hair.

Thick. Damp. Unruly.

Some of it’s clinging to his forehead, but the rest is sticking out in a thousand different directions like it doesn’t give a single shit about streamlining or aerodynamics.

He looks deliciously messy.

But he doesn’t let it stay.

No, he runs his hand through it almost immediately, slicking it back, a man who cannot stand the chaos of hair across his eyes, he can’t stand being out of place.

Control freak. Freak in general.

That tracks.

Still hot.

Hotter.

And still, he doesn’t play to the crowd.

He could - he should - scan the room, make eye contact, maybe throw in a wink or a casual flex. He could at least give a nod to the fact that half the people on this side of the glass are currently 1,461 words deep into mentally drafting smutty fiction with him as the main character.

But no.

He just looks down, slides into his pathetic little (from where you’re standing… sitting.) pool slippers, and rushes toward the changing rooms like he’s late to something.

A loser. An absolute loser.

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

You’re completely captivated - so much so that, when your friend finally finishes her emotional postmortem and disappears down the corridor toward the pool, you subtly change seats to get a better view of the hallway.

A strategic move, just in case burgundy-swim-cap guy decides he’s earned a post-swim coffee after all that aquatic foreplay you projected onto him from the safety of your horny little imagination.

Well. You’re getting coffee, at least. You deserve a reward. A hot, mildly burnt one.

You’ve been through a lot.

Except it’s possibly the worst line you’ve ever stood in because you had the genius idea to go for caffeine at the exact same time the children’s swim class ended.

Now you’re trapped - shoulder to shoulder with a damp, shrieking mob of underdeveloped humans all demanding hot dogs, pizza, cheeseburgers, and, from the look in one child’s eyes, possibly the cashier’s soul.

You’ve entered a purgatory of sticky fingers and pure indecision, where time slows and the line somehow clogs even more with every passing second.

It’s not their fault - children are absolute demons in Crocs. They don’t know what they want. They pause. They backtrack.

One child is negotiating for “just the cheese from the cheeseburger, but on a hot dog bun,” and you are watching, in real time, the unraveling of Western civilization.

…You hate that you respect the innovation.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You just really, really don’t want to miss Burgundy Swim Cap Guy if he happens to pass by - maybe in jeans, maybe (if there’s any justice left in the universe) grey sweatpants, or a hoodie two sizes too big.

Something casual. Unassuming.

Something that dares to cover everything you now know is under there - and somehow makes it worse.

Something that’s the reason your mouth is dry and you’re stuck in this line, mentally begging for something warm to wrap your lips around and feel vaguely hydrated again.

You’re trying to be patient. You’re trying not to hate the one kid crying because his juice is too red and his dad fumbling with his wallet.

You’re a monster. The worst kind of person.

These kids are innocent.

They’re not responsible for the slow-burn, will-they-won’t-they fantasy you’ve constructed entirely in your touch-starved brain - just to distract yourself from the fact that you haven’t been held in actual, human arms in months, your last situationship ended because they “forgot they weren’t single,” the closest thing you’ve had to intimacy this year was a barista remembering your name – once - and, okay, technically there was also that one time a man with a van asked if you “liked adventure,” but you don’t count that unless you're feeling especially pathe-

“That’ll be $2.50,” says the cashier.

Snaps you instantly back to the cruel reality where the only thing you're taking home tonight is a stupid plastic bracelet that’s already cutting into your wrist and the lingering scent of disinfectant.

(Good luck taking that away.)

You hand him a twenty.

He looks at you, deadpan, like he’s about to ask if your sad little wallet also holds the answer to the mental math problem he just did in half a second - the kind of calculation only a man with a degree in math or engineering could do, now tragically stuck working in a depressing public pool cafeteria.

Not even a cool street café. No latte art. No jazz music. Just chlorine and despair.

You give him a sheepish half-smile.

The twenty is all you had.

Okay - technically you had 50 cents too.

Maybe.

In loose change that’s probably fused with gum wrappers and lint at the bottom of your bag but explaining that feels like a one-way ticket to having a burnt cappuccino tossed in your face.

It’s 2011. Surely cafeterias still carry change.

…Apparently not.

“Card?” he asks.

You have exactly $1.78 on your card. You know this because you checked this morning, like the responsible adult you pretend to be.

This is bad.

This is humiliating.

This is the exact kind of character-building moment that turns into a core memory your brain will randomly replay at 3 a.m. for the next seven years.

The kids behind you are screaming. (Except one. One child is calmly and confidently negotiating a pizza-inside-a-burger situation with his father, who looks like he lost custody in the divorce and also in this conversation.)

And then there are the dads, too. You can feel them. Judging you.

You don’t even need to turn around.

Which is a shame, really. Because you love dads. You’re hopelessly, helplessly, filthily attracted to dads.

Hot dads? Daddy dads? Men with crow’s feet and deep voices who say things like “I’ll take care of it” and mean it? Slightly emotionally unavailable men with strong forearms, guilt complexes, and unresolved trauma they process exclusively through precision lawn edging and Sunday barbecue duty?

Inject that straight into your bloodstream.

You want them tired. You want them emotionally repressed. You want them to carry patio furniture like it weighs nothing and grunt when they sit down. You want to be a problem.

But these dads?

Their suburban dad disapproval is so potent it might as well be playing on loop over the intercom right between announcements for lost goggles and swim meet fundraisers.

These dads would ask about your five-year plan, nod thoughtfully, then ghost you via a LinkedIn message.

These dads are not for you.

These dads can go.

And so you panic. Sweat. Freeze. Until-

A hand.

A large hand.

Chubby-fingered, hairy, left-handed and wrapped in the crisp white cuff of a very expensive white shirt, peeking out from an even more expensive black suit jacket.

There’s a Rolex on his wrist. A real one.

That same hand, gentle and unbothered, slides a credit card (which looks comically small in those thick fingers, by the way) right into the reader, where $2.50 is already floating on the screen.

“I got it,” says a voice.

Oh.

Oh no.

It’s deep. Unreasonably deep. The kind of voice that should be illegal before noon.

And soft, too, absurdly soft for how deep it is because the vibrations travel straight from your ear to your… there. There, there.

You turn. Slowly.

And there he is.

A man.

(Surprise!)

Not just a man – a Man. Capital M, bolded, underlined, possibly trademarked if your bank account could handle the licensing fee.

He’s in a suit. In a full suit. Black jacket. White shirt. Burgundy tie.

You blink… wait is that- no way.

It’s him.

It’s Burgundy Swim Cap Guy.

Now in Burgundy Tie.

He matched.

Goddamn it. What a loser. What a hot, meticulous loser.

Oh, Burgundy Swim Cap man.

Yeah, let’s get that correction in there. Man.

Because up close, in proper daylight and expensive tailoring, he’s clearly way older than he looked in the pool. Deliciously older kind of old.

… And here you thought he was your age. (You were wrong. Again.)

All the better.

You barely recognize him in this polished version of himself - drenched in a cologne that costs more than your monthly grocery budget and somehow isn’t obnoxious.

It’s that expensive.

It’s not that aquatic bullshit guys in finance wear.

No. It’s warm. Inviting. Woodsy. A little smoky.

Expensive in the way that makes you want to bury your face in his neck and inhale until you black out while pretending you weren’t about to fall in love over his clavicle. (Yeah… too specific?)

And beneath it - just a trace - chlorine.

God help you.

You’re going to die here.

He even has a cowlick. A perfectly smoothed cowlick.

The kind that clearly took time, effort, wrist action, and probably a round brush.

He blow-dries.

He has a routine. A regimen. He has systems.

He’s probably terrifying in the morning. The kind of man who folds things. The kind who knows where his passport is right now.

Now, now.

But now he’s looking at you, brows thick, slightly furrowed.

Do you have something on your face? No. Can’t be.

No, you’ve just been staring at him like a feral raccoon. You still haven’t spoken.

…right.

“…Thank you,” you manage, barely audible - just as his phone starts ringing in his jacket pocket.

Drowned out by technology. Your gratitude swallowed by a default ringtone, who would have ever guessed.

He pulls the phone out, and just before he lifts it to his ear, you catch something - someone’s voice on the other end. A name? His? Yes they’re calling him it must’ve been his. Something clipped, ending in -chh or -shhh.

Josh?

Oh. Huh.

…Kind of disappointing.

You thought his name would be more... posh. Like something that comes with personalized cufflinks and generational trauma

….but Josh? That’s a guy who texts “you up?” at 11:48 PM from his blackberry pearl.

You hoped for more… syllables.

Whatever. What really surprises you is that Burgundy Swim Cap Man-slash-Josh-slash-Posh doesn’t say a word during the call. Not one.

He just holds the phone to his ear and stares - intensely - at a spot inside the glass food display. Not blinking. Not moving.

You’re genuinely concerned for the sandwich he’s glaring at. (It’s about five seconds away from bursting into flames.)

And you - you ache for that stare.

You want it on you. Burn it into your skin. You’d commit actual, punishable crimes for that kind of violent visual attention.

“Garcia, send me the files. We’ll brief the team as soon as I arrive,” he says - voice all business, clipped, calm, so authoritative it almost makes you bite your lip on reflex.

Then the phone disappears back into his pocket like it’s never existed, and without missing a beat: “An Americano, please.”

…Why doesn’t this surprise you? Could he be any more predictably boring? Go on, order a plain bagel and a side of unseasoned guilt while you’re at it.

But his eyes flick to the pastry shelf instead.

Brows furrow, slightly, sexily, offensively; he’s clearly doing some kind of emotional calculus about whether his swim earned him the moral right to a treat.

(He probably didn’t get many growing up.)

“And, uh… can I get the rainbow muffin to go?” he says, pointing with his chubby index finger toward the kids' menu.

You follow it (like an idiot).

And there it is. The muffin. Rainbow-sprinkled. Rainbow dough. Probably tastes like chemical vanilla. Pastel wrapper. Comes with a bubble blower, too.

A muffin. With a toy.

…This man.

You hate him. You want him. You’d marry him on sight.

He picks up the phone again. Dials. Calm. Efficient.

“Hey, can you pass me to Jack?” he says.

The frown - just a flicker ago, all sharp lines and no-nonsense jaw - melts. His face softens like he’s been flipped to a different setting and you actually flinch a little because how is that the same face?

“Hey, buddy.”

Oh. God, his voice. It goes soft. Stupidly soft.

“I’ve gotta be at work a little earlier today,” he murmurs, gently gripping the phone. “But I got you something… did you finish your homework?”

May you be absolutely, irreparably damned.

He’s a dad.

“Good job, buddy. I’m coming home soon, okay? Got you a surprise,” He glances down at the rainbow muffin. A little fond. A little sad, even. “Yes, you can do movie night with Aunt Jessica if I don’t manage to be there tonight…”

You wander how many other movie nights he missed.

“Yes, buddy,” he chuckles (you want to bite through drywall), “No, I didn’t forget the popcorn this time. You can have them with Aunt Jessica, she knows where they are… Yes, with salted caramel too. But don’t eat too much, alright?”

He pauses. Adds, with a soft little dad scold, “Make Aunt Jessica have some too this time. Save a few for Daddy, okay?”

Daddy.

Your knees give out.

No, not literally. You keep standing. But spiritually? Morally? Muscularly? You’ve dropped to the floor.

And then, casually, cruelly, he reaches for his coffee. With his ringless - yes, ringless - hand.

Not that you’re thinking about it. Not that you noticed. Not that you checked. Twice.

“Alright, buddy, I gotta go,” he says. His voice lowers again, not serious, just softer. Like he doesn’t want to hang up but he’s used to having to. “I’ll see you tonight. Be good, okay?” And then he smiles. To his phone. Like his whole face is a love letter.

Dimples. Of course. Of course this man has dimples. A loser dad with dimples.

“Love you too, bud”

And that’s it.

Phone call over.

You should walk away. You want to walk away.

But now you’re locked in that awkward limbo of mutual acknowledgment - the cursed micro-social contract that binds all humans in public spaces: you made eye contact, you must now exchange a minimum of one sentence to confirm shared reality.

He turns to you.

You are sweating. You are visibly short-circuiting.

No one is saying anything.

Fuck.

You shouldn’t have listened to his very personal call to his very personal son.

You shouldn’t have looked.

You shouldn’t have stared so hard you could recite the ingredients list on that muffin.

Fuck.

His shoulders look even broader in the suit.

Not just handsome - no, broad. Imposing.

Too bad the slacks are hiding his massi-

“The bubble blower’s for my kid,” he says, suddenly.

A preemptive strike. A full-grown man in what has to be his mid-40s, clarifying that he is not, in fact, personally invested in aquatic toy acquisition.

Funny, though - he didn’t feel the need to defend the rainbow pastry.

Interesting.

Bad for him.

“The muffin’s for the dad instead?” You nod toward the sad pastel pile in his hand.

(You’re a bit of a mean flirt - not because you’re heartless, but because it’s the only way you know how to hold on to a little power when someone makes your brain turn to mush.)

If you can’t stop yourself from falling for them, at least you can make sure they’re a little off-balance, too.

“If the dad’s lucky, he’ll probably get just a bite,” he replies, deadpan - like, completely expressionless except for the slight raise of his eyebrows at the end. You don’t even know where the voice came from. His mouth barely moved.

…Ventriloquism, probably.

Then he glances down at the linoleum floor. Smiles, almost shy.

“My son has a sweet tooth.”

Fucking hell.

This man is gushing about his kid to a total stranger in a pool cafeteria. No hesitation. No shame.

You are two seconds away from him flipping open his photo gallery and showing you twenty-five nearly identical pictures of a child covered in chocolate frosting, all while holding the phone in those massive hands.

God, his hands.

You really need to stop noticing them.

“Get a muffin for yourself too,” you say, tossing it out like a joke. Half-meaning it. Mostly-meaning it.

He chuckles, raises a hand, shaking his head. “Oh no…”

“Scared of food coloring?”

“No, no,” he laughs again. “Just…” He shrugs. Doesn’t finish. Leaves it there, hanging.

Is it because he doesn’t think he deserves a little treat?

Or because he’s afraid of getting that crisp, probably dry-clean-only shirt stained with rainbow frosting?

“How much is one rainbow muffin?” you ask the cashier.

(You two are best friends in your head now.)

He barely looks up. Dead inside. “One seventy.”

(This friendship might be one-sided.)

You blink.

$1.70 for frozen dough and a toy that doubles as a choking hazard… meanwhile, your cappuccino cost more than a gallon of gas.

Fucked up economy for real.

Then you glance at the cashier’s hands… he’s already typing it in.

Okay. Take it back.

That’s the real sign of late-stage capitalism: rainbow muffin doesn’t even require your consent to be rung up… but hey, at least you can afford it.

You’ve never been happier to be $1.70 poorer in your entire adult life.

You pull out your card.

He notices.

He pulls his, too.

Two cards. One slit. (Now this reminds you of your browser history from last night-)

“No, please, I got it,” he says - again.

Oh no, a damsel mustn’t pay for herself. (You hate him. You want to climb him like a tree.)

Watch her do it anyway. With confidence and $1.78 in her account.

You both arrive at the card reader at the exact same time.

Hands bump. Wrists brush. The tension is… stupid.

It’s awkward. It’s ridiculous. It’s… romantic?

Maybe.

Or maybe you’re just touch-starved.

Still-

You win.

Swipe clean. Transaction approved.

Victory, feminism, and low blood sugar all in one swipe.

“Enjoy the bubbles,” you say, smiling as you hand him the pastry and the overpriced soapy water.

He takes it, eyes flicking between you and the muffin, and for a second he gives you that look.

That slightly tired, slightly amused look men give right before they tell you you’ve done something reckless. Or charming. Or both.

He looks like he’s about to scold you. Fatherly. Disgustingly (hot).

He doesn’t.

“Sure,” he says, deadpan. “I’ll cherish them.” (Who even uses ‘cherish’ in the 21st century?!) And then, at the very end of it, a smile. Small. Real.

He opens his mouth again, “I-”

A breath.

“I have to go.”

One last smile. Quick. Tight.

And he’s already turning. Already halfway to the exit.

You stare.

Helpless.

Unwell.

For a second, you hope this modern-day Cinderella in a suit might drop one of his wildly expensive Italian leather dress shoes so you’ll have something to hunt him down with across D.C.

Track him by scent and shoe size.

But no. The shoe stays on.

He probably triple-knots them like the terrifying overachiever he is.

He does stop, though - just for a second - to check the time on his very expensive Rolex.

Hot. Unforgivably hot.

This brief, chaotic muffin-flavored detour has probably set him back exactly one minute and twenty-one seconds, and you know he’s internally recalculating his entire schedule down to the microsecond.

And yes, the panic is subtle. But it’s there.

In the clench of his jaw. The twitch of his temple. That microscopic furrow in his brow that says: How dare I entertain myself with flirtatious nonsense when I have 7,000 emails to check by 5 P.M.

Incredible. You’ve rattled a man with a watch that costs more than your rent. You’ve won.

You are going to be insufferable about this when your friend finishes her class.

Forget “stepped on your toe” guy. That man is dead to the narrative.

This dad is going to be the main character of every single conversation you have for the next four months.

You will tell her everything. Every glance. Every gesture. The muffin. The bubble blower. The nonexistent ass. From the moment you first locked eyes with this burgundy-swim-cap man named-

“…Aaron,” the cashier mutters.

You blink. “What?”

“That’s his name,” he says flatly. “Aaron. He comes here a lot.”

The cashier really doesn’t get paid enough for this.

Aaron.

Wow.

Two syllables.

“FBI,” he even adds casually, like it’s no big deal, as he hands a slice of pizza tucked inside a cheeseburger to a damp-haired five-year-old.

So.

Aaron owns a pair of handcuffs.

Government-issued. Handcuffs.

That tracks.

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[pedge-page]

Will hubby be jelly beans if wifey accidentally meets her ex/ some guy hit on her ????

Joel dealing with Wifey: The Ex

When you had come home with Sarah from a grocery trip, Joel could immediately sense something was … off.

You seemed a little distracted.

“How was the store?” He asks curiously, helping to unload.

You were staring off into the living room, a faint smile still stained on your lips.

“Baby?”

“Huh?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” You shake your head. “Was good!”

He nods, unconvinced. He continues digging in the bags, unloading the meats and cheeses, veggies, all while you fiddled with the wrapping of a bag.

And then you had the audacity to giggle. Out of no where. And NOT from something he said or did.

That was never a good sign.

“Forgot the potato salad,” he says quietly.

“Oh!” You check the bags again. “Shoot, sorry. I got… carried away at the store.”

He nods again, looking down. Shitshitshit. He needs to know what happened at the store!

When you go upstairs, Joel waits for you to close the bathroom door before fishing in his garage drawer for a sparkly pink device with princesses all over its square body: a walkie talkie set.

“Big Bird to Little Bird. Report in—over."

Sarah, still in her room, rushes to her toy chest, tossing things out until she gets the matching talkie. She flip on her receiver. “oh--Hi Daddy!"

"It’s Big Bird, remember? Code names only on this channel—over."

"Oh sorry. Big Bird."

"Its ok babygirl, tell me—“

"Code names!"

"Right, Little BIrd. I need ya to report on what happened at the grocery store today. Did something happen to Mommy? Over.”

Her voice comes over muffled. “Mmmm. I don’t remember I was playing with my barbie—Over.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Remember we talked about being observant? Over.”

“Yeah. Um… let’s see…” she puts her finger on her chin. “Oh she met someone!”

Joel narrows his eyes. “Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Boy!”

Oh crap. Joel puts his hands on his hips, glancing back up the stairwell. What guy could possibly get you so easily out of sorts like this? “What he look like?”

“Uhhhhh. Tall. He was like. Big. But not too big. But like. Bigger than me? Over.”

“So an adult?”

“Yeah!”

Christ she’s not good at this, he shakes his head.

“What did they talk about? Did he say his name?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I don’t remember what they said. But I think his name was John?”

“John? Repeat.”

“No was it Chris? Uhhh maybe it was uhhhh—“

Joel just stood there, palm on his forehead, waiting for her to settle on that very short memory.

“Oh! Marcus!”

“Marcus,” he repeats. Have you ever mentioned a Marcus? He would remember. right? And it couldn’t have been some distant friend at work either. You wouldn’t be this giddy over someone Joel doesn’t already know.

“Little Bird, I’ve got a new assignment for you--over.”

-

Sarah creeps over to the entrance of the master bathroom, perching herself at the cracked door. “I’m here—Over,” she whispers into the receiver.

“Ok good.” Joel cups his hand over the mic, safely standing at his work bench. “Now Momma’s gonna hop on a call with Auntie Maria pretty soon. Need ya to listen closely. She’ll tell her about what happened today.”

Sarah nods. “Got it. over.”

You’re busy sorting your makeup into your drawers, oblivious to the spying plot outside the room. 

Joel knew you were more likely to share gossip with Maria, especially if it’s something you wouldn’t immediately tell him. But he had to ensure you would feel alone so that he wasn’t going to accidentally eaves drop, and his big clunky shoes trotting up the stairs would have given him away.

So he settled for lighter, smaller steps in the form of the biggest nosey queen: Sarah.

On cue, your phone buzzes on the countertop.

“Hey! Oh my god guess who I ran into today??” You whisper excitedly.

Sarah couldn’t hear Maria’s responses on the other end, but she tries her best to make out your words.

“Marcus!” You exclaim. 

“Dad—Big Bird,” Sarah whispers.

“Yeah? What ya got?”

“His name was definitely Marcus.”

He rolls his eyes. “Ok ok, anything else? Who is he?”

“I’m listening. Over.”

You pace around the room, continuing your chat with Maria. “You didn’t know him at this point. I mean this was a long time ago. Do you remember I told you about him?”

There’s some muffled noise on the other end.

Then, you answer. “You know…”you voice gets as low as possible as you tell her…

Sarah gasps loudly into the walkie talkie receiver.

“What? What is it?” Joel asks fearfully.

"She said Marcus was her—wait can I say a bad word?”

“What? No--yes! go ahead just say—“

“You won’t get mad?”

“I won’t get mad Sarah just tell Daddy what Mommy said.”

“Mommy's...first BOYFRIEND.”

He should feel a little relieved that Sarah has learned “boyfriend” to be a banned word in the house, but the frozen chill that travels from his ear all throughout his nervous system sets him on reset mode.

“Hello? Daddy?”

But he doesn’t reply. 

You go on to tell  Maria: “He looks really good now. All those pimples completely cleared up.  Anyway he asked—“

Sarah whispers urgently over the receiver : “She said he asked to go out to lunch with her!”

You listen to Maria for a second, and Joel can hear your voice carry over faintly:

 “I don’t know. I didn’t tell him. I’m worried. You know how he gets. I don’t know how to tell Joel…”

 The last part came in fuzzy. “Sarah, what’s going on?”

She crackles in. “Oh she’s hanging up now!”

Joel shakes himself. “Abort. Get out of there now!”

Sarah closes the talkie, tucking it into her belt and does a cartwheel out the bedroom door just as you step out the bathroom, none the wiser.

When the little girl rushes down the stairs, she goes straight to the garage, closing the door behind her with heavy breathing.

“Were you seen?” He asks urgently.

She shakes her head, still panting.

Joel just sighs. 

Well. Shit.

-

 His fist clenched the steering wheel even tighter than before. Jaw set in his best attempt to look normal. And failing miserably.

“You okay baby?”

Joel just swallows the bile in his throat. “Everything’s great,” he grunts with a frown.

You nod. He definitely seemed a bit…off—

NO FUCKING SHIT HE’S OFF, he’s saying in his head. 

See, you eventually did approach Joel about the man at the grocery store. But what scared him a little was that you had said, “Marcus, my old friend.”

Friend.

Not ‘first boyfriend.’

not even 'ex boyfriend.'

Friend.

You specifically only told Joel he was your friend. Who invited you both for lunch. As a friend.

So yes, he’s filled with rage and confusion and fear and protectiveness and vulnerability and—

“He’d totally love you. I could see you two being friends.”

Oh Joel’s gonna make sure this Marcus never sees the light of day when he’s through with him.

You arrive at the spot: a little cafe in town. Chipper and bright. Perfect for a lunch date.

Date.

You brought your husband to your date. With another man.

He glances at you, your smiling face looking around, unaware of the bull at your grasp.

He closes his hand around yours tighter.

Then, his heart strains as you call out and wave: “Marcus!”

He’s exactly as Joel pictured: tall and slender, wearing tight and navy washed jeans, clean shoes, a plain top, a good looking but slightly rustic leather jacket, smooth faced and a neatly trimmed haircut. He stood up tall and with a great warm welcoming smile, with great teeth as he spotted you.

The man screamed office worker.

The exact opposite of Joel.

You rush up to him and go for a hug. 

Joel has to remember to not blow out his jaw yet. At least, not in public. He did spot a dumpster around the corner of the previous alleyway. Perhaps if Joel just asked Marcus to help him with his truck there…

“And this is my husband, Joel!”

The high pitched siren ringing in his ears suddenly desist, as he realizes you’re both staring at him expectedly.

“Joel,” he repeats his name with a nod.

You give him a slight confused look, smile faltering only slightly. 

Ever the gentleman, Marcus extends his large meaty hand (ugh shit maybe you do have a type) to Joel. That big smug—what Joel thinks is smug but is genuinely a kind smile—grin waiting on him.

Joel cracks his arm to life, freeing it from its stiffened place at his side and clasping Marcus’s hand—very very very firmly.

“Nice to meet the guy that finally made this one happy,” he teases nicely before slapping a hand on his biceps.

Joel’s eyelid flickered for a moment, a twinge of rage surfacing briefly. He surprises it with an extremely strained smirk. “And you are? Sorry. M’wife never mentioned ya before.”

You giggle, embarrassed. “Joel I totally did.”

“Ya didn’t.”

“I—I did.”

He shakes his head, staring at Marcus. “No, no, think I’d remember someone like this.”

You take a deep breath through your nose. What is with you? You’re shouting through your eyeballs.

He narrows his eyes at you.

Marcus can sense the awkward tension before speaking up. “I have a table if you’d both like to sit down?”

You order some water to start off. Joel a beer.

His hand squeezes yours, buried in his lap. He’d even hooked the legs of your chair so that it scraped a little closer to him, practically sitting on top of him rather than in an even 3 point circular table.

Marcus pressed his lips together. Oh boy…

“So uh…where ya from, Max?”

“It’s Marcus, Joel,” you remind him sternly.

“Sorry baby. Forgive me, Marc, new faces get blurred together when ya never hear bout them.”

He ignores the way you stomp your foot over his boot.

“Um…Yeah I’m from California actually.”

He leans back in his chair a little to cavalier, taking a sip of his bottle. “Yeah? Seems like it.”

You and Marcus turn your heads on Joel.

“Accent. Can’t ya hear it?” He coughs, clearing his name.

“Texas, born and raised, am I right?” Marcus quips. Clearly no longer pretending to fall for Joel’s fake attempts at a kind tone.

“S’right. This town right here. Whole life.”

“Yeah I bet. Let me guess… plumber?”

“Construction, actually,” Joel corrects him with a matter-of-fact snarl. “Huh let me think… college? Got a masters in … business finance?”

“Criminology.”

“Oh sure. Crying’ need for that.”

“Does a good job at keeping family’s safe in the city. Women especially.”

“I Keep mine just fine.”

“Yeah? Bet a hammer works real good in defense—“

“You bet it does, want a personal demonstration?” They’re practically standing over the table, faces a mere inches at one another.

“Joel,” you snap loudly. 

He turns down to you, only to instantly get cold feet. Ears burning red, he wipes his nose, breaking the tension and setting back into his chair softly like a scolded puppy. 

-

Joel sits in the passenger seat of the truck, slumped down. He knows he messed up. Looking outside, he sees you talking to Marcus, who’s got his arms folded over his chest. You’re clearly apologizing, cleaning up Joel’s mess. He feels awful that you’ve gotten used to doing that so often. You were right to be worried with Maria. 

You can’t trust him to behave. 

He looks away when Marcus hugs you, his soft smile returning. Something does bubble in Joel’s stomach as he watches him cup your cheek, wiping a stray treat that had fallen. 

It aches in his chest unlike anything he’s ever experienced. 

With a very small kiss to your cheek, you hug him again and wave goodbye, walking back to the truck.

Joel tries to look busy, fiddling with the loose button on his flannel as you slam the creaky door closed, the two of you sitting in silence for a moment.

“I’m…” he clears his throat. “I’m really sorry, baby.”

You just close your eyes. “What did Sarah tell you?”

Joel’s eyes go wide. “I don’t—“

“I know she’s your little sidekick. What did she say.”

“Said…said he was ya first boyfriend…”

Before you could even respond, Joel starts rambling: “I hate it, the way he looks at ya and how clean and good mannered he looks, and ya inviting me to meet your ‘friend’ when you damn well know he’s an ex? do you know how that makes me feel, angel? I’d do anything for ya, but this? I couldn’t keep my head on straight just thinkin’… wonderin’ what else you… you might be hiding from me, behind my back, n I—“

You let out a strained snort, barely contained. When he stops to look at you, you finally cackle.

“This ain’t funny, I—“ he protests.

You silence him by grabbing the back of his head and bringing him close to seal your lips over his.

He breathes in your scent, melting at the soft vanilla taste of your lip moisturizer he just bought you.

When you break, he blinks hazily. “That…I…I’m--“

You put your finger over his plush lips, humming shhhh.

Joel’s puppy eyes, the ones you’ve fallen head over heels in love with since day one, glance back at you expectedly.

“Rule number one: no more asking Sarah to play spy on me.”

He grumbles but nods.

“Rule number two: you ask me directly what’s on your mind.”

“Still don’t explain why ya called him a friend and didn’t tell me we were meetin your ex—“

“Joel.”

“Baby.”

“Joel.”

“Honey.”

“Joel.”

He sighs, his shoulders sagging. “Yes?”

“First of all, I did tell you about Marcus.”

He furls his brows. “Wh--no. No ya didn’t.”

"I did. And you didn’t remember, because you had already dismissed him from being a threat. Yeah. Yeah I know how you assess each guy I’ve ever mentioned.”

He sits back a bit in his chair. “So… Remind me again… Marcus…?”

“Yeah, I told Maria that he was technically my first boyfriend. But I wouldn’t even go as far to call him that, let alone an ex.”

“Oh hell, baby are you about to tell me you been seein’ him this whole time—!?”

You put your finger to his lips again. “As incredible of a husband you are, you’re really bad at listening.”

He nods. “M’sorry. Ya yap a lot. Go on.”

You give him a very warning look before continuing: “Marcus and I were boyfriend and girlfriend for about 8 days in the 3rd grade before he said he’d give me his fruit snacks, but then ditched me to go give them to Lilly instead.”

Joel blinks. “What?”

“You definitely know the Lilly story. Fuckin’ Lilly,” you spat venomously at the mention.

“Fuckin’ Lilly,” he repeated, because yes he absolutely did remember this story, and your life long vendetta against her.

“Maria jokes that he was my ‘first boyfriend’ because I cried in the bathroom until my mom had to pick me up in the middle of the day. I told her this story and she busted out laughing. Said I was a sensitive little bitch back then."

Right. 'Back then', he thinks silently.

“So—“ he doesn’t even know how to process— “So—“

“So… Marcus is genuinely an old friend. We went to 8th grade homecoming together where he gave me crackers and we laughed about it. I haven’t seen him in literal in decades, baby.”

He falls back in his seat completely, looking out the windshield. “Why don’t I remember this?”

“I told you: you didn’t think he was ever gonna be competition, so you didn’t commit this to memory. You just do what a good husband does: nods, rubs my feet, and says ‘girl that’s crazy’ like 5 times.”

“I…I…” his head slams back to the headrest. “I feel like a complete fool.”

“Yeah. You looked like one.”

“He… he was just…”

“Just wanted to get to know you. See the guy who makes me smile every day and has never made me cry.” You caress his gray and brown whiskers on his cheek with a soft smile. “Well, aside from tears of joy. Or hunger.”

He giggles, feeling a little better. You take his fist and press it to your lips, then unfold his burly fingers and kiss his thick palm too.

“Besides, he’s nothing like my type,” you whisper sensually, eye fucking him up and down with your lower lip bit under your teeth.

“Yeah. What’s those city hands gonna do, anyway? Type ya up a report about the new kitchen ya want?” He smirks proudly to himself. Joel always took pride in his handy worked.

Taking a deep breath, he clasps his hand over yours. “I’m sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to let it get out of hand like that.”

You raise your brow.

“Okay okay, I’m sorry for overreacting an bein’ a jealous bastard.”

God, those puppy eyes. He gets ya real good. “Thank you, bubba. Now you gotta go apologize to him.”

Joel cocks his head incredulously. “No I think I’m good. ‘nough embarrassment from me today—“

You’re reaching over his lap and opening the door handle, shoving his body out the truck and closing the door behind him.

You give him two thumbs up.

Joel grunts, rolling his eyes. Marcus is thanking the waiter and gathering his keys when Joel intercepts him.

“Listen I—I uh…”

Marcus folds his arms across his chest, standing up tall to listen to him.

He clears his throat. “I just—look I’m not—she’s…when I’m with…”

But the other man just smirks before putting his hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it. She’s worth defending.”

Joel and him both look back to you in the truck: you’re currently unraveling a snickers bar from the glove compartment and swaying your body to the blasting music, using the bar as a mic as you sing along.

The two men gaze upon you fondly. 

But Joel’s head snaps back, eyes narrow. “S’that supposed to mean—“

“Hey man, Its alright. I meant, she’s a good friend. I’ve got nothin goin with her. All good.” 

The two stand there quietly for a moment, and Joel’s about to take his leave when Marcus adds:

“She…used to be shy.”

Joel pauses, thinking hard about it.

Marcus continues, “Like didn’t feel comfortable in her skin when we were still kids. I think she was kinda like a lost puppy. So its—its nice to see her so comfortable with you. Like, genuinely her. Happy. Loved. Cared. She deserves that. I think you’re…I can tell: you’re good for her. In a way I don’t think she’s ever had with someone else. I mean, just look—“

They both look again at you, your tongue swiping chocolate over your lips like a messy toddler.

Joel can feel his heart swoon again. That’s my girl, he thinks warmly.

“Well uh, listen, thank you for meeting up with her again. Meant a lot. If ya wanted…you could come over the house any time. She… we’d love to have you for dinner.”

“I’d like that. Would love to see your home especially. I’m not very handy with … building stuff so…that’d be cool to learn something.”

Joel is absolutely beaming at that. “You got a deal.” 

They shake hands and depart.

You turn down the music as he slides back into the truck. There’s a little bit of a glow to Joel that’s beaming off him, something that had been missing all day.

“I’m so proud of you my little puppy!” You exclaim, ruffling his hair like a dog.

He just stares at you. All of you. Inside and out. He almost forgot, but there was a brief time when he knew you, and you were a bit like Marcus described. Today? You’ve still got chocolate on your cheek as you smile with the biggest teeth, so touchy and loud, unafraid to voice yourself and stand your ground, never take no for an answer, defend and protect, but love and follow dearly.

Did he… do that?

“Come on, cowboy. Let’s go home.” You turn the key in the ignition and back out of the spot.

“Home,” he repeats. But his home is right here, holdin’ your hand in his lap like it’s the most precious piece of him.

Because you are.

- - - -

Taglist:

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[athenalvss]

DRAMATIC ( wally west )

summary: Wally is completely devastated cause the girl he likes is talking to another boy, and the girl he likes is devastated cause she thinks Wally is in love with someone else.

pairing: wally west x fem!reader

note: I used a nickname for the reader cause i feel weird writing yn. Whatever, feel free to make any kind of request, I really have fun doing this.

open request — dc masterlist

It all started with a hug, something normal for everyone, but not for Wally West.

For Wally, it was a scene straight out of a romantic tv show, one of those you watched with your grandmother when you went to visit her. You were standing at the school gates, laughing with a tall boy, that was bad enough, but the worst was when he messed up your hair.

And you... you laughed. YOU LAUGHED! As if a catastrophic event hadn't just happened in front Wally's eyes, and it got worse when the boy put an arm around your shoulders and you didn't take it away.

"I'm dead," he muttered as he hid behind a column. "I'm not the protagonist of her story. I'm the cool, handsome friend who appears in the post credits scene."

And without looking back, he ran off until he reached the young league. A red blur crossed half the city until he arrived. Wally appeared in the training room as if he had run from another dimension.

"GUYS, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!!" he shouted, dramatically throwing himself onto a mat. "A big, big problem!"

Dick raised an eyebrow, without looking up from the screen. "We have? Did something happen with Spidey?"

"My heart's broken!" Wally crawled onto his back, staring at the ceiling as if the universe had just kicked him in the heart. "She was with someone else! He hugged her! And he touched her hair! You know who does that? LOVE INTERESTS IN ROMCOMS!! I'm losing, guys!"

Kaldur appeared in the doorway with a towel over his shoulder. "Why are you always so dramatic?"

"I'm not dramatic! My feelings and my heart are shattered!" Wally sat up, dramatic as ever. "I'm never going to have a story with a soundtrack and a happy ending!"

"Maybe if you would stop spying on her from behind columns..."

"I DIDN'T SPY HER! I was just… discreetly watching from a distance to make sure she wasn't kidnapped."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. So, what do you plan to do now?"

"Nothing. Cry, eat ice cream, and maybe move to another dimension."

Conner grunted from the couch, where he was lifting weights while listening to Wally's dramatic performance in front of him. "Or you could just tell her you like her."

Wally looked at him with a Greek tragedy face. "Are you crazy? What if she rejects me?"

"Then you'll be just like you are now, but you'll leave with dignity and a real reason" Conner said, lifting another weight without changing his expression.

"Besides," Dick added, turning off the console, "I think you're missing the point. She always laughs at your bad jokes, and she saves you a seat in the mission room, and she doesn't do that with just anyone."

Wally frowned. "Of course no, everyone does it!"

The three boys sitting there looked at him with a raised eyebrow and responded in a coordinated manner. "I wouldn't do that."

Waly snorted. "What if she's just nice? That's a strong possibility."

Kaldur sighed deeply, crossing his arms. "You have two options: confess what you feel like a semi-mature adult… or keep screaming like her hair is a souvenir stolen from a mission."

"It takes a lot of confidence to touch someone's hair!" Wally shouted, pointing to the sky. "That dude knew what he was doing!"

"What boy?" Dick asked, hiding his laughter.

"A tall one with a confident smile and the energy of a dangerous supporting character! I don't know his name."

Conner raised an eyebrow. "Are you jealous of a guy you don't know and haven't even spoken to?"

"I'M JEALOUS OF ANY GUY BUT ME!"

The training door opened with a soft creak, and M'gann walked in, accompanied by Artemis and Zatanna. The three of them stopped in their tracks when they saw Wally sprawled on the floor, one hand on his chest and the other reaching toward the ceiling as if begging the gods for mercy.

“Is he… hurt?” Zatanna asked, lowering her voice.

"Only from the heart," Conner grunted, still lifting weights.

"Again?" Artemis sighed, crossing her arms.

Wally sat up with theatrical swiftness. "Not “again”! This time it’s real! This time it was a direct attack on my emotions! On my hopes! On my perfectly styled hair meant to impress her!"

"What happened now?" M'gann asked, trying to sound empathetic, even though a smile tugged at her lips.

"I saw her! With another guy. Tall, confident… probably perfect hair. He touched her hair. Her hair!" Wally put a hand to his forehead theatrically " And she… she smiled. SMILED!"

"Wow, that's a big problem" Artemis said sarcastically.

"Thank you for your emotional support!" he replied, hurt.

Zatanna leaned closer, tilting her head curiously. "So what are you going to do about it, Romeo?"

Wally looked at her, disconsolate. "Eat ice cream, watch sad movies, and cry"

"Or you could ask her out, right?" M'gann chimed in, sitting on the edge of a mat. "You're literally one conversation away from resolving this drama."

"And risk her saying no?!" Wally stood up, horrified. "Do you know what that would do to my self esteem? Nothing, cause I don't have any! I already lost it all this morning at the school gate!"

── .✦

You had arrived at the training room earlier, but when you saw that the door was ajar and you heard voices inside, you decided not to interrupt.

“…Eat ice cream, watch sad movies, and cry” Wally said.

“Or you could ask her out, right?” M’gann suggested.

Your eyes widened. Ask her out?

You moved closer to the door, as if that would change the fact that you felt an invisible fist squeezing your stomach.

“And risk her saying no?” Wally’s voice sounded again. “Do you know what that would do to my self-esteem? Nothing, because I don’t have any! I already lost it this morning at the school gate!”

You covered your mouth, holding back a pained and exaggerated sound. You walked away quietly, as if you'd been stabbed in slow motion.

You ran into Artemis and Zatanna a few minutes later in the hallway, and that's when your tragedy unfolded:

"IT CAN'T BE! WALLY IS IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE!" you blurted out with a dramatic shriek, clutching the door frame as if you were about to faint.

The two girls stopped, confused. "What are you talking about?" Artemis asked, frowning.

"I heard him!" you said, pointing into space. "HE SAID HE WAS GOING TO ASK ANOTHER GIRL OUT!! He said it with his own mouth! How do I recover from this? How?!"

The three of them were stunned by your performance. Zatanna had a hand on her chest, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing; M'gann was trying not to laugh; and Artemis well, just looked at you like you'd lost your mind.

"Wait... you heard the conversation?" M'gann asked, already suspecting where this was going.

"And you know what the worst part is?!" you exclaimed, pointing at them like a betrayed heroine "YOU WERE HELPING HIM! YOU DIDN'T CARE ABOUT MY HEART! OR MY DIGNITY! OR MY DAILY HOROSCOPE THAT SAID 'BE CAREFUL WHO YOU ARE AROUND'!"

Artemis brought her hand to her face, resigned. "Oh, please…"

"BETRAYAL!" you continued, now twirling dramatically. "And just today I had done my hair for him..."

Zatanna approached you, very serious. "I need you to tell me right now: Was that acting or are you always this crazy?"

“I’m so crazy about him!” you screamed, throwing yourself to the ground as if you had been mortally wounded.

“…I need to sit down a second” M’gann said, laughing.

Just then, as if the universe had a sense of humor, Wally appeared on the scene, holding an ice cream cone, stopping in his tracks when he saw you on the floor with the girls around you.

Wally stopped when he saw the scene in front of him, you were lying on the floor, Zatanna crying with laughter, Artemis shaking her head, and M'gann literally fanning herself with her hand from laughing so much.

"What's going on here?" he asked, holding up the ice cream as if it were a peace offering.

"DON'T PLAY INNOCENT!" you yelled, pointing at him from the ground with a trembling finger. "I heard everything, West! EVERYTHING!"

“What? Wait, you heard the conversation with the guys?” Wally asked, but his tone instantly changed to nervous. His eyes widened, and the ice cream trembled a little in his hand. “Wait… what part did you hear exactly?”

You sat up slowly, as if you were in a dramatic soap opera. "The part where you said you were in love! And that you were going to ask her out! And that your self-esteem was collapsing like my heart right now!"

Wally took a step back, pale. “Oh no… no, no, no… Did you hear all that?!”

"EVERYTHING!" you shouted, emphasizing with your arms wide open. "And you guys," you pointed at the girls, "were cheering him on! How could you? My own war sisters!"

Zatanna couldn't breathe anymore from laughing. Artemis looked at Wally with a mixture of pity and amusement, and M'gann just said, "Well... at least they're just as intense."

Wally clapped a hand to his chest, as if you'd shot him with a word. "So... if you heard everything... is it so bad that I have feelings for you?!"

"Wait. What?"

[munsster]

hey girl!! so i was rewatching season 3 and saw the part where max and eleven are playing the spin the bottle and spying on people and had an idea! what if the reader is babysitting them and the girls drag her in to play and they spin in on steve, so she’s like “alright that’s enough” bc she doesn’t want to invade on her friends privacy but she sits through it anyway, and she hears him talking to robin about how much he likes her and wants to ask her out. IDK i thought that was cute :))

don’t hate the game

A/N: UR SO RIGHT THIS IS SO CUTE. I’m so glad i FINALLYYY found motivation to tackle it <3 (gif creds: @buckysbarnes)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: The girls convince you to play an embarrassing party game from your past. It’s nothing like you remember. 2.4k words

Warnings: pet names (sweetheart, honey), ‘like’, overthinking, implied bullying, stupid pining, insecurity

It's a Friday night in the middle of summer, and you're wondering how you got here. Well, actually you're in your living room, so it's not that great of a mystery, but more confusing than that, you're letting two adolescent girls teach you how to play spin the bottle. If someone had told you at graduation that this is where you'd end up, you'd laugh right in their face.

Who's laughing now.

"But!" Max says, "if you hadn't noticed, none of these people are in the room, so how would we kiss them?"

You fight the urge to sink into your seat, blithely nodding and avoiding anything that might alienate you from your younger counterparts. You're almost sorry you surrendered your night to babysit two capable teens, but you promised El's dad who promised to pay you handsomely. Plus, they seem to like you enough to find you cool. Enough to tell you teenage secrets and complain about their boyfriends.

As they're explaining the rules, a memory creeps in of the first time you ever played this godforsaken party game. On Steve Harrington's floor in eighth grade. The cheers dying off as the mouth of the bottle slowed to a stop in your direction. No one expected him to actually lean over and kiss you. Or that you'd stay good friends despite his high school career soaring into stardom while yours sort of... didn't.

"We don't kiss them!" El chirps with an excited glint in her eye. The girls lean in like it's the first time they're hearing the rules but you're almost certain they made them up.

"Right. Instead, El here becomes our spy. I'm not exactly sure how it works, but she can see into their conversations or something. It's wicked." Max looks to El with something like admiration.

Intrigued, you glance down at the post-it notes arranged in a circle, scribbled with assorted names from yearbooks and yellow pages. A few you recognize: Mike and Lucas, one of the Hawkins Middle math teachers, even Will’s mom wasn’t safe from their antics.

But among the many names, you're most drawn to Steve. The way the letters loop and curl into his name, you go a little dizzy imagining that you really were playing the game. That he was seated across from you now. That he might lean over like he did the first time while your mind raced with a thousand possibilities. It's a prank or a dare or his wholehearted commitment to the game, anything other than his own free will.

You blink out of your silly, nostalgia-fueled trance when Max presses the cold glass bottle to your palm.

"You first."

They giggle and fall into each other when you half-twist the bottle. You're still in disbelief that you agreed to this as you watch the bottle spin, ticking off names as it loses momentum.

"Who is that?" you ask, leaning closer as if you'd read the yellow post-it wrong.

"Oh," El says. She cringes away from the board and crosses her arms over her chest in defiance.

"That bitch from P.E.," Max grumbles, and you have half a mind to scold her if you hand’t found universal bitch-aversion endlessly amusing. "You can spin again, she's not worth the trouble anyway."

You imagine your dream game once again. The bottle flies in the other direction at your fingertips, haywire and picking up a new gravity. It draws a wild, fiery line beneath your stare as you consider the possibility of Steve. It slows and slows until it's spinning almost at the same pace as Earth from a distance. Listening to the roaring sound of the universe as the bottle turns. Turns and turns and turns. Your eyes light up.

The girls giggle.

"No," you say sternly, regretting all your daydreams and fantasies in the face of cold, hard reality. "No, not Steve."

"Please!" they whine.

"Ladies, that's enough. He's a good friend, we're not spying on him."

They act like kicked puppies, though you know they're tricking you as they pout and bat their eyes. You know they know more than they should. About you. You and your feelings towards Steve Harrington. Something they discovered through a quiz in some teeny bopper magazine or other. Those magazines that somehow hold the secrets of the universe and the answers to every haircare question.

“Come on, I’ll make us popcorn and we can start a movie. A horror, if you really want.”

They seem satisfied enough, springing to the couch and settling into the cushions there.

The stove heats slowly. You fish through your cabinet for the last pan of Jiffy Pop, peeling back the thin cardboard cover when you hear snickering from the other room.

“What’s he saying?” Max whispers. You strain to hear her with your back pressed to the wall, just out of sight.

You shouldn’t be eavesdropping. You know better. You’re not a prepubescent girl anymore, you’re the babysitter with responsibilities. Like a job. Yet, you can’t seem to pull yourself away from the doorway. Every time you hear his name, your heart soars with what-ifs. You feel your eyes slip closed as El speaks.

“Steve is speaking to someone. I see her”—Your heart sinks—“Robin!”

You selfishly let out a breath. You’re mostly thankful he’s not spending his evening alone, but you also knew his friendship with Robin was strictly platonic. Robin had sworn by it without you even having to raise the question. You didn’t have to, she said, she could see it in your face. You wondered if Steve found you that transparent.

“He’s talking about… A girl. Her eyes. A smile. And he’s smiling, too. Oh, wait, now he’s frowning because Robin flicked him,” she says with a playful lilt.

She gasps.

“What?” Max yelps, shifting closer on the squeaky couch.

“Steve wants to confess his feelings. Big feelings, he says. Like-like.”

You not sure if that’s El’s paraphrase of Steve’s so-called big feelings or if the term like-like came from his own mouth. Neither option would surprise you. What does surprise you is that you’d never heard any of this from Steve before. You liked to think you were friends, even one of his best friends. He was surely one of yours. You told each other almost everything because you can’t exactly discuss complex relationships and sex with middle schoolers.

But you’d never heard of Steve’s seemingly new, mystery like-liker lover.

“He’s thinking of asking her out. Robin told him he might as well, it’s obvious that the girl he’s talking about likes him back. He doesn’t agree,” El says, her brows furrowed beneath the thick black blindfold, “Robin’s shouting. Steve looks sad.”

“What’s she saying?” Max whispers.

“Shh! ‘You like her so much, you might as well tell her and let her react. But I’ll say this, she’s going to say yes. That girl has been in love with you since the eighth grade’. He’s thinking.”

“Think faster, hair-brain!”

El giggles, her face suddenly falling serious. “‘Really?’” You stifle a laugh at the deeper voice she affects.

“‘She’s never said anything to me about it’. Robin looks angry. ‘Obviously, dingus! Do you go around telling people you’re in love with them?’”

“She has a point,” Max says. “Who’s he talking about?”

“I don’t know—Oh! Here we go,” El huffs, fists clenched eagerly, “He’s making a plan to ask her out, he’s going to call her. He’s getting up—”

Just then, the popcorn bursts from its aluminum confines with a bang. You let out a strangled noise between a yelp and a grumble, annoyed at the rude and very loud interruption. As you set the burner knob in place, you consider the fact that Steve has very real feelings for someone else. Someone who’s just not you. And as you shake the popcorn into a ceramic bowl, the landline rings.

“Will someone get that?” you call, grabbing a few small packages of sweets stashed in the cabinet. You hear the girls spring from the couch, and you shuffle into the living room to a giddy scene huddled around the receiver.

“Yes, she’s here!” El squeals. There’s a muffled response from the other line, and they share a conspiratorial glance.

“It’s for you,” Max says, handing you the phone with a smirk.

“Thank you. Go pick a movie while the popcorn’s hot.” You clear your throat, preparing yourself for the worst. Maybe your boss firing you or a repo man taking your TV. “Hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to interrupt girl’s night, I can call back later,” Steve’s gentle voice filters clear through the speaker. In the silence, static hums, and you press the phone closer to your ear.

Trying to listen for what he might be thinking. He sounds like rain. Like Sunday and a lack of pressure. He sounds inviting and warm like that big green sweater he’s always wearing. If only you knew he wears it because you adore it. You tell him every time; why would he ever stop.

“No!” you chirp, “no, perfect timing actually, we were just about to start a movie.”

“Oh! That sounds fun,” he says. You fidget with the springy cord, facing away from the living room and from the attention of the two flittering girls.

“Yeah,” you say, hoping he doesn’t recognize the disappointment coloring your tone. “So, how’d it go?”

He chokes a little. “How’d… what? Go?” There’s a soft snicker from the other line at his incidental voice crack.

“Your… I mean, did you have something you wanted to tell me?”

The line dips, but you hadn’t heard the telltale plastic clatter of a hang up. Just soft shuffling and a curse from under his breath. You curdle at the near silence.

“What did Robin tell you?” he grumbles.

“What? Nothing. Was she supposed to?”

“Well, no! I just called to tell you—”

He goes silent, and this time you’re actually convinced he hung up. There’s no sound at all, and you double check your receiver to make sure the problem’s not on your end.

“Stevie?”

“Yep, sorry. Just… feel silly.”

“Okay, you’re starting to scare me a little,” you hum, clutching onto the handheld.

“No! Sorry, not trying to scare you, honey, I just need to get something off my chest. But it’s not scary. Or, well, I guess it could be taken that way, and that would be okay. A little sad, but yeah, no hard feelings—”

At this point, you’re sure he’s talking about his prospective date. He knows you have a stupid, obvious crush on him, and he’s trying to soften the blow of new romantic conquest. Of course, introducing his new girlfriend to you would be terrifying, but you’d always put on a brave face for Steve. He knows that. He’d do the same for you.

“Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“Just get it over with,” you sigh, leaning your head against the wall and bracing for heartache.

“Right. Not trying to waste your time. Here goes.”

I’ve got a new, smoking hot girlfriend who just agreed to go on a date with me. And she’s got beautiful eyes and a gorgeous smile, and I’ve been in love with her since I can remember, and we’re gonna run away together forever and get married and have perfect babies.

“I like you,” he huffs.

“Well, duh, I like you, too, you’re only my closest friend,” you say. You’re tense, waiting for the other shoe to come hurling through the skylight. “Now, tell me.”

“No, sweetheart, I like-like you. Have since I was nine. Miss Boyd’s class, if I’m not mistaken.” There’s a soft thud like his forehead colliding with the wall beside his phone.

You inhale a shaky breath. He’s kidding, and it’s a prank. Your heart races, and you want to curse him out for picking on you. He should know better. Right?

“Steve,” you warble, “please tell me you’re joking.”

There’s more shuffling, muffled voices, and you think you’ve just exposed one long drawn out joke. You’re about to hang up with what’s left of your dignity when he says:

“Are you rejecting me?”

He sounds almost mad. Hair ruffled, skin on edge. How you imagine his father might sound just before one of his awful fits. But there’s something much softer to Steve, more understanding. Hurt like a child.

Still, you can’t help your suspicion.

“Quit it. I know it’s a joke, don’t drag it out.”

“Hey, wait a second,” he urges, “It’s not a joke. I like you. A lot.” He says it so softly, your heart just might believe him. As if all the stars have aligned, and he’s actually confessing his feelings for you. You didn’t think the stars did that. Not really, anyway.

There’s a new tune to his voice you’d almost name teasing, “c’mon, don’t leave me hangin’.”

And just like that, he’s back in school again, fawning over you from a distance, finding any excuse to tag you during recess only to avoid you in class so you wouldn’t see him blush. He’s back to whispered secrets through the phone at midnight so his parents wouldn’t catch him. He only ever told you what wouldn’t give him away. He’s back to not letting you pay for your ice cream and shrugging it off with a smile. He’s back, and he might just be yours.

“I—Sorry, you like me? Like like-like, like enough to ask me on a real date?” you huff. He chuckles.

“Well, that last part kinda depends on whether or not you like me back. But yes, I like-like like like-like you.”

You spin to face the living room only to be confronted by an empty popcorn bowl and two fidgety, blushing, wide-eyed teens. They urge you for answers, gesturing wildly and wiggling towards you across the floor.

“Of course, I like you. I thought you knew.”

“Everyone keeps saying that. I guess I was too distracted,” he admits.

“I guess we both were,” you say, unable to keep a grin from your face, succumbing to joy as your fingers dance along the telephone cord.

“So, how about that date?” It escapes him barely above a whisper. He can’t believe he’s actually saying it after all this time. The only thing that convinces him it even came out is your soft laughter.

“Sounds wonderful!”

“Good!” he coos.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Great, yeah. That’s… I can’t wait.” He’s earnest until his cheeks hurt, and Robin teases him for it.

“Tomorrow, it is,” you purr, nearly in tune with the low hum of the receiver, “I’ll call you later.”

“Bye, sweetheart. Don’t forget: I like-like you.”

You smile, slotting the phone back into its place. A chorus of giggles erupts at your feet. Spin the bottle had been a good idea, after all.

stranger things masterlist

[floatyflowers]

Dark!male Kim Possible and female reader and dark male Shego headcanon ?

The trip to the local café shop was supposed to be quick and simple, and you refused to inform Kim of it, as you were tired of the over-protective spy, despite him being assigned to protect you.

But again, Kim stomped over your boundaries and claimed it was 'I need to do this because it's my responsibility to keep you safe'

Well, Kim is hot and any girl would want to be with him because of his athletic body and fearless attitude.

But you want to get away from him in any way possible.

"How can I help you?"

You sighed, pushing aside the thought of Kim and his suffocating protectiveness, and focused on the barista in front of you.

"I'll have a..." you tell her your order, tapping your fingers on the counter as you pulled out your wallet.

The barista nodded and began preparing your drink, while you took a moment to appreciate the rare freedom you had away from Kim.

It was peaceful, no lectures, no hovering, no overbearing presence watching your every move.

And surely no unnecessary flirting.

That peace, however, was short-lived.

The café door swung open with a loud creak, and a tall figure walked in, dressed in a black and green attire.

You barely had time to register the sharp emerald eyes before a gloved hand clamped over your mouth and an arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you backward.

"Not a sound, sweetheart," a smooth, amused voice purred in your ear.

"Wouldn’t want to make a scene now, would we?"

Your heart pounded as you struggled, but your captor’s grip was hard.

Shego.

You had heard of him before.

The infamous mercenary who worked for Drakken, someone Kim had warned you about repeatedly.

But hearing about him and experiencing his strength firsthand were two different things entirely.

“Looks like I just got myself a little prize,” Shego mused, dragging you toward the exit.

The café patrons froze in shock, some even whispering, others too afraid to intervene.

Nobody is going to stop him.

What a bunch of cowards.

Just as Shego reached the door, the glass window shattered.

A blur of red and black slammed into Shego with full force, knocking you from his grip and sending you stumbling to the ground.

"Not on my watch!"

Kim’s voice was sharp, his expression dark with anger as he positioned himself between you and Shego.

Shego's confident smirk widens, as he holds you against him by the waist.

Kim’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Back off, Shego." He orders.

"You’re not taking her anywhere."

Shego chuckled, rolling his shoulders.

"Relax, Kimmie. I was just gonna borrow her. Not like they actually want you breathing down their neck all the time." He tilted his head toward you, smirking.

"Isn’t that right, sweetheart? I bet a little excitement sounds way more fun than being babysat 24/7."

"No, it doesn't, especially if you are trying to kidnap me." you point out.

Shego chuckled, tilting his head in amusement.

"Ah, come on, sweetheart. Kidnap is such a harsh word. I prefer ‘taking.’ it's much better" His grip on you tightened as he shifted his weight, clearly ready for another move.

Kim didn’t hesitate, he lunged forward, throwing a punch aimed straight for Shego’s jaw.

But Shego was fast...too fast.

He sidestepped at the last second, using his free hand to catch Kim’s fist mid-air, the impact causing a sharp gust of wind through the café.

"You always were predictable, Kimmie," Shego taunted.

You took the opportunity to act, stomping hard on Shego’s foot and elbowing him in the ribs.

He grunted in surprise, his grip loosening just enough for you to break free.

You scrambled back, heart racing, pressing yourself against the counter as Kim launched another attack.

The two fought harshly in a blur of movement punches, dodges, counterattacks, until Shego, with a knowing smirk, suddenly stopped and held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Alright, alright. I’m done playing around."

Kim hesitated, eyes narrowing.

"What’s your true motivation?"

Shego’s smirk deepened.

"I just needed to confirm something."

"Confirm what?" You asked, confused.

Shego tilted his head toward you, then to Kim.

"That she is important to you. And guess what? Now that I know exactly how much, this just got way more interesting."

And then, before Kim could react, Shego threw a small metallic sphere onto the ground. It exploded in a burst of green smoke, obscuring everything from view.

You coughed, eyes watering, as you felt a sudden gust of air, Shego was escaping.

By the time the smoke cleared, he was gone.

Kim cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

"Damn it."

You turned to him, your chest still heaving.

"What did he mean by ‘confirming something’? Why would he care about how important I am to you?"

Kim clenched his jaw, avoiding your gaze for a moment before finally speaking

"Because… if he knows you’re valuable to me, it means you just became leverage."

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach.

"You mean—"

Kim nodded grimly.

"This wasn’t a random attack. Shego and Drakken have plans for you."

And that’s when your phone vibrated in your pocket.

A message from an unknown number.

See you soon, sweetheart. This is just the beginning. – S

Your fingers tightened around the device as dread curled in your stomach.

Shego wasn’t just after you, he wanted you.

However, there is something Kim didn't tell you and that is...Drakken is your father, that's why your mother tasked him with your protection.

But he can't tell you that and just made up an excuse.

Kim sees your worried expression, and wraps his hands around you from behind, placing his chin on your left shoulder.

"Don't worry, I will protect you from him even if it means I have to kill Shego."

[secretlypeerless-cucumber]

There is a rat on An Ding Peak.

Shang Qinghua is not sure when they managed to weasel their way in, but there is for sure a rat amongst his children.

What's heartbreaking is that his own kids won't tell him who is suspicious! Traitors! This wasn't supossed to happen! He taught them too well.

Snitches get stitches is so frustrating when you are the one who needs information! Worse of all, he can't even go to Cucumber-bro to complain because he now has the Original Goods hanging from him at all times! His life is so hard.

He thinks he narrowed the possible mole down to two new disciples who came to the sect at 16 last selection. He hadn't seen them yet, because like anyone they are very busy at all times, but word of mouth tells him they are; twin sisters, smart and quick like snakes, beautiful, and as lazy as a house cat. Why someone like that would choose An Ding of all places to blend in Shang Qinghua can't say, but he is so close to catching them.

And as luck will have it, he sees a group of his children tailing a pair of ponytails swaying on what little wind there is, sadly they rounded a corner and Qinghua only saw their backs, but most importantly. Why are his children not working?! They do not have time for them to follow the moles like lovesick puppies! This must be their plan; to enamor all his disciples and bring ruin to CQM via lack of resources. Shang Qinghua might just need to kill a child.

After following them for a while, the girls separate from the group and slink off to the forest without looking back once. This is his oportunity.

"Shidi needs to up security on An Ding, this is too easy." Um... What? "Shidi is good at many things... security might jut not be one of them."

He is confusion. Um hello little spy, WHY ARE YOU CALLING HIM SHIDI?!

Ah... Twins... This is just Cucumber-bro and the Original Goods.

...At least it wasn't a spy?

But it got worse.

Shen-Shixiong and Cucumber-bro must have known he was there because he now sees them EVERYWHERE.

Im the canteen? There they are, eating prim and proper like a king's favorite concubine. In the warehouses? There they are, sleeping on a shelf or perusing the wares. On the offices? There they are, again! Reading the accountant books like they were high literature.

The worst part-

"Shizun! Shizun!"

-is that they know he can't say no to them, for fear of having Yue-Dage come for his head. That man is really going crazy these days.

With a tight smile, Shang Qinghua turns arround to see his undercover shixiongs running towards him -like spoiled children- and hide behind his back while some Bai Zhan disciples run to them. Oh god they are haunting Bai Zhan too?! "Um... What were my disciples up to?..."

"Shizun, those brutes were badmouthing An Ding-"

"So we taught them a lesson-"

"And now they want to fight with us."

Shang Qinghua is crying tears of blood, trying so hard to stay standing. Ah, Cucumber-bro, why must you get along so well with the Original Goods?! He prefered when you only raged about his writing!!!!

Previous - Next

[puppetwoman17]

Just thinking about the JL time traveling to WW2 in Fawcett City. Cap isn’t there because he didn’t want to be. No way is he going through seeing his more jaded younger self! And he’s so not telling the JL. Also for this prompt I’m obviously using the assumption that the League knows Cap is Billy.

Anyhow, the JL meet a lot of older heroes during their time travel expedition, including Billy.

Keep in mind, secret identities? Don’t really matter rn. There’s a war going on.

Anyhow, the JL are excited to meet their friend. A version of their friend that they’ve never met before. In fact, Barry is so excited that he makes the mistake of going up to him for a hug.

Billy gives Barry this look of disgust and punches him in the face because there’s no way this weirdo is getting close to him. Valid response, tbh. He does go silent when he sees the S on Clark’s chest, and accidentally calls him by his dad’s name. Which, Clark had no idea Billy knew his parents. Billy also recognizes the lasso of truth, so he’s a little more willing to talk to Diana than anyone else. He sees the lantern ring and rolls his eyes because the Guardians are always so nosy, don’t they get that he can do this on his own? He sees Barry use his powers and he says it reminds him of this new hero in Central City, the Flash. Barry internally freaks out because he didn’t really put together that Billy got to know the older generation of heroes that the League used as inspiration way before he got to know them.

Cue the JL following Billy around in the most conspicuous way possible and Billy just…going along with it begrudgingly. He’s snarky, he’s distrusting, and he stays as close as he can to people like Jim Barr(Bulletman) and Alan Armstrong(Spy Smasher).

They watch him hang out with the rest of the squadron and swap stories like they’re old men at a bar. It’s been so long since they’ve had to interact with Billy when he was less trusting. They almost forgot how much he changed.

When the JL get back to their time and see their Billy again, the change is so much more jarring. He gives them one of his winning smiles and sheepishly apologizes for whatever his younger self said.

But the JL are just trying to deal with the realization that Billy is more experienced than they give him credit for. How he’s been part of the hero world longer than any of them. Though, they probably should’ve realized that after they caught him arm wrestling Jay Garrick.

Also Clark didn’t know he looked so much like his dad until now and it kind of makes him self conscious for a while because does his friend really just see his Dad when he looks at him?

[iridescentrays]

warnings: spoilers from the manga! (+ my brainrot form of writing..)

a/n: oh my gyatt thanks for the support for last chap 😭

prev chap ꩜ next chap

It was supposed to be a normal day

The cafeteria was loud, with students and gunshots being heard everywhere in the building. That was the norm of the JCC.

Sakamoto chewed his rice while watching his two (and only) “friends” fight over something stupid.

Again, the usual.

Rion was pulling on Nagumo’s ear, nagging him about what happened yesterday.

“JUST GO DO IT ALREADY”, she tried prying him off his seat.

Sakamoto knew Nagumo was a well rounded person (no matter how hard he tries to deny it).

His skills proved to be valuable in any situation, even helping Sakamoto score an ‘A’ in that one self-defense class last semester (he stills owes him one for that).

His smug personality was born from all those qualities. Unfortunately, Sakamoto has learned (the hard way) Nagumo still hasn’t got an ounce of shame.

That was the standard up until now.

“It’s too scary”, Nagumo laughed and surprisingly held on to the table (that was on the edge of collapsing). ‘well thats nagumo for you…’

But failing to talk a girl was the most abnormal Sakamoto has ever witnessed.

Sakamoto continued eating as Rion kept smacking the former spy’s head, ignoring the two.

“DON’T BE A WIMP! Hey Sakamoto!! Help me out!”

He kept chewing.

“This is why you two are going to die single…”

Nagumo smuggled his way out of Akao’s grasp, “C’mon now! It’s not that big of a deal”, he flashed a smile.

“Shut up you bum. You had a crush on her EVER since last semester. I’m really surprised she hasn’t caught you staring…”

“Hey!”

Sakamoto sighed and sat his chopsticks down, “Shes right over there”, he pointed.

All of them whipped their heads towards you, attempting to get your meal in a mob full of student assassins.

“Nuh uh you guys aren’t going no where”, Rion held them still, as the two of them tried running away. Both of them sighed, but made no move of retaliating.

“Sakamoto, you’re still helping”

‘There goes my normal day….’

‘can they hurry up…’, you groaned.

Honestly, this was not the time to be waiting around for these biggies blocking the way. It was rush hour, with all the students raving about the special item of the day.

It was strawberry cheesecake, one of your favorites.

Obviously, you didn’t bother getting it. The hassle was too much, and all the other guys who wanted it might beat you up!

Expecially those guys from yesterday…

You shivered, just thinking about them made you more wary.

Usually, you paid no mind to Nagumo’s gang when they were coincidentally in the cafeteria with you. But ever since yesterday, you started to feel more “bloodlust” emitted from them.

You took note of their position, and which they were still staring. ‘man, what did i do….’, you sighed.

Quickly maneuvering your way to the front, you tried grabbing your tray. Unfortunately for you, no one in the vicinity seemed to have any spacial awareness. You yelped as you stumbled backwards, praying for some miracle to save your food.

“Woah there, you almost fell!”

Lo and behold, the worst possible person caught you at that exact moment.

As you scrambled back up (and dusting away the likely chance of his stalkerish germs), his boyish grin sent shock waves through you.

‘he’s definitely gonna kill me…or!! maybe make me do something for him since he had to catch me—’

“Hey, are you okay?”

No you were not.

“Yes! I’m fine, uhm..thanks for saving my food…”, you awkwardly chuckled.

Nagumo smiled in response (the smirk of the devil one may say). “Here’s your tray! I’ll be there to catch you next time you fall!”

What.

Was that a warning? Nagumo waved goodbye, after he plopped your tray of food into your arms. He pridefully marched his way towards his friends who just stopped hiding around the corner. They both held their thumbs up as he arrived.

‘Definitely a threat’

This school was absolutely horrible. You huffed and walked away.

Literally what have you done to be picked on? You just wanted to be left alone and finish this stupid assassin school quietly. ‘Does this school even have a policy against bullying..?’

Finally escaping outside, there was the refreshing sound of silence. Sighing in relief, you looked at your food…only to find most of it crushed.

‘I’m not surprised…’ you groaned.

The napkin was crinkled up, the rice was now cold and mushy, and the cheesecake—

‘Strawberry cheesecake? How did that get there…’

It was wrapped up cutely like someone had specially ordered it for you. The cake itself remianed unscathed, with none of the frosting or strawberries touching the packaging.

“What a nice gift!”

Life recently was just too much. It was nice having an award after all what happened. Maybe you should even thank the mystery person who gifted you this!

After taking a bite of the dessert, you remembered how stressful yesterday and today was due to that Nagumo crew…

wait was this from him?

You stopped mid-chew. Was this planted? How did he know? Does it have poison?!

You immediately spat out the cake and threw it away. No one was gonna kill you today! Those people think they’re soo smart trying to poison you with sweets, but they’re just amateur assassins!

Wait, this all started since Nagumo couldn’t stop staring at you in class. Eventually, his friends picked on and started ganging up on you as well! Maybe if you would just evade the source, they would leave you alone!

And so, the mission began:

Avoid Nagumo at all costs.

“I think she likes me already!”

“Maybe you should be more bold…to take her attention away”, Rion hummed.

“I still don’t think she likes you…”

“How mean! Sakamoto, you’re just a hater!!”

The man sighed, not wanting to deal with Nagumo. They were lounging on the roof, watching over where you were sitting at (in support of Nagumo’s one-sided crush)

“Wait, look she’s gonna take a bite!”, Rion pointed out. Nagumo rushed over, “accidentally” pushing away his other two comrades in the process.

They stood in silence, watching everything.

“uh..”

“Nagumo…you sure she likes cheesecake—”

“Sakamoto, it’s probably not best to talk to him while he’s mourning…”, Rion sighed.

MISSION STAUS : UNSUCCESSFUL