i. smile — in which you’re the staff photographer for the daily planet, and the only thing standing between you and clocking out is one last, impossibly camera-shy subject: clark kent.
ii. period. — in which you try to survive a rough day at the daily planet with nothing but deadlines, cramps, and sheer spite — until clark kent shows up with the audacity to care.
iii. immune — in which your psychic abilities work on everyone except clark kent — and the more you try to figure it out, the more everything starts to make sense.
iv. kiddo pt. 1 — in which you convince yourself that clark kent’s habit of calling you “kiddo” signifies you have no chance — until he unexpectedly proves otherwise.
v. kiddo pt. 2 — in which your newly blossomed relationship with clark kent seems perfect — until he begins to pull away, and you’re left to wonder what’s changed.
vi. unshakable — in which you tear into clark kent for missing a deadline — and instead of squirming, he takes it with a smile. so, naturally, you spend the rest of the week trying to rattle him, only to realize he’s not the one coming undone.
vii. a little light — in which you, the reporter behind the daily planet’s kindness column, desperately want an interview with superman to prove your stories matter — and one night, thanks to a quiet tip from clark kent, you finally get it.
viii. cindy lou who — in which you play cindy lou who at the daily planet’s annual christmas party, smiling while clark kent loves someone new.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. headcannons!
none yet
ADRIAN CHASE
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. oneshots!
i. strictly professional — in which adrian chase poses as your fake boyfriend for an undercover mission, and somehow that’s more dangerous than the target.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. headcannons!
none yet
STEVE HARRINGTON
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. oneshots!
i. in between — in which an argument you weren’t meant to hear reveals your feelings for steve harrington are mutual — and that robin’s the one standing between you.
ii. mean girl — in which you, once the queen to king steve, return to his life just to poke fun at him — only to find out he’s not the person you thought he was, and maybe you aren’t either.
iii. in between pt. 2 — in which cruel gossip makes you doubt something you wanted — and steve harrington proves he never has.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. headcannons!
none yet
MONKEY D. LUFFY
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. oneshots!
i. hold on — in which you explore little garden with luffy and somehow end up riding a dinosaur together.
[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over
pairing: holland!peter parker x fem!reader, peter parker x barista!reader
content: fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, post no way home, no mention of y/n, peter trying to move on from mj, he visits a new cafe and immediately regrets it, meet cute, grief and healing, awkward peter, bikini barista au, hopeful ending.
summary: in which peter parker finally tries to let mj go, only to stumble into the wrong place — and maybe a little right.
author’s note: i was giggling coming up with this, so i hope y’all like it just as much as i do 🙏🏻🙏🏻
The bell above the cafe door chimed softly, a sound Peter had come to know by heart. He stilled just inside the threshold, as he always did.
By now, it was pure reflex — the way his gaze drifted instinctively, already knowing exactly where it would land: behind the counter.
There she was.
MJ.
Her back was turned at first, her hands lifting to secure her hair into that same artless bun she always wore — had worn — and something in his chest tightened so sharply it felt practiced, almost instinctive. As if grief had memorized him just as throughly as he had memorized her.
For a moment, he nearly retreated.
He should have.
But then she turned, and —
“Hey, what can I get for you?”
As if nothing had ever occurred.
As if she had never stayed up with him until three in the morning, debating movies with quiet intensity. As if she had never kissed him with any semblance of meaning. As if she weren’t still wearing the necklace he had gifted her — damaged, perhaps, but unmistakably hers.
Peter swallowed. “Uh, just coffee. Black.”
She angled her head, already reaching for a cup. “Bold choice.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice thin. “I’m a…bold guy.”
She gave him that look — the same dry, unimpressed expression — and for a fleeting moment, it felt nearly ordinary.
Almost.
He paid, stepped aside, and waited, observing her movements behind the counter as if committing to memory something he had long since lost.
Again.
This time, he didn’t try to speak. He had learned better. Every extra second carried risk — not of her remembering (that was impossible) but of him faltering. Of uttering something he shouldn’t. Of desiring something he could never have again.
When she passed him the cup, their fingers didn’t brush.
Peter turned and left. By the time he returned to his apartment, the coffee had lost its warmth.
He didn’t remember taking a single sip.
The silence inside was absolute — oppressive, almost — so still it pressed against his ears, forcing his thoughts into sharp, unwelcome clarity.
He set the cup down and fixed his gaze on nothing.
This had to end.
He knew it — had known it all along. But knowing and acting were entirely different matters.
Because each time he considered not returning, his chest constricted as if he couldn’t breathe. As if he were letting her go all over again.
“…This is creepy,” he muttered to himself, running a hand down the length of his face. “This is, like, genuinely creepy, dude.”
He was going to see a girl who no longer remembered him. Who regarded him as nothing more than an ordinary customer.
A girl who had once —
He squeezed his eyes shut.
No.
He couldn’t keep doing this.
For his sake.
For her own.
He fished his phone from his pocket and typed coffee near me into the search bar. He bypassed the reviews, ignored the photos, refused to dwell on the choice — because dwelling meant perpetuating this unhealthy loop.
He tapped the first result that appeared and promised himself he’d go tomorrow.
Peter realized something was amiss the moment he stepped inside the cafe. It wasn’t the aroma of coffee — that was familiar. It was…everything else.
The space was vibrant, bathed in neon glow. Glittering menu boards caught the eye, and pop music blared with an almost exaggerated energy. And then —
Oh.
Oh no.
He came to an abrupt stop — because behind the counter, the baristas were in bikinis.
Actual bikinis.
He stood there a second too long before hastily dropping his gaze to the floor, as though even that brief contact had offended him.
“I—” He turned halfway, as if he might simply walk back out.
“Hey!”
He froze.
“You okay?”
He lifted his eyes, wary.
And then he saw you.
You leaned against the counter, chin propped in your hand, watching him as if he were the most entertaining thing you’d encountered all day. Which…under the circumstances, he might very well be.
“You look like you wandered into the wrong classroom,” you remarked.
Peter exhaled — a short, helpless huff. “…I think I did.”
You smiled.
And somehow, it felt anything but derisive — just…amused. Warm.
He glanced back at the door. Leaving now would be worse — much worse.
He straightened his shoulders, bracing himself as if confronting a supervillain. “I — um. I’ll just order something.”
“Brave,” you said, pushing off the counter. “What’ll it be?”
He kept his eyes locked somewhere just beyond your shoulder. “Coffee,” he blurted. “Black.”
A pause followed.
“…Original,” you teased.
He flinched. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
You hummed skeptically, punching it into the register. “Name for the order?”
“Peter.”
“Alright, Peter,” you said, and there was something in the effortless, casual way you spoke it that made the name feel…different, somehow, more grounded than it had all day.
He paid and retreated to a table as quickly as he could without seeming to flee.
He sat — and immediately fixed his gaze on the tabletop, as if it were the most intriguing thing he’d ever seen.
This had been a mistake.
A huge mistake.
He rubbed his hands together, restless. “May would kill me,” he muttered.
The thought struck him out of nowhere — so vivid he almost heard her voice.
For a moment, he could picture it perfectly. Her sitting across from him, arms crossed, a single eyebrow arched in reproach.
“Peter Benjamin Parker—”
He snorted.
The sound caught him off guard — unexpected, startling. It had been ages since anything had amused him enough to draw such a reaction.
Even if the amusement left a pang in its wake.
“Black coffee for Peter.”
He looked up and found you standing there, cup in hand.
“Thanks,” he said hastily, reaching for it.
But instead of leaving, you tugged out the chair opposite him and sat down.
Peter blinked.
“…Hi,” you said, as if this were entirely ordinary.
“Hi,” he echoed warily.
You rested your chin in your hand, studying him intently. “So,” you began, “part of my job is talking to customers — chatting them up, keeping them entertained.”
His brain momentarily short-circuited. “Oh, uh — okay.”
“And you,” you continued, tilting your head, “look weirdly bummed out.”
He swallowed, taken aback. “What? No, I-I’m not—”
You gestured vaguely around the cafe. “You’re surrounded by girls in bikinis,” you pointed out. “Statistically, you should be having a better time.”
“That’s not—!” he interjected, flustered. “That’s not why I’m—I mean—not that—I just—”
Your lips curled into a grin. “Oh my god,” you said, delighted. “You didn’t know, did you?”
“…I didn’t know.”
You laughed — warmly, without malice, bright and easy. “Yeah, we get that reaction sometimes. Always the same look, too.”
“What look?” he asked.
You both spoke simultaneously.
“Like you just wandered into the wrong classroom.”
“Like I just wandered into the wrong classroom.”
He exhaled a laugh before he could stop himself, and you leaned back in your chair, satisfied.
“Well, you’re handling it better than most,” you commended. “Some people just sprint back out.”
“I thought about it,” Peter admitted.
“So why didn’t you?”
He paused.
Because the truth was humiliating. Because walking away would have felt like conceding defeat on a day that already felt overwhelming. Because sitting here — awkward, out of place — still felt preferable to retreating to his apartment, haunted by memories that no longer belonged to anyone but him.
“…Didn’t want to make it weirder,” he said finally.
You regarded him for a moment longer than necessary, then nodded, as if you understood more than he had spoken. “Fair enough.”
There was a pause. Not awkward — just…quiet.
“You don’t seem like the usual crowd,” you said after a moment.
He offered a faint smile. “Is that a good thing?”
“Definitely.” You gave a firm nod. “Less…creepy.”
He winced. “Ouch.”
“I’m joking,” you added swiftly, nudging his foot lightly beneath the table. “Mostly.”
He exhaled another quiet laugh.
It caught him off guard again — how easily it came this time.
“How long have you been working here?” he asked.
“Couple of months,” you replied with a shrug. “Pays decent, hours aren’t bad. And I get to meet interesting people.”
“Like me?”
“Yeah.” You tilted your head. “Like you.”
There was no teasing this time — only sincerity.
Peter lowered his gaze to his coffee, idly turning the cup between his hands.
It had been some time since he’d felt anything like this. Not happiness, exactly.
But…lighter.
As though the weight in his chest had shifted, if only slightly — enough to grant him an easier breath.
“…I almost didn’t come here,” he said quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You drummed your fingers against the table. “Well,” you said, “I’m glad you did, Peter.”
And he believed you.
Which was new.
Because lately, it seemed as though everything was slipping through his fingers, every connection he once held dissolving overnight.
But this —
This was nothing.
Merely a conversation. Merely a girl doing her job. And yet…it felt like something.
“…Me too,” he admitted.
You smiled — and it wasn’t MJ’s.
It didn’t wound him to look at.
The realization settled over him with a quiet gentleness. Not as a betrayal — but as something like a tentative step forward.
“I should get back.” You rose, brushing your hands against your bare thighs. “Before my manager thinks I’ve got a crush on you or something.”
Peter nearly choked. “Oh — no, yeah, that would be…bad.”
“Terrible,” you agreed, deadpan.
You stepped back, then paused. “Hey, Peter?”
“Yeah?”
“If you actually did mean to come here,” you added, a faint grin tugging at your lips, “you can just say that next time. No shame.”
He shook his head, smiling. “I think I’ll stick with the whole ‘not knowing’ thing.”
“Whatever you say.” You turned, heading back to the counter.
Peter watched you for a moment, then lowered his gaze to his coffee once more. It was still warm.
He took a sip.
And for the first time in a long while, it didn’t taste like something he was forcing himself to finish.
It merely tasted like coffee.
And when he left, it no longer felt as though he were fleeing from something.
pairing: nico robin x fem!reader, nico robin x straw hat!reader
content: light angst, enemies to ???, wlw, emotional conflict, the reader yearning for robin even though she knows she shouldn’t, manipulation but make it soft and sexy, mild tension, canon-typical danger, no mention of y/n, s2 setting.
summary: in which you come face to face with miss all sunday, and she offers you something far more dangerous than a threat — a choice.
author’s note: this fic is purely self-indulgent, i need that woman bad y’all 😩😩
The cold in Drum Village wasn’t just something you felt — it was something that settled deep inside you.
It clung stubbornly to your skin, slipped through the soles of your boots, and wrapped around your bones as if it had no intention of ever letting go. Each breath left your lips in a pale cloud, every step crunching against hardened snow and ice as you wandered through the village’s quiet, frozen stretch.
Most of the villagers had long since retreated indoors — doors shut tight, windows glowing faintly with candlelight. Above it all, the mountain towered, dark and unyielding, where Luffy and Sanji had carried Nami in a desperate attempt to save her. You tried not to dwell on the thought — how pale she’d been, how unnervingly still.
“She’ll be okay.”
You glanced sideways at Vivi as she walked beside you, her expression softening into a small, reassuring smile.
“There’s still a doctor on this island,” she said gently. “Which means hope hasn’t been lost.”
You nodded, returning the gesture with a faint smile that failed to reach your eyes. “Yeah. A witch, apparently.”
Vivi exhaled a quiet, knowing huff. “People fear what they don’t understand.”
“Yeah,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “That tracks.”
Up ahead, the path bent around a cluster of snow-covered houses. Smoke curled from the chimneys, the only signs of life in the heavy stillness. Somewhere along the watchtowers, Zoro stood guard, likely feigning indifference to Usopp’s relentless chatter — the only thing keeping the silence at bay.
You should’ve stayed with them.
But pacing around and fretting wouldn’t do Nami any good.
Vivi slowed her pace. “I’m going to check on something — one of the civilians mentioned supplies near the south end. I won’t be long.”
“I’ll be fine,” you said quickly. “Go.”
She paused, studying your face as if weighing whether to argue, then gave a reluctant nod. “Stay close.”
You watched her disappear around the bend, her figure swallowed by the pale haze of falling snow.
And just like that, you were alone.
The silence settled around you, heavy and immediate.
You let out a slow breath, wrapping your arms around yourself as you turned to retrace your steps.
And then you saw her.
It was only for a moment.
A figure among the villagers further down the path — tall, composed, utterly out of place. Her cowboy hat sat perfectly atop her head, her posture effortlessly confident, as if the bitter cold and village’s hardships were nothing more than a background she didn’t belong to.
Your breath hitched.
No.
It couldn’t be—
You blinked, stepping forward, trying to catch another glimpse.
But she was gone.
The space she’d occupied was now empty, replaced only by a few villagers trudging past, heads down, oblivious to anything out of the ordinary.
“No,” you whispered.
Your stomach churned.
You knew what your eyes had seen.
Miss All Sunday.
Your pulse spiked, each thundering beat louder than the last.
If she was here…Baroque Works had found you again.
You swallowed hard, forcing your shoulders to drop and your breath to study. Panic wouldn’t help. Drawing attention certainly wouldn’t.
Act normal.
You turned, moving in the opposite direction — not too fast, not too slow. Just another villager passing through. Just another body blending into the cold.
Your mind spun.
Was she alone? Were her associates nearby? Was this another warning, another cryptic visit like the one aboard the Going Merry?
Or worse — were you already too late?
The path tightened as you slipped between two rows of buildings, the snow here less disturbed, quieter. The wind shifted, whistling faintly through the narrow gap.
You hadn’t noticed you’d wandered into an alley until it was too late.
A shadow stretched across your path, and then —
“A flower like you doesn’t belong in a place like this.”
Your heart skipped a beat.
You froze in place.
The voice — velvety, low, unmistakable — cut through the silence.
Slowly, cautiously, you turned.
She stood there, just behind you, as though she had been there the entire time.
Miss All Sunday leaned against the wall with effortless grace, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded loosely. The cold seemed to avoid her entirely; snowflakes melted before they could cling to her dark hair or coat.
She looked exactly as you remembered — composed, elegant.
Dangerous.
Your throat felt dry. “You—”
Her lips curled into a faint smile. “I was wondering when you’d finally notice me.”
Your fingers twitched at your sides. “What are you doing here?”
Her eyes swept over you, slow and deliberate — not assessing like a threat, but…appreciative. The look made a flush creep up your neck despite the chill.
“That’s not a very warm greeting,” she murmured. “Especially from someone who couldn’t take her eyes off me the last time we met.”
Your breath caught.
You parted your lips, but no words came.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
Back on the Going Merry, when she had appeared out of nowhere — calm, untouchable, utterly indifferent to the chaos she represented — you hadn’t attacked.
You couldn’t.
Not when she looked like that. Not when something inside your chest had lurched, not bristled.
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, though the words sounded weaker than you intended.
Her smile widened, knowing. “Hmm,” she hummed, pushing off the wall.
She closed the distance between you.
You instinctively stepped back — only for your spine to meet the opposing wall. Cornered before you even realized it.
Miss All Sunday stopped just within arm’s reach. Close enough for you to catch the faint glint in her eyes, the sweep of her lashes, the subtle curve of her lips.
Close enough to feel the presence of her.
“Such a shame,” she murmured disapprovingly. “You’re fair too striking to be buried in a place like this…or among pirates who don’t understand your value.”
Your brows drew together. “You mean Drum Island?”
She tilted her head, almost contemplative. “No.”
Her gaze sharpened as it settled on yours. “I mean your crew.”
The words struck deeper than you anticipated.
You frowned. “The Straw Hats aren’t—”
“They’re reckless,” she cut in, her tone gentle, almost indulgent. “Loud. Short-lived.”
She stepped closer.
Your breath faltered.
“They’ll burn brightly,” she continued, her voice as soft as falling snow, “and then they’ll vanish. That’s the fate of people like them.”
Your jaw set. “And Baroque Works is any better?”
A small, amused breath slipped past her lips. “Baroque Works is…inevitable.”
Her hand lifted.
You tensed, but no blow came.
Instead, her fingers brushed along your cheek. The touch was warm, gentle — completely at odds with the danger you knew she carried.
You sucked in a breath, your body going rigid as her thumb brushed just beneath your eye.
“You, however,” she said softly, “don’t seem like someone who should be wasted on inevitabilities you can’t control.”
Your heart pounded.
“Come with me,” she said quietly. “Join us.”
Your eyes widened.
For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you. The cold, the village, the looming danger — it all faded beneath the weight of her gaze.
“You’d be…appreciated,” she added. Her fingers slid from your cheek into your hair, slow and deliberate, as if testing the texture.
A shiver ran down your spine — not from the cold.
“You’re strong,” she continued, almost thoughtfully. “But more than that…you’re interesting.”
Her hand stilled at the nape of your neck, her touch sharpening — not painful, just grounding.
“And I’ve always had a taste for rarities.”
Your breath came unevenly.
For one perilous moment, you hesitated.
Because there was something intoxicating about her — something in the cadence of her voice, in the way she regarded you as if you were something to be chosen.
Something to be kept.
But then — Luffy’s grin flashed through your mind.
Her hand went still, and you forced yourself to hold her gaze.
“I’m not leaving them.”
Something shifted in her eyes — not anger, not disappointment. Something quieter.
“Even knowing what’s coming?” she asked.
You paused — only for a moment. “…Yes.”
Silence settled between you.
Then, slowly, she drew her hand back. The warmth of her touch vanished instantly, leaving only the sharp bite of the cold behind.
Miss All Sunday stepped back, her gaze lingering on you — harder to decipher now. “Loyal,” she remarked. “How admirable.”
There was no trace of mockery in her tone. If anything, it sounded almost…sincere.
She turned slightly, as if to depart.
Relief had barely begun to settle in your chest before she spoke again.
“Then you should hurry.”
You blinked. “What?”
She glanced back at you over her shoulder. “The island’s former king will be returning soon,” she said, voice calm and measured. “And he won’t be arriving empty-handed.”
Your stomach sank. “What do you mean?”
Her gaze held yours for a moment longer. “He’s acquired a Devil Fruit,” she said. “And an army to match.”
The weight of her words hit you like a blow.
Wapol.
Returning?
With Devil Fruit powers?
Your pulse spiked.
“I suggest you prepare,” she added softly. “If you intend to protect what you’re so loyal to.”
You stepped forward. “Why are you telling me this?”
She paused.
For a moment, you believed she wouldn’t answer. Then —
“…Consider it a courtesy.” Her gaze drifted over you one last time. “Or a selfish investment.”
And then she was gone.
No sound. No movement.
Only empty air where she had stood.
You stared at the space, your heart hammering, your thoughts scrambling to keep pace.
Then it dawned on you.
Vivi.
The villagers.
Zoro.
You spun on your heel and surged out of the alley, boots skidding against the snow as you broke into a sprint. “Vivi!” you shouted, your breath visible in sharp bursts. “Zoro! Usopp!”
Your voice rang through the still village, panic flooding your veins.
Wapol was on his way.
And this time, you had the sinking sense that Miss All Sunday hadn’t exaggerated.
Synopsis: Peter can’t stop going to your basketball games, despite a rumor going around about you
Masterlist
“This is the last time you get to pick the group hang activity.”
“I think us watching women’s college basketball together can be fulfilling and make us grow closer as friends.” Ned replied between the sound of sneakers squeaking on the court. MJ just shook her head in response.
Peter wasn’t paying attention to the conversation at all by this point. His thoughts were occupied entirely by you. You had captured his attention from roughly the moment he sat on the bleachers and held it without even trying. His eyes were playing ping pong as he watched you travel back and forth across the court. A sport he had never paid much attention to was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world to him. Peter only knew where the ball was if it was in your hands, which was always followed by you making a basket and the other girls on your team patting your back. You seemed to be pretty well known among the crowd, because Peter could hear your last name being chanted even when you didn’t have the ball.
“Wait, I don’t even know which team we are supposed to be rooting for.” MJ realized as you scored another basket. Peter clapped a little too loudly for you, making you look at him and crack a smile.
“Dude, it’s the second half already. Our school is the Raiders. You haven’t known that this whole time?” Ned asked her.
“You can’t expect me to pay attention to frivolous details when there are sweaty girls right in front of my face.” MJ dismissed with a wave of her hand. While they spoke, you were busy getting the rebound and scoring another basket. This time, Peter stood up to clap for you. You looked his way and waved your fingers flirtatiously at him. Peter felt his entire face up as he waved back to you.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Ned asked as he hit Peter on the arm. “Don’t wave her. You don’t want to be seen interacting with the college floozy.”
“Floozy? What are you talking about?” Peter snorted. “That sounds like a made-up Dr. Seuss word.”
“It’s real.” Ned insisted. “If you bothered showing up to AP literature in high school, you’d know that.”
“We were never in AP literature together. That was AP History, and you failed because you wrote a paper on how the Cold War wad ended by the invention of space heaters. And if you don’t recall, I was pretty busy in high school.” Peter replied without taking his eyes off you. You threw the ball from the three-point line and looked directly at Peter when it made it in. He smiled sheepishly at you before leaning over to MJ.
“What do you know about number 81?” He asked and nodded towards you.
“Not much. Just that she’s the captain of the basketball team and is said to burn through guys faster than Ned burns through chapstick.” MJ snorted.
“I always lose them. I always put them in my pocket and then they’re just not there anymore. It’s like they just disappear into the ether.” Ned said in exasperation.
“It’s not the ether, it’s the washing machine. I tell you this every time.” Peter sighed. “You need to start emptying your pockets before you wash your pants.”
“That’s just a theory.” Ned shook his head.
“It’s not, because you washed your phone twice and mine once, but okay.” Peter rolled his eyes and turned back to MJ.
“What were you saying about her?” He asked.
“Well, allegedly, she dates guys with expensive shoes, and then dumps them once they let her wear them.” MJ replied. “But then she doesn’t give back the shoes. That’s allegedly why she wears a different pair every game. I even heard that sometimes, she doesn’t break up with the poor guy and just starts wearing another guy’s shoes to let them know they’re over. Allegedly.”
“What?” Peter snorted in disbelief. “There’s no way that’s true. Who wears other people’s shoes? And how the hell did you know all that, but not the name of the team she plays for?”
“Because I pick and choose my areas of expertise.” MJ answered. “And the shoe thing is just something couples do sometimes. It’s like a cheesy romantic gesture. Same as wearing each other’s clothes. Only, she’s a sneaker stealer.”
“Wait, is that why our physics professor was wearing that one fancy black boot for a few weeks?” Ned asked.
“No. That was our Art History professor, and he broke his foot.” Peter corrected. “You really need to start paying more attention.”
Their conversation was cut short by the crowd erupting into cheers. Peter looked up and saw you cross over your defender and shoot the ball at the net. It went in, and you pointed directly to Peter once it did. Peter broke into a huge smile at the unexpected gesture and clapped loudly for you.
“Oh shit.” MJ chuckled. “She just marked you. Peter is next.”
“Marked me? She’s not a serial killer, MJ.” Peter said with a roll of his eyes.
“Maybe not.” MJ agreed. “But a serial dater. And a serial shoe thief.”
“Mmm. Cereal.” Ned hummed. “I’m out of here. You guys want anything at the dining hall?”
“You’re leaving?” MJ laughed. “This was your idea to come.”
“It’s not my fault you guys started filling my heads with thoughts of Captain Crunch.” Ned shrugged as he grabbed his stuff and stood up.
“Literally no one mentioned Captain Crunch in the past 10 years.” MJ mumbled and got up as well. “You coming?”
“I think I’ll stay and watch.” Peter said without taking his eyes off you. You had just scored a fast-break layup and got shot Peter another smile. He was so enchanted by you that he hadn’t noticed MJ had sat back down.
“Listen, Peter. I want to be clear here. I take no issue with her using guys to up her shoe game. In fact, I respect her deeply for the hustle. But I would take issue with her breaking my friend’s heart, and she’s kinda got a reputation for that.” MJ said in a rare moment of genuine concern.
“I second that.” Ned chimed in. “I don’t care who she’s dated, but I’ll care if she hurts my best friend. So just be careful, man. She is no better than the Wicked Witch of the West. She’ll stop at nothing until she has your shoes!”
“Who the fuck makes a Wizard of Oz reference?” MJ asked Ned as she led him off the bleachers.
“Um, it was a Wicked reference. What the fuck is the Wizard of Oz?” Peter heard Ned ask as they left the gymnasium. Peter turned his attention back to the game now that his friends were gone, but their words lingered in the back of his mind. He glanced at your red and blue shoes and wondered if there was any truth to the rumors. But when you shot him a smile as you dribbled past where he was sitting, he decided he just didn’t care.
After that day, Peter became a frequent attendee of your basketball games. He made sure he always got there early so that he could get a seat in the front. Because of his newly developed habit of going to your games, you formed a habit of pointing to Peter every time you made a basket. He felt like something of a fangirl every time you did it and couldn’t help but turn into a blushing mess. After the fourth game he attended, you ran up to him during halftime with your basketball balanced on your hip.
“Hey.”
“Hey? Me, hey?” Peter asked and pointed to himself. He probably should’ve figured you two would talk eventually, yet this unexpected interaction made his heart pound in his ears.
“Woah. Was that English?” You chuckled. “Because if not, I can pull up Duolingo right now. That little freaked out owl would like it, too.”
“It’s okay.” Peter said once he composed himself. “No need for the freaky bird. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Peter.”
“I know.” You smirked. “I asked around about you. Heard you’re kinda elusive.”
“That’s a nice way of saying you had to ask 20 people before anyone knew who I was.” Peter said with a timid smile.
“Only 12 people, actually.” You corrected. “And guess who knew you?”
“Who?”
“The janitor in the Whitaker building. Apparently, you always make it a point to say hello when you pass him in the hallway.” You said with a smile that told Peter you were impressed. Peter smiled back and felt his nerves slowly melt away.
“It’s true.” He told you. “I’m extra nice to him because my roommate and I accidentally started a fire in the bathroom freshman year, and he had to come put it out at 3 a.m.”
“Now, what were you doing in the bathroom with your roommate at 3 am that became a fire hazard?” You laughed and gently tossed your basketball at Peter. He caught it with ease, grateful to have something to nervously roll around in his hands.
“It’s a long story, but basically, we were trying to heat up a brown sugar Pop-Tart with the hand dryer, and the wrapper was a little too close for comfort, so it started making lightning, and then a fire started.” Peter answered, immediately feeling his face burn bright red over how long he had talked. He was just beginning to internally beat himself up over his answer when you started to laugh.
“That wasn’t a long story at all.” You said with a reassuring smile.
“You haven’t told me your name yet.” Peter said as he passed the ball back to you.
“Do I need to?” You asked him with a cocky smile and caught the ball.
“No.” He confessed. “Because I asked about you as well.”
“Did you?” You asked as your smile faltered. “What, um, what did you hear?”
Your tone was different now. It was a genuine question, with the implication you already knew what he had heard. All the confidence you had approached him with seemed to have fallen away.
“Well, I heard you’re the best small toward the Raiders have ever had. But I didn’t just want to take people’s word for it. I like to see things for myself.”
You stared at Peter for a moment, really looking into his eyes to determine if he was being truthful. Peter gave you a soft smile that said, “Yeah, I’ve heard about it, no, I don’t care.” And that was all you needed to know.
“Small forward.” You said finally. “And I’m glad to hear that about you. Cause I like to see things for myself too. But tell me, now that you’ve seen for yourself, what do you think?
“Well, I don’t know much about basketball, but I can confirm that you really are the best. You score a lot of the….” Peter trailed off when he realized he didn’t know enough about basketball to finish that sentence.
“Points.” You finished it for him.
“Right. Points. I was between that or “innies”. Because, you know, the ball goes in the net. A lot, when you have it. You’re, uh, you’re really good.” He felt shy again from the way you were holding his gaze. You sensed his timidness and tossed the ball back to him to give him something to fidget with.
“Thank you. Is that why you keep showing up at my games? Because you think I’m good?” You asked with a playful tone.
“Amongst the other things I think you are.”
“Woah. You answered that kinda like Yoda.”
“Yeah. I hoped you wouldn’t notice.” Peter laughed in embarrassment. Before you could answer, your coach blew a whistle to signal the end of halftime.
“Duty calls.” You sighed, feeling the same sinking feeling of disappointment that Peter was experiencing now that your conversation was over.
“Good luck. Or, break a leg? What do they say in basketball?” He asked and tossed you your ball back.
“Good luck is just fine. And I appreciate it. See you later, Peter.” You waved to him as the rest of your team flooded back onto the court. He watched some of the other girls come up to you and look in Peter’s direction, probably trying to find out why you spent all of halftime talking to some stranger. Peter felt a smile tug at his lips when he saw the excited reactions of your teammates as you told them something he couldn’t hear. But since they all snuck glances at him as you spoke, he could safely assume it was about him.
When your game finished, Peter watched as you celebrated your 5th consecutive win with your teammates. Since you’d scored most of the points, you were the center of attention in the room. Even so, you left the celebration early to run up to Peter.
“Congratulations. But is winning still exciting when you win every time?” Peter asked with a teasing smile.
“It’s gotten a little more exciting now that I have a cute boy cheering me on.” You said so bluntly that Peter almost choked.
“Well, this may be hard to believe, but I only started watching basketball when I found out the captain was really cool and pretty.” Peter returned the compliment, earning another smile from you.
“I’m glad the feeling is mutual.“ You told him. “And since you’re such a basketball fan now, I wanted to let you know that I have a game this Saturday.”
“I’m aware. I already cleared my schedule.”
“Oh yeah?” You asked him. “Did you clear it enough to take me out after?”
Peter was caught off guard once again, but was determined not to mess up this opportunity. He quickly composed himself and shrugged in response.
“I can probably move some things around. Squeeze you in.” He said nonchalantly. Luckily, you appreciated his attempt at humor and laughed.
“Good.” You answered. “I’ll see you then, Peter.”
Peter watched you walk off before letting out the breath he had been holding in for the duration of your conversation. As his eyes fell down to your green and black sneakers, his smile fell a little. He couldn’t help but wonder where you’d gotten them from.
Saturday night took a painstakingly long time to arrive. Without your number or any classes together, Peter’s only way of seeing you was attending your games. He sat in the front row of the bleachers with a rose sat upon his bouncing knee.
“We should not be here.” Ned said into his ear.
“You should not be here.” Peter corrected. “She invited me.”
“A friend doesn’t let another friend go into the lion’s den alone. Especially not the den of the lion that breaks guys’ hearts and uses them for new shoes!” Ned whispered harshly.
“That is the most ridiculous rumor I have ever heard.” Peter rolled his eyes. “So, she owns a lot of shoes. So what?”
“Enough for a new pair every game? You know that’s weird.” Ned insisted.
“Maybe she just likes to shop.”
“Ask anyone, Peter. All the athletes at this school say they dated her and they all say the same thing about her. She dates you until you give her your sneakers, and then she dumps you. Is that the fate you want?”
“Well, my sneakers are from Walmart and there’s a security tag stuck in the heel of the left one that sets off every metal detector I walk through. So I sorta doubt she’s gunning for them.”
“It’s not about the price. It’s her trophy.” Ned told him. “She wears them to let everyone know she’s taken another victim. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“You make her sound like she’s some cartoon villain wearing the bones of her enemies as a necklace. They’re just shoes. And that’s just a stupid, misogynistic rumor. You don’t even know her.” Peter replied, starting to get irritated with his friend now.
“Exactly. I don’t know her personally, but even a random college NPC like me knows about her. You don’t get a reputation like that out of nowhere. There’s gotta be some truth to it. Aren’t you the least bit worried I’m right?”
Peter hesitated for a moment as he watched you run across the court in light blue sneakers. He didn’t care about the alleged boys of the past, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t starting to worry about getting hurt.
“No.” Peter said after a beat. “I don’t believe any rumors. My sneakers are safe.”
“Maybe.” Ned agreed. “But what about your heart? Is that safe?”
Peter was silent and felt grateful that the game started. Right away, you owned the court the way you always did. Nothing else could enter Peter’s mind as he watched you command the room and the ball. All the silly rumors faded away and all he could do was be awestruck by you. You pointed to Peter each time you made a basket, and the crowd was starting to take notice. Peter heard some snickers coming from behind him and saw guys pointing his way to mock you, but he ignored it.
“She’s coming. Be cool.” Peter whispered to Ned when you ran up to them during halftime.
“You are asking a lot to me right now.” Ned mumbled under his breath. Peter stood up to greet you and to his surprise, you threw your arms around him.
“Peter! I’m glad you made it.” You said as you squeezed him. Peter stumbled back in surprise for a moment and the hugged you back. He could once again hear people reacting to the two of you from behind him, but he tuned it out.
“Of course I came. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. And this is for you.” He smiled sheepishly as he held up the rose he brought. You smiled softly at him in return and accepted the flower.
“That was very sweet of you. And seriously, thank you for coming. Pretty sure you bring me luck at this point.”
“And I’m pretty sure you were good at basketball before I started coming to your games.” Peter replied, making you laugh.
“Maybe. But it’s nice to have someone rooting for me for once.” You told him as your eyes wandered to the group of boys sitting behind Peter and Ned. When Peter looked over his shoulder to see what you were looking at, he saw the boys blowing you kisses and laughing at themselves. The normally confident look on your face was replaced by a zoned out expressed.
“Well, they confiscated my sign and giant cardboard cut out of your face that I made. But they can never take away my ability to cheer.” Peter said, brining you back to the conversation.
“You’re cute.” You chuckled. “Are we still on for later?”
“Yeah. Absolutely.”
“And will you be joining us?” You playfully turned to Ned to ask. Peter swallowed and looked to his friend, fearful of what he was going to say.
“Unfortunately, Peter said we can’t make this thing a polycule until after the Raiders make the playoffs so that you’re free of distractions.” Ned answered.
“How thoughtful of you, Peter. I’ll start ticking the days off my calendar immediately.” You replied without missing a beat. You and Ned smiled at each other before looking back at a very confused Peter.
“I don’t understand what’s happening.” Peter said as he looked between the two of you.
“What’s happening is your girlfriend just passed the vibe check.” Ned said, making Peter shut his eyes in embarrassment and hoped this wasn’t the moment you realized you were too cool to give Peter a chance.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to happen today. Who cares about this basketball shit? I only care if the friend of the guy I haven’t gone on a date with yet likes me.” You retorted. Ned laughed again and Peter felt himself relax. For some reason, you were still standing there, despite Ned’s attempt to scare you away.
“I should probably head back to my team. Hold this for me until I’m done?” You asked nicely and handed the rose back to Peter. Your fingers touched as you passed it and he felt sparks fly. You exchanged one last smile before you ran off to join your team.
When the game ended, Ned left Peter to find you after telling him how cool he found you. Peter wanted to roll his eyes and say the knew that the whole time, but he held his tongue. He waited with the rose near the locker room until you were ready.
You came out soon enough, clothes changed and skin still a little damp from your quick shower. Peter could smell your body lotion radiating off of you and found it hard to remember his own name.
“Are you ready?” You asked him with a nervous smile. This was a departure from the usual assured look you had on your face, and it gave Peter a glimpse into your more vulnerable side.
“I am. Let me get that.” Peter said and took your backpack off your shoulder. He accompanied you to dorm to drop off your basketball stuff and the rose, making easy small talk as you went. He did his best to not gawk when he got a glimpse into your room when you opened the door to put your stuff inside. When you shut the door, Peter got a look at your fully packed shoe rack. He hated to admit it, but it sparked his curiosity about where they came from.
“So how many games do you think you would’ve attended before talking to me?” You asked him, pulling his thoughts away from the shoes.
“Hm, let me think. When do you graduate?” He asked, making you laugh. You were heading off of campus now, hands bumping into each other every now and then.
“Really? You were never going to approach me?”
“And risk getting rejected? No way. I was happy to cheer you on for the rest of my college career and fantasize about lives would be like if I had a backbone and asked you out.”
“So, tell me.” You began. “What were our lives like in your fantasies?”
“They were great. You were drafted by New York Liberty, so I moved back home to be with you. I’m from Queens, by the way. You have a two great years before you’re promoted to captain. I attend every game.”
“Are you really from Queens? I would not have guessed that about you. And how did you know I like the New York Liberty?”
“Yep. Queens born and raised. I’m surprised you don’t gather that from my hardened bad boy disposition.” Peter joked, earning another laugh from you. “And I knew that was your favorite team because you always wear a bracelet with their colors. And I maybe saw a poster on your wall to confirm what the colors are for.”
“Wow. A Queens boy. Here I was thinking Kanas or something. You seem too soft and kind for New York. Especially because I’ve seen so many crazy videos of the subways. Like seriously, what is going on over there?” You asked as you toyed with the sea foam green and black bracelet on your wrist.
“I wish I knew. But you would never have to take the subway because we’re gonna live in a penthouse right near Barclays. I will be placing the down payment on it tonight, depending how our date goes.”
“You’ve really thought it all out.” You said with a pleased smile. “But what about you? What will your job be in this fantasy? Which is my indirect way of asking what your major is, by the way.”
“It’s bioengineering.” He replied. “So I’ll be working at Wendy’s and doing immoral science experiments in our aforementioned penthouse.”
“Bioengineering? You have a brilliant science brain and you thought I would’ve rejected you?”
“Of course I did. You’re the captain of the undefeated basketball team and I’m friends with the janitor.”
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You also started a fire in the bathroom.” You reminded him as you reached the frozen yogurt spot he was taking you to. He held the door for you on the way in, which made you give him an endearing touch on the shoulder.
“Oh yes. How could I forget? That’s totally way cooler than all those pictures of you holding trophies that line the walls of the gym.” Peter said sarcastically as he filled his cup with Cake Batter flavored yogurt.
“I hope you didn’t look too closely at those. I went through a fake freckle phase for a minute there. And then they would smear all over my face during my games, but I just kept doing it. No one stopped me.” You sighed and filled your cup with yogurt as well. Peter couldn’t help but admire you, unable to believe he was really on a date with you and not just watching you from court side.
“I hate to say it, but I think it would take a lot more than fake freckles to get me to not find you extraordinary.” Peter said shyly, You gave him a playful smack on the arm as you moved over to the topping station together.
“Wait, I take back what I just said. I’m trying really hard not to judge you right now.” Peter said as he watched you put popping bubbles onto your yogurt.
“What? These are so good. It’s like a little strawberry explosion in your mouth.”
“I’m telling you right now, I’m not seeing a second date in our future. And to clarify, it’s because of those little pink things you just put all over perfectly good yogurt.” Peter joked and pointed to your yogurt.
“And to think I held my tongue about your Cake Batter yogurt in hopes you’d put down that downpayment you promised me and take me on a second date.” You sighed wistfully.
“Woah, woah, woah. I’m just teasing.” Peter assured you. “If you’ll have me, I would love a second date.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I can squeeze you in. Move some things around.” You said to callback to what he said when you first asked him out.
“Damn. I hope I make the cut.” He played along and blew out a breath. To his surprise, you linked your arm with him and rested your head on his shoulder for a moment.
“I’m also just teasing.” You told him. “I would also love a second date. I love having you at my games, but it’s hard to get to know you when I’m on the court and you’re on the bleachers. And I want to get to know you.”
“I want to get to know you too.” Peter said softly. “Fake freckles and all.”
You left the yogurt shop soon enough, with Peter paying of course. You strolled down the sidewalk together, eating your yogurt, and making easy small talk. He was slowly coming out of his shell as you talked since you seemed genuinely interested in everything he said. It felt easy to talk to you. Despite your very different interests, you found a lot of common ground to link the two of you.
“Hold on. Your shoe lace is untied.” Peter said and handed you his cup of yogurt. Before you could respond, he bent down to tie it for you.
“God, I feel like Cinderella.” You chuckled. “But you shouldn’t have bothered tying them. They always come untied because the laces are so slick.”
“Why do you wear them then?” Peter asked as you handed his yogurt back to him. You took a bite of your own and looked over at him.
“Can I tell you a secret?” You asked, making Peter’s heart skip a beat. His mind immediately went back to the rumors Ned had told him about.
“Yeah, go for it.” Peter said with attempt to sound calm.
“I’m very superstitious.” You confessed. “I have to touch the top of the doorframe before a game, or I won’t play as well. I have to put my left sock on first, or I won’t run as fast. And I can’t throw out any pair I’ve won a game in, or I’ll throw out my good luck. No matter how old and sucky the pair is.”
“Wow. I was not expecting this.” He smiled in surprise. “How old are these, then?”
“Oh God. I think these were a gift for my 12th birthday, maybe? I can’t remember. I went through puberty pretty early. That’s how I got into basketball. I figured I’d put my height to good use, right? Anyway, my shoe size has been the same since I was like 11. Basketball has always been my thing, so anytime I was getting presents, it was shoes. But I’m not complaining. I’ve built up quite the collection over the years.”
“Yeah, I noticed that you always wear a different pair to your games.” He replied, making you let out a sad sounding laugh.
“Well, that’s because you’ve only been to 5 of my games. I only have 14 pairs of shoes.”
“Only 14?” He laughed. “I have these sneakers and my dress shoes.”
“No flip flops?”
“Men’s feet should never be out.”
“Good answer. I agree.” You chuckled. “But what do you do in the summer?”
“Sneakers year round, baby.” Peter insisted.
“I like that. And I like you calling me baby.” You said as you linked your arm through his again. Peter felt his face heat up and gave you a timid smile. As you walked together arm in arm, he let his eyes fall down to your shoes.
“I think it’s really sweet that you hang on to shoes so that you don’t throw your luck away. Clearly it’s working.” Peter said with sincerity.
“I think so too. I’m not sure why everyone turned it into something so weird.” You replied, catching Peter off guard.
“What do you mean?” He played dumb.
“Come on. I know you’ve heard the rumors about me. You’ve been staring at my shoes all night.” You said with that same sad laugh from before. Peter admittedly had stole a few glances at them, but none that he thought you noticed.
“I never believed them.” He said instead of trying to deny what you already knew to be true.
“Who told you?” You asked without looking at him.
“My friends.”
“Your friend who accompanied you to my game tonight?” You asked with a sad smile.
“Yeah.” Peter reluctantly admitted.
“Did he come to protect you from me?”
“I told him I didn’t need it. And that the rumors were the dumbest thing I ever heard.”
“I think so too. I don’t know why I became such a lightning rod for slut shaming at this school. I’ve never even dated one of the meathead athletes here. And if I did, who cares? I rejected one, though. A boy on the basketball team who didn’t like that I knew more about sneakers than he did. Or tha I had a bigger collection. Right after I turned him down, all the rumors started. Funny how that works.” You said with a calmness to your tone that Peter wasn’t expecting.
“Does it get to you? All the dumb stuff people say?”
“It used to.” You admitted. “But I have a great support system around me. My teammates know who I am. And dumb rumors don’t stop me from winning games. So at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter what people who don’t know me say. I only concern myself with people who choose to see for themselves.”
Peter stopped walking and turned to face you. You stopped walking as well and tilted your head as you stared at him.
“You don’t deserve to be talked about that way. I’m sorry my friends ever believed that nonsense. And I’m sorry I ever entertained it, even for a second. I know how it feels to have a rumor going around about you and it sucks. I should’ve known it was bullshit as soon as I heard it.”
“It’s okay, Peter. You have shown me that you care about getting to know me. And I don’t blame you for wondering. I do wear a lot of shoes.”
“You do.” He admitted. “But I like it. I hope you never stop.”
“I don’t plan to. I’m not going to let some stupid rumor make me throw out my luck.” You said as you started walking together again.
“What was the rumor about you?” You wondered. “You said you know how it feels.”
“I do. In high school, people thought I was a male escort.”
“What?” You laughed in surprise. “What the hell did you do to make people think that?”
“Hey, I didn’t ask you questions about the origin of your rumor.” Peter pointed out.
“You’re right, you’re right.” You held up a hand in defense and squeezed his arm with your other one. You were back on campus now, walking as slowly back to your dorm as possible so that the date wouldn’t end just yet. As you walked, one of boys from the basketball team passed by. He looked you and Peter up and down and let out an obnoxious laugh.
“A new guy? You really go through them, don’t you? Looks like you ran out of athletes, though.” The guy said to you. You paid him no mind and kept walking, but Peter was less inclined to let him get away with speaking to you like that.
“What were those things called again?” Peter asked and pointed to your yogurt.
“Popping bubbles?”
“Can I try one?” He asked. You nodded and spooned three onto his open palm.
To your surprise, Peter pelted the popping bubbles at the guys head with such speed that they exploded in his hair. Before the guy could react, Peter grabbed your hand and took off running. You ran all the way to the football field and quickly tucked under the bleachers, laughing to the point of breathlessness as you went. You crouched down and made your way to the middle of the bleachers, staying silent until the coast was clear.
“Peter!” You exclaimed. “That was the point guard on the boys team. He’s gonna kill you if he sees you again.”
“I don’t care.” Peter insisted. “He doesn’t get to speak to you like that.”
“Thank you.” You smiled softly and put a hand on Peter’s face. He felt his face warm up under your touch and looked into your eyes.
“For what? Messing with that losers low taper fade?”
“That.” You chuckled in agreement. “And for taking the time to get to know me. It’s been a really long time since anyone did that.”
“I’m glad I did. Because you are worth getting to know. I like that you’re a superstitious shoe collector who knows exactly who she is. Even if she gets the nastiest possible topping on her-“ Peter was cut off by his shirt being pulled forward and his lips landing against yours. He welcomed the surprise and kissed you back, tasting the sweetness of your dessert on your lips. Kissing under the bleachers was the most cliche thing the two of you could possibly be doing, but he loved every second of it. You both did.
“Yogurt.” He breathlessly concluded his interrupted sentence when you pulled away.
“Wow, Peter. You just had to finish your sentence, huh?” You chucked and pecked his lips again. He happily kissed you back, not stopping until his lungs pestered him for air.
“This was a very unexpected but welcome end to our night.” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “But I guess kissing you on the first date really doesn’t help me beat the promiscuous allegations, does it?”
“Oh well. Too late now.” Peter shrugged and cupped your face to kiss you once more. He walked you back to your for afterwards like the gentleman he was, and was given a room tour upon arrival. When he looked at you 14 pairs of lucky shoes on display, all he thought about was how lucky he was to know you.
The next time Peter attended one of your games, it was as your boyfriend. Your teammates dubbed him the official First Husband of the Raiders and welcomed him with open arms.
As Peter watched you make your third basket of the evening despite the game just starting, he felt a sense of pride. You had on his pair of beat up sneakers, so it was only fair that he wore a hoodie you leant him with your last name and jersey number printed on the back. Peter had Ned and MJ beside him, meaning you had the loudest cheers out of the whole gymnasium.
“Are we being too obvious? Is this too hard of a launch?” You shouted at him as you dribbled by. A member of the opposing team attempted the get the ball from you, but you didn’t even let them get close.
“It’s not obvious enough until there’s a ring on this finger.” Ned called back and held up Peter’s left hand. You laughed and made another basket, making sure to point at Peter afterwards.
“So if I start sitting on the stands during the girls swim team practice, does that mean I’ll get a girlfriend? Because it worked for Peter.” MJ leaned over to say to her friends.
“I wouldn’t count on it. I don’t think this has ever happened before in the history of the world and I don’t think it’s ever going to happen again.” Ned said to her. Peter was barely listening, too busy being enchanted by you.
When the game was over and you had successfully carried your team to another victory, you hugged your girls and then ran straight to Peter. He stood up to greet you, just like the first time you approached him, but this time, you threw your arms around him to kiss him. You could hear the crowd going crazy behind you, but neither of you cared.
“Hey, handsome.” You said when you pulled away. “Did you know these shoes have a security tag embedded in the bottom?”
“I do.” He admitted. “But I can’t throw them out now because you just won a game in them.”
“Uh oh.” You smiled. “Look who’s superstitious now.”
“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.” Peter smiled. “Now can I take you and lucky pair number 15 out on a date to celebrate your latest win?”
You left the gymnasium with Peter, his friends, and a few of your teammates. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were being seen for who you were and nothing else.
pairing: monkey d. luffy x fem!reader, monkey d. luffy x straw hat!reader
content: fluff, mild chaos, the reader has a crush on luffy, luffy being oblivious, luffy also having zero survival instincts, no mention of y/n, s2 setting, that one dinosaur riding scene except it’s luffy and the reader.
summary: in which you explore little garden with luffy and somehow end up riding a dinosaur together.
author’s note: luffy and vivi had sm chemistry during this scene and for what 😭😭 the op characters r never beating the polycule allegations, i fear.
The Grand Line had a strange way of making everything feel unreal.
One moment you were sailing across tranquil blue waters with the sun warming your skin; the next, you found yourself standing on an island that looked as though it had been torn from the pages of a history book — dense jungle, towering trees, and unfamiliar calls reverberating through the heavy air. Even the ground beneath your feet felt ancient.
Little Garden.
That was the island your log pose had guided you to — the very same one Miss All Sunday had cautioned your crew about. She had appeared aboard the Going Merry like a phantom, wearing an eerily calm smile as she warned that it was far more dangerous than the criminal organization she served.
Which, frankly, wasn’t comforting.
You adjusted the strap of your bag with quiet unease as you pushed through the underbrush.
Your crew had split up not long after arriving.
Nami and Vivi had set off together to survey the island. Sanji and Zoro — after a few minutes of heated bickering and a hastily struck bet — ventured into the jungle to hunt for food. Usopp insisted that someone stay behind to guard the Going Merry, despite the island appearing completely uninhabited.
That left you traversing the island with Luffy.
Which would’ve been perfectly fine — if the island didn’t feel as though it were watching you.
You pushed a low-hanging branch aside, your eyes sweeping across the dense jungle around you. Everything was unnaturally still…save for the occasional distant rumble that made the earth shiver beneath your boots.
“You’re walking funny.” Luffy’s voice cut through your thoughts.
You glanced over at him.
He was strolling ahead with his hands tucked behind his head, as if this were a leisurely afternoon walk rather than an expedition across a mysterious island in the Grand Line.
You frowned. “I’m not walking funny.”
“You are.”
“I’m being cautious.”
Luffy tilted his head, his straw hat shifting slightly with the motion. “…Why?”
You stared at him in disbelief. “Did you forget what that woman said to us?”
“Oh.” He blinked once. “Yeah.”
Your eye twitched. “She literally told us this island was more dangerous than the criminal organization she works for.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And that doesn’t concern you?”
Luffy grinned. “Nah.”
Of course it didn’t.
You exhaled softly and quickened your pace until you were walking beside him. The jungle grew denser around you, massive tree trunks rising high overhead while thick vines coiled tightly around them like living ropes.
Somewhere in the distance, something let out a thunderous roar.
You stiffened.
Luffy’s eyes immediately lit up. “Ooo.”
“That,” You said quickly, catching the back of his shirt before he could wander towards the sound, “is exactly why we shouldn’t be wandering around like idiots.”
“But it sounded cool!”
“That’s not the point.”
He glanced back at you with that wide, carefree grin — the kind that somehow made your heart perform an embarrassingly small flip.
God.
You really did have a crush on the most reckless person on the planet.
You were about to say something else when the ground trembled again.
This time, it was closer — much closer.
Both of you fell still.
Leaves rustled somewhere ahead, and a low, heavy thud reverberated through the jungle.
Then another.
Your stomach sank. “…Luffy?”
“Yeah?”
“Please tell me you hear that too.”
“I hear it!”
That was not reassuring.
Up ahead, the trees shifted and bent as something enormous forced its way through them.
At first, you only saw a shape.
Then a neck — an impossibly long neck.
Your mind needed a moment to comprehend what you were actually seeing.
“…No way.” Your jaw slackened as the creature stepped fully into view.
Dinosaurs.
Not just one — several of them.
A small herd of colossal creatures with elongated necks and thick, pillar-like legs wandered peacefully through the clearing ahead, lazily chewing on the leaves high in the canopy.
You felt the color drain from your complexion. “Oh my—”
Meanwhile—
“DINOSAURS!”
You clamped a hand over Luffy’s mouth before he could shout any louder. “Shh!”
He gently pried your hand away, his eyes sparkling with the unrestrained excitement of a child at a candy store. “Did you see that?!”
“Of course I saw it!” You hissed.
Your heart was hammering in your chest.
Actual dinosaurs.
Miss All Sunday hadn’t been exaggerating— Little Garden truly was dangerous. And prehistoric.
Luffy leaned forward, studying the giant creatures with open fascination. Then he said the most predictable thing imaginable.
“I want to ride one.”
Your soul nearly left your body. “No.”
“But look how tall it is!”
“Absolutely not.”
“I bet it’d be fun.”
You snatched the back of his shirt again. “Luffy, those things could crush us like bugs.”
“But they look friendly!”
“They are dinosaurs.”
Before you could say another word, Luffy bolted forward.
“LUFFY!” Your whisper-shout came far too late.
He sprinted across the clearing without a hint of hesitation, approaching one of the enormous long-necked dinosaurs as if it were nothing more than a friendly horse in a pasture.
The creature didn’t even seem remotely bothered. It simply continued grazing on leaves as Luffy grabbed hold of its neck and began climbing.
You stared in horror. “YOU CAN’T JUST—!”
Too late.
Within seconds, he had scrambled all the way up the dinosaur’s impossibly long neck and settled himself squarely atop its head.
He looked absurdly pleased with himself. “This is awesome!”
You pressed both hands to your face. “I cannot believe this is happening.”
The dinosaur continued ambling through the clearing, seemingly unbothered by its unexpected passenger.
Luffy leaned over the edge of its head to look down at you. “Hey!”
You crossed your arms. “What?”
“You should come up here!”
Your jaw dropped. “No.”
“C’mon!”
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s fun!”
“I am not climbing a dinosaur.”
Luffy pouted for a moment — then his eyes suddenly lit up.
Uh-oh.
“Don’t you dare—”
“Gum Gum!” His arm suddenly stretched across the clearing.
You barely had time to react before his rubbery hand secured itself around your waist.
“LUFFY—!”
The next moment, you were airborne. Your feet left the ground as his arm recoiled like a rubber band, yanking you high into the air.
The jungle spun beneath you.
“AHHHH—”
You landed behind him atop the dinosaur’s head. Your hands immediately seized the nearest solid thing — Luffy’s shoulders — as your breathing came in quick, uneven bursts.
You refused to look down.
“You okay?” Luffy asked cheerfully.
“No.” You cautiously glanced downward.
Huge mistake — the ground looked impossibly far away.
“We are going to die.”
“We’re not going to die!”
“We’re riding a dinosaur!”
“Yeah!”
“That’s not reassuring, Luffy!”
Your captain laughed.
Beneath you, the dinosaur continued its slow, steady walk through the jungle, each massive step sending a gentle sway through its enormous body.
You tightened your grip on Luffy’s shirt. “Why would you do that without warning me?!”
“Because you said no.”
“That’s because it’s insane!”
“It’s awesome.”
You opened your mouth to argue — but the dinosaur took another slow step.
The movement caused you to sway slightly. Instinctively, you wrapped both arms around Luffy’s waist and drew closer to steady yourself, pressing in so you wouldn’t lose your balance.
Your face ended up resting against his back.
You went still.
Oh.
Oh no.
Luffy didn’t seem to notice the quiet panic unraveling inside your mind. He simply grinned at the jungle stretching endlessly ahead.
“See?” He said brightly. “It’s not so bad.”
Your heart was racing far too quickly.
Your grip tightened slightly. “That’s…not why I’m nervous.”
“Hmm?”
“…Nothing.”
The dinosaur moved steadily through the trees, sunlight filtering softly through the canopy above.
For a moment, everything was quiet.
No danger. No enemies. Just the soft creak of branches and the slow, rhythmic thud of the dinosaur’s steps.
After everything your crew had endured recently — being swallowed by a whale, clashing with Baroque Works and barely escaping their carefully laid trap of a town — it felt strangely peaceful.
Luffy leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, completely at ease.
You sighed softly, settling comfortably against him. “…This isn’t so bad.”
He grinned. “Told you.”
You huffed quietly as you lifted your head. “Don’t get used to being right.”
He laughed again, a warm, radiant sound that seemed to ripple through the jungle around you.
“Just hold on to me,” He said casually.
You blinked, and then it struck you — that was exactly what you were doing.
Instinctively, your arms tightened a little around his waist, and you rested your head against his back once more.
“…I am,” You murmured.
Luffy didn’t tease you about it.
He didn’t question it either.
He simply smiled, content, as the dinosaur carried you both deeper into Little Garden, the jungle sprawling endlessly in every direction.
And for the first time since entering the Grand Line, you felt no fear at all.
hi giiirl, do you plan to write a part 2 of “Cindy Lou who”?
hey, girlie! tysm for the question (:
unfortunately, i have no plans on making a part two. i wrote that oneshot with that specific ending in mind, but i’m flattered that so many of you have asked.
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader, steve harrington x buckley!reader, steve harrington x younger!reader, platonic!robin buckley x sister!reader
content: the reader is robin’s younger sister, mild age gap (the reader is sixteen, steve is eighteen), established relationship but barely, mild bullying/gossip, the reader doubting herself, steve stepping in to reassure, emotional hurt/comfort, post s3 setting.
summary: in which cruel gossip makes you doubt something you wanted — and steve harrington proves he never has.
author's note: to the two people who wanted an update on them, this one is for y’all 🫶🏼🫶🏼 sorry it took so long, i rewrote this WAY too many times.
You and Steve had been dating for a month — not loosely, not casually, not in the way people pretend things don’t matter. Dating, in the unmistakable sense of the word.
Movie nights that turned into soft, breathless kisses on his couch. Shared milkshakes at Benny’s, your knee brushing his beneath the table. His hand wrapping around yours with an ease that felt natural, almost inevitable.
Long enough for it to feel real.
Long enough for the fear of losing it to sink in.
Whenever the subject surfaced — Steve’s age, the glances, the questions no one quite voiced — you were always the first to dismiss it. You deflected with humor, made light of it, told him it didn’t bother you, that it wasn’t strange, that anyone uncomfortable with it could learn to live with it, just as Robin had.
You repeated it often enough that it began to sound practiced. Polished. Convincing.
Almost believable.
And on most days, that was enough.
But on certain days — quiet ones, like today — your mind refused to stay idle, slipping too easily into the spaces he never filled. You caught yourself wondering if others saw you the way you sometimes feared you were seen: a phase, a mistake, something he would eventually outgrow.
You told yourself it was absurd. That after a month, you should feel more secure in your relationship. But anxiety was never interested in reason; it thrived on silence and opportunity, and today, it had both.
Especially with Steve not around, leaving nothing to anchor you.
Family Video carried the smell of artificial cherry and old dust that afternoon — a peculiar mix of carpet cleaner, plastic VHS sleeves, and the bargain-bin air freshener you had optimistically tucked behind the counter in a futile attempt to disguise the store’s obsolescence.
Today, it was just you and Robin.
Steve wasn’t scheduled until later, which should’ve made the day feel easier — lighter. Instead, it left too much empty space in your head, room for doubts to ricochet.
You stood behind the counter, elbows pressed into the laminate, picking at the edge of a sun-bleached sticker you’d already peeled halfway free. You smoothed it back down again and again, as if enough pressure might convince it to stay put — as if effort alone could keep things from unraveling.
Your sister rewound tapes beside you. Neither of you spoke much.
It should’ve felt comfortable — easy in the way silence sometimes was — but you couldn’t quite settle into it. Your shoulders stayed tense, posture a little too careful, as if you were bracing for something you couldn’t name.
Every few minutes, your eyes betrayed you, drifting to the door in a foolish, hopeful reflex. As if Steve might show up early. As if the mere sight of him could finally ease your restlessness.
Robin noticed. She always did.
She cleared her throat — once, then twice — teetering on the edge of a comment before letting it go. Instead, she sighed and jammed another tape into the rewinder with more force than necessary.
The bell above the door chimed.
Your head snapped up, hope flaring for half a second before sinking — it wasn’t your boyfriend.
Three girls stepped inside instead — each about Steve’s age, all frosty lips, denim skirts, and that carefully rehearsed air of nonchalance. You recognized them at once. Of course you did.
They were regulars. Twice a week, minimum.
Always on Steve’s shifts. His “fan club,” as your sister liked to call them.
She noticed them as well — you caught it in the way her shoulders tightened, the quick, unimpressed roll of her eyes before she shifted her focus back to the tapes.
“Oh my god,” The blonde girl whispered, not nearly as softly as she believed. Her blue eyes darted to the back hallway, as though she expected Steve to materialize on command. “Do you think he’s working?”
The ginger snorted. “Obviously. Why else would we be here?”
“He’s not,” Robin said flatly, not bothering to look up. “Tragic, I know.”
The ginger paused, clearly unaccustomed to being addressed. “Oh. Well…that sucks.”
They didn’t leave.
They never did — drifting through the aisles with no real destination, manicured nails skimming VHS tapes they had no intention of renting, whispers and giggles pitched just loud enough to carry. You stayed rooted behind the counter, acting as though the register required your complete, undivided attention.
You pretended not to listen, fixing your attention on the counter, on the low buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead — on anything but the tightening in your chest as their voices edged closer.
“He’s seriously so cute,” The blonde said, arms crossed as she lounged against a display rack. “Like, unfairly cute.”
“And his hair,” The brunette chimed in. “I swear, he’s never had a bad hair day in his life.”
“Right? And he’s always so nice — even when people are being annoying.”
You heard Robin huff under her breath beside you. “Case in point,” She muttered.
Then —
“Ugh,” The blonde said, wrinkling her nose. “Isn’t he dating, like…some high school girl now?”
Your fingers stalled against the counter, the rhythm of your tapping ending abruptly.
Robin’s head jerked up.
“What?” The ginger blurted out. “Ew. Seriously?”
“Yeah,” The blonde replied, dropping her voice — though not nearly enough. “I heard it from Carol. Apparently, she’s sixteen.”
Sixteen.
The word landed with an unexpected weight, settling deep into your chest.
You fixed your gaze on the counter, suddenly conscious of your hands — how youthful they appeared, the chipped polish on your nails stacked against their flawless manicures, as if the contrast alone might expose you.
“I mean,” The blonde said, plainly unimpressed, “what does he even see in her? No offense, but that’s kind of embarrassing for him.”
The brunette laughed. “Yeah, like…isn’t he supposed to be past all that?”
Your stomach sank.
Robin straightened to her full height. “Alright,” She announced, her tone sharp. “You’re either checking out or you’re leaving.”
The girls blinked, visibly startled.
“We didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did,” She cut in without missing a beat. “And you can take it elsewhere.”
They grumbled under their breaths — overly dramatic, deeply offended — before heading towards the door, whispers trailing after them.
The brunette glanced back, her gaze skimming over you with mild curiosity before following her friends out the door.
You hadn’t moved.
Your reflection wavered in the darkened computer screen behind the counter — smaller than you remembered, younger somehow — as every insecurity surged back up, tight and unrelenting in your throat.
High school girl.
Embarrassing.
What does he see in her?
Your sister turned towards you, an apology already forming. “Hey—”
“I’m gonna go organize the returns,” You said, scooping up the stack of tapes before she could object.
She watched you retreat, concern etched deeply into her features.
You didn’t cry.
Not yet.
But the words trailed after you — down the aisles, into the rhythm of sliding tapes back into their place, into every quiet pocket where your thoughts were free to wander. They grew louder with each empty shelf, each second spent alone with nothing but your pulse and the soft whir of the rewinder.
You’d pursued him. You’d been the brave one — the one who decided the age gap wasn’t something to fear. That it didn’t matter.
But standing there, hearing girls Steve’s age reduce you to something faintly embarrassing, like a misstep he’d made without thinking…
It confirmed all your deepest fears.
When Steve finally arrived for his shift, you made a conscious effort to act normal.
You truly did.
He noticed you the moment he stepped through the door.
“Hey,” He said, his expression brightening at the sight of you hovering behind the counter. He slipped in beside you, brushing a quick kiss to your temple. “Didn’t know if you’d be here today.”
“Yeah,” You said, plastering a smile. “Just hanging out.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on your face as if committing something to memory. “Cool. Uh — did Robin clock in? She always forgets.”
“Yeah, she did.”
A brief pause. “Okay.”
He didn’t leave. That, in itself, was new.
Instead, he lingered — straightening tapes that were already in order, leaning against the counter with you, asking questions he didn’t need answered. And every time you replied, you kept it measured. Careful. Polite. Brief.
Too brief.
He caught it.
“Hey,” He murmured once Robin disappeared into the break room. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” You replied a beat too quickly. “Just tired.”
A crease formed between his brows. “You sure?”
“Mmhm.”
He studied you for another moment before his eyes flicked to the clock above the counter. “Well, I’m off in, like, forty-five. You, uh, wanna go grab dinner after? My treat.”
Something tightened low in your chest.
“O-Oh, I can’t. I’ve got homework.”
He blinked. “Homework?”
“Yeah.” You nodded, smoothing the lie into something casual. “It’s for Click’s class. Big assignment.”
There was a pause — not long but weighted enough to be felt.
“Oh,” He said at last, slower now. “Okay.”
“Sorry,” You added, though the word felt misplaced the moment it slipped out.
“It’s fine,” He assured, but his gaze remained on you — searching, unconvinced. “We can do it another night.”
He didn’t push — not about dinner, not about anything — but the concern in his expression never wavered. He kept an eye on you as if expecting something to give, as if looking away for even a moment might mean losing you altogether.
By the time you’d left and Robin was clocking out, Steve was wound tight with worry.
Your sister hadn’t even reached the door before he stopped her.
“Robin,” He called out softly. “What’s going on? Did I say something?”
She hesitated.
“She’s been off all day,” He continued. “And I know that look. It’s the same one you get when someone says something stupid, and you’re trying not to lose it.”
Robin shut her eyes, exhaling through her nose. “Your fan club came in earlier,” She said at last. “You know, those girls that only ever show up when you’re working.”
Steve groaned. “Oh, god. What did they say?”
She held his gaze. “They were talking about you. About her. About the age difference.”
Something sharp flashed across Steve’s face. “What kind of things?”
Robin swallowed. “That it was embarrassing. That they didn’t get what you saw in her.”
His jaw tightened.
“And she heard them. Every word,” She added softly. “She’s trying to act like it doesn’t hurt her, but it does. I know it does.”
Steve said nothing at first. The silence stretched — heavy, precarious. Then he finally exhaled — slow and deliberate — trying to keep himself in check.
He reached for his jacket, for the keys to Family Video.
“What are you doing?” Robin asked.
“Get in the car, Robin. We’re closing early.”
You were curled into yourself on your bed, gaze fixed on the ceiling, counting the hairline cracks in the plaster like they might keep your thoughts occupied. The silence broke the moment you heard the front door open.
Voices carried down the hallway — familiar, muffled.
Robin. Then Steve, lower, unmistakable.
Your chest tightened immediately.
You rolled onto your side, pulse racing as you heard Robin veer off towards her bedroom. A moment later, Steve’s footsteps cut across the living room and moved down the hallway without hesitation — no pause, no doubt.
You barely had time to push yourself upright before the knock sounded.
You almost didn’t answer.
Almost.
But some instinct told you he wouldn’t accept a closed door.
When you opened it, Steve stood on the other side — hair tousled by the wind, jacket half-zipped, concern scrawled plainly across his features. He looked like he’d driven too fast, like he’d acted first and thought later.
“Hey,” He greeted gently.
Your throat constricted. “Hi.”
“Can I come in?”
You nodded and stepped aside.
He followed you into your bedroom, eyes flicking around the space the way they always did — considerate, respectful — before settling back on you. This time, his gaze lingered, focused and intent, like he was truly seeing you.
Robin hadn’t been exaggerating on the drive over.
You looked smaller somehow — withdrawn, closed in, like you’d folded in on yourself.
He stepped closer. “Robin told me what those girls said.”
You shrugged, automatic and guarded. “It’s whatever.”
“It’s not,” He said at once. “It’s not whatever.”
You finally meet his gaze. “They’re not wrong, Steve.”
Something in his expression set — hardening, not at you, but at the thought itself. “Don’t say that.”
“They just said what everyone’s probably thinking,” You continued, your voice trembling despite your effort to keep it steady. “That I’m just some high school girl you’re — what — slumming it with?”
The word tasted foul on your tongue.
Steve reached for your hands without thinking — warm, solid, grounding. “Stop.”
You tried to pull away. He didn’t let you.
“I don’t care what they think,” He said, unwavering. “I don’t care how it looks to anyone else.”
You swallowed hard. “But what if you do, eventually?”
His voice softened, sincere in a way that made your chest ache. “I won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise how I feel,” He said, lifting the hand he held to his chest, just above his heart. “And I feel…I feel like you’re incredible. Like you’re smarter and braver than half the people I know.” He gave a quiet, rueful breath. “This past summer, at Starcourt — everyone was freaking out. The grown-ups, the kids, all of us just trying not to die.”
Your gaze flickered.
“And you know what stuck with me?” He continued. “Not the Mindflayer or the Russians or any of it. It was the people who stayed. Even when they were scared. Even when they didn’t know what to do.” His grip tightened. “That’s you. You’re still here. You’re still talking to me.”
Your eyes stung.
He brushed his thumb over your knuckles, slow and deliberate. “I don’t see a number when I look at you. I just…see you.”
Your breath caught. “I just don’t want to be something you have to defend.”
“You’re not,” He said without hesitation. “You’re something I choose — just like you chose me that night.”
That night. At Family Video, when you’d made it unmistakably clear that you wanted him, concerns and complications be damned.
The silence that followed didn’t bite this time. It settled between you — dense, heavy with everything still unspoken.
Then you stepped forward, resting your head against his chest.
He pulled you in at once, arms closing around you with a kind of urgency that felt instinctive, like he was afraid you might slip away if he hesitated. One hand traced up your back, warm and steady, keeping you grounded.
You breathed him in — laundry detergent, something deeply familiar, something safe.
“You’re allowed to have doubts,” He murmured into your hair. “Just don’t face them on your own. Not when it’s us. Okay?”
You nodded, clinging to him. “Okay.”
He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head — gentle, almost reverent — and stayed there, lips resting in your hair like he had nowhere else to be.
You shifted slightly, enough to look up at him. The tension in his face eased immediately, something in his eyes softening as it finally gave way.
“You don’t ever have to earn me,” He added quietly. “You already have me.”
Your chest ached — not painfully this time, but with a deep, swelling warmth. The kind of fullness that overwhelmed in the best way.
You tilted your head, settling your cheek against his, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. He simply held you, giving the reassurance time to sink in.
And for the first time since that afternoon, the noise in your head finally ceased.
