Sunday Funday?

Sunday morning crept in, the soft gray light of dawn filtering through RS’s blinds. He stirred awake, the air in his room thick with a salty, sea-like tang that hit him before his eyes even opened. Blinking groggily, he shoved the covers aside and froze—his stomach, thighs, and flannel pants were plastered with an impressive crust of dried jizz, flaky and stark against his skin. “Uh, what? How? Dafuck?” he muttered, voice raspy with sleep, his brain scrambling to catch up. He sat up, the mess crackling faintly as he moved, and stared down at himself, baffled.

Then it clicked—the dream. That spicy, hours-long marathon with some random hot girl, all curves and wild moans, replayed in his head like a highlight reel. Her hands, her mouth, the relentless pace—he’d lost count of how many times he’d finished in that dreamscape. “Oh, that must’ve done it,” he thought, shrugging it off with a half-laugh. Wet dreams weren’t new, but this was next-level—he’d practically drowned himself in his sleep. Shaking his head, he peeled off the ruined Batman tee and flannel pants, tossing them into the hamper with a grimace, and grabbed a fresh towel.

He padded to the bathroom, the hardwood cool under his feet, and cranked the shower to hot. Steam billowed up as he stepped in, the water blasting away the sticky evidence, soothing his rattled nerves. He didn’t bother locking the door—too groggy, too used to his family’s lazy Sunday routine. Big mistake.

The shower curtain rustled, and Vanessa slipped in behind him, silent as a cat. Her satin camisole was gone, swapped for nothing but her skin, her dark curls dampening in the spray as she pressed up against his back. “Morning, little bro,” she purred, her voice teasing and low, her hands sliding around his waist. RS jolted, spinning to face her, water streaming down his face as his jaw dropped. “Vanessa—what the—?!” he stammered, but her smirk shut him up, her hazel eyes glinting with that same wicked spark from last night.

“Told you you’re mine,” she said, stepping closer, the steam curling around them as the wish he’d made twisted tighter into reality.

RS stood there, water pounding his shoulders, his brain short-circuiting as Vanessa pressed closer, her bare skin brushing his in the tight, steamy space. He braced for something wilder—after last night, he half-expected it—but instead, she grabbed his loofah from the shower caddy and squirted a dollop of his pine-scented body wash onto it. The suds foamed up as she stepped behind him, her voice dropping into a teasing purr. “Relax, little bro, let me take care of you,” she said, dragging the loofah across his back in slow, deliberate circles.

The scratch of the sponge felt good—too good—and she didn’t let up, moaning softly as she worked. “Mmm, you’re so tense, RS… all that stress just melting away, huh? Bet no one else scrubs you like this.” Her tone was fucked up, dripping with flirtation, each word a jab at the line they were crossing. She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. “Such a good boy, letting your big sis clean you up. You like it, don’t you?”

His mind split in two. One part screamed, This is wrong—fucked up, stop it now, a frantic alarm blaring through his conscience. But the other part—the louder part—lit up with pure, unhinged joy. Oh my god, it’s working, it sang, reveling in the wish’s twisted payoff, the power he’d unleashed bending reality right here in the shower. The conflict churned, but the heat, the suds, her voice—they won. He gave in, shoulders slumping as he let her keep going, too caught up to fight it.

Vanessa giggled, low and wicked, scrubbing down his spine, then around to his chest, her hands guiding the loofah with a teasing slowness. “Look at you, all shiny and new,” she cooed, her fingers grazing his skin just enough to keep him on edge. “Bet you didn’t know I could be this nice, huh, little bro?” She purred through it all, flirty and relentless, cleaning him like it was a game she’d already won.

RS stood under the steaming spray, the loofah still gliding across his chest as Vanessa’s teasing purrs echoed in the cramped shower. His heart thudded, a chaotic mix of nerves and thrill, and he swallowed hard, the words bubbling up before he could stop them. “Sis,” he said, voice stuttering, hesitant, cracking under the weight of the moment, “if you could change your body, what would you want to have changed?”

The question hung there, awkward and raw, cutting through the steam. Vanessa paused, the loofah hovering over his shoulder, suds dripping down his arm. She tilted her head, wet curls clinging to her neck, and her hazel eyes narrowed playfully, like she was sizing him up. “Oh, little bro, getting curious, huh?” she teased, her voice dipping low again as she resumed scrubbing, slower now, deliberate. “Hmm… maybe bigger tits—y’know, really fill out that C-cup vibe. Or a tighter ass, something you’d notice when I walk by.” She giggled, pressing the loofah against his back harder, leaning in so her lips grazed his ear. “Why, RS? Wanna wish it for me?”

His breath hitched, her words stoking that split inside him—wrongness warring with the giddy rush of control. He didn’t answer, just stood there, letting the water and her teasing wash over him, mind already spinning with what he could do next.

Vanessa’s teasing jab—“Wanna wish it for me?”—hit RS like a sucker punch, too close to the truth she didn’t even know. No one did. Not her, not Jamie, not Priya or Tim—his power was still his secret, locked tight behind the chaos it had already unleashed. She was just fucking with him, tossing out a flirty quip, but damn if she hadn’t grazed the bullseye. His stomach flipped, but he played it cool, shrugging under the hot spray like it was nothing, the loofah still sliding across his skin.

“Tits?” he echoed, voice catching, hesitant as he **** the words out. “How big? My kind of big or something your pace? Same with your ass.” The question stumbled out, clumsy and raw, his face heating up despite the water. He kept his eyes on the shower wall, avoiding her gaze, but the split in his head flared again—part of him cringing at the wrongness, part of him buzzing with the idea of twisting her words into reality.

Vanessa laughed, a sharp, delighted sound that bounced off the tiles. “Oh my god, RS, listen to you,” she said, dragging the loofah down his arm with a slow, teasing scrape. “Your kind of big, huh? What’s that—D-cups? Double Ds? Something you’d drool over?” She leaned in closer, her wet curls brushing his shoulder, her voice dropping to a mock-whisper. “And my ass—guess you’d want it rounder, firmer, something to stare at when I strut around in those shorts, right? You’re such a perv, little bro.”

She was still teasing, oblivious to the power humming under his skin, but her words lit a spark. He didn’t answer, just let her keep going, the steam and her flirty taunts wrapping around him as his mind churned—Could I? Should I?—the possibilities dangling there, tempting as hell.

RS’s mind was a haze, the steam and Vanessa’s relentless teasing drowning out the last shred of restraint he had left. Her words—D-cups, rounder, firmer—danced in his head, and the horny, reckless part of him took over, shoving the guilt aside. Under his breath, barely a whisper over the shower’s hiss, he let the wish slip out. “I wish her tits were so big that she’d complain about how badly she needs me to touch them. And her ass? Gigantic, with hips to suit. The kind of ass that leaves men a puddle of drool.” It was too much, too far, but he was past caring—too caught up in the rush of power and heat.

The air didn’t shift, no wind or eerie hum like before, but Vanessa suddenly grabbed his shoulders, spinning him around to face her. Her wet hands gripped him tight, and she stared into his eyes, hazel irises glinting with that wicked spark. “I’m already big as hell, little bro,” she said, her voice low and taunting, “you really want me bigger?” She struck a pose, one hip cocked, chest thrust forward, water streaming down her skin.

That’s when RS noticed—his jaw dropped, eyes widening as the reality hit him. Her tits were massive, like two watermelons strapped to her chest, a perfect mix of perky and saggy, straining against gravity in a way that defied logic. Her nipples peeked through the suds, bold and unmissable. Her hips flared out dangerously wide, curves so exaggerated they looked sculpted, and though he couldn’t see her ass from this angle, he could imagine it—gigantic, round, the kind of ass that’d turn heads into mush. She’d changed, just like he’d wished, and he hadn’t even clocked it until now.

“Jesus,” he breathed, too stunned to hide it, his dick twitching despite the shock. Vanessa smirked, stepping closer, her new curves brushing against him as the loofah dropped to the shower floor with a wet plop. “What’s wrong, RS? Too much for you?” she teased, oblivious to the wish, just riding the wave of her own game.

RS’s dick throbbed, pulsing hard right in front of Vanessa, the hot water amplifying every sensation as steam clouded the shower. She glanced down, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, a hungry edge to her smirk that shredded the last of his sanity. He was too horny to think straight—logic, guilt, all of it drowned in the primal rush. His hands shot out, trembling as they sank into her massive breasts, soft and warm under the slick layer of soap. They squished under his grip, heavy and pliant, the suds slipping between his fingers as he kneaded them, lost in the feel.

Her nipples hardened fast, swelling into rock-hard peaks—tiny one-inch stubs that pressed against his palms. Vanessa moaned, loud and unrestrained, the sound bouncing off the tiles and spilling out of the bathroom. It was enough to carry downstairs, enough for their parents to hear, but they wouldn’t react—couldn’t, thanks to his wish. His mom might hum over the dishes, his dad flip a newspaper page, oblivious like it was white noise. Here, it was just them, the rules of reality bent to his will.

Vanessa’s moans turned to gasps as he kept going, squeezing and tugging, her body arching into his touch. Then she snapped—losing it as bad as he had. She dropped to her knees, water cascading over RS’s chest and stomach, streaming into her face as she wrapped her lips around him. The heat of her mouth hit like a shockwave, wet and tight, her tongue flicking as she sucked him down. The shower pounded his back, rivulets running into her curls, plastering them to her cheeks as she worked him, relentless and sloppy, her hands gripping his thighs for leverage.

RS’s head tipped back, a groan ripping out of him as his hands tangled in her wet hair, the world narrowing to the steam, the water, and her.

RS’s grip tightened in Vanessa’s wet curls, the heat and rhythm of her mouth pushing him over the edge in seconds. He came hard, a shudder ripping through him as he spilled into her, her moans vibrating against him until he was spent. The water kept pounding, washing it all away, but as the post-nut clarity crashed in, the fog lifted—and the weight of it hit him like a truck. This is so fucking wrong, he thought, stomach twisting as the reality of what he’d done—what he’d made—sank in. Her massive tits, her ass, the fetish he’d **** on her—it was too much, too far, a line he couldn’t uncross without fixing it.

“I wish my sister went back to how she was,” he rasped, voice barely audible over the shower’s hiss. In a flash, she vanished—gone mid-breath, the loofah clattering to the tile where she’d knelt. The steam swirled, empty now, and RS spun around, double-checking the corners of the shower like she might pop back out. Nothing. Just him, the water, and the faint pine scent of his soap. “Maybe that was too much,” he mumbled, a shaky laugh escaping as he ran a hand through his soaked hair, relief and guilt slugging it out in his chest.

A loud bang rattled the door, jolting him. “Hurry up, shithead, you’re hogging all the water!” Vanessa’s voice—normal, pissed-off Vanessa—cut through, sharp and mocking. RS blinked, then scrambled to rinse off the last suds, shutting the water off with a twist. He grabbed his towel, drying off quick, the steam still clinging to his skin as he wrapped it around his waist and stepped out.

Vanessa stood there in the hall, back to her old self—tall, lean, C-cups and all, no watermelon tits or cartoonish hips. She was in a ratty CU Boulder tee and sweats, arms crossed, glaring at him. “I had the…” She paused, her face twisting like she might puke, “the worst dream about you.” Her eyes flicked up and down him, a flicker of something—confusion, maybe recognition—passing through them, like the edges of his wishes lingered in her subconscious. “Never mind,” she snapped, shoving past him and slamming the bathroom door in his face.

RS stood there a second, towel dripping, then shuffled to his room. He shut the door behind him, tossing the towel and pulling on boxers, a gray tee, and some old gym shorts. The clock read 9:32 a.m.—Sunday stretched ahead, lazy and open. He flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, the wild ride of the last day swirling in his head. Fixed it, he thought, but the power still hummed under his skin, tempting him. A lazy Sunday—or would he push it again?

RS lounged on his bed, the Sunday morning stillness settling around him as he grabbed his phone off the nightstand. His thumb hovered over the screen, the itch of yesterday’s chaos still tingling in his fingers. He opened their group chat—Nerd Herd—and fired off a quick text: “hey gang, awake yet?” He tossed the phone onto his stomach, waiting, the faint hum of the house filling the quiet.

The replies rolled in fast, each one popping up with a buzz, their voices loud even through text.

Priya was first, her message sharp and snappy: “Barely. Up all night coding that AI breakthrough. Ghost is gonna be a beast—if my shitty laptop doesn’t die first. You?”

Tim chimed in next, lazy and drawled out: “Yo, just rolled out of bed. Dreamed I sold a comic panel for 10k. Still sketching that Jamie-Kayla saga. What’s up, RS?”

Then Jamie, predictably, burst in like a tornado, all caps and chaos: “DUDE I’M AWAKE AND FREAKING OUT. KAYLA TEXTED ME GOOD MORNING AND WE’RE HANGING OUT TODAY. COFFEE AT 11. SHE CALLED ME CUTIE AGAIN. I’M GONNA DIE. PARK PUPPY LIVES!!!”

RS snorted, a grin tugging at his lips as he read Jamie’s explosion. The guy was a goner—Kayla had him wrapped around her finger, and RS couldn’t help the flicker of pride knowing he’d set it in motion. Priya’s AI, Tim’s art, Jamie’s date—his wishes were still rippling, even after he’d pulled back on Vanessa. He typed back, keeping it casual: “lol Jamie you’re such a simp. Priya, your rig’s gonna explode. Tim, sell that sketch to me first. Just chilling—wild weekend huh?”

The chat lit up again, their responses overlapping—Priya with a middle finger emoji, Tim with a “no deal, bro,” and Jamie with a string of heart-eyes and puppy emojis. RS leaned back, phone buzzing against his chest, wondering if he’d keep this Sunday lazy or nudge the universe a little more.

RS lay back on his bed, the Sunday morning stretching out lazily before him, his phone still buzzing faintly from the group chat. Jamie’s lovesick ramblings about Kayla filled the screen, but RS’s mind drifted to Priya’s earlier gripe—her laptop **** on her AI breakthrough. She needs a beast of a rig, he thought, fingers tapping idly on his thigh. Something fast, next-gen, something to match her ambition. But how? He couldn’t just wish her a computer out of thin air without raising flags—too obvious, too direct. It had to be clever, organic.

Then it hit him—a tournament. Some weird, out-of-the-blue local gaming thing, three-player teams, enough to rope in Priya and Tim but leave Jamie out to focus on his date. Perfect cover. He grinned, sitting up, and let the wish form in his head: “I wish for a three-player local gaming tournament to pop up today, sponsored by some company called Villbucks, with the prize being a next-gen computer—AMD 9950X3D, 128GB RAM, Nvidia 5090 graphics card—and Priya gets notified about it through her AI.” He didn’t feel the usual wind or buzz this time either, just a quiet confidence as he leaned back, waiting.

Downstairs, the shower hissed—Vanessa still in there—but RS’s phone lit up seconds later. Priya’s name flashed in the Nerd Herd chat, a flood of messages spilling in:

“GUYS WTF”

“Just got a ping from Ghost—my social media AI. Check this out”

“‘Win a next-gen computer featuring an AMD 9950X3D with 128GB RAM and the new Nvidia 5090 graphics card, sponsored by Villbucks.’ It’s a 3-player tournament TODAY. Local. Link’s legit—dug through it. ‘Tournament of Champions,’ 3-man teams. I’m FREAKING OUT”

“RS, Tim, you in? This rig could run Ghost like a dream. Jamie, you’re probably too busy smooching Kayla lol”

RS smirked, his heart kicking up a notch—It worked. The wish had spun up a whole event, seamless and slick, and Priya was already hooked. Tim’s reply popped up next: “Hell yeah, I’m in. That 5090 could render my comics in 4K in like 2 seconds. Let’s do this.”

Jamie chimed in, predictable as ever: “Aww man, I’d love to, but Kayla’s at 11. Coffee date. I’m out—go win it for me, Park Puppy’s rooting for you!” Followed by a string of heart emojis.

RS typed back, playing it casual: “I’m down. Weird timing, but that prize is insane. Where’s it at, Priya?”

“Some community center downtown,” she shot back. “Reg starts at 1 p.m., games at 2. We gotta move. Meet me there?”

“Bet,” RS replied, already swinging his legs off the bed. He grabbed his hoodie, a wild grin spreading as he thought, This is getting fun. A lazy Sunday just turned into a high-stakes play—and he was the one pulling the strings.

RS yanked on his hoodie, the gray fabric still faintly damp from yesterday’s sweat, and swapped his gym shorts for jeans. He snagged his house keys from the desk, the metal jingling as he shoved them into his pocket, and bolted downstairs. “Heading out!” he yelled toward the kitchen, not waiting for his mom’s inevitable “Where to?” as he hauled his Trek out of the garage. The community center was a longer haul than Chautauqua Park—maybe 20 minutes if he pushed it—but he had time to spare. He swung a leg over, pedaled hard, and peeled out, the cool Sunday air whipping past as the Flatirons loomed in the distance.

The ride was smooth, tires humming against pavement, his mind buzzing with the tournament ahead. He weaved through quiet streets, past joggers and dog walkers, until the squat brick building of the community center came into view. Priya and Tim were already there, chaining their bikes to the rack—Priya’s sleek road bike and Tim’s rusty BMX clanking against his Trek as he locked up. They turned, grinning like kids on Christmas, and RS couldn’t help but match it.

Inside was a nerd’s fever dream. The place buzzed with energy—rows of computers grouped in threes, LAN-center style, screens glowing with preloaded games, cables snaking across the floor. The air hummed with fan whirs and trash talk, a mix of smelly basement-dwellers and clean-cut tryhards milling around. The entrance was a bottleneck, dozens lining up to sign in, clutching energy drinks and worn-out mousepads. Priya bounced on her toes, blue-tipped hair swishing, while Tim craned his neck to scope the setups. RS felt the vibe sink in—electric, chaotic, perfect.

“We got a real shot,” Priya said, her voice sharp with determination as they joined the line. “We can’t fuck this up.” She elbowed RS, smirking. “You better not ****, dude.”

“Me?” RS shot back, laughing. “You’re the one who rage-quits when your ping spikes. Tim’s our weak link—he’ll be doodling mid-match.”

Tim scoffed, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Screw you, I’m clutch. Just don’t pick some FPS—I’m better at strategy.”

They bantered back and forth, the line inching forward, until they hit the registration desk. A harried volunteer handed them a flyer with the prize list. They knew first place—the next-gen beast with the AMD 9950X3D, 128GB RAM, and Nvidia 5090, a rig that could melt faces. But second place caught their eye: a high-end gaming laptop, not as insane but still solid, with a 4080 GPU and 32GB RAM. Third was a $500 gift card, good anywhere. Priya’s eyes lit up. “Even third’s worth it,” she said. “But we’re taking first. Ghost deserves the best.”

RS nodded, the wish’s success simmering in his chest. “Let’s crush it,” he said, grinning as they scribbled their names—Team Nerd Herd—and grabbed their wristbands.

Tim fidgeted with his wristband as they stepped away from the registration desk, his lanky frame hunching slightly. “Wait, hold up,” he said, turning back to the volunteer—a frazzled woman with a clipboard and a Villbucks lanyard. “What game are we even playing? Like, do we pick, or…?” His voice had that nervous edge, like he was already overthinking it.

The lady glanced up, barely pausing her scribbling. “It’s a new one—not out yet. Heroes vs. Villains. Hero shooter, 3v3. Heroes save NPCs while fighting the villains; villains **** and destroy NPCs while fighting the heroes. Scoring’s a mix—match win gets you a big chunk, but total points come from NPC saves or kills too. You can lose even if you win the match, depending on the metrics.” She shoved a rule sheet at him and waved them off.

Tim gulped, clutching the paper like it was a lifeline. “Oh, shit,” he muttered, eyes scanning the details. “Strategy’s my thing, though—I can work with this.” His mind was already churning, gears turning as he mumbled about **** points and NPC spawn patterns, trailing behind RS and Priya as they wandered into the buzzing LAN setup.

The space was a geek paradise—screens flickering, keyboards clacking, a mix of familiar faces and strangers milling around. They spotted a few Boulder High kids they knew—some band nerds, a couple of chess club guys—but then RS nudged Priya, nodding toward a trio by a nearby rig. “Dragons Reeech,” he said, grinning. The name was a 4chan meme twist—“Reeeee” screeching baked into “Dragon’s Reach”—and they were online buddies, the kind they’d team up with for bigger matches when the Nerd Herd needed reinforcements. The group—two guys and a girl—looked up, waving. One guy, a stocky dude with a patchy beard and a Doom tee, smirked. “Yo, Nerd Herd! Didn’t know you scrubs were local.”

Priya laughed, flipping him off. “Better watch it, Kyle—we’re taking that rig home.” The girl, a wiry redhead with a nose ring, chimed in, “Good luck. We’ve been practicing shooters all week.” Tim, still muttering strategies, barely registered them, but RS clapped Kyle’s shoulder. “Elimination style, huh? Hope we don’t have to smoke you guys—would hate to trash our online streak.”

Before Kyle could retort, the overhead lights dimmed, a low hum rippling through the crowd. A voice boomed over the speakers, deep and theatrical, like a superhero straight out of a comic book movie. “Welcome, champions, to the Tournament of Heroes and Villains! Brought to you by Villbucks—where legends are forged and glory awaits! Sixty-four teams enter, but only one will claim the ultimate prize. Prepare yourselves for battle—matches begin in thirty minutes! Assemble your teams, choose your sides, and fight for destiny!” The crowd erupted, cheers and whoops bouncing off the walls as the announcer’s echo faded.

Priya smirked, cracking her knuckles. “Alright, we’ve got this. Tim, you’re on strat—don’t ****.” Tim nodded, still half-lost in his plan, while RS felt that familiar buzz—his wish had spun up a whole damn spectacle, and they were in the thick of it.

The digital TV mounted above the LAN setup flickered to life, a massive billboard screen populating with the tournament brackets. RS craned his neck, eyes scanning as team names slotted into place. Nerd Herd popped up on the left side, and across the grid, on the far right—Dragons Reeech. Opposite ends. A shiver crawled down RS’s spine, cold and sharp. They wouldn’t meet until the finals, if both teams clawed their way there, but the thought alone tightened his gut. He wouldn’t say it out loud—not with Priya’s cocky grin and Tim’s muttering—but Dragons Reeech was better. Online, they’d always synced up for big team fights, a well-oiled machine, but head-to-head? RS wasn’t so sure his crew could match them.

The tournament kicked off with a roar, the room erupting into controlled chaos. Multiple matches fired up at once—32 games across the rigs, neon lights streaking through the dim space, bathing the sea of screens in electric blues and purples. Shouts and curses flew, a symphony of “Fuck yes!” and “No, you idiot!” as teams dove into Heroes vs. Villains. The air buzzed with static and adrenaline, the clack of keyboards and mice a relentless drumbeat. RS, Priya, and Tim huddled at their station, headsets on, screens glowing—Tim still scribbling mental notes, his golden strategy nowhere in sight.

First round was a breeze. They picked heroes—RS as a tanky healer, Priya a zippy DPS, Tim a support sniper—and steamrolled some randos calling themselves Pixel Pals. NPCs saved, villains smoked, easy points. “Child’s play,” Priya smirked, cracking her neck as the win screen flashed. Round two was tighter—Byte Me had decent aim, but Tim’s clutch snipe on their villain carry tipped the scales. Still, no grand plan from him, just muttered “maybe we focus the NPCs” as he chewed his lip.

By round three, the cracks showed. Quantum Lads pushed back hard—villains chaining NPC kills while their heroes couldn’t lock down a save. RS tanked hits, Priya darted for rescues, but Tim’s shots missed too many marks. They scraped a win, but the score was sloppy—too few NPCs saved. “Tim, where’s the strat?” RS hissed, leaning over as the next matchup loaded.

“Working on it,” Tim shot back, eyes darting. “Villains rack points faster if they sync—heroes need a split push. I think.” He wasn’t there yet, and the matches were getting brutal—teams sharper, stakes higher. RS glanced at the bracket—Dragons Reeech was crushing it on their end, flawless wipes. The finals loomed, and that shiver crept back.

A few grueling matches later, Tim’s eyes lit up mid-huddle, his lanky frame practically vibrating as he whispered, “Okay, I’ve got it.” RS and Priya leaned in, the roar of the tournament fading to a dull buzz around them. “I’m switching classes—speed build. I’ll run an NPC blender: saving ‘em if we’re heroes, wrecking ‘em if we’re villains. Full sprint, no stops. You two—engage the enemy, keep ‘em locked. Kill ‘em over and over, **** respawns, stay on their ass. We’ll outscore ‘em raw.” RS nodded, a grin splitting his face. “Fuck yeah, let’s do it.” Priya cracked her knuckles. “About time, genius.”

It worked like a charm. Next round, Tim zipped across the map as a blurry speedster, snagging NPCs or shredding them depending on their role, while RS and Priya turned into relentless hounds—RS tanking and brawling, Priya picking off stragglers. The enemy team—some cocky crew called Lag Lords—crumpled, respawn timers stacking as Nerd Herd’s score soared. Game after game, they crushed it, setting fresh records on the leaderboard. Whispers rippled through the nerd-packed room—“Who the hell are these guys?”—as their strategy turned matches into blowouts.

Then came the finals. The bracket narrowed, and there they were: Nerd Herd vs. Dragons Reeech. RS’s shiver was back, but he masked it with a grin as they met at the center station. Kyle, the stocky guy in the Doom tee, stuck out a hand. “No hard feelings, yeah?” he said, smirking. RS shook it, clapping his shoulder. “Ditto, friend.” The redhead and the other guy—some lanky dude with a vape tucked in his pocket—nodded, all smiles, but the tension crackled. Online allies, now foes.

The lights dimmed, and the announcer’s voice thundered, superhero swagger cranked to eleven. “Ladies and gentlemen, a special treat! This final round is comic-book inspired! Each team will play as actual heroes and villains—Spider-Man, Thor, Wonder Woman, and more! Give it up for this epic finale!” The crowd lost its damn mind—screams, stomps, a wave of cheers shaking the room. RS picked Thor, hammer swinging; Priya snagged Spider-Woman, web-slinging chaos; Tim went Flash, speed dialed to max. Dragons Reeech locked in—Kyle as Batman, the redhead as Poison Ivy, vape guy as Deadpool.

They stuck to the plan—Tim blitzing NPCs, RS and Priya diving into the fray. But something went wrong. Dragons Reeech adapted fast, countering hard. Tim saved NPCs, but their villains racked kills faster; RS smashed respawns, but their heroes slipped through. The match ended, screens flashing, and the score hit like a gut punch—Dragons Reeech: 12,450, Nerd Herd: 8,920. Priya ripped off her headset, slamming it down. “How the fuck is that possible?” she snapped, voice sharp with fury.

The announcer boomed back in, recapping with glee. “What a finale, folks! Dragons Reeech takes the crown—and here’s why! They uncovered a hidden secret: a comic-book Easter egg! In the map’s downtown sector, they triggered a ‘Secret Identity Reveal’ event—unmasking an NPC as a hidden hero worth 5,000 bonus points! Precision teamwork and a little genius sealed their victory!” The crowd gasped, jaws dropping—RS’s included—as Dragons Reeech whooped, Kyle pumping a fist. A secret mechanic, buried in the chaos, and they’d sniffed it out while Nerd Herd stuck to the grind.

Tim slumped, muttering, “Didn’t even see that…” Priya glared at the screen, fuming. RS just stared, half-proud of his wish for spawning this madness, half-gutted they’d lost the rig.

The announcer’s voice cut through the post-match buzz, still dripping with superhero flair. “And that secret hero? None other than Eclipse, a brand-new creation from the legendary comic writer, Grant Maddox! A teaser hidden in Heroes vs. Villains—debuting in his next issue!” Tim’s jaw tightened, envy flashing in his eyes as he clutched his headset. “That guy’s work is legendary,” he said, half-pissed, half-awestruck, “and they hid a teaser in this new game? Fucking epic!” His voice cracked with excitement despite the loss, his comic-nerd soul torn between jealousy and hype.

The tournament wasn’t over yet—third place still hung in the balance. The teams that had fallen to Nerd Herd and Dragons Reeech in the semifinals—Quantum Lads and Byte Me—squared off in a bonus match. Both knew the secret mechanic now, hunting it down with ruthless precision. Quantum Lads triggered Eclipse first, their Wonder Woman snagging the shadowy speedster’s 5,000-point boost, but Byte Me countered hard, their villainous Deadshot racking NPC kills. The scores were razor-close—Quantum Lads: 10,620, Byte Me: 10,580—but Wonder Woman’s last-second NPC save edged them out, locking in third.

The podium ceremony kicked off, the crowd still buzzing as the top three teams climbed up. Dragons Reeech stood tallest, gripping a massive plastic trophy, gold and gaudy, easily three feet high. Nerd Herd took second, their silver trophy a foot shorter but still ridiculous, and Quantum Lads settled for bronze, a squat little thing that looked like a participation award next to the others. Cheers erupted, cameras flashed, and the announcer milked the moment with a final booming, “Give it up for your champions!”

As the crowd thinned, people trickling out with their gear, the Villbucks reps wheeled out the prizes. Dragons Reeech hoisted the next-gen desktop—AMD 9950X3D, 128GB RAM, Nvidia 5090—a sleek black tower that screamed power, Kyle grinning like a kid with a new toy. RS got the second-place laptop, a solid rig with a 4080 GPU and 32GB RAM, handed over in a padded case. He didn’t even hesitate—turned and shoved it into Priya’s arms. “It’s still faster than yours,” he said, flashing a grin.

Priya’s eyes widened, then softened as she hugged the case to her chest before tackling RS in a quick, fierce hug. “You’re the best,” she said, pulling back with a rare, genuine smile. “I hope it’s enough for my AI training—Ghost’s gonna eat this up.” She clutched the laptop like it was gold, already mentally overclocking it.

Tim, still clutching the silver trophy, smirked. “Least we got something. And I’m stealing that Eclipse idea for my next comic.” RS laughed, the sting of losing dulled by Priya’s joy and the quiet thrill of his wish pulling it all off.

With the ceremony wrapped, the Nerd Herd trio grabbed their stuff—Priya cradling her new laptop case, Tim slinging the oversized silver trophy over his shoulder like a baseball bat, and RS tucking his wristband into his pocket. “Coffee shop?” RS suggested, jerking his head toward the door. “See if Jamie’s still there with Kayla?”

“Bet,” Priya said, already heading for the bike rack. “I wanna see him trip over his tongue in person.” Tim nodded, and they unlocked their bikes, pedaling off from the community center. The ride was quick, the late afternoon sun dipping low as they cruised through Boulder’s streets, the trophy glinting in Tim’s grip. They pulled up to the coffee shop—a cozy spot called Bean There, all brick walls and big windows—and leaned their bikes against a pole, peering inside.

The place was half-empty, a few students hunched over laptops, but no sign of Jamie or Kayla. No sandy curls, no blonde jogger vibe. “Must be over,” Priya said, her voice tinged with a little disappointment as she pressed her nose to the glass. “Would’ve been gold to catch their awkward flirting.”

Tim scoffed playfully, adjusting the trophy on his shoulder. “Well, we were at that tournament for, like, four hours. Dude’s probably already proposed or passed out from nerves by now.”

RS chuckled, scanning the empty tables one last time. “Yeah, or she dragged him off somewhere. Park Puppy’s probably a puddle.” He stepped back, the thrill of the day still humming in his veins—tournament spawned, Priya’s rig secured, all from one wish. “Guess we’ll grill him later.”

While RS, Priya, and Tim were locked in their tournament chaos, Jamie had rolled up to Bean There at 11 sharp, heart hammering like a jackrabbit’s. Kayla was already there, leaning against a table by the window, blonde ponytail swinging, her jogger vibe swapped for a tight crop top and jeans that hugged every curve. She spotted him—freckles, curls, nervous grin—and waved him over with a flirty, “Hey, Park Puppy,” that made his knees wobble right out the gate.

They grabbed coffees—black for her, some sugary latte mess for him—and settled into a booth. She didn’t waste time, teasing him relentlessly from the jump. “So, cutie, you always this jumpy, or is it just me?” she’d say, smirking as she leaned forward, her foot nudging his under the table. Jamie stammered, “Uh, n-no, just, y’know, you’re…”—and she’d cut him off with a laugh, “What, too much for you already?” Her fingers brushed his hand when she passed the sugar, lingering just long enough to fry his brain. She kept it up—calling him “puppy,” asking if he’d “bark for her,” dropping lines like, “Bet you’d follow me anywhere, huh?”—until his face was a permanent shade of red, words tumbling out in half-formed mush. His brain broke, a puddle of nerves and hormones, and she loved it.

After an hour of ****, Kayla stood, stretching so her crop top rode up, flashing a strip of tanned stomach. “C’mon, puppy, coffee’s boring. Let’s go somewhere fun.” She grabbed his wrist, dragging him out—him tripping over his own feet, her giggling—and shoved him into her car, a beat-up Honda with a pine air freshener swinging from the mirror. The drive was quick, her hand on his thigh half the time, teasing, “Don’t pass out on me yet,” as he stared out the window, dick already straining against his shorts.

Her apartment was a small, cluttered spot a few blocks away—posters of indie bands on the walls, a couch with a throw blanket, a vibe that screamed carefree chaos. She kicked the door shut, spun him around, and shoved him against it, lips crashing into his with zero warning. “Been wanting to do that since the park,” she purred, peeling off his hoodie as he fumbled with her top, hands shaking but eager. Clothes hit the floor—her jeans, his shorts, a tangle of fabric—until they were skin-to-skin, her nails raking his back as she dragged him to the couch.

The sex was hot, messy, and loud. She rode him first, thighs flexing as she pinned his wrists, moaning “Good puppy” every time he bucked up, his 5-inch dick hitting her just right. Sweat slicked them both, her blonde hair sticking to her face, his curls a damp mess. She flipped him over, demanding he take her from behind—ass up, him gripping her hips, slamming into her as she gasped and cursed, “Fuck, yes, harder!” The couch creaked, threatening to break, but they didn’t care. He came fast, groaning into her shoulder, but she wasn’t done—pushed him onto his back, climbed on again, and kept going until he was a whimpering wreck, cumming a second time as she laughed, wild and triumphant.

By the end, Jamie was sprawled on the couch, chest heaving, soaked in sweat and her scent, a literal puddle of a man. Kayla flopped beside him, grinning, tracing a finger down his freckled chest. “Told you you’re mine,” she said, and he just nodded, too wrecked to argue, brain melted and body spent.

In the sweaty, frantic heat of their romp, Jamie didn’t clock it—lost in the blur of Kayla’s moans and the couch springs screaming under them. When he came, it was deep, a primal surge he didn’t pull back from, too wrecked to think about anything but her. Neither of them noticed, too caught up in the moment, but that reckless thrust planted a seed. Little did Jamie know, he’d just kicked off a countdown—nine months and change from now, Kayla would be popping out his kid, a nerdy little son with his sandy curls and her fierce spirit.

Kayla didn’t know it yet either, sprawled beside him on the couch, her blonde hair a tangled halo as she traced lazy circles on his freckled chest. She was enamored, though—had been since the park, drawn to his goofy, earnest nerdiness. She’d dated the bad boys, the leather-jacket types with slick lines and wandering eyes, and they always cheated, every damn time. But Jamie? This puppy-eyed dork who blushed at her every tease? He’d never stray—she could feel it in how he looked at her, like she was the only thing in the universe. “My sweet puppy,” she murmured, voice soft now, loving instead of taunting, and he grinned, dazed and smitten, melting under the nickname.

She shifted closer, legs tangling with his, already picturing more afternoons like this—him rambling about Star Wars trivia, her teasing him into a flustered mess. She didn’t know about the pregnancy yet, but when she’d find out, it’d only lock her in deeper. A nerdy dad for her kid, loyal to a fault, was more than she’d ever gotten from the assholes before him.

Back at the coffee shop, RS kicked at a pebble, oblivious to the life-altering chaos his wish had sparked for Jamie. “Let’s bounce,” he said, swinging a leg over his bike. “He’ll text us the gory details later.” Priya smirked, laptop case slung over her shoulder, and Tim nodded, trophy wobbling as they pedaled off into the Sunday dusk.

The trio paused outside Bean There, the evening chill settling in as the sun dipped behind the Flatirons. RS raised a fist, grinning. “Epic day, huh?” Priya bumped it with a smirk, her laptop case swinging, and Tim followed, the silver trophy clanking against his knuckles. “Later, nerds,” RS said, and they split—Priya peeling off toward her street, Tim veering the other way, RS pedaling home alone. The ride was quiet, his legs pumping steady, mind glowing with the wild rush of the day—tournament spawned, records smashed, Priya’s rig secured, all from his wish. Even losing to Dragons Reeech couldn’t dim it.

He rolled into the garage a little late, the clock ticking past 6:30 p.m. as he locked his bike. Dinner smells—roast chicken, maybe potatoes—wafted out as he stepped inside, kicking off his shoes. Vanessa was already at the table, spotting him the second he walked in. “Wow, nice of you to show up, shithead,” she snapped, her usual rude edge sharp as she twirled a fork in her mashed potatoes. “What, too busy jerking off with your loser friends to make it on time?”

“Play nice,” their mom chided from the kitchen, poking her head out with a wooden spoon in hand, her tone light but firm. She shot RS a small smile, oblivious to the chaos he’d been orchestrating all weekend. “Food’s still hot—grab a plate, Roger.”

RS just smirked at Vanessa’s jab, shrugging it off as he slid into his seat. “Yeah, yeah, love you too, sis,” he said, voice dripping with mock sweetness, the glow of the day keeping him untouchable. He piled his plate high, the tournament’s neon lights still flashing in his head.

RS shoveled the roast chicken and mashed potatoes down in record time, barely tasting it as the day’s high kept his adrenaline pumping. He nodded a quick “Thanks, Mom” as he cleared his plate, dodging Vanessa’s eye-roll and her muttered “Pig,” then bolted upstairs. The stairs creaked under his socks as he hit his room, door clicking shut behind him. He flopped onto his bed, the mattress bouncing, and yanked his phone from his pocket, the glow of the screen lighting up his freckled face.

He opened the Nerd Herd group chat and fired off a text, fingers flying: “okay Jamie, spill it, whats the juice?” He tossed the phone beside him, grinning, already picturing Jamie’s flustered recap of his date with Kayla. The tournament win—or near-win—still buzzed in his veins, but now he wanted the dirt, the nerdy love story he’d accidentally kicked off with a wish.

A beat later, the chat lit up. Jamie’s reply came fast, all caps and chaos like always: “DUDE. DUDE. OKAY. KAYLA IS EVERYTHING. COFFEE WAS INSANE—SHE KEPT CALLING ME PUPPY AND TEASING ME AND I THINK MY BRAIN MELTED. THEN SHE DRAGGED ME TO HER PLACE AND—UH—STUFF HAPPENED. A LOT. I’M DEAD. SHE’S PERFECT. HELP.”

Priya jumped in: “‘Stuff’? Lame. Details or it didn’t happen, simp.”

Tim followed: “Yeah, what’s ‘a lot’? Did she steal your soul or just your dignity?”

RS laughed, typing back: “you’re such a goner, man. she own you now? did you bark for her?” He hit send, leaning back against his pillow, oblivious to the deeper ripple he’d set off—Jamie’s reckless moment with Kayla, the seed planted, still a secret ticking away, unknown to everyone for another month or two when she’d drop the “I’m pregnant” bomb. For now, Jamie was just a lovesick puddle, and RS was eating it up.

RS grinned at the group chat, Jamie’s frantic text and the crew’s jabs lighting up his screen as he sprawled on his bed. His thumbs hovered, ready to fire back another tease—“Did she leash you yet, Park Puppy?”—but a yawn crept up instead, heavy and sudden. The day’s wild ride—tournament chaos, wish-fueled wins, the glow of bending reality—finally hit him, his body sinking into the mattress. He dropped the phone onto his chest, the screen dimming, and let his eyes drift shut, the faint hum of the house lulling him.

His mind didn’t stop, though. As sleep tugged him under, he pondered—what other chaos could he create? The power hummed in his veins, a dark, thrilling current. He could wish for a car, a mansion, hell, maybe make Vanessa his personal cheerleader—though that’d gone sideways fast. What about school? Rig the senior year—top grades, prom king, the works? Or bigger—world-shaking stuff, fame, riches, bending Boulder into his playground? The possibilities spun, wild and unhinged, a kaleidoscope of mischief and control.

He didn’t settle on anything concrete, just let the ideas swirl as his breathing slowed, the phone sliding off to the side. Chaos for himself, for his friends, for the hell of it—whatever it was, he’d figure it out tomorrow. For now, sleep claimed him, the last flicker of thought a smirk: This is just the start.