#Doing this kind of style was a challenge but fun!

[lotuslate]

I did @pakhnokh’s challenge from twitter to draw this in your style! Here’s the original !

[science-lings]

botw and totk have so much OC bait like, there's this mysterious chamberlain who kind of has a crush on Zelda and wrote on stone tablets that float in the sky for you to find and there's magical elemental weapons with mysterious origins that were created by a mysterious sorcerer that never gets mentioned again, and there are Zonai gods based on the animals associated with the triforce and ancient spring guardians that are actually dragons who used to be people and there are tales of a whole host of ancient characters with barebones character designs and also like someone in the ancient times had dark shadowy powers bc wtf is going on in Thyphlo ruins and various shrines and also wtf is going on with Thundra Plateau and all the colloseums in the depths and the one in central Hyrule? What about Misko who stole and hid all these historically significant items from the royal family who we only know about though rumors and abandoned diaries, what about the child of Rauru and Sonia who has to exist because ZELDA exists? What about the court poet who taught Kass's teacher who taught Kass? What about the horned statue and the bargainer's statues and Link's fucking dad? Like do I want to flesh out and create all of these people into actual characters? YEAH but there are so fucking many of them!

[jojo-schmo]

More evil art!! Because Shadow Jojo can be evil for a little bit longer as a fun treat!!

Also a follow-up to my previous evil art style post because I think I can keep pushing it further-!!

[pixelatedraindrops]

Yuma Month: Day 31: Post Game

…for the sake of the world’s happiness.

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

Charles Bonnet syndrome refers to the visual hallucinations caused by the brain’s adjustment to significant vision loss

[lvminisciel]

kiss me goodnight

Father, me and big brother are home! We bought something for dinner! A carp by the lake, and potatoes from the land! A cut on the back, and fleshes of the dead!

pt.1 | pt. 2

pairing: mallesilmal. wc 2,5k

pls read!! warning: suicidal ideation, angst, mcd, gore. woundfucking, double d mal, deepthroat but instead of d it's malmal's slitted tongue

Their private liturgy continued for weeks, and many moons of crops seems to have passed. Silver will come to the castle every single day without fail, like a devoted loyal servant to its master. Everytime he entered the chamber, may forms of torment ensues, sometimes with different motions, sometimes different organs. His Lord would disassemble his body parts and arrange it back in one piece, of the exact strand and order, all without a miss. Yet none of that seemed to kill him, whether inside nor outside, as his soul seemed to resonate with his Lord as it all felt was only grief, grief, and grief. 

Even as the time goes, all was fleeting. Time went in a blink of an eye, and the longer he stride by the riverbanks of time, the more his life feels less ‘living’. Everyday life felt so dull, and deep down he knows he could never go back to how he once were. Of sunshine in the woods, waiting for his father’s arrival. Of those days they went hunting and foraging the forest for herbs and, much to Silver’s dismay, ‘strange ingredients’ his father likes to pick along the way home. Of evenings after sparring with Sebek by the backyard, hopefully wishing for his Lord’s arrival to join them for dinner so they could tuck his father’s cooking somewhere else or gave it to the forest animals.

Those times of much simpler life,

When his father was around. 

Now, he’s left with nothing but a gaping wound in his heart

Unattended, lacerated and disfigured; those who see the way it is now could even hardly believe it was once a full, beating heart- as the state of it now much resembles a lump of blood clot rather than a formerly functioning organ

Yet, even after all those agony it went through, it still beats

It still beats. 

Oh, how he hated the sound of it

The pounding in his veins. Steady rhythm of blood circulating throughout his bloodstream, intact, splattering only when his Lord’s claws are inside of him. Everytime his Lord disassembles his insides, he would always hoped, prayed that maybe his heart will forget a beat amidst all these bodily pain that envelops him. Perhaps his lung would be oh so kind to stop functioning altogether, or the insides of his skull would self-destruct itself. 

But his heart keeps pounding on and on

A sick reminder that he’s still alive, unable to be reunited with his father

He’s been so, so close to the edge, why can’t he just die already?

Is his Lord’s healing magic too powerful? Why isn’t the reaper here yet? Can’t he just go, all these are making his patience running thin. 

He wonders how many times should he play this twisted tug-of-war game with death, to which he always dreams of losing. 

So when another being sarted being present during their private sessions, it sparked hope inside Silver. 

He knew his time was creeping in closer, because not even His Lord’s omnipotent magic could ever prolong something as sacred as defying mortality. He smiled genuinely for the first time in years, leaving each of their meetings with a content feeling instead of the usual despair. His Lord would question about it someyimes, to which Silver would reply with his signature sincere half-smile

…to which Silver began to think

….what would His Lord became of, once that he is gone? 

Would His Lord be abe to cope with the grief that follows? After such a huge loss he experienced already? 

Silver might not be the brightest in terms of social cues or delving into people’s hearts and peering into their feelings, but one thing he does know: His Lord wouldn’t be able to handle it well

After all, if he did so, then their classified rites wouldn’t happen in the first place. Or turning into a daily basis, for that matter. To top it all, the kingdom would be brought into an even major calamity, lest his Lord were faced for another grief in his sight. That narrows the questions in his head down to a singular one: 

How do he drag his Lord down with him? 

tic-toc, the clock is ticking. As the figure that overshadows their chamber turned clearer each passing day, Silver is vigilant that he doesn’t have much time left. Bearing only one solution in mind, he enters their solemn chamber, preparing for a gamble of life and death. A russian roulette he invented on his own. 

And he finally came down with his own plan. 

Yes, this would surely suffice

The night was cleared of its clouds, moon shining softly amongst the starry skies. The walk to the castle was not long, but Silver decided to slow down for a bit. 

It is his last day after all, as the reaper had been clearly visible to the touch

This night would be the final one, and as dawn rolls he would be graced by his one true love

His took his steps thoughtfully, absorbing the sceneries before him mindfully. The walk from his tiny little cottage in the woods that will soon be abandoned. The owls and crows and other animals cooing him along the way, as if muttering mournful goodbyes. How the castle gates lowered at the sight of him, without him needing to announce his presence. The castle staff & maids that bowed down respectfully, seeing as how they might’ve perceived him as some sort of hero for diverting their Lord’s grief, not knowing the very same person would bring an end to the exact Lord they worshiped

Mustering his resolve, he entered the chamber, where his Lord awaits patiently. A soft breath of flame welcomes him, as both candles and chandeliers alike lit up. Lavish banquet upon the table, grand as always. Everything’s the usual, except for- 

Except for the the eagerness pulsating his chest, as from today onward he would no longer be within despair’s grasp

It ends today

All the pain and anguish, he shall bring it all down with him

Feeling the blade brushed against his thighs, he returned the warm welcome with a smile. That his Lord was taken aback no longer matters, this is the requiem after all! It should be enjoyed to its finest, doesn’t it?

And so their usual liturgy began. Although Silver would prefer calling this one their ‘Rite of Parting’. It had a nicer ring into it, or so he thought. He locked his gaze upon those pair of emerald locket that adorns his Lord’s face, oh such grace it was for being able to witness this lustrous sight before one departs. His Lord, having the time of his life- obliterating all grief and sorrow as his fangs bared upon his chest, talons ripping apart skin to skin. 

Starting off with his undeformed obsidian claws slitting the upper part of his body, as the other slips itself into Silver’s underneath. The moment Silver’s heart laid bare, his Lord proceeds to kiss them gently, lengthy tongue tending every single row of his ribs, slipping beneath to savor the delish taste of iron from its splitting ends. His Lord was always a man of patience, and so he goes, moving supple palms ever so gracefully,

But Silver was not.

Not this time, at least. 

He’s so eager– eager to the touch, to the taste, to the end. His patience is growing thinner by each passing moment, and for the first time in Seven knows how long; he refused to relent. Instead, his hands grazed to his Lord, tracing him all ever so softly and at the same time greedily– as if those touches would suffice his hunger. And his Lord, the ever-so-thoughtful of his people, complies

‘Eager today, aren’t we?’ 

He mutters under his breath, as consciousness gradually grew adrift; drunk by the touch. As much as he enjoyed the delectable taste of his cherished subject, he constantly tasted this mournful flavor from him. Something he probably didn’t realize had been consuming him progressively over the course of time, something he understood so well. He never minded this notion though, as Silver’s mere form was more than sufficient to scrape off  the remaining grief  sadness of his beloved spouse’s parting

However, that is alright

They would surely come back someday, right? They are merely sleeping for a little while. One day they will arise hearty and buoyant like how they always been, thus announcing their presence with the warmest smile as they jumped into his arms, fondling their hands upon his towering form lovingly. And he would lower down, reciprocate their lush affection and pepper them with the gentlest of kisses he’d been saving up these whole decades, centuries even, and—

The gentle caress on his neck, sliding down his throat onto his chest dragged him back to what’s laid in front of him. Just like a prey offering himself to the hunter, although the fondness betwixt them begs to differ.

Observing the alluring blend of colors beneath him that stares straight into his eyes– into his heart, the dragon fae decides to give in. He would take his loyal knight’s offerings of course, as it would be heartless for a master to refuse such sincere. And so concede he did, unrestraining the constraint of his dual cock. Going slow at first, he enters the first into Silver’s hole, pushing its full length in one single thrust. A slight moan slips his ashen lips as he positioned his next one, eyes interlocking with the remnants of saliva dangling between ribs beneath him. Those translucent silk, paving the path into the other’s heart was clearly his invitation to attend; and so as a profound noble that he is, proceeds to fulfill that lustrous invite. 

Gently, he made way between the limbs; and as his first was already spasming between Silver’s tight walls, his second was getting harder by each passing cartilage. They only seemed to grow in size as he goes on, and the more it gets tighter down there; what’s his jostling with Silver’s liver, lungs, and pancreas as he slowly but surely making his way into his heart, Silver giggles

Silver giggles. 

Dear Sevens and the Great Thorn Fairy above, how many decades has it been since he heard those sweet giggles? Was it when Lilia first discovered that humans are ticklish and tried it on his own son, which he later joined during, laughing heartily as the three of them enjoyed Silver’s playtime just as much as him? Or was it oh his birthday, when he got a whole pie thrown at him for the sake of good luck? Perhaps it was when both he and Sebek welcomes them home after their trip into some faraway land, and offers them homemade cookies that was slightly burnt; where Lilia said his cookies are more exceptional and much better, to which Silver only replied with a stifle laugh, giggly smile adoring his petite form

Which one was it?

Does it even matter? 

As his second finally reached its final destination, he let out a hearty laugh, as if reciprocating those once long-lost giggles. But that matters not now, what’s important is how to satisfy the proprietor of those alluring sound. Thus, he picks up the pace, brimming even more enthusiastically with two pairs of fangs procuring first row seat of the show, as moonlit strands gradually grew flushed in span of seconds. The delicate touch of callused hands began to pepper his back, crystal nails flourishing in crimson as they dug deeper and deeper. Those luscious voices only got sweeter the more he progresses, constantly moaning as the other succumbs into the bliss of his holy cock. They both inches closer and closer, both the ones inside & below the ribs, and so does Silver’s which he enveloped in his palms. Shiny black claws fondled with the tip, smothering delicately to the strings leaked from its source, before it finally bursts. and so does his own, outflowing the tight walls that of Silver’s, as the realms between his organs turned into a colorful mixture of sweat, blood, tears and other salty liquids. Both delve into the pleasure of release once more, and they would both be lying if they said that it wasn’t the most passionate one they’ve ever had all these time. 

Their most passionate one

Which would also be the first and the last.  

Silver glance onto his side, and there was them.  The reaper, in all his mightiness and sorrow and glory and whatever hopes it brings for Silver to devour. It’s now or never, so he put up his sweetest smile, one that his father would always sings praises and adore whenever he did

‘My Lord, would you be so kind as to give me one last kiss before we depart? 

A single good night kiss would suffice’

‘Why of course, cherished one. As a gift, I would be glad to fulfill your desire’

So their tongue intertwined, his Lord’s split tongue peered slowly as he opened the gates into throat. He pulled as to lower him and holds him closer, and two tips of dragon tongue dances around. Twirling, enveloping his little one if compared to that of his Lord’s. It goes deeper as the length fulfill every room of his mouth, down into his throat, and needless to say he was satisfied. He towered above him, and so does the reaper: now hanging behind his Lord, creeping in- this is it. This is the time, as he unseath the blade he’d been keeping, and he thrust

Deep. Red. Black. Dripping, waltzing and oozing together ever so beautifully

His Lord was about to laugh of humor, did his loyal subject, all knowing of how robust he was, really think that this mere mutiny could end him? If it did, he would’ve did it himself ages ago

But there was something else

As Silver thrusts deeper, he feel it seeps into his streams, light magic overflowing and tainting his fae blood. There’s no mistaking it- it’s the same magic that emanates from Silver’s passed down ring, one that Lilia stashed along with the greatest gift in the whole world— according to him. The very same that ended his mother. 

To end with the exact same way of his beloved mother he never got the chance to meet

This is beautiful

And so he gave in. Letting go as his magic that cloaks their surroundings dissipates, including the ones veiled Silver’s form. The taller frame finally succumbs and sank. Glints of effulgent hangs upon his head, and in those final moments, pressed a smile onto his Lord’s lips; as warmth slips and bodies deteriorates.

This time, surely, his father would be overjoyed

Father, me and big brother are home! We bought something for dinner!

A carp by the lake, and potatoes from the land!

A cut on the back, and fleshes of the dead!

[orcelito]

Crochet Update

Last night vs right now. The current progress on the maybe-scarf. I might just run out of yarn before I reach actual scarf length, but I'm curious what the full length of one of these yarn balls is. Kinda just getting a feel for it & all.

I Also bought a little book that teaches some crochet basics, and spent some time going through some more stitch styles. The above scarf is made with single stitches, and the following...

The half-double stitch

The double stitch

The treble stitch

Fuck the treble. The process for doing it was so different from the others, I Hated it. Maybe my hands being tired also doesn't help, but I am Grrrr at this one. Final product was okay at least.

These 3 little bitches took me 2 hours to make. Ugh.

[stellarish]

Wip 🐍🐍

[waywardsalt]

tag rant but man i fuckin hate the new direction for loz

[illegiblewords]

More aesthetic style sets! Hit dark academia, light academia, cottagecore, kawaii, lolita, princesscore, clowncore, baddie, goth, and weirdcore this go.

[deykxn]

The way I like to play is all about letting sims do their own thing and following their goals, making their own stories, and kind of just seeing where the game (or rather mods) take me. It’s more fun when things happen unexpectedly, and it helps keep the game from getting boring!!

You can mix this playstyle into any challenge like Rags to Riches, 100 Babies, whatever - It’s not really a challenge on its own, just a different approach to playing The Sims 4! 🙂‍↕️ https://www.youtube.com/deykxn This list will continue to get updated over time, probably missing some rules but hopefully this makes for a good base! Recommended Mods: Coolspear's Improved Autonomy Have Some Personality Please Social Variety Wants & Fears Lumpinou Pro Library LGBTQIA+ Mod Drama Unleashed Carl's Gameplay Overhaul Sim Control Hub Romantic Extensions More Kisses Better Midlife Crisis Goals General Rules: No cheats for money No exiting without saving Try to keep most interactions autonomous - No instigated flirting/woohoo - Friendly Interactions are okay to instigate - Mod interactions for storytelling mods are okay to instigate do NOT stop your sims from being mean/arguing!! this is something i know a lot of us do but if sims don't get along let them not get along - and turn mean autonomy back on with mcc if you've turned it off!! - Everytime you add an outfit in CAS subtract -100 Simoleons from your Sim! Mindset: Before you do anything major in the game - ask yourself “would this actually happen in real life?” Does it make sense for your sim’s current situation? How would it fit into their story? Try to treat your sims like they’re real people with emotions, goals, and limitations!!

Housing: Don't purchase a fully decorated perfect little house, always move your sims into either empty lots or shells and fill them up over time! We are allowed to move If a house was built up rags to riches style we are allowed to ‘sell’ it for it’s full price If moved into a shell we won’t get money for the property from moving out Repairs must be made using the ‘repair’ interactions or hiring a service 'replacing' is not allowed For every lot challenge we can put one lot trait that brings in a positive - Simple Living lot trait has to be applied Wants & Fears: Try to complete at least one want before each refresh Fears do not have to be conquered Try to complete the heirs Bucket List - Bucket List goals have to be randomized If in a midlife crisis pay extra special attention to those goals!! Personality: Aspirations - Randomized allowed to re-roll the aspiration after each birthday! Sims 4 Aspiration Generator Traits - Randomized Personality Discoveries have to be decided by the yes or no wheel Yes No Picker Wheel - Get Yes or No Answer by Spinning

Jobs: Not allowed to take Phone Job opportunities For the heir try to pick a ‘open career’ e.g. Small Business, Freelance, etc. - Allowed to do Odd Jobs/Side Hustles/Part-time Jobs Career has to align with the sims’ personality You are allowed to apply for goverment benefits Spouses/Partners: No moving in until Sim gets the want or Partner proposes it - Partner does not bring in money from moving in!! No Engagement/Marriage until Sim gets a want or partner proposes it - If Partner proposes moving in/marriage/engagement the yes or no wheel has to be spun Yes No Picker Wheel - Get Yes or No Answer by Spinning Wicked Whims: Random Sex offers have to go through the yes or no wheel - established partners can just accept/decline Seductive Looks have to go through the yes or no wheel Pregnancy: If one, or both, Parents do not want a child the yes or no wheel has to decide Yes No Picker Wheel - Get Yes or No Answer by Spinning - If the wheel says yes to terminating the Pregnancy but we do not have money to terminate it the pregnancy will go through!

Offspring: Naming: Go down the ABC per Sim Traits: Always randomized - unless you have an established idea for the sim Heir can be whoever we vibe with the most Lumpinou Mods: Interactions have to always be decided by fate Death: If a Sim dies we are not allowed to plead for their life Cannot bring a Sim back from the dead No interactions with ghosts unless the Sim is very into the Paranormal Wheel of Drama Can be used whenever you're bored! Not needed but definetly adds a little spice to calm eras. 🙂‍↕️ https://spinthewheel.app/sims-4-wheel-of-drama Save File: Cheating for money/aspirations/etc is allowed for anyone outside of the main heir for storytelling purposes - If you need some townies make sure to check out #deytownies on the gallery!! DON'T get caught up trying to make the perfect save file - grab some builds from the Gallery, swap out EA townies for ones you like better, and let your world grow and evolve as you go. It doesn’t have to be perfect!! Our main Priority is having FUN!!

[not-cool-enough-to-scuba-dive]

it's real missing artfight hours lads

[controld3vil]

letting them pick your weapon

pairings: yelena belova, bucky barnes, john walker, robert reynolds/sentry, ava starr/ghost, taskmaster (comic ver.), alexei shostakov/red guardian x gn!thunderbolts!reader

synopsis: The fact that you value their opinion catches them off guard.

notes -> working on requests rn, but inbox’s still open !! I WANNA WRITE MORE tags/cw: inaccurate characterization/have not seen the film, minor scene mention (it’s in the trailer!), descriptions of weapons (flash bombs, bucky’s grappling hook, retractable shield, emergency teleporter, static boots, weapon gauntlet, combat enhanced gloves) headcanons can be read as platonic/romantic

YELENA BELOVA

-> believed you were joking at first. her? you have lost your mind if you thought she would be a good idea to offer advice to. but because it’s you, she’s willing to consider your preferences and style of combat. most of the team already use guns, tactical knives for hand-to-hand combat. you’re a great candidate for any challenge, so she’s not going to pick something easy. if you wanted easy, you would’ve asked someone else. 

“Well, I’m flattered you think so highly of me,” The former Black Widow turned to you with a delighted grin slowly spreading across her face. It’s obvious how smitten she is after your suggestion regarding the weaponry. Valentina had experts for those kinds of things: weapons, gear, and training. Yet, you sought her out for her opinion. Yelena rarely swoons at compliments, but you make her feel lighter on her feet on rare occasions. 

“Is it so wrong not to?” you jest with a smirk. You continued down the hallway of the Tower. The armory is built with a fingerprint pad at the end of the hall. Once you are allowed access, the bulletproof doors open. 

“You’ve got quite the selection,” Yelena notes, her eyes scanning the close-combat display. A few new additions catch her eye – one’s she’s certain weren’t there last week. It’s obvious you favor hand-to-hand combat over long-range, but she has no intentions of making this easy for you. Yelena knows you enjoy pushing boundaries, not just with weapons, but with strategy, roles, anything that keeps you one step ahead. “You’re still positive you want my advice?”

“Of course!” You beam, scanning down the aisles of the collection Valentina has managed to grab for the team. This was something you wished you had, and not just a temporary use. Still, you’re unfazed by Yelena’s pondering. “You’re one of the best I know of.” 

“That you know of,” She corrects, placing her hands on her hips. She’s thinking carefully now. What to give you. Would you like what she suggests? It shouldn’t matter as much, but Yelena now considers your combat style. The way you navigate around the battlefield, how you look both ways before crossing an alleyway. You’re very meticulous when it comes to closed operations, which is why she works so well with you. 

You see her grab something from a barrel, close to the heavy weapons. She holds it in her hand, feeling the weight of it. Her palms bounce the spherical object up and down as if it were a baseball and not something to be messed with. Yelena seems satisfied, as you can tell by the glint in her eyes when she turns to you. Her grin is devilish as she picks up a few more and lays them out in her hands. 

“Flash bombs, huh…” Your expression is neutral, studying them like an ancient artifact. You rarely use them, as it really depends on the mission. If it were a search and rescue, you wouldn’t think to use flash bombs. But then again, it’s slowly that you realize how typical your preferences are. “Never used them.”

“Exactly the point,” the ex-assassin beams with a lighthearted jab. “We rarely use flash bombs– makes it more fun when we do.” 

“So you’re suggesting them because you think they’re fun?” You crossed your arms, a smug smile tugging at your lips. You knew better than to expect Yelena to take your request seriously. She was trying to make peace with a past she rarely spoke of. But still, she had a way of making her life a hell of a lot more interesting.

“Flash bombs are like party tricks–best when no one sees them coming,” she said with a pout, holding one up like it was a priceless treasure.

BUCKY BARNES

-> question your mental fortitude. are you serious? but then he listens to you spouting about his days as the Winter Soldier. he doesn’t think highly of those days but the way you boast about his expertise is almost bizarre. do you admire him? that makes him feel oddly appreciated and conflicted. however because of your persistent pleas (you said please once!), he complies and leads you to his room. 

“Where did you think we were going?” The team leader grumbled, eyes fixed ahead as he passed Walker’s door without so much as a glance. There was a hint of playfulness in his voice–subtle, nearly invisible–but you caught it. You always did with him. 

He didn’t look at you. He rarely did when he was in one of these moods. Still, you followed close behind, practically on his heels like a loyal, overly eager puppy. And you couldn’t have looked more pleased. Because the truth was, you never expected to be allowed into Bucky’s room. 

“I mean no one’s allowed in your room,” you said, your voice light, stating the obvious. 

That made him stop. 

Bucky turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. To anyone else, he probably seemed annoyed–grim even. But you had spent enough time watching the subtle gestures to notice the truth. The slight droop in his eyes. That flicker of something softer. 

“Well– you’re the leader,” you added quickly, voice quieter now, “and out of respect, I just… never thought I’d be invited.” Now he looks at you even more deeply. Great, now he looks like a kicked puppy. 

“I mean, I appreciate the kind assumption, but really–” he pauses, eyes locking onto yours with surprising intensity. “You’re always welcome. If you need anything, that is.” 

You nod, taking in the quiet sincerity in his words. For a moment, it felt like you two had cleared the air. The weight of the conversation felt lighter, more comfortable. 

When he opens the door, he steps aside to let you enter first. 

Bucky’s room is nothing out of the ordinary. It was plain and expected, maybe, but not without hints of the man who lives there. A few photos hang crookedly on the wall. Clothes are scattered on the floor, like they were left there in a hurry or maybe forgotten. He doesn’t spend much time here, but it’s undeniably his space.  

“Sorry for the mess.” He passes by you and heads to his closet. You watch as he grabs a case, pulling it down with the kind of care that says it’s something important. You have no idea what’s inside, but you can guess. What screams Bucky Barnes? Probably a custom-modified handgun. Maybe a combat knife with a story behind it.

“Here it is,” he says, setting the case down on the bed. You stare at it, curiosity buzzing as he unlatches the safety lock. His gaze flicks to yours for a split second before he opens it. And when you finally see what’s inside, you can’t help it. 

You laugh.

Bucky turns to you, almost abruptly. “What’s so funny?”

Your eyes cross his. “Is this the grappling hook you used to destroy that military vehicle when you were chasing us?” Recognition flickers in his face. The realization hits him–it is the same one. And for a moment, his expression is as unforgettable as the day you first saw him, tearing across the empty drylands on that motorcycle like something out of a war film.

“Oh… right,” Bucky says, rubbing the back of his neck, guilt creeping into his voice. “Sorry. I didn’t exactly plan that part out.”

“It’s alright…” You said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. The light streaming through the window catches the gleam of his metal arm, making it shine with an almost haunting beauty. “We're past that now.”

His eyes held a longing, a deep, mysterious intensity that you couldn’t quite figure out. He glances back at the grappling hook, it’s been since the beginning of your journey together as a team. He hasn’t used it since then, storing it as a keepsake, but now he’s looking at you.

“It’s yours now."

JOHN WALKER

-> gives you a skeptical look. you know yourself best, why would you go out of your way to ask him? doesn’t turn down the suggestion, but will constantly ask you why. He's been in the military, served two tours in Afghanistan. All he’s ever good for is punching things and shooting. And now, Valentina has given him a mediocre shield in place of Captain America’s. It’s safe to say he doesn’t choose his weapons, he earns them.

“I thought Yelena would be the one to ask, not you.” Walker doesn't seem just mildly annoyed; no, he’s genuinely in disbelief. No one’s ever asked him for a weapon before, and while his options were somewhat limited, he’s beginning to think that with the super serum coursing through him means he’s capable of more than he used to be. But his go-tos have always been the same: his shield and gun.

“You’re a strong guy,” you shrug casually, stripping off the protective gear you’d brought along. The two of you had just finished an operation, and the exhaustion was settling in, yet you couldn’t ignore the curiosity that spurred your suggestion. “I trust your instincts.”

Walker just stares at you, the look on his face speaking volumes. Seriously? He’s caught off guard. After everything that’s happened, now you’re asking him? But you can see he’s weighing your words, even if it’s only for a moment.

“You should trust your intuition,” he says, his tone softening just a little, though the faint skepticism still lingers. “Choose whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

“Comfortable?” You raise an eyebrow, pretending to think it over. “Well, if comfortable means picking a weapon that might get me killed, then… sure, I’m all in.” You smile, as if this were no big deal, even though deep down, the weight of your decision isn’t lost on you. “I trust you enough to make it interesting.” 

The former soldier exhales, clearly irritated, though mostly with himself. You weren’t going to give up, and he knew it. If he let this go now, you’d just come back tomorrow with the same question. You were rarely this persistent, but when you were, there’s no way of convincing you out of it. He could either make a decision now or risk you asking him again later. 

“Fine,” he muttered, scanning the armory. 

As you busied yourself, putting away gear and organizing supplies, Walker moved around the racks, his eyes flickering over the options. But the more he looked, the more he found himself caught in a mental loop. 

The rifle? Too heavy. That pistol? Not enough range for someone with your skills. That polearm? Too awkward for you to wield efficiently.

Finding a weapon that matched your needs, something that fit your style, was proving to be harder than he anticipated. He muttered under his breath, his frustration slowly building. Then he stole a glance at you, assessing. His eyes narrowed, running through the possibilities. He paused. The mission… in that moment. He remembered how you struggled to dodge the bullets while also taking down some thugs. His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he sighed and reached for something on a high shelf. 

Before he makes it down, you’re already by his side. 

“Whatcha got there?” You look eager, excited by the fact that Walker was this tolerant of your persistent pestering, that he’s willing to go through with his promise. 

“A retractable shield.” He removed the cover, and there it was. The shield was smaller compared to Walker’s, but confident in size to contract in and out like a gadget. It had a charred black matte finish, with dark silver lining across the edges. It had an adjustable cuff. It resembled similarly to a Wakandan shield, which Bucky saw during his time there. It was beautiful. “It was a prototype Valentina had ordered for me, but I never used it. I got this one already,” he gestured to his shield, clasped behind his back. 

“If you like, you can keep this one.” 

“Wait—really?!” 

“I mean— I don’t use it, so it’s all yours,” he says delicately, placing it into your hands. “I can teach you a few tricks, too, if you like.”

ROBERT REYNOLDS/SENTRY

-> extra extra nervous. you asked the guy who doesn’t need weapons or any kind of gadget to fight. if any of the members were in the room, they would be looking at you like you were crazy. bob’s first answer is no, but after seeing you pout at his refusal, he’s quick to please you. but then again, he has no idea what he’s doing. 

“Okay! Knives, guns—uh, what are you looking for?” You appreciate the effort of his trying to act like he knows what he’s doing. But he’s trying desperately to meet your expectations. Bob looks nervous, like a lamb to the slaughter in the weapons room, jumping from cabinet to cabinet, looking at all of the variety. 

“Just something new to try out,” You grin, letting his nervous energy follow him around. You stand by the doorway and watch as Bob tries to analyze each piece of equipment. 

“Uhm—are you looking for something practical or—“ 

“Bob,” that startles him, making him freeze momentarily before meekly turning to face you. He was expecting you in mad rage, yet you weren’t. You just had a cute, goofy smile on your face. “Pick something with your heart. I know whatever you choose will be fine.” 

It’ll be fine. He thinks to himself, before nodding, allowing his nerves to slowly subside. Bob takes a deep breath, and in slow strides, he reaches out to something. 

When he turns, your gaze follows, all innocent and cute. 

“Ahh, an emergency teleporter!” You’re in awe because it was something you didn’t think Bob would pick as his first choice. There were plenty of gadgets you thought of— force fields, bulletproof vests, iron-plated brass knuckles. 

“Thought it might come in handy,” he nervously laughs, fiddling with the device, not knowing what to do with his hands. “Uhm— you know, in case you have to go on missions with me— and I don’t know— if something were to happen—“ 

You could practically see his thoughts unraveling from where you stood, Bob always rambled when he was anxious. But the fact that he was worrying about your safety left a warm, fluttery feeling in your chest. 

“Hey– I get it,” you say gently, taking the teleporter from his hand. Only then does he realize he’d been speaking out loud, not just thinking it. He freezes, suddenly stiff and wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights. Embarrassed and tense. You offer a reassuring smile, one that says you don’t mind if anything, you appreciate it.

“It’s smart to have a backup plan,” you add. “And hey, maybe once this mission’s over, we’ll use it to teleport straight to that pizza place.”

AVA STARR/GHOST

-> pokes fun at you. jokes about all the possibilities of how you’ll slip up with whatever item she picks. obviously you don’t take it to heart, but ava’s light-hearted nature is a breath of fresh air— after so many grueling missions, her jokes are something that keeps you motivated for the next. need advice on using the element of surprise? she’s your gal! 

“I mean, come on–sneaking in with suppressed pistols but still blowing the whole operation?” Ava giggles, clearly enjoying herself while you look away, pretending to be interested in the horizon. 

“It was one of my first missions, okay?” you snap, pouting as a hot mix of embarrassment and irritation bubbles up inside you.

“Yeah, yeah—amateur,” she teases, ducking her head and biting back another laugh. 

“Oh, like you didn’t have any screw-ups when you started?”

“Don’t even get me started.” 

You raise a brow. “Well? I’m listening.” 

“I’m not telling you,” Ava says with a teasing hum as she strolls toward the armory, already scanning the gear selection menu. You trail after her, fuming. 

“I just told you my most embarrassing story, and you won’t even share yours? That’s not fair!” Steam practically pours from your ears. You’d laid bare your humiliating failure, and Ava–cool, composed Ava, refuses to give even a scrap in return. 

But instead of responding, she flashes a sly smile. “Because I got you something better.” She stops in front of a reinforced gear locker, a sleek metal container stacked with tactical essentials: vests, gloves, helmets. Everything you’d expect. But apparently, Ava has something different in mind. You pause, watching as she places her hand on the scanner. With a soft click and mechanical hiss, a hidden shelf slides out. 

It gleams. Brand new. Sleek like fresh sneakers out of the box. Ava hums before she accesses the armory, heading to the gear selection. 

“For when you’re trying not to sound like a herd of elephants,” she smirks, nodding to a pair of matte-black static boots. She leans casually against the frame, one eyebrow raised in silent amusement.

You blink at her, deadpan.

“Seriously?” 

“I mean, I can hear you walk from your bedroom to the kitchen–from my room,” Ava says, casually shrugging like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

You blink. That’s new information.

“Wait… I’m just a loud walker?” She gives you a pointed look, and suddenly it all clicks. “That explains why Walker’s always giving me weird looks,” you mutter, half to yourself. “Guess my feet have a mind of their own.”

Ava snorts. “No, love–you just have really bad shoes.”

TONY MASTERS/TASKMASTER

-> looks your way in deep silence. for how long you’ve known each other, you’re starting to believe tony chooses not to talk. he expresses much more with his actions, such as offering you extra bullets, or medical tape if things go south. tony is an experienced man with many talents, he’s able to copy and replicate his opponent’s moves. he’s done the same with teammates, with you when training, allowing you to point out the mistakes you hadn’t seen there before. sometimes you think he knows you better than yourself. 

“A weaponized gauntlet, huh?” you say, not even pretending to be surprised when Tony hands it to you, seemingly out of thin air. No trip to the armory, no formal request. Apparently, Tony knew you were going to ask him about this and waited for you to ask. 

You study the gauntlet closely, fingers tracing its sleek design. Every button, switch, and panel feels deliberate. Precise. You press one. Click! A retractable blade slides out with satisfying ease. Another press–a grappling line. Then a short-range stun charge. Then a blinding flash ejector. You can’t help it. A grin creeps across your face.

This was so him. 

Tony embodied versatility in his work. He didn’t rely on brute force–he struck with speed, precision, and timing. This gauntlet? This gauntlet was just like him: tactical, efficient, and sharp.

“Thank you,” you say softly, still a bit in awe as you reset the device to its default mode. Your eyes are locked on the gauntlet, taking in every detail. But Tony’s? His eyes haven’t let you once. 

If the circumstances were different, you might’ve mistaken this moment for something romantic.

“It’s pretty neat, has everything I need,” you say, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. You don’t mind the quiet, not really, but sometimes the stillness between you feels too heavy not to break. Tony doesn’t reply. Not verbally, at least. But you can tell his focus has shifted, drawn in closer. He’s leaning slightly toward you now, just enough for you to notice the space closing. 

You feel compelled to try the gauntlet on. As you unfasten the straps and slide it onto your wrist, it clamps down, not tightly, threatening. More like a perfectly fitted bracelet. Secure and purposeful. There’s a subtle hum as the device calibrates, adjusting to the shape of your hand. The pressure eases, and it begins to feel more like a part of you than an accessory. Almost like a second skin. 

Tiny scanners flicker along your fingertips, mapping them precisely–each digit now linked to a specific function, a silent promise of the power you had. You lift your pointer finger, and almost instantly, a blade slides out with fluid precision. 

“This feels like straight-up nanotech…” You murmur, raising your wrist toward the ceiling light, eyes wide with wonder. You probably look like a kid on Christmas morning. If a civilian saw you now, they might assume you’d completely lost it. 

“Where did you even get this?” you ask, unable to hide your curiosity. Tony tilts his head, deliberate and unreadable. You already know he won’t answer, but that never stopped you from asking him pointless questions anyway. It’s become a quiet repetition between you. 

You lower your arm, bring the gauntlet down to chest level–just enough to create a sort of invisible line between you and him. A barrier, but a playful one. 

“If you ever need it,” you say, mimicking his earlier head tilt with a smile, “just ask.”

ALEXEI SHOSTAKOV/RED GUARDIAN

-> very excited. so excited you asked him! alexei is really a lovable guy— even though he often doesn’t use any weapons or gadgets, he thinks of his teammates whenever he goes out window shopping. he sees a new brand Glock 19 by the window? yelena would love it! an energy stabilizer on the dark web? bob’s gonna flip! but you? good old you get special treatment because he’ll personally get you whatever you want. 

“When I heard you needed a new weapon, I was so happy!” Alexei beams as the two of you make your way into the living room. His accent thickens with excitement as he waves a hand. “Not in a bad way, of course, but it’s good, da? Trying something new!” 

“You get me, Alexei,” you say, arms crossing instinctively. Apparently, you weren’t the only one picking up on your growing restlessness. Same weapons, same tactics, and same rhythm, it all started to feel stale. You figured switching things up might help you see things differently. 

Everyone on the team had their niche. Alexei, with his brute strength. Bucky, his guns, and that metal arm. Ava could phase through about anything. Everyone had their thing. And you? You’d been stuck in the same position for far too long. 

“That is why I was so excited when I found this,” he says, crouching to pull a box from under the couch with a mischievous grin. 

Your brows lift, your curiosity piques. “What’ve you got?”

“Close your eyes!” he orders, and you obey, hands outstretched like a kid waiting for a surprise. Behind your closed lids, you hear the ripple of tape, the crinkle of bubble wrap, and then clank... a solid metallic sound, followed by the stretch of fabric. Then something is gently placed into your palms. 

It’s lighter than you expect. Smooth and flexible, but as your fingers trace further, you find the contrast, the cold, hard metal beneath the fabric. 

“Open your eyes!” he announces, barely able to contain his excitement. 

You do. And you’re impressed.

Combat-enhanced gloves, sleek Kevlar-weave across the surface, making your hands feel impossibly light and agile. Carbon-titanium plates reinforce the knuckles and strike zones, and the inside? A smart gecko-grip polymer, designed to boost grip on any surface. 

You stared, stunned. Not just by the gloves, but by the fact that Alexei went through the trouble to find them. Valentina might have gotten you something, if she wasn’t constantly ranting about budget cuts. But this? This came from someone who genuinely wanted to help. 

“You really are the best,” you say, laughing softly as you wrap your arms around his neck, the gloves still clutched in your hands. He lets out a big, satisfied huff of a laugh, and when you pull back, his smile nearly outshines the room.

Who could hate him? You hadn’t known Alexei that long, but somehow he already understood you better than most. 

“I know you like your shooting and whatnot,” he says, mock innocent. You roll your eyes and give him a playful jab to the shoulder. 

“But I also know,” he grins, “you really like punching things. So I thought–'Hey, you know who’d love combat gloves?’”

You can’t stop smiling. It actually hurts a little, but you don’t care. 

“Then I saw them, just sitting there in the market! I couldn’t believe it. Like the universe wanted me to buy them for you!”

“Universe said received,” you say, voice bubbling with gratitude and affection. You look down at the gloves, then back at Alexei. You’ll get him something too. Not because you owe him, but because it’s rare to be known like this. And his gift? 

It’s perfect.

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You’ve decided to test the waters with the TKATB men by shamelessly shooting your shot—TikTok trend style. Whether it’s a smooth pick-up line, a sudden confession, or a ridiculous flirty challenge, their reactions range from flustered and skeptical to downright chaotic. 

Will they fall for it, brush it off, or call you out on your antics? 

One thing’s for sure—things are about to get interesting.  

𝒸𝑜��𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

Just vibing and writing this for fun because one-shots are way easier than full-length stories. Plus, I’m just goofy asf, and this kind of stuff cracks me up.

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

The dining hall was its usual mess—too loud, too chaotic, and packed with students caught in their own little worlds. Groups huddled together at long tables, talking over one another as laughter and half-shouted conversations filled the air.

The distant clatter of plastic plates and silverware mixed with the occasional scrape of chairs against the linoleum floor, adding to the ever-present noise.  

You sat at your usual table, idly stirring your drink with a straw as you observed the controlled chaos around you. Your table was positioned near the middle of the room—not too close to the loudest cliques, but not hidden away either. The wood was covered in old carvings, initials scratched into the surface by other college students long before you, their presence lingering in the worn-out grooves.  

Across from you, Brittany leaned in, propping her chin on her hand, her eyes gleaming with mischief. The kind of look that meant she was scheming something. The fluorescent lights overhead cast sharp reflections on the glossy surface of her phone, which she tapped against the table like a silent challenge.

Whatever was brewing in her head, you could already tell it was going to be trouble.

“Come on, you gotta do it,” she whispered, leaning in, her elbows pressing against the worn surface of the lunch table, making it creak slightly under the pressure. Her phone rested loosely between her fingers, screen dimmed but still showing the TikTok app open.

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Why do I gotta do anything?”  

Brittany huffed, gesturing toward Crowe and Geo, who were across the dining hall because there weren’t enough seats for the whole friend group to sit together, Crowe, by contrast, sat upright, composed, one elbow propped on the surface as he halfheartedly poked at his sandwich with a plastic fork. 

Geo, by contrast at in his usual slouched posture, legs spread lazily under the table, eating with the quiet efficiency of someone who had better things to do than waste time in a crowded cafeteria. His sharp gaze flicked toward you briefly, eyes assessing before he returned to whatever Crowe was rambling about.

“Because it’s time,” Brittany insisted. “You keep saying you’re into Crowe, and now you’ve got the perfect excuse.” She wiggled her phone at you. “Just hit him with the trend. It’s foolproof. Trust.”  

You rolled your eyes. “That’s the least reassuring thing you’ve ever said.”  

But Brittany wasn’t backing down. 

She sat up straighter, nudging you like an annoying little devil on your shoulder. “They say shooters shoot, right? Go be a shooter.”  

You exhaled through your nose, mulling it over, fingers tapping lightly against the side of your drink. Honestly, why not? Worst case, Crowe would brush it off, and best case… well, you weren’t sure what the best case even was, but at least it’d be funny.  

“Fine.”  

Pushing back your chair with an easy glide, you stood, smoothing your hands over your clothes as if adjusting invisible wrinkles. With a slight roll of your shoulders, you straightened your posture, tilting your chin up just enough to exude confidence—or at least fake it well enough.  

As you took the first step forward, your pace was slow, unhurried. The rhythmic chatter of the cafeteria hummed around you, but your focus zeroed in on Crowe and Geo’s table. 

You wove through the maze of students, sidestepping a stray backpack and a reckless freshman who nearly bumped into you. The heels of your shoes clicked softly against the linoleum floor, a steady beat to your approach.  

Geo noticed you first. His sharp gaze flicked toward you, scanning your expression as he brought his drink to his lips. He didn’t say anything, but the subtle lift of his brow suggested he was already questioning your intentions.  

Crowe, on the other hand, remained blissfully unaware. His focus was locked on his tray, fingers lazily peeling apart the edges of his sandwich like he was debating whether it was worth eating. 

Then, finally, he glanced up at you. 

His brows lifted slightly, mild curiosity flickering across his face as he took you in. He didn’t speak right away, but the way his head tilted ever so slightly told you he was already intrigued.

And then you hit him with it.  

“They say shooters shoot,” you said smoothly, locking eyes with him. You tilted your head slightly, letting the words linger like a slow burn before delivering the finishing blow.  

“Jericho, wassup witchu?”  

The cafeteria noise seemed to dim for just a second. Geo, mid-sip of his drink, visibly stalled like his brain short-circuited alongside Crowe’s. Crowe, on the other hand, just stares at you, completely still, like someone had just paused him in real life.  

Then, something shifted. His brows lifted slightly, and his tongue ran over the inside of his cheek as if processing what just happened. And slowly—painfully slowly—his lips curled into a smirk, the kind that made it clear he was far too entertained by this.  

Leaning back in his seat, Crowe spread his arms out lazily over the back of his chair, tapping his fingers against the table in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Huh.” He let the sound hang in the air before tilting his head, gaze sweeping over you with something just shy of amusement. “That so?”  

Geo, still recovering from the secondhand embarrassment of witnessing whatever the hell this was, pinched the bridge of his nose. With a deep sigh, he muttered under his breath, “I hate this damn school.” Then, taking his tray, he promptly decided he wanted nothing to do with this interaction and stood up to leave.  

Crowe barely paid him any mind, his smirk never wavering. Instead, he leaned forward now, resting his elbows on the table, chin propped against his palm as he looked up at you with way too much interest.  

“So,” he mused, voice teasing, “you really just came over here to try that weak-ass pickup line on me?”  

Your lips twitched, barely holding back a grin. “Weak? Please. That was top-tier delivery.”  

Crowe chuckled, low and amused, drumming his fingers against the table. “I dunno… seems like you could’ve done better. Maybe you’re nervous?”  

You scoffed. “Oh, please—if anything, you’re nervous.”  

His smirk widened, the challenge sparking in his eyes. “Is that right?”  

“Yup.” You placed your hands on the table, leaning in just slightly, close enough to make the air between you charged with tension. “And you’re stalling ‘cause you don’t know how to handle it.”  

Crowe stood up slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. He straightened to his full height, casting a shadow over you as he leaned down just slightly, his presence commanding the air around you. The subtle shift in his posture sent a chill down your spine, but you refused to show it.

He tapped one finger against the table in a rhythmic, almost calculated motion, before letting his hand fall to his side. His eyes never wavered from yours. There was something dangerously playful in the way he observed you, like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Or maybe…” he started, his voice dropping an octave, smooth and teasing but carrying an unmistakable weight. “…I’m just enjoying watching you dig yourself into a hole you can’t climb out of.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you almost faltered. For a second, you felt the heat rise to your face, that familiar feeling of being caught in a trap you hadn’t seen coming.

…Oh.

Okay. That one almost got you. But you weren’t about to let him see that.

With a confident grin, you straightened up in your seat, throwing a dramatic shrug his way. “Guess we’ll see who breaks first, then,” you replied, your voice laced with a challenge, refusing to back down.

Crowe let out a low, almost playful chuckle, his gaze never wavering from yours. He shook his head slowly, that trademark smirk never leaving his face. There was something undeniably smug about the way he carried himself in that moment, like he was already anticipating the outcome.

"Guess we will," he murmured, his voice smooth, but there was an added edge to it now—something that hinted at the shift in the game.

He leaned in just a little closer, enough to make your heart race, the air between you thickening with tension. You could feel his breath against your skin as his lips brushed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“But don’t think you’re getting off easy,” he whispered, his voice low and dangerously calm, “This is far from over.”

You didn’t have time to respond before Crowe stood up, leaving the table with that same casual confidence. He turned his head slightly, glancing back over his shoulder with a final smirk.

“Later,” he said, the word hanging in the air like a promise—or a threat. 

You were left sitting there, your mind racing with the weight of what just happened. As you tried to regain your composure, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out, finding a text from Brittany asking how it went. You typed back a quick, vague response, still trying to sort out the whirlwind of emotions Crowe had left in his wake.

But before you could think about it too much, another notification popped up—this time from Crowe. 

Crowe: Meet me at my place tonight. I’m shooting my shot. 

Crowe: Don’t keep me waiting, love.

Your heart skipped a beat. Crowe wasn’t one to back down, and judging by that text, he was ready to take things to a whole new level. You could almost hear the challenge in his words, daring you to show up, to see how far this game would go.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the screen. 

Tonight, it seemed, was going to be interesting.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

The theater lobby had an unmistakable charm—one that was equal parts nostalgic and slightly tragic. The air was thick with the scent of overpriced buttered popcorn and artificially flavored slushies, mingling with the faint but ever-present smell of old velvet curtains and sticky floors. 

Dim, yellowish lighting cast a soft, hazy glow over the space, its reflection bouncing off the shiny tile floor and making the entire area feel like a quiet, forgotten corner of some abandoned shopping mall.

The soft murmur of distant conversations and the hum of arcade machines blended into the background, only adding to the dreamlike atmosphere. It was mid-afternoon—prime delinquent hours—and the place was practically empty, save for a few older folks shuffling around, probably just trying to kill time or nap through whatever B-grade thriller happened to be playing in the adjacent theater.  

You, Sol, and Hyugo stood in front of the snack counter, all of you successfully dodging class for the day with only one mission in mind: seeing some over-the-top, gory horror movie that Sol had been far too excited about all week. 

The film had become a topic of conversation that bordered on obsessive, and now here you were—about to dive headfirst into the kind of chaos that could only come from a big-budget splatter fest.  

“I’m telling you, this is gonna be the best horror release in years,” Sol rambled, his eyes practically glowing with excitement as he stared up at the massive menu above the counter, filled with the usual cinema offerings: popcorn, nachos, candy, and various overpriced beverages. “The practical effects? The atmosphere? The body count? Peak cinema, right here, man.”  

You crossed your arms and deadpanned. “You just want to see people get torn apart.”  

Sol turned to face you, completely unbothered. “And?”  

Hyugo snickered beside you, nudging your shoulder with an elbow. “Nah, let him cook. I haven’t seen him this hyped since they sold extra-large nachos at lunch that one time.”  

You snorted, unable to hold back your grin. Sol, however, didn’t seem to hear either of you, too absorbed in the very important task of deciding which snack was worthy of his dedication. He eyed the counter with the intensity of someone about to make a life-altering decision.  

“Large popcorn, extra butter,” he told the cashier, who looked like they’d seen this exact request about a thousand times today. “And one of those giant-ass sodas. Also—”  

The cashier sighed dramatically, clearly immune to Sol's enthusiasm. They were, after all, stuck in this job for what felt like eternity.  

Hyugo leaned toward you, his grin spreading wide, his eyes sparkling with that devilish gleam that always spelled trouble.  

“So, uh…” He tapped his fingers together, voice lowered in a conspiratorial tone. “You should totally shoot your shot at Sol while he’s busy ordering. It’ll be hilarious.”  

You gave him a side-eye. “Are you trying to get me killed?”  

He shrugged, a mischievous laugh escaping him. “Look, he’s distracted. It’s the perfect setup.”  

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was serious. Then, as if in slow motion, you watched Sol’s hand hover over the snack options, his eyes scanning for something with just the right amount of salt and fat.  

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smirk. “You just want to see him suffer.”

Hyugo’s grin stretched wider as he dramatically placed a hand over his heart, feigning deep sincerity. “Listen, I support both of you in your personal journeys,” he said in an exaggerated, overly serious tone, “but also, I need entertainment. Big entertainment.”  

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the theatrics, but you knew there was no backing out now. Hyugo wasn’t the type to back down once he set his mind on something. And right now, his mind was laser-focused on you making a fool of yourself.  

Before you could even protest or rethink your life choices, Hyugo pulled out his phone with the grace of a seasoned pro, unlocked it, and flipped the camera to record. His eyes gleamed with mischief, clearly savoring the impending chaos. 

This was absolutely happening.  

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck in exasperation, feeling the weight of this decision begin to settle on your shoulders. “Fine,” you muttered, voice dripping with reluctant humor. “But if this goes south, I’m fighting you in the parking lot.”  

Hyugo’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, his grin practically glowing. “Deal. And I’ll be sure to get that on camera too, just for future reference.”  

You shot him a playful glare before turning your attention back to Sol, who was still completely oblivious to your scheme.  

Sol had just received his popcorn, the large bucket in his hands looking dangerously heavy for him. He squinted at the drink in his other hand, like he was trying to figure out how to balance everything without spilling it all. His expression was pure concentration, which, to be honest, made him look like a child trying to juggle for the first time.  

It was perfect timing. 

You exhaled sharply through your nose, straightening up and brushing off any last traces of hesitation. This was happening.  

With all the confidence of a seasoned pro, you casually strolled up beside him, positioning yourself just enough to make sure your entrance would have maximum impact. Sol was still busy juggling the popcorn and the drink, his focus entirely consumed by the simple task.  

And then, with the smoothness of a snake oil salesman and the charm of a movie star, you hit him with it—  

“They say shooters shoot…” you said, your voice calm, calculated, and just the right amount of playful.  

You paused for a heartbeat, letting the words hang in the air before you dropped the bomb.  

“Solivan, wassup witchu?”  

The silence that followed was deafening.

And then—

Sol’s brain visibly short-circuited. His grip on the drink faltered for a moment, fingers twitching like he was trying to figure out how to process your words. His pupils dilated like he had just been jump-scared in real life, and he blinked, wide-eyed, staring at you with a look that clearly said, What did you just say?

“Huh?” he managed, his voice higher than usual like he didn’t know if he was being pranked or genuinely confused.

As he fumbled with his snacks, trying to get a grip on the situation—quite literally—his drink tilted dangerously. You watched in slow motion as the soda teetered on the edge of disaster, but before it could spill, Hyugo swooped in like a goddamn hero.

The phone was already recording. Hyugo caught the drink, saving Sol’s popcorn from a watery demise, and let out an exaggerated gasp.

“Ohhh, that was beautiful,” Hyugo laughed, clearly living for the chaos. He aimed the phone at Sol’s stunned expression and clicked record. “10/10, excellent execution.”

Sol’s head whipped around to you, mouth opening and closing like he was trying to figure out how to recover from this.

“Did you just—what the hell was that?” he sputtered, still holding the popcorn like it might escape if he didn’t act fast.

You, being the absolute menace you are, gave a casual shrug. “Just shooting my shot.”

Sol’s face cycled through so many emotions in the span of two seconds—confusion, realization, the sharp twist of embarrassment, and maybe, just maybe, a tiny sliver of flustered annoyance before he groaned in exasperation and turned away.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, his fingers gripping the popcorn bucket a little too aggressively. “I trusted you.”

“You didn’t even see it coming,” Hyugo teased, giving him a nudge with his elbow. “How’s it feel to get blindsided?”

Sol exhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring as he glared at you with reluctant amusement. “You suck for that.”

You grinned and turned to head toward the theater doors, leaving Sol to catch up. “And yet, here you are—still following me.”

Hyugo was practically wheezing, holding his stomach as he laughed at Sol’s misery. Sol, meanwhile, scoffed, shaking his head in defeat as he grabbed his drink and popcorn, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. 

“…I hate you both.”

But the way Sol nearly tripped over his own feet trying to juggle the snacks told a very different story.

The theater was dark, the low hum of the movie's soundtrack mingling with the faint scent of popcorn. Sol, Hyugo, and you had settled into the plush seats, each of you with a bucket of snacks in hand. The movie was one of those cheesy horror flicks, the kind that was more funny than scary, but that didn't stop the occasional jumpscare from making you all laugh nervously between bites. 

Hyugo had managed to devour his snacks almost as quickly as you did, and now he was getting up to go buy more from the concession stand. As he walked off, you turned to Sol, your eyes scanning the screen as the movie played on.

“Can I have more snacks?” you asked, voice light, but a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. You were hoping he might get the hint, that you were just looking for a little excuse to keep the conversation going—or to distract from the eerie silence of the theater.

Sol, who had been lazily leaning back in his chair, eyes still trained on the screen, didn’t respond immediately. He only turned his head to glance at you, an eyebrow arched. The corners of his lips twitched like he was suppressing a grin.

“More snacks?” he repeated, almost like he was savoring the idea of you asking him for something. “You really want more, huh?”

Before you could respond, Hyugo was already on his way to the snack bar, leaving the two of you alone in the now quieter theater. The flickering images on the screen cast ghostly shadows around the room, but the mood between you and Sol shifted, like the atmosphere of the horror movie had leaked into reality.

Without warning, Sol moved. He was fast—too fast for you to protest before he dragged you into his lap, positioning you against him so smoothly it was like he had been planning it. Your eyes went wide, and you felt your heart skip a beat as your body tensed.

“Sol—what the hell?” you hissed, pushing against his chest lightly, panic flooding your veins. “We’re gonna get kicked out! The cameras—”

He chuckled darkly, his hands firm on your hips, pulling you closer with a deliberate slowness. “Cameras?” Sol repeated, his voice low and laced with amusement. “You really think those broke-ass cameras are gonna catch us?”

You froze, your breath hitching as you realized he had a point. No one was paying attention. The theater was practically empty, and the cameras... well, you were pretty sure they weren’t even working half the time. But still, the nerves kept crawling up your spine.

You shot him a look, your voice pleading now. “Please, Sol, we’ll get caught—”

He didn’t care. 

The mischievous glint in his eyes made it clear he was doing exactly what he wanted to do.

“As of now, I only have five minutes to get my lick back,” he said, a sly smirk tugging at his lips as he adjusted you in his lap. “So just sit tight.”

Before you could protest any further, his hands tightened on your hips, and the space between the two of you disappeared entirely. The horror movie continued to play in the background, but everything else seemed to blur away as Sol’s presence took over, his focus entirely on you now.

He was definitely getting his lick back.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

You were stretched out lazily on Geo's couch, feet propped up, the faint hum of the TV filling the otherwise quiet room. The show on the screen was some random cooking competition, something about baking pies or soufflés—honestly, you weren’t paying attention. 

You were just waiting for what was coming next, your mind slowly running through the inevitable mess you were about to have to clean up.

Geo, meanwhile, was somewhere deep in the other room, grunting and puffing through his workout like he was trying to bench-press the whole damn apartment. Little did he know, the storm was brewing right under his nose, completely oblivious to the chaos that was about to unfold.

Then, the phone buzzed on the coffee table in front of you. You glanced down, and for a moment, thought maybe you had imagined it. But nope, it was real. You sighed, already dreading what was coming.  

It was Crowe.

You clicked on the message, the words practically screaming at you. The chaos wrapped in his text was immediate and undeniable.

Crowe: You’ve gotta send me proof. Geo’s place, right? Get to it. ;)

You let out an exaggerated groan, sinking even deeper into the couch as you stared at the screen. You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or throw the phone across the room. The guy was a menace, but also... this was your doing. You had made a deal, and now it was time to face the music.

You quickly typed out a quick reply, hoping it would be enough to get him off your back.

You: You’re a monster, you know that?

The moment your thumb left the screen, you leaned back with a deep sigh, wishing there was an easy way out of this. But before you could even gather your thoughts, the phone buzzed again, and your stomach dropped.  

Crowe: You knew what you signed up for. Get it done, or I’m telling Geo about your whole ‘accidental’ Bosni tree pot situation.

That did it. The blood in your veins froze for a moment. The tree pot. The one you’d definitely broken during the last “harmless” visit to Geo's place when you tried to water his plants. Geo’s favorite plant pot, the one that was apparently extremely important to him. 

If Crowe really spilled the beans about that, you were done for.

You narrowed your eyes at the phone, holding back the urge to throw it across the room. Bastard.

With an exhale that felt like it came from your soul, you typed out a final message to Crowe, fully aware that you were about to go through with something you’d regret but couldn’t back out of. 

You: Fine. But you owe me one for this.

Locking the phone and tossing it beside you on the couch, you let out a sigh, feeling the weight of the situation already press on your shoulders. You were about to face the consequences of a bet that now seemed a lot less funny. 

For a brief moment, you considered just walking out and letting Crowe deal with whatever that mess would cause. But no, you'd signed up for this—and now, you were going to have to shoot your shot. 

And hope like hell that Geo didn’t decide to test out your strength next.

Your eyes flicked toward the hallway, where you could hear the muffled sound of Geo’s voice—grunting and puffing through his workout. The metallic clink of weights echoed faintly, paired with his strained breathing. 

“Shit,” You mumbled like Geo had no idea what was about to hit him.

You ran a hand through your hair, smoothing it back with exaggerated flair, trying to shake off the nerves that threatened to set in. You really didn’t want to do this. You really didn’t. But a bet was a bet, and you’d signed up for this mess willingly.

Besides, there was no way out now—not unless you wanted to face the wrath of Crowe and risk Geo finding out about the damn plant pot incident. 

You grabbed your phone again, your eyes lingering on the screen as you read Crowe’s last message once more. As tempting as it was to just text a quick follow-up to Crowe and get it over with, you knew that wouldn't be enough. If you were going to follow through on this chaotic request, it had to be in person.

Game face on.

You gripped your phone tightly in your hand, determined to make this look effortless. Rising from the couch, you tried your best to exude an air of confidence, even though your stomach was tied in knots.

With one final glance toward the hallway, you padded softly across the living room, each step more hesitant than the last. Geo was still in the other room, deep in his workout, completely unaware of the storm you were about to unleash.

You took a deep breath and lifted your phone as you walked, trying to steady your nerves.

Without wasting another moment, you hit open your facetime app. The screen switched to selfie mode, and you angled the camera so it captured your face with a perfect frame. 

With practiced ease, you threw up a peace sign, lips pursed into a playful, almost mocking smile waiting for him to answer. You had to look convincing—like you wanted to do this. It wasn’t the most ridiculous thing you’d ever been roped into. 

You held the phone up higher, positioning it before calling Crowe would see the full effect of your live performance. Then, with a quick tap, you called him. Your finger hovered over the screen for a moment, the gravity of what you were doing hitting you all at once. Before you could second-guess yourself, you hit the call button.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.

Finally, Crowe’s face appeared on the screen, looking slightly confused as he answered. “You better have a good reason for calling me right now,” he said, squinting at the screen.

You grinned, doing your best to make it look like you weren’t about to regret this. “Live proof, Crowe,” you said, holding the phone steady. "Get ready for the show."

Crowe’s expression shifted immediately, a glint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “You actually doing it. I’m impressed and scared for you, you really don’t want to tell him, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, doing your best to ignore the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “No I don’t want to tell, so I’m not backing down now."

Behind you, Geo’s grunts drifted in from the other room, sounding like he was preparing to wrap up his set. You could feel the pressure mounting. 

“Alright, Crowe,” you mumbled, setting your jaw. “You wanted proof? You’ve got it.”

The clanking of weights in the other room grew louder as Geo worked his routine, the rhythmic sound of them hitting the floor serving as a strange kind of music that was perfectly suited to the chaos you were about to unleash. The occasional grunt he let out only made it more apparent that he was totally unaware of what was happening in the next room.

You leaned against the doorframe, placed your phone in your back pocket so Crowe could hear you. You could feel your pulse quicken, but you kept your cool, mentally preparing for the moment when Geo would finally notice you.

The door creaked slightly as you slid it open, making sure it was quiet enough so you didn’t give yourself away too early. You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

This had to look effortless. 

And then—there it was.

The moment you’d been waiting for.  

Geo, mid-rep, froze as his eyes finally caught sight of you standing in the doorway. His brow furrowed slightly, and his arms paused in midair. The confused expression on his face was exactly what you wanted—he had no idea what you were about to throw at him.

He lowered the weights slowly, letting out a breath as he glanced up at you, still trying to piece together what the hell was happening.

“What’s up?” His voice was slightly strained, his curiosity evident. 

Perfect. 

You didn't even miss a second. You leaned in, a smirk tugging at your lips, and said it—smoothly, like you’d been practicing it in front of a mirror for hours.

“They say shooters shoot,” you said, your voice playful and teasing, letting the words hang in the air for just a moment. You held his gaze, your smirk growing wider with every second.

“Subaru, wassup witchu?”

For a moment, there was absolute silence. Geo blinked. His face went blank, and you could practically hear the wheels turning in his head, his brain scrambling to catch up with what had just been thrown at him. 

And then—the moment it clicked—the gears started to turn in slow motion. His expression shifted from confusion to pure amusement, then to something else entirely—was that disbelief? Annoyance?

Maybe a bit of both.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, but his lips twitched, threatening to betray him. “Really?” He let out a chuckle, shaking his head, almost like he couldn’t believe he was falling for it.

“You really hit me with that, huh?”

You only shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe, not backing down. “Yep. Gotta do it for the cause.”

Geo scoffed, shaking his head like you were the last person he’d ever expected to catch him off guard. “You’re so annoying, you know that?”

But before you could even process it, he did something completely unexpected—he dropped the dumbbells with a soft thud, his attention now entirely on you. 

His gaze turned from casual amusement to something more... intense. You watched, amused, as he took a couple of slow steps forward.

“I should’ve known you were gonna pull something like this,” Geo muttered, bumping your shoulder with just the right amount of force to get under your skin, but not too much.

“Guess I underestimated you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a little more impressed by his reaction. "I’m full of surprises," you quipped, stepping back a little as he closed the gap between you. 

Then, suddenly, his eyes flicked to something behind you—something you definitely didn’t expect. A small shift in his demeanor, his focus redirected. You felt your heart drop for a second, thinking maybe you’d gone too far. 

Before you could even process the rest of your thoughts, he moved. It was quick—way too quick.

Because—whoosh—your feet were off the ground.

Your breath caught in your throat as Geo casually tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, the action smooth and effortless. 

His hand was firm but not rough, and you barely had time to adjust before the world shifted upside down, your stomach doing a flip as you were swung into position. Your face was level with his back, and all you could feel was the press of his shoulder under your ribs. He didn’t even break a sweat, the ease of it making it clear that this was nothing to him.

“What the hell? Geo—put me down!” You tried to squirm, but it was no use. The guy had you locked in with a grip that was firm enough to hold you hostage and casual enough to make it clear this wasn’t some angry move.

It was playful. It was... payback.

Geo didn’t even flinch at your protests. He just smirked to himself, his voice low and teasing. “Guess it’s time to test how good you really are at shooting your shot,” he said, his tone laced with challenge.

His words hung in the air like a dare, and you could feel the energy shift—suddenly, this wasn’t a funny little back-and-forth. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words got stuck. The whole situation was too absurd, and you couldn’t help but feel the rise of laughter in your chest. But then Geo turned his head slightly, flashing that mischievous grin of his over his shoulder—knowing full well how badly you’d walked into this trap.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you remembered exactly who was about to witness this circus.

“Geo, seriously, this isn’t funny—” you started, but before you could finish, his eyes flicked to the phone, now hanging loosely in your pocket, clearly still in the middle of a FaceTime call with Crowe. 

He narrowed his eyes then he angled your body so he could reach up and grab your phone from your pocket, pulling it out with one smooth motion. He turned the screen toward his face, his brows arching at the sight of Crowe’s shocked face on the other end of the call. 

He was also caught.

“Of course it’s you,” Geo said, his voice dripping with annoyance as he slammed the door shut behind him, effectively trapping the two of you inside. His tone had that smug, ‘I’m in control’ edge as he shot a glance at your phone, practically posing for the camera like he was on a damn runway.

Crowe didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Oh my god, what in the hell is happening here?” he asked, practically snickering through the phone.

Geo scowled, taking a slow, deliberate step toward the door, still holding you like a human prize he’d just won in some weird game show. “What? You really thought I was gonna let them off the hook that easy?”

"Geo—hang up the phone, seriously!" you groaned, your face burning red as you realized you were still on FaceTime with Crowe, trapped in your embarrassing mess.

Geo looked at you with a irritated smirk that could only be described as dangerously entertained. He wasn’t just enjoying this moment—he was reveling in it.

“Nah, nah, Jericho’s gotta see this, right?” He shifted you in his arms, adjusting you so he could move into the perfect frame, as if this was his big moment on a reality TV show.

Your phone wobbled slightly as the camera angled to capture his face, and in that split second, it was clear: Geo knew exactly what he was doing. He looked into the camera, eyes gleaming mischievously, and you could’ve sworn he flashed the kind of grin you only see on cartoon villains. Like he was auditioning for the role.

"Next time you think you can mess with me..." Geo trailed off, his eyes flicking back to Crowe’s screen with an annoyed gleam, “Make sure you don’t leave the audience rolling.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning, your frustration mounting as the realization that this was about to be a moment for the ages hit you. "I swear you're both gonna pay for this."

Geo chuckled darkly, enjoying every second of your squirming. “Oh, you’re gonna pay, all right,” he said, his voice still heavy with challenge. His grip tightened just enough to ensure you knew he wasn’t letting this moment slip by unnoticed.

And then, with a sigh toward the phone, he slowly reached down and swiped at the screen, hanging up the FaceTime call without another word.

"After all, this for breaking my favorite bonsai tree…"

Your eyes widen upon hearing the abrupt cutoff left you staring at the now-empty screen, and all you could hear was the beat of your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

Fuck all this time he knew. He made sure of it.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

You had to admit, Sol’s bet was… ridiculous. 

Of course, you had to take it on. The bet was made, and now you were stuck with the consequences. 

“You’re too soft,” Sol had said earlier, a smug smile on his face as he leaned back in his seat, hands folded behind his head. “There’s no way you’ll flirt with Hyugo. I bet you forty bucks you won’t even try.”

You scoffed, your pride wounded more by the insult than the bet. “I’m not soft. I just… don’t feel the need to flirt with people to get attention.”

Sol raised an eyebrow, unamused. “So you won’t do it?”

“I’ll do it,” you shot back, all defiance. “I’m not scared of flirting, I just don’t want to do it with him.”

As you strolled through the bustling downtown streets with Hyugo, the weight of your earlier words finally hit you. Skipping out on the rest of the day’s classes had seemed like a solid plan at the time—an impulsive little rebellion fueled by a shared craving for the one dessert you’d both been dying to try. 

But now? 

Now you were here, walking beside him, and realizing that maybe, just maybe, you’d underestimated how much trouble you were about to get yourself into.  

"Man, I gotta say," Hyugo sighed dramatically, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I feel like a total delinquent right now. Skipping class, sneaking off downtown… Next thing you know, we’ll be on the news. *Menace to society and their unfortunate accomplice caught devouring pastries instead of doing calculus.*"  

You snorted. "Oh, please. If anyone’s the unfortunate accomplice, it’s you. I could’ve pulled this off solo and left no trace."  

Hyugo gasped, clutching his chest like you’d personally betrayed him. "Wow. So this is how you treat your partner in crime? I thought we had something special."  

You rolled your eyes as the two of you stepped into the café, the rich scent of sugar and fresh pastries instantly making the escape from school worth it. Settling into a small booth, you both leaned over the massive dessert placed between you, exchanging glances before simultaneously reaching for a piece.  

"Okay, moment of truth," you said, taking a bite. The second the flavor hit, you groaned. "Oh yeah, this was worth it."  

Hyugo took a bite of his own, his eyes widening in pure delight. "Oh, this is dangerous. I could live off this. Forget school. Forget responsibilities. This is my new life now."  

You laughed, the sound blending seamlessly with the cozy atmosphere around you. It was *too* easy being with him—comfortable in a way that made you drop your usual guard without even realizing it.  

Hyugo tapped his fork against his plate, watching you with a teasing glint in his eye. "You keep looking at me like that," he mused, leaning in slightly, "and I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got a little crush on me."  

You nearly choked on your next bite. "Excuse me?"  

He grinned, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. "What? I’m just saying, we ditch classes together, share a dessert, exchange some meaningful glances—"  

"Shut up," you groaned, throwing a napkin at him.  

But Hyugo caught it with ease, shaking his head as he leaned in even closer. "Nah, nah, don’t back out now," he said, voice dropping into something smoother, more playful. "I mean, if you do have something to confess, I’m all ears."  

You huffed, crossing your arms. "You’re insufferable."  

"And yet," he smirked, tapping his leg against yours under the table, "you’re still here, babe."  

Damn it.  

He had a point. And that was the real problem.

“Okay, so I have to ask,” Hyugo said between bites, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous twinkle. “What’s going on with you today? You’re acting all…” He trailed off, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by your shift in demeanor.

You paused mid-bite, the rich sweetness of the dessert somehow losing its flavor as you felt Sol’s words echo in your head.

Shoot your shot.

The pressure was on now. You could feel it like a weight on your chest. The bet was made, and here you were, sitting with Hyugo—alone—and if you didn’t do something now, you’d lose the damn bet. You had to commit. No backing out. 

You set your fork down, glancing at him before taking a deep breath. Time to give it your best shot.

With a confident, almost exaggerated move, you leaned forward just a touch, your voice dropping slightly lower but holding that playful edge. “Hey,” you started, rolling the name off your tongue like it was something sweet. 

“They say shooters shoot, right?” You let the words hang between you, the tension thickening just enough that even he could sense it. 

Hyugo blinked, pausing for a moment, clearly not expecting this. The corner of his mouth twitched, fighting off a grin. “Shooter, huh?” he replied, the hint of a challenge dancing in his voice. You leaned in a little more, your eyes locking with his, and gave him that smirk that made your intentions crystal clear. 

"Hyugo, wassup witchu?" you said, your voice teasing and flirtatious, making it clear that you weren’t playing around.

For a moment, there was silence—just a beat long enough for you to wonder if you’d completely missed the mark. But then, Hyugo’s grin exploded, wide and unabashed. His eyes softened, and he leaned in closer, almost as if he was savoring the challenge you’d just thrown at him.

“Okay, okay, I see you,” he chuckled, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “But you know… shooters don’t always hit the mark.” His voice was low, almost dangerous with that playful edge that had you wondering what exactly he meant.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back a little as you couldn’t help but laugh at the way he was throwing it right back. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” you said, giving him a teasing once-over. “I think I’ve got some pretty damn good aim.”

“Is that so?” Hyugo asked, his gaze never leaving yours as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth now.

Hyugo’s grin widened, his eyes never leaving yours as he casually finished the last bite of the dessert. There was something about the way he did it—slow and deliberate—that made it feel like he was taking control of more than just the dessert, like he was claiming the moment.

As he leaned back, the playful glint in his eyes deepened. He was enjoying this, every second of it. The tension between you two was palpable now, thick enough that it made it harder to breathe. You could feel the temperature rise, and suddenly, the air felt heavy with anticipation.

“Well, if we’re both shooting our shots…” Hyugo trailed off, his mischievous grin now a full-blown smirk. “I guess it’s my turn, huh?” His voice was low, but the challenge in it was unmistakable. There was a promise in his tone, like he was about to pull something bold, something you couldn’t ignore.

You felt your heartbeat quicken, knowing this was about to get a whole lot more intense. Hyugo had that effect on people—he made everything feel like it was a high-stakes game, and you were the one caught in the middle of it. 

His leg brushed against yours under the table, just enough to make you pause. The casual touch sent a jolt through you, and before you could even react, he shifted closer. The playful look on his face grew more intense as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke.

“You know…” he started, his voice low and smooth, as though he was savoring every syllable. His hand slid from the edge of the table toward your side, just brushing against your arm, like it was nothing. 

“I’ve been wondering for a while now…” 

You swallowed, trying not to let the heat rise to your face, but it was hard to concentrate when his body was so close to yours. His knee was now pressed against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his skin against yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

His gaze flicked from your lips to your eyes, taking in every little shift in your expression as though he were studying you. There was something about the way he looked at you that made it clear he was thoroughly enjoying your discomfort.

Hyugo leaned in even closer, his voice lowering, his words carrying the same confident teasing as before, but now there was a touch of something else. “What would it take for someone like me…” He paused, his lips curling up in that signature smirk, the kind that told you he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“To get someone like you to stop hiding behind that tough front? To actually, you know…” He slid his leg just a little closer to yours, pushing against it in a move that was so casually intimate it took your breath away. “…Show me what you’ve got?”

The way his leg brushed against yours now wasn’t just playful; it was deliberate, like he was making a statement. His body language was bold, and the way he held your gaze made it clear he wasn’t going to back down anytime soon.

You were both in the middle of a public place, but Hyugo had a way of making everything feel like it was just the two of you. It was intoxicating, and for a moment, you almost forgot where you were. 

He was so close now, the heat from his body mixing with yours, his smile widening as he saw you flinch just slightly at the touch. It was playful, yes, but there was something else behind it—a teasing challenge, and an undeniable sense of control.

“So,” Hyugo said, his voice lighter now, but there was a definite edge to it. “What’s it gonna be? You gonna keep hiding, or are you gonna show me what you’re really made of?” 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you had no idea how to respond—because Hyugo wasn’t just shooting his shot. 

He was playing a game, and he was damn good at it.

Soon, Hyugo leaned back just enough to give you a once-over, his smirk stretching wider as if he had already solved the mystery you hadn’t even realized you were trying to hide. His leg pressed against yours again—this time firmer, like he was making a point.  

“Ahhh,” he drawled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I knew something was up.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

He tilted his head, watching you like you were the punchline to a joke he’d just figured out. “You don’t usually flirt this bold—nah, this has Sunny written all over it.”  

Your stomach flipped, but you played it cool, grabbing another bite of dessert as if you weren’t internally panicking. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  

Hyugo laughed, loud and full of mischief. “Yeah? So you just happened to wake up today and decide to lay it on thick? Noo, I can hear him in my head right now, betting you wouldn’t have the guts.”  

Damn it. He caught on way too fast.  

Hyugo’s grin turned downright wicked as he slid his phone out of his pocket. “Hold still, babe,” he teased, throwing an arm around your shoulders and yanking you in before you could even think about escaping.  

Click.  

You barely had time to blink before he tilted his phone toward you, displaying the damning evidence—your face, frozen in a mix of shock and mild betrayal, while he grinned like he just won a championship game.  

He burst out laughing. “Oh yeah. This is gold. I need Sol to see this.”  

Your jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”  

Hyugo arched a brow, his smirk growing even more insufferable as his thumb hovered over the send button. “Oh, I definitely would.” He paused, tapping his chin like he was deep in thought. “Actually… y’know what? I should charge you for this. Consider it a finder’s fee for exposing Sol’s shady little bet.”  

You shoved at his arm, scowling. “You’re the worst.”  

Hyugo only cackled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before catching your chin between his fingers, and tilting your face up with a teasing nudge. His voice dipped into something almost mockingly sweet. 

“Nah, I’m just invested in your financial success. Now, make sure to collect your winnings tomorrow—’cause after I’m done with you today?” He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin as his smirk turned downright smug.

“You’re gonna be too tired to think about anything else.”  

And just like that, he stole the last bite of dessert, winked, and leaned back like he had already won. 

Smug. As. Hell.

[sparklingblu]

Guess

ft. Wonyoung

“You are always on your playstation!”

Wonyoung’s at it again.

She stands in the doorway like some final boss you didn’t agree to fight - wearing a sleeveless halter-style crop top and denim shorts that let her long legs stretch halfway into your peripheral vision. Arms folded tight across her chest, one eyebrow arched, the full disapproval of a disappointed mom compressed into the expression of your stepsister.

You don’t even bother looking up from the screen. “Didn’t you just spend three hours doing a face mask and dancing in your room?”

She scoffs, walking in like she owns the place. “That was productive,” she declares, brushing past the pile of laundry she’s supposed to fold. “You’ve been in the same spot since, like, breakfast.”

“I was gonna make it to Diamond today…” you mutter, fingers locked around the controller as your eyes scan for movement on screen. Apex Legends. This was supposed to be the peaceful part of your day - parents gone on vacation for a week, fridges stocked, no one to nag you.

Correction: no adults to nag you.

“Ran out of things to do,” Wonyoung shrugs, now leaning against the side of the dining table. Her voice drops into a familiar drawl - the one that says she’s decided her new hobby is annoying the hell out of you. “You’re more fun than TikTok when you’re grumpy.”

“And you’re more annoying than a lag spike mid-fight,” you say, just as your character vaults into a crossfire and gets absolutely shredded. You groan, dropping your head back against the couch with a thud. “Are you serious? You made me die.”

“I breathed,” she says innocently, plopping down on the table. “That’s not a crime.”

You shoot her a look. “You’re a walking distraction.”

She smirks. “A cute one.”

You sigh, tossing the controller onto the table. “Alright, fine. What do you want to do, Your Highness?”

Wonyoung grins like she’s won a battle you didn’t even know you were fighting. “Now that’s the spirit. Let’s play a game.” She says, a mischievous glint lighting up her eyes.

You narrow yours in response. “What kind of game?”

“It’s simple,” she says, rummaging through a drawer and pulling out a scarf. “You blindfold me, feed me some fruit, and I guess what it is.”

You blink. “What.”

“It’s not that hard to understand, is it?”

You stare at her, and then at the scarf in her hands. “Is this another of your weird TikTok trends? Is there a hidden camera? Because I’m not getting cancelled for being a test dummy.”

Wonyoung snorts, rolling her eyes as she tosses the scarf at you. “No, genius. This one’s just something I saw in a variety show. Thought it would be funny.”

You raise a brow. "Funny for who?"

“I don’t know. Depends how bad your fruit selection is,” she says, moving to sit cross-legged on the couch, looking way too comfortable for your liking. “Come on. I’m bored, you’re not ranking up any time soon, and the fridge is basically a produce section waiting to be useful.”

You sigh, glancing longingly at your paused game screen. Yeah. You were really starting to regret asking what she wanted to do.

“Fine,” you mutter, getting up with the enthusiasm of someone heading to a war zone. “But you better leave me alone after this.”

“No promises,” Wonyoung says sweetly, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

You trudge into the kitchen, muttering under your breath the whole way. This was supposed to be a peaceful, game-filled holiday. No chores. No chaos. And definitely no blindfolded guess-the-fruit game with your bratty stepsister.

The fridge hums as you open it. Inside, lined up neatly in their little Tupperware containers - probably arranged by your mom before they left - are the fruits of your impromptu challenge: strawberries, blueberries, kiwi, mango…

And then you spot it.

A lemon. 

Sliced and peeled, its bright yellow wedges sitting there like temptation itself. 

You smirk. “Perfect.”

You grab a handful of each and toss them into a bowl, then make your way back into the living room, where Wonyoung is still sitting on the couch like she’s at a sleepover from hell. She cranes her head at the sound of your footsteps.

“About time,” she says. “You pick the ripest mango, or are you stalling?”

“No. I just wanted to make sure I had something special for you,” you reply, holding up the scarf with an evil little flourish. “Alright, come here.”

Wonyoung drops to her knees, her long hair falling down her back as she lifts her chin, blindly obedient for once. You loop the scarf around her head and pull it snug - maybe a little too snug.

“Hey! Not that tight,” she protests, wriggling a little. 

“If you can’t see, you can’t cheat,” you say. “Rules are rules.” 

She huffs. “Like I’d want to cheat. I’m just better than you at everything, naturally.”

You chuckle under your breath, giving the knot a final tug. “We’ll see about that.”

She sticks out her tongue at you blindly, which somehow feels very on-brand. You set the bowl on the couch and lean in close.

“Ready?”

Wonyoung tilts her face up, lips parted slightly in expectation, blindfold on, hands resting neatly on her lap like she’s waiting for royalty to be served.

You pick out a slice of strawberry first - safe, soft, sweet. You gently press it to her lips.

She takes it without hesitation, chewing thoughtfully for all of two seconds.

“Strawberry,” she declares confidently.

You raise an eyebrow. “Lucky guess.”

She scoffs. “Please. That one was way too easy. Try harder.”

Alright then.

You go for a kiwi next. A little tangier, but still nothing wild. You plan the piece onto her waiting tongue, watching as she chews with a smug little smile forming on her face.

“Kiwi,” she says, almost yawning through it.

You lean back slightly, arms crossed. “You sure you are not peeking under there?”

“Maybe you are just bad at picking hard ones,” she shoots back, tilting her chin up like she’s ready for the next round. “This is way too easy. You’ll have to step it up if you want to beat me.”

Your smirk widens. “Oh, don’t worry. I plan to.”

You reach into the bowl, and pick out a slice of lemon. If she wants it to be hard, you will make it hard. You line it up to her lips, and she takes it without suspicion.

The moment it touches her tongue, her whole body jerks.

Her face scrunches like she’s been electrocuted, eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed as she lets out a muffled curse. “What the fuck was that?!”

You burst out laughing. “What? I thought the game was too easy?”

“You are the worst,” she sputters, spitting out the last of the sour pulp. 

“And you’re the one who wanted to play,” you shrug, still laughing. “It’s ok if you want to back out now. I understand.”

She snorts. “As if I would. Come on. Give me another. But you better make it a good one.”

You look down at your stepsister, still on her knees, mouth open and ready for the next “fruit”. And you realize, at this moment, she looks no different from a prostitute waiting for a facefuck.

An idea forms in your mind - why don’t you have real fun with this game? This bratty slut of a sister has done nothing but ruin your holiday. She deserves to be punished.

Slowly, you unzip your pants and pull out your hard, throbbing cock. It has already grown to full length from your not-so-innocent imaginations, the tip leaking with pre-cum. And more importantly, it’s the last thing she expects.

“Here’s the next one for you to taste,” you say smoothly, gripping the base and guiding it towards her waiting mouth. “Open wide.”

For a split second, Wonyoung hesitates at the glee in your voice. Then her lips part eagerly, tongue darting out to welcome you inside. You thrust forward, pushing your cock past her lips and onto her tongue.

She gags a little at the sudden intrusion but quickly adjusts, swirling her tongue around as she takes you deeper, desperately searching for a clue about the foreign object in her mouth. Little does she know that it’s doing more good to you than her. The wet heat of her mouth feels incredible and you have to suppress a moan.

“Mmm, what do you think it is?” you ask, pulling back slightly to let her speak.

“B-bana-na,” she mumbles around your cock, bobbing her head to take you further. Her hands come to grip your thigh for balance as she continues to suck your tip in an attempt to decipher the mysterious “fruit”.

You smirk down at her, amused by her obliviousness. “Wrong,” you chuckle darkly, shoving your cock back into her mouth and down her throat. She gags and sputters, drool dripping down her chin, but you hold her there, reveling in the way her throat constricts around you. 

“Guess again,” you growl, starting to thrust shallowly, fucking her pretty little face. She gurgles, tears streaming down her cheek, then pulls back just enough to gasp out.

“C-cucumber?” she stutters, confused.

You pause, debating whether she’s just acting clueless or genuinely dumb enough not to know a cock is in her mouth. The way her brows furrow in confusion suggests the latter, but you can’t be sure.

“Wrong again,” you say flatly, holding her head steady as you slowly slide your cock in and out of her mouth. “You know what it is, don’t you? Don’t play innocent.”

Wonyoung makes a muffled noise of protest, trying to pull back. But you tighten your grip on her hair, forcing her to take your cock deeper. “Nngh…I-don’t….know…” she whimpers, gagging as you hit the back of her throat.

You snort derisively. “You’re not backing down, are you? Not my little sister, the one who’s better at everything than me.”

There. You have hit her sore spot. You know Wonyoung’s ego is bigger than her head. Even if she’s out of her depth, she’ll never admit defeat.

You take advantage of her hesitation, starting to fuck her mouth in earnest. Wonyoung gags and spatters, hands scrabbling at your thighs as you use her face. Her face is a mess of tears and saliva but she doesn’t try to pull away, determined to endure.

“Good girl,” you purr mockingly, thrusting harder. “Tell me when you know what it is. At least you are getting an A+ for effort.”

Wonyoung just whimpers, drool streaming down her chin as she struggles to breathe through her nose. But she shows no signs of quitting, despite the degrading filth coming out of her mouth and the overwhelming sensation of being choked by your thick cock. Afterall, nothing can be worse than defeat.

You suddenly force your cock all the way down her throat, stretching her gag reflex to the limit. She slaps frantically at your thigh, coughing and choking around your cock as it invades her airway.

But there’s no room for mercy here. You hold her there, relishing in the feeling of her throat squeezing your cock, silencing her protests. Tears stream down her face as she struggles for air, nose pressed firmly against your pelvis.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally pull back. Wonyoung coughs violently, heaving and sputtering as she gasps and retches.

“Giving up already?” you ask, cock still rock hard and glistening with her spit. 

If she isn’t blindfolded, you are sure she would be glaring. “Fuck you,” she rasps, voice hoarse from the abuse. “I’m not giving up. Just…let me try again.”

You smirk down at her, almost impressed with her insistence. “Oh? You want another taste?”

Wonyoung swallows hard, nodding mutedly. You grip her hair, yanking her head back and shoving your cock back into her mouth without warning.

“Mmph!” Wonyoung gasps as you bottom out in her throat, forcing her to take every inch. You start fucking her face again, determined to push her to her limits.

“Take it slut,” you growl, setting a punishing pace. “You wanted to play this game, so fucking take it like the whore you are.”

You have abandoned any shred of gentleness, fucking her face with brutal intensity. Wonyoung claws at your thighs as she’s used like a cheap fleshlight. But nonetheless, she persists. The lack of air can’t be more important than her pride.

Her defiances only spurs your on and you set a brutal pace, fucking her face like a man possessed. Your hips snap forward violently, slamming your cock into her throat over and over. 

“Fuck, your little throat feels so good,” you grunt, holding her head steady as you ravage her mouth. “Take it all, you dumb slut. Let me use your face like the whore you are.”

The filthy wet sound of your fucking fill the room, punctuated by Wonyoung’s muffled gugrles and choking noises. You can feel her throat constricting around you, fighting the intrusion. But you don’t let up, slamming balls deep and grinding against her face. “Fuck, look at you. Choking on my cock like a slut. You are fucking pathetic.”

Wonyoung whimpers, hands scrabbling weakly at your thighs. But you just laugh, fucking her harder. “Oh no, you don’t get to quit now. We’re not done yet until I say we are done.”

You set a brutal pace, pounding into her tight throat like a jackhammer. Wonyoung’s toes curl, her body growing limp as she’s facefucked into oblivion. You can feel your orgasm building, balls drawing up tight. But you hold back, wanting to humilitae her one last time.

You yank her off your cock, letting her gasp for air. But before she can breathe, you slap your thick shaft against her tongue, smacking it obscenely. 

“Come on, stupid,” you sneer. “You really don’t know what this is? How fucking dumb are you?”

“You mother-” But before she can finish protesting, you shove your cock back into her mouth, muffling her curses. She gags and sputters around your length in shock and humiliation.

You fuck her face with renewed vigour, grunting as you near your peak. “Open wide, slut. You are gonna know what this fruit is now.”

With a final brutal thrust, you bottom out in her throat, spurting thick ropes of cum directly into her stomach. She chokes and retches, gagging on the sudden flood of semen, but you hold her in place, forcing her to swallow every last drop. Only when you’re completely spent do you release her, letting her fall back gasping and heaving.

Wonyoung’s throat is red and raw, her lips swollen and bruised. Cum and saliva drip from her chin to the floor. She looks thoroughly used, a broken mess.

You admire your filthy work, tucking yourself away. “Now do you know what it is?”

It takes a while for Wonyoung to catch her breath.

“E-eggplant?”

-

[slutoru1207]

Variant!Invincible x Variant!Reader funny imagine

haha i had fun writing this

The battlefield was pure chaos. The Invincible War had brought together versions of Mark from across the multiverse, and now? Now there were also multiple versions of you.

And it was absolute insanity.

One Mark—dressed in a sleek black and red suit—landed beside the original Mark, wiping blood off his face. "Okay, not gonna lie, I was not expecting this many versions of your girlfriend."

"Tell me about it," Mark groaned, dodging a stray blast. "They’ve been all over me for weeks!"

"Sounds like a dream."

"It’s not!"

Meanwhile, across the battlefield, your variants had found their Marks.

"Hey there, handsome," one of you cooed, sidling up to a Mark with a scar over his eye and a much darker aura. "You look dangerous. I like that."

Scarred Mark raised a brow. "And you don’t look scared of me."

You smirked. "Why would I be? I’ve got a thing for bad boys."

Somewhere else, a more unhinged Mark—eyes burning with bloodlust—was being held back by two versions of you, both giggling. "Aww, you’re cute when you’re trying to kill people."

"Let. Me. Go," he snarled.

One of you poked his cheek. "Nah, you’re kinda fun to mess with."

Back with the original Mark, he turned just in time to see three versions of you hanging off different versions of himself. One had her arms draped around a Mark with a robotic arm, whispering in his ear. Another was poking at a Mark with white streaks in his hair, teasing him about how cool he looked.

And the worst? One of you had cozied up to a Mark in a full Viltrumite uniform—the kind that screamed evil overlord.

"So," she purred, tracing a finger down his chest. "Conquering planets, huh? That’s hot."

The Viltrumite Mark smirked. "You’re intriguing."

Original Mark nearly had a stroke. "ARE YOU FLIRTING WITH A VILTRUMITE?!"

Your variant shrugged. "I mean, yeah. Have you seen him?"

Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I can’t deal with this. I can’t."

Meanwhile, the Guardians of the Globe watched the multiversal madness unfold, completely dumbfounded.

"Dude," Rex whispered, eyes wide. "I don’t know whether to be jealous or terrified."

Dupli-Kate sighed. "Both. Be both."

As the battle raged on, it became very clear that the variants—both of Mark and you—were a force to be reckoned with. Some worked together perfectly, back-to-back in combat, protecting each other without hesitation. Others? Well…

"Babe, heads up!" One of you flung a chunk of debris toward a Mark locked in combat.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t her Mark.

"THAT'S NOT MY MARK!" the original you shrieked as the wrong Mark got flattened.

"Oops."

Mark groaned. "I hate this war."

Suddenly, a new portal ripped open in the sky, and out came even more Marks and Readers, their outfits and battle stances making it very clear they had been fighting in their own universes. One Reader stepped forward, looking around with a smirk. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

One Mark, wearing an old, tattered cape, scoffed. "Oh great. More of you."

Another Mark, who looked far too comfortable covered in way too much blood, tilted his head at one of your variants. "I know you."

She grinned. "Yeah, you killed my Mark. Wanna make it up to me?"

Even Original Mark had to do a double take. "WHAT?!"

The battlefield somehow became even worse. One of your variants challenged a Viltrumite Mark to a sparring match, another was actively helping a villain Mark take down a Guardian, and one had somehow convinced a half-robotic Mark to carry her bridal style mid-battle.

"She actually pulled it off," one of your other selves whistled, watching in awe. "Respect."

At this point, even the universe itself seemed exhausted by the sheer amount of chaos. But through it all, one thing remained the same.

It was chaos. It was madness. And, somehow, it was the most entertaining thing that had ever happened in the multiverse.

Because, at the end of the day, no matter what universe they came from—

Marks were Marks.

And Readers? Readers would always drive them insane.