#i don’t think i will ever recover from this

[milkoomi]

⋆˚࿔ a new canvas means a new you 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

a mini series on the art of becoming a better you

previous chapter

chapter two — THE ART OF SELF CONFIDENCE

i’ve touched on this topic before, but i wanted to do more of an in-depth deep dive into it! self confidence isn’t just about how you feel about your physical self, but it’s also about how you feel about your mental and emotional self; how you feel about your soul and the aura that surrounds you. self confidence can start at your physical self, like your looks, your style, etc. but reaching a true, deeper meaning of having confidence you have to dig deeper into your mind, heart, and soul.

references on self confidence:

“a guide to building confidence” - by me!

“study yourself to become confident” - thewizardliz

“the ultimate guide to becoming confident” - alessya farrugia

“rewiring your subconscious: guide to becoming your dreamiest self” - @glowettee

“building confidence” - @goddessinnerglow

ᥫ᭡. different types of confidence

in alessya farrguia’s youtube video, she discusses the 3 different types of self confidence: physical, social, and authentic confidence. i highly recommend watching her video! she makes really phenomenal points in her discussion!

i’d like to highlight some key points she made in her video:

physical confidence: “stop comparing your behind the scenes to everyone else’s highlights.”

social confidence: “confidence isn’t thinking ‘i know someone will like me’, it’s ‘i know it won’t bother me if they don’t’.”

authentic confidence: “true confidence means trusting yourself”

but i’d like to add mental & emotional confidence. the mentality that you have and how you feel about yourself plays a huge role in self confidence. having a mindset that makes you feel secure and having emotions toward yourself that are positive will help you become more confident. it also helps, immensely, to be in a headspace that makes you feel comfortable being you, that brings you joy, and that brings you peace. being able to have a good relationship with your own emotions can uplift you!

mental confidence:

destress & decompress — when your mind is weighed down by stress, you start to feel overwhelmed. that overwhelming feeling can cause your mind to break down and make you think that you won’t be capable of recovering from that stress. it’s important to manage your stress and remind yourself that you are capable of overcoming anything that’s causing you those feelings! stress is one of those things that make you feel like everything is impossible, but that’s only a feeling. it’s like having a bad dream, while you’re experiencing that dream it might feel too real and sometimes it may even be scary, but then you wake up and you realize that you’re safe. think of stress as just a bad dream, the feeling is only ever temporary and as soon as you manage it/overcome it you’ll be safe again. and, as a bonus, once you overcome that stress, you feel more secure within yourself and you’re reminded that, yes, everything is going to be okay and you are more than capable of overcoming those feelings!

practice mindfulness within yourself — “mindfulness is the practice of paying attention to the present moment without judgement.” with that being said, practice paying attention to yourself without any judgement. focus on how you’re feeling, what your current thoughts are; focus on you without judging yourself. learn to accept yourself as you are within that present moment and try to steer away from making quick, negative judgements about yourself. yes, you can judge yourself, but do so in a way that’s productive! judge your mental and emotional state, are you in a headspace that is ideal to you? judge your health, do you feel like there needs to be any changes in your lifestyle, diet, or activity level to better your body in a healthy manner? judge yourself, is there anything about yourself that you still need to work on or are there characteristics of yourself that you take pride in?

emotional confidence:

emotional intelligence — this is key to gaining emotional confidence. i recommend this video by The Glow Up Secrets Podcast on youtube! the host brings up so many wonderful and insightful points on becoming emotionally intelligent! being able to self-regulate and to understand exactly what you’re feeling can help you gain confidence in yourself. people will always pride themselves in their intelligence, so let being emotionally intelligent be the intelligence you pride yourself in!

ᥫ᭡. self-acceptance

people have this idea that self-acceptance is just settling for who you are, and well, that’s not really the case— at least in my eyes. learning to accept yourself as you are now will make it easier for you in your self improvement journey. we all want to become the “it-girl/person”, but a lot of us will look for quick fixes or even go towards trying unhealthy habits. allowing yourself to accept who you are right in this moment can be a first step towards becoming the person you strive to be.

accept your insecurities. accept your failures. accept your body as it is right now. accept your faults. then take all of that acceptance and turn it into a learning experience for yourself. learn that your insecurities only become insecurities because of that negative self-talk. learn that you cannot grow without any failures. learn what exactly it is that your body needs to become healthier and better for yourself.

accept yourself, then learn from yourself.

ᥫ᭡. manifestations & affirmations

we can make our dream selves become the reality. there’s so many amazing posts here on tumblr about manifesting, so go look into them! if we believe it, we can have it. you have to believe that you have confidence. you have to affirm yourself that you are confident. people, myself included, talk about “faking it til you make it”, but when you really think about it, the more you repeat these manifestations and affirmations the more it starts to feel true and real to yourself.

this also ties into positive self-talk. we have to speak to ourselves kindly, we have to uplift ourselves in a world that brings us down. talk to yourself with grace, gratitude, and genuine appreciation. you have gotten yourself through countless hardships. sure, there were probably people who helped you out on the way, but at the end of it, it was mostly your own doing that got you to a better place. so appreciate and love that about yourself!

grab a journal and write down all your manifestations and affirmations daily. writing it all down is like setting it in stone. be consistent, and soon enough all that you want for yourself— including self confidence— will come into fruition.

ᥫ᭡. take pride

think of it this way: no one can be you. people can try to imitate you, but they can never truly be you. take pride in how you look because no one has features like yours, take pride in your work because no one worked the way you did, take pride in your accomplishments because no one worked in the same way that you did to achieve those things; take pride in yourself. as cheesy and cliché as it all sounds, there’s literally no one else who is like you.

ᥫ᭡. find a deeper understanding for yourself

this point is heavily inspired by thewizardliz’s video “study yourself to become confident” (linked in the beginning of the chapter). i just want to reiterate her points and expand on them a little bit! her beginning statement includes: “once you know who you are, no one can tell you anything”.

i feel like we all understand ourselves to a certain degree. but understanding yourself on a deeper, more personal level will allow you to truly feel confident. in her video, liz talks about understanding and even studying ourselves to understand what we like/dislike, what we accept/don’t accept, etc. and i genuinely feel like she brings up a really great point in doing so!

we, as humans, feel like we know what we want for ourselves rather than actually knowing what we want for ourselves. we feel like certain people bring us joy, we feel like certain hobbies make us happy, we feel like we understand ourselves. but, in reality, most times we don’t actually know those things about ourselves.

people we surround ourselves with

we think that certain friends/partners bring us joy because we’re taught, sometimes unintentionally, to allow people to make us feel like we have to conform to them and their wants and needs. we don’t know that some of these people in our lives might actually be bringing us and our confidence down.

hobbies people partake in

we think that doing certain things, like drinking or hook-up culture, make us feel happy or satisfied with ourselves. but we don’t know or we’re not aware of how those hobbies, or even habits, might be destroying us physically, mentally, and even emotionally.

behaviors we accept

we think that if we accept certain behaviors that we’ll get more people to like us or get brownie points with a specific person, but we don’t know that accepting bad/poor behavior diminishes our strength and respect for ourself.

this all takes us back to chapter one: THE ART OF LETTING GO. the toxic people we surround ourselves with unknowingly, the hobbies we take part in unknowingly, the behaviors we accept unknowingly; that all needs to be let go of!

we have to truly understand ourselves and truly know exactly what we want for ourselves to gain the confidence we long for. without knowing yourself, you won’t understand how to find and feel genuine self confidence.

ᥫ᭡. final notes

at a certain point, confidence should feel like it comes naturally, but to even get to that point there’s a lot of work that needs to be put into ourselves. especially when a lot of us start off with almost no confidence at all, it can be extremely challenging to even wake up in the morning and think, “i can do this”. you have to be willing to put in the work for yourself. you have to be willing to have patience with yourself. you have to be willing to advocate for yourself. you have to be willing to do all of this for you, and you alone. you can be confident— and confidence will come to you! you’re more than capable of doing so, babe. believe in yourself like you would believe in someone you love and care for.

with lots of love, juno 🌷

[im-so-normal-iswear]

HALLO! :D i saw that requests were open so i figured i'd try my hand with one! (If it's still okay w/ you ofc!)

I wanted to request a lil mini scenario with triple s & a gn! reader, where the two end up being under attack on a mission and reader takes a hit for him, but frets over him and asks if he's okay as if they aren't the one who's bloody/bruised from the attack

Hoping for a lil angst, but also a good ending! Thanks for your time! 😋

A/n: couldnt think of a title for this lol

Sonic:

The air was tense as you and Sonic sprint through the field. Chaos erupted around you, explosions lighting up the horizon. Despite everything, Sonic is as confident as ever, his cocky smirk flashing even under pressure.

"Stick close, got it?" he calls back to you, his voice full of determination.

You nod, staying close to his side as enemies close in. Everything happens too quickly. An attack is launched, a projectile racing toward him, and without thinking, you dive in front of him.

The impact sends you sprawling to the ground, pain shooting through your side. Blood stains your clothes, but your focus isn't on yourself.

"Sonic!" you cry out, scrambling to your feet despite the pain. You reach for him, panic filling your chest. "Are you okay? Did you get hit?"

Sonic is frozen for a moment, his usual bravado wiped away as his gaze locks on your injury. "Y-You're the one bleeding, not me!" He kneels beside you, his hands hovering awkwardly as if afraid to hurt you more.

"I'm fine!" you insist, brushing his concern away. "Are you hurt? You looked like-"

"You're not fine!" he snaps, his voice breaking slightly. "Why would you do something so reckless?!" His usual speed is nothing compared to how quickly he scoops you up, holding you as gently as possible.

"It's no big deal," you mumble, your vision blurring slightly.

"It’s a huge deal," Sonic mutters, guilt heavy in his voice. "I... I should’ve been faster. Don’t scare me like that again, okay?"

He rushes you to safety, refusing to let go until Tails patches you up, his usual confidence replaced by an uneasy tension, even after the mission ends.

Shadow:

The mission had gone sideways faster than either of you expected. You and Shadow were surrounded, energy blasts raining down from all directions. Shadow barked orders, his voice steady and commanding.

"Stay behind me," he muttered, moving in to take the brunt of the attacks.

But when a deadly shot targets him from behind, you don't hesitate. You throw yourself in its path, gritting your teeth as the attack strikes you.

Shadow turns just in time to see you fall to your knees, your face twisted in pain.

"Idiot!" he snaps, rushing to your side. He kneels, his gloved hands gripping your shoulders as he inspects the damage. "What were you thinking?"

"Are you okay?" you ask breathlessly, ignoring his anger as you reach for him. "You're not hurt, right?"

His eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. "You’re bleeding, and you’re asking if I’m okay?"

You offer a smile, trying to downplay the situation. "I couldn’t let you get hurt. You’re more important."

For a moment, Shadow doesn’t say anything, his expression unreadable. Then, with surprising gentleness, he pulls you against him, his arms encircling you protectively.

"You’re reckless, and an absolute idiot." he mutters. "But... thank you."

He carries you to safety without another word, his movements careful, his gaze lingering on you. Later, as you recover, he stays close.

Silver:

You and Silver are deep in enemy territory, fighting side by side. His telekinetic powers are keeping most threats at bay, but it’s clear he’s straining to maintain control.

"Watch out!" he shouts as an attack heads your way.

You don’tSilver, you just act. You shove him aside, the blast hitting you squarely in the chest. The pain is immediate, sharp and searing, but you manage to stay on your feet.

"Are you okay?" you ask, your voice trembling as you turn to him.

Silver’s eyes are wide with horror as he sees the blood staining your outfit. "Am I okay? You just- why would you do that?!" His voice cracks as he grabs your shoulders, his hands shaking.

"You could’ve gotten hurt," you say simply. "I couldn’t let that happen."

Tears well up in his eyes, his expression a mix of guilt and frustration. "But now you’re hurt because of me! I was supposed to protect you!"

"You did your best," you reassure him, your voice soft despite the pain.

Silver shakes his head, his grip tightening. "It’s not enough. You’re too important to me."

His powers flare as he gently lifts you with his telekinesis, cradling you in an invisible embrace. He carries you to safety, murmuring apologies and promises to never let you get hurt again. Afterward, he rarely lets you out of his sight, more determined than ever.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Too Sweet For Me

Summary: Seventeen year old Y/N isn't thrilled when she finds out her father is somehow Soldier Boy and she's now meant to live with him...

Pairing: Soldier Boy x daughter!reader

Word Count: 1,400ish

Warnings: language, minor fight

A/N #1: I noticed I've never done a Soldier Boy x daughter fic and decided to remedy that! This was meant to be a very short fic but it spiraled a bit. Not sure if there's any interest in this going forward but I have ideas for where it could go if I were to continue...

A/N #2: This diverges just a tad from The Boys. For the purposes of this story, imagine that Soldier Boy killed Homelander at the end of S3 and is now running The Seven. The reader is seventeen for this story...

________

You swallowed as the man that was apparently your father strode around the corner. He was tall and broad, the green fabric of his uniform stretched taut over his strong muscular form. All you’d wanted for years was to find him, have your birth dad miraculously come take you out of foster care so you could stop the constant moves, the constant disappointment. 

At seventeen you knew better than to expect some instant connection. Mom hadn’t been shy about the fact he was an anonymous donor, even when you were little and asked who he was. You always figured he didn’t want you but after she died when you were eight, you hoped he’d show up somehow, like something out of Annie and you’d suddenly have a permanent family again.

Having Soldier Boy for a father wasn’t exactly filling you and the warm and fuzzies.

At least it explained the super strength when you hit puberty, a fact you’d kept hidden from everyone. Every foster parent, schoolmate, social services employee. You weren’t about to wind up in Red River and have your life destroyed before it even started.

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” said Andrew, the brand new case worker assigned to you. You didn’t take you eyes off the man before you, green eyes watching you cautiously, as a door to the apartment in Vought tower closed behind you.

Soldier Boy’s gaze wandered lower, taking you in fully. Your fists clenched by your sides. You didn’t care what the news said about how he was the hero that took out Homelander. About how he was a war hero. About how somehow he got your mother pregnant after he supposedly died and that made no sense at all.

All you could think about was the gossip forums you scrolled through last year during your annual supe school project on him. Manipulative. Abuser. Sexist. Violent. Damn near sociopathic with how little he cared for the victims left in his wake. 

Finally his gaze met yours again, his mouth curling up in a smile when you clenched so hard the whites of your knuckles showed through your skin.

“No need to be afraid of me, Y/N,” he said politely, taking a few steps forward but giving you plenty of space. “I know you’re confused and I’ll explain but I am your father. I wouldn’t harm you.”

“Funny. Didn’t you kill your last child six months ago? Homelander? Instilling me with a lot of confidence.” His eyebrows raised, his smile flashing a bit of surprise. “I’m not some delicate flower, old man.”

“Yes, you are,” he said, stepping right in front of you, staring you down as you failed to fight back a thick swallow. He gently wrapped his hand around your wrist, your breath hitching when he gave it a squeeze. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“Put your dick anywhere near me and I’ll rip it off.” His hand shot to your jaw, cradling it and forcing you to keep your head up, staring straight at his angry eyes. 

“You’re sick in the head if you think I’d ever touch you. You’re my child for fucks sake and you will learn to watch your mouth.” You kneed him in the groin, Soldier Boy’s whole body jerking as his hands shot to his midsection, doubled over in pain.

“Don’t you confuse the fact that I’m a good person with weakness,” you spat back. He recovered quickly despite you putting all your force behind the hit. Shit. Just how strong was he? You backed up straight into the apartment door, Soldier Boy crowding in on your space. A tremble ran through your body. He’d killed Homelander and his grandson had disappeared off the face of the planet and they hadn’t even done anything to him.

Soldier Boy leaned down, his face barely more than an inch away from your own, his hands splayed out on either side of your head. You kept his gaze though, something flickering in his green eyes for the briefest of moments.

“Who would have thought my teenage daughter had a bigger set of balls than that psycho of a son ever did.” You didn’t move, didn’t dare suck in a breath as he sized you over again. Suddenly he straightened, staring over your head at the wood behind you. “I’m your father whether you like it or not and you’re under my care until you’re 18. You’ll want for nothing.”

“Nothing but an actual father,” you mumbled, wincing when you realized he had super hearing and stifled at the response. After a long beat, he strode away over to a liquor cart, carelessly pouring a large glass of whiskey for himself. 

“Where’s my room?” you sighed, reaching to pick up your backpack and duffel from the foyer. 

“Second floor, second door on the right,” he said, getting to the duffel before you could take it. He held it out for you, taking a long sip, the only indication that it burned the small hiss of air he let out.

You got one hand on the strap when he didn’t release it, your eyes narrowing.

“I used to look at my father like that you know.”

“Let me make something clear,” you said, yanking the bag away, Soldier Boy allowing you to take it. “I don’t know what this is but I’m not going to fall head over heels for you just because you’re my dad. You have to earn that and if you’re not going to try, then stay out of my way.”

He smirked, leaning back against the bar cart with. “What a big little girl you are with your ultimatums. You think a temper tantrum is how to get what you want?”

“All I want is you to not hurt me and for you to be nice. It’s a low fucking bar and until you can clear it, it’s better if you leave me alone.” 

“You’re too sweet for me,” he said, throwing back the rest of his drink, pouring himself another. “A girl who writes a paper on how awful Soldier Boy is and how if he were a normal citizen would have been thrown in jail isn’t someone I would ever expect would give him a chance.”

You lifted your chin even as your heart rate picked up, Soldier Boy quickly by your side and leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“I’d expect a bit more ruthlessness from the girl that said I deserved the death penalty.” Your gaze fixated on the sleek wooden floors beneath you, his arm brushing yours. “It’s okay to admit you want a daddy, baby girl. I’m not a monster like you think.”

“It’s okay to admit you’re scared of being alone. Why else would you come and get me?” you said, his body tense beside you. You turned your head up, his gaze hard once more. You smiled. “I hit a nerve, old timer?”

“It’s cute that you think I give a shit about you.” You couldn’t hide the flash of pain on your face, his eyes narrowing. “Like I said, you’re too sweet. I can break you with just a few words.”

“Then why find me?” you asked as he shoved the whiskey in your hands and took the bags from them, storming off across the apartment for the stairs. “Why did you take me out of my foster home?”

“Because you’re mine whether I like it or not.” He looked over his shoulder. “And you will not fuck that up. Now drink that, calm the fuck down and get used to it or I’ll make sure you get tossed in Red River without a second thought.”

“Or you can just man the fuck up and say you’re scared because you’re alone and I’m all you got.” He stared you down, trying to intimidate you but you didn’t miss the way his eyes watered ever so slightly before he was gone around the corner.

You sighed, closing your eyes and breathing deeply. Okay, that could have gone worse. Much worse. While you weren’t exactly thrilled about how things had gone, at least you knew one thing. 

Somewhere deep, deep down, that man cared about you, only so he wouldn’t be lonely. You wouldn’t trust that it was anything more than that. Those days were long gone, especially when Soldier Boy of all people was your father. It was far too dangerous to trust whatever act he put on once he decided to start playing nice.

You took a long sip of the whiskey, the fiery liquid burning down your throat, making you cough violently. You swore you heard the asshole laughing all the way from the living room.

_______________

A/N: If you'd like to read more of this story, please let me know in a comment, reblog or ask!

[deliriousbluebird]

I remember seeing this post at the dead of night on the day it was posted and just sobbing my heart out into my mattress because it had been so long since I had been able to look at one of those normally, not counting the calories, or putting it on the food scale. The oil on the pasta, the glaze on the cinnamon rolls, all the sugar in the hot cocoa and just the amount of calories in the bread; It scared me so much that I couldn’t do anything but cry as I thought how my life was before @na. I still remembered the flavors and how beautiful the aroma was. Yet all I could think about was how I could fit it into my omad and how many oz would be less than 300 calories.

I wanted to recover, so fucking bad, but what felt even worse was thinking how much I would have betrayed myself for not getting to my goal. I felt like I had to get to my goal or else all those months going to the doctors to get those fucking tests done, all the lying to the psychiatrist, all those days of fasting and nearly passing out would’ve been for nothing.

But with all the suffering that came with it, there was still a strange comfort and beauty that came with it. Seeing the stars in English after fasting for 3 days with a blanket over me in the warmly lit room, looking at the beautiful reflection in the mirror, 3lbs away from my goal weight knowing how close this was to all ending, the light headed feeling I felt while running, feeling truly free. It made me think it was all worth it. That this small, moment in my life was beautiful, and that there was nothing better than it. There was nothing better than 🌟ving my body from the nutrition it needed, watching my face become gaunt, my ribs more bold and my collarbones stick out.

I felt so happy. But it was killing me.

I could feel myself almost rotting away, starving, laying on my back in my bad, counting away the hours until I could eat again. I had no energy, and my body hurt too much to do anything anyways. My stomach bare, my legs getting weaker and worse. As much as I wanted to be seen as beauty and perfect by everyone, as much as I wanted go be satisfied with myself, I was so scared of leaving earth.

At night, I would go through episodes, seeing everything as too large and too expansive; Incomprehensible by the mind. All I could do was pace around my room hoping that the all too familiar feeling of dread would go away. But the only way I knew it was going to go away was by recovering. By recovering I had the chance to not die young like all the doctors were saying. I hate those doctors. As much as I in my right mind would think that they probably saved my life or whatever, I just wish someone would’ve been kind.

Because in all that time suffering, no one was ever kind about it when they found out. My mom would hold me to the wall while I was hysterical, trying to get me to take the god forsaken pills. My friend told me I was being over dramatic. The psychiatrist told me I would die. I genuinely do think I would’ve began recovery sooner if someone had hugged me, telling me that everything would be okay, that no matter how much it all hurt that I would be okay soon, I would be better. A regular hug though would’ve been nice too though.

When I began to recover, it wasn’t because I wanted to get better and improve myself and my mental health and shit. It was because I was fucking petrified of what would happen to me if I didn’t. I couldn’t bare the thought of ever being admitted to the hospital with a feeding tube, the thought of ever possibly losing control to them. I think would’ve been the very last straw before I gave up on myself.

I genuinely don’t think l’ll ever see food the same again. I still see the calories in the crackers and the sandwiches and the bowls and the soup and the cereal. I just eat it anyways because I don’t want to die yet. Every now and then though, I’ll go without food for 48 hours or so to remember what I once was.

I’ll miss when I was worse.

Hot girls have a healthy relationship with food!!!

[bookyeom]

whatever you say, boyfriend - chs

pairing: vernon x reader word count: 1.6k warnings: none really. lots of kissing author’s note: um… happy 2025? 🥲 i haven’t posted in forever, but here she is: part three! i would recommend reading both part one and part two for it to make sense :)

The knock on your door sounds. You’d been expecting it, but that doesn’t mean you’re ready for it.

You pad over to the door, opening it just enough to peek through, and when your eyes meet, Vernon absolutely lights up. It makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, the way his smile widens just at the sight of you. He’s thrown on a hoodie, his hair is tousled from the wind, and he looks so cute that you suddenly panic. He’s in front of you, he came. You suddenly can’t seem to open the door any further.

He stares at you, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly as you watch each other. “Are you going to let me in?” He finally asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe.”

Vernon huffs out a laugh, which makes you smile a bit, too.

“Y/N,” he says slowly, “I need you to let me in.” He’s grinning now as he adds, “How can we be romantic if you don’t let me in?”

Your heart stutters against your chest. You open the door wider, enough for him to slip through. You avoid his eyes as you shut the door, before you’re pressing yourself against it. He laughs again as he slips out of his shoes — ever polite — and the sound makes you look up.

“Y/N,” he says your name again when your eyes meet. “It’s just me.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, and he takes a step towards you. He’s beaming at you in the softest, most confident, most Vernon-esque of ways. You could only ever dream of being so confident.

“Hi,” he breathes, and you can’t help but smile at that, letting out a soft huff of laughter. At the sound, his fingers find yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hi.” Your voice is shy, timid even, as you return the greeting, but you don’t avert your eyes. You’re nervous, but this is Vernon. He wants this, too, you remind yourself. He’s all soft brown eyes and dark, long lashes, and you suddenly remember the last time you were this close to him. Your eyes fall to his lips at the memory, and he seems to be thinking the exact same thing, because it only takes him half a second to close the gap.

The kiss is chaste but it’s long and slow, his lips pressed to yours in a way that makes your toes curl. And when he pulls away and whispers, “Hi, baby,” you can’t help the way your knees buckle, just a little, before you recover and surge forward to kiss him again.

It’s you who tries to pull away first this time, but Vernon’s hand lifts to slide into the hair at the nape of your neck to keep you there just a little bit longer, earning him a soft gasp from you. You’re lost for breath when he breaks away. Neither of you speak for a minute, and you watch as his eyes trace lazily across your face. You know your face is flushed red, but somehow you can’t find it in you to care when he’s looking at you like this.

“Did you put on makeup?” He finally speaks, breaking the silence, and it takes you a second to register what he’s said.

You blink at him, your eyebrows furrowed as you say, “Huh?”

He repeats himself, smile growing. “Did you put on makeup since we called a half hour ago?”

Oh.

If you weren't embarrassed before, you are now. The smirk on his face lets you know that he already knows the answer to his question — and that it pleases him a great deal. You let out a whine, falling forward to rest your head against the front of his sweater in embarrassment.

“Cute,” he says against your hair. You whine again, pulling away from him and pouting. He laughs, squeezing your arms before heading into your living room as if he hadn’t just kissed you senseless in your front hall. You stare at him as he calls back over his shoulder, “You’re cute. With or without makeup.”

You follow him, embarrassed that he’d called you out but now reeling at him calling you cute. First, he’d called you baby with ease, and now he’s paying you flirty compliments without a second thought. You are not going to survive this.

You don’t know what you expected, but Vernon doesn’t kiss you again for what feels like forever. In fact, everything is relatively normal for a hangout with the two of you, except that he’s got you pulled into his side while you try to pick a movie. Or, rather — while he tries to pick a movie. All you can do is think about how close he is to you, about how much you want to be kissing him again. About how calm he seems about all of this.

Vernon seems to realize you’re not fully with him when he repeats his question for the third time. “Y/N?” He tries, a hand moving to squeeze your knee, and you jump a little. “You good?” When your eyes meet his, you know it’s over for you. He furrows his brows again, removes his hand from your leg and shifts away from you as he opens his mouth to say, “If you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to —“

“Can you kiss me again?”

You’ve caught him off guard, you can tell, because his mouth hangs open for a moment, blinking down at you. Your cheeks are flaming red, you’re certain of it.

“Sorry! If you don’t want to we can just—“

“Baby,” he breathes out, voice low and breathless, before his hand is on your face and his mouth is on yours again. It surprises you, the fierceness of it, and your hand flies to grasp his wrist as he kisses you. He kisses you, slow and deep, pulling away after what both feels like forever and absolutely not long enough just to say, “You don’t even have to ask.”

It’s you that pulls him back in this time.

You don’t know how long you spend making out with Vernon on your couch — you don’t care to check. You think it’s hours, maybe, and you only stop when it’s physically impossible for either of you to breathe. When he pulls away, hair a mess from where you’d gotten bold enough to run your fingers through it, he simply looks you over, dazed smile wide on his lips as he does.

“Pretty,” he says easily, pressing another kiss against your mouth before settling back to take a breather. Somehow, that’s what gets you.

You settle back against him, much more at ease this time, but when you feel Vernon’s eyes on you, you know he can tell something is still up with you.

“Hey.” You look up at him, and he pokes you gently in the middle of your forehead. “What’s going on in there?”

You flush. You hate that he knows you so well. “I’m just…”

“Yeah?”

You’re silent for a moment or two. Your eyes fly to his when you feel his thumb gently pull your lip free from where you’ve been chewing at it.

“We just made out on your couch for a substantial amount of time,” he says nonchalantly. “I’d hope you can tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“See,” you protest, “that. How is it so… easy for you?”

Vernon’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

You gesture between the two of you. “This.”

“Well,” he says after a moment, “you're easy to be with.”

“Vernon,” you whine. “That’s not what I meant.”

He shrugs. “I mean it. Being with you like this,” he emphasizes, “is easy.”

“Okay, but how?”

You watch as he thinks before he answers, eyebrows knit together in that Vernon way of his. It’s one thing you love about him — he’s always been a bit of an enigma, but so, so patient with you when you need help figuring him out. “I don’t really know how to explain it any other way,” he starts after a moment. “I just… want to kiss you, so I do. I want to tell you that you’re pretty, so I do. I’ve been thinking about these things for so long that it just feels normal, I guess.”

You ponder his words, your tummy fluttering at his simple explanation. “How long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have you felt this way?”

Vernon hums, fingers lifting to run through his hair. “I’m not sure exactly when it started, honestly, but… it’s been a while.’

”I had no idea,” you admit quietly, and Vernon’s mouth quirks up.

”Clearly.”

“Hey,” you protest with a pout, and he laughs, but reaches out to grasp your fingers. “I guess I’m just unsure,” you say softly. “About what this all means.”

Vernon nods. “It means that I’ve liked you for a very long time,” he says, straight and to the point. Your cheeks flush, and he says his next words quietly. “It means that you need to tell me now if you don’t want to be more than friends.”

“I do,” you say quickly, and Vernon’s mouth quirks up at the side. “I just… want to keep you as my friend, too.”

“A friend you kiss and hold hands with and go out on dates with sounds pretty great to me.”

You smile at that. “Yeah, it does.”

He watches you for a moment, his face growing a bit more serious. “I’m still your friend,” he reassures you quietly, and you nod.

“A special kind of friend.” You’re smiling even more now, and his expression shifts to mirror yours again as you wiggle your eyebrows.

Vernon leans back against the couch. “If only there was a word for that.”

“If only.”

You beam at him from across the couch, and his eyebrows raise in a teasing challenge. You don’t mind letting him win this one as you break, as you close the distance and cuddle back into his side, the smile on your face so wide it hurts as you say your next words.

“Great. Now pick a movie, boyfriend.”

A/N: it’s been so long, so sorry if you don’t want to be tagged! just shoot me a message if you wanna be removed :)

@tae-bebe @wheeboo @waldau-archived @iluvseokmin @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @seohomrwolf @pan-de-seungcheol @minisugakoobies @wqnwoos @gyuminusone @christinewithluv @darkypooo @lvlystars @bewoyewo

Don’t be afraid to let me know what you think!

[taelophone]

Soft Feminine˚࿔ ⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆TWs: None! Its fluff of luigi fixing your childhood music box lol ˚｡⋆A/N: This was written as an allegory for something!! If you catch it please lmk id be so so happy <33

The slow silence filled the room, pardoned by the occasional shift of clothing or the clinks of Luigi sorting the things on your nightstand. It was a quiet night with your boyfriend, simply enjoying each other's presence while engaged in silent conversation.

His hands whirled around the slowly recovering nightstand, The lids to the foggy glass candle jars and the clutter slowly finding their native places as he worked his magic. Soon enough, your nightstand was clear, bothered only by your lamp, room spray, a mini succulent, and your flamingo-pink Laneige sleep mask. 

When Luigi finished bringing order to your nightstand, he glanced at you momentarily. No reason in particular, just to bask in your features as you scrolled on the cyber-white hue of your phone.

He smiled, overcome with warm and fiery sparks of affection. He wanted nothing in the world to ever raise a finger at you in challenge— if so, he’d gladly break it just to deem himself your hero. 

When he was done staring at you, he patted your head affectionately as you lay stationery in your bed, relishing in the warmth of your smile. He whisked away from your nightstand, making his way to your vanity as he began sorting that as well.

While you listened to the glass and metal clinking over by the far corner of your room, you turned off your phone to stare up at the ceiling. Today had been a long, long day. 

You longed to continue to lay down and embrace your boyfriend with rampant lovelorn. Maybe even accompanied by some soft and quiet…music!

Music! Your music box! Oh, he can fix it!

“Lui, babe?” You spoke, shattering the fragile silence. 

“Yes, my love?” He answered, tilting his head slightly in your direction but not taking his eyes off of the things he continued to put away.

“You’re an engineer, right?” You inquired, crunching your torso to bring your body up, sitting criss-cross on top of your soft comforter.

“Depends…what are you asking me to fix? I can’t do appliances” he joked with a light smile and a boyish giggle. Cute little cornball.

“Nothing too serious…I have a music box that I’ve had since I was like…a baby. Can you take a look? It broke sometime after I turned nine, but I never got it fixed” You murmured, shuffling over to the end of your bed and leaning over the foot of your bed frame.

With your brushes, blushes, and plushes sorted at your vanity, Luigi broke his structuring trance to take a look at the little music box you began to pull from under the depths of your bed. Aged with hospitality, pink with youth, and loved with adoration, the ballerina-esque porcelain wind-up contraption presented itself in your hands.

Gold embellishments, blush roses, and shimmery gloss drew attention to the little ballerina on the front of the design. Her figure was just like you, only donned with a white tutu and bodice as she sat with her ankles crossed.

“It’s really old so it might just be an age thing, but I really wanna see if it can be fixed. I loved it so much growing up I just don’t wanna let it go” you said with a nostalgic chuckle.

“It looks really pretty! Can I see?” He gently asked, walking over to the front of your bed and extending both of his hands to seek out permission for the piece.

You nodded, carefully and cautiously handing him your innocence with benign hands. He seemed to examine it, get a feel for the material under his fingertips before he carefully flipped open the little lid to reveal the swan and the woman standing atop a pink pedestal.

He gave it a few winds, listening for any potential clicks along the way as he was met with a suspicious amount of loosened compliance. Normally it would give some sort of pressure or noise if it was working properly, but he seemed to have already figured out the problem.

“Okay…I think I know what the issue is. I’m gonna have to take this apart, baby” he stated, closing the little box with a satisfying click. “I know what I’m doing, I promise, I just don’t want you to panic. I have to take it apart to see its anatomy, and that’ll give me a better understanding of what’s wrong…is that alright with you?”

Your eyes widened with slight fear, ‘what ifs’ flooding the pipes in your mind while your heart rate spiked. This was his job, yes, and he spent a good portion of his life assembling things and putting them together. 

But there’s always a possibility, and there’s never a zero. It’s okay to be afraid of accidents, and it’s ok to keep an open mind, but where do you go if something goes wrong?

What if he breaks it further? Snaps the lid off with unmonitored strength, shatters the neck of the swan with a grip that went unchecked for too long, cracking the perfect porcelain.

Could you get it fixed then? Would your childhood pride be lost at the hands of the one you love the very most? How would you cope when the sound of shattered glass pierces your ears followed by a gasp of alarm?

“Love.”

You looked at him, half-aware of the grip you now had on your music box. The wrinkles in your knuckles as your fingers wrapped around the heavy relic. 

You hadn’t realized how hard you had been holding on, to both your breath and your childhood. There was nothing to fear as long as it was in his hands— he would treat every part of you with the same tender and merciful hands he had held you with time and time again.

“Yeah…okay,” you nodded, handing him the music box with a silent swallow of anxiety.

His eyes softened. An empathetic and understanding wiggle in his brows as he leaned over, and kissed the top of your head with a hand behind your neck. Brief and intimate.

“Thank you for trusting me” he promised.

You smiled, nodding your appreciation as you crossed your arms. 

“All of my tools and mechanical equipment should be in my closet in a white clear box. It should have blue painter's tape on the lid.”

“Awesome,” he said, placing the music box down on the empty vanity before he traversed into the depths of your closet. Rustling and jostling of clothes, shoes, perfume bottles, and unboxed accessories echoed through the silence, aches of impending doom and lingering hope gnawing at the side of your neck.

When he emerged with the clear box of tools, he sat them on the side of the white desk, flipping the music box upside down to see what type of screwdriver he’d need. When he had everything he needed, he took his time, hands cradling and supporting every inch of delicate glass.

Unscrewing each screw, tender love and hospitality possessed his hands as he took it apart. Piece by piece, little by little.

Everything was on display for him, unfiltered in its purest form. Now that he had seen each piece of the machine and what makes it turn, he quickly identified the problem and its solution. 

With expert hands carrying endless wisdom, he reconstructed the feminine melodic music like he was the very man who invented the machine. And in no time, he had the ballerina and her swan spinning on her pedestal of high confidence again.

He wound up the handle, the now familiar pressure and sounds of approval reaching his ears with smug approval. He knew what he was doing, and he’d always be there to prove it to you. 

“Done!” He smiled, flipping the music box closed and giving you a wave of nostalgia and gratitude.

When he approached your bed once more, he climbed on top of it and plopped himself down beside you. He kissed your forehead again, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you beamed with joy.

“No way, thank you so much! I literally love you,” you gasped, winding up the machine, the familiar melody of Swan Lake ringing through chimes and twinkles as the little ballerina began to spin slowly in the confines of her box. 

“Anything for you.”

[staryuee]

are you able to make some head canons of scaramouche, kazuha, xiao, (BASICALLY ANEMO BOYS), neuvi, kinich on how they react to reader being nonchalant like lwk i think itd be funny

NONCHALANT S/O

꒰warnings꒱ N/A

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . xiao, kazuha, scaramouche, neuvillette, kinich

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . happy new year ♡ still on hiatus but i didn’t want to leave you guys completely high and dry d(^_^o) + also kinich is most definitely out of character just bc i refuse to play the new update so i know nothing about him

XIAO

ʚ it doesn’t bother him, if anything he likes the fact you’re able to brush things off easily (makes it easier for him to stop crouching on nearby trees to assure you’re safe, but lord do you sometimes hurt his ego)

ʚ xiao isn’t confident in romantic gestures, even something as small as a compliment or pinky holding has him wanting to disappear and recover…so when you so easily act indifferent to it while he’s practically drunk on flush straight up makes him die a little

ʚ aside from the slight jabs to his pride, you aren’t uncaring and dumb enough to let his love go unnoticed (thankfully) so he can fully appreciate that you protect your peace

ʚ haunted by memories of war, death and the stench of metal, it’s nice to find some solace in the cool air you exude

ʚ from the outer perspective, two people who have nonchalant energy wouldn’t seem to work too well (but lord do people drool when you two are duoed for a fight), but you and xiao just click!

ʚ he’s quiet, protective but sweet and ready to take the first step to love you, while you’re chilled, confident and allow him to take comfort in someone who’s stable (and sometimes snarky lol)

KAZUHA

ʚ he takes your nonchalant energy as you being ditzy or levelheaded if anything - in other words - it’s really endearing!

ʚ you sort of match his personality to the T, except he’s just the slightest bit more reciprocal with other people’s energy meanwhile you just stand back with your hands either tucked in your pockets or fiddling with the edge of his scarf

ʚ he actually kinda just enjoys teasing you if anything to see if anything can make you crack, most attempts end in failure but it is a rather cute bonding exercise to whoosh you with anemo energy out of the blue to then help you reorganise your hair and straighten your clothes

ʚ he does worry for you on the occasion when you seem to show a lack of interest in him, he’s a pure romantic at heart! he thrives off the attention from his beloved partner! but once in a while you do show him just how much you love him

ʚ did he immediately brighten when you once placed your head on his lap really quietly when he was humming a melody to you? yes, and he has no shame about that

SCARAMOUCHE

ʚ oh you PISS him off

ʚ if ignorance and arrogance were ever personified it would be you and him respectfully

ʚ obviously you both love each other on deeper levels than just: “even though i’m above you i’ll still let you hold my hand, — “okay.” - but your relationship is just…humorous at best from an outsider’s view

ʚ the akademiya’s student body is currently conflicted between the idea that your relationship is either ideal or highly toxic

ʚ on one hand, it’s really adorable to see the mysterious, snarky student of vahumana that rarely ever comes to class be so oddly…chatty in your presence, as you so lovingly listened to every word (if the people close enough to actually hear can be bothered to ignore the fact he’s badmouthing the entire school while you shrugged at every word)

ʚ aside from the yapper x listener duo, he’d also…a little more physically affectionate? he rests his head on your lap quite frequently because you say nothing and therefore don’t bother teasing him

ʚ that’s also the main thing he hates: how nonchalant you are about everything makes his indifference seem futile and oddly more vulnerable. you don’t care about anything, and it’s incredibly infuriating! the first time he said “i love you” you replied with “huh?” and that was the first time he’s ever felt so scornful

ʚ he loves you most days, so he will deal with your frustrating silence - it’s nice to see him become the person he wanted to be with someone who rarely intervenes

NEUVILLETTE

ʚ he’s worried, intrigued and a little jealous all at once.

ʚ worried because he fears that your indifference is a direct consequence of his own inadequacy. are you perhaps not satisfied?? do you not like it when he cups the side of your face when he kisses you? or do you hate the purring noises he makes when you curl your hands in his hair? …it’s raining in fontaine again

ʚ he’s intrigued mostly because you don’t seem to care or even be fazed by the fact you’re not only dating a dragon - but a primordial, godly being that precedes the creation of the modern teyvat. he didn’t think the information would be useful to you in the first place, but when you asked so nicely about the two blue steaks in his hair, he felt obliged to tell you - and yet you replied with “oh, cool.”

ʚ a little jealous just because this attitude is rather perfect in court. you can’t show bias and any emotion whether for defence or prosecution can skew your perspective on a trial - it’s difficult. he’s grown to love the little beings that run around fontaine carelessly, passing judgement has become something so much more colourful than black and white. but with you? it’s like you either have no opinion, or just to not engage - slightly admirable, if a little scary

ʚ at the end of the day, it doesn’t worry him too badly. nonchalance doesn’t necessarily mean emotionally unavailable - and believe me he spends enough time next to you to love the little quirks and habits you do when no one is looking at that façade of yours

KINICH

ʚ you 🤝 kinich - two peas in a pod

ʚ you don’t give a shit about anything? neither does he! do you wanna kiss?

ʚ ajaw lowkey hates you both (said with affection) and does NOT hesitate to let his opinion be known, though kinich is of course quick to shut him down

ʚ he kind of enjoys peering his head at you during conversations to see what you’re like - if your face scrunches when people say something weird, if your brows pitifully furrow at the mention of loss, or even if you smile at laughter — and he sees quite literally nothing, which was honestly like looking in a mirror

ʚ no one actually knows how two people with nearly the exact same level of charisma (none) got together, but you two are happy with each other, so really - who else needs to comprehend your relationship?

ʚ you have a really similar approach to life: do what you must to get what you want. but to him that means dangerous commissions that no one would probably want, and to you that means lounge around graffitiing a wall with some symbols you thought of on the spot

ʚ it’s genuinely infuriating to have a conversation with either of you though when the person speaking isn’t looking for particular help (or is speaking too slowly for either of your likings), you either brush the person off and walk away, or kinich talks back rather abruptly

ʚ mualani made it a non negotiable rule to have someone, hopefully the traveler, around either one of you like some sort of support dog to ensure you guys actually socialise and don’t sit there like owls waiting to bite

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[worldsmessiestwriter]

Just lunch.

tw - none

word count - 978

Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

inspired by Only Tea from great gatsby the musical

—————————————————————————

The soft hum of Tony Stark’s voice filled Peter Parker’s Bluetooth earpiece as he maneuvered through Midtown traffic on his way home. The sky was painted in hues of orange and gold, but Peter barely noticed, too consumed by the whirlwind of emotions triggered by the phone call he was still reeling from.

“Relax, kid,” Tony drawled, clearly smirking on the other end. “It’s just lunch. A little bread, maybe some salad. You’ve had lunch before, right? You’re not gonna implode.”

Peter gripped the steering wheel tighter, his voice strained. “Yeah, but I’ve never had this lunch before, Mr. Stark! What do I even say to her? How do I start? Do I start? Should I bring flowers? Does she like flowers? Oh my God, what if she’s allergic to flowers and I kill her on the spot—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Tony cut in. “Stop spiraling. First of all, nobody’s allergic to all flowers, Parker. And second of all, she’s not some stranger you met on Tinder. It’s Y/N. You’ve done this dance before.”

“But we haven’t,” Peter argued, his voice rising with panic. “Not since—well, not since she…”

Tony sighed, a rare moment of genuine understanding sneaking into his tone. “Look, I get it. Five years is a long time. But you’re forgetting one key detail here, kid.”

“What’s that?” Peter asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“She’s Y/N.”

Peter blinked at the simplicity of it, his mind scrambling for a way to make sense of the statement.

Tony continued, his voice growing more patient. “You think she doesn’t remember you? Doesn’t care? Kid, the second she came back, I asked her what she wanted. You know what she said?”

Peter swallowed. “What?”

“She said, ‘Where’s Peter?’” Tony’s voice softened slightly, but his trademark sass quickly returned. “Not ‘where’s Dad?’ Not ‘how’s the company?’ Not even, ‘wow, what’s up with that whole universe-dusting situation?’ You. She wanted you.”

Peter’s chest tightened, his breath hitching.

“So, take a deep breath,” Tony instructed. “She’s not some long-lost pen pal. She’s your girl. And all you have to do is show up, eat some carbs, and let her remind you why you fell for her in the first place. Easy-peasy.”

“Easy-peasy?” Peter repeated incredulously. “Easy for you to say! You’re Tony Stark! I’m just… me. What if I mess this up? What if she realizes I’m not the guy she remembers? I’m a workaholic now! I wear ties!”

Tony let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, no! Not ties! How will she ever recover?”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead as he pulled into the parking garage of his apartment building. “I’m serious. What if she doesn’t… feel the same?”

Tony paused for a moment, and Peter could hear the faint clinking of glassware in the background, probably Tony making himself a drink. When he finally spoke, his tone was steadier, calmer.

“She will, kid. I promise you, she will.”

Later that night, Peter paced the length of his apartment, phone in hand, scrolling through Google for advice that no search engine could possibly provide. His thoughts ping-ponged wildly:

What should I wear? What’s the perfect “Hey, I’m a professional now, but I’m still your dorky Peter” outfit? A blazer? Too formal. Jeans? Too casual. Oh my God, what if she thinks I’ve let myself go? Should I do push-ups right now? Is there enough time to get in shape before tomorrow?

Frustrated, he flopped onto his couch and grabbed a pillow, muffling his scream into it.

He dialed Happy’s number on instinct, but when the man answered with, “This better be important,” Peter panicked and hung up immediately.

Instead, he called Tony. Again.

“Kid, I swear if you’re calling me about flowers again—”

“I don’t know what to say! What if I walk in and freeze? Or worse, what if I talk too much and say something stupid? What if I accidentally bring up the Snap? I can’t just be like, ‘Hey, remember when you disintegrated in my arms?’ That’s not lunch conversation!”

“Peter,” Tony groaned, clearly exasperated but still indulgent. “It’s only lunch. You’re acting like you’re about to propose or give a TED Talk on nanotechnology.”

Peter sat up straight, alarmed. “Should I prepare a speech?”

“No!” Tony practically yelled. “For crying out loud, Parker, if you don’t stop overthinking this, I’m gonna send Pepper to come knock some sense into you. Or Morgan. She’s scarier.”

Peter groaned, leaning back against the couch and covering his face with his hands. “I can’t help it, Mr. Stark. This feels… big.”

“It is big,” Tony said, his voice gentler now. “But you don’t have to handle it all at once. Just show up. Let it happen. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

The next day, as Peter drove to the lakeside cottage, his mind raced with every possible worst-case scenario. He was running early—so early, in fact, that he had time to pull over at a rest stop and scream into his jacket sleeve again.

When he finally arrived, Tony was waiting on the porch, sipping a cup of coffee like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“You’re late,” Tony teased as Peter walked up the steps.

Peter frowned. “I’m ten minutes early.”

“Yeah, well, you look like you’ve been marinating in anxiety for hours. Thought you might need a little nudge.” Tony patted him on the back and leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Remember: it’s just lunch.”

Peter nodded, trying to believe it.

But when he saw Y/N standing on the dock, laughing with Morgan as the wind caught her hair, his breath hitched, and for the first time in five years, his world felt whole again.

“Just lunch,” he whispered to himself, smiling despite his nerves. Maybe Tony was right after all.

—————————————————————————

[undercoveravenger]

Calm

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Male!Reader

Requested: No

Summary: Former barracks bunny Soap coming to terms with having feelings for you.

Warnings: Suggestive, but no actual smut

-----

Johnny MacTavish has always had too much energy for his own good. He’s always had a leg bouncing or fingers tapping or something to tear apart and put back together during briefings, always been running his mouth during transits, always bouncing from person to person because he’s just too much for one person to handle.

He’s had a handful of partners through the years that get close, but no one that’s been able to hold up against his stamina. It’s probably why he’d become something of a barracks bunny in the last few years, shacking up with anyone who catches his fancy for half a second in an effort to curb his libido but he just can't get the same enjoyment out of it that he used to. The enthusiasm of the rookies eager to get a taste of him or the punishing way someone from upper command bends him over just don't do it for him anymore. 

None of them bring that same satisfying ache that you do. 

It’s the sweet way you hold him during makes him feel like he's not just a problem. Not some chore to be tolerated and dealt with and then pushed to the back of your mind to be forgotten about. It makes him feel like he's whole for a little while, at least until he forces himself out of your bed to start gathering his clothes, stumbling his way back into his underwear and cargos on numb legs and wishing he'd hear you tell him to stay but knowing that he can't let himself.

He can’t turn around. Can’t bring himself to check if you’re watching him - hoping he’ll come back to bed. Or worse, what if you’d just rolled over and closed your eyes? Ready to wash your hands of him and let him leave the way he always does?

He pauses then, shirt in hands and pants unbuckled around his hips. You’re the one person who has ever treated him like this. The only one who never bustled him out as soon as the sex ended or pushed him to stay when he didn’t feel like it. The only one who actually wore him out enough that he didn’t feel like he needed to seek someone else out for another round before bed. You’d always been careful to check in with him. Always willing to at least hear him out if he asked to try something without pushing him if he said no to one of your own requests. Always asking if he needed anything from you after.

“Why?” The question escapes him unbidden and it takes him a moment to realize it even came from him. “Why,” he says again, eyes fixed on the way his knuckles go white from gripping his shirt so tightly, “don’t you ever ask me to stay?”

It’s clearly not something you’d expected him to say, not from how long the silence stretches between you. 

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.” You’re looking at him, Soap notices when he turns to face you, whether you were or not before, you are now. Lying sprawled on your side, with one hand propping your head up, and your eyes are fixed on his and he’s not used to the intensity - not used to someone looking at him like that instead of with wandering eyes even when he is trying to be serious. “Everyone’s always talking about how you don’t stay. That you just want a bit of fun and then you go.” You shift onto your back and your breath escapes you in a huff and Johnny can feel his chest squeeze fondly at the sound. “Doubted you’d want me pushing your boundaries.”

He’s not sure what to say about that. That you hadn’t asked because you didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. He’d known you were a pretty stand up guy - there was a reason you were the one sent in to deal with victims or newly recovered prisoners, something safe about you that even a stranger could see. 

“And,” he says slowly, forcing himself to continue despite the pit in his stomach, “What if I’d asked to?”

The smile that crosses your features brings an unconscious one to Johnny’s own lips, “Then I’d ask which side of the bed you prefer,” you said, simple and matter of fact. Like him staying wasn’t even something you’d have to think twice to be alright with. 

Johnny nodded slowly, butterflies racing in his stomach as he thought about his options. How he could leave and go back to his usual habits and pretend this never happened, or how he could see how this went with you. He steels himself, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than he ever has on an op as he drops his shirt and kicks his cargos back off, moving to settle beside you on the bed. “Left side’s fine,” he says, grinning as he tugged the sheets back up over the both of you and tucked himself tight against your chest. 

If it gets him more nights like this with you, Johnny thinks he could certainly get used to the calm.

[damnfandomproblems]

About 6988: (TW for sexual assault, pedophilia, death threat mentions, and zoophilia)

You got brainwashed by antis. Antis have been the ones being exposed as pedophiles and even defended them. The anti lolicon people have stuff behind EDP445 because he said lolicon is pedophilia. For those who don’t know, EDP445 is a disgraced YouTuber who was caught TWICE trying to meet up a minor for sex. Once was a guy pretending to be a 13 year old girl, twice is where he tried to meet a real life 16 year old and sexted her. He SOMEHOW got a platform again.

There are actual pedophile rings on Twitter with adults meeting actual minors and using codes and emojis to hide what is actually happening, a proshipper pointed this out, and an anti was actively looking the other way and instead focused all of their attention on what the proshipper liked in fiction. Imagine that someone points out a pedophile ring and you see someone looking the other way because they saw someone’s taste in fiction and instead put 100% of their focus on that and not children being groomed and social media.

I have seen antis get caught being creeps. One anti was sexually harassing an ex partner while they were 18 and she was 15. Another anti who is a horror themed lewd V-Tuber (ironic) interacted with minors from ages 14 to 17 years old. Idc if you knew the minors as friends or if you’re 18, you should not be interacting with minors as a NSFW account.

I’ve also seen antis ENCOURAGE proshippers, who they THINK are “pedophiles” to go hurt real children. I’ve also seen them tell people to kill themselves over fiction. I’ve seen an anti tell a recovering self harm addict to “relapse.” I’ve seen too many antis tell sexual assault victims that they “deserved their abuse,” or they invalidated them.

Antis were also the reason why a non-binary artist I liked get ran off the internet all over what? A yucky incest ship? Seriously? THAT is the reason why they get ran off the Internet, meanwhile actual pedophiles still have platforms or have been given platforms?

Antis are also the reason why most fanfic writers quit because they don’t like the content they write.

Antis have been racist to said fanfic writers. Particularly, a south Asian writer who wrote dark fetish content who used dark content as a coping mechanism.

I’ve also seen an anti who is another V-Tuber get exposed for being a rapist, as they repeatedly attempted to have sex with an ex partner against their will while they were drunk and they ONLY stopped when their partner started crying. They also got off to their ex’s photos without their consent as well and cheated on their partner by sexting a minor.

Also, antis were strangely very quiet when it came to infamous zoophile Kero the Wolf coming back as a V-Tuber. For those who don’t know, I’m sorry for the horrors I’m about to tell you. Kero the Wolf was a part of a few zoosadist and zoophilia rings and even sexually abused his OWN DOG. Then, he made a half-assed apology (like that will ever reverse the damage he did to those poor animals and his own dog…) went into hiding for a very long time, then came back as a V-Tuber model and used a voice changer. Antis have not talked about this guy, and yet it’s the people who can separate fiction from reality (aka, proshippers) who spoke up about him.

THE LIST GOES ON. Do you STILL want to paint Proshippers as the “bad guys” and Antis as the “good guys” here? If you still think Proshippers are bad even after I tell you all of this, then idk what to tell you.

I don’t label myself as a proshipper. Because I think the label is stupid. Back then, we called it, “mind your own business,” and “Don’t like? Don’t look.” But hey, because of the state of the internet from 2016 to now, those labels and the ongoing “proshipper vs anti” discourse will still continue because we’re gonna keep letting it continue.

Posting as a response to a previous problem.

[tarareindeer]

Part 2 : Uneven Paths

The office was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that makes you hyperaware of every little sound—the hum of the air conditioning, the faint click of your keyboard, even the soft scratch of Claggor’s pen as he sat at his desk, pretending to work. You didn’t know why he was still here. Probably because the universe had decided your suffering wasn’t complete without him lingering like a bad punchline.

Finally, he spoke, breaking the silence with his signature mix of confidence and audacity. “You know, if this was a rom-com, this would be the part where we realize we’re secretly in love and kiss under the fluorescent lights.”

You didn’t even look up from your screen. “Good thing it’s not, because I’d rather kiss a stapler.”

Claggor laughed, that low, annoying chuckle that somehow always got under your skin. “Come on, you don’t mean that. Admit it—you’d miss me if I wasn’t around to spice up your life.”

You snorted, still typing. “Spice up? You’re about as spicy as unseasoned chicken, Claggor. I’d survive.”

“Ouch.” He clutched his chest like you’d physically wounded him. “And here I thought I was your favorite office distraction.”

You finally turned your chair to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Favorite? You overestimate yourself. You’re more like background noise—mildly annoying but easy to ignore.”

Claggor grinned, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “Admit it, though—without me, you’d be bored out of your mind.”

“Without you,” you countered, “I’d be done with this project and halfway home by now. So, no, I wouldn’t be bored—I’d be productive.”

He spun his pen between his fingers, that irritating smirk never leaving his face. “Maybe I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re not working too hard.”

You folded your arms, narrowing your eyes. “Oh, so now you’re my guardian angel? What’s next, you gonna offer me life advice?”

“Only if you ask nicely,” he shot back, leaning forward with a wink. “But seriously, you’ve been here late every night this week. You ever take a break, or is hustling your whole personality?”

“Some of us don’t have the luxury of coasting through life,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended.

Claggor’s smirk faltered for a second, but he recovered quickly. “I’m not coasting. Believe it or not, I work hard too.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, sure. Must be exhausting being you, with your perfect life and your fancy suits.”

He nodded, his voice softer than usual. “It’s not as perfect as you think.”

The sincerity caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. But before the silence could stretch too long, he grinned again, the teasing tone back in full force.

“Anyway,” he said, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “If you ever want to swap sob stories over drinks, let me know. I’m a great listener—and I promise to let you roast me for at least half the night.”

You shook your head, turning back to your screen. “I’ll think about it… when pigs fly.”

He chuckled, heading toward the door. “I’ll pencil it in.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the annoying realization that the night had felt a little less lonely with him there.

(tmr last part...to be continued)

[arabella0001]

i writed like 2 days for this beloved man

kisuke doesn’t reveal his bankai often, lucky for you, he’s got plenty of other things he’s more willing to show

anime: bleach

pairings: kisuke urahara x reader

synopsis: curiosity killed the cat

warnings: long, a lot of tessing, edging, fingering, oral (male receiving), light rough sex, after care

You’ve always been aware of Kisuke.

He’s not the kind of man you can easily ignore. Whether it was that sly smile constantly tugging at his lips that makes him appearing carefree, his strategic mind always masking his true intentions or his frequently teasins others—expecially you. Kisuke Urahara had an irritating talent for making you blush. And as much as you found that part of him infuriatingly attractive, you never thought it was anything more than a game to him.

Why would it be? He’s teased you so many times it feels like second nature—just a harmless habit he indulged in because he could.

So you never let yourself think too much about him that way. It was easier to brush it off, to assume that was just who he was. Expecially when you’re not the only person he does this to.

But you’ve been working at Kisuke’s shop long enough to know when something’s up, like deflection from his true reasons.

His usual antics are predictable—constant teasing, sly remarks—but today feels different. His presence is present more, his touches wandering a little longer than usual, and the way his eyes track you isn’t just casual. It’s calculated.

You try to ignore it. It’s probably nothing.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself until he slides up behind you while you’re reorganizing shelves. His hand finds your shoulder, fingers snaking lazily around it.

His breath is warm against your ear, the flirtatious edge unmistakable.

“Well, well… look at you. Working so hard today. I hardly recognize you”

You fumble with the item in your hand, nearly dropping it. He’s too close—too casual about the way he leans in, his chest almost brushing your back. Is not like your touch deprived, but you’re not used to it, and his attractive persona and unconventional charm doesn’t help either.

“I-I just want to finish up quickly,” you stammer, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel. “The faster I finish, the sooner I can get home.”

“Oh? In a hurry, are we?” His voice dips lower, humor lacing around every word.

You feel his gaze on you, unwavering, even as you force yourself to focus on the shelves.

Kisuke steps in closer, his arm brushing against yours as he pretends to help by reaching for something—his fingers grazing yours. If you believe in coincidences, that is.

“Home’s nice and all,” he murmurs, voice quiet enough that it feels just for you. “But I can’t help but wonder… no date waiting for you?”

Your breath catches. You edge back, pretending to adjust a box. Why he is suddenly interested in this kind of answears?

Kisuke sees right through it, of course.

“A date?” you scoff, trying to recover. “Like I have time for that. I barely keep up with work here, let alone everything else.”

His smug smile widens. “Ah, yes. The ever-dedicated worker. Sacrificing love for labor. How tragic.” And you barely contain to don’t roll your eyes at that.

He leans in slightly. “A shame, really. I would’ve thought you’d have a long line of admirers by now.”

Your cheeks flush despite your best efforts, and you curse inwardly.

“I—I need a break,” you mutter, practically fleeing outside before he can say anything else.

His chuckle follows you out. “Take your time. I’ll be here if you miss me’’

You exhale, pacing just outside the shop.

What the hell is he doing today? Is he bored? Is he messing with you?

But after a few minutes, you manage to cool off. You tell yourself you’re imagining things, you need to just mind your business.

When you step back inside, Kisuke is laughing with the others, his usual breezy self. He’s chatting with Tessai and Jinta, but his eyes flicker toward you briefly—so brief it’s almost dismissible. Almost.

The day winds down, but the weight of his gaze follows you. Every now and then, when he thinks you aren’t paying attention, you catch him watching.

Evening comes, and after the last customer leaves, you finally snap.

“What’s your deal, Kisuke?” you blurt, arms crossing as you glare at him from across the room.

He pauses, leaning lazily against the counter. His hat tilts forward, shadowing his green eyes, but that damn grin remains.

“Deal?” he echoes, tapping his chin. “I’m just admiring your craftsmanship. Can’t a humble shop owner appreciate his employee’s dedication?”

You narrow your eyes, not buying it. “You never watch me like this.”

Kisuke chuckles, but the glint in his eye sharpens. “Well, you did say you wanted me to stop hiding behind jokes. I’m just giving you what you asked for.”

He steps forward. One step. Then another.

You retreat instinctively until your back brushes the wall. His hand lifts, palm flattening against the wall beside your head, caging you in.

You swallow hard, your eyes stretched in surprise. “Kisuke—”

“Oh?” His eyes flicker, and the usual playfulness deepens into something heavier, unsettling. “That’s the second time you’ve said my name like that. I’m starting to think you like this.”

His face looms over yours, his breath fanning across your lips.

“Well?” His voice lowers, teasing but firm. “Didn’t you ask me to stop playing around?”

Your pulse quickens. Heat rises in your chest. You didn’t see this coming at all.

“I… didn’t see expect this… whatever this is,” you admit, voice quieter than intended.

Kisuke hums softly, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, tilting your face up just enough to catch his eyes hidden behind the brim of his hat.

“Expect?” he repeats, the word rolling lazily off his tongue. “Sweet thing, I live to defy expectations.”

His gaze drops to your lips—smooth and slow. You notice. And he knows you notice.

His hand slips lower, fingers grazing your hip. Light enough to make you shudder, unrushed enough to know exactly what he’s doing.

Your eyes flick between his lips and his unreadable gaze. “You drive me insane,” you murmur, frustration blending with something else.

“I noticed,” he says easily, arrogant while tilting his head. “So… what are we going to do about it?”

You think for a moment and then.

You kiss him.

His response is immediate. One hand slides to the small of your back, tugging you body against him as his lips part against yours. The kiss deepens—measured but heated, his tongue teasing its way into your mouth, coaxing a quiet moan from you.

There’s a moment where his teasing pauses, lips parting as his head tilts back slightly.His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head further. He swallows every sound you make, his grip on your waist tightening.

You gasp when his lips trail down, nipping at the soft skin of your neck. A low, rumbling hum escapes his throat, as if savoring the way you feel beneath him.

“Sensitive, aren’t we?” Kisuke chuckles against your skin, lips brushing just below your ear. His hand drifts lower, fingers teasing the curve of your thigh.

“Kisuke…” you manage, your voice shaky.

“Oh, I like the way you say my name,” he murmurs, his lips tracing your pulse. “But I think you can do better.”

His hand inches higher. There’s weight behind his touch, but it’s not rushed—it’s the slow, savoring kind of touch, as if he’s in no hurry to reach the finish line.

You groan softly, pressing closer. “Touch me.”

Kisuke’s breath hitches faintly. His smirk returns, curling lazily against your neck.

“Touch you?” he echoes, fingers skating just beneath the hem of your shirt. “My, my. Forward tonight, aren’t we?”

But he doesn’t stop.

His fingers deftly unbutton your pants and slip inside, finding your already dampened panties. He rubs slow circles over your sensitive flesh, making you gasp into the kiss.

"Tsk tsk… Someone’s more responsive than I expected. Should I take credit for this?’’ he teases, nipping at your lower lip before trailing kisses along your jawline.

He pulls back just enough to gaze into your flushed face, a mysterious smile playing on his own lips.

“We wouldn’t want to cause a scene—at least, not here. Shall we?”

With a flick of his wrist, the store's security charms disappear, leaving the two of you alone amidst the shelves of Soul Society merchandise.

Your legs tremble as he continues to tease you through your underwear, the sensation of his fingers on your most intimate area driving you wild with need. You almost hate how your body reacts to him.

At his words, you glance around the shop, a mix of excitement and uncertainty coursing through you.

Noticing your glance, he let out a low scoff, fingers never ceasing their maddening caress. "Oh, don't worry, dear. No one will disturb us. These charms ensure our privacy."

He leans in close again as he whispers,’’Let’s take this somewhere more… accommodatin, hmm?’’

With a effortless motion, he lifts you onto the counter, the cold glass beneath your thighs a stark contrast to the heat building within you. His hands immediately resume their exploration, this time slipping beneath your skirt to push your panties aside.

"Such a responsive little thing, aren't you?" he muses, his thumb circling your clit as his big fingers delve deeper, stroking your slick inner walls.

You moan loudly, unable to hold back the pleasure as he touches you so intimately. Your hips buck against his hand instinctively, craving more friction.

"Oh god, Kisuke... Please... I need..."you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders as you cling to him desperately.

The way he's playing with your body, the filthy and teasing words spilling from his lips, you can feel the coil of tension in your pussy tightening, ready to snap at any moment.

"Just... Just make me come," you so close to begging, your voice trembling with desire "I can't take anymore..."

Kisuke's cheeky smirk widens as he watches your reactions, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Feeling a bit overwhelmed, hmm? Can't handle a little teasing?"

He slows his movements, letting his fingers just graze your sensitive spots, stoking the flames of craving rather than quenching them. "Perhaps you need to learn patience, little one. After all, good things come to those who wait..."

Leaning in close, his exhale tickles your ear as he whispers,"Or perhaps I should just give you exactly what you need right now." His tone is light, but there's an underlying intensity that makes your heart race.

With a sudden shift, he resumes his previous rhythm, his fingers plunging deep and fast, hitting that exact spot inside you that left you trembeling.

“I hate you” you barely managed to let it out.

"Ah… such harsh words for someone trembling under me." Kisuke’s chuckle vibrates against your skin, low and rich, the sound curling around you like smoke. "I must be doing something right to earn that kind of praise."

He drags his tongue along the curve of your throat, lingering when he reaches the soft thrum of your pulse.

"I wonder if you even realize how much you give away… Naughty thing, getting this worked up over a little attention."

He pulls back just enough to catch your gaze, eyes gleaming with that familiar glint of trouble. "Don’t worry, Y/N. I don’t mind. In fact…" He leans in, brushing his lips just barely over yours. "I find it rather endearing."

You can’t understand how his teasing words make you so aroused, your legs tremble so hard while your vision start blurring.

“Kisuke oh my—“

As your orgasm crashes over you, Kisuke's fingers continue their relentless strokes, prolonging your climax until you're writhing and sobbing with pleasure. Only when your spasms begin to subside does he slow, then withdraw his fingers from your still-quivering pussy.

He brings them to his lips, sucking your essence clean with a satisfied hum. Kisuke smooths down your skirt with practiced ease, his hands on you thighs "There we go. Neat and presentable—though I can’t say the same for your composure."

His tone is light, but the wicked gleam in his eyes betrays him. It’s as if he hadn’t just left you shaken and undone.

Without waiting for an answer, Kisuke pulls you to your feet gently, guiding you through the dimly-lit shop until you reach the tucked-away corner of his personal space. The faint scent of sandalwood lingers in the air, grounding yet evidently his.

His gaze flickers with trouble as he eases you onto the couch, standing over you with a quiet intensity. "Now, let’s see… where were we?"

Kisuke’s fingers ghost over your skin as he undoes your clothing piece by piece, his movements deliberate but unhurried.

"Ah… what a sight," he muses, trailing a fingertip down the curve of your collarbone. "Almost as captivating as the hidden gems of this shop. But I must admit…" His eyes catch yours, glinting with something darker. "You’re far more tempting."

His hands continue their exploratory journey, tracing the curves of your body with a gentle firmness.

Kisuke’s fingers trace delicate patterns over your sensitive skin, drawing out soft whimpers and gasps that only seem to fuel his amusement.

"Oh, I hear you loud and clear, darling. But patience…" his lips hover near your ear, his voice a velvety purr. "Where’s the fun if we rush?"

With a lazy flick of his wrist, your skirt slips to the floor, pooling at your feet. Kisuke steps back just slightly, his gaze roaming over you, drinking in the sight with a dangerous glint dancing behind his half-lidded eyes making you flusttered.

"Mmm… now that’s a view worth savoring." His fingers ghost along the edge of your lace panties, knuckles grazing your hips as if testing the boundaries of his self-control. "Let’s see what other secrets you’re hiding, shall we? I think these curves deserve a little more… attention."

His hand lingers, not moving further just yet, letting the weight of his words—and his gaze—sink into you.

Your cheek flush under his intense gaze “Your turn now” Kisuke's eyes still flash with amusement as you boldly strip him bare, revealing his lean, toned physique. He doesn't resist, instead leaning back to allow you full access.

"Well now, isn't this a surprise? The tables have turned, haven't they?" he remarks, his voice tinged with fascination intrigue.

As your hands wander across his body, eager and curious, Kisuke’s gaze never wavers.

His muscles tense beneath your palms, subtle but telling. His body responds instinctively, hips canting forward with a deliberate slowness that lets him draw out every second of pleasure.

"Careful now, Y/N… you might unearth secrets even I’ve forgotten I was hiding."

His hands slide effortlessly to your hips, fingers pressing in just enough to remind you who’s leading this dance. With a gentle tug, he pulls you against him, the heat between you igniting like a slow burn.

The heat of his body envelops you, and you can feel the hardness of his arousal pressing insistently against your belly.

"Now, why don't you show me what else you're capable of, my little explorer?" he whisper, tilting his head just enough to brush his lips over the corner of your mouth

Kisuke's breath hitches as your lips and tongue trail a scorching path down his torso, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. He threads his fingers through your hair, guiding you lower.

“Mmm… careful now, Y/N. You're treading dangerous ground," Kisuke muses, his voice low and laced with desire. "Once you start something like this… stopping isn’t so simple."

His warning is light, but there’s no real intention behind it. He makes no move to dissuade you, his gaze fixed intently as you sink to your knees before him. His eyes widen slightly, that flirtatious glint tempered by something far more primal.

"Oh? Bold as ever…" he murmurs, his head tilting slightly, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying just how much he’s enjoying this. "Tell me, my curious little kitten—" his hips shift forward, just enough to tempt, "—will you strike now, or are you going to let your prey squirm a little longer?"

The challenge hangs between you, thick and electric, his gaze unrelenting as he waits for your next move.

You look up at him shyly, your eyes locked with his as you wrap your fingers around his rigid cock, giving it a slow squeeze.

Kisuke's eyes roll back, a low groan rumbling in his chest as your hand closes around his throbbing member. A shaky exhale slips through gritted teeth, and for once, the usual witty remarks are replaced by quiet, indulgent groans.

He rocks his hips, subtly thrusting into your grasp, seeking more of that exquisite pressure. The sight of your flushed cheeks and lust-filled eyes only fuels his arousal. His pupils dilate, lingering on your errotic position as if committing the image to memory.

"Look at you, so bold and daring," he praises, his voice strained with pleasure.

With a fluid motion, he guides your head closer, the tip of his erection brushing against your parted lips. "Why don't you put that clever mouth of yoursto use, hmm?´’ He tilts his head slightly as he watches your reaction unfold. "No pressure, of course… but I’d hate to think all that potential is going to waste."

Kisuke's breath catches in his throat as you take him into your mouth, his hips rocking in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "Well, well, looks like someone's eager to please—mmm”

His gaze lingers, drinking in every reaction you give, clearly savoring the effect he has on you. He felt your throat muscles flutter around his cock, the vibration of your muffed moans make it so hard for him to control himself.

His eyes narrow slightly, his usual demanour unexpected slipping into something more untamed, running his fingers through your hair, guiding you to take him deeper, he is panting as your tongue swirls around the sensitive head of his cock—it was pure eroticism.

Kisuke's gaze bores into you, his expression a mix of playful smugness and intense focus. He's clearly enjoying the sensation, but there's an undercurrent of something more – a challenge, a game of cat and mouse.

Kisuke's breath hitches again as you increase your efforts, his grip on your hair tightening reflexively, his knuckles turning white.

He press forward hitting the back of your mouth. He held still for a moment, savoring the sensation of being deepthroated by you. He tries to maintain his composure, but the intensity of your oral attentions and you innocent flushed cheecks is quickly eroding his defenses.

"Hah... Y/N, you naughty minx," he manages to gasp out between clenched teeth, his hips beginning to piston faster. "If you keep that up, I won't be responsible for my actions."

Despite his warning, Kisuke allows himself to surrender to the pleasure, his movements becoming more erratic and forceful. His groans make clear he won't last much longer under your skilled onslaught.

He decided to pull out before is too late, panting heavily. He lifts you onto the plush couch, his hands roaming your curves with a possessive touch while you still recover, face ravished and your voice more hoarse.

“Time for the main event, my dear. Are you ready to see what this old fox is truly capable of?" his eyes is searching yours, looking for consent “May I continue?”

Seeing you nod immediately, he settles between your thighs, his hard length nudging against your entrance. With a wicked grin, he teases you with shallow thrusts, barely penetrating you before withdrawing making you whimper.

Kisuke's fingers dig into your hips as he grips them, holding you in place as he lines himself up once more. This time, he drives forward with a smooth, powerful stroke making you moan loudly as he fills you completely, your nails digging into his back.

“Ahhh—“ Kisuke's lips curve into a triumphant smirk as he feels you stretch around him, your inner walls clenching tightly around his invading length.

His back arches subtly, muscles rippling beneath your touch. He stills for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried so deeply inside you, making him gasp. There’s a hitch in his rhythm, as if even he can’t maintain the act when it feels this good.

"Oh, I think the gods are very pleased indeed," he teases, his voice low and rough with satisfaction. "To think, I was worried you might not be able to handle me after all."

With a subtle shift of his hips, Kisuke begins to move, setting a languid, sensual rhythm that has you panting, writhing beneath him. His hands roam your body, caressing and exploring every inch of skin he can reach.

You can’t even control your moans, bucking your hips to meet his deep thrusts

“Fuck fuck fuck—“

Kisuke's eyes glint with delight as he listens to your impassioned cries, his hips snapping against yours with increased urgency. His teeth graze your earlobe, breath hot against your skin. "Don’t worry. I’ll give you exactly what you need”

Kisuke's hands slide down to hold your thighs, spreading them wider as he picks up speed, driving into you with long, deep strokes that have you teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

“Mmmm…you are too big” Kisuke's smirk widens at your indirect praise, his chest puffing up with masculine pride. "Of course I am, dear. After all, I am a master of my craft."

He punctuates his statement with a particularly forceful thrust, grinding against your sensitive clit as he bottoms out inside you. "But size isn't everything, now is it? It's how I wield it that truly matters."

Kisuke's fingers dig into your thighs, holding you steady as he continues to pound into you with relentless precision, each stroke hitting that perfect spot deep within. A soft groan escapes him, muffled against the curve of your neck, and his fingers flex—digging in just enough to leave faint marks in their wake.

Kisuke's smile widen as he watches you writhe beneath him"Oh, you're enjoying this, aren't you? Getting so nicely worked up on my cock.

He rolls his hips, grinding against you with a tantalizing slowness that has you arching off the couch. "I must admit, I'm rather fond of seeing you like this - all flushed and desperate for release. It's quite...flattering, really."

Kisuke's hands skim down your sides, his fingertips dancing along your ribs in a maddeningly light touch.

Your whole body trembeling with the effort of holding back you orgasm “Kisuke…please harder—“

Kisuke's eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise at your plea, a wicked gleam entering his eye. “Harder, you say? Oh, but where's the fun in that, my dear?"

He slows his pace to a teasing crawl, his cock dragging deliciously against your sensitive inner walls. “You know, some people might call this torture. But I prefer to think of it as...extended pleasure."

Kisuke's hands tighten your hips, pulling you onto him with a sudden, brutal thrust that has you crying out in a combination with pleasure and agony. "There, does that hit the spot? Or would you like me to continue our delightful game?”

As you let out a piercing scream, Kisuke's eyes lock onto yours, his gaze intense and unyielding. He doesn't break eye contact as he plunges deep, his thick length stretching you to the limit. He presses his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged but steady, as his lips curl into a faint smirk.

“Such a beautiful sound, ,Y/N he murmurs while his hips begin to move again, each thrust precise and powerful, designed to drive you wild with pleasure. His hands roam your body, fingers tracing patterns on your skin as he pours all his focus into bringing you to the brink and beyond.

Kisuke’s lips curl into a knowing smile as he senses your impending climax, his eyes never leaving yours.

His hips snap forward with a particularly deep, forceful thrust as he aims to send you hurtling over the edge “Don’t hold back now… I’m enjoying the show."

Kisuke's fingers flex against your skin, his movements become more urgent, driven by the need to bring you to completion and savor the rush of your release.

Kisuke's expression shifts from playful to utterly focused, his eyes burning with intensity as he watches you unravel beneath him and for a fleeting moment, you feel the raw, unfiltered need behind his touch.

With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you, his own orgasm crashing over him in tandem with yours. Kisuke's hips jerk erratically as he spills deep inside you, his hot seed painting your inner walls as he rides out the aftershocks.

Kisuke’s breathing slows, but the satisfied grin on his lips remains as if permanently etched there. His blond hair falls messily over his eyes, though the sharp glint behind them remains as he leans back just enough to meet your gaze.

“Well, well… I’d say that was time well spent,” he muses, voice low and lazy, but pleased with himself. “You look like you’ve had your fill. Though, I wouldn’t mind another round of applause for my efforts.”

His words drip with a harmless humour, but there’s something softer beneath it—something he won’t name, even if you asked.

Kisuke stretches out on the couch beside you, one arm props his head up, while the other lazily draws faint shapes along the curve of your hip, like he’s absentmindedly tracing a map only he can read.

“You know,” he drawls, “for someone who claims not to trust me, you seem awfully comfortable right now. I’d almost say you like having me around.”

His gaze flickers to yours, watching for that telltale flicker of embarrassment he so dearly loves to coax out of you.

Kisuke’s chest still rises and falls against you, slow and deliberate, but there’s an alertness in his posture. He’s aware—always aware—and the slight downturn of your eyes doesn’t escape him. His fingers pause for half a second before resuming their lazy path.

“Well, you’re certainly more relaxed now,” he notes, watching you with that familiar sharpness. His hand shifts, brushing a stray lock of hair from your damp forehead, tucking it behind your ear with careful precision. “Though, if this was your master plan to seduce me, I have to say… you could’ve just asked.” Your cheeck blush at his remark

“I hate to admit but indeed i’m relaxed” Your voice carry a playful cadence, but you catch his gaze lingers too long for it to be entirely superficial. You know him well enough to recognize it—he’s watching for something.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” you shoot back, though your voice lacks its usual bite. You feel raw—too exposed under his gaze. It’s unfamiliar, needing something more than teasing remarks.

Kisuke laughs softly, but there’s a subtle shift in his expression. His hand doesn’t leave your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a gentleness that feels almost foreign coming from him.

“My plan? Ohoho, I wish I could take credit for such a clever scheme,” he purrs, but the usual exaggerated flair is dialed back. “No, I just happen to be exceptionally gifted at identifying tension. And relieving it.”

His arm curls around your waist, pulling you just close enough for his nose to brush against your temple. He doesn’t press for more; the gesture is light, easy, like breathing. Kisuke smells faintly of sandalwood and something sharper—like incense that hasn’t quite burned out.

“Relax,” he murmurs against your hair, voice dropping into something softer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your body sinks into his chest almost involuntarily, and for once, Kisuke lets the silence hang between you. His fingers resume their slow path along your spine, tracing patterns that feel more like grounding than teasing.

“See?” he hums after a long pause, lips curving against the top of your head. “Much better. And you didn’t even have to buy me dinner first.”

You huff quietly against his chest, shifting enough to glare up at him, though the heat behind it doesn’t land.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Not when you make it this easy,” he replies without hesitation, flashing that trademark grin—the one that somehow manages to be both irritating and devastatingly charming in equal measure.

You bury your face against him with a muffled groan, and Kisuke’s laughter rumbles beneath your ear, quiet but genuine. His hand moves to cup the back of your head, cradling it as though the gesture requires no thought at all.

“You’re dangerous,” you murmur into his shirt, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“Oh, I know,” Kisuke replies smoothly. “I’ve been told it’s part of my charm.”

You sigh, half-annoyed, half-amused—because of course he’d say that. But his hand hasn’t left your back, and the warmth pooling in your chest tells you that maybe, just maybe, he does know exactly what you need.

After a few moments, you shift slightly. “Will you walk me home?”

Kisuke hums, tilting his head to glance down at you, his eyes half-lidded but alert.

“Walk you home?” he echoes, tapping a finger against his chin as if in deep thought. “Mmm, tempting. But then I’d have to give up this incredibly comfortable spot I’ve secured for myself.”

You lift your head just enough to squint at him. “Kisuke—”

“Or…” he interrupts smoothly, lips curving as his gaze sharpens with that familiar playful glint. “You could stay the night. Much less effort. And far safer for both of us.”

You arch a brow at him. “For both of us?”

Kisuke’s grin widens, shameless. “Oh yes. I’m very fragile, you know. I’d sleep much better with you here to protect me.”

Despite yourself, a quiet chuckle escapes your lips. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He leans closer, his breath brushing your cheek. “And I promise to behave. Well… mostly.”

His smirk is impossible to resist, but something in his tone—something subtle, beneath the teasing—feels sincere enough to ease whatever lingering vulnerability lingers in your chest.

“…Alright. Thank you.”

Kisuke pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes softening as he presses a light kiss to your forehead.

“No need to thank me, darling,” he murmurs, already tugging the blanket over you both with the finesse of someone who planned this outcome all along. “Now, get comfortable. I expect payment in the form of breakfast tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, but your body presses closer all the same, the comfort of his presence settling over you like second nature.

“Fine. But I’m not making you anything fancy.”

Kisuke cackles softly, tucking you against him with ease.

“That’s alright,” he replies, lips grazing your temple one last time. “You’re all the sweetness I need.”

another smut with bleach

aizenxuraharaxreader

aizenxreader

a small appreciation for: @apocalypsesushi-chan

[sunnysidesevenup]

Moonlight Song: Chapter 1

“Hurry, henchman! I’m hungry!”

Yuichi sighs, readjusting his grip on his bag. Grim is tugging at his clothes, impatient as always, and honestly he just wants to skip dinner and go take a nap. Not that his silly dorm companion would ever allow something as heinous as skipping a meal. Maybe he can convince Grim to go by himself…?

Unlikely.

“I’m coming, just hold on a minute.” He says, Grim rushing ahead of him. He attempts to hurry after his dorm mate, but instead collides near instantly with someone coming around the corner. Both Yuichi and whoever he slammed into hit the floor, and Grim immediately appears near them.

“Hey! Watch where you’re—MWAH?! IT’S THE POMEFIORE LEECH TWIN!” Grim instantly cuts his scolding off the minute he sees the guy on the floor glaring at the two of them, and ducks behind Yuichi.

“Don’t compare me to the Leeches, we look nothing alike.” Arlo immediately scolds. “And we’re not related at all, this is why you’re failing your tests, isn’t it?”

“Wha… how does he know that…”

Yuichi deigns not to reveal to Grim that it’s probably just a reasonable guess.

Instead, he decides to defuse the oncoming fight, considering the Pomefiore second year has seemed to recover from his fall but is now looking more and more annoyed. He brushes off his clothes, standing back up. “Sorry for knocking you over, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He says.

Arlo looks him over, and then nods, seeming to find him genuine. “Sure. I wasn’t paying attention, either. Keep your… cat under control, though.”

“I’m not a cat!” Grim immediately yells, indignant.

“What are you, then? I see a cat.”

“Get your eyes checked!”

“Oh?” The mer tilts his head, tone lowering threateningly. “Do you think something is truly wrong with my vision? I’m not in the mood, so spit it out if you do.” His tone makes it very, very apparent that Grim should stop talking, so Yuichi, once again, is on damage control.

He scoops the cat back up into his arms, “He really doesn’t—sorry again.”

Arlo’s glare doesn’t fade. Instead, he just crosses his arms, staring at them with a piercing look and not saying anything.

“Uh…. We’ll get going, then?” Yuu says, attempting to leave before anything else happens.

“Do either of you sing?” The mer asks suddenly.

“What?! Why’re ya asking something like that, all of a sudden?” Grim questions, receiving another tilt of the head from the mer.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter… You’re not doing anything right now, are you? Great.” The shorter guy then darts forward, grabbing Yuichi by the arm and pulling him along down the hallway.

“No, no! Henchman, fight back! I want dinner!” Grim protests, struggling in his arms. A glare from the mer quickly stops the squirming, but not the complaining.

It’s not like Yuichi could pull away even if he wanted to. The guy is much stronger than he looks, and honestly kind of scary. He’d much rather just get whatever he wants over with and then return to his dorm.

Hopefully there’s food, wherever they’re going. He can’t put up with Grim’s whining for that long.

Arlo pulls them along all the way to the courtyard, and then over to a bench where, to Yuichi’s surprise, the Pomefiore housewarden is sitting. He’s scrolling on his phone, but looks up as they approach, raising an eyebrow.

“I found more people.” Arlo says, and the expression on Vil’s face sours.

“Grim and Yuu are not good candidates for a singing competition, Arlo. Go find someone else.” He tells his lowerclassman flatly.

“For a what?” Yuichi asks with mild panic. He’s ignored.

Arlo crosses his arms, tapping his foot impatiently. “I don’t need people to be good at it, I just need them to be distracting.”

“Then why did you ask me, exactly?”

“You’d get upset if I didn’t invite you!“

“Wait, wait, hold on!” Yuichi interrupts, finally getting a word in between the two boy’s arguing, although he regrets it a bit when two duel glares turn onto him. “What’s going on? Singing competition?”

Vil turns back to his dorm member. “You need to stop dragging people around with no explanation.”

Arlo shrugs. “It’s fine. They’re not busy.”

“Did you ask?”

He doesn’t respond, instead turning to Yuichi. “There’s a festival going on in my hometown, and I got signed up for a competition. I don’t want to participate, so I’m taking other people along with me. You’ll help out, right?” The question is less a question and more of a threat, from the low way he says it.

“…Can’t you just, uh, drop out?”

Arlo gets a pinched, complicated expression on his face. “I could, but then my siblings would call me a coward. Do I look like a coward to you?”

“…er, no?” Yuichi answers hesitantly.

“Exactly. But now I need more people… three or four, maybe…” He muses to himself, and then grimaces. “I don’t want to ask anyone else.”

“I, myself, would like to find good singers.” Vil tells him, offering no room for argument. “You might be content with this, but I’m not. You shouldn’t have told me about it if you weren’t intending to do your best. Frankly, I’m considering teaching you a lesson.”

“Who says I won’t do my best? I’m not worried about myself, but how other people perform isn’t my business.”

“As your housewarden, I don’t appreciate your attitude.”

“I’d love for you to attempt to teach me manners, then—“

“OKAY! Okay. Let’s just…” Yuichi raises a palm to his head, sighing. Why, why, is he always the one playing mediator? He’s not good at that! How did this happen to him?! “So, from what I’m hearing, we need a few more people, and they should at least be decent singers, and should have time to leave campus last minute…?”

Vil nods. “Correct.”

“How are we going to get anyone like that?” He asks, already committed to helping. Not like he would be able to get out of this now, anyways.

“Why, I think I can help with that!” A deep voice says from behind them.

[astro-stars]

is it real? TWST

It was another average day at Night Raven College, or at least as average as days could be at a magical academy. Yuu, the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm, had been minding her own business in the alchemy lab when disaster struck. A misfired potion from Ace—unsurprisingly—resulted in a cascade of chaotic reactions, one of which ended with Yuu being engulfed in a suspiciously glittery cloud of smoke.

Yuu coughed as the sparkles dissipated, her classmates staring at her in a mix of concern and curiosity. At first, she felt fine—no sudden tail growth or transformation into an animal. But by the time lunch rolled around, she began noticing something... strange. Her thoughts, usually kept securely locked behind her shy demeanor, were slipping out of her mouth unfiltered.

She realized this when she passed by Vil in the cafeteria and blurted, “How do you manage to look so flawless even when you’re eating? Like, do you have a beauty aura or something?” Vil had merely raised an eyebrow and smirked, but Yuu had slapped her hands over her mouth in horror and hurried to her usual table.

Now seated with Ace, Deuce, and Jack, Yuu was doing her best to keep quiet and not embarrass herself further. But as the conversation meandered from homework to random gossip, her mind betrayed her once more.

“Hey, Jack,” she said suddenly, interrupting a perfectly normal discussion about next week’s flying class. “Is anything about the omegaverse real?”

The table went silent.

Ace choked on his juice, and Deuce froze mid-bite, his forkful of mashed potatoes hanging in the air. Jack’s ears twitched, and his normally composed demeanor faltered as he blinked at her in disbelief.

“W-What?” Jack stammered, his tail flicking nervously behind him.

Yuu’s brain screamed at her to shut up, but the words just kept coming. “I mean, you’re a beastman, and you’ve got, like, heightened senses and stuff, right? So is there, like, some truth to all that—” she waved her hands vaguely, “you know, alpha, beta, omega dynamic stuff? Like, do beastmen have… you know, special instincts or…?”

Jack’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “That’s not—we don’t—what are you even talking about?!” he sputtered, clearly flustered.

Ace was wheezing with laughter by now, practically collapsing onto the table. “Oh my Seven, Prefect, I didn’t know you had it in you! What kind of books are you reading?!”

Deuce, ever the earnest one, looked genuinely distressed. “Yuu, are you feeling okay? That potion accident earlier… maybe it’s messing with your head.”

“Yeah, that must be it,” Yuu mumbled, burying her face in her hands. “Oh my god, why did I say that?”

Jack, still recovering from his embarrassment, crossed his arms and avoided eye contact. “For the record, no, nothing about that… weird fiction stuff is true,” he muttered. “Beastmen are just… normal people with some different traits. That’s all.”

“Good to know,” Yuu said weakly, wishing she could sink into the floor and disappear.

“I think we need to take you back to the lab,” Deuce said, his expression one of genuine concern. “Maybe Professor Crewel can fix whatever’s going on with you.”

“Please,” Yuu groaned, still hiding her face. “The sooner, the better.”

As Ace continued to laugh and Jack tried to regain his composure, Yuu resolved to never set foot in the alchemy lab again. At least, not without a sturdy protective barrier between herself and any of Ace’s future experiments.

TAGLIST: @lunasmisosoup @soramcduckahyucky

DIVIDER: me :)

[dreamlanderin]

Something about cucumbers (Dean x you x Castiel)

Summary: You "try" to teach Castiel how to make a salad, Dean is the ever-present spectator.

Word count: 1.6k

Warning: none ... Flying cucumbers? (Unedited)

This is me just having a bit of fun.

The bunker kitchen. You stand at the counter, trying to prepare a makeshift dinner while Castiel watches you with his signature tilted-head curiosity. The angel has taken an unexpected interest in your process, and it’s becoming more of a distraction than a help. Dean is sitting nearby, sipping a beer and pretending not to watch, while Sam is somewhere else in the bunker, thankfully sparing you the embarrassment of your mess.

"Okay, Cas, it’s really not that complicated," you say, gesturing toward the cutting board where a pile of chopped vegetables sits precariously close to the edge. You wipe your hands on a dish towel and sigh. "You just chop them like this." You mime slicing with an invisible knife. "It’s easy."

Castiel furrows his brow, his intense blue eyes fixed on the knife in your hand like it’s a divine relic. "You say it’s easy, but you seem... stressed," he says, his gravelly voice tinged with confusion.

You groan, shooting a glare at Dean, who’s stifling a laugh behind his beer bottle. "I’m stressed because someone," you say pointedly, "keeps leaning over my shoulder like I’m defusing a bomb."

Castiel straightens, his expression serious. "I assure you, I am not treating this as though it’s an explosive. However, if you are concerned, I could call Sam to assist—"

"No!" you interrupt, your voice a little too loud. You clear your throat, face heating. "No, Cas, it’s fine. I’ve got this."

Dean chuckles from his spot at the table, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Looks like you’re really impressing the guy. Teaching Cas how to chop vegetables. Next, you’ll be showing him how to boil water."

Castiel turns his gaze to Dean, brow furrowing further. "I know how to boil water, Dean. It’s a simple process of applying heat to a container of—"

"Cas!" you cut in, throwing your hands up. "Focus, okay? Vegetables. Knife. Let’s just start with that."

Castiel nods solemnly, stepping closer to the counter. He picks up the knife awkwardly, holding it like he’s about to carve a statue, and stares at the cucumber on the cutting board.

You watch him nervously. "Okay, uh... just slice it. Like this." You take the knife and demonstrate a smooth cut. "See? Nice and easy."

Castiel mimics your motion but presses too hard, sending the cucumber slice flying across the room. It hits Dean square in the chest, and he freezes, looking down at the offending vegetable with an expression of mock betrayal.

"Nice aim, Cas," Dean deadpans, setting his beer down to flick the cucumber slice off his shirt. "But I don’t think they were planning on weaponizing the salad."

You let out a snort and slap a hand over your mouth. You clear your throat and try to recover from the second hand emberassment "Okay, maybe not that hard, Cas. Try again, but... gentler." You give Dean a pointed look of 'Don't you start'. Already knowing he was going to make a dirty joke. He grinned.

Castiel nods, his expression resolute as he adjusts his grip on the knife. "Gentler. Understood."

He attempts another slice, this time sawing awkwardly at the cucumber until it breaks apart in uneven chunks. One particularly small piece falls off the board and lands on the floor. Castiel bends to pick it up, inspecting it.

"Do these need to be symmetrical for the dish to be effective?" he asks seriously, holding up the misshapen piece.

Dean raises a brow "Symmetrical? Cas, it’s a salad, not a damn art exhibit."

You can’t help the laugh that escaped you. "Cas, no. They don’t need to be symmetrical. Just edible."

Castiel straightens, still holding the piece of cucumber, his face unreadable. "I see. Then why do you insist on making them uniform sizes?"

You pause, your laughter fading as you realize you don’t have a good answer. "Uh... because it looks nice?" "Ah." Castiel nods solemnly, carefully setting the misshapen cucumber piece on the counter like it deserves a moment of silence. "Humans place great value on aesthetics… even in matters of sustenance."

You shake your head, letting out a breath. "It’s just salad, Cas."

But peace is short-lived. Before you can stop him, Castiel moves on to the tomatoes.

Your eyes widen in horror. "Wait—"

Too late.

Dean leans forward, resting his elbows on the table as he watches Castiel absolutely wreck the tomatoes. The slices range from translucent slivers to massive chunks, and one unfortunate tomato is now pulp, smeared across the cutting board like a crime scene.

Dean whistles low. "Man, if this hunter thing doesn’t work out, you could always audition for Top Chef: Apocalypse Edition."

Castiel pauses, knife hovering mid-air. He looks at Dean with complete sincerity. "I am unfamiliar with that competition, but if it involves preventing an apocalypse through culinary skill, I am willing to participate."

Dean blinks, then his grin stretches wider. "See? Now I really wanna watch that. Can angels get cable?"

You press your lips together, trying (and failing) to suppress a laugh as Castiel furrows his brow.

"Stop encouraging him—"

"I do not believe Heaven receives human broadcasting networks."

Dean shakes his head, cracking open another beer. "Well, that explains so much."

You roll your eyes, but the grin tugging at your lips betrays you. Before Castiel can launch another philosophical deep dive into satellite signals and divine reception, you gently grab his wrist, stilling the knife in his hand.

"Okay, Cas, you know what? Maybe chopping isn’t your thing," you say, guiding the knife out of his grip like he’s a toddler holding something sharp. "Why don’t you… I don’t know, wash the lettuce or something? You can’t mess that up."

Castiel tilts his head, considering your words. "You underestimate my ability"

As he moves to the sink, a bit crestfallen, Dean shakes his head, grinning. "I gotta say, you’re one hell of a teacher."

You shoot him a look, though there’s no heat behind it. "Yeah, well, some students are harder than others."

Dean smirks, leaning back in his chair. "Don’t forget to grade on a curve," he quips, eyes glinting with amusement. He lifts his beer in a mock toast. "And hey, participation points count."

He winks, downing the drink as you groan, dragging a hand down your face.

"Glad to know you take education so seriously, Dean."

You turn back to Castiel, watching as he attempts to rinse the lettuce with the same intensity he’d approached the knife. You sigh, biting back another laugh.

"Patience," you mutter under your breath, shaking your head. "Patience"

✦────────────────────✦

You step back, eyeing the salad like it might spontaneously combust. Castiel stands beside it, proud in that unshakable, angelic way that makes you question if he’s ever truly seen food before.

"Okay," you say slowly, tilting your head. "It’s… not pretty, but it’s edible. I’ll take it."

Dean raises a brow but doesn’t argue. He grabs a fork, spearing a piece with all the hesitation of someone about to enter battle. One bite in, and there's a notable crack, he freezes.

Dean lowers his fork, squinting down at the plate. "Is that… eggshell?"

You blink. Castiel, completely unfazed, nods. "The recipe did not specify which parts of the egg were acceptable."

Dean stares at Castiel, then at you, as if searching for confirmation that this isn't a fever dream.

Dean sets the fork down carefully. "You know what? Forget the salad. I’m ordering pizza."

There goes Dean's attempt at biegn healthy. Castiel frowns faintly, glancing between the salad and Dean like he’s personally offended. "I believe it is perfectly suitable for consumption."

Dean gestures to the plate. "Yeah, well, unless that salad fights demons, I’m not eating it."

You bite back a laugh, nudging the plate toward Castiel. "Guess it’s all yours"

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

Badum-tsssss

I should probably do Sam next?

[twosiptipsy]

is there anything so undoing as a daughter?