#<- that's a stretch but sure i'll tag it as that

[aventurineswife]

can you do aventurine with a teen!reader and aventurine is the reader's uncle and he takes them on a day out? (shopping for clothes, sushi place), gn!reader please

“Magnificent, But I'll Take 'Nice'”

Summary: Aventurine takes you on a spontaneous adventure through the streets of Penacony. From shopping for a gala outfit to indulging in sushi, his playful antics and theatrical flair create an unforgettable day. Beneath the bravado, however, there’s a surprising depth to Aventurine, as he shares a rare moment of sincerity with you. The day ends with a mix of humor and quiet reflection, leaving you appreciative of your uncle’s unique presence in your life

Tags: Aventurine x Teen!Reader, Family Bond, Adventure, Humor, Sincerity, Lighthearted, Personal Growth.

The sun cast a warm glow over the towering buildings of Penacony as you followed Aventurine’s figure through the bustling streets. Your uncle, ever the picture of elegance and flair, stood out like a peacock among pigeons. His overcoat shimmered faintly in the sunlight, and his earring danced with each step he took.

You weren’t entirely sure why Aventurine had decided today of all days to take you out. Your parents had warned you about his flair for the dramatic and his tendency to turn even mundane outings into high-stakes games, but there was something magnetic about him. When he showed up unannounced at your doorstep, his charismatic smile and smooth pitch for a “day of indulgence” had been impossible to resist.

“So,” Aventurine said, breaking your thoughts as he turned to face you, eyes glinting with mischief. “What’s the first stop, little protégé? Clothes, sushi, or something else entirely? The day’s your oyster, though I might just toss in a pearl or two of my own.”

You chuckled. “Clothes first, I guess. I need something decent to wear for the school gala.”

“Ah, a gala! Perfect. I’ll make sure you’re dressed to outshine even the most ostentatious stars in the room.” He placed a hand over his heart, feigning deep contemplation. “But don’t worry, darling—I’ll keep your budget intact. Probably.”

Stepping into the boutique felt like entering another world. Racks of glittering fabrics, sleek silhouettes, and bold designs stretched endlessly before you. Aventurine clapped his hands together, surveying the store like a commander inspecting his troops.

“Alright, strategy time!” he declared, his tone brimming with theatrical enthusiasm. “The goal: find you something that screams confidence, elegance, and just a dash of rebellion. Something that says, ‘Yes, I’m amazing, but you may approach if you dare.’”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I just need something nice, Uncle Aventurine. Don’t overthink it.”

He winked. “Overthinking is my forte, sweetheart. Now, go forth and browse! I’ll be your ever-diligent consultant-slash-devil’s advocate.”

True to his word, Aventurine offered commentary on every piece you picked up. Some of it was genuinely helpful “The tailoring on this one is impeccable”, while other remarks were pure flair “This jacket? Darling, it’s as lifeless as a busted roulette wheel!”.

Eventually, you settled on a sleek, well-fitted ensemble—a blend of classic and modern, understated yet stylish. Aventurine’s grin widened as he inspected your choice.

“Perfect,” he declared. “It’s you. Confident but unassuming. Bold yet refined. I approve.”

“Glad to know I’ve passed your fashion test,” you teased.

“Not just a test, my dear—a triumph.”

Your next stop was a bustling sushi bar tucked away in a side street. The warm aroma of rice and fresh seafood greeted you as you took a seat at the counter. Aventurine leaned back in his chair, glancing over the menu with an expression of mock seriousness.

“Now, the key to sushi,” he began, “is to approach it like a gamble. You never know what you’ll get with some of these exotic options, but isn’t that half the fun?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you don’t just pick the most expensive thing on the menu?”

He gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “How dare you, little protégé? I’ll have you know I pick based on taste and flair.”

In the end, you both opted for a mix of classic rolls and more adventurous options. Aventurine’s charm was in full force as he chatted with the chef, weaving tales of daring exploits and high-stakes deals. You weren’t sure how much of it was true, but it was entertaining nonetheless.

As you shared a plate of dragon rolls, Aventurine leaned closer, his playful demeanor softening slightly.

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “I don’t get to do this sort of thing often. Too busy climbing the ladders, playing the game. But I’m glad I got to spend today with you.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden sincerity. “Me too, Uncle Aventurine. It’s been... nice.”

His smile turned wistful. “Nice? Darling, it’s been magnificent. But I’ll take ‘nice’ if that’s what you’re offering.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, you found yourself walking back to your apartment. Aventurine carried your shopping bags with an exaggerated air of nobility, drawing amused glances from passersby.

“You know,” you said, glancing at him, “for someone who’s supposed to be this big-shot strategist, you’re surprisingly good at just... hanging out.”

He smirked, tilting his head. “Why, thank you. It’s all part of the act, of course. But I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

“What’s that?”

He leaned in conspiratorially. “The best strategies aren’t about outsmarting your opponent—they’re about knowing when to just enjoy the moment.”

For once, there was no trace of his usual bravado. Just a quiet honesty that left you with the feeling that, beneath all the flair and theatrics, your uncle Aventurine was someone worth knowing.

As you reached your door, he handed you your bags with a flourish. “Well, my darling protégé, I must bid you adieu. But fear not—this won’t be our last escapade.”

You smiled, watching as he turned to leave, his overcoat billowing dramatically in the evening breeze. “See you soon, Uncle Aventurine.”

And as he disappeared into the night, you couldn’t help but think that, despite all his flaws and theatrics, you were lucky to have him in your life.

[seaofreverie]

Ron remembered that he also had a bugsona in the year 2000.

(I'm sorry for this.)

[unproduciblesmackdown]

wwaah ✨

[dovalore]

i like it when the big dog says fuck

[sandymybeloved]

okay, I don't know how much sense this is going to make but its been bugging me so bear with

you know how sometimes when people in a fandom go long enough without going back and rewatching/rereading/relistening to/rewhatever, that they end up with slightly warped ideas about the characters and story that are far more based on fanon than anything in the source material. I think the same thing happens with criticisms of shows, some mild critique people had at the time becomes so pervasive and considered so all consuming that it no longer gels with the source material

what got me thinking about this was reading the tags in the @adventure-showdown tournament. a not uncommon thing I read is saying they only remember a single great moment from an episode, but they remember the other story completely, so the other story must be magnitudes better. and when someone is implying that because they only remember the gallery scene from vincent and the doctor, the surrounding episode wasn't worthwhile or even any good, I can't help but think, when was the last time you watched it? was it in 2010 when it aired, if you don't remember anything other than the scene that is regularly shared, and you're criticising based on your lack of memory alone, that just doesn't end up gelling with the episode, its not really a fair criticism

more broadly, half the criticisms I see of Moffat who are almost nonsensical to me as someone who does rewatch. (I'm not going to go into the sexism stuff, my opinions on that are far too nuanced and complicated to make a good example)

one of the most common criticisms is that it made the doctor too important, which every time I see it I can't help but wonder if the person saying it even watched in the first place. Because the thing is this is an idea the moffat era actively engages in constantly, and its not a late development at all, and the conclusion it constatly comes too is that the doctor's ego is too big, he's not as important and powerful as he, or the companions, or the audience percieve him to be.

in eleven's second episode, his plan for the star whale is wrong, it's amy who concludes the star whale won't run away and wants to help. in the series 5 finale, eleven makes a big speech to all his enemies gathered above about how they're afraid of him, and it doesn't work, it is at best a minor delay in their plan, he still ends the episode trapped in the pandorica, AND it turns out the doctor was not the excistential threat they were trying to stop, its the TARDIS, they're only imprisoning him as they (wrongly) think he's the only one capable of flying her

in series 6, in a good man goes to war, after the doctor is done parading about the place, after he's done with his massive ego trip and thinking he's won the day, it turns out he hasn't, he got amy back, but not her baby, melody is gone, and any reuniting that happens later in the series has nothing to do with him in any meaningful sense. a good man goes to war is the doctor getting cocky and it ends badly for his friends

its only more explicit in the capaldi era whre 12 regularly pushes back against people considering him anything more than a guy pottering about the universe in a box helping where he can. yes he is made president of earth, but he doesn't want that, he doesn't want authority. In fact series 10 has several of his most meaningful loses, in extremis there's nothing he can do but get a message out, in oxygen he loses his sight to save bill, in the pyramid at the end of the world the world enters a state of dystopia because bill wants to save him, in the doctor falls he loses everything, including his life, only the audience knows any differently

'moffat made the doctor too important' is not a criticism that gels when you actually watch the show, because it is something his era grapples with, is the doctor powerful, is he important to the universe, and if he is, is it a problem and who for. but the criticism isn't completely unfounded, not liking the material fact that 12 got made president of earth is fine, but 5 years removed its a criticism thats warped and changed into something unrecognisable as a criticism of the show its from, when the show says at one point, not even as subtext, that 12 is just a guy travelling around in a blue box, dropping in and helping out where he can.

anyway, this is helpful to me in that i don't like assuming people are speaking in bad faith, sometimes people do just haven't rewatched recently

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

devlog for mission one of ieytd3 because im not normal about devlogs, video games, or ieytd

[talkorsomething]

everyone clap and cheer I added like 3 more steps back to my stretching and it was only minorly difficult

[unopenablebox]

blocking lace is. so difficult [ETA: this is about knitting. thanks cham for reminding me that blocking is an ambiguous word lmao. anyway here's the. passive-aggressive parenthetical from the original post.]

(if we are strangers please don't reply to this post by explaining blocking methods or technique to me, or with encouragement. i am aware of many tips. i read the blogs. but sometimes you are doing a thing for the first time and you do it with knowing compromises and a clear-eyed understanding of one's own limited resources and experience. and i want to complain about it here, in my own blog, despite that, without people who don't know things about me showing up with assumptions that they are simply intrinsically more knowledgeable than me bc if i was as good as them i wouldn't express any frustration ever.

if we're buddies it's cool because i invited you here to hear me complain. the vibes are different)

[killerpancakeburger]

Thinking about a Reader who ends up having Scary Dog Privileges with Ghost without meaning to. It just happened.

Then they have to deal with the fact that this comes with duties too.

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, mostly fluff, a bit suggestive, smug!Ghost, smooth!Ghost. 800 words.

Part 2. Part 3.

When Ghost is reluctant to getting sutured in Medical after accidentally opening his stitches, grumbling he can do it himself, who does the nurse call for? Yeah, you.

She could stand her ground, after all she's used to dealing with big, whiny men, but it's much more fun to knock on your door and smile at your bewildered gaze and gaping mouth when she explains the situation in two sentences.

"Ghost's being difficult, mind taking over?" "I'm sorry, what the hell does this have to do with me?" "C'm'on, everyone on base knows he's got a soft spot for you. Don't you want to make my job easier?"

You roll your eyes and slam your hands on your desk as you get up. Groaning as you walk past her— "I'm doing this for you, nothing else, got it?"

Mumbling to yourself "you've got to be kidding me" as you barge into the sick bay. Ghost is coolly seated at the end of a bed, large as life, casual clothes as black as his mask and— oh. You weren't told the wound was on his thigh— you weren't warned that he didn’t have pants on. You can’t help it, your eyes go down, down, your lingering gaze and your flustered silence forming a confession louder than words.

A noise — a scoff or a grunt, you’re not sure — emanates from him, breaks your trance, makes you look up. The amusement in his gaze tells you he noticed your oggling— of course he did. Nothing gets past the Ghost, and you've been remarkably unsubtle. Despite the mask, you swear you can make out the smug smirk on his lips. His cockiness reignites your irritation. Annoyance making you bolder than you really are, you charge at him, crossing the distance between you two in a stride, stopping close— too close. He doesn't back off.

"What's wrong with you?" you snarl. "Nothin'," he retorts, imperturbable.

It's actually the first time you’re overlooking him. You may be enjoying it a bit too much. Nevermind the fact that you've had to wedge yourself between his parted legs to get there.

You frown, unconvinced by his answer.

“Did Soap contaminate you?”

Bargaining to be cleared out earlier was the Scotsman's trademark.

“Johnny throws a fit cos he hates feeling useless. That's not what I'm doing.”

A smirk stretches your lips.

“Oh, no? I'm sure your reasons are much more noble.”

“Doesn't matter. Got what I wanted anyway.”

He's way too self-satisfied for a man in his underwear.

You throw an unequivocal look in the direction of his injury.

“What you wanted? A still open wound?”

“You.”

He replied without missing a beat, as confident as usual. It is both alluring and aggravating.

“And your idea of wooing me is making me upset?”

You don't add “because if it is, that's really fucking stupid” out loud, but you’re sure he got the message through your tone.

“Nah. But you're more honest when you’re angry. Gutsier.”

You only realize he slipped his index and middle fingers in your trouser loops when he sharply tugs at them. Off balance, you steady yourself by catching his shoulders.

Taking advantage of the strip of bare skin between your shirt and bottoms, the pads of his thumbs idly stroke your hip bones. The contact sends electricity through you, shivers of pleasure running down your sides.

“Ghost,” you start, severe, trying not to let the effect his touch has on you show in your voice.

“Simon,” he counters, surly. “Told ya it's Simon when we're alone, didn't I?”

He did, but you didn’t think he was serious. If that's what it takes to get him to listen… you’ll play by his rules.

“Simon. What's the rest of your brilliant plan? I'm here, but I can’t stitch you up.”

“How ‘bout a deal. I'll stop resisting… for a price.”

You raise an amused eyebrow.

“What kind of price?”

“A kiss.”

You snort. You didn’t believe him capable of something so… puerile.

“With the mask on?”

He doesn't move a muscle to get rid of it.

“Take it off.”

You usually wouldn’t obey what sounds like an order so easily, but it's the first time you get to touch the skull. Slipping two fingers between skin and cloth, you slowly roll up the mask all the way under his nose.

You gently trace the scars surrounding his lips. Then, the second you feel him relax, grip on your hips slackening and intensity of his gaze waning, you grab the bottom of his mask and drag it back down vigorously, making the holes for the eyes land way too low for him to see anything.

“If you thought you'd get a reward for acting out, you've got another think coming.”

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: IT'S GONNA FEEL SO GOOD, I PROMISE!

.ೃ࿐ he's dreamt about fucking you for months, and now that you're finally in his sheets, he has no intent of letting you go—especially when he finds out that he's your first time. NSFW

contents: fem!reader. virgin!reader. kinda sorta subtle coercion, corruption kink, slight dubcon, fingering, p –> v, lots of praise!!, mentions of prior dirty dreams (about you).

author's note: had this stuck in my drafts for a while so uhhhh. yea enjoy. tagging @mymegumi bc i love selene ꨄ︎

"please, baby, it'll feel so good," satoru cooes, threading his fingers through your hair and pulling your face closer to his. "i promise i'll be gentle."

you shrug, scrunching up your nose at satoru hesitantly. "i don't know..."

your boyfriend presses his lips to yours briefly and smiles tenderly. satoru's soft eyes are fixed on you, only you as he widens them pleadingly. "i wanna teach you how to fuck. please, sweetheart, we can stop anytime. jus' wanna make you feel good, i promise!"

it's only partially a lie—yes, satoru certainly wants to teach you to fuck, but he's not entirely certain that he could just stop anytime. especially because he's well aware that fucking a virgin is such an addicting experience—satoru knows you're gonna be so tight that you'll just suck him in, and he isn't that confident that he'll be able to stop once he's started.

but whatever, that's a problem for later—for now, he's focused on persuading you to spread those legs for him and show him your pretty pussy.

you pause, considering his proposal. after a couple seconds, you nod hesitantly. "you promise you'll be gentle?" you ask meekly, averting your eyes.

satoru nods, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "of course—now c'mon, let's get those clothes off of you, baby." and a couple agonizing minutes later, you're half naked underneath a shirtless satoru, and his fingers trace the inside of your thigh.

"so first, i'm gonna make you cum on my fingers, 'kay?" satoru informs you. "needa loosen you up so you can take my dick."

"o-okay," you whisper, swallowing nervously. "i'm a little scared," you admit, fiddling with the waistband of your lacy underwear. "will it hurt?"

after a moment, satoru nods in response. "at first it will. but then you're gonna feel so good, i promise."

"you promise?"

"i do."

satoru tugs down your panties and grins at the sight of your pussy, untouched and reserved just for him. he's dying to just fuck you then and there, rough and no prep, but he made a promise. and satoru has no intention of breaking it.

"ready?" he breathes, positioning his fingers just outside of your entrance. when you nod, he shakes his head. "i'm gonna need to hear it from you, baby. use your words."

"i'm r-ready," you confirm, inching your thighs farther apart for him.

"good girl."

then satoru slips his fingers inside, and you can't suppress the sudden moan that slips out of your lips. to you, it's embarrassing, but to satoru, it's music to his ears. he steadily pushes his fingers farther and farther into your tight cunt, and satoru can't help but marvel at the way you just suck him in.

"you're so fuckin' tight," satoru mumbles, eyes fixed on your pussy. "and so wet, too. i've barely even touched you, fuck."

it's agonizing, really—the sensation of having someone else's fingers inside of you is so new and so strange that you can almost ignore the pain (which is present but not as throbbing as you had feared). satoru makes sure to be as gentle as he can, which unfortunately isn't quite as gentle as you'd like—but it's not too rough for you to handle.

satoru starts widening his fingers in a scissor-like motion, stretching you farther apart to make room for his already rock-hard dick. you squirm around him and whine about how deep his fingers are, but satoru dismisses your complaints with a laugh. "c'mon, this is barely the beginning. if ya can't take this, how're you gonna take my dick?"

a couple minutes later, when satoru finally deems you loose enough, he pulls out his now-drenched fingers. looking you in the eye with a smug smile, he slips his fingers into his mouth and licks your slick off of them. "mm, you taste so good, pretty. lemme see if you feel as good as you taste, yeah?"

and that's how he convinces you to keep your thighs nice and spread wide open for him as he positions the head of his dick at your entrance, practically trembling from the effort it takes to not just pound into you. you're so compliant and perfect for satoru, and it takes every ounce of his willpower to resist the urge to push you up against the headboard and fuck you until you pass out.

but somehow, he manages to control himself. "alright, baby, this is gonna hurt," satoru warns, touching his reddening tip to your soaked pussy. "you ready?"

"y-yeah," you breathe, distantly noticing the way your hands start to tremble. satoru exhales softly and shakes his hair out of his eyes before gently pushing himself inside of you, and the first thought that enters your head is that he's ridiculously big—it feels like you're getting torn apart every second he goes in farther.

"satoruuu," you whine, starting to paw at his chest when he goes in farther, and it's too much, too fast, but he only grins down at you in response. "it hurts, ow... y're too—"

"uh uh, just shut your pretty mouth n' take it," satoru groans, shifting the angle of his hips and going in a little deeper. you cry out in pain, face scrunching up in an effort to numb the stinging sensation around your waist. satoru dips his head and kisses your forehead, murmuring praises on how well you're doing.

"it'll feel so good soon, i promise, baby," he insists, pressing his lips to the spot in between your eyes. "you're takin' me so good, fuck— agh, you're so damn tight, this one's gonna hurt like hell, but you can take it, yeah? my pretty princess, you'll do anythin' i say, won't ya..."

satoru doesn't give you a chance to respond before he says something about this being the last stretch, but his words don't really sink in until he's two more inches deep into you. his last thrust is so sudden and jarring that it makes you cry out his name, over and over and over until the pain evident on your face starts to turn into something that looks a lot like... pleasure?

a self-assured smile grows on satoru's flushed face when he sees the chance, and a thousand more words of praise fall from his lips. your vision's a little fuzzy in the corners, and your mind is all but gone—it's hard to focus on anything but the slowly fading pain.

satoru starts to move his hips back and forth, easing your loosening cunt into him and nodding at the way you slowly start to show signs of wanting more. your eyes brighten up a little and you seem more alert the longer satoru opens you up.

"startin' to feel good now?" he asks, smiling smugly when you nod your head. "yeah, told you so." the prominent blush on his face starts to creep down his neck, and when you reach up and tentatively touch his cheek, that's when he loses it.

it takes every drop of self-restraint in his body to not flip you over, face-down and ass-up and fuck your tight cunt the way he's dreamed about for months. satoru's imagined it for so long that it's practically a reality for him—the way you would whimper his name and claw at the sheets, the way you would cum all over him too many times to count, all of it. he's seen it a thousand times in his head, but having his fantasy so close and yet so far drives him insane.

but as you smile up at him, the almost unnoticeable tremble in your bottom lip assures him that this probably isn't the time. after all, you're not leaving him anytime soon, so he might as well train you first before even attempting any of that on your perfect, untouched body.

"what do i do now?" you ask, and the simplicity of the question is almost childish. especially when satoru almost laughs in response, soft blue eyes glinting with amusement.

"jus' lie there and stay pretty f'me. and keep your legs spread wiiide open," satoru cooes, shaking his hair out of his eyes only for it to fall right back in.

"yeah, you're doin' so good that i don't even buy that you were a virgin—or are you just naturally made for me, huh? maybe that's it, 'cause i swear on my life that i've never fucked a cunt this fuckin' pretty, heh."

[orcelito]

I think im gonna cave & tag Midvalley in my fanfiction

I still don't know just how longterm he'll be around (it'll depend on how things shake out & whether he ends up liking Vash enough to stick around) but Even Tho he's mostly been long-distance present, he's been important to the story and So It Shall Remain for at least a while.

So. Midvalley 4th most major character I guess?

[sluttywonwoo]

as someone who lives with chronic back pain, this audio i stumbled across reminded me of this fantasy i have and i think san fits the script (a little too) perfectly

(heed the tags on the audio— it includes some kinks i stray away from in my writing that might be a turn off for some)

nsfw 18+ // mdni

“hi, baby.”

you dog-ear the page you’re on and set your book on the bedside table to give your boyfriend your full attention. “hi. good shower?”

“mhm,” san answers cheerfully. “i’m sorry i didn’t greet you properly when i first got home. i just needed to wash the day off of me first.”

“it’s okay, i know the feeling,” you assure him, stretching your arm out across the sheets for his hand.

he approaches the bed and takes your hand, squeezing comfortingly. “speaking of feelings, how are you feeling, my love? any better?”

you nod. “a little. still sore.”

san pouts. “i figured. i’m sorry, baby. is there anything i can do? do you want some tea? want me to get your other heating pad?”

“well….”

san perks up as you trail off. you almost never ask him for anything, even when you have these longer bouts of consistent pain, even though he’s always so eager to help.

“what is it? whatever it is, i’ll do it.”

you doubt he’ll feel that way when you tell him but-

“fuck me?”

your boyfriend’s smile falters but you swear you see his cock twitch traitorously beneath his towel. “except for that.”

“but you said-”

“you know we can’t,” san chides. “not when you’re hurting.”

“it’s not even that bad,” you insist.

“you’re lying.”

“but i want you.”

“so let me get you off like we’ve been doing,” he says, settling on the bed next to you.

he reaches between your knees to part them but you hold them together so that he can’t, even though it puts a strain on your back. san could easily overpower you if he wanted to, he often does when you’re feeling more like yourself, but when you’re like this… he’s overly gentle. it’s sweet, the way he treats you so delicately, but it gets frustrating when all you want him to do is the exact opposite.

san frowns. “baby…” you don’t budge. “you’re not going to let me?”

“i want your dick.”

“i know but it isn’t a good idea.”

“you don’t even have to go hard, you could just stick it in-”

“you’re unbelievable,” san mumbles, leaning forward to kiss your knee.

“is that a yes?”

he sighs, “we really shouldn’t…”

“you don’t want to?”

“it’s not about wanting to, baby. of course i want to. i always want to.”

“it doesn’t seem like it,” you mutter.

san pinches the bridge of his nose and groans. “that’s because i’m trying to think about what’s best for you. i… i know myself and i know that if i’m not careful i could make your pain worse.”

your expression softens and you release the tension from your legs, allowing san to spread them. he looks up at you in surprise.

“i don’t deserve you,” you say pitifully, then before san can deny it, "i just miss you. it's been so long."

he rubs your thigh soothingly. "i know, baby. i miss you too. do you know how hard it is to sit here and not give you what you want? especially when what you want is..." he gulps, "me... inside of you. god, even just saying it is making me hard."

"you were already hard," you point out.

"it's making me harder," he clarifies.

"you know what would help with that?"

san glares at you. "a cold shower?"

"no-"

"yeah, i know," he sighs, defeated.

"can we try?" you ask, bringing his hand further up your thigh.

his fingers flex against the plush of your inner thigh in restraint, lips pursed in thought.

"you just want me to put it in?"

"well, i want you to fuck me but i'll settle for that."

san scoffs. "promise you'll tell me if it hurts?"

"promise."

"want me to grab a condom?"

"no, just take the towel off."

"such a romantic," he teases as he slips it from his waist.

he helps you get your panties off, making you sit all the way up instead of simply arching your back so he can pull the fabric from underneath you.

"you're sure you don't want me to just eat you out?" he asks, swallowing thickly, gaze fixed between your legs.

"you can eat your cum out of me if you really want to."

"don't threaten me with a good time," san murmurs as he positions himself on top of you, pressing a kiss to your cheek as thanks. he takes your hand in one of his and lines himself up with the other. "remember, you promised to tell me if it hurts."

"i know, i promise."

"like, if it hurts at all. even just a little bit."

"i will!"

"and i mean it-"

"babe! don't you trust me?"

san sighs, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. "i do, of course i do. but i also know you, and i know you won't say anything if it means i get to feel good." you make a face. he had you there. "see? i know you, baby."

"ok, but i promise i'll tell you. pinky promise." you even offer him your pinky, which he loops around his own and kisses to seal. "so can you please put your cock inside of me?"

"so impatient," san mutters to himself. he pushes in the tiniest bit, though, just the head to shut you up. "shit, you're so wet- jesus fucking christ."

"keep going," you beg, "please, more."

"yeah baby, i will, i will... but we're not fucking, alright? just putting it in. f-fuck, i don't think i could last if we did fuck. i don't know if i can last just doing this, it's been so long since i felt you..."

it's also been so long that he feels bigger than you remember and you start to tear up as soon as he's more than an inch inside. you can tell it's taking all of his self control to go this slow. his hips stutter when you clench around him for the first time and he has to squeeze his eyes shut and then stare at the ceiling for a few seconds to gather himself.

but then he looks back down at you and sees you crying and immediately panics.

"oh my god, it hurts, doesn't it? i knew this was a bad idea. i'm so sorry, baby-"

"no! no, it feels good, sannie. i promise. it feels good."

he looks like he doesn't fully believe you but then you tighten around him again and he gives in, cursing as bottoms out.

you lay like that together for a few moments before you start to get impatient again. you really thought you could handle just cockwarming him but being full of him only made you needier. shocking.

"how is it, baby?" san whispers, likely to try and hide the shakiness in his voice. "this what you needed?"

you sniffle and nod. "but i want more," you admit.

san mumbles your name in warning but you're already too far gone.

"please? please fuck me, please fuck me," you're begging and it's a little pathetic but you can't bring yourself to care. "please just a little bit, just a tiny bit."

"we agreed," he reminds you.

"i know but i need more," you whine, "i know you need more too, i can feel you pulsing inside of me... please, baby, i want to cum on your cock so bad."

your boyfriend hangs his head. "i don't know if i can," he confesses.

"you won't hurt me."

"no, i mean, i'm already so close that i don't know if i'll be able to make you cum first if i start moving- fuck, why did me admitting that make you wetter?"

"because i love you?" you try.

"you love that i'm weak for you," he amends.

"two things can be true."

san tightens his jaw and shakes his head down at you as he draws his hips back a fraction of what he normally would and pushes them forward again, building an agonizingly slow but steady pace. "you're lucky i love you too."

[crimsonbubble]

I had to come on board and further talk about yunho and his love for dacryphilia because I have it and it's for sure one of his biggest kinks.

The way his gaze would be a contortion of love and desire as he's on top of you, restraining you with his sheer strength while he fucks his love into you.

'Keep crying for me princess, let it out, I'll take away your pain for you'

And it might seem romantic but it's just because his cock becomes just that slightly more firm at seeing your lashes fringed with tears.

Yeah, if you'd like to write a drabbles that would be great but if not- I just thought I'd share.

I'm just always on board that yunho's fave position is being on top b/c he loves seeing how small you are underneath him.

Even if you're a tall girly like me- he'll find a way to make you feel small.

Whispers Through Tears

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, reader is horny and desperate, dacryphilia, soft to mean dom yunho, size kink, size training of sorts, monster cawk yunho, praise *not proofread, just pure horny

[this idea only made me slightly crazy *eye twitch*] nsfw twt link -> here is the inspo video

taglist (dm to be tagged); @sidusvenari @sugarnspice630 @ravenempress101 @autieofthevalley @linearities @wisejudgedragonhairdo @madiexuberant @mifuelarts @straytiny127 @yun-fangz @huen1ngk4i @juyeonshour @uniq-tastic @hongjng8 @miyaluvvsyou @everyonewooeverywhere @hongjoongtime117 @oddracha @kingbloopter @jay-0n3s

kinktober 2024 masterlist

Yunho was having a hard time keeping his hips still. His cock is throbbing just as much as his heart is. He drapes himself over you, his hands intertwined with yours and pinned to the bed.

It seems that even with your combined efforts to prepare you for his sheer size are going down the drain. Even with barely the tip in, the tears prick at your eyes as you look up at Yunho. He has to take a deep breath, reciting a makeshift prayer to not fucking cum as your eyes look up at him with so much ache and desperation. Your nails dig into the backs of his hands, trying to blink away the tears as you push back against him. “Easy, easy, cupcake. Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Please, Yun. I want it so bad.” You whined at him, trying to push back against him, but Yunho had pulled out of you completely. The tears lining your lashes finally fell, making Yunho’s cock twitch against your sopping cunt. You helplessly rut your hips against him, shuddering when his leaking tip bumped into your clit. Yunho winced, his grip on your hands tightening as he rubbed his cock through your slickened folds.

“Baby, I don’t want to hurt you.” His thumbs caress your hands, trying to fight the urge to bury his cock in your warm cunt. You whined again, dumbly rutting your hips again. “Don’t care, I want you in me.” Yunho groaned, trying to steady himself. His cock is throbbing uselessly against your wet cunt, his brain threatening to leak out of his ears if he continues to battle with his restraints. “You sure?” You whined at his hesitation, bucking your hips again. Yunho grunted as his tip pressed against your hole.

“Don’t say I didn’t fucking warn you.”

That was the only precaution you got before Yunho split your pussy open on his cock. Your back arched painfully off the bed, tears gathering in your eyes again. At least he has the decency to wait before he fucked your brains out. He focused his eyes on your face, watching tears fill your eyes and roll down your flushed cheeks. Your pussy squeezed around his cock, throbbing as you tried to get used to the stretch. “Fuck, loosen up, tiny. Are you trying to squeeze my fucking dick off?” 

You look at him with glassy eyes, watching how he pulls out of you before bottoming out again. Your breath hitches as you watch how your pussy sucks him in, tears filling your eyes again as Yunho abuses your sweet spot. "You can take it, baby. Breathe for me." Yunho kissed your tears away, his pupils blown wide. Yunho straightened up with a grunt, his hands leaving you as he pulled your hips up by your thighs. His hands eagerly tugged on your hips as he buried himself impossibly deep. "Shit- You're squeezing so tight-!"

Your left with little to no support as Yunho fucked you open with his thick cock. New waves of pleasure shot through your veins, and fresh tears cascaded down your cheeks with each brutal thrust of his hips. "So fucking pretty like this, tiny. Taking all of my cock in your pretty cunt." His hips are moving too fast for you to get words out. Your eyes fluttered as Yunho’s cock abused your sweet spot again, brushing up against it insistently. There’s a mild yet pleasurable burn as Yunho buries himself inside you, feeling pinpricks all over as he shamelessly fucks into your drooling cunt.

Your orgasm was sudden, creeping up on you as Yunho fucked the thoughts out of your head. His pace was brutal, punishing, harsh, and fast as he fucked you for his pleasure. The overstimulation made you squirm in his hold, whining as your cunt pulsed around him. Yunho moaned softly, bringing a hand down to toy with your clit. "One more, just one more for me, doll face." You jolted off the bed, clamping down around his cock as he rubbed your twitching clit in quick circles. It was too many sensations all at once, tears falling down your face with every pump of his dick.

“You’re so pretty when you cry. So fucking pretty when you cry for me.” Yunho stared at your face again, his cock throbbing as he watched more tears leave your shiny eyes. You sniffled quietly as Yunho chased his release. He bullied his cock into your sore cunt, rubbing deliciously against your wet walls. “Look at me, tiny.” Your eyes snapped up to his, chest heaving with every breath. Yunho groaned as he drank in your expression, all fucked out, face flush, lips wet and swollen, and your eyes glittering with tears. "Fuck! I love you."

That image was all he needed to finally fill up your sloppy cunt with his cum. His orgasm seemed endless, rope after rope coating your gummy walls. His pace slowed down immensely, rolling his hips in the aftershocks of his orgasm. Yunho hovered over you again, wiping the stray tears off your face before capturing your lips in a dizzying kiss. You pulled away from him, looking at his flushed face. “Does me crying really turn you on that much?”

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 5

in which spencer reid and fem!reader are reunited, but the worst kind of sparks are flying. you meet a man named randall. derek morgan buys you a drink (sort of). it seems that some things can't be unsaid.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: r goes to a bar but doesn't drink alcohol, gets hit on by weird men, dramatic, angst, sorry in advance a/n: surprise! i'll see myself out. love you! lmk your thoughts on this bad boy! i KNOW you'll have some! i'm locking all my doors and the cops are on speed dial after posting this. stay tuned for part six tho

You don’t call Spencer for four days. 

Spencer doesn’t call you for four days. 

It’s scary. 

There’s some texting—mostly him giving you updates on how things are going and when he expects to be back. Mostly you giving the messages a thumbs up and saying nothing else. 

Finally, on Thursday afternoon, his ringtone (the Bill Nye theme) makes you jump as you’re sitting on your bed staring into space. 

His caller ID photo—which is simply his passport photo, because you’d thought it was adorable—stares at you. You stare back. Contemplate not picking up. 

But you’re not quite there yet. 

And you cannot keep listening to Bill Nye the Science Guy. 

The answer button is cold under your thumb, but not as cold as your greeting. 

“Hi.”

You barely recognize your own voice. 

It seems to send Spencer for a loop as well, because his reply is halting. 

“Hey! Hi, um—how are you? I feel like we’ve barely talked this week.”

That would be because you told me my feelings for you are stronger than your feelings for me and I don’t know how to stop making every single word I say secretly mean I love you. We can’t have a conversation without me loving you. It will always be in the room or on the phone with us. To ignore the presence of it is impossible, and I don’t know if I can ignore the absence of yours, either. 

“Uh… yeah. I’m fine. What’s up?”

There’s a pause. 

“We wrapped up this morning. We’re getting on the jet here in a few minutes, and, um—I know it’s not ideal, but we missed Derek’s birthday and Penelope is insisting we all go to his favorite bar tonight. And he told me that for his birthday he wants to meet you. So… would you be up for that?”

“You want… to take me to a bar?”

“No. I mean—I know it’s not really your thing, but we missed Derek’s birthday three years in a row, and—and I understand if you don’t want to meet him tonight, but we wouldn’t have to stay very long and I really, really shouldn’t skip it. Derek has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

“You could go without me.”

More silence. Every second hurts, but you don’t understand why he wants you to come meet his best friend if he thinks the two of you are in different places emotionally. 

But maybe he’s not going to break up with you just yet. Maybe he’s going to keep inviting you to bars and foreign film festivals and bookshops. Maybe he’s going to treat you exactly the same as he always has but with this new added layer of knowledge that the way he treats you isn’t actually love, and it never was, and you’re not sure if it has the potential to ever become love. Because if it did—wouldn’t it have already? What more do you have to offer than what you’ve already given him?

Breakup or no breakup, you feel sick. 

When he speaks his tone is similarly chilly. It’s welcome. You want him mad. If he can’t reciprocate your adoration, then the very least he can do is have the decency to reciprocate your reproach. 

“I could. Is that what you want?”

No. I don’t want any of this. I need you to know me well enough to know that. And if you can’t love me then at least get angry. At least show me you feel something other than passive contentment. 

“Yeah. Sure. I don’t know.”

A pause stretches so long your heart pounds. You watch the elapsed time of the call tick by, second by second, and you wait for the anticipation to crack under the weight of silence, to give way to some terrible jump scare or to give way at all. 

But the words that end the conversation (if you can even call it that) aren’t any great relief. They’re just sad, and chalk full of defeat. 

“Alright. I’ll… I’ll call you later.”

You feel like you’ve swallowed an ice cube. All the words you’d like to say are frozen in your stinging throat. 

“Okay. Um… I’ll let you board now.”

“The jet’s not…” but he trails off. When he speaks again he sounds just as hurt as you’d wanted—and it doesn’t make you feel better at all. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead, and your face is burning as tears fill your eyes for the hundredth time this week. That call was terrible and poisonous and you don’t feel like yourself. 

Things have gone so wrong so quickly, and all you know how to do is ice him out so he can’t do it to you first. But it’s not going to make this better. No matter how mean you are to him, at the root of it all you feel unloved and scared and alone and Spencer knows things about love and relationships that you don’t. He’s confusing you with all this talk of feeling differently about each other and I’ll be home tomorrow I miss you and things get complicated when one person likes the other more and let’s talk in person and will you come meet my best friend tonight. All of it leaves you motion sick and ugly crying in the fetal position. 

All you have to get through this is who you’ve always been, a little of the person you’ve become, and the love you harbor for Spencer which rattles around in your chest like a nail in an empty toolbox. At the moment it hardly seems helpful. It mocks you, pointing out the pathetic hilarity of your paradox. The only person who can comfort you, the person you want more than anything, is the reason you’re so upset in the first place. But you can’t help being drawn to him. 

Maybe the love you have for Spencer is more like a magnet in a compass. 

Even if he doesn’t feel it for you, you do love Spencer. And that goes beyond just loving the parts of him that like you. To hide from that love would be a gross disservice to yourself and all the work you’ve done to get here. It’s not as if you suddenly know exactly what the answer is—but you’re sure that hiding is the most childish, cowardly thing you could do and the furthest you could get from a resolution. Even if you can’t make him love you back, you refuse to allow yourself to fizzle quietly out of his life. This relationship deserves something more than that. 

So maybe you don’t have a plan when you wipe your eyes and pick up your phone. Maybe there’s no strategy behind your actions as you text Garcia for the bar location. But if you keep running from everything you’ll never get anywhere. All you can do is show up. It seems like the next best step. 

------

The pub isn’t too crowded—but for a Thursday night, you suppose it’s a bit busy. 

Boot heels hooked onto the metal foot-beam of the stool you’re sitting on, elbows resting on the polished mahogany surface of the bar, you’re staring into an untouched mixed drink. Then you glance down the bar to your right, at the man who’d bought it for you. 

Maybe your ensemble gave him the wrong idea. 

Coming to this gathering had required bravery, and you came armored. Your ensemble projects significantly more confidence than you’re currently feeling. It was intentional, a form of self-protection—but now you’re wondering if it’s projecting a little too much confidence. 

All done up, clearly still a little rough around the edges, and sitting alone at a bar was bound to draw the wrong pairs of eyes. 

“Hey, darlin’,” the gruff man says, approaching when you inadvertently catch his gaze. “Are you gonna drink that, or should I? Otherwise I’m lookin’ at eleven dollars right down the drain.”

You avert your eyes, scanning the groups dotted here and there. 

“I’m waiting for friends.”

“Does that make a free drink less appealing?”

He takes the stool next to you, off-gassing the scent of cigarettes and leather. 

“I’m not drinking.”

“Really? I’ve never seen a girl who looks as sad as you do come sit at the bar to stay sober.”

You frown, looking back up at the man next to you. He seems like the Hell’s Angels type—tattooed knuckles, leather jacket, grey beard, and a weathered face that’s clearly spent decades with the sun. Fifties, maybe younger and just looks more rugged. What does it say about how I look tonight that this is the kind of man I’m attracting, you wonder. Maybe you look desperate and just as lonely as you feel. As he claims you do. 

“I’m not sad.”

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it. But a happier girl wouldn’t be all alone.”

“I’m waiting for friends,” you repeat, letting the words drip like venom from your tongue. 

“I’m Randall. See? Now we're friends.”

“I don’t need more friends. I like the ones I have.”

Something catches Randall’s attention long enough to catch yours. He raises his bottle vaguely, gesturing beyond your shoulder. 

“Are those angry lookin’ guys in the suits marching right over here the friends you’re talking about?”

You turn your head, brows furrowed, and immediately see the gentlemen to whom your new pal is pointing out. 

Spencer is storming across the bar looking close to furious (which for him, means an expression so placid it gives you chills) followed by Derek Morgan—a man who you’ve only seen pictures of and is even more impressive in person. 

You hate how your breath catches, how your heart is already beating a little faster than usual at the sight of him even though you’re not exactly pleased with each other right now. 

Suddenly the bubbles in your cocktail are once again fascinating.

“Those are the ones.”

“And why are they dressed for church?”

Church?

“They’re FBI.”

“Ah. My lucky fuckin’ day.”

You almost snort. 

“Hey,” Spencer says sternly, hand settling on your back as he partially fills the small space between you and the strange man. “Who’s this?”

You shrug, sit up a little straighter, and take a shallow breath—not because you’re scared of this man but because Spencer is suddenly so close to you and you can feel his warmth and the air bending around him and the scent of him is genuinely dizzying to you. 

“Randall,” you exhale unenthusiastically. But the odd thing is that you’re rather grateful for Randall’s presence. Because now Spencer is here and you have no idea what you’re going to say to him. 

“Oh,” Randall says, sipping his beer unhurriedly before using it to gesture to Spencer. “You’re the boyfriend. You know, that’s funny, because she didn’t mention a boyfriend.”

“I didn’t mention anything. We weren’t having a real conversation.”

Randy holds his hands up defensively, fingers still wrapped around the neck of a sweating bottle. 

“I’m just saying it’s in-ter-esting. Not trying to start anything.” He stands, pauses for another sip—Spencer obviously isn’t sure what to make of this man because he says nothing. “But listen, man to man—you better buy her some flowers or a real pretty fuckin’ necklace or somethin’ because a happy girl in a happy relationship does not come pout at the bar all by herself.”

“Get out of here, man,” Derek finally speaks up. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He sets his empty bottle down and fishes in his pocket for a cigarette, sticking it between his lips. “But—just for the record—I have a wife. I wasn’t gonna do anything weird. Sometimes when you’re my age you just gotta live a little. Buy a pretty girl a drink. Piss off some Mormons, or whatever the fuck you are.”

This guy sounds like a bad Bruce Springsteen song. But part of you would almost rather hang out with Randall than be forced into a conversation you’re not prepared for with Spencer. 

And whose fault is that, you remind yourself. You decided to come be mature. Suck it up. 

“Goodnight,” Derek emphasizes. 

Spencer doesn’t say a word. You can feel his eyes boring smoking holes into the side of your face, and you look anywhere else.  

“I’ll be here next week after physical therapy like clockwork,” the stranger waves as he ambles away—but not before pointing at you. “You enjoy that drink, friend. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

What a weird man. 

There’s silence for a moment—in which Spencer refuses to stop watching you and you refuse to acknowledge that. 

“And here I was thinking Spencer made you up.” Derek has a beautiful smile and a warm, charming cadence as he holds out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Derek.”

You take the proffered hand and shake, offering him a shy smile and introducing yourself in kind. 

“Happy birthday, by the way. Sorry for crashing your party.”

Really, he’s stunning. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. And you’re not crashing anything. I told pretty boy here I wanted to meet you the second he started talking about a friend. But nah, he just wanted to talk and talk and talk about you—” 

“Alright,” Spencer mumbles, blushing, eyes finally torn from your profile. You smile slightly, brows knitting as Derek magically melts some of the terrible tension.

“Pretty boy?”

Before either of them can explain, someone shrieks in your general direction. You startle backward in your seat, and Spencer steps closer, hand sliding up your back as Penelope, JJ, and Emily join your little huddle. For only a second you allow yourself to shrink into him—before you’re straightening your posture like your spine is a metal rod and his touch burns. It’s a knee-jerk defensive reaction for which you have no explanation. You can’t see him, but you don’t feel his hand on you again. 

“Oh my god! Look at this beautiful person who I love!” Penelope exclaims, pushing past Derek to grab your face and kiss both of your cheeks. “Oh my god,” she says again, wiping sticky lipgloss away with her thumbs, “I totally meant to ask before I did that. But your face is just so kissable. I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“Hi, Penelope,” you smile half-heartedly, incapable of reciprocating her cheery mood. Fortunately, she’s cheery enough for a standard commercial flight’s worth of people, and probably thinks of Derek’s birthday as a national holiday—so she doesn’t pick up on this. 

Emily and JJ offer you tamer although perfectly kind greetings. 

“Ooh, what are you drinking?” Emily asks, leaning closer to examine the forgotten beverage in front of you. 

“Not that,” Spencer mutters, grabbing the glass and sliding it away from you. You give him an affronted look—and immediately wish you hadn’t, since you’re meeting his eyes for the first time since he left. His words stall for just a moment as his eyes dart between yours before he’s saying, “you shouldn’t accept a drink if you didn’t watch someone make it.”

The audacity of him to be acting protective makes you scoff. 

“That guy didn’t spike my drink. He was harmless.”

“People thought Ted Bundy was harmless, too.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that you don’t even have a response—your eyes simply narrow and you shake your head. A claustrophobic silence falls over the small group. 

“Okay…” JJ murmurs. “Um, do you guys want to go check out the jukebox with me? We have to play all of the birthday boy’s favorites.”

Several enthusiastic yeses go around, but you’re too busy having a stand off with your boyfriend to take much notice. 

Soon, it’s just the two of you. 

“Controlling isn’t a good look for you,” you finally say, spinning to rest your elbows on the bar once more and studying the bottles of liquor on the shelves beyond. 

“Evasive and avoidant isn’t particularly flattering, either. I was under the impression that you had no intention of coming after that phone call earlier.” 

You scoff again as your blood heats. Already the conversation is going worse than you’d expected—and your expectations were not high. 

“Do you think the cab driver was a serial killer, too? Or maybe the bartender?”

He’s still behind you and slightly to the side—but he leans down, resting his own fists on the bar right next to you and speaking lowly, directly over your shoulder. 

“Why don’t you try speaking to me like we’re adults instead of starting meaningless arguments in order to get under my skin?”

From him, that hurts. 

It’s a branch on the tree of your greatest insecurity—the fear that you’re too inexperienced with relationships and that makes you too immature and he’s been lying every time he says it’s not an issue. Because of course it’s an issue. It’s why you fell in love with him, it’s why you don’t know how to fix it, and it’s why you’re incapable of actually expressing any of your feelings to him.

“Why do you think I’m here right now?” you whisper—as sharp and stinging as a poison dart. “I’m trying to be a fucking adult. I don’t want to be here.”

Silence. 

“Then why did you come?”

His voice is so calm it burns like dry ice. 

“Because! Because you asked me to, because—”

You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud. 

Because I’m obviously still in love with you and I can’t just turn that off. I tried to do the right thing. 

Instead you bury your face in your hands and let it hang in the air, unspoken. You know he knows. You just don’t know why he’s acting like you’re so unreasonable for being upset. 

“Let me make this very clear to you,” Spencer murmurs, brushing your hair away from your ear so tenderly, speaking so softly you could convince yourself that he’ll say something kind. It’s the closest he’s been in days and now that he’s here you feel how much you missed him in your bones. And even though you sense a trap, you can’t help but sit up straighter. You’ll be complicit in your own undoing if it means you can have him close. His breath shakes slightly as he inhales and you brace as best you can. “Nobody is forcing you to be here. You told me you weren’t coming and then you decided to show up. I was ready to give you the space that you were too scared to ask me for. But I can only take responsibility for so much of what is ultimately your bad behavior and your adolescent volatility. You can only blame so much of your bad behavior on inexperience before I run out of patience because I don’t find thoughtlessness and emotional immaturity compelling. I told you that if there is a disparity in the way we feel for each other, that was fine, and I meant it. But if you can’t cope with how I feel about you then don’t let me hold you back. I am not holding you hostage. You can leave whenever you want. So don’t waste your time punishing me because you don’t want to be here. And if you do want to be here, good. I want that too. But act like an adult and make a decision. My leniency has limits, even for you. I am asking that you do not push it any further than you already have.”

You don’t know how long it’s been since your last breath by the time he finishes his address.

Long enough that you’re dizzy when you push away from the bar and shoulder through the throng of patrons as quickly as you reasonably can without outright running. 

Long enough that when you burst out the door into the biting-cold night air, and finally take a deep, gasping breath, it burns and stings and aches and so does your head and your eyes as they well with hot, furious, heartbroken tears. 

You speed-walk to the end of the block, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your cries and all the curse words you’d love to scream. 

Part of you knows you walked away from the bar in case he decided to try and follow you—but when you look over your shoulder the sidewalk is empty. You should’ve known better than to think he’d follow you after that. But at least it means you can have your breakdown by the relative safety of the bar, leaning your back against the dirty brick facade next to the entrance alcove and sliding down until your butt hits the cold concrete and you don’t even care. 

Who the fuck was that man in the bar who looked like Spencer and sounded like Spencer but spoke to you like this is all your fault, like it’s your fault you love him and he doesn’t love you back, like it’s ridiculous that you’d be upset, like you’re cruel and petty for having feelings about it, about him—for having any fucking feelings at all? And to think that was the man who you let know you more intimately than anyone ever has. Every insecurity you’d ever admitted to him was hurled back in your face like it was nothing. Hell—he even handed you the ones you’d never mentioned. He proved every terrible thought you’ve been having about yourself right. 

How could he be so unabashedly mean to you?

Spencer doesn’t have to love you. It seems clearer now than ever that he doesn’t. But part of you wonders if he suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury because that’s the only explanation for why he could go from treating you how he did before to treating you like he doesn’t even like you. 

You feel like you might throw up. 

“Called it,” a rasping, grumbling voice says from a few feet away. 

You look up, and spot fucking Randall standing under a street light ten feet away, still smoking. 

You go back to studying the tar spots on the sidewalk through bleary eyes. Pebbles sting as they press into your palms. Another one of the universe’s terrible jokes, you suppose. Just earlier you’d thought that you’d rather talk to Randall than Spencer and now here you are and here he is. 

“That kid as much of a dipshit punk as I thought he was?”

Hearing Spencer described as a kid and a dipshit punk is so jarring you almost stop crying. 

“He’s not a dipshit,” you sniff, voice thick with tears as you find yourself explaining Spencer Reid to this stranger for no reason at all. “He has an IQ of 187. He’s a genius.”

“Ah,” he scoffs dismissively, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Dipshit-ism don’t discriminate. Anyone can be one. Even your genius punk boyfriend. As a recovering dipshit myself I know what the work of a fellow dipshit looks like. And this has dipshit written all over it.”

You sob harder. 

Randall speaks calmly around his cigarette. 

“You know, I’m sorry for whatever you got goin’ on. But I’ve never not been the asshole when I got a hysterical woman in front of me. It’s nice that I can confidently say this time it is not my fault.”

The bar door opens, letting a warm burst of jovial music and chatter into the otherwise still night. Steps that are too heavy to be Spencer’s hit the concrete next to you—you look to your left and see Derek Morgan before he looks down and sees you. 

“Hey—you okay out here?”

“Why don’t you go ask your Jehovah’s Witness buddy? He did this.”

Derek makes a face, locating the source of this interjection. 

“Sir, I asked you to leave her alone once and I don’t appreciate being made to repeat myself. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, whatever. Fuck me for making friendly conversation, I guess. Gonna have to call my wife and tell her to pick me up down the street. I don’t want her on the damn phone while she’s driving.”

Randall wanders away again, still muttering to himself and smoking. Derek watches him go, staring daggers into his back until he turns his gaze to you. 

Goodbye, Randall, you think. Great. Now I have neither of them. 

“Hey,” he softens, crouching down to your level. “You okay?”

You sniff, wiping your cheeks and attempting not to smudge your makeup. It’s impossible not to feel awkward—you just met this guy and now he’s here trying to do emotional labor for you on his birthday. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. This is embarrassing.”

“You don’t look fine. Can I do anything for you? Do you want some food? A drink?”

“You really don’t have to—”

“I know, I know. But look—Reid is always talking about you. You’re important to him, and he’s important to me. I’ve never seen him this happy and I’ve known that kid a long time. It is in my best interest that someone maintain you, and if it’s not him, it’ll be me. Call it a favor to him, if that makes you feel better.” Derek is sporting a slightly more modest Cheshire grin again by the end of his sentence. Listening to him speak that way about Spencer speaking about you, it’s impossible not to feel a teeny bit lighter. Even if you’re not entirely sure where you stand on all things Spencer related at the moment. “So I’ll ask you again. Is there anything I can do for you?”

You sniff again. 

“Sure. A ginger ale or something might be good.”

“Got it. I’ll be back. And come inside if Randall tries to run up on you again, okay?”

Despite yourself you manage a laugh at the way he says the name. His warm smile flickers warmer at this.  

“Will do.”

When Derek returns a few minutes later, the plastic cup he’s holding looks decidedly not like ginger ale. 

“Penelope insisted that this is what you would want. I don’t even know.”

You smile slightly as you take the cup, full to the brim with bubbles and thick red syrup. A cherry bobs underneath the layer of cubed ice. 

“Shirley temple,” you chuckle. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he says, flashing that brilliant smile again, and you look into your cup as you drink. Maybe your face warms just a bit. You’re still shy around men, you realize. Especially attractive ones. And Derek Morgan definitely qualifies as attractive. 

“So,” he begins, and to your surprise, crouches down in front of you. “I have to be honest—I came out here in the first place because Reid sent me to check on you. But now I’m wondering what the hell he did.”

Spencer sent him. A considerate action that would theoretically signal his care for your feelings. You take another sip, staring into space and trying to digest this information, but it only jumbles with the rest to confuse you more. 

Of course, you don’t know how to convey this to Derek in a way that’s not overly-familiar for just having met the man, so you go with an old standby. 

“I’m probably just overreacting.”

“Uh-huh. I have sisters. I know what an overreaction looks like and if you were overreacting you wouldn’t be out here hiding. What’d he do?”

You can only keep up the facade of emotional stability for so long. Your chin wobbles in a horribly embarrassing way and you look down again. 

“I’m not sure—I’m not sure if he really did anything or if I’m just being dramatic and I don’t want to make him seem—”

“Why don’t you stop defending him and just tell me what he did?” Derek urges. “Trust me—I love that kid to death. But I also know he can be a dick sometimes. You don’t need to worry about making him look bad in front of me.”

Part of you is glad Spencer has such a good friend on his side. And Derek is right—Spencer is an adult. You don’t need to worry about besmirching his reputation. So you take a shuddering sigh, staring into the red of your drink. 

“He just doesn’t like me as much as I like him. Which isn’t his fault, like I said, but—he’s being such an asshole about it.”

Derek pulls a face, strong eyebrows making an impression as they knit.  

“Did he tell you that?”

“Over the phone,” you nod emphatically. “And just now he gave me this whole fucking speech about how immature and horrible I am for not being 100% happy about it. And maybe he’s partially right, I mean—I know people feel things differently and maybe he just was asking for more time. I worry I fucked it up so bad because I couldn’t handle that—but at the same time he didn’t say he wanted more time. He was really fucking unclear and vague about what he wanted, and he asked me to come to this bar like it was nothing when I’ve been worried he was going to break up with me all week. So yeah, I guess he’s right and I have been a bitch about it because I was upset that he didn’t… like me as much. And I wanted him to feel bad because I was so embarrassed, and I also didn’t want to act like everything was normal if he was just going to dump me, I…” you realize you’ve been hardcore rambling and your face heats. “I don’t know.”

There’s a pause, and you worry you’ve done exactly the thing you didn’t want to, which was overshare to this man who seems like he’s significantly more normal and well-adjusted than you. You drink deeply, swallowing sugar and the rest of your words. 

“That’s… bizarre. I don’t mean to invalidate your feelings, but… that just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, projecting annoyance so you won’t start crying again. “I was confused too. I thought he really liked me.”

“No, sweetheart, I’m saying—that doesn’t make sense because he does really like you. Really, really likes you, more than I’ve ever seen him like someone before. I mean, last week I finally finished that Tesla biography he’s been on my ass about for months and when I told him, all he wanted to do was talk about your thoughts on it. And then it wasn’t even about the book anymore. I have never, ever seen Reid pass up an opportunity to talk about Nikola Tesla. I’m talking never in my life. He finds a way to make every conversation about you. I can’t even follow the connections sometimes but he always finds a way.”

Your nose wrinkles. 

“Sorry you’ve had to hear so much about me,” you mumble. Though you’re not really sorry. It feels good. A twinge of joy in all the murk. 

“I’m not. Like I said, I’ve known Spencer for a long time and I’ve never seen him this happy. I’m not about to let him fuck it up.”

“If I make him so happy then why did he tell me we don’t feel the same?” you whisper, reaching into the puddle of syrup and ice at the bottom of your now empty cup. 

“Is that exactly what he said?” Derek asks, after a long pause. You bite the maraschino cherry off the stem and nod morosely, grinding a long-gone stranger’s cigarette butt with your boot just to crush something. There’s another beat of silence. “Alright. You know what I think?”

You raise your head to meet his gaze, your own wide-eyed and expectant. 

“I think you two need to have an honest conversation. You’re both confused and hurting—I promise Spencer is feeling it too. If you talk to him he won’t be unkind to you.”

“He already was,” you admit. 

“I apologize if I’m out of line here, but you just told me you’ve been icing him out all week because you want him to feel bad. I’m willing to bet you don’t realize how sharp these claws are.” Derek grabs your hand as he says it and you marvel at how much he is the opposite of you. Everything he does and says seems so natural and reasonable and charming even if it would piss you off from anyone else—and you just met the guy. You can see why Spencer and Penelope speak so highly of him. “I think you’ve probably both had your moments these past few days. But that doesn’t mean neither of you deserve any more chances.”

He puts your hand back on your knee and pats it. 

“Besides, Spencer‘s not good at mean. I bet he’s inside worrying himself sick over whatever dumb shit he said to you. He’s probably hyperventilating as we speak.”

“It was really out of character for him,” you concede. 

“Yeah. He’ll be apologizing for a long while. It will get annoying. But he sure as hell won’t be doing it again, I can tell you that much. If he does, let me know. Emily and I will whoop his ass and call it a fitness evaluation.”

“I think that’ll be unnecessary,” you laugh thickly, pulling your sleeve over your hand and wiping away the few tears that haven’t quite dried. “But thank you.”

“Anytime. Now, it’s my birthday, and as a grown man I should not be getting involved in someone else’s relationship drama. I was supposed to be on the dance floor a while ago.” His tone is so warm and sugary by the time he finishes it could rot his perfect grin. It’s futile to hide the way your mouth twists into a reluctant smile as you look down and fix your hair—praying he can’t tell how fazed you are by his kindness. “You’re going to talk to him, right?”

“I’ll—yeah. Right,” you say quietly. But the sinking feeling in your stomach knows it’s a thing easier said than done. 

“Good,” Derek grunts, taking your empty cup before pushing himself back up to his feet and offering you a hand. “Do you want me to send him out here or do you want to come find him inside?”

You balk.

“Like—right now? I have to talk to him now?”

Before he can give you an answer you think you’d rather not have, the bar door is opening. From your spot you can’t see who it is right away, but Derek turns over his shoulder and does a double take before looking back at you. 

Spencer steps out onto the sidewalk, eyes scanning for until he realizes you’re a few feet shorter than usual. Sitting on a filthy public walkway is probably his worst nightmare, you realize, as you scramble to your feet and dust the crumbs of concrete from your palms against the back of your cold jeans. He begins to say your name, and it sounds like relief and regret, but you stop him. 

“I have to go wash my hands.”

It’s monotonous and mumbled and comes out too quickly but you don’t have time to worry about that as you brush past both of the men on your way back into the bar, making an immediate beeline for the bathroom. 

Your face burns with anxiety as you shut the door behind you, immediately drowning in the yellowish lighting which is so harsh but seems to illuminate almost nothing. Who paints a bathroom red? It’s suffocating. You feel like you’re inside an aorta. 

Water runs cool over your hands as you sniffle, rinsing the bits of dirt from red indents made by pebbles and things, and the soap is too floral and powdery but you wash twice anyway. Maybe you’ll just stay in here and wash your hands forever. 

There’s a light knock on the shiny wooden door and it makes you jump. Your name is muffled from the other side. 

“You in there?” 

Quickly you wipe under your reddened eyes in the mirror, trying to fix the slightly smudged makeup. 

The door opens when you don’t respond, and there’s Spencer, looking weary and tense all at once. Is that your fault?

“Hey,” you sniff, trying to effect casualness, but it comes out too quickly and your posture is too stiff. Under his all-seeing gaze you cross and uncross your arms, look at him and look away. Your hands end up in your pockets. He’d say crossed arms are a sign of self-soothing. 

“Hey.” His is more measured, and of course makes you feel embarrassed in comparison. The door swings shut behind him as he enters the small room and makes it feel that much smaller. “Are you… hiding from me in here?”

Yes. 

The graffitied toilet stalls to your left suddenly look fascinating. 

“Nope. Just washing my hands.”

This is not what Derek told you to do, you scold yourself internally. Stop being so scared. Be honest with him. 

Silence rings. All the brutally honest things you’d like to say choke you until your throat hurts and your eyes get hot. Yet again you feel like a stupid little girl who’s too emotional to communicate. 

You cross your arms. It’s an indulgence you feel you’re owed. 

Spencer says your name again and it’s too much. He never says it this often. When he does it feels good but now it’s too formal, makes you too aware of your own inadequacy, and how he must be seeing you—a wraith of a girl in a dingy bar bathroom with clammy hands and smudged eyeliner, practically shaking with fear under an unforgiving light. Someone who is too scared and much too sensitive. 

Spencer attempts to speak again. 

“What I said before, it was—”

“Can you just take me home?” 

It comes out on one exhalation and seems to stall him with all the effectiveness of a slap to the face. 

You don’t know where it comes from, either. 

Easier said than done, you’d thought a few moments ago. All the bravery Derek had tried to instill in you is gone, swallowed down the drain like soap scum. And now you’re choosing to let your fear win—because at least that’s a known quantity. The fear will never reject you. It will always be waiting with open arms. 

Too scared. 

The end feels imminent. You try to press yourself back together, fingernails biting into palms, trying to make something feel more tangible than the terrible knowingness that you’re careening toward an end which was supposed to be a beginning. It’s stifling and you wonder if Spencer is breathing it too. 

You can’t look at his face, but you watch him pocket his hands in his pants and there is so much impossible space between you in such a tiny room. 

“Yeah. I can.”

Something breaks. It’s small, and without fanfare. But it feels final. 

It’s just a ride home. Just a ride home. 

That’s all you have left, and you don’t know how you know it but you do. 

Something so important is being left in this stupid, dingy bathroom. Something that was at one point beautiful and shiny and so arrogant in its newness that it seemed it would never become ugly. And now you’re abandoning it without dignity on the chipped tile floor and in the cobwebs on the walls. It was bigger than you, it was you—and now it’s going to be nothing. 

A vehicle honks on the street. A boisterous group laugh explodes somewhere beyond the door. Water drips from a faucet. 

“I’ll… I’ll bring my car around.”

“Okay.”

But he just stands there for another moment. Like he can’t get himself to move. 

If only time would freeze before he could walk away. 

But it doesn’t. 

He sucks in a decisive breath. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. 

It’s that fucking phone call all over again. 

Then he spins on his heels and leaves you there.

Your time is up. 

-

part 5.5

[bunny-jpeg]

overstimulation

max verstappen (mv33)

tags: smut/pwp, university student!reader, stress relief, facetime, mutual masturbation, dirty talk/degrading language, established relationship, loving!max

a/n: you ever played god with your caffeine consumption. i have, and it sucks!

you could hear the ticking of the clock in your room as you sat there hunched over your textbooks. why did a class need so many textbooks? the ticking of the clock was like like your racing heart, everything felt so loud in your head. like shouting in an empty room.

you were over-caffeinated, horribly stressed and yet no information was getting through your thick skull! which only added to the frustration. you needed to pass this exam, you needed to graduate!

but even the words on the page felt smudged in your mind as you tried to wipe the restlessness out of your vision.

maybe it was time for rest. you looked at the time on your computer screen, it was well past midnight. you rubbed your eyes with the heels of your hands. you exhaled deeply and dropped your arms onto the desk.

your phone pinged and you sadly looked over to it and saw the name flash on the screen "maxie". he felt like he was a million miles away right now, you didn't want to bother him with your currently conundrum. he had a race to win this weekend, he didn't need to worry about you having a panic attack over an exam.

you looked away from your messy notes and picked up the phone. you unlocked it and saw the text from him, "hope the studying is going well, i am free in about half an hour if you wanted to facetime before you went to bed. remember i love you and i'm cheering you on for your exam just as much as you're cheering me on."

you frowned at the text message, not because it was upsetting you. but, because he was cheering you on. as the girlfriend, you were supposed to cheer him on. you sighed and leaned back against your chair and looked at your phone for a moment. nothing was going to change the state of your exhaustion and stress, for sure not another coffee. max already gave you looks from your enjoyment of the drink, you could only imagine how he'd look when he found out how many cups you've had in just this night.

"sounds good, just give me five mins before you wanna call. love you." you replied before you turned off the lamp by your desk and closed your laptop. at the very least you could enjoy a brief call with your boyfriend. you got up and stretched your arms over your head. you heard your back crack from the shrimp position you were in most of the evening. you could feel the bags under your eyes.

you rubbed your eyes once more before you got into bed. you laid out across the queen sized bed with your phone near your head. you yawned loudly and waited. it felt nice lying in the quiet of your room. you felt a small excitement however, when your phone rang. you grabbed it and saw it was max calling you. you answered the phone and saw a good look at max's face.

he smiled when he saw you, but then it dropped as he said, "you look tired. have you been sleeping? tell me you've been sleeping." he looked comfortable on the hotel room bed, it made you partially wish that you were there beside him. curled up under his arm and kissing at his face. and him kissing more intimate areas.

"i have been... trying to sleep. you know i want to do well. i've just been so stressed out."

he sighed, "my treasure." he shifted on the bed a little, "if i was there right now, you know i'd make it all better." his tone was inviting, it drew you in as you caught a brief glimpse of the bulge in his sweatpants. ah, he needed some stress relief too.

"i know." you said, "you kept asking if i'd go with you this weekend. you know i'll be with you next weekend, after the exam is over." you shifted in your spot on the bed, "but, maybe.... you could tell me exactly how you'd make me feel better."

max chuckled, there was a glimmer in his blue eyes as he said, "ah, is someone pent up. i guess that would make sense, i left so early that i didn't give you the love you deserved before i left." his said lowly, "i want to see your face while you pleasure yourself... and no toys, i don't need any help making you cum."

you swallowed and managed to get the phone propped up some pillows so max could see you. he did the same, you got a good look at his cock out of his sweatpants. it made you shudder a little at the sight of it. he wasn't the largest in the world, but it was enough to make you squirm. you could remember how it made you feel.

"there she is." he purred, "even on a shit phone screen you look so beautiful. are you wearing my shirt?" he inquired which made you shudder.

you nodded and pushed up the shirt a little bit. nothing too fancy, just one of his. you giggled, "i wanted to feel closer to you. it's hard to study all alone."

max knew more about your area of study now than he did before he met you. he said, "well, if i was there." he said softly, "if i was there right beside you on the bed." he watched your expressed shift as you started to pleasure yourself. he licked his lips and started to stroke his cock, "fuck, if i was there. i'd have you on your side so you could study and i'd move myself up against you. get myself between your legs from behind and fuck you slowly. can't have you lose focus, this is an important exam." he swallowed. you were beautiful.

"max."

"you know i'd make you feel good. maybe we could put the test if you could remember more if i made you finish over and over and over again." his voice was low, his tone was seductive. it left a curl of want through you.

you panted, "i don't think that'll help much, anytime i'd think of an answer i'd just think about your fucking me." you tensed up a little as you continued to play with yourself. even through the phone you could feel max's gaze on you and it left you needy in ways you couldn't formulate into words

"wouldn't that be so bad?" he asked, "middle of your exam, the exam of your life and all you can think about, not the questions, but my cock inside of you. my hands around your neck as i push you back and forth of my cock. you like that don't you? you like how i make you feel." his words were like honey off his tongue that spread across your head, it left you wanting more. you wished max was here at that moment to put his words to use.

your hand would be just fine, but you knew that max's cock would make the experience feel so much better. to fuck you with a feverish pace, to have the bed creak under you.

the man had such a grasp on you. he knew exactly how to make your core twist with want. you continued to rub your hand up against your clit, you gasped a little louder and found yourself tensing up. you felt flushed, which only grew with the sound of max's voice and heavy pants. he was feeling good as well.

"i wish you were here. beside me. so i could make you feel good. i always love how your face looks when i make you cum so beautifully. you look like a dream under me. oh fuck, even on top. as long as i make you feel good, i don't care exactly how to make you squirm. fuck, you're a dream come true. even over the phone, i need you. i want you." he groaned through a tense jaw as he continued to stroke his cock.

"fuck, max." you groaned. if you didn't have an exam so soon, you would've been on the next flight out. you would've been with him and in his arms. you would've sucked him off while you played with your clit. you would've fucked him until the stress was totally out of his body.

"you're so beautiful. i want you to cum for me, i want you to feel good. that's what my treasure deserves, to feel her best. especially when she's going to ace that exam." he groaned as the thrusts of his hand became more erratic, pre-cum made the tip of his cock shiny and went down his hand as he fucked his fist.

it didn't take long before you felt the surge of pleasure through you and with a few more heavy moans, you came against your hand. you soaked your panties as you rode out your pleasure. it left sparks in your mind as you shuddered from a deep want.

"fuck." he gasped.

you whined a little bit, a small strangled moan came from your lips and made your pulse race. you felt it hard to be loud when you were all alone. you could wake up the entire red bull team if it was you and max, but alone you were a little more quiet.

max was only egged on by your sweet noises, he continued to stroke his cock in a feverish manner. he felt the excitement leap in his bones. it felt like a live wire as he quickly made himself finish, cum dripped over his fist. pearly white cum over his hand as he jerked himself off through orgasm. you got a perfect view of his weepy cock as he slowed his movements.

he near wheezed out, "fuck..." and then relaxed, a movement that made the phone topple over for a moment. you could hear rustling and when you could see his flushed expression once more. he was smiling like an idiot, cheeks bright pink.

you relaxed, you hand felt soaked from being between your legs. you looked at the screen from the odd angle and smiled at him, "that.. that really helped." you swallowed and felt the blush spread through your cheeks.

"anything to help you, my treasure." he said softly "you'll do well on the exam?" he asked.

you nodded, "surprisingly, i have a little more confidence." you giggled, you felt much more relaxed as you laid on the bed, "i miss you though. it's not exactly the same."

max exhaled deeply and then smiled once more, "well, maybe i can come get you after your exam. and you can cheer me on during the next race. i need my good luck charm." he chuckled a little. from his expression, how he gazed at you. he was very much in love with you, and you loved him back.

"i think i need a break tonight, from the studying." you got comfortable in bed with the covers soon over your shoulders, "tell me all about the drama on the paddock... something where i don't have to think about school."

max laughed, "well, let me tell you what is going on between carlos and oscar." and as you listened to him ramble about the gossip on the track. you were finally able to relax.

studying could be a worry for tomorrow <3

[cheapshrimpysheep]

I read the rules and I hope I'm not doing something against them! I have a cute request... Headconan with the Pomefiore trio (Vil, Rook, Epel Separately) and a female reader who was tasked with taking care of a newborn for a day (I didn't think whose child is this honestly lol I just liked the idea.) and she ask them to help her :3

COMMENTS: I liked the idea! The only problem is that I have 0 experience with children, let alone babies. 😅 So I asked a friend of mine who has taken care of newborns to help me, and she did such a good job that I ended up writing more than I expected. 💜

I hope you and all enjoy it 👶

CHARACTERS: Pomefiore (Vil Schoenheit / Epel Felmier / Rook Hunt)

TAGS: Fluff; Fem Reader; Headcanons; Flirting

WORD COUNT: An average of 680 words per character.

CONTEXT: You hear someone knocking on the door of Ramshackle Dorm and when you open it you find Professor Trein holding in his arms, not Lucius, but a baby.

He explains to you that one of his daughters showed up to visit him and the island, but she needed to do something and asked Professor Trein to take care of his grandson for a while. But Professor Trein still has work to do and can't take care of the baby at the same time, so he asks you to take care of him for a day until his daughter comes back.

He also tells you that if you need help, ask Pomefiore's students as they are some of the ones he trusts most.

“Me? Help take care of a baby? I have never done such a thing. Why would you ask me for help? I'm sure someone with younger siblings would be more qualified for-” Vil is interrupted by the baby who started crying in your arms. He sighs. “Sorry, I shouldn't have spoken that way. May I?”

Vil stretches his arms to ask you to hand him the baby. Despite saying he had no experience with children, he picks up the baby with incredible delicacy.

“You're right, you're right. I shouldn't speak so harshly in front of you.” He says in the sweetest voice you've ever heard from him, as he rocks a little and smiles at the baby. The baby starts to calm down and looks at Vil's face in amazement.

“Someone has good taste.” He chuckles, then looks at you. “Very well, I'll help you. But only because this is Professor Trein's grandson. However, I'm also curious to see how you do on this task.”

Whenever the baby starts crying for some reason, Vil is always very calm about it. No matter how many failed attempts to understand what the baby needs, he will never show any kind of frustration. At least not near the baby.

If the baby is crying because he has a dirty diaper: The first time this happens, Vil will ask you to change it so he can see how it's done. And if it happens again he will offer to do it that time. The two of you will take turns whenever this happens afterwards.

If the baby is crying because he is hungry and needs a bottle, Vil will offer to prepare the milk in the healthiest way for a baby. But he will ask you to be the one to feed the baby.

While you give the baby a bottle, Vil will watch you. Not to check if you are doing it correctly, but to enjoy the sight of you doing it. You can't read minds, so he can imagine that this is your beautiful baby as much as he wants. If you look at him, he will simply smile at you.

If the baby is crying because he is sleepy and Vil offers to try to rock him, you will see him standing and rocking gently while singing a lullaby with his beautiful voice. He will look at you at some point and smirk at your admiring gaze. “You and this baby are lucky.” He will whisper after the baby falls asleep. “I have never sung exclusively for anyone.”

If you rock the baby and sing him a lullaby, Vil will look at you with admiration and affection. And if, by chance, you are singing a song that he knows, he will join you and the two of you will sing together. He will even get closer to you and in the end you will see the baby sleeping in your arms and between the two of you. Vil will smile smugly and whisper to you: “Be careful if you brag about this to anyone. There are people who would kill to be in your place.”

While the baby is sleeping, the two of you will try to entertain yourself in quiet ways. Vil will continue with his usual routines if he can and make you join him. Any beauty treatments he does like skin care, he will do them to you too.

If the baby is crying because he is simply in need of some affection, you will probably be the person in charge of that. Vil will see you talking to the baby, hugging him and giving him little kisses on the cheek, maybe even talking to him in that baby voice.

Vil will start to daydream about you, imagining you taking care of his and your child. And he will smile thinking about it. Entertaining the baby will be your job. Let's face it, you're probably more fun than Vil in this regard.

If you are in a flirting phase with each other, he will approach you, hug you from behind while you hold the baby in your arms and whisper in your ear: “You would be a wonderful mother. And I know that our children would be the fairest of all.”

“You're in luck. I already had to take care of my cousin a few times when he was a newborn, so I have some type of experience at least.” Epel tells you half confident, half fearful.

Even though he wants to convey confidence, you can see that he holds the baby tensely, as if he were holding a very expensive piece of glass and was afraid of breaking it.

When the baby starts crying he immediately gets worried because there are a multitude of reasons why the baby could be crying and you both just have to guess what it is.

He will always interact with the baby with a smile, but the more failed attempts to understand what the baby needs, the more frustrated he will become and it will reach a point where he will grab you by the arm and say in despair: "WHAT DOES HE WANT?!"

If the baby is crying because he has a dirty diaper, Epel will say: "Oh, I've already changed my cousin's diapers a few times, I can take care of that."

If the baby is crying because he is hungry and needs a bottle, Epel will help you prepare the milk for the bottle.

If Epel is the one giving the baby a bottle, you will see him sitting on the sofa focusing on the baby in his arm and on the bottle. At first his expression is almost serious, but as soon as he becomes more comfortable you see him smiling at the baby. “Wow, for someone so little you have a big appetite, don't you? Heh heh.”

If you are the one giving the baby the bottle, Epel will look at you while you are distracted with the baby. If you look at him, he will look away and you will see him blushing slightly because of the things he was thinking.

If the baby is crying because he is sleepy and Epel offers to try to rock him, you will see him standing and rocking gently while singing a lullaby from his homeland with that dialect that you only understand half the words. And you will hear him sing with that sweet voice he has.

If you rock the baby and sing him a lullaby, Epel will look at you with admiration and affection. And if, by chance, you are singing a song that he knows, he will join you and the two of you will sing together. He will even get closer to you and in the end you will see the baby sleeping in your arms and between the two of you. Epel will blush and turn away.

While the baby is sleeping, the two of you will try to entertain yourself in quiet ways. Good chance he'll start carving some apples for you.

If the baby is crying because he is simply in need of some affection, you will probably be the person in charge of that. Epel will see you talking to the baby, hugging him and giving him little kisses on the cheek, maybe even talking to him in that baby voice.

Epel will start to daydream about you, but he won't even dream of telling you anything about it. Eventually, he may join you in making the baby happy.

“You are asking me for help with taking care of a baby? BEAUTÉ! Oh, what a wonderful experience to go through with you of all people! ... If I have any experience with babies? Absolutely none! Isn't that exciting?” He says with an enthusiastic smile and not at all worried, unlike you.

The first time he asks to hold the baby, you may even be reluctant to let him do it. “Protective already?” He smiles at you in admiration. “Indeed, there is no more beautiful and inspiring power in nature than the fierce protection of a mother. Or of any woman over a child. I am so extremely lucky to be able to see this side of you.”

But if you eventually let him hold the baby, you will see him take great care when holding him. And looking at the baby with an extremely affectionate look. “To think that we all started out in this world so fragile. La beauté de la nature.”

When the baby starts crying he will be...excited about it? He genuinely enjoys having to figure out what the baby needs and failing in his attempts. “Oh, we haven't figured it out yet? What could it be?” He says smiling.

If the baby is crying because he has a dirty diaper: The first time this happens, Rook will ask you to change it so he can see how it's done. He can learn and appreciate you at the same time. And if it happens again he will gladly offer to do it that time. The two of you will take turns whenever this happens afterwards.

If the baby is crying because he is hungry and needs a bottle, Rook will help you prepare the milk for the bottle.

Just like with diapers, the first time this happens Rook will ask you to be the one to give the bottle to the baby so he can see how it’s done. However, he learns quickly in the first few seconds. The rest of the time he will simply enjoy the sight of you doing it. And if you look at him, he won't look away, you'll see him looking at you with an extremely admiring and affectionate look, and smiling at you with a slight blush on his face.

After that, if it happens again, Rook will gladly offer to be the one to give the baby the bottle this time. You will see him sitting on the sofa, smiling while focus on the baby in his arm, at least in the beginning. As he begins to feel more comfortable, you will see his shoulders relax. If he looks at you and sees you looking at him with a certain kind of affection, he will smile broadly.

If the baby is crying because he is sleepy,  Rook will immediately offer to sing a lullaby to him. But he will teach it to you first in case you don't know, so you can sing it together. Rook will ask you to be the one holding the baby. You can see that he feels more protected and relaxed with you (I wonder why). As you sing, Rook will focus on you while you focus on the baby.

While the baby is sleeping, Rook's attention will remain focused on you. He will join you for any activity you want to do to entertain yourself.

If the baby is crying because he is simply in need of some affection, Rook will try to fulfill this role, but even for a baby his love seems to be too much, and the baby starts to struggle in his arms because he wants you to be the one to give him affection. Rook will be a little sad that he was rejected so brutally honestly, but will be very happy to see you making the baby happy. However, he will continue to help in any way he can.

Rook will see you talking to the baby, hugging him and giving him little kisses on the cheek, maybe even talking to him in that baby voice. And he will start to daydream about you. “You truly are a source of light and comfort. It's impossible not to be captivated by you and this baby is proof of that.”

If you are in a flirting phase with each other, he will go deeper with his praises. “Any child of yours will be deeply fortunate to have you as a mother.” He will come closer to you and whisper to you. “And I wonder if I would have such a privilege to be by your side to raise them. Maybe even help you make them. And see how wonderful it would be to see the two of us together as one... or more.”

If you dropped in here out of the blue and want to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX