#i appreciate constructive criticism!!

[1i2love-7myself]

top jaehyun x bttm male reader !!

the reader is also in nct 127 and they are born in the same year but the reader is younger than him and all that fans know is that they are always together like where the other is the other one is not far away type

Stay

Jaehyun and you were unable to cease yourselves from landing a touch onto each other's skin, speaking to each other or just having notions about each other.

But today was unusual. Jaehyun would usually stare at you for approximately 10 seconds then remove his eyes from you but... all he did was stare throughout the entire live.

Why? We all have knowledge of why... he was probably extremely horny and was in need to be inside of your warm heat.

That was happening at the moment.

Laying flat on your stomach, jaehyun's cock so deep inside the younger that you were unable to help that you were imagining the little things that were out at night also known as stars.

Moans after moans after groans after whimpers went straight to Jaehyun's cock that was rearranging your guts by each second. And to make things worse (better), he was super huge so after every thrust, your body would vibrate.

Focusing on every small detail, you eyeballed the action of him panting extremely hard as the bed would slam against the thin wall.

Drowsiness over powered you by an inch and by the second, your consciousness was beginning to fall in and out of slumber. You were in hopes to stay awake but, slumber kicked in quicker. Now at the moment you were out of it.

Jaehyun immediately noticed your lack in sexual mouth noises so to wake you up from your not so peaceful slumber.. his hips made a hard thrust inside of you, waking you up whimpering.

"Don't fall asleep on me, love... stay." Jaehyun whispered into your red tip ear. Who would say no to that?

[12neonlit-stage]

Sonic: crystallized AU _ Prologue . page01

[uhhlifeig]

Cuddle - Dec. 10th - word count: 392 - @wolfstarmicrofic

Remus Lupin was lying on his bed in the dormitory. 

He had been laying there for who-knows-how-long, staring vacantly at the hanging curtains. 

His day really hadn’t been all that great, and he was so tired- but it seemed like he could never sleep well. 

There was always some issue with his position, or his clothes, or the sensations around him. If he actually fell asleep, he was always plagued by nightmares. 

It had gotten to the point where Remus had no idea what to do anymore, because nothing he tried ever worked, and Madam Pomfrey refused to give him Dreamless Sleep potions, citing how “the effect reduces if you use it too much.”

Remus sighed, turning over in his bed, right as Sirius walked into the dorm.

“Hey, Moony. Are you okay?” Sirius asked, taking in Remus’s appearance. Remus was sure he looked terrible, and that his eye bags were probably deep enough to store a textbook in.

Sirius stepped closer to Remus’s bed, leaving his bag on the floor near the door. “Moony, are you okay?” he repeated, when Remus gave no answer. “You kinda look like shit, mate. Do you need anything?”

Now. Now was his chance to make a move.

“I mean, some cuddles would be nice, if you’re up for it?” Remus asked hesitantly, afraid of scaring Sirius off. When Sirius didn’t immediately answer, Remus’s brain kicked into overdrive. 

What if he thinks it’s weird? Does he think I’m weird? Does he think I’m a no-good, poor, werewolf freak? What if-

“Of course, Moons. Whatever you need,” Sirius said, successfully diverting the self-deprecating thoughts. “Do you want me to just, er, get in bed with you?”

Remus smiled tiredly. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

Sirius took off his shoes and socks, leaving them on the floor, and got onto the bed. 

Remus immediately latched his arms around Sirius’s wrists once he was fully on the bed, pulling him so that he was laying down next to Remus, who then grabbed him in a sort-of hug, which pulled them closer together.

Sirius smiled down at Remus, who had buried his face in the crook of his neck. “Do you want me to stay here, Moons?”

Remus nodded, tightening his grip around Sirius’s torso. 

Needless to say, Remus had one of the best sleeps of his life that day.

[birdiebirdjay]

you left me first.

in which bill and percy have a little talk.

-----

"Ahem."

Percy looks up at the familiar voice, his eyes weary and his glasses slipping down his nose.

He blinks.

"Bill?" He sits up a little straighter, leaning back in his chair. Hastily, he runs a hand through his hair and straightens his glasses, trying to look at least slightly presentable and not like he'd been working for 13 hours straight. "Oh- Hello, Bill. You must have missed Dad's office, he's actually-"

Bill cuts him off with a wave of his hand, shaking his head. "I'm not here to see Dad, Percy. I'm here to see you," he says stiffly, taking a seat.

The brothers sit in silence for a few minutes. Were they even brothers anymore? Percy wondered vaguely. He found that the thought didn't hurt now as much as it used to.

That realization actually stung ten times more than the initial thought.

"Do you want some tea?" he asks awkwardly, his hands fidgeting under his desk. "I can make some, if you'd like."

"No, I don't want some tea." Bill snaps, getting up to his feet and putting his hands down on the edge of Percy's desk. He looks like Molly, in some twisted way, with his eyes narrowed and his lips almost curled into a sneer. It almost makes Percy flinch--indeed, he stiffens and his spine straightens--but he doesn't jump back.

Flinching was a sign of weakness, of doubt. He'd trained it out of himself the very first month after Pius Thicknesse had become the Minister.

"What is the matter with you, Percy?" Bill hisses, and for a moment, Percy thinks he may have seen tears in his eyes. A blink, and they were gone the next moment. "You chose the ministry over us, years ago, and you're still here."

He looks away, taking his hands off the desk, and he starts pacing the length of the office. "You missed so much, you know that? The twins created a whole business, Ginny's first boyfriend, Ron had his seventeenth-"

Now, Percy is on his feet. He wasn't sure when that had happened; all he could feel now was the rushing of blood to his ears, the pounding in his head, and the empty ache in his chest he had spent years trying to press down.

"Me?" he asks, staring at Bill with an almost manic look in his eyes. "I missed- of course, everything I missed!" he laughs, a broken sound of surprise. "Then what about everything you missed? My fifteenth? My sixteenth? Ginny being kidnapped and almost murdered by Lord fucking Voldemort? Ron nearly drowning? And that was before- everything!"

Now, it's Bill's turn to be shocked into silence. He stares at his younger brother--the flame, the bright boy who had burned and burned for as long as he'd lived... or so he'd thought. The once bright spark in his eyes was gone now, replaced by cold, hardened steel.

Bill's eyes are still narrowed, and his chest is still heaving, but there is a flicker of confusion behind his gaze now. "Percy, I-"

"No!" Percy nearly yells, suddenly very glad he'd gotten his office soundproofed. "No! You don't get to make excuses now, strutting into my office after everything is over!" He swallows hard, pulling his glasses off and swiping roughly at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"You know the only thing I asked mum and dad for on my fifteenth? I asked if they could get you and Charlie to come home, just for a day," he says bitterly, looking away. "And you know what? I really thought it would happen. I did. But when it comes down to it, you're just like our dad, aren't you?"

"Percy, stop." Bill begs, stepping forward. Suddenly, his hands are on Percy's shoulders, and there are tears in both of their eyes. "Don't say that. Please don't..."

"Why shouldn't I?" he asks, but his voice cracks, and his arms are around Bill before he can tell himself to pull away. Suddenly, he's fifteen years younger; he's a child again, crying to his brother after he'd been hurt. "The only person who came to visit that day was Auntie Muriel."

There's a big difference between a broken family and a scraped knee, he thought bitterly, screwing his eyes shut tight. Why can't everything be as simple as it used to be?

Bill takes a deep, shuddering breath, resting his chin on Percy's shoulder. "You missed my wedding," he says, closing his eyes. "You left us."

Percy shakes his head, his grip tightening on his brother despite his words.

"You left me first."

[fo0lizsh]

Hi I saw Venus and IMMEDIATELY fell in love with them <333

( Venus created by @linked-maze)

[chaewberry]

the art of touching

diluc ragnvindr x reader word count; 6.8k tags; friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, blood and injury, reconciliation, when your love language is being annoying asf. epilogue; chapter one; part one, part two

READ ON AO3!

You continued to walk through the city; you, trying to steer the Captain off course one step at a time, having the most fun when he’d realise he’d been guiding you wrong the whole time and gently steering you back toward the path that led to the gates. Every so often you’d stop to pet a cat, bending down to the feline despite Diluc’s half hearted warning about staining your dress before he himself kneeled down to deliver the petulant animal a scratch under the chin. Then, you were on your way again, stepping carefully not to slip into ice slicked stones.

You asked him your questions about the questionable material you’ve been reading - “how dangerous can a simple glance be, or a kiss?” - and after he laughed at the state of the book itself, declaring you to be the most awful of readers he had met with the most love for books regardless, he answered you as honestly as he could. On the matter of touch Diluc was indeed forthcoming, explaining in muted detail what harm a touch can cause, as if he were an expert on such things. The insinuation that he was not vexed at him, which made you laugh again and again, despite the shimmering in his eyes.

“But,” you said, “you don’t always think of the meaning of your actions - sometimes you just do things without thinking too much about them, or the consequences.”

“I suppose,” Diluc conceded. “But whether my intentions behind such actions are misinterpreted are not entirely my fault.”

“Kindness without honesty can be manipulative.”

“Doesn’t it depend on the person my kindness is intended for?”

You conceded, “I suppose.”

People would occasionally stop and greet the young Captain, old ladies cooing and fingers twitching towards his cheeks before remembering themselves — this was no longer the small spitfire child that would ran through the streets with a sword too big for his small hands, but a man grown with a post too insurmountable to measure by the weight of his claymore.

A few particular inquiries slipped in, the nature of which made Diluc’s cheeks blaze as he vehemently shook his head. His arm, wounded around yours - he was escorting you, nothing else - would tense up, tighten around yours, most likely unwittingly. A few of the old cronies even fussed around you. One tightened up your winter coat around you, tying up a few buttons you had, due to laziness, left open, chiding you as she did so. “Young ladies like you are prone to colds!” You agreed with her, despite the fact that you hadn’t fallen ill once in the last three years. As she rounded up on Dilic and started fussing about the state of disarray his clothes were in (“why does it matter if you were training? Shame on you!”), you wondered how different your walk around town would be perceived if you weren’t currently hanging on the Darling’s arm. 

Soon enough however you took pity on the Captain and his now rosy pinched cheeks and attempted to make your daring escape, swiftly making up an excuse to pardon your retreat. Tagging at Diluc’s sleeves, you guided him away from an unthinkable fate. Any teasing remarks about the hubbub of old cronies cooing over Diluc’s cheeks wouldn’t be nearly enough to convey the sheer hilarity of the situation, so you simply stayed silent and filed the images away for later use. Promising blackmail material and whatnot. You’d have a good laugh over it with Kaeya later on too, to be sure.

“Then, what about a glance?”

Diluc hummed. “I can see how it can be dangerous.” He grabbed the book from where it was nestled at your side, flipping through the pages for a moment and reading some passages sporadically. “This is a predetermined story - you don’t have to ask yourself if the emotional glance of the knight towards the main lead in the story is hateful or endearing. It’s clear.”

“How so?” you asked, the gripping urge to hear his thoughts on the abysmal reading material too delectable to let go. You’ve read that book a handful of times already, from start to finish, from cover to cover, you had creased the pages where something had caught your interest and kept them that way until that interest was resolved, the meaning behind a word or action found, and then straightened out the dogged page out.

There were no fresh interpretations you could hear from the Captain, nothing too scandalising that would have you clutching at your pearls in astonishment — but the more he talked, the more surprise you derived from the knowledge Diluc seemed to have for such tasteless literature. He thought of him staying up to read such drivel brought a smile to your lips. You wondered, not for the first or last time, how much of his personality was buried beneath the heavy coat of duty and honour; two characteristic traits that in others played a mute role, but to the young Captain were his idiosyncrasies.   

These aimless conjectures that were building up within your mind came to a sharp finale when the sour smell of Sumerian tabasco mingled with the sharp winter snow and soon, something far worse than gossiping old ladies stopped in front of your path.

The elder Master Ragnvindr was a cutting figure amongst the commoners of the city, with his towering form, shocking red hair and eyes that held too much familiarity for you to be truly lax under their gaze — a shrewd man, for he had to be in order to have come so far after making an enemy of all the old families in Mondstadt. A lesser man would have crumbled a long time ago (you were not un familiar with the underhanded techniques used to undermine and overthrow, to humiliate and offer faux paus sympathy in the faces mirroring despair), and yet here stood this man on his own two feet, gravitated by his own power and through means entire his own.

Even your mother, a woman in a class of her own, tiptoed around Crepus Ragnvindr, a witting contrast to your father, who often met the man head on when it came to tampering with his business.

Diluc paused. “Father.”

The arm curled around your elbow tightened for a moment before letting go completely. You left your arma dangling by your side for a mere moment before clasping them together. Your gloves did almost nothing to prevent the coldness that now seeped within the seams of the fine garments and, the further Diluc stepped from you, the colder the air around you seemed to get. The vision hangs from his hip like a talisman. The falling snowflakes evaporated into nothingness around it.

It must be nice to always be this warm.

“Diluc, Miss Wolfram,” Master Crepus greeted, bowing slightly as he addressed you. “I hope I am not intruding.”

“Not at all,” you said, beating Diluc to it and watching with mild disinterest as the boy clamped his mouth shut. “This kind knight was simply escorting me to the gates - my coachman is waiting for me, ready to deliver me home at once.”

“It is getting rather late,” the man nodded, smiling, “But I am glad to see that you’ve been faring well, Miss Wolfram, and of course, the fact that you get along with Diluc pleases me as well.”

“Father!” Diluc all but yelped, looking ready to stomp his foot in the snow and deny the seemingly baseless accusations the older man threw at you two. “It is not like that.”

When your father, the heir to a world renowned family of merchants that stemmed back to the Mondstandt of old, had agreed to transport Crepus’ wines to all four corners of the world, had dealt such a nasty hand to the man in front of you you wondered how it was that their business transactions went on for three more years. Finally, though, it seemed Master Crepus patience was all but wrinkled out, for in a manner of days he terminated the contract and pulled all business dealings away from your father’s company, opting instead to pour his wine locally and share it now with the rest of the world through a Sumerian transporting goods company.

Of course, you were not without shame.

Even though Master Crepus had always been nothing but amiable; welcoming you into his house whenever you decided to venture into it with nothing but a smile and pleasant words, making sure you lacked nothing during your stay, no food, no water, sweet delicacies served by maids in masterfully crafted ceramic plates and the freedom to venture into the Master’s personal library inside his office where the smell of ink, the yellowing pages of hard covered books and the kindled wonder of what said pages contained brought you back to the still waters of the lake, the soft grass underneath your palms, a false sense of anonymity.

Of course, you’d rarely venture into that part of the house, not unless one or two brothers were with you; an admission which mortified you, however slightly, because when did you ever know shame? When have you ever known to display it — how could you not?

There were fine lines that shouldn’t be overstepped. That was all.

You had no doubt that hidden beneath the heavily veiled layers of hospitality and freely given privileges, the elder Ragnvindr was by no means thrilled to house you and feed for those few hours which you made your presence in his household known.

A kind man indeed, though no less shrewd. Surely. 

Resisting the urge to shove a clump of snow down his throat you turned to the flustered first son, blinking innocently at him. “Are we not getting along then, Captain? It seems I have overstepped.” You made sure to take a full step back from Diluc now, covering your face with your fan. “How embarrassing - I will make sure to keep my distance from now on.”

Teasing him was fun — watching him going through the five stages of grief as you twisted his words into something foul and threw them right back at his face was ecstatic. There was something to be said about such corrupted notions.

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

“Woe is me!”

It was the oldest trick in the book in the line of nobility; using offsprings, the promise of companionship and friendship to weasel out secrets. Secrets which would be then used to deal a heavy blow to one’s enemy, crippling and despairing if one was much too fond of money and reputation. It was something your mother had always drilled into you and your brother both — and also why your friendship with the outcast nobility both infuriated her while simultaneously pleased her. Your father, on the other hand, would rather lay down on the gardens and lick the dirt off of every stone and pebble before he willingly invited Diluc or Kaeya into his home, bending such a strict rule only on special occasions, such as birthday parties, where he stood plastered to the wall, becoming one with the paint while he hawked on.

It would have made for an excellent anecdote if not for the mortification dwelling deep within your bones. It was clear that neither boy had ever felt welcomed into your family’s manor, which in turn made you all the more unwilling to step foot into Dawn’s Winery and all the more willing to invite them over as much as you liked and could. Their discomfort, though feeding your own, was sometimes the best amusement you could derive from this dreadful back and forth.

Diluc, in particular, was so transparent at times that you couldn’t help but want to take a stab at the heart he had taken to adorning in his sleeve. Sometimes you wanted to squeeze his neck between your hands and watch him squirm. Sometimes you just wanted to see him squirm regardless of whether you were the cause or not. It must be all the rage boiling beneath your skin. Diluc had so much — so much to give, so much to be taken away. The Darling of the city, the Young Captain, the Master-to-be.

Woe is me. 

You cleared your throat, intricately, like a lady should, and hid beneath it the laugh that threatened to burst from behind your teeth.

(Kaeya had once said, inexplicably, “there’s no hiding what you are, Wolfram.”)

“Do I have to say that we get along three times for you to believe me?” Diluc asked, eyes glued to yours. His sudden sombre expression and crossed arms made you want to win this spat even more, made you want to stop before you put your foot where your mouth was, hear something you didn’t care to hear.

“No. That would be a weird way to phrase it,” you smiled, lowering the fan. “Say you like me three times and then I’ll believe you.”

Of course — who would you be if not a constant construct even to your own self, your own hands picking at a stubborn scan and licking the fresh blood that poured out? It was an undilated moment of catharsis to look at the reflection in the mirror and recognize at least the worst aspects of what made you you .

Crepus was apparently content in waiting out your antiques, only looking mildly amused if one took regard to the slight upturn of his lips.  If he had caught on to whatever game you were playing with his son or with him, he didn’t say.

“I will not be doing that. It’s highly inappropriate.” Diluc couldn’t even bother to seem mirthful by the idea, nor flustered or bothered. You would have taken any reaction but the lithe one that seemed to take over his face at the moment, betraying nothing.

“So you see,” you turned to Crepus, no longer feeling cold, “we do not get along, please cease feeling pleased.”

Diluc was such a filial son. The pragmatic ideology you harboured had been proven thus indeed to be true. You would have taken one softly muttered, hardly uttered, measuredly whispered I like you than three blunted and crude ones. Yet the knight couldn’t even give you that in front of a father he diligently admired. The taste of betrayal would most likely sear his tongue off.

The thoroughly mirthful Crepus in front of you had you grinding your teeth. Banking on your misery, surely he knew how much the fact aggravated you. You would abhor every word that’d come out of his mouth. 

“I must apologise on behalf of my son, Lady Wolfram,” the man said, turning the world on its axis. “He is still young and a stranger to notions such as charm, as chivalrous as he may appear to be.”

Diluc sputtered at your side, positively fuming now, steam rising from beneath the soles of his shoes, the snow that had landed on top of his red crown melting.

Unsettled, having lost track of your position in the conversation, you floundered for what to say — something ambiguous, surely, for it wouldn’t do to entirely agree with him or flat down reject his statement regarding the buffoonery display his son had insulted you with.

“I find his foolishness quite charming.”

There; a statement that was possibly lacking any resemblance of seriousness and could be seen as mocking, or perhaps it could be you, one of Diluc’s unknown element that had shoved itself into his life when Kaeya had brought you into the grape fields to catch butterflies and whatnot, simply uttering a teasing remark splattered with a modicum of fondness.

Whatever the case, Diluc took the teasing from both you and his father lightheartedly, even laughing alongside one Crepus’ following remarks despite it. A gentle, tender and modest boy who wanted his ambitions and title to overshadow the last remnants of childhood and shed the last traces of baby fat sitting on his face.

Diluc was genuine in everything he did, putting his entire self and body in his endeavours.

You laughed at something he said, talking animatedly with his father, and hid the sour expression threatening to overtake your face behind a smile.

More pointless chatter followed until your coachman stumbled through the gates, pale and almost out of breath from fright. His condition only worsened when he laid eyes upon the head of the Ragnvindr family and you almost lost the man to a stray rock laying on the road. You watched him trip over it, stumbling not unlike a fool before righting himself once again. He bowed with respect to the men by your side before settling to you with an imploring, almost pleading gaze.

“My lady, it is getting rather late,” he said, “your Lady Mother will be waiting for you.”

Crepus stepped forward. “It was thoughtless  of us to have occupied the young lady’s time as much as we did. I must implore you, however, to wait a mere moment more.” He turned around and signaled with his hand. A man you hadn’t seen before standing behind Crepus came forward. Bowing at the waist, he held up a considerably expensive looking bottle of wine.

Crepus, thanking the man, turned to you. He was smiling still, and you could only surmise that you had been caught in some peculiar way. You withered as the last few seconds of a sweet yet short lived victory vanished in front of your eyes.

The man could have opened his mouth and said that he was buying out your father’s business and leaving your family utterly and despicably destitute — truly, he could’ve said anything, and you would still be less bewildered.

“For your birthday next month. An early gift, if I am allowed.”

The bottle in his hands seemed to you not unlike the forbidden fruit. Still, you accepted it with grace, careful not to fumble. “I - thank you, my Lord. I was not aware…,” you paused, hands tightening around the cool neck of the bottle. In truth, you were wholly unprepared for the reality of someone like Crepus remembering your birthday, much less caring enough to go through the trouble of procuring a gift for you.

No longer after he and your father parted in anger, common invitations for events such as these had stopped, even though you had meticulously tried to keep the tradition going with Kaeya and, consequently, Diluc, every invitation you’d sent would go unanswered.

A laugh pushed itself out of your mouth — yes, in truth you had to congratulate the man for delivering such a devastated defeat. The man took the winds right out of your sails. Barbados himself would be displeased.

“I must thank you, Master Crepus, and even more so since you saw fit to give me such an expensive gift.”

Diluc shuffled next to you but you couldn’t deign yourself to look up at him now.

You could only hope he remained as is for the rest of his life, despite the fact that he admired his father so and dogged his every footstep and hogged his every shadow. Diluc just as he was now - ignorant yet strong and brave, never petty or particularly mad - was truly the best outcome you could wish for at this moment.

“Nonsense,” the beast of a man retorted, waving away your words. “But it would seem that I am late for an appointment. Diluc, would you be so kind as to escort Miss Wolfram and her coachman back to the carriage?”

“Of course, Father,” you heard from your left.

As it were, you could only blink down at the chilled wine on your hands. “Yes, that would be most preferable, thank you.” 

You remained silent on your way back to the carriage, afraid that if you opened your mouth filth would spew out. Worse yet, Diluc was silent. He seemed alarmingly content with staring at you and doing a disastrous job of concealing the heat in his gaze.

He must have wished to say something, gazing at you perhaps in order to gain permission, yet you only ever looked in front of you now. You felt thoroughly chided. Worst yet, embarrassment brewed hot within your veins.

The walk from the gates and over the bridge where the family carriage awaited took no more than a minute. Now, with the well meaning gift in hand, your coachman opened the carriage door, silently ushering you inside with a delicate bow.

You glanced back towards the city walls one more time, noting how high they stood indeed with morality etched into the very stone and the falcons flying overhead. With a hand, you tried as best as you could to gather up your silk skirt to mount the carriage, except the step of the damned thing was all too high already — incredulously, the cold bite of the chilled wine was thus removed from your grasp, replaces by numbing warmth as Diluc, no close to you once again, sought fit to assist you. 

The urge to slap his hand away was making the skin of your fingers itch — and yet your traitorous knobs of flesh and bones, so cold perhaps that have grown a consciousness of their own, now freely sought out that would make blood flow again. And so, having already taken the offered - offending - peace offering, you used the momentum he granted you to push up into the carriage before one particularly expensive wine was once again pushed into your care.

You only glanced at the boy waiting outside the coach window one last time before the coachman started urging the horses onwards — perhaps there was a semblance of blame on your face, unwittingly as it would have been, for Diluc to look at you the way he did before he disappeared out of sight.

The Wolfram family manor was rather conveniently located away from the city and Springvale village; a plot of land in the wilderness of the small and boundfull nation which your family had bought some thousand years ago, right after the fall of Decabarian and the old city that now laid in ruins, rumoured to be housing one wild beast or another.

Build into the slopes of the mountain near Starnatch Cliff, it was a true labour of petty love and vain pride, higher than any other, overlooking down the thick patches of trees and far away into the city with the beautiful big windmills and the glistening river encircling it — your ancestors must have truly felt as if they stood on top of the world, crowned by the lofty clouds and with the wide open mania that was the ocean down below, their feet steeped into the cold, harsh sand. The sun never shined above that particular shore, and almost always the winds were howling against the rocky mountains surrounding it.

From your room you could see only the sea, stretched out as far as the eye could see, losing sight of where the water started and where the sky ended. An endless barrage of blue, so maddening to the eye if one were to stare at it for longer than five minutes, more than ten, so easy to get lost into the seemingly nothingness it offered, a vast expansion where you could stare at forever and where you throw your everything.

The paper birds sitting by the red painted window were yellowed from the sun and brittle with age, some corners crumbling, some teared off completely, the ink invincible against the folds of their wings — they would take their first and last flight out into the open ocean or they would remain inside the room with you forever. 

The house was quiet and dark when you entered save for a low fire in the fireplace which served to keep the house warm throughout the night and a few floor lamps articulately placed into corners.

Elinda, the middle aged head maid who you’d known since you were in diapers, shuffled forward, long black hair braided on her head like a crown. She said nothing as she took your coat to hang, letting instead the soft disapproval marrying her mild features tell you all you needed to know. You would have rolled your eyes - it was not so late that you needed to be scolded, nor were you at fault that the nights had grown longer and the days shorter - but gods knew the woman was dealing with as much as she could without your attitude on top of it. 

“It is well before eight.” 

“Seven-thirty, in fact, my lady.

“Then it is good that I am not late.”

She begonned you closer, all pursed lips and fluttering hands, fusing over the snowflakes that had decorated your hair, the state of your clothes, the coldness sipping into your fingers. “There has been a quarrel,” Elinda admitted, grabbing you by the wrists and marching you in front of the fireplace. She sat you down on the pillows which had been placed on the floor, on top of the expensive carpet your mother had bought from Sumeru some years ago. “Your good mother and brother - oh, it was dreadful.”

You held your hands close to the fire, feeling the coldness melting from your joints. “You should stop worrying about such matters Elinda, gods know your hair will gleam silver before its time.”

“Do not jest, my lady,” she admonished softly, sitting behind you, fiddling with your hair; unbraiding, unpinning, brushing the soft knots out in a most gentle manner you had no patience for yourself. “It was quite serious. I will not think you a fool in the matter, for surely you must know something.”

“And?”

Her hands faltered for a moment. “And I would implore a show of patience and reverence in the days to follow. If not for your mother then for yourself.”

“Mm. How is mother?”

Elinda’s gentle hands worked through knots. She grabbed the brush she had deposited by her side and, running it through your hair, she replied, “down with a low burning fever. His Lordship brewed some medicine for her and she is now resting.”

The probability of your father abandoning his study to take care of your mother’s health instead of registering the task to a servant was hardly a surprise. The man had always been sensitive to your mother’s needs, more so since her bouts of mass hysteria had doubled the last few years. It was an illness that had long plagued the Lady of the house, even before she married into the Wolfram family.

That part of him, you didn’t know what to make of.

“I am glad it’s nothing serious then,” you answered, pinching at the hem of your dress that was wet with snow.

“I know, my lady. Should I braid your hair for bed?”

“No, leave it,” you said, rising from the feathered pillows in front of the fireplace. “Can you please fetch me some bathing oils?”

Despite Elinda’s protestations and endeavours of sending you off to bed immediately, turning a blind ear to your own objections and complaints about going to bed with a day’s worth of dirt and tiresome weight upon you, in the end she dejectedly went to fetch the oils while you climbed up to your room. Your fingers had warmed now enough to fumble with the laces of your corset nimbly. You threw it somewhere on the floor next to your bed, followed shortly after by your dress which was hanging onto your body like a skirt, and then the old-fashioned undergarments you should’ve burned in the garden at the back of the manor a long time ago. The stockings you placed into the bin with the other unwashed clothes for Elinda to take away.

Whatever jewellery you wore was promptly taken off and laid out on the vanity table. It was the only thing in the entire house that had been imported from Fontain, with a large mirror and impeccable craftsmanship. Everything else was a mix of Mondstadt and Sumeru. Your mother had taken the task of remodelling and re-decorating to an outwardly level, and your father could do nothing but accept her whims and wishes. Despite her misgivings, her taste was impeccable.

You stood in front of the freestanding bathtub, oval in shape and pitch black, waiting for the water to turn scalding hot and fill the tub. 

Elinda, none the wiser and too preoccupied with balancing the necessary items needed for your bath in a wooden tray to take stock of your state of undress, only paused to blink before resuming with her work. She set everything up in a small round table you had placed next to the tub. “I brought the lavender oil for your bath tonight; I heard it is good for the nerves, so please do not be afraid to use it.”

Unperturbed, she steered you towards the bath, now filled with steaming water, and all but forced you inside as if you were an unsuspecting victim -- you let her manhandle you to her heart’s content. The rapid warmth that wrapped your senses and flesh untangled your nerves and put a stop to your mind. You sighed, sinking further beneath the calm waters and closed your eyes.

Elinda retreated from the room only to return ten minutes later with a cup of tea in hand. She left it at the table next to the bath and set upon putting the bubbles and the lavender oil on the water, scolding you in a manner that only made you laugh at her. She then assiduously proceeded to scrub whatever skin she could grab on until it was red and raw before taking a hold of your scalp. You would have felt threatened by the tight grip on your hair if it was anyone else. Elinda, as it were, worked you so thoroughly you almost went under, blinking roughly the traces of sleep and water out of your eyes.

You managed to chase her out in the end, but not before promising her you would take utmost care in not drowning. 

“How old am I, do you think?”

The old suffering look she threw at you as she left did nothing to curb your laughter.

Despite the hot bath mixed with everything lavender and the chamomile tea you had downed, sleep scarcely touched you again, leaving thereafter to twist and turn on your bed, underneath the covers, as if you were in mourning. The long sleeved, silky nightgown you wore that reached down your ankles further drove you to madness; riding up with every move you made until it rested just below your hips.

Perhaps it was still too early for your body to sleep.

Reasoning with this, you threw the covers off your body and left the bed. Rummaging through the personal items Elinda had picked up and brought to your room before retiring for the night, you finally fished out the accursed book you had read from cover to cover, every word detestable, every description of imagery annoyingly overdone and with a prose too flowery for your liking; in a word, the book was truly something for ancient tastes, and the housewife’s of old no doubt took great pleasure in gathering at each other’s houses in order to dissect the then scandalous passages over tea and biscuits.

You sat down on the divet next to the gargantuan windows, gazing out towards the black sea and the brittle rocks that stood against its rampant and constant lashes.

You flipped through the book again, stopping at random pages to read random paragraphs in order to further instill your hatred for that particular piece of literature. There were so many more pieces such as this, old and new, that you’d never be rid of the genre. The only saving grace you had at your disposal was if the old crony finally moved on from such doomed love affairs and ecstatic erotic adventures and into something more of substance. 

Now, awake and irritated, you sprung up from the divet and stalked out of your room, careful not to make too much noise, lest Elinda materialized out of the shadows like a monster out of the abyss, smelling the sleeplessness on you.

As you tip-toed down the stairs, clutching your nightgown above your ankles, you strained out your ears for any sound of activity. If your mother was resting from her fever then your father must surely be at his study, poring over the last documents of tonight's work before retreating to bed at your mother’s side. You surmised that Federick, your brother, must’ve shut himself in his room after his argument with her and has now long escaped through the windows of the manor. 

You had caught him enough times to now know that he was as slippery as he was irritating.

The family library was on the second floor of the three story manor — a true testament to your mother’s roots which stemmed deep within Sumeru. Her collections were her pride and joy and an endless endeavor on her part. When you and Frederick were young she would sit you in front of the fireplace your father had built in the vast room an a sea of pillows and blankets and read aloud for hours upon hours; classical myths from nations from far and beyond, historical records about past civilizations that were new laid to rest beneath the raging sea, about ruins, brittle and yet everlasting, basking underneath the sun, of ancient forests and trees that were connected with the very essence of life, of trees whose roots connected every continent together, mythical retellings tinged with more adventure and romance, the noble sacrifices of heroes, waxing poetics of immortal being that still walked around.

Back then, when her healthy mind and body reigned over her illness, she was a person who you sought out frequently. Now, the fireplace always remained cold even in the winter, and scarcely was the enormous table in the middle of the room used.

Except, as it seemed, for today.

You walked through the low lit hallways, your footsteps silenced by the soft and plush carpet underneath your slipped feet. Your mind was half lost in thought when you saw the room to the library half opened, light streaming out of the gap and spilling into the hallway, just a few steps shy of hitting your figure in your nightgown. You made to walk in -- it was not, after all, unlikely for someone to be in the room, owners of the house and servants alike. Knowledge was abundant and everyone was free to pursue it in the Wolfram estate. Even Kaeya, when he felt brave enough to pay a visit, had taken to reading the tomes in the library before enlisting your help to sneak some of them out and returning them a week later. Were you brave enough to do the same in the Ragnvindr manor, you no doubt would uncover many hidden wonders, though as it were, you were only warm enough to the belief of admiring from afar.

The first step was taken, your grip on your nightgown loosened, spirits ready to conduct a warm greeting to whomever was at the other side of the door. You paused once again, however, when you heard the familiar tone of your father’s voice, speaking in a way he did whenever he was aggrieved by something or someone, only mere steps away from unmounting the old family sword from the wall and skewer someone thoroughly through.

And another voice as well, rolling over your straining ears like a current, no less tinged with irritation but lower in tone. 

You crept closer, plastering yourself on the wall as if to become one with the paint, hair brushing against your cheek. From the opened crack you could see only the stranger’s back, covered with a black winter coat made out of the finest animal pelt, and an egregious high hat he deemed tasteful enough not to take it off at his entry to the manor and entirely focused on arguing back against your father.

A foolish endeavor; your father never cared enough about anything to be forced to argue back and forth. The man’s fervent attempts, therefore, should be at least commended.

“Enough,” your father said. “I’ve discussed this numerous times. No matter what you tell me, my answer will be the same as it has always been.”

“We have an opportunity now,” the stranger went on, “he can be our prize winning stallion in this dispute.”

“Dispute? Stallion? You have been a fumbling fool at every turn. No prize is worth the risk for what you’re doing.”

“I disagree.”

“Then do so with your reflection. This discussion is done.”

You could have laughed at your father’s dry tone.

The stranger kept quiet for a moment before gathering up the courage to speak again. “There have been some concerning rumors lately regarding an ancient noble family, talks of an alliance through the means of -,”

The unmistakable sound of a palm hitting wood made you jump, jarring you from your frozen state and almost making you lean forwards on the door. 

“Insulting me with your baseless conjectures will only serve to drive me further from you and the others. Let me put your mind at ease; such rumors are false when it comes to my family. I neither want nor have a need for such an alliance.”

Even after the magnitude of refusals the man refused to take a step back. You could imagine the wheels inside his head spinning with all sorts of promises and talk delivered with such flowered prose that he could deliver amiably enough to make your father’s stand on the manner upon which they were arguing about take a different and more favourable route.

You, however, with a burning feeling settling itself in your stomach and an itch to pull that hat off that man’s head, decided to do what you did best. Knowing neither shame nor tact, you pushed the door open and called out, “Father.”

Both men turned with various degrees of alarm; your father, who had both hands on the table and was bending over documents and books, did nothing but merely blinked at your ill time's arrival. Your presence didn’t seem to startle him at all — the same couldn’t be said for his companion, who at the same time you spoke up, jumped and clutched his hat atop of his head, fumbling to pull it further down on his face. He whirled around, taking in your state of dress. He struggled, caught between wanting to properly greet the daughter of the man in front of him or taking his roaming eyes away from the satin nightgown that hugged your body.

“Ah, greetings to the young lady of the house.”

Your father interjected, “this young lady should be in bed by now.”

“My apologies for interrupting, father,” you said, eyes still glued to the strange man. “I couldn’t fall asleep so I came down to borrow a book.”

He sighed, sounding more dejected than he should. “Go on and grab a book then, while I walk our guest to the door.”

The smile you gave him could rot away teeth. “As you wish, your Lordship.”

The man, half a step out of the library, turned his head to the left, giving you one last glance, while your father walked ahead. You considered dropping the smile adorning your face, but in the end all you did was clasp your hands behind your back and lock your ankles together as you bed him goodnight in a manner handsome enough befitting your station.

Left alone in the room, you made a considerable attempt to feign propriety and not google at the papers scattered throughout the old oaken table — you stalked forward nonetheless, fingers grazing their edges before sitting down on the chair your father had presumably used. Making sure not to disturb them from their original position, your eyes greedily soaked up the information written on them.

Letters regarding the trading routes with Liyue, a rather concerning letters from a trading company with Inazuma stamps and a stain you could only hope was blood, a miniature map of Mondstadt with old and new routes penned down, marking the dangerous ones with red marks, letters of business between your father and his competitors or friends.

Nothing interesting caught your eye so far, and every passing second your curiosity dwindled down to spluttering ambers. 

You got up from the chair and made your way to the shelves. While you searched for a book that would catch your fancy, you mind raved over the possibilities and likely scenarios. In retrospect, the lack of any substantial information in this room was the most realistic outcome. Your father wouldn’t dare to keep anything of import laying around anywhere in the house. Everything he kept close to his chest was more likely to be found underneath the floorboards in his study or locked away in one of the drawers of his desk.

But, living in ignorance was not something you could ever aspire in life — and so, with two new books underneath your arm and a prep in your steps, off you skipped and schemed.

[laurrelise]

five, five, & five

should i have drawn brisket five instead. i know hes a fan favorite

[en-stbc]

nuzi as corpse bride before exams week 🗣️🗣️ (got lazy at the end sorry)

sketch ver cause i prefer it over my rendered one...

[asexual-cat-furry]

TF2 nationality headcanons

(I think of RED and BLU as separate characters, who might just happen to look/act alike)

RED Scout - american (Boston, MA) (his ma has irish ancestry, from Galway - I saw this headcanon somewhere and I love it)

BLU Scout - filipino-american (NYC)

RED Soldier - american obv (Atkins, AR) (I know that he's supposed to be from the midwest but I don't care. I headcanon that his dad is from Idaho and his mom is from Ohio. Also I think he's like 25% native or something because I think it'd be funny/interesting if he's not 100% White American™)

BLU Soldier - american obv (somewhere in Virginia) (he was raised by eagles in the Appalachian wilderness, so he barely speaks coherent english)

RED Pyro - chinese (somewhere in the south, but spent most of their childhood homeless in Shanghai) (they never told anyone and it's unlikely they ever will. The only people who know are Pauling and the Spies, but none of them will tell) (I know it's a popular headcanon but I never really saw them as mexican, sorry)

BLU Pyro - irish (Dublin) (their muffled voice is made harder to decipher due to their hardcore irish accent. BLU Demo can understand it best)

RED Demoman - scottish (Ullapool) (literally canon)

BLU Demoman - scottish (Glasgow)

RED Heavy - russian (somewhere in far eastern Siberia) (his family doesn't look white, especially Zhanna, so I think they're probably some kind of siberian people)

BLU Heavy - ??? (swedish? belarusian? idk man)

RED Engie - american (Bee Cave, TX) (I hc the Conaghers as a whole to be a mix of white & latino, so the Engies speak spanish as a second language and often just switch to it to exchange praise/insults/advice without others noticing)

BLU Engie - american (Bee Cave, TX) (RED Engie's cousin although doesn't have the Conagher surname actually)

RED Medic - german obv (Stuttgart) (jewish, although his family probably converted to christianity many years ago and either way they're not particularly religious, Medic is actually the "most religious" of his immediate family but that's just because he knows Satan exists)

BLU Medic - british-greek

RED Sniper - new zealander, half-māori (born in Auckland, raised near-ish to Perth)

BLU Sniper - australian, half-aboriginal (somewhere in the outback in Queensland) (the half-aboriginal thing is also a headcanon I saw somewhere and happily adopted)

RED Spy & BLU Spy - french (Paris) (they're twins)

Edit: Dang it I forgot the tags

[darling-renyuu]

and time can't stop me quite like you did; auron & rook

fic summary: just rook, and how red became their favorite color. a/n: this popped into my head and i had to write it down before i lose it forever. also, my rook's side of the whole thing (but hehe i hope you like it (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)) word count: 845 words

the first time was a well-hidden farce.

his hands were shaking minutely as he spoke words that meant everything and nothing all at once. ones he had rehearsed over and over and over in front of a mirror until he went insane - but he was not sitting face to face with his own soul. no, not at all.

he asked himself once: how can someone be so unknown and so familiar to him all at once? how can someone be so like and unlike him?

his red hair made his vision blur, yet why do his veins yearn to flow through them? when did red make him feel so alive? when did brown eyes feel so cold?

it's truly odd.

everything about him makes his blood thrum and sing songs of unwritten epilogues. like stars etched with scarlet thread in his skin, longing to return to the heights. he's ecstatic when sanguine fills his periphery until its all he could think about. words and jargon blur on his screen, forming a silhouette that makes his heart yearn.

the second time was an instinct.

he should have felt fear. that's what they've taught them in school, right? red means a warning. a blaring message telling you to stop and run away.

though, red feels warm amongst the candles. intimate, with the light dancing around his hair and making him glow. he knows from those brown eyes that his soul is cold and battered and broken down until poisoned shards remain.

with every drop of wine, he could feel himself pressing his ear to the shattered mirror to hear the faint thump of a heart. the edges bite into his skin, but he smiles.

he feels like a fool; a happy fool. one who bares out a piece of his being to let this blood-soaked dagger lodge itself into the softness underneath.

grabbing his chin was an instinct. he needed to brand himself into his memory just like he had for him. he wanted hazel eyes to tint his vision just like brown eyes had for him.

it was a gamble, a risk, but it was a calling. it was a glint of something more that went beyond silly fantasies and fiction. it was as if his offer could put words to paper and make them come alive.

and it did.

the third was an epiphany.

the festivities were nothing compared to the joy he felt when that red appeared once again. he realized that red meant something new; an intriguing vulnerability, like blood underneath hardened skin, coiled around barbed bones.

he wanted to catch a glimpse of the man in an ivory tower. the man whose walls were crawling with crimson-tainted ivy, his gardens filled with fire and fury.

and somehow, in between, where the heavens and the earth meet, he did.

speaking so candidly with him felt odd. like seeing snow on the beach. so, so strange, but beautiful.

it was if they were circling each other, entangling themselves in a song and dance where their eyes and skin communicate for them.

his lips, bitten until they looked like cherries; his cheeks, blooming in rose... and that addicting scarlet bleeding like ink into the sheets.

before he knows it, red has become his favorite color.

Rook's eyes blink open, groaning softly. His hips hurt like hell, but hey, at least last night's shenanigans weren't some dream that would fade in the morning...

The ceiling of Auron's penthouse greets him, and he snuggles right back into the covers like a darling thing.

Like some kind of rare event, Auron was still asleep. The sun greets his peaceful form, the invisible string tying his brows together was not pulled taut for once. Rook simply stops, focusing on how his arm fits snugly against his waist, how his breaths slowly synched with his.

That article he read pops up in his mind again. The one about a pair of heartbeats synching when being in close proximity. Would theirs do that too? Would the silence be adorned with two heartbeats, seemingly fitting into the quiet as one?

He swallows, resting his cheek back into the pillow. He laughs softly to himself, thinking of all the ways Auron would chide him when he wakes up. Maybe something about "watching him in his sleep" or something.

And yet, even if they were entwined a few hours prior, he longs to touch. To feel, once again, the hum of his pulse against his fingertips. One that his soul is willing to echo.

He slowly brushes a finger against his cheek, his breath catching in anticipation. He knows he doesn't need to be so soft. His heart says otherwise.

And so, with a swipe of his thumb against his cheekbone, he lets out a breath with a quiver. His hazel eyes catch the sunlight. If ever Auron were to awaken at this moment, he would see red in the color of love; a subtle thing, something cautious and curious, blooming in the cracks.

for the fourth, time stops like it never had before.

writing belongs to @/darling-renyuu. please do not repost. art belongs to @/jackieeleanor.

[darkcademiasss]

Sentimental- @wolfstarmicrofic word count: 237 february 23

Remus knew sirius like the back of his hand, sometimes he wondered if he knew sirius more than he knew himself.

Therefore he knew when sirius looked at the rose in his hand and looked up at remus, he knew sirius was going to get sentimental .

Sirius crushed him, putting his arms around remus and hiding his face in Remus' neck. Remus could feel his breath hitch when he felt sirius nuzzle his nose on the crook of his neck.

"Sirius'' he lightly whispered trying to fight the blush that was rising on his cheek

"Padfoot come on" he repeated when there was no reply.

Sirius finally released him, remus immediately wanted to pull him in again and never let him go but he settled on fisting his hands.

" you got me flowers" sirius muttered.

Remus could see he was on the verge of crying and started to panic did he do something wrong? Does sirius not like flowers?

"I- I uh i'm sorry if you dont like them, I can take them back. I just thought you'd like it" he stuttered nervously, one hand scratching the back of his neck.

"No no dont you dare these are mine, I'll keep them forever" he declared blushing then looked nervous before adding " it's just that ive never gotten flowers before"

Remus promised himself there and then that he is going to give Sirius black flowers for the rest of his life

[lunrall]

"Am I Speaking to The Second Person or The Third Man?"

A 1.4k-word fic about Rui Kamishiro & Tsukasa Tenma

link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59932360

[agent-toast]

is it too early for an art redraw?

original:

a lot of text below \/

so things have changed since i first got into the ieytd fandom in late september/early october, my phoenix went from he/she/they (which was what i meant by 'any' pronouns cause at that time i wasn't aware of neopronouns sorry :>) to he/they with sometimes she/her. this has nothing to do with the '>:(( fem phoenix is bad' thing, all phoenixes are equally awesome.

i think i mostly used she/her as one of phoenix' pronouns because i'm afab and it'd feel easier rping them that way. but idk now i feel like my phoenix is more bigender/multigender using he/they? it's just what i'm comfortable with now. and it fits with the way i draw them androgynous but also fem but ALSO masc haeha

why am i gender questioning my favourite fictional characters now sjskd

anyway art stuff in the past i used more of a red-orange colour but now it's reddish maroon because that's cool >:)

and maybe it's just me but i think the proportions are slightly better? idk leave ur thoughts in the tags/comments

also i switched the sandwich and the lighter hehe

[birthfan]

Your 3 weeks over due with twins. Your absolutely massive with babies you can’t hardly walk but when you do you have the best/ biggest waddle ever. You work for the best real-estate companies around and your the #1 Realtor at the company. On a Saturday you get a phone call from your boss begging you to work an open house because the others can get it sold even though your on leave already. You agree but are very disgruntled but you slip into a loose sundress (only thing that fits) put on your heals and go to the house open it up and start letting customers in. ****As expected the open house brings dozens and dozens of shoppers *****

"hmmm of course everyone would hnnng decide to come today" I mumbled to myself as the potential buyers kept coming in, it was to be expected on a Saturday. "mmmnn it's almost like she wants me to pop out hnnng this baby in front of them" I thought to myself; my boss had called me up that morning offering triple my month's salary for working on this open house, apparently no one else was available but the overdue woman who was going to be induced the next day, whatever, I needed the money for the hospital expenses.

"excuse me miss, about the second floor.." a customer approached making me put on my customer service smile as I held my contracting belly, I'd been having contractions all day and they were starting to get closer and stronger, but I tried my best to keep a straight face, if it all went well I could just drive to the hospital once everyone left.

"well it's better if I show you" I said leading the customer towards the stairs, every step made me want to push, the baby felt so low and heavy and the pressure was unbearable; we finally reached the top of the stairs.

"huuu as you can hmmm see th-the s-second floor ba-haa-bathroom is..." I tried my best to best to describe the house as the contractions were now on top of each other making me pant and wince as I talked.

"Ma'am I'm sorry are you alright?" The customer asked worriedly "ooh d-don't you worry about me, I'm fi-" I was unfortunately interrupted by a loud splash as fluids gushed of my womanhood soaking the carpet beneath my feet.

I squatted deeply as I could feel the baby's head passing through my cervix causing me to push "hnnnnnng haaaa" the customer freaked out and yelled "OH MY GOD!" Catching the attention of everyone in the house.

My face turned a deep red as I turned towards the stairs to see that almost everyone had flocked at their base where they could see my soaked panties under the skirt of my sundress.

I pushed again feeling my lips bulge under the now almost see-through panties "hmmggaaah" I groaned as I slowly stood back up and asked the customer that I had accompanied "huuu c-could you lower m-my underwear haaa?"

They blushed deeply as they lowered themselves in front of me, went under my dress and lowered my drenched panties down to my ankles "th-thank you" I pant out before I hear someone say "Call an ambulance!!!".

Another customer went up the stairs "I think it's best if we get you down miss" he said as he reached me and the other customer "Y-yeah th-that seems like a good idea" I wrapped my arms around both of their shoulders as they helped me down.

Every step was torture as the movement of my legs caused the baby's head to slowly open me up, by the time we reached the bottom of the stairs another contraction hit me "mmmmmmnnnnnggggggghh" I grunted as the baby almost crowns.

"quick get her to the couch!" a customer yelled as my two helpers lead me to the expository couch. As I sat one of the customers opened my legs up and made me put my feet on the coffe table.

"She almost to a full crown I don't think the ambulance will make it in time" she said with a soothing calmness in her voice "alright hun listen to me, the next push is going to hurt like hell, but I need you to keep going until you can, okay?" She said.

I nodded as I tried not to think at all the people watching me in this sorry state. I felt a powerful contraction and began pushing "hnnnnnnnn" "alright good keep going" "nnnnnhhhhhaaaaaaa" "the head is at a full crown, keep pushing" "aaaahhhmmmmmmnnnnggg" I moaned as my pussy felt like it would split apart in front of everyone as I pushed.

"gggggggAAAAAH" "alright nice job miss,the head is halfway out, with the next push it should come out no problem" the woman said smiling softly at me as she lead my hand towards the top of my baby's head to feel it.

As my fingers felt my baby's hair and wet head I could feel myself begginning to cry from joy "oh my god that's my baby" I said tears streaming down my face.

The woman smiled "yes it is and in a minute you'll finally be able to hold them in your arms" she said, her fingers helping my lips stretch, as my body prepared fr another contraction.

As soon as it hit I pushed "hmmmmggaah" I grunted as the head popped out spraying fluids on the couch "amazing hun, let me just check for a cord" she said, all the other customers looking amazed at the head dangling in-between my legs.

"hmmm quick I gotta push" I whimper as the woman checks my baby's neck "alright you're good to know, push to your heart's content" as soon as I heard those words I pushed as hard I could, feeling the shoulders stretch my vagina again as they slowly came out, with my baby sliding out of me into the woman's hands.

"haaa haaa haaa" I panted, my body exhausted from having to birth my child. The woman handed my crying baby to me "it's a boy, how do you want to call him?" She asked as I began nursing my baby as the remaining fluids still leaked out of my sore womanhood.

I look at the woman and ask "what's your name?" She looks puzzled "huh Jessica" she answers, I smile to her and answer "then I'll call him Jesse"

[darbadore]

Scythe posting after half a year of inactivity. May migrate to tumblr tbh

[plushietheplushbearcreature]

Sun and Freddy are not friends.