#as a 'white dot in eye drawings' enjoyer

[babysgarage]

pov: your tumblr mutual forces you to see some guy make this face on your dash 50 times

[delacoursshp]

you wanted me to explain, right? i'll explain.

fred weasley x fem reader- no use of y/n, reader is in gryffindor, both are of age

warnings: smut, 18+, doggy, hot steamy n roughhh, unconsensual consent, spitting, sort of blowjob

this is a short, straight to the point story 😭 but i hope y'all enjoy! @delacourss.hp

-

"fred!" you yelled frustratingly, "fred, come here this instance!"

fred anxiously hurried from the boys dorm room to the common room where you had been standing.

"wussthematta?" he replied half-asleep, eyes heavily lidded with one hand rubbing his eyes, and the other scratching his firey red head.

the common room was entirely dark, except for your lit wand, which was pointing to a piece of parchment on the floor. your nostrils were flaring as your widened eyes and frowned brows signaled fred to look at the paper.

"uuhh," as he slowly realized what he was looking at, "uh, wow, wicked thing to do really, innit?" he yawned, pretending to be so oblivious.

"fred, gideon, weasley." you spoke in a dangerous tone. fred looked up at you, looking as if he was about to be cruciated. you pointed your still-very-lit wand up at him, making his face whiter than before and his vision blurred.

the piece of parchment showed a talently drawn woman, her clothes shed off and her tongue out. the woman seemed to look an awful lot like you.

"do i even have to speak? it's YOU who should do the explaining, fred!" you said angrily.

fred sighed and let his arms fall limp to his sides, still partly blinded by your wand. "how are you even assuming it's mine? you've got no proof whatsoever!" he told defensively.

you scoffed, drawing your wand away for him, muttering something that lit up the whole common room and then picked up the piece of paper, which now had clearly shown strands of red hair covering the thighs of the woman.

"oh come off it, it could've been george or- or ron!"

you gifted him a look of disbelief. "alright, so tell me you didn't do it then." you spoke firmly.

fred groaned. he had this issue ever since he met you, the one where he just fully can't lie to you. he closed his eyes in defeat.

"aaaalright, it was me. congratulations, now may i continue dreaming about perce eating rotten pies? it was a quit enjoyable dream" he asked, simply, as if this was nothing.

you yanked him by his ear, faces now cm's away from eachother. "i do, NOT, tolerate this piece of filthy work!" you grunted. fred 'ouched' in response.

you let go of his now red ear, picked up the piece of paper, held it next to your head, and handed fred your wand.

you waited impatiently, as fred just looked confused.

"well?? do it!"

"aughh", fred just groaned dissapointedly, "expelliarmus!"

a shot of yellowish red light flew towards the parchment, and it dissapeared out of your hands, leaving a few white dots on the floor.

you sighed in relief. "wasn't so hard was it? now, i'm expecting an explanation, so i hope you prepared one whilst i was waiting."

"oh, come on. you must have some idea why." fred said, tone low and soft, glaring at you like you were some sort of prey, "don't act so innocent, love."

your expression changed. can it be? no, that would be weird. you guys are friends after all. fred smirked and playfully winked at you.

"don't be silly, fred." you had decided to say. "c'mon, it's late, let's head to bed before anyone sees us."

you were glad you chose to change topics, it was getting a little awkward, which it never usually is between you and fred.

fred followed you but before you could land your feet on the stairs, fred grabbed you by your hips.

"you wanted me to explain, right? i'll explain."

-

"oh fuck! oh yes!" the boy relentlessly pounded into you from behind. the force of his thrusts were beyond powerful."fredd- freddie! rightt.. fucking... there. ah!" you moaned. fuck, it felt so good you never wished for it to end.

"mhmmm, yeah? you like that huh, love?" fred shakingly spoke in your ear, sending you goosebumps, which only added to your incoming orgasm.

your back was flush with his chest, and you struggled to keep your legs still. he snaked his arm around your waist as he fucked into you, his other arm too occupied rubbing your little clit.

this sudden but slight change made you grasp his hair with your right hand, the other hand trying to push his pelvis away as the pleasure became overwhelming.

"mmh, don't push me away. you know you want this." he groaned.

"shit, shit, shit!" you kept gasping. the man showed no mercy, as he lifted one of your legs by your thigh, so he could be even deeper, if that was possible.

"too deep, freddie! too f-fucking deep!" you screamed. fred only chuckled at your helpless noises, feeling so proud of himself that he could get those sounds out of your pretty lips.

he sped up his merciless pace, skin-slapping noises lewdly contrasting against your high-pitched moans and freds deep grunts."yes! yes!" you kept whining, as he hit your g-spot over and over again. your eyes rolled back, and, for a moment, all your senses blacked out, and if it wasn't for freds strong grip on you, you would've fell.

"aah, fuck yeah." fred groaned, as he looked down to where you were connected to see a splash of white, sticky, hot liquid all over his and your pelvis.

he quickly pulled out, spinning you and immediately shoving you down on your knees.

your mind was still hazey as you were still coming down from your high. looking up at him, you saw him look back while roughly stroking his cock. finally understanding his gaze, you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out.

well fuck, this was just like the drawing.

"mm, keep looking at me like that, sweetheart." he said, in a strained voice. "i'm.. almost.." he moaned, "...there."

the sight infront of you was so delicious, you just had to do something about it. you licked his tip, kissed it and then spit on it.

fred seemed surprised, and stroked faster then ever, before shooting his load onto your tongue."ahaa, oh yeah.." he sighed.

you made sure, once his eyes opened, that he saw your semen covered tongue, and then you swallowed.

not even caring what it tasted like, but caring about how fred reacted, you giggled as you saw him smirk and raise his eyebrows as if he was impressed by your actions.

"you get it now, beautiful? was that a good enough explanation?" fred said, lifting you up by your arms, and carrying you to the gryffindor bathroom.

"mhm, that was a perfect explanation, fred."

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

aaaa! was this good?😭 goshh i hope so. gimme tips n stuff, i'd rlly appreciate it!! :)

[fox-guardian]

[ID: Two sets of traditional drawings of Oliver Banks, a lanky black man with shoulder-length locs half pulled up in a ponytail with a few locs hanging in front of his face. He has a lip ring, an eyebrow piercing, black stud earrings, and oval glasses.

The first set is four uncolored drawings of him in a simplified style. In all of them, he is wearing two sweaters, cuffed skinny jeans, and lace-up dress shoes. The first drawing is just him standing with a neutral expression with his arms slightly out to the sides. The second drawing is of him standing on one leg with his arms up, as though pretending to run. His expression is awkward. The third drawing is of him sitting with the soles of his shoes pressed together and his hands in his lap, he is asleep with "Z"s floating next to him, snoring. The fourth drawing is a waist up one of him drinking a cup of coffee with his eyes shut.

The second set is of three drawings colored with gray marker. The first is a more realistic drawing of Oliver in a bathtub spilling over with bubbles. He is wearing a polka-dotted bonnet over his hair and his glasses are resting on a towel hanging over the side of the tub. The second drawing is in more of a simplified style, he is wearing the same outfit as in the first set of drawings, only with an extra sweater that goes down to his ankles, and he is holding a lacy umbrella over himself. The third drawing is a chest up doodle in a simplified style of Oliver wearing a turtleneck and cradling a black cat with yellow eyes. His hair turns white towards the ends. He smiles and laughs as the cat puts his paw on Oliver's chin, saying "mrow!" end ID]

~~~~

A small collection of olivers I did while listening to welcome to night vale. Each Oliver took the length of one (1) night vale episode to draw. Combining my podcast joys in the most enjoyable ways I can.

Feat Mori the black cat that I think Oliver should have.

[cloudninetonine]

Ya'll, I had the motivation to write about my Linksona so please forgive my cringe 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 Seeing as I can't draw you'll have to endure my words instead.

But I made it more enjoyable by putting Player in, I'm so smart.

Also tired, I need to stop writing at fuck all o'clock- please forgive me for any potential mistakes.

Warnings: Mentions of stalking, slight mention of body horror, this story is supposed to have a more creepy/scary feel to it so just in case, little mention of blood, mention of death and decapitation

“....there’s something wrong with this Hyrule.”

Uttered by the light of the fire, no one seemed to fight the words. A spell cast over the whole lot, you couldn’t help but watch them all- silent, watching, waiting. 

It scared you. Not a single one of the boys had relaxed ever since stepping through the portal, into the freezing temperatures of the horrid night. Snow graced every step you took, the cold air sneaking under you clothes and chilling you right to the bone. It was too cold, not even a special item seemed to keep away the frost and left every single one of you shivering before you finally ducked into the nearest cave you could find.

That wasn’t the worst of it.

Something was following you.

Word had worked it’s way up the Chain, starting from the trailing head and leading right to the leading as you traversed. You hadn’t been informed until you were finally settled in the cave, cuddled next to Hyrule’s surprisingly warm side when he whispered softly into your ear the words that had been fleeting in the moments earlier. 

“Something has followed us.” You tensed, eyes widening as you glanced over to him with a frightened gaze. He looked sympathetic. “I did not want to worry you, but I also did not want to leave you in the dark any longer.”

A quick glance around the group showed their guards, not a single back open to the mouth of the cave.

You burrowed yourself into his side, terrified.

“...Is it Dink?”

“No I do not believe so.”

“Then what is it…?”

He tightened his arm around you protectively, “I am unsure.”

And thus those words have slipped right from your mouth. “....there’s something wrong with this Hyrule.”

And the man couldn’t help but agree.

Your eyes stayed glued to the mouth of the wave with a similar sense of foreboding that cast over the entire group. Watching, as the snow fell to create a carpet of white on the dense forest floor, the trees shaking in the breeze of the winter night and with a mist of cold gliding along without a care in sight. As beautiful as it was unsettling, you couldn’t really bathe in the sight when every little nerve danced with adrenaline and readied for fight or flight.

Courage ran every single one of these men, even that fourteen year old just a little right of you, and here you were so close to pissing your own fucking pants.

Glancing over you noticed something in the dark, a chill running up your spine.

Two glowing dots, just between the trees.

“I…” 

Your throat dried up, body sinking back into the wall of the cave hoping desperately that it would swallow you whole and spit you back out into a place that wasn’t here. Terrified. You were terrified. No logic, nor reason could help you in this time of peril. A wolf in the forest? No. Your own fear playing tricks, hallucinations haunting your mind? No- you were certain that what you were seeing was real and two feral eyes were staring right at you from within the darkness of the night. Was that what was stalking you? Following you? You-

Epona’s incessant neighs brought you back, eyes snapping towards the mare as she whined and stood, her hooves kicking against the ground as Twilight stood just to her side protectively. Actually, everyone was standing, hands resting on swords and some already pulled as they all focused on the-

…the man standing, staring at you all.

When had he appeared?

“Weary travellers,” He spoke, his voice monotone with not a shred of emotion in his eyes, “It is not safe here, it is best you come with me to shelter.”

That wasn’t a hylian, the doubt strong in your mind. It spoke wrong. It looked wrong. It felt wrong. The uncanny valley was too great for you to deny, it had hylian features, it had a hylian face but there wasn’t a doubt it was a monster in disguise. But not a Yiga, no, their disguises didn't give off this aura- this was way worse.

First scowled, “I know you were a mask, monster, take it off and face us with dignity.”

The thing’s eye twitched and you felt your own hand twitch, the blue of your Sheikah mark slowly blooming into a yellow.

If it attacked, you’d stasis it.

You’d protect yourself and the boys.

Not that they needed it.

“I am a man, just like you.” The words lacked convincing, something shifting in its face- a fire’s shadow couldn’t hide such tricks. “Come with me and I will lead you all to safety.”

It made you sick from just how inhuman it obviously was and how hard it still tried to convince you.

The sound of metal sliding out of it’s sheath pulled your attention to Sky as he readied Fi in his hands, the Master Sword glowing faintly with the power of her holy light. Her sight was relieving, the sword of her hum working to ease your pounding heart and you glanced back at the monster that stared at Sky with wide, dead eyes.

“You…” It hissed, it’s voice a very quick shift from its earlier tone. “Hero of Courage…”

A crack.

A pop.

It’s face began to slowly morph, the boys raising their swords all ready-

When a sword sliced right through its neck and it’s severed head fell heavy to the stony floor, a gargled scream of both pain and anger causing you to slam your hands around your ears in an attempt to save yourself (a little too late) from the absolutely scarring sound.

Blood pooled around the monster, it’s fierce face still frozen in that vicious look before it poofed away like any other monster, leaving behind usual monster part drops in its wake.

Another man now stood in the mouth of a cave more hylian than the last, wiping down his blade before expertly sheathing it back away as he met the eyes of the understandably wary group.

“I apologise.” He spoke, voice quite dull but still holding a human emotion. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you all but it is much better for a sneak attack with such monsters.”

No one spoke a word, the man did a once over.

“Are any of you hurt?” 

His gaze fell to you and you paused, taking him in. Clad in an intimidating set of dark armour, with a very thick and warm looking fur cloak settled on his shoulders, the man seemed to tower over you all in the group, with the obvious expectation of Mecha who stayed crouched just a few inches before you and still very ready to pounce. Dirty blonde curls blew with the wind accompanied by a thick beard and moustache for extra protection from the cold. A pale complexion that almost didn’t stand out in the white of the snow had it not been from the red of his blush and his eyes…you had seen those eyes.

Where had you seen those eyes? Almost inhuman but not quite there, greyish blue looking at you curious, probably studying you similar to how you studied them.

“Is your friend hurt?” He asked suddenly, some turning to you. “They look unwell.”

Hyrule rushed over with words of comfort as he helped you unfurl yourself from your panicked ball, helping you to stand while Time and First took attention by stepping forward.

“Are you alright?” Hyrule asked, grasping your cheek and looking at you properly, “Hurt? Do you feel ill?”

“Just a little scared, Hyrule, that’s all.” An understatement, you were close to having a heart attack. “That monster was creepier than usual.”

He cringed, “I didn’t think you would have to experience one like them.”

“Huh? You’ve seen them before?”

“Yes, just once, but…well, let’s say courage can only do so much when you’re separated.”

You shivered at the thought. It was already horrid enough with the group, you couldn’t even begin to think of the horror that would come with it alone.

“How did you know we were here?” Time asked and the two of you turned, watching as the old man, even then, tried to intimidate the taller man. To his credit, he didn’t seem the least bit affected "And what was that creature?”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You do not know of a bugge?”

“We’re not from around him.” Twilight responded, still trying to calm Epona’s jitters. “We’re…travellers.”

“...A bugge is an infected monster from Ganon’s curse.” Everyone tensed at the word, “I was following it when it began to follow something else- which was you all. Despite it’s obvious tricks the monster did not lie, this area is not safe and it would be best to travel to Castle Town. I can lead you there”

Castle Town. You were close to Castle Town, that was good to know.

“How do we know we can trust you?” Legend snarked, crossing his arms over his chest with a glare. “By yourself in the middle of a dangerous forest, somehow tracking the exact monster that lead you to us- quite the coincidence.”

The man glanced to him, eyes still near inhuman. “Are you saying I am a monster?”

“No, but I am saying you’re not very trustworthy.” The Veteran scowled. “So why should we trust you?”

He seemed to take in those words for a moment, staring at the blonde with a dull look that only made him shift uncomfortably as time ticked by- Legend was right. You couldn’t just trust him, you didn’t know who he was and as the Veteran had discussed this was indeed quite the coincidence, especially with your band of heroes.

But then again you felt the caution wasn’t needed, looked at the new face with a feeling that you shared similar to all the men who surrounded you- comfort. Safety. There was an inkling scratching at the back of your mind and you wondered if the assumption that formed from it was correct.

The man zoned back in, blinking. “I have no words to convince you.”

Legend huffed.

“But with the sword the seals the darkness strapped to his back-” He turned towards Sky who straightened, Fi resuming her humming. “I don’t see why you would need to worry, she would have already warned you if I possessed danger.”

“You know of the Master Sword.” Warriors concluded. “Not many we have come across do.”

“I remember the blade that allowed me to end the monster, Ganon.”

Wait, that meant…

“Your name?”

“I believe you already know.” He stood a little taller, a spark of Courage within that greyish blue. 

“I am Link, Hero of Hyrule.”

Another hero.

[troutfur]

I bring Sunkit, a golden tabby with some orange splatters and white socks! they have bright green eyes and are a molly (female) (i hope i did this right!)

As Featherstorm makes his last mark on the sand and turns to the parents, they gives a lick to the kit. "Must be a favorite of the stars, little furball," he says, as he beckons her parents over.

---

Woah! And I thought I wouldn't ever get as favorable of a chart as with Duskflower!

Let's take a looksie!

[Image ID: Under the header “What will Sunkit’s life be like? (02/18/2023)” 16 rows of tally marks crossed out two by two until there is only 1 or 2 left uncrossed. To the left, a shield chart at the top with the following geomantic figures: Fortuna Minor as the first mother, Amissio as the second mother, Puella as the third mother, Tristitia as the fourth mother, Cauda Draconis as the first daughter, Laetitia as the second daughter, Coniunctio as the third daughter, Fortuna Maior as the fourth daughter, Coniunctio as the first niece, Amissio as the second niece, Coniunctio as the third niece, Acquisitio as the fourth niece, Fortuna Minor as the right witness, Fortuna Maior as the left witness, Via as the judge, and Fortuna Maior as the sentence. Below the shield chart, an astrological house chart with the first twelve geomantic figures above mentioned assigned to houses 1 to 12 in the order mentioned above. /end ID]

(If you're confused why it's bars and dots and not just dots now, I'm just trying out another way of drawing the figures. Just aesthetics to see which I like better.)

Interpretation under the cut:

I can't hardly imagine ever getting a more favorable arrangement of court figures. Via as the judge indicates that Sunkit here will have a very dynamic life, lots of twists and turns, but the sentence, Fortuna Maior, tells me this will end in guaranteed and lasting success. Furthermore, the witnesses, Fortuna Maior on the right and Fortuna Minor on the left, further predict success, first of a dependent kind evolving into the independent one represented by Fortuna Maior. Which like. Doesn't that just decribe the natural path of a succesful life? Success with the help of the adults around you evolving into success on your own.

From the first house figure, the theme of success prevails with Fortuna Minor occupying this house. This make sense within the narrative of the court, reinforcing the idea that independent success is the conclusion of a journey begun with dependent success.

On the second house we have Amissio, loss. Once again at the house I never know what to do with at all. I'm just be lazy and pick an interpretation from other charts with Amissio in the second house and say lousy hunter just to be done with it.

Puella in the house of platonic close relationships bodes well! Seems like Sunkit will be well taken care of by others around them. Or will be the one to take care of them. Leaning towards the former on account of the fact we already have plenty of nurturing types in SandClan. Plus with the next house...

Tristitia in the house of parents points to a tragedy of some kind. And I think I want to go here for orphaned. Thus the sorrow of Tristitia could very well refer to a sense of longing for parents she never met. Take this with the previous house and it seems to me the chart is suggesting a cat who was taken care of very communally. House 3 is the house of neighborhood and community after all.

Moving on to the fifth house, Cauda Draconis is hardly ever a good omen. I'm leaning towards fertility issues for this one and here's my rationale. As the figure of foregone conclusions and endings, in this house it suggests to me this idea of trying for a child in spite of knowing it isn't going to work. On the first house in traditional geomantic lore also often indicates a stubborn querent who is likely to ignore the advice of the chart. Thus it fits rather neatly, don't y'all think?

On the sixth house is Laetitia, so good health and enjoyment in it. That's a very positive message to be getting here, if rather uninformative. Positive figures in this house are typically so boring. I wish I had much more Amissios in this house so I can keep giving these characters cool scars and injuries. But alas!

On the seventh house, Coniunctio, connection and communication. So, great love life, a partner she clicks well with. It may not be smooth sailing, as a certain house ahead tells me, but it overall bodes well!

On the eigth house, Fortuna Maior. The urge to make this character the girl boss that just guts someone is pretty strong, ngl. But it could also refer to the fact her very attentive and nurturing upbringing due to being orphaned paves the way to being succesful independently. We'll see if our last four houses suggest anything. We haven't touched much on Via being the judge, change hasn't factored much.

On the ninth house, Coniunctio again, connections in the house of long journeys. Which is what suggests to me the house seventh figure was not going to be smooth sailing or immediate. The love story is what seems to be one of the stronger unifying threads of the narrative.

On the tenth house, Amissio, so loss of respect or authority. Here's an interesting twist to her story, what respect or authority is she losing? She doesn't strike me as a high ranking Clan member. But perhaps if we factor the Fortuna Maior in house eight that's perhaps a reputation hit for having done what she thought was necessary?

On the eleventh house, Coniunctio. Even through the loss of status she seems to still be well-connected. I can only suppose she got people on her side thinking what she did was the right thing to do. Although also...

On the twelfth house, Acquisitio. Gain in the house of enemies and antagonistic figures. She will also be facing strong opposition. From the Clan's beloved communal child to a pretty controversial figure. That seems to fit the vibe of Via pretty well and the narrative of the court. Overall it all ended well, she found independent success. But these last houses do indicate strife in her life.

So! Putting it all together:

Orphaned very young, Sunkit was showered in attention from the Clan at large. Though she very much wished to have known her parents, overall she had a happy childhood and grew up into a great warrior, if not the best hunter. Though the road to finding her ideal partner was long, she did eventually settle down with a good cat and planned to start a family. Fertility issues got in the way though, and though she was made aware of such by Featherstorm she stubbornly kept trying. Her life looked idyllic but on the borders, the constant conflict of SandClan with an aggressive force (proably another Clan, must be something under the protection of the code in order to really cause a stir) forced her to take extreme measures. By committing an assassination, potentially of a very important figure, she made a great deal of enemies, but within her Clan maintained solidarity and connection. This did, however, make others very weary of her and hurt her reputation somewhat. But ever confident and independent, she was able to thrive on her own.

A good name would be Sunshade I think.

[casspurrjoybell-26]

Made of Steele - Chapter 12

*Warning: Adult Content*

Kit's hands were like electricity, everywhere he touched, he set something within me ablaze.

"Fuck, I want you so much, Jamie," Kit breathlessly moaned in my ear as my back hit his bed and he landed on top of me.

I grabbed the back of his head and pressed our lips together roughly, only making Kit groan out loudly as he grinded his erection against mine, our naked, sweaty body sticking to one another's.

It was weird, I had never felt like I was losing control before and with this newfound feeling for Kit and his hands touching my body, I had zero say over what I was doing as my hands caressed all I could reach.

I was scared but more so, I wanted him badly, which made me more impatient than scared, despite not knowing what I was doing.

Fuck, was I about to let some guy...

"Put it in me," Kit said, huskily against my lips before pulling away to look at me.

Kit was straddling me and stroking both himself and my erection in his hands as I stared up at him, his wet parted mouth and eyes filled with need and desire as he stared down at my face.

'What was he saying?'

"You want me to...?" I asked, not surely what he meant.

He nodded his head and grinned.

"I don't bottom... but if it's okay with you, I want to try."

Bottom? I was confused, yet nodded my head anyways as sat up on my elbows and watched as Kit got up from me and went to grab something in one of his bedside draws.

"Without this, you'll definitely rip me apart..." he joked, showing me a bottle of lube. "You're the biggest I've seen, you know?"

I rolled my eyes and then suddenly shivers went through me as something wet and cold touched my erection and once I saw what Kit was doing, I could only stare as my heart pounded wildly against my chest.

Kit had used one had to put a condom on me and his other to put fingers inside of his ass, it was too sexy that I almost looked away from embarrassment but once I saw the look in his eyes, there was no way I wanted to miss any of what was happening in front of me.

He was driving me crazy and all I could do was watch in anticipation as he pushed his fingers deeper inside of himself.

"Mhmm... fuck, this will have to do," he grunted, removing his fingers.

"I want to feel you now," he said impatiently, hovering himself over me.

As I watched Kit, lower himself on top of me, there were no words for the amount of pleasure I felt as I entered inside of him, it was enough to make me see white dots and get lightheaded.

"Y-You're so big..." he grunted, as he only managed to fit half of me inside of him.

"Are you okay?" I had to ask, as he looked like he was in pain.

It made me remember my first time with my first girlfriend and Hannah, now that I think about it, my first time with any girl had been a sour experience as each and every woman I have been with, had complained in pain about my size.

It got to the point where sex wasn't enjoyable anymore because I'd never do it for long as the girls I had been with, could never take me for long, which always put me off the idea of anything sexual.

Yet, seeing Kit's expression change in the blink of an eye, to pain than to pleasure had me second guessing everything up until now.

"I'm fine," Kit laughed, as we both stared at where we were both connected.

As soon as Kit started moving, I held eye contact and watched him start to ride me, a slow motion of his hips grinding on top of me as I watched his face shift as his rock-hard erection twitched.

I had never experienced something so erotic before until now, I could not compare it with anything, as nothing came close to what I was feeling with Kit right now.

There was zero chance that I was going to regret this, although a silent voice in my head was telling me I would.

Once Kit got into a comfortable rhythm on top of me, I saw the look in his eye chance and with that look, I pulled myself up and turned him over until I was laying on top of him, with Kit underneath me.

He was tight and it felt different having sex with a guy than it was a girl but none of that bothered me as I started moving my hips, moving myself slowly inside of him to, then back out again.

"F-Fuck..." Kit groaned out, then reached his hand out to the back of my head to pull me down.

Kit's lips crashed on mine and I didn't think twice about kissing him back, keeping my thrusts the same pace as his teeth graze my lower lip before he bite down hard.

"What the fuck..." I hissed out, as his nails dug painfully into my back.

Kit didn't give me a chance to think as he forced his tongue inside my mouth and then started caressing his tongue against mine in a rough play for dominance, his teeth scraping my lips as he both grunt and breath heavily from our rough kiss.

Using my free hand, I grab hold of Kit's erection and wrap my hand tightly around it, making Kit cry out and pull his lips away from mine, one of his hands still digging into my back and the other on my hip.

"I-I'm close," he said, swearing under his breath as I nodded my head, noticing how his muscled tightened in his stomach.

"Me too," I said, thrusting more deeply inside of him.

I took his lips with mine again, only this time I took full control as I sucked his tongue and deepened the kiss, both of us out of breath.

The sound of out hot, sweaty naked bodies slamming against each other in the small room filled my ears, along with Kit's pants and the sound of our lips, smacking against each other's.

When I felt it, I removed myself from Kit and then pulled the condom off, then I started to stroke myself just as Kit grabbed hold of his own erection and copied me as we both released everything onto Kit's stomach.

When I opened my eyes again, Kit grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me down, he pressed his hot wet and swollen lips against mine and started kissing me with a sense of passion I had never felt from a kiss before.

"I like you so much..." Kit breathed out, quietly as I pulled back slightly to look into his eyes.

His eyes were soft and there was something about them that scared me.

"Please stay the night?" he asked, as I looked down at our sweaty bodies, in desperate need of a hot shower.

I didn't know what to say to his confession, in reality I didn't know anything about Kit but then again, I couldn't deny the way he made me feel new things when I was with him.

He made me happy but did I like him?

That was a question I didn't even know how to answer.

"I'll stay, if I can use your shower," I said seriously, making Kit snort and then laugh.

When Kit pulled me down, my chest got covered in our release, making me grimace as I moved away from in-between Kit's legs until I got off the bed, seeing fully just how much our release was mixed with one another.

"Come on handsome, bathroom is across the hall," Kit laughed, as I rolled my eyes and followed him, as he got up from the bed.

I noticed that Kit had a tattoo on his back but from the lighting I couldn't see what it was, which was something I never thought he'd have, being as he looks, talks and acts like a guy who follows all the rules.

"You're showering with me?" I ask, as I followed Kit across the hall and into a small bathroom as he turns on the light.

"If that's okay?" he turns to me, before turning on the shower.

As I stood there, naked with Kit, who was also naked, I tried to think of a reason why showering together was too soon but as I looked at him and the body I had caressed, kissed and pleasured, I couldn't think of one.

I'd never showered with anyone before, physical affection was just something I wasn't comfortable with, at-least not with strangers, I liked to keep myself too just that, myself.

"Sure, hope it's big enough."

Fuck it. I've already broken all the rules, why not break another? 

[angelinpiink]

what you need!

❥ note: working on requests as we speak! dont be shy to send more in!

❥ pairing: jean x fem! reader

❥ warning: this oneshot contains mature content/themes such as cheating, sex, dirty talk? and quickies?

❥ plot: jean pays reader a visit while her boyfriend eren is away after not seeing each other for a while things take a turn in the direction they always do that being the pair end up having desperate sex on the kitchen countertop

Bored eyes stared blankly at your phone screen, you mumbled a quick goodbye and reminded your boyfriend to be safe as the door shut behind him. He had left without giving you a kiss or any sort of clue as to where he was going, in the past this alone would have had you sick to your stomach and pacing back and forth in the apartment,but after a while of seeing he didn't care how it affected you, you too stopped caring.

One thing you did know for sure was that wherever he was he wouldn't be coming back until a few hours before sunrise, smelling of alcohol and weed as he always did. You often found yourself feeling stuck and unimportant when it came to eren. He was so focused on living the fast life with parties and popularity that he hadn't even realized he’d left you behind. Your phone vibrated against your hand, a notification from Jean popping up drawing your attention back to the screen.

Can I come over tonight?

I miss you

Your eyes scanned over the text and your heartbeat sped up when the texts continued to come in.

Please, baby I just wanna see that pretty face of yours.

Jean had always been the one to keep you company whenever Eren was away. He was dependable and always there when you needed him without asking for a thing in return. In the beginning things were completely innocent. The two of you would watch movies and play video games together just like any other pair of friends would, spending the nights laughing at each other's random jokes. That changed as eren started coming home less and less it left room for things between you and Jean to become not so innocent.

Your fingers moved across the keyboard and typed up a reply before hitting send:

yes and if it wouldn't be too much could you bring food?

Gaze glued to the screen you watched as the read receipt followed by the 3 dots showing he was typing Anything for you I’ll be over soonYou were certain that he'd be there before you had the chance to get completely dolled up for him, but that didn't mean you couldn't try to look your absolute best. Getting up from the couch, your legs carried you towards the bedroom you shared with Eren.

With a sigh, you pushed open the white door, stepping across the threshold. Making your way towards your dresser. you didn't own very many sets as eren was never one to appreciate that sort of thing, he would always complain about how they only got in the way before ripping them off you. That's just how sex was with eren, never bad but his impatience sometimes got in the way of your enjoyment.

Jean on the other hand always took his time with you, making sure he gave the same amount of care and to every part of you no matter how insignificant it may have seemed. He loved every part of you and was never afraid to be vocal about it either.After giving it some thought you settled on a lace baby pink set with a bow in the middle of the bralette ,you slipped it on over your curves and began to stare fondly at yourself in the mirror. You were certain Jean would like it.

There was a knock at the door. You did a few quick spritz of perfume before putting on your silk robe. “Who is it?” you asked, eye taking a peep through the hole that revealed jean standing outside in your hallway.

“Special delivery for a pretty girl named..(name)”

“Hey” Jean spoke with a grin that was more than enough to make you melt plastered on his face.

You too couldn't help but to smile as your arms wrapped around his frame, burying your face into his chest.

“Missed me?” he asked, his smile morphing into a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the takeout bag from him. Trying your best to hide your embarrassment while you placed the food on the counter in the kitchen.

“Oh shut up, i'm only thanking you for bringing food.” Jean followed behind you.

His gaze was fixated on your ass. your back turned to him,reaching into the cabinets to grab plates for the two of you. The male’s movements were swift when he made his way towards you without your noticing. You turned, reaching to place the plates down to find your face mere inches away from the other's.

"how did I not notice you?" you questioned to which jean only responded by shushing you.

He pressed his lips against yours. towering over you due to his tall stature. you struggled to wrap your arms around his neck until he lifted you up onto the counter. Pulling him towards your frame, you deepened the kiss. Jean's hands made their way under your robe and onto your thighs. His grip on them was firm, yet gentle as he pried them apart. His fingers undid the tie on your robe . Your face began to grow hot upon taking notice of the fact that he was checking you out.

“Such a pretty girl.” he whispered into your ear.

This didn't do much to help the condition you were in. Still flustered as ever you could feel his signature grin against your neck while he placed gentle kisses on the skin. Scooting closer to the end of the edge of the counter you wrapped your legs around your lover’s waist. Your hips moving against his crotch. The bulge in his pants being difficult to miss given ho close you were. you too found yourself feeling confident when your movements elicited a groan from the other.

“That’s it baby..” he spoke moving a hand to your hips to guide them.

“Hurry.” A whine left your lips.

“Just put it in already.”

“Be patient baby, I'm gonna give you just what you need. I promise.." He said, hurriedly unzipping his pants.

Knowing just how needy you could get and the last thing he wanted to do was keep you waiting.

“do you trust me?" the male asked. his gaze rose to meet yours and he watched you nod.

“good girl, i'm gonna take such good care of you like I always do."

You nod, letting your legs spread wider as Jean begins to rub circles in your swollen clit. A moan erupts from your lips the second his movements quickend. “Stop teasing and just get on with it already.” He pushed his digits into your pussy, slick coating his fingers as they moved deeper causing your hips to wiggle.

“More.” you muttered.

Jean obliged, picking up his pace while his free finger worked at your clit. He continued to edge you, your whimpers becoming music to his ears motivating him to fuck you harder. There was much anticipation as he took his cock into his hand and guided it to your entrance. removing his fingers and just as quickly he pushed his way inside. A gentle gasp escaped your lips at the stretch, nails digging into his arm. Jean’s hips moved, pushing himself deeper into your slick pussy. You found yourself feeling overwhelmed and too full.

“It's too much, slow down p-please..” you whimpered, fingernails digging further into his arm.Your words gave Jean no incentive to slow down.

He had waited for this moment for what felt like far too long, for what felt like forever. He wasn't gonna wait any longer. Though Jean usually was never one to be in a rush when it came to sex, all his self control went out the window in thi very moment when it came to you. I mean how could he? After spending his days apart from you pining for the day when he’d finally get to be inside of you again. And by the way your thighs were keeping him trapped in place, he was sure you needed him just as bad.

“Shh..you can take it. you were so eager for it before, right baby?..”

“You're doing so good..” he gave a low but audible moan.

it sent shivers down your spine sending a pool of heat straight to your core. Your eyes examined his form, taking notice of his prominent Adam's apple, which was exposed by how far his head fell back. His thumb rubbing gentle circles in your clit, his hips fucking his cock into you deeper. a cry left your lips.

“j-jean please..give me more..I need more." Jean’s speed increased, pressing his lips to yours.

“So so close, keep going please..” You whimpered, fingernails clutching the fabric of your lover’s shirt.

He found the sight of you coming undone to be the most beautiful thing. Just like that He came inside of you as your walls clenched around him, draining him dry of every drop of cum.

“God I love you.” he groaned. Against your lips.

Your thighs trembling and the grip they had on his waist now faltering. Coated in a slight layer of sweat you and your lover struggled to gain your breathing, heart pounding fast as ever while you both came down from your highs.

“do you think the foods still warm?” you mutter in a slight daze. your face buried into jean’s chest.

“doesn’t matter, let’s get cleaned up.” he says lifting you off the counter and into his arms.

you hold onto him tight. closing your eyes to savor the moment, knowing all too well it can’t last forever. wren will be home eventually and Jean will have to leave, pretending as thought none of it ever happened. you’d be left desperately waiting for the next time you’d be able to see him. in the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to ignore the problem at hand or the untrue nature of your actions.

pretending that you and Jean are the only people in the world. content and happy as ever. your heart beginning to flutter as he kissed your temple. this was what love should feel like. this wasn’t wasn’t just something you want but something you need.

here's my master list!

[seriouslysnape]

To the Limit

__

Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Slight smut. Use of safeword. Language.

Request: Hi! Can u make Severus × Reader when the reader use the safe words for the first time because idk maybe it's too much for the reader that day or smth else you like..Thankyouu 💕💕 love ur writings btw ❤❤

A/N: Here we gooooooo. Reminder, everything is consensual.

Word Count: 2,947

“Okay, darling. Whatever you want.”

__

Severus has always been flexible in the bedroom. Yes, Severus Snape is versatile in the sheets and has more love making skills than you originally would’ve given him credit for. Sex with Severus can range anywhere from slow and careful where praising your body is his main objective, to fucking you so mercilessly that stars are dotting the back of your eyelids with each hard thrust.

Sometimes, you don’t have to establish what kind of theme your sessions will take on. If Severus comes home angry from a long, obnoxious day then you very well know that a rough fucking will get it out of his system. When you’ve just watched one of your favorite romantic drama Muggle movies that have sent you into tears, he knows that something more unhurried is in order so you are reminded of how much he loves you.

Other times though, there isn’t really anything that determines the kind of sex you’ll be having. If the mood is right for both of you, then you often will just figure it out from there. 

Severus’ return on Friday night from a long week of classes was coated with his desire for you. You could practically feel the hard sexual tension radiating off of his whole being. From the moment he walked in the door, you knew what tonight would hold for the both of you. More than likely, it’d be a whole lot of rutted fucking and orgasms until neither of you had any stamina left to give. Normally, a seed of excitement would be planted and begin to grow in your core at the thought of being touched by him, but you didn’t feel it this time. 

It had been a bad week to put it simply. Work was weighing you down and you had taken more hits than you were used to in a five day time period. Exhaustion had riddled you, and stress has gotten the best of you. Emotional breakdown was the only way you could describe how you were feeling. You really weren’t feeling up to what Severus wanted to do. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him when his hands and lips were on you, moving to all his favorite places on you.

His voice was silky smooth in your ears as he uplifted you with how he had been thinking about you all day, and how he wanted to be with you when you weren’t around. It wasn’t Severus’ fault that you had a bad week, and it surely wasn’t all his fault that he was this turned on. The way he gripped your legs with his strong hands was an indicator that he wanted to go well into the night, which your tired state wasn’t a fan of. But you loved Severus, and you always wanted him to be happy and well pleased. So you figured you could handle a couple of coarse rounds to satisfy him.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Once access was granted, Severus leapt onto you without hesitation. A tornado of clothes being removed whirled around the room, your shirt and pants ended up on complete opposite sides of the room. Hot and unruly kisses were shared, marks were left on your necks, and no part of you went unattended. 

Admittedly, the first orgasm was actually enjoyable. Severus’ fingers were knuckle deep in your needy cunt and pumping vigorously as he found all the best spots. The strenuous activity melted some of the week’s stress from your conscience, your mind being stripped of all your worry as it clouded with ecstasy. Severus thrived off of the moans and noises of delight that he was drawing out of your throat, perfecting his movements to give you an even stronger release. Severus worked you to your finish as you came around his fingers, slicking them with arousal and relief. 

He left lazy kisses over your breasts while you took a moment to recover, preparing yourself for the next round that was undoubtedly on its way. Tiredness had plagued you long before Severus had even walked through the door, and you had suddenly been robbed of even more energy, so you were confident that you might not get a proper orgasm this second time. But the moment Severus slid you onto his dick and stretched your walls the way only he knew how to, you knew that you were going to cum whether you felt like you could handle it or not.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. You loved seeing Severus so enraptured in waves of pleasure and gratification, but you were beyond fatigued. Still, you bounced up and down on his lap over and over again, your already sensitive clit throbbing with each rub of his fingers. Severus’ other hand guided your hip movements to meet the way he thrusted up into you, hitting your g-spot just right.

When you came this time, your sound of release was more of a strained cry than a content sound. Severus didn’t seem to notice, since he was too focused on the intoxicating feeling of filling you with his own finish. You popped off of him before he was even emptied out, the rest of his fluids landing on your inner thighs. You fell onto the bed next to him, your breathing much heavier than usual. 

You were totally tuckered out with absolutely no hope of another round. Your muscles ached and your bones were wiped out. Although, you felt a queasy feeling of despair when you saw that familiar look of lust in Severus’ eyes. He spoke lowly, his voice echoing in your ringing ears.

“I’m not through with you yet, love.” He purred.

Usually that would’ve sent a whole mess of arousal through you, but you were too worn out. But Severus usually didn’t last more than three rounds, so this would for sure be the last one. You thought you could push through so he could at least get his release, but this third go round wasn’t a good feeling for you at all.

With your arms above your head and the pillowcase below your head in your fingers’ death grip, you turned your head to the side to fight through his persistent hard fucking into you. On a better day, you’d be all over this and relishing every moment. But now your eyes were screwed tightly shut in discomfort, for each time you opened them Severus would only be able to see the whites of your eyes. The thumping heartbeat in your ears was deafening and your entire body was stiff and rigid, but not in a good way. You wanted to tough it out so at least Severus could finish, but it was just too much for you tonight. 

You had to tap out.

“Polyjuice!” You squeaked out, your voice raspy.

In an instant, you saw any expression of lust wiped straight from his face. He pulled out the millisecond that the word registered in his head, his face stricken with worry and concern at the first time use of your agreed safe word. Severus’ heart dropped at your whimpers of displeasure, his brain reeling and raking over what had gone wrong. 

“[Y/N], what’s wrong? What happened?” He asked frantically.

“I-I just...”

Shaky breaths and uncomfortable whines were the only noises you could seem to make. You sat up from where you were laying down, bringing your knees to your chest and hiding your face as you began to cry. Your emotions were all over the place, and it didn’t help that you were overstimulated and overworked. Severus went to pull you to him, but withdrew his hand. Upsetting you further would absolutely crush him, but he needed to know that you were okay.

“Can I touch you, darling?” He whispered out.

The yowl of approval was enough for him to feel fine with carefully wrapping his hand under your arm and dragging you across the mattress to where he was kneeling on the middle of the bed. He pulled the covers over your skin to keep you from getting cold from the loss of heat from being active. You buried your head into his bare chest, your tears leaking and falling down his skin. 

“I’m sorry, Sev. I’m really sorry.” You sobbed, your hair sticking to your sweaty skin.

“No, no, no. Don’t ever be sorry for telling me to stop when you’re not comfortable,” He reassured; “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

The shake of your head brought relief upon him, but he was still worried. He rocked you in his arms until your sobs died down enough to where you were coherent. Severus was getting ready to ask you once more what was wrong, shifting you so he could see your face. When moving you, his hand accidentally brushed against your swollen, sensitive clit and you wailed out pathetically. Severus’ pale face went even whiter.

“Oh, my love...I worked you too hard, didn’t I?” He queried.

Severus would always admit that sometimes he’d get into the zone and completely drown everything else out. He wouldn’t really be able to tell how hard he was pulling in and out. It was rare, but from time to time you’d have to ask him to soften his thrusts or slow his pace when he got too rowdy. But you had never asked him to stop completely until now. He feared that he had seriously pushed you over the edge this time.

“It’s not just that.” You confessed with a sniff.

Severus had drawn your head back to gaze into your bleary eyes. The tear tracks being swiped away with his thumbs as he cradled your face. 

“What is it then, sweetheart?” He asked with wonder.

A fresh set of salty tears pooled and fell down your cheeks, but for a different reason.

“I’ve had a horrible week. Nothing has gone right,” You explained croakily; “I wanted to make you feel good and I thought it might make me feel better...but I’m just exhausted and I couldn’t handle it tonight.”

You fell apart into another set of choking sobs and gut wrenching cries, prompting Severus to bring you back into his chest. He stroked your skin and left kisses so light that they were ghostly. 

“It’s alright, angel. I wish you had told me before that you weren’t feeling up to it,” He consoled; “You’re worth so much more than sex. I want you to tell me sooner next time if you’re uncomfortable.”

Your nod of understanding offered a wash of comfort over him that you were calming down steadily. He hated that this happened. He knew that was the whole reason for your established safe word for when things went south or things got dicey. He just never thought you’d ever have to use it. He felt absolutely terrible. 

“I’m sorry, Sevvy. I really wanted you to get off, I just-”

“Please don’t apologize for this. This is my fault. I should’ve seen how tired you were and how I was being overly hard,” He said; “I’m the one that should be sorry.”

The sniffles from your nose had increased as you tried to flush down all the drainage from your crying. Your tears had stopped as you sat up from his body, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. The red blotches in your puffy eyes were pinging at Severus’ already guilty conscience. He saw the littered hickeys across your neck and breasts, and how your lips were swollen from his severe kisses. He had rocked your burnt out body to the max.

“I’ll tell you what. How about we go get cleaned up, and then we can get into bed. Then you can tell me about your week if so wish.” He suggested, cautiously guiding you off of the bed.

“I think I just want to get a bath and get some sleep.” You said, barely able to stand on your wobbly legs.

“Okay, darling. Whatever you want.” He smiled softly, hoping it’d offer you some kind of solace. 

Severus ran you a hot bath, filling it with all of your favorite scents and smells. Your stance was still despite your shaking legs, and you seemed to be staring off into an endless trance. You slipped into the tub when it was ready, sinking down just below your nose under the bubbles. Normally, Severus would be sitting across from you or you’d be snuggled up on his lap, but he wanted you to have some space for a bit. You were honestly too tired to object. 

He simply casted a charm to freshen himself up, finding and selecting his favorite pair of sweatpants and soft shirt for you to change into. Your eyes were closed, and you had just begun to drift off to sleep when he re-entered the bathroom, changed into some casual day time wear, despite how late it was.

“Here are some clean clothes for you, pretty girl.” He remarked, setting the folded sweats and shirt on the end of the tub for you to get when you got out.

You only gave a light nod as a response, your eyes following him as he stood awkwardly. He was unsure of what to do for you now. He thought that you might want the bedroom to yourself for the night, which was fine because he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing he had pushed you so hard anyway. He placed himself on the floor by the tub, sitting with his legs criss crossed over one another. It was quiet in the room, the only sounds were the occasional gentle splash when you moved your leg or arm. His eyes were still full of worry, and he was kicking himself big time now.

“I’m so sorry...” He breathed out, running his fingertips dragging leisurely your damp arm that you had resting on the ledge of the bathtub; “I never meant to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Sev. I promise.” You responded, wishing he wouldn’t take this so hard.

When it came to you, Severus took everything to heart. There weren’t many things in the world that made his heart beat with a purpose. You were the single person that allowed him to want to get up in the mornings. The thought of hurting you was enough to break him down. If he could have it his way, you would be indescribably happy with every passing moment of every day. He never wanted you to feel anything other than joy. 

But he knew that life would never allow it.

Your eyebrows dipped when you noticed his attire, wondering why he wasn’t in his own sleepwear. It was much too late for him to go anywhere.

“Where are you going?” You questioned, your voice thick with weary.

“I’m going to go back to the school. I have some grading to do.” He half-lied.

It was true that he did indeed have a stack of papers to be assessed, but that wasn’t the real reason why he felt like he wanted to leave. Severus Snape grading on a Friday night when he had the opportunity to be cuddled up with his lover? He’d choose you every time.

Now you felt bad for causing him to scurry off. You wanted him there with you regardless of what had happened.

“Severus,” You called out tenderly, reaching for his face; “I don’t want you to leave.” 

A genuine look of doubt flashed over his features as his head lulled into your hand.

“I think it would be best if you got some good sleep tonight. I’ll just be in my office so if-”

“Stay with me. Please?” You requested, the thought of sleeping without him was disheartening.

A sigh of awe expelled from his chest. He couldn’t say no to your puppy eyes and slightly pouting lower lip.

“Okay, okay.” He agreed.

“I think that some boyfriend snuggles will make me feel a whole lot better.” You spoke rather cheekily.

He hummed affirmatively. The sound of nestling up with you was impossible to turn down. He took your hand from his face and kissed your palm gingerly, holding the warm skin to his lips for a brief moment. He eventually stood from the floor, but stopped when you held your arms up.

“Help me up?” You asked with the first genuine smile of the evening.

He chuckled, obliging and lifting you effortlessly from the tub. The warm towel was heavenly as you dried off, changing into the clothes that Severus had left for you. Severus went and changed as well, laughing to himself when he exited the closet to see you already curled up. 

The sheets draped over him easily when he laid next to you, waiting for you to nuzzle up to him. He held you close and flush to him, thanking his lucky stars that you were okay.

“My sweet girl...” He hushed out, noting that you were just seconds away from falling asleep; “I love you.” 

You mumbled out a sleepy “I love you” in return before drifting into a deep slumber to snooze off the night’s drama. Severus, as expected, didn’t sleep much that night to ensure that you were sleeping soundly and comfortably. He still felt dreadful, even after you had told him over and over that he didn’t hurt you. The weekend to follow was filled with Severus doting and cherishing over you every chance that he had, trying to make up for what had happened. You were the light of his life after all.

And he prayed that he’d never see that flame go out.

[casitafallz-a]

Architect AU | Watcher AU Expansion interruption

The architect flittered through the depths of the jungle like a formless cloud of colours of blues, pinks and yellows before forming into the familiar shape of Isabela Madrigal, lessening the brightness of her green threads on her flesh to blend into the environment as most life on the mortal plane seemed to find it unsettling.

The Architect cared little but she could respect what Architect Alma suggested when it came down to interacting with mortals. It was why walking was suggested over simply appearing and there was logic in it; humans especially would be quick to draw their weapons with things they simply couldn't fathom.

Human interaction was her least favourite interaction with mortal life and the complexities of interaction were...tedious to learn. Other animal life was basic and enjoyably predictable.

Her eyes turned to the edge of the Watcher world that stopped at the end of the treeline to the void. A masterpiece of her familiar Architects' design but expansion was required. Architect Pepa looked to be already there, an orange, formless dot floating within the darkness. Unable to human eyes but she felt the energy and the ripple as dust and dirt began to forge at the edges; the foundations of the area forming.

"Hello." Architect turned with an edge of inpatients to the mortal. A little Mirabel. A very young Mirabel indeed given she was wearing the traditional white dress.

"Go home." She spoke, firmly but the gaze of the girl wasn't leaving. Of course, she would quite easily control the child to return to her mother's arms. Life and nature were at her command. The girl qualified as both.

Instead, the little girl just sat down with a curious smile on her face with a shockingly sense of ignorance and innocent in her eyes.

"You look like my sister."

"I am not your sister."

"Watcher Abulea said you'd be here but I didn't know you'd look like us." The little one continued, her head cocking to the side. "Why do you look like us?"

Architect could feel her Architect Pepa wasn't going to be done so quickly. Once earth laters was placed, then Architect herself would start deepening and adding complex life; to expand a world, it needed more than just new ground. It needed a network of biological connections and energy flow.

"We do not have natural forms like you, Little one. We're beyond the need of human bodies when existing outside of the world. Menial work like this requires a tool to channel our power in such small spaces. Our natural forms are...energy." to reduce the information down for something of manageable size was...tedious already.

"But... why still look like us?" Mirabel asked, "Yet you could look like any other human being."

The architect pondered the question for a moment. "We...did not decide our external appearance. Faces designed in nature are from two people, your mother and father have a part in what you look like. Our...rules do not work like that. Architects have no biology. We have no mothers or fathers or even siblings as you could understand it. We were made all at once in a single moment at the start of everything. We resemble beings of magical impressions that fit our...area and personality."

It was often that their faces gave them a social construct of family placement based on their appearance to mortal life. It gave them...understanding, but Architect again cared little for that. Architect Alma only had her place as it was given she had burst into existence a fraction of a nanosecond longer than the rest of them.

"Is there one that looks like me? Even if Im not magical?" Mirabel asked, wiping her hands sadly down the front of her dress at the reminder before her lip quivered but to the architect's relief the girl didn't stop crying.

"Just because you did not have a magical gift or a door, that does not mean you don't possess magic, little one." Architect spoke, "your ceremony didn't fail. You were meant for other things as part of the family. An unquestioned plateau leads to rotting."

Architect didn't look to see the girl's face light up a little to a little smile though felt Artchtect's Pepa's work near completion to the few ten miles of open space of mud and dirt, that wasn't entirely flat, a hill breaking the space up into three new districts areas for the Watcher AU to put to use.

Ignoring the mortal now, Architect's threads became visible as she began to pour her energy into the surface; plant life from grass to tall trees of various specises began to fill up the spaces within breaths of time, spawning soil-based invertebrates, such as worms into the new soil to start the process of the ground's life-cycles once the roots fully took. It would be several years in this world before they'd be able to use the land but it seemed a reasonable wait; let life take this how it wants.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Moe Moe Mallekei Kyun~

In which Malleus and Cater go to a maid café, and shenanigans ensue.

... I’ve been wanting to write this for a long time.

***Warning: mild spoilers for Malleus’s PE Uniform personal story!***

Imagine this...

“Lilia-sama.”

Two bodyguards fell into line, saluting simultaneously to their vice dorm leader.

“We just finished combing through the prime gargoyle locations around campus,” Silver reported. “Unfortunately, there was no sight of Malleus-sama to be found. The accounts of the various students we interviewed also corroborate that the Young Master has not recently been spotted in the area.”

“I see. Thank you, Silver.” Lilia sighed, cupping his cheek in one hand. “Hm, this is a bit odd. Wherever could he have wandered off to this time?”

At that moment, a ping! sounded off. Lilia fished his phone out of his pocket and, with one glance at the screen, his expression softened.

“You don’t suppose some dastardly villain has… kidnapped the Young Master and is holding him for ransom, do you?!” Sebek’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull at the thought. “If that is the case… THEN WE HAVE FAILED AS MALLEUS-SAMA’S KNIGHTS!!”

“Now, now--let’s not jump to conclusions. Even if that were true, I’m certain that Malleus would be able to easily fend off assailants on his own. Perhaps he has simply lost his way, or headed off campus to run an errand.”

“... Without warning us in advance?”

“I would have happily accompanied the Young Master wherever he went--EVEN TO THE ENDS OF TWISTED WONDERLAND ITSELF!!”

“Kufufu. Malleus is still young at heart. Let us allow him this moment of independence, just this once. He will find his way home eventually.”

“Welcome home, my masters!!”

Malleus skidded to a stop in the doorway—for beyond it laid unknown territory. The interior sported cream walls, with fairy lights, streamers, and paper flowers strung up. A number of tables and chairs, populated with people, were set against flowing white curtains.

Young ladies flitted about, balancing trays of food and drinks, cameras, and microphones. Each wore the same outfit, consisting of a frilly headdress, an apron, and a black dress with lace trim and ribbons.

And now, one of those uniformed girls extended a hand to him and a warm, welcoming smile.

Malleus frowned and turned to the orange haired young man beside him. “... Diamond. What is this strange establishment you’ve brought me to?”

“Mm? It’s a maid café,” Cater chirped, glancing up from his phone. “You said you’ve never been before, right?”

“Well, yes… However, when you invited me to join you for an outing, I did not expect this to be our destination.”

“It’ll be fine~ We’re already here, so let’s get seated!” Cater insisted cheerily, ushering the fae through the door. 

“Right this way, my masters!” The greeter giggled and led the way, eventually stopping at a vacant table set for two. As the duo slipped into their seats, she handed them menus and moistened towels. “We have a wide selection of special services and delicious dishes for your enjoyment!”

Malleus hesitantly flipped open the (very pink) menu and ran his eyes down the page of available items. Along with the expected offerings of desserts, savory foods, and beverages were odd listings: massage, ear cleaning, karaoke, game, arts and crafts, picture, spoon feeding, live song and dance...

He stared quizzically at Cater, who seemed to be taking everything in stride.

“I’ll take a plate of omurice! How about you, Malleus-kun?”

He stared back at his menu, trying to make rhyme or reason of the unique names. What in the Great Seven was a Pyon ❤ Pyon Sunshine Bar…? Or a Lucky☆Happy☆Cookie? Malleus’s brows furrowed in both concentration and confusion.

“I… I shall have the local specialty, whatever that may be,” the fae prince declared at last.

“Excellent choices! And would you like a bunny, or a kitty?”

“You hand out animals at this eating establishment? Is that not a health code violation?”

“Aaah, Malleus-kun, she doesn’t mean real rabbits and cats. Look--you’ll see when she brings them, okay?” Cater laughed awkwardly. Then, turning to the waitress, he held up his index finger. “One of each, little lady~”

“Of course!” She scribbled down a few words on her heart shaped notepad before prancing off.

“... Diamond. Are you certain this is the fabled maid café of which you spoke of?” Malleus asked, folding his arms. “I find it difficult to believe that every patron here is descended from a high class lineage. Furthermore, the servers are wearing attire entirely unlike that of a traditional household servant.”

Cater blinked once, twice—then chuckled.

“Maid cafés are like normal cafés. Anyone can go to them to play pretend and chill for a while! The difference is that the waitresses are dressed cutely and offer fun services. Singing, dancing, playing games—that kinda thing!”

“I do not understand.” Malleus swept a hand at their surroundings. “The purpose of this establishment is merely for… amusement?”

“Yup! People get tired of the daily grind sometimes, so they go to places like this to see cute stuff and just take a load off.”

“I… I see.” Malleus tucked his thumb and forefinger under his chin. “We do not have anything like your maid cafes in the Valley of Thorns.”

“You don’t? What sort of things do you do back home for fun, then?”

“I was not allowed to venture far from the palace grounds. Most of my time was spent indoors, studying spells or honing my magical abilities.”

Cater inclined his head. “Oooh, right! Because you’re a prince and all, you weren’t able to do much—but hey! Things are different now! You’ve got Cay-kun to show you a good time!”

“Ah, yes. A ‘good time’...” Malleus attempted at a smile, which came out more wary than he had intended.

“Thank you for waiting!” a girlish voice chirped—their waitress had returned, wearing a tray of food in one hand and two headbands in the other. “Here is your omurice and Nyan ✨ Nyan ✨ Kitty-chan Parfait, plus one pair of kitty ears and one pair of bunny ears!”

She handed Cater his dish—a bed of ketchup flavored fried rice, sealed by a wobbling omelet and garnished with a sprig of parsley.

“Mm! Smells delicious. Thanks a bunch~” Cater grinned, winking at his server.

The maid giggled and placed Malleus’s dessert before him, along with the headbands.

“Would you like me to draw or write something special for you on your meal, master?” she asked, gesturing to Cater’s omurice.

“Sure thing! Could you write ‘Mallekei’? Oh, and a couple of hearts would be cute, too!”

“As you wish!”

As the maid set to work, Malleus marveled at the sight of his parfait.

Colorful scoops of ice-cream, granola, and sliced fruits were layered inside of a tall glass cup. A generous crown of whipped cream and a drizzle of strawberry sauce topped it off. Sticking out from the whipped cream were two wafer triangles and dots of chocolate candies, forming a cat-like face.

How adorable.

… But not adorable enough to be spared.

“Thank you for the food.” The fae raised his spoon to demolish the poor parfait kitten—

“Stop, stop, Malleus-kun!!” Cater cried, frantically waving his arms. “N-Not yet!!”

Malleus lowered his spoon with a frown. “Food is meant to be consumed, Diamond. Is there an issue you have with my table etiquette?”

“Well—no, but…” Cater played with a lock of his orange hair and sighed. “There’s certain rituals we need to do first!”

“Rituals? Oh, my apologies. I was not aware. Please proceed with your regularly scheduled… rituals.”

“Ahaha, you’re a quick learner! First thing’s first, let’s put on our headbands!” Cater swept up the cat ears and passed them over. “Here, to match your parfait! I’ll take the rabbit.”

Malleus gingerly nestled the cat ears on his head, copying Cater’s movements. It was a bit tricky maneuvering around his horns, but somehow, he managed.

“Oh!! Those ears suit you so well!” the waitress said, glancing up from decorating the omurice. Carefully placed splotches of ketchup spelled out ‘Mallekei’, hearts and little sparkles littering the space around the boys’ combined names.

“... Do they?” Malleus doubted it.

“They do!!” Cater reassured him with a laugh. “Ne, ne, miss! Can you take our picture so my friend here can have a souvenir to take home with him?” 

“Certainly!” She replaced the bottle of ketchup and hurried off, returning shortly after with a polaroid camera. “Are you ready, my masters?”

“Ready, Malleus-kun?”

“Hmph. Of course. I will have you know that my posing abilities have improved considerably since our last encounter. Do not underestimate me.”

“Oh, that’s great! You’ve been practicing! Then… on the count of three, we nyah, okay?”

“... What is ‘nyah’?” Malleus inquired, his confidence suddenly waning.

“Eh?” A blip of surprise crossed Cater’s face. “Like, y’know… nyah!”

The influencer curled both of his hands into balls and made a pawing motion at his friend. “Now you try!”

“Like this?” Malleus mimicked him. He was more stiff—definitely not as practiced—but the general motion was still recognizable.

“Very good, master!!” the waitress gushed, raising the polaroid up. “On three?”

“1, 2, 3… Nyah!”

A flash went off, sending stars into Malleus’s vision. As he rubbed the daze out of his eyes, Cater’s voice called out to him.

“Are you okay there?”

“I am well. There is no need for your concern,” the fae insisted. “This ritual… it is more confounding that I took it to be.”

“Eeeh? It’s not meant to be hard or anything. Just relax, relax!” Cater paused before adding, “It’s part of the ritual’s requirements! You need to be nice and loose for the last step!”

“What is this last step?”

“We need to cast a magic spell to make your food taste extra tasty!” the waitress declared cheerily.

“Hoh?” A smirk found its way onto Malleus’s face. “That can easily be arranged. Allow me to do the honors.”

He put his hand before his parfait, an eerie green glow emulating from his palm. The sinister light engulfed his dish and Cater’s, sending them floating midair. Radioactive ice-cream and omurice hovered above their heads, causing both Cater and their maid to recoil in shock.

Other customers stared at the spectacle from their own tables. One man’s jaw dropped, the forkful of spaghetti bolognese in his mouth clattering onto the floor.

“You, who provides sustenance to the masses, become that which is delici—“

“H-Hold on a sec, Malleus-kun!!” Cater practically leapt over the table to seize his friend’s glowing hand. “Not that kind of spell!!”

Eyes wide with surprise, Malleus allowed his magic to settle down. The parfait and omurice gently floated back onto their table, and the maid sighed with relief.

“Is there a different spell needed for this occasion? I assure you that I am well-versed in practical magic—you need only speak its name, and I can conjure the proper…”

“No, no! It’s—“ Cater casted a look at their server and nervously chuckled. “Ne, Maid-chan~ Think you can give us a demonstration of the right spell?”

“Yes, master!” the girl, ever professional, flashed a perky grin. “Please watch carefully!!”

The maid set down her polaroid on the table. She then arched her fingers into C-like shapes, thumb extended straight. Pushing her hands together, she formed a heart and aimed it in the direction of the boy’s dishes.

“Moe moe kyuuuuuun!”

“What an odd spell. In all my years, I have never heard of such an enchantment…”

“Well, there’s a first for everything, right?” Cater flicked one of his floppy rabbit ears. “Plus, it should be no problem for the great Malleus-sama to pull off this spell, right?”

“This is child’s play,” Malleus’s laugh was like the earth itself rumbling. His lips quirked into a small smile. “You will join me in performing this sacred ritual, will you not, Diamond?”

“Of course~”

“Very well.”

They made hearts and thrust them upon their meals. And together, they uttered those three magic words.

“Moe moe kyuuuuun!!”

“Welcome back, Malleus,” Lilia greeted. The vice dorm leader nonchalantly hung from the ceiling, his raven and magenta bangs suspended midair. “Did you have fun on your outing?”

“Lilia. You knew?” Malleus slowly shut the door behind him, chasing away the cool air of the night. He spoke softly, knowing that sounds carried in the dusty hallways of Diasomnia and could disturb its residents.

“The wonders of modern technology,” Lilia trilled, expertly landing beside his young master. He brandished his phone in a gloved hand, a text message displayed on the screen.

hey hey lilia-chan! gonna steal malmal-kun for the day~ he’ll be back later, but do me a solid and keep it a secret from s&s til then, ‘kay? thnx!! (✿˶˘ ³˘)~♡

“It looks as though I have been exposed.”

“There is no shame in making new friends. In fact, I’m proud of you for expanding your horizons.” Lilia beamed. “Though what a shame it is that I was not present to grab a few pictures. Hopefully Cater fulfilled that task for me.”

The ancient fae tilted forward in his toes and peered up at his prince. “Soooo? Where did you sneak off to?”

“Fufu. Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“My. Is that any way to treat the man that kept Silver and Sebek from hunting you down?” Lilia teased, wagging a finger.

“Such loyalty,” Malleus smirked, hands on his hips, “deserves to be rewarded.”

He produced a polaroid photograph from his breast pocket and presented it with a flourish. The image, forever captured in time, was that of Malleus and Cater—the former with cat ears, the latter with bunny ears—with hands balled to resemble paws. Cater cheekily winked, while Malleus looked slightly bewildered.

The edges of the polaroid were dotted with stickers—smiley faces, flowers, and hearts. Marker had been used to scrawl on whiskers and blushes over both boys’ cheeks.

Overall, cutesy—overwhelming so.

But the Malleus and Cater in the picture were happy.

Their eyes shining like jewels.

Nyah-ing their hearts out.

[taeyohonic]

stolen dances | chap. VI

summary: sometimes supporting the person you love is the hardest challenge you’ll ever face.

pairing: jeon jungkook x fem!reader

rating: m

warning: two swearwords

additional tags: f2l, ceo!jungkook, bestfriend!jungkook, shrink!yoongi, my best friend’s wedding meets 27 dresses (if the boss/secretary couple had happened), angst-y

words: 2000

links: prev. | next  [masterlist]

note: lower case letters intended

chapter summary: there are too many zeros for namjoon to decline

“yoongi warned me about this”, namjoon says while drawing lines across his coffee mug. you roll your eyes, clearly annoyed by your therapist. of course, he connected the dots as soon as you asked for his friend’s number.

“he warned you of getting a hefty tip? maybe even playing your own mixtapes in front of the music elite? in front of the kim seokjin?”, you answer with a sarcastic bite in your voice.

now namjoon is staring at you, calculating silently in his head. after a second to think, he responds.

“no, he warned me about dj-ing at your crush’s wedding while you’re coping with your shrink on the dancefloor… slowly moving your arms in chicken wing motions.”

you laugh at his description, surprised by the accuracy.

“don’t laugh… he had a whole diorama about this.”

your laughter is growing in volume as you try to imagine how yoongi glued wings onto a paper version of you.

“so… these few zeros won’t change your mind?”, you say and slide one of jungkook’s business cards across the table. your new barista friend takes the high-quality paper with caution. but then his eyes widen at the five numbers scribbled across your best friend’s name.

“no way”, he breathes, “this could finance my whole audition tape.”

you smirk at him, glad that taehyung didn’t lie to you when you asked him about the needed budget to audition. there is some pride in your posture, pleased at your wit.

“so, i can set up a meeting?”, you wonder out loud. the mocha in front of you is getting cold and your time is running away from you by the minute.

namjoon keeps staring at his payment, not fully grasping the reality of your offer.

“turn it around, joon”, you whisper. it’s the final blow as the barista sees the phone number on the other side. seokjin’s name is scribbled underneath with a winking smiley.

you’ve got yourself a wedding dj.

**

“i don’t know why we have to get another dj. what’s wrong with jae?”, jungkook mutters as he helps you out of your jacket. the candlelight inside this restaurant is warming your skin, a much-needed warmth because of the missing sleeves of your black dress.

you can hear your best friend sucking in a deep breath, his eyes burning holes into your bare shoulders. but when you turn around to catch his eyes, jungkook is looking at the tip of your nose.

“you look beautiful, _____”, he says in a distant tone. there is no emphasis in his words, but still jungkook doesn’t lie. maybe he forgets stuff, maybe he hides some information. but jungkook never lies. he didn’t say he baked the muffins – you just… assumed.

“really, ____”, your best friend repeats and hands your jacket to the waiter next to you. you smile at him in thanks.

“right back at you, handsome”, you say cheekily and pat his suit jacket. the dark green velvet looks painted on his toned arms and you can’t help the blush coloring your face.

there is a beat of silence before a cleared throat makes you flinch.

“your second party is already here, mr. jeon.” your waiter looks at you apologetic and you try to send him a reassuring smile in return.

“lead the way, then.” jungkook’s hand rests on your lower back as he pushes you in the dining room. his fingers press against your spine and you catch yourself leaning into his touch. it’s a maddening feeling, really. you try to collect your thoughts before spotting namjoon across the room.

“because taehyung slept with them", you whisper. jungkook snorts at your confession.

“who do you mean with them?”, he asks.

“both jae and the two follow-up candidates. he just… slept through the whole list of djs”, you explain. there is the tiniest part of you that is proud of taehyung for silently sneaking behind your back.

“why would he do that?”, jungkook whines into your ear and you snort at his pained expression.

“it was some kind of test. he listened to their playlists… one thing lead to another… it wasn’t pretty.”

“how ugly was it?”, he asks.

“you don’t wanne know… one of them cried on my voice mail two nights ago. like…ugly cried.”

“i should have been more help in the last months, _____. i’m sorry.”, jungkook confesses, recognizing what you had to deal with in the last months.

you squeeze his biceps, feeling the soft velvet under your fingertips.

“nah, you’ve got a company to run, jungkook. and you’re here now.”

“_______”, namjoon greats you warmly as you stop in front of the table. the barista looks so different not surrounded by the hefty smell of coffee. his green apron is gone – now he’s dressed in a beige colored cashmere sweater and some black pants. his hair his combed neatly and the dimples flashing you are making you smile softly at him. without missing a step, you hug him. the sweater smells faintly of vanilla and you feel yourself sniffing against his chest.

“glad you could make it, namjoon.” the musician and part time barista smirks down at you. why are all men around you that much taller? you need more yoongis in your life.

“yeah… kind of afraid to get another powerpoint in my inbox.” you snort. nobody values your powerpoint skills enough.

“i adore her slides a lot”, your best friend offers from behind you. you flinch at his cold tone, not surprised to see his face matching his voice. jungkook always wears his emotions on his sleeves.

still, to see him this tense when meeting a new person worries you. taking a step away from namjoon you move closer to your past idol. jungkook takes your elbow and pushes you against his side instantly.

“why don’t you introduce us, _____?”, he orders while looking at your barista with distrust.

“of course”, you start and try to escape namjoon’s raised eyebrow at jungkook’s hands on you.

“jeon jungkook, meet kim namjoon, your newest wedding dj", you say with faked enthusiasm. only your recent therapy helps you suppress the jazz fingers you want to make as an ice breaker.

both men stare at each other in silence. you feel some curious glances at your back while your group just stands in the middle of an overpriced restaurant.

“nice to meet you, mr. jeon. congrats on your engagement”, namjoon says and bows to your friend. jungkook takes a second too long to respond, just letting the man bow in front of him. it’s a power move you don’t care for, so you use your elbow to poke him.

“ouch, ____”, he whines lowly, but bows as soon as he sees your hostile eyes.

“thank you, mr. kim.”

again, there is a tensed silence you do not understand. soon, the waiter saves the moment.

“why don’t we get you seated and then i can bring you a bottle of your favorite chardonnay on the house?”

you could kiss him right now, because both men sit down instantly as the waiter moves your seat for you.

“thank you”, you whisper and feel him smile at you reassuringly. then he is rushing away to get enough alcohol for this table.

“i didn’t know you two know each other”, jungkook says. there is accusation behind his words and you feel yourself shift on your seat. did you have plenty of times to tell him in the last two days that the newest candidate is a friend of yours? sure. did you take the easy way out and just… emailed him the info? maybe.

“it was in the folder i sent you yesterday”, you mutter. namjoon watches the two of you with interest just as jungkook nudges your shoulder.

“would have been nice for you to tell me in person, ____”, he says softly, no longer mad at you. he sees how tensed your shoulders are. jungkook doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. this joined wedding planning should be fun.

“how did you two meet?”, he asks, directed at the other male across from you.

“she went to one of my gigs”, namjoon explains and smiles at jungkook. you silently applaud his professionalism. first, he congratulated jungkook on his engagement, then the second comment leads straight to his musical work. and not a word about your shared friend, yoongi.

“you do music?”, jungkook asks, now more interested.

“remember the playlist from last weekend?”, you say and smile at the waiter filling your wine glass.

“the one during our movie night?”, jungkook asks and takes two ice cubes from the wine cooler to wordlessly mix them into your glass. he knows how much you like your white wine iced and watered. for the first few months of your friendship, you felt so out of place in jungkook’s world that you didn’t voice your preferences. then, during an outing with jimin at a grungy bar downtown, you shyly asked for extra ice. he still smiles at the memory.

“don’t call it a movie night. i haven’t seen us watch one movie in the last year”, you snort. most of the times seokjin makes a mean meal and your friends stuff themselves full of carbs. then you are all talking with rounded bellies, maybe someone demands a rematch on jungkook’s playstation.

“so, you played some of his songs last saturday?”, jungkook asks.

you nod at the memory. “yeah, it was the one where seokjin slutdropped in front of me.”

namjoon snorts at your words. “kim seokjin slutdropped to one of my songs? can i get that framed?”

now even jungkook smiles kindly at your barista. “i don’t think you need to. you’ll be able to see it with your own eyes at the wedding.”

after that the dinner is more enjoyable. you are gobbling at a hot cheese string of your lasagna when it happens:

jungkook is talking to namjoon, eyes gleaming as he tells him about the first dance.

“i really want it to be a remixed version of spring day”, he explains. “it was the first song i co-wrote for my group.” namjoon nods and scribbles a few words on his ipad.

“the remix from your third album?”, the dj asks. you are impressed by namjoon’s knowledge of bangtan. there is a fangirling part of you still feeling very protective of your favorite idols.

jungkook shakes his head. “nah man, it’s way too outdated. it was like… seven years ago. why don’t you play a bit with the sound?”

you have never seen a kid in your class as excited as namjoon right now. the barista looks like jungkook just gave him a disney all exclusive ticket. and maybe it is on the same level when a highly awarded idol lets you remix one of their song.

“you’d trust me with that?”, namjoon whispers. you munch on your cheesy treat as jungkook nods.

“obviously i’d check it out beforehand… but, your mixture sounds cool. it’s fresh. maybe you can even add some rap parts yourself?”

you push another spoonful of lasagna in your mouth while namjoon stutters in front of you. it’s like cinema without the popcorn.

“you want me to… add to your award-winning record?”, he whispers in awe at the former idol.

“why not? just try your best; if it’s not working out, we can just switch to an acoustic performance from the other members. maybe jimin can cover my high notes”, jungkook muses and looks at your full cheeks with a smile. you grin back at him, clearly happy with his trust in your friend.

“may i have yoongi help me with that?”, namjoon asks in excitement. your greasy smile drops from your lips as jungkook’s head moves back to namjoon, not noticing the dread in your face.

“huh?”

“you know, most of the times the two of us work on music together. yoongi is really, really good with lyrics.”

it’s like seeing an accident happening in slow motion. there is nothing you can do other than chew as fast as you can.

“yoongi?”, jungkook asks and the hot tomato sauce burns your throat as you swallow your food.

“yoongi, you know? _______'s plus one?”

 ______

ahhh! i wanted to do some more barista joon as well as give you some more… jk x reader action! i hope you all enjoyed this update! let me know what you think… it really helps with my motivation. thanks to everyone who supports me with a like, reblog, comment, message… it’s really instant serotonin. on another note: the horse has to leave the hospital!! all the best! stay safe, happy and hopeful! love, dana

taglist: @livewittykid  @thequeen-kat @kagami-s-void @goldenclosethobi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @jinsalpaca @bishuthot @laabellaavitaa21 @baekstans @jalexad​ @kimluvwoo​

[saynotoshityouhate]

Squirt Guns & Switches (Adam Sackler x Reader)

summary: Your childish boyfriend ruined your nephew's birthday gift - but that didn't ruin your evening.

notes: this was my first submission to a fic exchange ( @adcuficexchange ) ever - something that really pushed myself out of my comfort zone but now I’m addicted. I wrote this for the lovely @leatherboundbirate and while it’s not my best work (and I desperately want to try it again now that I know what I’m doing) I still had fun writing it and hope you liked it! 💕

cw: oral (f receiving), PIV, squirt gun play

Summer in NYC was sweltering at best. The air was thick with humidity and sweat. The tall buildings and black asphalt held all of the heat at street level. Your small apartment had one window AC unit that you only turned on to sleep. You and your boyfriend, Adam, were struggling actors and living in NYC was expensive enough without the small comfort of cool air.

It was your nephew’s birthday party tomorrow, and you still needed to wrap his gift. You got out the wrapping paper, tape and scissors from the back corner of your closet, along with the shopping bag that held his gift, and set them at the kitchen table to put the gift together. You poured yourself a tall glass of ice water, attempting to cool your body down more, as wearing only a thin white tank top and gym shorts wasn’t doing the trick.

As you sat down, the front door flew open. Adam, a towering presence, crashed into the living room, kicking off his shoes and tossing his red backpack onto the couch. “Hey kid,” Adam kissed your cheek, “How was your day?” He whipped off his t-shirt, revealing his structured chest that was covered in a sheen of sweat. His skin was adorned with millions of little brown freckles and moles, a walking game of connect the dots - your favorite hobby was to trace them and find new constellations across his back.

“Oooooh shit, I’ve always wanted one of these!” Adam picked up the newest version of the SuperSoaker Squirt Gun - the gift you had purchased for your nephew, before you even had a chance to answer. “Hey put that back, that’s for tomorrow!” The heat had drained the patience from your soul, even if he got cuter when he was excited about something.

Before you knew it, he had ripped the packaging apart, eliciting a groan from you. “Ugh, seriously Adam?” Adam chuckled. “Kids have too many toys these days anyways. I’d be content with a stick…and a magnifying glass.” You rolled your eyes. “You were one of those kids who lit ants on fire, weren’t you.” He stuck his tongue out at you as he turned on the sink to fill up the squirt gun’s large tank.

You stood, hands on your hips, still pissed that you’d have to buy a new gift in the morning. “Adam, don’t you dare.” Adam grinned wide, showing off his goofy smile that made you absolutely melt. You tried to hold firm, but then he fired. “wanna see your tits….” He sprayed the squirt gun across your chest, dampening your white tank top. You squealed, the ice cold water soaking through the thin fabric, quickly revealing the fact that you hadn’t put a bra on this morning. It was too hot!

“Adam!!!” You whined, stomping your feet. “Give me that!” You charged towards him, grabbing at the squirt gun. Adam held the gun above his head and skipped around the apartment chanting “You’re not wearing a bra! You’re not wearing a bra!” He was too tall for you to reach it, but you knew exactly what to do to get him to listen to you.

Taking a deep breath and looking up at him with puppy dog eyes, you grabbed the hem of your tank top. “My shirt is so wet Adam, I should probably take it off.” You lifted the shirt over your head, revealing your breasts. Adam dropped his arms from above his head, and set the squirt gun off to the side. Like two magnets, his large hands latched on, holding their weight and softness. You gasped slightly, knowing this would be his reaction but never fully prepared for how wonderful it felt. He knelt down, bringing your chest to eye level, as he laid gentle kisses on and around your breasts. You brushed your fingers through his mop of dark hair, reveling in the feelings coursing through you.

You hated to interrupt, but this was your one opportunity. You grabbed the squirt gun which was just off to the side and taking a step back, you fired. Adam was knocked off balance, too engrossed in your tits to realize you had bested him. You copied his actions, spraying his chest, until you saw the tent that had formed in his shorts. You laughed, always surprised by the small things about you that turned Adam on - like when you took control.

Adam’s eyes were blown wide, surprised by your actions but also incredibly excited for whatever was going to come next. Your eyes glistened with mischievous excitement. You shot one quick squirt of water just to the side of Adam’s hardening cock. He grunted, his hips thrusting slightly, seeking friction. You laughed again. “You’re a needy little brat, aren’t you? Stealing my gift, holding it out of my grasp, getting my shirt wet…” You sprayed the gun again, this time to the other side. He grunted again. “Kid, come on, gimme a break.” Adam pleaded.

You slowly walked toward Adam, squirt gun pointed at his crotch. “You ruined my gift, Adam.” You sprayed the base of his erection, drawing a groan from your prey. “Now I have to go shopping in the morning.” You sprayed the head of his cock. “Fuhuuck, I’m sorry,” Adam mumbled. “What did you say, babe? I couldn’t hear you.” You stood over him, your legs straddled over his hips, squirt gun pointed straight down.

Adam grabbed your calves, rubbing up and down. “Y/n, I’m…” you sprayed a long stream of icy cold water, slowly, from base to tip. “Hands off, Sackler. Not until I hear an apology.” Adam’s head rolled back, his hands falling to his side and his hips jutting upwards. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” he yelled, bringing his deep golden eyes back to meet yours. You smiled, taking a step forward and lowering yourself down to sit on his stomach. “That wasn’t too difficult, now was it?” You held the squirt gun above your head, resting your other hand on his chest and leaning in, you placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Your breasts fell right in his eye line, taking every ounce of his self control not to open his perfect pink lips and take one into his mouth.

You stood up, setting the squirt gun back on the table. “Now, here’s how you’re going to make it up to me. Not only are you going to replace the gift you ruined before I have to leave in the morning, but you’re going to make me feel good. I’ve had a long fucking day. I really just wanted to wrap this gift and spend the evening with my wonderful, caring, doting boyfriend. I wanted to make him feel good.” You shimmied your hips, pushing your shorts and underwear down to your ankles. Kicking them off to the side and taking a large step forward, you looked down at Adam, who was salivating. “Do you think you can make me feel good, baby?” Adam nodded his head, swallowing thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

You smiled down at your large, usually intimidating, boyfriend. Not only was he goofy, and silly, and sweet - but he could be strong, and dominating, and rough around the edges. You loved that about him - never knowing what to expect. It kept you excited - and he felt the same way about you. You slowly lowered yourself, his tentative hands gently guiding you, unsure whether he was allowed to touch you or not. “Please touch me,” you breathed, covering his hands with yours, your warmth easing itself onto his eagerly awaiting face.

Adam knew what he was doing, knowing exactly how to draw reactions from you, whether they were feelings of pleasure, frustration, or pure need. He used his lips and tongue, his breath and the vibrations of his own pleasure to drive you absolutely crazy. From the start, you weren’t sure how long you’d be able to hold out. Your hips moved in slow circles, your heavy head lolled back, and your hands, unable to find a home in one place, moved from Adam’s hair, to reaching behind you, grabbing at his now painfully hard erection through his shorts. “Babe, you make me feel so good, make me cum baby, please,” you whined, quickening the movement of your hips. Adam chuckled, the deep vibrations of his laughter drawing a high pitched squeal from you. He was in charge now.

Adam moved his hands up to your hips, and in one swift motion, he had you on your back. Lifting his head and pushing your legs apart, he settled himself up on his knees between your legs. “I’d be happy to go shopping for you, kid. But I know the best way to make you feel good is my cock in this tight pussy of yours. I was just gettin’ it ready earlier.” Adam pushed his shorts and boxers down just enough to free himself, the tip red and angry and leaking precum. “Please Adam,” you cried, desperately, “I need you.” That was all he needed. In one movement, he entered you, fully and deeply. He was right, his early actions had you more than prepared for his above average size. You had already been so close - it only took a few deep strokes and taps of his finger on your clit for you to lose control. Your orgasm crashed over you, babbling nonsense and soaking Adam’s cock with your arousal.

“Couldn’t even last for me, could you, kid? Now you’ve gotta wait for me, can you do that?” Adam’s thrusts became messy, his hair fell in front of his eyes and stuck to his face where your taste still lingered. You sighed, pushing his hair out of his eyes, reveling in the full, warm feeling that had washed over you. “I can wait for you, please cum for me, Adam. I want you to fill me up, Adam. Please.” That was enough for him, stuttering once more and groaning into his release.

You both laid on the kitchen floor, close...but not too close - the heat of the day and your activities didn’t bode well for post-coital cuddling, the squirt gun still sitting perfectly on it’s perch. Who knew a squirt gun could lead to so much enjoyment?

[nostalgiahan]

Still Into You

genre: songfic, fluff, smut

pairing: graffiti artist!changbin x afab!reader (gender-neutral language)

word count: 2k

warnings: drug use (cannabis,) trespassing, oral sex (f,) car sex, little dialogue, changbin and reader run from the cops lol

a/n: i was listening to still into you by paramore and this just kinda. came into existence. it’s also very song focused so if you’ve never listened to 2000s alt rock... i’m sorry lmao. the sugarmill in the story is also a real place that my friends and i used to visit and smoke take pictures at, although the cops never found us there haha. anyways enjoy folks.

Your nails had been tapping on the windowsill enough to wear them down to nubs by the time Changbin pulled up in front of your house. When his beat up Subaru pulled up next to the curb, you just about jumped out of your skin from excitement. Today was your fourth anniversary, as well as Valentine’s Day, and the adrenaline rushing through your blood was a sign that you were more than looking forward to whatever fun plans he had up his sleeve.

Compared to most couples on Valentine’s day, your outfit was pretty plain and not at all glamorous. Practical boots, jeans, an old band hoodie and Changbin’s dark green parka were your clothes of choice, but you knew that your boyfriend wasn’t going to take you to some fancy restaurant. No, you two were going adventuring.

As soon as you hop in the passenger seat of the car, shoving a couple of receipts into the foot well, Changbin reaches into his hoodie pocket and gives you a card. It’s crude, made of a folded sheet of printer paper and hastily scribbled on in pen but it’s very fitting for him.

“You better enjoy the card,” he says with a smirk, “because it came to me in a dream. This is pure, undiluted Changbin, packaged for your enjoyment and convenience.”

Giggling, you open the card. Inside is a barely legible “i love you so much y/n” surrounded by hearts, and in the corner is a drawing of a cow dressed in a lab coat and holding a beaker labeled “Moorie Curie.” It’s perfect, but what else did you expect from him?

“Happy anniversary, my love.” When you look up at Changbin, he has the widest smile on his face, cheeks dotted with flecks of paint and eyes crinkled up into little crescents. He’s dressed similarly to you, hair sitting in a pile on top of his head, clearly not having been paid attention to before leaving the house. It doesn’t matter, though, since the both of you will be wearing hoods over your heads anyways. You lean over the center console to give him a quick kiss, although it takes a couple of tries to get his lips since you’re both smiling so hard.

Changbin kicks his old car into gear as he sets off towards his destination. He’s explaining where you’re going, but you can barely hear him over the car speakers blasting Simple Plan and Green Day.

“So yeah, it’s this sugarmill that caught on fire in, like, 1910, and they never renovated it. There’s a bunch of cool abandoned shit around there, too. I think there’s, like, three fucked up couches.”

As you listen to him talk, you stick your fingers through the gap at the top of the side window. It’s permanently cracked open like that, and you have vivid memories of trying to throw cigarette butts through the gap when the two of you were bored.

After a while of listening to pop punk and playing with Changbin’s fingers over the gear shift, you arrive at your destination. Several charred brick buildings sit in the middle of a field, dead trees framing an open area in the center where someone has set up some logs and rocks to form a makeshift circle. Your boyfriend’s eyes scan the landscape, looking for his next canvas. Eventually, he tugs your arm and leads you towards one of the buildings, smiling back at you. “C’mon, let’s go explore this place.”

The two of you wander for a while, over rickety walkways and up staircases, taking pictures with your Polaroid and holding hands the whole time. Eventually, Changbin finds a stretch of wall big enough to start his work. Setting his duffel bag on the ground, he beckons you over and crouches down, inviting you to hop onto his back.

He pulls out a can of white spray paint, shaking it and popping the cap with his thumb. As he starts to paint, making large, sweeping motions with his arms, you really wished he had worn something sleeveless, however impractical. After lighting a slightly crushed joint you’d fished out of your pocket, you nestled your nose into his shoulder, holding the joint up to Changbin’s lips. He takes a few pulls as he works, the previously bland wall turning into a beautiful blend of blues, purples, and whites. It’s always fascinating to see how he works, seemingly not thinking before laying down a line of paint, yet each stroke seems to perfectly fit in with the others.

As he’s switching colors, Changbin lets you off his back, settling his hands on your sides. He stares at you for a bit, trying to study every bit of your face that isn’t covered by the oversized hood of his jacket. After a while, he smiles, pulling you close and kissing your forehead. Changbin always called you his muse, but you never expected him to take it as literally as he did, often staring at you or asking unrelated questions when he was stuck with a piece. He sways gently back and forth, pressing little kisses to your head, as Good Charlotte emanates from the tiny phone speaker in his back pocket. Occasionally, he’ll pull back just a tiny bit to really study your face, kissing you softly and muttering something along the lines of “i really can’t believe how fucking incredible you are” or “i love you so much it’s unreal.”

It’s not until a few more songs have ended that he pulls away, inviting you back onto his back as you light another joint. The piece is almost done, the tag “SPEARB” painted in blobby letters, shining artificially. All he has left is the outline, but his work is cut short when you hear the faint sound of sirens approaching and the light creeping in from the broken windows flashes a faint red and blue.

What happens next is like clockwork. You hop off of Changbin’s back, putting out the joint on the wall and throwing it into his duffel bag along with the other cans of paint he’s left out. What you’re supposed to do next is grab the bag and run, but Changbin is trying his best to finish a really specific detail and the more time he has that can in his hand, the less time you guys have to get the fuck out. After what seems like an eternity of whisper-yelling and (gently) stomping your foot at him, he caps the can and throws it into the bag. Finally, the two of you are off. As he’s picking up the bag, however, you notice what he was taking so long to finish. In tiny lettering, in the bottom corner of the piece, 4 words. “fuck cops” on one line, and “for y/n” on another.

As the two of you clamber over wooden planks and piping, pulling your hoods over your heads and your masks over your faces to hide your identities, Changbin grabs your hand and squeezes. He lets go almost as quickly as he grabbed it but the sentiment is still there; i’m here, i’m gonna keep us safe. It’s a welcome sentiment when shouts of “police,” and “show yourselves” echo through the abandoned hall.

Fifteen minutes of running and one chain link fence climb later, you’re back at the car, cops nowhere in sight. You’re panting heavily as you throw off the parka and throw it into the backseat, and Changbin doesn’t look any better as he’s gulping water and fanning his face. Right as you’re about to climb in, he grabs your arm and spins you so you’re pressed between him and the car, holding your cheeks in his hands and grinning at you.

“God. Fuck. Wow. You’re unreal. I love you so much.”

You’re unable to do anything but nod. The two of you are still breathless and in that moment you realize that’s what your love was like. In the four years of you dating, your love never went stale, you never settled into a routine. You were always doing new things, like going on spur of the moment road trips or fucking around at playgrounds in the early hours of the morning. You never thought about the future, just did your best to enjoy your time in the present and bask in the glow of each other’s affection. You expected that after such a long time together you’d at least feel a little duller, but everything still feels as fresh and new as when you were teenagers and sneaking out to make out on park benches when no one was looking.

As you’re lost in thought, Changbin pulls you impossibly closer and presses his lips to yours, hard. Music is still playing from his phone as the kiss becomes more heated, and you make sure to add 1985 by Bowling for Soup to your “running from the cops” playlist later. Almost every memory you have with Changbin is attached to a song, and this one is no exception.

Changbin pulls away to wrench open the back seat door, guiding you to sit and kneeling on the dirty floor. He heaves the duffel bag on the seat next to you and you dig through it, searching for the joint you threw into it earlier. Once you’ve gotten to My Own Worst Enemy, you’ve lit it and Changbin has gotten your jeans halfway down your legs and your thighs over his shoulders.

Your boyfriend wastes no time in burying his face in your heat, licking hot stripes up and down and moaning loudly into your core. He pulls away to rest his head on your thigh and take a few puffs of the joint, and in that moment you remember your Polaroid exists and manage to snap a picture of him blowing out smoke, with your hand in his hair and his face squished between your legs.

Changbin pays it no mind and gets straight back to work, sucking on your clit and easing his tongue into your hole. Your grip on his hair tightens and you arch into his mouth, fucking yourself back on his tongue. Picking up on this, he hooks his arms under your thighs and pulls your towards him, close enough that you’re afraid he’s going to suffocate himself trying to pleasure you.

It’s hot and sticky and perfect, and the atmosphere combined with the weed and the fact that Seo fucking Changbin is eating you out is too much for you and you cum all over his tongue, which eagerly laps up your release, taking long, languid strokes to make sure he gets every drop. As you come down, Changbin is stroking your thighs and sucking hickeys into the soft flesh, and you register that Misery Business needs to be added to your “dirty car sex” playlist.

After basking in the yellow glow of the car’s overhead light and the thrilling afterglow of just having done something you shouldn’t have for a while, lazily finishing off the rest of your joint, the two of you get your things in order and begin the journey to Changbin’s apartment, speeding down the highway with the windows cracked the whole way. He carries you into the building like he always does, setting you down gently on the couch before heading off to the kitchen so you can make some blueberry muffins together. You do, and they’re terrible, so you heat up leftovers instead and watch reruns of old James Bond movies, cuddling on the couch. The night ends with Chasing Cars and you laying on Changbin’s chest, naked and sweaty and anticipating lots of aches in the morning, whispering tiny i love yous into each others’ skin and it’s perfect. But everything is always perfect with him. What else could you possibly expect?

please let me know if you guys enjoyed this!! feel free to send an ask, i always love receiving them🤌🏻🤌🏻

[effymaybe]

Once you get a taste

Pairing: Jennie x Rosé

Prompt: Rosé whispers a secret Jennie finds herself quite interested in. Under the weight of soft music, dim lights, and a few glasses of soju, the groupmates get to know each other better.

Warnings: Slight mature content

(cr: pinterest)

“…And the guy asked me to jump. In the middle of the photoshoot. In eight-inch heels. Wearing jewelry four men with surgical gloves had just put around my neck as it was, I don’t know, made of crystal or something. I swear I don’t know who looked at the photographer with the most ‘fuck no’ expression: me or them”.

Jennie chuckles vividly, titling her head back in a sharp motion.

Slightly tipsy Rosé is always a wonder.

They are celebrating their first free day after long months of work in the dorm, just the two of them. Lisa had taken advantage of the relieving weekend to see her parents and Jisoo had done exactly the same, eager to spend time with her nephew to teach him invaluable lessons, she had claimed. Jennie had wondered faintly whether she was talking about true values or some secret curse words, and she had quickly decided that her friend intended to do both.

The big house seemed somehow empty without the loudest members, but Rosé’s casual singing and their short conversations, the ones that have flowed between them swiftly since the moment they met, were enough for the upbeat atmosphere of the place to remain strong.

Their recent success was of course of great help. The boost they received both from fans and critics gave the group a warm shower of confidence that made their smiles grow larger still every now and then. They worked hard, and their efforts did not get wasted.

That is the reason, mainly, why Jennie and Rosé are currently sitting on a soft mattress on the floor, soju glasses filling and emptying on the sturdy coffee table just in front of them, both girls laughing openly at shared stories that make their chests spurt affection.

“So, did you jump?” Jennie asks then, happy tears prickling at the corner of her sharp eyes, leaning forward intentionally and letting her shoulder bump against her groupmate’s.

“Fuck no, I- don’t laugh! It was difficult!”

Jennie breaks out laughing again, squeezing the glass she’s holding on her left hand and using the other to grasp Rosé’s arm as if to anchor herself. The silver-haired girl follows suit, sharing the shortest girl’s pure excitement, somewhat glad to be the source of such demonstration of contentment.

“God. I would’ve loved to be there. Remind me to go with you to your next photoshoot”.

Rosé keeps smiling, now her expressive eyes growing softer.

“I will”.

There is a moment of comfortable silence filled by the deep beat of a slow, electric song. The girls have decided to give in their indie cravings just half an hour ago, and now the chosen playlist is serving as an enjoyable background for their encounter.

“I like that”, Rosé comments softly, turning her head up to stare at the thousand colorful dots tracing patterns on the ceiling.

“A fan gift. One of my favorites. I use it when I can’t sleep”.

The silver-haired girl admires the light for a while longer, feeling a fuzzy sensation crawling up in her stomach.

She feels so, so fitting.

She turns around to talk to her friend, and she is kind of surprised to find the brunette her staring mutely into her eyes. Jennie’s cat-like stare burns somehow, caressing her features tenderly.

Something flashes in her coffee gaze, a bright emotion that catches Rosé out of guard, like a soft pang making her heartbeat pick up.

Just as it comes, it leaves quickly, and Jennie smiles lazily again.

“You have your own galaxy”, Rosé jokes weakly, then, rushing to drown the soju that still waits in her cup.

The shortest girl lets her hand run through her own silky dark locks still grinning, almost as if for herself, and reaching forward to catch the definitely too expensive bottle in front of her, she turns towards her friend almost as if on the verge of revealing a secret.

“It’s ours, now. Isn’t it, Rosie?”

Rosé might have as well chocked on her spit only by hearing Jennie’s low voice, but now, with alcohol dancing daringly through her veins, she merely blushes slightly before giggling in sudden joy.

“True”. The blonde watches Jennie’s delicate hands refilling both their glasses with a delicacy she firmly believes can only be inherited, and then lets her ears catch on the soft tune vibrating from the speakers. “How are you, by the way? I’m surprised you didn’t want to say home tonight”.

With home Rosé means home home, as in her mother’s home, and Jennie seems to understand perfectly.

“It seemed just right to stay here. I prefer it, sometimes. It’s familiar, too”.

The silver-haired hums in agreement, letting bold liquid run hot through her throat. “Me too. I love my parents, but this also feels right. After all we went through… well…” she looks down at her glass and then lets her coffee gaze meet Jennie’s intense stare. “I don’t know. I like spending time with you”.

“Almost like sisters…” Jennie comments, but her voice comes out a bit too breathy to appear certain. It’s more like a question, exploring, like her hand inching closer Rose’s thigh.

The tallest girl licks her lips unintentionally, her body sinking deeper against the feet of the couch.

“Yes, but… Not quite, really”, there is a tense pause, and Rosé can almost hear the faint beat growing deeper, “right”?

Jennie hums in a sound that comes closer to a purr and finally lets her fingertips press against Rose´s exposed skin.

The tallest girl suppresses a surprising shiver as she wonders whether she should have worn a longer dress.

Or a shorter one.

“Not quite”, the brunette agrees, still staring at her friend with a sparkling stare.

Rosé swallows, feeling a hot flush heating up her neck, and rushes to drink a bit more of the transparent beverage already making her limbs feel lighter.

There is no way, Rosé. Come on. This is fucking Jennie, dam it.

There is another pause. The dim lights change slowly, creating another pattern that becomes bluish. Jennie inhales deeply, feeling pleasantly warm, the fabric of her simple white shirt sticking against her collarbones, and she takes another sip before analyzing her friend’s features again.

Gorgeous, she thinks, and lets her fingers caress a bit more of the tender skin of her thigh.

“Do you miss Australia, Rosie?”

The silver-haired girl tilts her head as if pulled away from her own thoughts. She looks at Jennie with pensive eyes and a cute pout drawing on her reddened lips.

“A bit… some things”, she whispers.

Jennie catches the sound of one of her favorite songs. Rose’s scent flowery grows somehow stronger, dazzling.

“Like what?” the brunette asks.

Rosé squirms almost imperceptibly. A thought, an unwanted one crosses her mind immediately. She scrunches her nose in an attempt to put it away, to find a reasonable answer to Jennie’s enquiries, but the soju has already started to occupy her mind with a pleasant yet undefeatable mist.

“Oh... Uh- the climate”, she blurts out, putting a strand of hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture.

The shortest girl licks her lips as her sharp gaze turns predatory. She tries to soften the immediate smirk that reaches her mouth, observing as Rosé twitches in her place with terribly concealed nervousness.

“Oh, come on. You must miss something else. A country with such different culture… I’m sure there’s a call burning inside you. Tell me”, she speaks softly, trying to keep her tone light, “I can keep a secret”.

The silver-haired girl lets her wide gaze fall on her friend’s calm expression, trying to ignore the sneaky fingers caressing up her upper thigh.

There is something that she has been missing, definitely. Something she was never courageous enough to bring up. Something that she has buried deep in the back of her mind to keep it there until her career is secure enough.

But Jennie’s cat eyes are still tracing her features in affectionate patience, and her nails are now scratching circles in her waist. She feels light, slightly dizzy, with alcohol warming up her cheeks comfortably. The night is stiffy and the bright shapes on the ceiling are so beautiful that she feels as if secluded, safe in the refugee they created whilst breaking in giggles.

She considers that she can trust Jennie. There is very little she has heard the brunette judging other people for.

“I”, she starts with a cough, “There is something. Back in Australia, when I was still a teenager I had this… friend. Female friend”.

Jennie hums as pure amusement begins to dance in her stare.

“We would… you know. Just… explore… each other”.

“Oh”, the brunette murmurs, and Rosé turns to face her eyes in a mixture of embarrassment and fear. The fingertips caressing her waist move to her left hipbone. It feels nice.

Jennie’s expression, rather than showing disgust, drips interest as she tilts her head softly. When her light-brown hair falls onto her shoulder, the pale expanse of her neck is displayed like a prize. The tallest girl needs to remind herself that she doesn’t do it in purpose.

“Yeah. It was… fun”

The brunette snorts lightly. Rosé sips onto her glass once again.

“I bet it was, darling. I thought you were a church girl, though”.

Rosé, suddenly animated both by her friend’s heady voice and the liquid burning through her veins breaks in a slow smirk.

Jennie licks her lips again, gazing into enticing red.

“Yeah… where do you think I met her?”

Jennie gasps slightly before letting out a surprised chuckle. It sounds deep and satisfied, and it mixes perfectly with the slow beat playing in the room.

“My, my, Rosie. Aren’t you… risky?”

Rosé shrugs, smiling in sudden pride. She feels Jennie’s hand twitching against her hips, so she decides to caress the length of her arm in return.

“I don’t know. It was quite natural. Then I got here and… well. It’s not like I could continue”.

There is a moment of silence that, although not uncomfortable, is suddenly charged with a shift in the air. It gets hotter. The lights turn red and purple. Rosé’s heartbeat starts to gain speed against her chest, as now unrepressed memories of  playtime hours with her childhood friend swirl in her hazy mind.

“So you’ve never made out with any of the other trainees back when we were living all together?”

Rosé stares at Jennie almost as if confused. Her blunt nails trace the path marked by the brunette’s veins. She feels the way her touch raises goosebumps.

“Huh, no… did… you?”

Jennie’s eyes burn into Rose’s coffee stare.

“No. As a matter of fact…” she is showing off that damn smirk and the tallest girl can barely hold it together, “I’ve never kissed a girl. I’m curious”.

Rosé makes an effort not to squeeze her thighs together. She sees how Jennie’s pupils grow darker, wider, more cat-like than ever. She is enjoying herself openly; everything from her bold body language and the way her fingers run through her friend’s inner thighs makes wild desire bloom in the silver-haired girl’s stomach.

In any other situation, Rosé would be blushing madly, making her way out of the room hastily.

At that moment, with the heavy atmosphere attaching hypnotically against her skin, she decides that she might as well give Jennie what she seems to be asking for.

“Oh, it’s wonderful”, she plays, smothering her voice in a very appetizing tone, “soft and sexy. Very feminine”, she lets the warm pads of her touch run up her friend’s arms, sliding across her pointy shoulders.

“Rosie…” Jennie answers breathily, shinning with her pulse running high, “Shouldn’t you share with your unnie some of your vast knowledge? Seems only fair…”

She inches closer to her friend, her face tilted captivatingly, already letting her gaze fix on the tallest girl’s lips.

“Unnie, of course”, Rosé answers, and lets her worries drown in the alcohol blazing her blood, “Anything you’d like”.

And just like that, Jennie leans forwards to catch Rosé’s open mouth in a deep kiss.

It is immediately heated. The tallest girl’s warm, ragged breath invades the brunette’s space like a spell. A firm hand grasping her neck keeps her in place, and a slim arm wraps around her waist urgently.

In response, Jennie feels her own pulse palpitating against her eardrums. She lets her hand caress her friend’s collarbones before sliding them into her rich silver hair when the tallest girl angles her jaw differently.

The lights grow darker in a blissful moment and the brunette finds herself being guided by Rosés insistent indents. Her thighs come to trap Rose’s as she seeks comfort on the tallest girl’s lap. When the silver-haired girl sucks lightly on her lower lip, Jennie grinds down instinctively, a mewl-like sound bursting from her throat.

They both know that they should be thinking about their current situation further. It’s a thought shadowing the very, very back of their hazy minds, but it’s difficult to give it presence when the warmth of their bodies grows steadily in a boost of pure want.

Jennie has to gasp when Rosés plump lips descend lower, grazing her cheek, her chin, her jaw. Her fingers tangle in soft blonde hair as she tilts her head up to grant her more access, asking her silently to comply with the deep desire that has just born low in her stomach.

Rosé does not need to be told twice. She runs her mouth down her friend’s throat, delighting in her expensive scent, running blunt nails through luscious thighs.

“Oh”, Jennie murmurs, and it’s enough for the blonde’s foggy mind to find some clearance.

She pulls away almost as if terrified, her movements put into a halt. She feels the tickles of panic and slight shame heating up her cheeks.

In exchange, the brunette opens her eyes lazily, revealing a stern expression behind her sharp eyes, her mouth curling downwards in visible annoyance.

Rosé is about to beg for forgiveness, but Jennie speaks first.

“What’s going on?” she asks, her hand pressing against the tallest girl’s nape, “Thought you were going to be my teacher”, she adds then, her voice searching for a lower, much more suggestive tone.

It takes the blonde two seconds to catch on with the reality that Jennie wants this, too. Very much so, given by the way her hips grind down again, almost as if on their own accord.

Rosé smiles, then, slow, and dangerous, feeling the last shreds of the self-control she was so desperately holding into getting looser in her chest. Her hands inch forwards, nails slipping under the hem of the brunette’s shorts. She looks up at her with an analyzing stare, delighting on Jennie’s compliant expression.

“Well, of course”, she answers, her words coming breathier as her wide eyes reflect a playful darkness, “but I must warn you, this might be a long lesson, unnie”.

Jennie finds herself chuckling lowly, closing her eyes as Rosé’s teeth run just sharp enough against her shoulder.

“Of course”, she lets out, and forces herself to choke a whining sound when the blonde tongues her stuttering pulse point, “I’ll be a good student”.

Rosé just smiles widely before pulling the shortest girl down for another toe-curling kiss.

Jennie turns out to be quite a brilliant student, indeed.

[whywishesarehorses]

Inside the Famous—and Deadly—Omak Stampede

This article was written by Allison Williams, published in the August 2017 issue of Seattle Met, and reformatted here for your enjoyment.

This one is text heavy and long, so it is hidden under a read more.

Thursday

Eighteen horses form an imperfect line on a hot August night, their 18 jockeys clad in jeans. Here on a sandy bluff in the small town of Omak, four hours east of Seattle and several worlds away, riders and spectators alike move with nervous energy, anxious for the race to start. One jockey wears a helmet topped with a pink mohawk, another with a GoPro camera. One horse, sponsored by a local marijuana dispensary, sports painted pot leaves on its rump. Wispy white eagle feathers hang from others, emblems of the Native American heritage the men share.

A summer carnival glows below, neon outlines of rides called the Orbiter and the Fireball, metal towers that came into town on tractor trailers. Farther into the Okanogan Highlands, a casino twinkles alone on Indian Reservation land. It’s August 11, 2016, and even an hour past sunset the air holds onto most of the heat from the 90-degree day.

A “whoooop!” erupts from the gathered crowd as the animals sidestep and bob their heads behind the chalk starting line. His race number bright across his chest, 18-year-old Scott Abrahamson eyes the sandy dirt in front of the line, groomed like a golf course sand trap. His long bubblegum-pink sleeves mean he’s easy to spot even in the shadows where floodlights don’t reach, and his helmet blinks with battery-operated toy devil horns. He’s surrounded by both champions—Loren Marchand with seven titles, Tyler Peasley with three—and nervous high schoolers in their first race.

At the crack of a gun, the horses charge. Their riders lean forward as hooves pound the sandy flat, at least for the first hundred feet. The crowd cheers as soon as the pistol sounds, cries and hoots blossoming into the dark.

Then 18 horses go off a cliff.

The riders shift in their saddles as their mounts fly down an incline steeper than a ski jump. The best jockeys, the veterans, barely lean back coming off the hill, reins clasped in the left hand and riding crops in the right. Others grasp a bar they’ve rigged on the back of their saddles they call the “oh shit handle.”

The spectators’ cries reach full pitch when the pack is halfway to the waterway at the base of the hill, a thick ribbon of black that flows left to right. The horses plunge into the inky Okanogan River en masse, hooves hitting the shallow bottom, and all but one charge across to the opposite bank. The stadium on the far side is lit up like a Friday-night football game, floodlights bright atop red, white, and blue bleachers, and Scott and his hot-pink sleeves emerge first in the dirt oval, just 45 seconds into the race. As they cross the finish line, Peasley is right on his tail.

Fifteen horses follow, minus the one that tumbled in the river. A crew attends to the downed horse from the deck of a small drift boat; while the stadium roars, a veterinarian surveys the animal and notes that it’s already gone, likely drowned.

Back atop the hill, Colville tribal elders watch through binoculars before one spots something in the sandy dirt, an eagle feather dislodged by the chaos. They circle the downed quill, addressing the spirit it represents, the eagle that travels in both worlds, before one of the elders lifts the feather to return it to its owner.

This is the World Famous Suicide Race.

There will be four races total during Omak Stampede, always the second weekend in August. Each race awards five points to the first-place finisher, four to the second, and so on; the overall winner clinches the King of the Hill title on Sunday, and $40,000 in prize money is distributed. It’s the highlight of this Central Washington town’s year, a tradition that draws thousands of spectators—and animal-rights protesters.

Omak straddles the border of the Colville Reservation, home of almost every racer, horse owner, and trainer. The contest is a rite of passage, they say, a proving ground for men—and even a few women—coming of age more than a century after actual horseback warfare. Beyond the turgid flow of the Okanogan River through town, the reservation sprawls over 1.4 million acres of highlands, brittle with brown grass in late summer. There the Native American communities are plagued by poverty and unemployment.

If the Suicide Race was a small-town Friday-night football game, teenaged Scott Abrahamson would be its star quarterback. He’s an ace student, focused and polite, with technical internships and honor rolls to his name, but this weekend he’s a jockey with a King of the Hill title to defend. All eyes are on him.

Friday

He gets sick before every big race. “Everything hits me and my body,” Scott says. “I can barely walk.” His cousin calls it good luck; Scotty puking means they’re going to do well.

In the hours before Friday’s race, the second of four, Scott’s prepping in the triangular Owners and Jockey’s paddock in the middle of the fairgrounds. By 5pm, Omak veterinarian Jai Tuttle holds court at one end of the dusty enclosure, near standing fans that muster a little manufactured breeze. As they wait to parade their horses for Doc Tuttle, owners angle water hoses over the animals’ backs.

Everyone older than Scott calls him Scotty. This year’s printed program, in the roster of winners dating back to 1935, calls him that. After he won in 2015, he became small-town famous, no longer just the good kid who excelled at basketball and wrestling. People holler, “Go Scotty” at him all weekend.

His father was famous too. That’s what happens when you win the Suicide Race; Leroy Abrahamson took the title in 2002, but was best known for his prowess in the Indian Relay, a more widespread style of racing where one jockey hops from horse to horse. Leroy, Scott has heard, would flit from one mount to the next with only a single foot brushing the ground.

Scott doesn’t remember his first time in a saddle but assumes it was before he could walk, though he largely gave it up in elementary school, when his parents split. His father was the horse guy; his mother was all about school. So he became a standout student in Coulee Dam, a reservation town in the shadow of the 50-story hydroelectric giant. When his father died in 2009, he was drawn back to horses.

“I’m sorta doing all this for him,” Scott says, hesitant. His mother wasn’t wild about the racing, but he didn’t falter at school, scoring an engineering internship with the Bureau of Reclamation. Slight and muscular, his five-foot-nine stature is too tall for a throughbred jockey but about average for this race. His hair is short and straight, spiking around his head like a halo, and he likes to hide his eyes behind sunglasses.

The summer he was 16, after his sophomore year of high school, Scott entered his first Suicide Race. Atop a small gelding named Kinky, he fell as they crested the top of the hill on the Thursday race, flipping over the horse’s shoulder. On Friday the pair wrecked in the water.

“I flipped over and everybody ran me over,” he says. “Everyone says it happens so fast, but when I was in it, it was like slow motion.” Finally, on Saturday, they made it through the entire race, galloping past the finish line in the stadium. Then Sunday the pair wrecked again.

A new horse was in order. His trainer, George Marchand, is a giant within the Suicide Race world and holder of three titles. He’d lost his own father at 14 and rode against Leroy Abrahamson 15 years ago, so he guided Scott, this time to a nighttime ride on a quarter horse–thoroughbred mix named Eagle Boy. The butterscotch-colored gelding was only about five years younger than the rider.

“It was pitch black and dusty,” remembers Scott. The hills of the reservation are dotted with brush and ponderosa pine, but he could make out little from his saddle. They were on top of a hill, he knew that, and that George had taken off.

He gave Eagle Boy his head as they sped over the uneven terrain. “We were jumping trees and dodging trees,” recalls Scott, but they moved as a unit. “I was like dang—he trusts me.” Matching horse to rider is alchemy.

In 2015, in his second year racing and only 17 years old, Scott on Eagle Boy tied for first overall with six-time victor Loren Marchand, George’s nephew. With a wide grin stretched across his face, the rising high school senior played rock-paper-scissors with his cochamp for a King of the Hill prize bridle.

The name World Famous Suicide Race might be a bit of hyperbole, but the race is nothing if not infamous. It emerged in scrappy Omak where a Great Depression population boom—all the way to 2,500 souls—launched an annual rodeo in 1933. As publicity chairman, furniture store owner Claire Pentz proposed a dramatic steeplechase to draw spectators, inspired by mountain races across the reservation at Keller, where riders charged a dry channel in the Sanpoil River. He knew how to sell it: He gave his 1935 creation a catchy name.

The World Famous Suicide Race ran every summer, the marquee event at the four-day Omak Stampede rodeo. Dynasties were born when the inaugural race’s third-place finisher, Alex Dick, won regularly through 1965. There have been seven Marchand riders over the years, six Abrahamsons, nearly a dozen named Pakootas. The unofficial motto, one that appears on winners’ belt buckles, is “Wimps Need Not Apply.”

The 210-foot hill, most say, is a 62-degree slope. Or it’s 54.7 degrees, as measured by a race official in 1993. Others say it’s more like 30. Regardless, it’s terrifying. From the top, the hill feels as steep as a hard ski run; a black diamond, but not a double black. Scrambling up on foot, you might use your hands.

The stampede and race remain intertwined, but in 1999 the Colville Tribes boycotted to protest a change to their camping space on the fairgrounds. The Stampede lost attendance and revenue, and the following year a deal was struck: The tribes got more control over the race organization, and the encampment got its park space.

Family ties bind many of the owners, trainers, and jockeys, and while a few aren’t Native American at all, they’re the exception. This is the biggest sporting event in the region, the Super Bowl of north-central Washington. “This is the only time we get to play cowboys and Indians,” jokes one organizer, Ernie Williams.

Doc Tuttle is fairly new to the race gig, but between her ease with fidgety horses and no-nonsense demeanor, the veterinarian exudes authority. One by one she clears the horses for Friday’s race, directing owners to walk each thousand-pound animal in a figure eight as her eyes stay trained on forelegs and haunches, scrutinizing for swollen tendons or joints.

No one can pretend the Suicide Race isn’t controversial. As early as 1939, the protests started; Humane Society president Glen McLeod succeeded in canceling a mountain race in nearby Hunters, then traveled to Omak and Keller hoping to do the same. “Why, even the riders call it a ‘suicide race,’ ” McLeod told The Seattle Daily Times before a similar trip in 1941.

Animal rights groups started keeping a tally of dead horses in 1983, with one count now at 22. “The reality is that the race is viewed as part of the Omak Stampede rodeo, and rodeos are protected under state law,” says Seattle Humane Society spokesman Dan Paul, but points out that rapid shifts in public sentiment swiftly made SeaWorld orca shows and circus elephant acts extinct.

People for Ethical Treatment of Animals has run letter-writing campaigns. In 1993, the Northwest’s PAWS, or Progressive Animal Welfare Society, tried a more robust tactic, filing a lawsuit that alleged organizers harm horses for profit, but a Superior Court judge threw out the case. In 1996, a PAWS member sued the Okanogan County Sheriff’s Office and the rodeo for roughing him up when he videotaped a horse being euthanized; the suit settled for $64,500.

For the organizers, the response is simple: The race is merely an extension of their horse-infused culture. Every rider points out that they ride similar hills during wild-horse roundups and cattle work.

Horses have to pass three checks before they’re allowed entry into the race: the vet examination, a swim test, and what’s called a hill test, where horses must round the top of Suicide Hill without hesitation.

Tuttle isn’t from the reservation; she isn’t originally from Omak. But even as an outsider, the one who has to put horses down if they’re hurt, she doesn’t think it’s inhumane.

“These guys use horses that love it,” she says; the horses are bred to it and run steep hills regularly on the remote corners of the reservation. She rarely has to disqualify a horse because owners who spot lameness usually scratch. “It does hold a real special place in the Native culture. It does.” And that horse Thursday night that likely drowned? She considers it. “He was doing what he loved and he had a quick and honorable death.”

Friday night’s race is classic and clean; no bad wrecks. As always, the riders reach the starting line by crossing the river on the Highway 97 bridge, closed to traffic. Hooves clomp on the asphalt as the parade passes a road sign that reads, “Tribal Code Laws Apply.” There are no rules to apply in the Suicide Race once the gun is fired; riders can whip each other, pull each other’s reins. No helmets required. No wimps.

The results echo the previous night: Scott Abrahamson and Eagle Boy come in first, Tyler Peasley on Spade in second. When Scott wins, he raises his right hand above his head, palm out, fingers outstretched. His father’s gesture.

Scott was only four when Leroy won the Suicide Race. “Everyone said he was one of the greats,” he says. “It’s kinda hard to fill his shoes.” Instead he fills his horns. He wears Leroy’s blinking red devil headpiece, the kind of bauble most 18-year-olds would don at a Halloween party.

Scott’s idols were the riders who won in the late 2000s, including the 30-year-old three-time champion who came in second to him during this weekend’s first two races. As a kid he’d run down hills playing at Suicide Race, imaginary whip flying, yelling, “I’m Tyler Peasley!” After his 2015 win, Scott noticed something: “The kids run around saying they’re me.”

It’s after 10pm when the racehorses have completed their cooldown laps and have been loaded into trailers for the ride home. Scott accompanies George Marchand to Omak Lake, 15 miles out of town, to let Eagle Boy soak before bed.

Saturday

Saturday night’s Suicide Race is the biggest. The 7,700-seat arena is packed, and lines form at every fun house and stomach-destroying ride in the carnival outside. Booths hawk curly fries, cotton candy, and foot-longs, though the longest lines are reliably at a taco truck.

But that’s not the whole Omak Stampede. On the east side of the arena, a mirror festival, maybe even larger: the Indian Encampment. Rows of teepees surround a round pavilion for dancing and drum performances, with RVs and tents beyond that. Spectators bring their own camp chairs to supplement the few bleachers. Booths sell jewelry, T-shirts, and dream catchers, and while some of the food is the same—nothing is as universal as curly fries—more signs are handwritten, and many vend Indian tacos and huckleberry lemonade.

Before the rodeo begins, the arena’s industrial speakers blast pop country songs over every acre. The festivities begin with a series of anthems and processions, recognizing the neighboring nations of Canada and the Colville Tribes. During the ride-in, dozens of rodeo queens from around the West shoot into the center oval on horseback, one by one, decked in every shade of sparkle.

The announcer introduces each event, then banters with the rodeo clown when things get slow or a bull rider needs a moment to limp off the dirt. The Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association produces the classic rodeo events, ones with more white riders than Native: bull riding, steer wrestling, team roping, barrel racing. Specialty acts bridge the competitive sports: trick riders and one blonde woman who does a kind of partner dance with an unbridled palomino horse to the blaring sounds of a country song called “Free.” It ends with the horse placing its blond head in her lap.

The Suicide Race is the final blockbuster event. Spectators wade up to their knees into the Okanogan River just upstream of the race crossing, bare feet on slimy rocks. Signs still note that video recording is prohibited, but they’re roundly ignored in the age of cell phones.

Despite the shocking name, the only rider death since anyone’s kept close records was one who drowned on his way to the starting line—though there are plenty of close calls. In 2002, the year Leroy Abrahamson took home the title, racer Naomie Peasley took a tumble so bad she fractured her skull. She recovered, but not before flatlining twice in the medic helicopter.

In its anti–Suicide Race materials, PAWS airs a common criticism of the race: its authenticity. “Organizers currently contend that the Suicide Race has roots in Native American tradition but, in fact, an Anglo conceived the race as a publicity stunt,” reads its statement. Detractors hang on that detail, its origins with furniture salesman Claire Pentz.

To riders and trainers, though, Pentz is irrelevant, and they point to the deep roots of horse culture. For Scott, the point of the race is clear: “Showing that a young man is becoming a warrior, becoming a man.”

The race, the encampment—it’s the tribes’ biggest invitation into their world. “There’s more that people don’t see behind these walls, about Indian life...sweat lodges, medicine,” adds Aaron Carden, a retired racer who now teaches Native language on the reservation. Of the borders around that world, he says, “It’s not our fence to keep people out. It’s the fence white men built to keep us out of the area they took.”

The race wasn’t the only thing “created” by a white man; the very invention of a Colville Tribes unit is recent. Long before that, before statehood, before Manifest Destiny, before Lewis and Clark white-privileged their way across the American West, the Okanogan Highlands tribes lived nomadic lives, picking berries and drawing salmon from the massive Columbia River. And racing horses.

First came the incorporation of Washington Territory, then a series of executive orders begun by president Ulysses S. Grant that roped several tribes into three million acres between the Methow Valley and the Columbia River. Others were elbowed into the reservation, linking bands that once stretched from the dusty plains of Washington to the mountains of British Columbia. One chief invited a famous Indian leader, Chief Joseph, and his Nez Perce followers in 1885. With his band, the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation—a patchwork assembly that had no single language or traditional commonality—reached their current 12-tribe size.

Over 125 years the tribes faced what so many other American Indians did—children forced into boarding schools, languages squashed. The federal government forced a cheap buyback of 1.5 million acres, lands still lamented as the lost “North Half.” The Grand Coulee Dam, erected in 1942, blocked spawning salmon with its 550-foot concrete walls; Colville tribal members mourned the loss of Kettle Falls, a historic fishing spot, with a Ceremony of Tears before it was submerged by the dam’s backup.

In the 1960s, the tribes toyed with termination, dissolving the reservation altogether and splitting the lands among its 5,000 members. Reservations had been terminated by the government before, but the Colvilles were the only ones to dare seriously consider it themselves, an unprecedented move of self-governance. Congressional hearings were held but the measure never passed, so the Colville Reservation endured.

The Suicide Race is a separate world from suicide itself, a public health crisis for the Colvilles. Whether spurred by pervasive poverty—reservation unemployment topped 50 percent in 2010—or rampant substance abuse, the suicide rate ballooned to 20 times the national average in 2006. “After that we were in a panic on what we need to do and could do,” says tribal staffer Olivia Wynecoop. Tribal leadership declared a state of emergency, and Wynecoop helped secure grants for education and designating “natural helpers” to be on call for suicide emergencies.

Scott positions Eagle Boy at the western end of the starting line for the Saturday-night race. This isn’t like the starting gate at the Kentucky Derby; horses pace and turn, and the antsy palomino next to him does a sideways prance before the starter pistol goes off. Scott is angry, though later he says he can’t remember why. Trash talk and psych-outs are regular along the starting line, older jockeys trying to ruffle the young ones still gathering their courage.

But three years and one win into the Suicide Race, Scott can ignore the chatter. He and Eagle Boy are still until the gun sounds, then fast to the crest of the hill. Aaron Carden still remembers the feeling 25 years after his first win: “You’re actually flying in the sky. Nobody can take that away from you.”

There’s a commotion, a cloud of dust to Scott’s left, but he’s well in front of the pack as they hit the water. Two strides into the dark water, Eagle Boy stumbles, flinging Scott into the river. His blinking red devil horns disappear under the white churn created by horses on either side. They’re both okay but don’t log a finish.

What Scott couldn’t see was what happened on the top of the hill, to the very first rider off the break. Tyler Peasley, whom Scott idolized as a kid, and who’d placed at Scott’s heels the past two nights, darted off the top of the hill like a raptor after its prey. Peasley’s a little taller than Scott, broader shouldered, and he rides to win. His mount, Spade, got so much air he tucked his back legs underneath him and simply sailed for the first 30 feet of the downward slope.

They were serene in that moment, flying, until Spade’s hooves finally hit the tilted ground again; Peasley pitched over Spade’s front left shoulder before the horse executed a tight somersault. The jockey disappeared under the hooves of the horses behind him and the crowd made a collective, guttural gasp. Peasley’s body didn’t come to a stop until he reached the bottom of the hill.

Sunday

The final race is also the only daytime race of the weekend; for the first time since the trials and runoff races held before the stampede, they’ll be rushing the hill in full daylight.

The mood in the O&J paddock is subdued, but word is going around that Peasley is stable at a nearby hospital. News will later spread that his injuries included a broken pelvis, hip, and ribs, and the racing community fundraises to support his care and gas money for his family to visit him.

Remarkably, Tyler’s horse, Spade, is unhurt from the tumble, ready to race again. His owner lights a bundle of sage and says a few words over the horse before a new jockey takes the saddle.

For the final time in 2016, Scott follows the parade to the top of Suicide Hill. His jeans have a gaping hole in the knee—real wear from hard riding, not a fashion statement—and his wraparound sunglasses are ’80s big. No devil horns for the daytime race, but, as ever, his name is the one most shouted by the crowds: “Come on Scotty,” over and over.

With 10 points already earned, Scott only needs to place to secure the title. Owner and trainer Marchand tells him not to go all out, and when the gun fires, he doesn’t. He holds back his whip, lets Eagle Boy run the race without extra urging. It’s the smart move, the calculated move, no doubt informed by the disastrous night before. But Scott comes to regret holding back.

Not because it doesn’t work. Scott and Eagle Boy place second, netting four more points and easily clinching his first solo all-around title. But for Scott, the kind of driven athlete who hates to give a single inch, playing it safe feels wrong. Now with two titles to his name, only three years in, he says he’ll ride “until I get broken down and can’t do it no more.”

Three days later, Scott will depart his Coulee Dam home and drive five hours to start his freshman year at Washington State University. As an engineering student he will pull a 3.8 GPA his first semester and a 3.9 the second; he’s lined up two years of scholarships so far and hopes he’ll be able to extend to the full undergrad four.

Scott won’t brag about his Suicide win at college, but he’ll drive home every fall weekend for Indian Relay races, another sport that mixes horsemanship with a touch of anarchy. Around the reservation, he doesn’t have to brag about being King of the Hill; everyone already knows. “He’s the Steph Curry of the Suicide Race,” one tribal member says. “Loren and Tyler are the Lebrons.”

The second weekend of August 2017 is already on everyone’s calendar. Scott will be back on Eagle Boy, who he now half owns with George Marchand—a 49 percent share. He now has a streak to defend. By early June, high winter snows have melted to fill the Okanogan River, and ecologists are warning of water flows two or three times normal. Scott guesses that, with the river this high, it’ll be too deep for the horses to simply wade across during the Suicide Race; they’ll have to swim for the first time since, he believes, 2002. The year his father won it all.

But on Sunday night in August 2016, after the King of the Hill awards and the pictures, he’s just a high school kid again. He wanders the Indian Encampment with friends, waits in line for fry bread.

Under the pavilion, dancers spin and step, decked in elaborate feathered headdresses and beaded robes. Some have numbers pinned to their costumes, like marathon runners, to compete. In a drum tent, the songs are a steady thrum of chants and cries, indecipherable to the visitors who stand awkwardly outside the rows of seated tribal members who are at once both audience and participant.

Picture this: a quiet mountain lake, bordered by rocky hills dotted with ponderosa pine. In daytime Omak Lake is seven miles of brilliant turquoise, but now, at night, it’s a black mirror. Two men drive a horse trailer to its shore, unloading an unsaddled Eagle Boy.

It’s one of George Marchand’s secrets to success; the lake minerals soothe the bumps and scrapes along the horse’s legs. In the midst of the annual Perseid meteor shower, the uncloudy Okanogan skies are perfect for spotting streaks of celestial light, but the men don’t look up as they dissect the day’s race.

Scott holds Eagle Boy’s halter from a dock while the horse wades into the water, breaking the lake’s calm. The water hasn’t yet cooled from baking under another 90-plus degree day, and the hills that round the lake keep the night air still. They’ve survived another madcap contest together, earned another W. They’re back on the reservation, back home. In the silence the only sound is the lapping of the lake water against a horse.

[queerbrujas]

11 from the kiss meme for Nat! :)

Look at me filling prompts two months late :) I went a little bit off-prompt with this one but it still kind of counts!

the closest to heaven (that i’ll ever be)

pairing: nat sewell x eva navarro wordcount: 1.8k rating: G

read on ao3

Morning kisses that are exchanged before either person opens their eyes, kissing blindly until their lips meet in a blissful encounter.

—

Nat Sewell doesn’t need any more sleep than other vampires.

She could easily sleep as little as Ava or Felix do, barely more than Mason: a few hours every few days, and it would be enough rest for her body. No, there is no practical reason for her to sleep more than the others in Unit Bravo—but she does anyway, out of habit and enjoyment, like the human food she eats or the whiskey she sometimes drinks. The music she listens to.

It’s a ritual. A reminder. Something pleasant and, for the most part, uncomplicated.

(Ava doesn't understand why she does it without need, but Ava, dear friend that she is, feels that way about many things.)

Sleep is, as most things about immortality, different; she would still call it different, even after three hundred years and only vaguely remembering what it is different from.

No, she doesn't think about that. It's just different.

Dreams, for one, are more vivid—but so are nightmares—and the rest it gives is enhanced. 

The moment of waking is different, too.

She likes to savor it, those first few instants after sleep, when her senses are still coated in a veil of dreams and only just beginning to reacquaint themselves with the world around her. Still coming out of a pleasant haze until they settle into complete awareness.

So she keeps her eyes closed, letting each of her senses wake in its own time, feeling and slowly widening her perception of her surroundings until she is fully awake.

Especially now, with those senses all drawn to focus on one person only, she would allow that moment to last for as long as possible.

Eva shifted during the night. It’s something she does regularly, Nat has realized by now—but no matter how much she does, she never moves away from her. Never stops touching her. Their legs are tangled together, with Nat laying on her side; her hand lays flat on Eva’s stomach and she can feel the softness and warmth of her skin under her palm, every point of contact between them something precious.

The pleasant heat that radiates off of her body is first on Nat’s mind, as it warms the space around them and lands on her skin, even more welcome than the morning sunlight.

Nat’s chin rests on Eva's shoulder, and the next thing she can feel is her hair, loose and spread over the pillow, strands of it brushing against Nat’s cheek and filling the air with that mix of scents that has become so familiar and known and cherished.

There are the very, very last remnants of the perfume Eva wore last night (faint amber and sandalwood are all that is left, but they are enough to bring the hints of mandarin and jasmine to Nat's memory), the shampoo she uses (a new one, nettle and lemon verbena) — and underneath it all Eva's own scent, something fresh and clean and something else still, something nameless, powerful and intoxicating that makes Nat almost dizzy.

She moves closer almost instinctively, smiling against Eva’s shoulder when the rhythm of her heartbeat starts to pick up. She knows, by now, the exact pattern and acceleration, the change in pace that tells her when she is waking. It starts only a few moments before her breathing becomes shallower.

Nat’s fingers trace shapes on Eva’s skin as she lets her focus settle on the soft sounds, on the shift of the air around them.

It's so easy. It's been so easy, with her.

So easy to speak of herself, to give herself so fully and so irrevocably. To grow used to waking with her like this. It has all fallen into place so quickly Nat could almost, almost be wary of it, and yet all she can feel is the way it warms even the oldest corners of her heart and fills her with a kind of happiness she can't remember feeling in as long as she's been alive.

Eva makes a noise then, a barely audible hum, and Nat’s thoughts are drawn back to her as her heart skips a beat of its own. It makes her smile—as much as she enjoys sensing the reactions she can cause in Eva, the inverse thrills her just the same.

She keeps her eyes closed still, enveloped by the hold Eva has over her senses, wanting to cling to it just a little longer, that sleepy daze that precedes the stark clarity of day.

Eva shifts, turns and burrows her face against Nat’s neck, making more soft, sleepy sounds. Another hum, and Nat feels the vibration against her skin. She wraps an arm around Eva and pulls her closer, their bodies flush against each other, and Eva lets out a contented sigh.

“Nat…” Eva's voice is muffled and sleep-heavy and yet it makes Nat’s heart give a leap. Nat answers with a soft hum of her own. 

Eva doesn’t speak again, instead shifting for a kiss to Nat’s shoulder; the touch on her skin feels vaguely electric, lightly charged. Another kiss, more humming, and Nat smiles even wider, happiness settling in her chest.

Nat shifts as well, tempted by the kisses, by the softness of Eva’s lips, featherlight touches brushing against her skin. Eyes still closed, the fluttering sensation almost overtakes her, as Eva presses them without rhyme or reason over her shoulders, her collarbone, her neck, her jaw.

Nat lets out a soft laugh when Eva nuzzles against her neck again and whispers “you’re warm”, her voice clinging to sleep as much as Nat herself is. Her senses are almost fully awake now, though, starting to become aware of the smaller things like the slight changes in the air and the sounds of the forest outside, someone’s footsteps off in the distance. But it all fades into the background, white noise, because she can tell Eva is more alert now, too—heart rate and breathing are almost back to normal—and that’s the only thing she can focus on.

“Good morning, jaan,” Nat says, that feeling of happiness bubbling within her and spilling into her voice, tentatively moving until she can press her lips to Eva’s temple, fingers playing with the strands of her hair.

“Morning,” comes the mumbled answer. She’s stubbornly clinging to it more than necessary, Nat knows; she’s almost fully awake by this point.

Nat opens her eyes then, and even after all this time, the sheer strength of her reaction to Eva still takes her by surprise. The lines of her face, beauty marks dotted on her skin. The way long lashes frame light brown eyes that are only just opening.

And her eyes are a wonder all on their own. Usually constantly moving, evaluating, with thoughts swirling behind them at a speed it takes a moment to keep up with, or with a hard focus on finding the best outcome for a mission.

And yet the way she looks at her now is enough to make Nat’s heart almost stop.

Eva, her Eva who almost never stays still, who is so at ease with the breakneck speed this modern world has taken, and yet—and yet she chooses, has chosen to slow down for her without even the slightest hesitation and seems as thrilled by it as Nat herself is.

Nat can see the whirlwind behind her eyes stilling every time they lock eyes, as it does now, a gentle focus that reflects every depth and every feeling Nat has inside herself. Eva smiles, beautiful, blissful, full of softness and feeling she has admitted time and again to being unused to and Nat’s breath catches at it, her own heart racing even faster—she feels nothing short of honored that she would be the one to inspire that so freely in her.

She waits a second for the catch in her breathing to subside, a smile spreading on her lips.

“Have I told you that you are the most beautiful sight to wake up to?” she says, raising her hand to brush her fingers against Eva’s cheek. She doesn’t try to keep the emotion from her voice.

Eva’s eyes sparkle at the comment and she laughs, but the slightest hint of heat radiates from her cheeks all the same, something she doesn’t hide or shy away from; Nat loves her for it, loves the eager honesty in her smile and how she revels in the shivers Nat causes in her. Her sleepy smile grows wider and more alert and she leans forward again, kisses Nat's cheek and the touch of her lips is so soft, so gentle Nat’s eyes almost close again at it.

“Then maybe I should stay here every night,” Eva says, with a smile in her voice, too. “And, for the record,” she adds after another kiss, “yes, you have.”

“You will hear no argument from me,” Nat answers with a light chuckle. “I'd have you with me always.”

They have been spending almost every night together, at the Warehouse or in Eva's apartment, and the nights they don’t are longer and emptier than Nat could ever have imagined they would be.

I'd have you stay forever. She almost says it—and it is so unlike her to keep these thoughts unvoiced, but this one, this one she would hold on to for just a little longer.

Eva draws back, only a little, and her light brown eyes meet Nat’s again. She is silent for a moment before speaking again. “You know I have nowhere else I’d rather be.”

It’s almost a whisper and, despite the smile that still sits on her lips, more serious than she probably intended it to sound.

There are depths to those words, Nat knows. There is an unspoken conversation and an idea and a thought that hangs between them still—but there is also the undiluted truth of it, truth that is both freeing and overwhelming, exhilarating and comforting.

Nat lets herself be taken by the feeling of it until the force that pulls her to Eva is so strong she has to do something about it, and without words (because there are no words that would be enough, in any language she knows) she does the only thing she can. She leans in to kiss her again and Eva melts into it eagerly, grasping at her and pulling her closer, the sweet softness of her mouth the only thing Nat cares to know.

They part with a breath and a smile and Eva keeps her eyes closed for a few seconds, lashes brushing against her cheeks. Nat wants to count them. She has never seen anything or anyone so beautiful.

After a moment, Eva lets out a sigh, shutting her eyes more tightly with a frown.

“There’s a meeting,” she says, making Nat blink in confusion for a second. She can hear, can feel the regret in her voice, sounding much more awake now than a few minutes ago. “We should—what time is it?”

Nat laughs.

“Yes, I believe we should start getting ready for the day.”