#fits and frets and fervors | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovelylogans · 4 years ago

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i wish i knew how (your eyes are like starlight now)

warnings: vampires (blood drinking mentioned), alcohol consumption, food mentions, cuddling, kissing, death mentions, if i’ve missed any please let me know!

pairing: logan/patton

word count: 6,003

notes: for @fangirltothefullest for our discord server’s secret santa! prompted with “Preferably logan-centric and fluffy! Logicality would be great! Logince would also be good. Maybe some cute cuddles by a fireplace?” title is from “baby it’s cold outside!” the idea of vampires being able to eat red food comes from a book i remember reading as a kid, but i cannot place the title, so if anyone knows it please let me know!

Hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps and Bailey’s, it turns out, is a particularly adept calmative.

It’s made the world go hazy and lovely and beautiful, and that’s even before Logan acknowledges the way his eyes are half-lidded and he’s leaning his head a bit more against the side of his wingback armchair than he would if he were entirely sober.

Logan narrows his eyes down at his mug, the one Roman had wheel-thrown and painted him with the chemical illustration of the molecular construction of caffeine on it, which is half-drained, the whipped cream and marshmallows melted, the peppermint stick meant to stir already losing its red stripes. Logan plucks it from the mug and sticks it into his mouth, crunching it, wriggling in the armchair to get more comfortably seated, and to get a better view.

Roman, Janus, Virgil, and Patton have long since been occupied with a board game; Remus left to do whatever it is that Remus does at night, probably screaming profanities at random passerby, so it’s just the five of them left. The Christmas party’s been winding down slowly for the past hour or so, the fireplace still crackling but burning lower and lower, their hot chocolate supply depleted, and Roman and Virgil’s fits of competitiveness losing fervor as the moon creeps higher and higher in the sky. The white of the waxing moon peeks out against the clouds that distribute the fat, fluffy flakes falling from the sky.

The snow catches the light of the Christmas lights hung outside the house (goodness, hadn’t that been a trying day) so the snow gleams in technicolor reflection, the rest of the world lit by the hazy orange glow of the street lamps. It is very beautiful, and Logan, in an unusually sentimental fit that he would tell himself in the morning was brought on by the alcohol, is incredibly grateful to be alive, at this precise moment, that allows him the company of such wonderful friends in such a beautiful world.

What a statistically improbable event they all are. What an outright scientifically impossible group they all make—a vampire, a set of twins that turned out to be a banshee and a siren, a selkie, and two humans. Three years ago Logan would have scoffed at the idea of any sort of supernatural, mythical humanoid, much less even suspected he’d meet them. And now he is in love with one, and is best friends with the others, and his life is so strange, so odd, so wonderful.

Logan comes back into himself when Roman cries out in protest, making Logan’s ears ring unpleasantly, as Janus crows in victory, holding the longest road card aloft, the dark gray seal-skin on his face gleaming pearlescent in the firelight.

“Cheater!” Roman accuses, his voice still maintaining that double-pitch—a high keen layered over Roman’s typically pleasant baritone—that always makes something in Logan’s head throb.

“Just because you didn’t strategize your road properly,” Janus gloats, pointing—and yes, the yellow road winding around the edge of Catan is decidedly longer than the red road circling over itself in the middle.

All the while, Virgil is muttering darkly about how useless the Largest Army card has been, tossing it aside, and Patton looks up at Logan, dark eyes glinting brightly in amusement, freckles speckled across his face like constellations, trying his best to hide his smile around the specially-ordered red-dominant candy canes he’s been eating all season, his fangs gleaming white, freed from the fake teeth Patton usually wears to pass as human, his lips tinged artificially red.

Logan feels even warmer all over at the sight of him.

Patton’s eyes get even brighter, and he flashes a sweet smile at Logan before he turns back to the board game and breaks up the squabbling with patient declarations of “Everyone did a really great job!” and “The fun’s what matters, right?” and being so stubborn and relentless in his optimism and platitudes that Janus and Roman relent and grumble grudging “good game”s at each other.

Patton’s far more patient than the pair of them—which makes sense, as he’s been practicing at it since the seventeenth century, according to all their estimations surrounding the first edition of Human Understanding he’d acquired the month after he’d been turned, in a fit of uncharacteristically dark humor—so he always wins out when it comes to digging in his heels and cheerfully going about something with the consistency of the little bird and the diamond mountain.

Roman ducks out to sulk for a moment, under the excuse of adjusting Patton’s painstakingly maintained gramophone he’d bought in the 1920s—he still has the early prototype phonograph he bought in the 1870s, but that one is even more painstakingly preserved in the rooms full of obsolete technologies, clothes, and knick-knacks that Patton’s accrued and hoarded throughout the years like a magpie—and the sound of Bing Crosby crackles to life in the next room, crooning “White Christmas,” the snapping of the fire providing unintentionally harmonious percussion. Logan wouldn’t be surprised if this is one of the original vinyls, too—Patton’s got loads of vintage music from artists Logan had never even heard of before.

Janus bows out, next, content to allow the high of his victory usher him out the door. He even allows Patton to fuss over ensuring his coat is warm enough to protect him from the snow, considering he’s wearing his sealskin coat and not a proper winter coat, and then even lets him fret over Janus staying moisturized, despite the fact that both Janus and Logan have attempted to explain that Janus’ version of moisturized and the human version of moisturized are quite different in execution, one being smearing lotion all over oneself and the other consisting of sealing himself into his skin and taking a dip in the nearest ocean.

Logan mentally backtracks over the previous sentence and immediately blames Patton for the pun, and simultaneously promises himself to never utter it in Patton’s presence. Patton still brings up the time Logan had accidentally mentioned Patton sinking his teeth into something, and can hardly finish recounting it before bursting into giggles. He is fortunate he is so adorable, otherwise it would irk Logan to no end. As it is, when it happens, Logan can’t summon up anything stronger than resigned affection.

He’s in love with a vampire who is currently fretting over a selkie with the exact air of a concerned father. It’s a fate he’s all too eagerly accepted.

Janus usually gets snappy about being mother-henned, so Logan suspects that either the Bailey’s has done a number on him, or the Christmas sentimentality is getting to him.

And, considering that Janus had one mug of mulled wine with dinner, Logan has a fairly good guess as to which is the root cause—especially taking into consideration Janus allows Patton to hug him goodbye. Janus wishes him a happy Christmas in a tone that is not quite as drawlingly dramatic as usual.

By then, the gramophone is playing a new song, a soprano prettily warbling “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and Roman seems to be over his discontent over losing because he joins in, singing pleasantly rather than shrieking—he usually leaves the wailing to the banshee in the family, it’s just that the whole “drawing men to their deaths” aspect of his voice emerges when his temper flares—and Logan swallows down the sudden lump in his throat at the sound of it.

Of course, Roman’s voice is supernaturally exquisite, but there’s something different about it now; Roman had tried enchanting Logan, exactly once, after Logan had pestered him for weeks out of scientific curiosity, so he can say with certainty that this isn’t like the captivating sound that put him in a stupor with the speed and subtlety of being hit by a train, but it’s like someone has captured the flame in the fireplace and tempered it to a temperature that a human could stand, the cozy sensation of being beside a fire rather than the fire itself, and set it directly inside his heart.

You’re happy, a sober corner of his brain says dryly. You know this, you’re happy.

He is.

He is stupidly, incandescently, absolutely happy.

He will blame the dryness of the room from the fire for the sudden wetness in his eyes when Virgil joins in, usually quite shy about singing, but it is almost equally as pleasant as Roman’s, even though Virgil’s vocal chords (and the rest of Virgil) were entirely, completely, mortally human.

They are excellent, the pair of them. Not just their voices, but them, as people—they are excellent. Logan is exceptionally glad to have made their companionship.

Logan takes a deep breath, downs the last half of his hot chocolate, and launches himself from his armchair, perhaps a bit wobblier than he was at the start of the night, and Roman laughs without halting his song, wrapping an arm around Logan’s shoulder to steady him.

He can only join in for the last part of the song, which is probably for the best; Logan supposes his voice is tolerable enough, but it surely cannot compare to a siren, or to Virgil’s voice, rumbling like thunder. Also, he does not want to make a fool of himself, and surely singing more Christmas carols than necessary while not entirely sober would be a surefire way to do that.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Patton watching the three of them, a fond expression on his face, even if there is a flash of sudden gloom that passes over his face as the three of them sing “ Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow,” and Logan frowns to himself, noting it.

Intellectually, he is aware of the various burdens an immortal life forces upon its receiver; Patton has hundreds if not thousands of sketchings and, when the technology became available, photographs of people he had known through the hundreds of years of his life, painstakingly filed away.

Intellectually, he is aware that Patton was the source of unexpected windfalls that had been bestowed on Virgil’s family throughout the years, the reason Virgil and his siblings could afford to go to college; it is only after he and Virgil knew who Patton truly was that they found the reason behind the luck that struck his family once a generation. Patton had once been Virgil’s great-great-great-grandmother Violetta’s dearest friend, and she his; he’s been anonymously helping the descendants of all his friends in a similar manner for centuries.

Intellectually. He is aware that Patton fears the day that he will lose them all, and he will be left alone, unchanged, eternally in his late twenties, as he has been for centuries.

It is different to be intellectually aware of something, and to remember seeing Patton show Virgil the portrait he had personally painted of Violetta and choke back his tears because he’d missed her so much, and meeting and befriending Virgil had been a bit like having a piece of her back in his life again, and getting to know you has been such a gift, such a blessing. She would have adored you, as I do, and then Virgil had hugged him, and Patton had gotten so overcome he had not been able to say much else.

It is this memory plucking at his heartstrings that sends him stumbling in Patton’s direction.

Patton moves so quickly that Logan’s eyes can’t track it; one moment he was watching the three of them, the next he’s caught Logan around the waist, smiling down at him.

“Hi,” Patton says, and Logan takes a half-step closer to wrap his arms around Patton’s neck.

“Hello,” Logan says. He is about to attempt to say something that is emotionally adept, he really is, except Patton’s skin is smooth and cold under his fingers, and his lips are still tinged red, and Patton’s eyes dart down to Logan’s lips and then looks him in the eye and then he smiles, and any particularly subtle ideas about how to probe Patton’s emotions or perhaps to get him to stop thinking about the curse of bearing witness to the passage of time entirely flee his mind.

He barely has enough time to hope that Patton’s mind is similarly empty before Patton meets him halfway, pressing his lips against Logan’s; even though they’ve been together for years, Logan still isn’t quite used to the chill of Patton’s lips meeting his own. It makes him shiver every time.

Patton is always so sweet, so soft—Logan thinks only part of that is that he is a vampire afraid of hurting his comparatively delicate human lover, and the majority of it is because Patton strives to be sweet and soft as a default state of being, because he is a person who understands that kindness is not a state of being but constantly, consciously making mindful choices to be kind—and his kisses reflect that about him.

He almost always tastes of mint, because Logan had established early that he was perfectly fine with Patton drinking blood, he would not be facing secondary exposure to someone else’s blood, absolutely not, he holds a less than zero amount of desire to become an amateur hematologist through taste, and so Patton was incredibly scrupulous about brushing his teeth after consuming the blood he’d procured through a source of his in blood donation.

Patton tastes of peppermint now, and Logan sighs into the kiss, lips parting, and he feels the slightest, teasing pinprick of fangs against that sends a thrill zipping down his spine, and—

“And that’s our cue to leave!” Roman bellows with good humor; Logan turns to scowl at him over his shoulder anyways.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Patton begins, brow creasing ever so slightly.

“Yeah, we do,” Virgil says, an edge of a laugh in his voice. “Besides, us humans have to sleep.”

Patton usually forgets about this; he doesn’t necessarily need to sleep, but he can. Logan knows of at least three decade-long naps that Patton’s taken; he has next to no memories of the foundation of the United States, because he was snoozing for the vast majority of the buildup to the Revolutionary War and the establishment of the government afterwards.

He is, though, content to lie in a bed he’d bought for Logan’s use as Logan dozes throughout the night; sometimes Logan wakes up to Patton propped up on an elbow, looking at him with an expression in his eyes that is a bizarre mixture of fondness and jealousy.

Patton nods and says wisely, “Or else Santa won’t come to your house.”

Virgil snorts, “Yeah, that’s why.”

“I’ll have you know that Nikolass’ a close personal friend of mine,” Patton sniffs, “and it is a very long way from Gemile.”

“North Pole,” Virgil corrects. “Santa lives at the North Pole.”

“Mm,” Patton says neutrally.

“Patton, did you really know St. Nick?” Roman demands.

“No, no, you’re right,” Patton sighs, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Far too late for you mortals. Off to bed, then, and don’t forget to leave him some börek!”

“ Milk and cookies,” Virgil says, he and Roman now wearing twin expressions of desperate curiosity. Logan, who knows when St. Nick supposedly lived, keeps silent.

“He prefers börek,” Patton says, his nose twitching, a telltale sign he’s holding in laughter. “It’s traditional, where he’s from. Leave him a note that old Patton remembers him, it’ll earn you börek points!”

“Brownie points,” Virgil corrects again, “Patton, did you actually know Santa Claus—”

Patton bursts into giggles, unable to hold up the ruse for very long.

“The figure we know today as St. Nicholas of Myra lived in the 300s,” Logan explains. “He predates Patton by thirteen hundred years, approximately.”

“I can’t believe you fell for that!” Patton cackles, eyes bright, making him look as young as his face presents him to be.

“Yeah, okay,” Virgil says, as Patton pulls Roman into a hug, “you say that like it’s entirely unbelievable when you’ve shown us paintings of you and other completely unreal people like Maid Marian—”

“Aw, I miss her,” Patton says.

“— sorry if Santa Claus is too far out of the realm of belief from the vampire, ” Virgil continues to grumble, even as Patton folds him into a hug, too.

“He has also known Marie Curie,” Logan says, still unable to quite believe it even though he’s practically memorized the missives she had sent Patton. “Also, I may have elevated my threshold of belief to include vampires, selkies, sirens, and banshees, but I absolutely will not be budged to start believing in childhood myths.”

He pins Patton with a look. “And I am still unconvinced that you knew Robin Hood.”

“Well, he wasn’t actually called that then — ” Patton begins.

“Nope!” Roman practically yells. “Nope, Logan, you are not going to take the fact that I am one degree separated from the Merry Men, I refuse to listen to you debate this again, Sheriff of Not-letting-Roman-have-this-one-thing-ingham—”

“All of my research suggests the people you knew were imitators—” Logan begins again.

“As a Christmas gift to me, shut up,” Roman says.

“Roman,” Patton scolds.

“ Please shut up,” Roman amends politely—only his tone is polite, as the words themselves and the eyeroll that accompanies them are not particularly courteous.

Virgil distracts him quite handily by physically turning Roman around and nudging him toward the door.

Patton follows after them, Logan a few steps behind.

“All right, well, be safe going home,” Patton says, beginning on his spiel as Roman and Virgil pull on gloves and scarves. “Are you calling for a ride?”

“Walking,” Virgil says.

Patton makes a discomfited noise. “In this cold?”

“We barely live three blocks away, Ed-worry Cullen,” Roman says, and flaps his arms to show off his new peacoat, a gift from Janus. “We’re all bundled up.”

“All right, well,” Patton says, clearly still fretting, “Text message me when you get home?”

“Just text works,” Logan murmurs, but he can empathize with Patton’s difficulty with memorizing certain terms; it’s just that Patton’s are mostly technological in nature, and Logan’s are slang. Back when they first met, Patton still had the occasional slip-up and called texts telegrams.

“Text me,” Patton corrects himself, smiling at Logan and squeezing his hand in silent thanks before turning his attention back to Roman and Virgil.

“We will,” Virgil says, and amends, “or at least, I will,” because Roman was notorious for promising he’d text when he got home only to wake up to fifteen missed calls from Patton because he’d forgotten to do so.

“Good,” Patton says with a sigh of relief, then, “All right, bring it in!”

Logan releases Patton’s hand so Patton can step forward and hug Roman and Virgil simultaneously; Roman pulls a face at him over Patton’s shoulder, likely still stung by Logan’s accurate theory about the validity of the so-called Merry Men Patton had been acquainted with.

Though Logan is the correct one, Patton may believe that those people were the original Robin Hood and his band of thieves, but he was most likely deceived considering the earliest myths of Robin Hood originated two hundred years prior to Patton’s birth, even if Patton protests that the dates of the origin of many myths during his human life are incorrectly cited—

Logan presses his lips together in an expression that is not reciprocating the face that Roman pulled at him. Logan is correct; he can rest easily knowing this. And perhaps Christmas is not the proper time to bring up this oft-rehashed debate.

Even though Logan is right. It should not be oft-rehashed because he is right.

“Merry Christmas, Brainy Swan,” Roman says, stepping forward to give Logan a hug that Logan would describe as brotherly, except he knows Roman’s brother and this is far too tame, even if there is more back-slapping and hair ruffling than Logan would prefer.

“I am not anything like Isabella Swan,” he begins—this is an oft-rehashed debate, too, but this one is far more teasing in nature; Logan, at least, has the retort of pulling up any image of a particularly hideous mermaid mock-up or ugly fish and showing it to him with the (Virgil-taught) response “This you?”—and Roman rolls his eyes.

“Stop denying the Twilight renaissance, Lucy Weste- nerd -a,” Roman says, and reaches out to pluck at the patched elbow of Logan’s tweed jacket, even as he’s hugging Patton goodbye. “You’re dressed Victorian enough—”

“Patton isn’t anything like Dracula,” Logan disputes this time, because obviously Patton would never drink Logan’s blood or turn him without his consent. He straightens his waistcoat, and is about to reach into his pocket, grab his phone, and show Roman the image of a blobfish he has saved for a special occasion to tell him that this is clearly his long-lost twin, not Remus.

He may or may not have rehearsed this with Virgil to ensure a devastating effect.

“Can we please go before you two spend all of Christmas Eve talking about vampire franchises,” Virgil groans.

“Yeah, as fun as that is, most nights, this is kind of a special night!” Patton says brightly. If it were anyone else, Logan would wonder if he should attempt to scan his tone for sarcasm, but Patton probably does think it’s fun.

Virgil steps forward to hug Logan next; a one-armed hug around the shoulders, quick. It’s what they’re both best with, really; abrupt, swift affection that can be moved on from in a tidy manner.

“Merry Christmas, L,” Virgil says, then he steps forward to allow Patton to give him a more substantial hug; Patton wraps his arms around Virgil’s shoulders, squeezing him tight, his eyes shuttering for a brief moment, his face becoming gaunt.

“Merry Christmas, Pat,” Virgil says in a very quiet voice.

“Merry Christmas, V,” Patton says, his voice equally quiet and a touch strained.

Something deep in Logan aches at the sight of them before the look on Patton’s is wiped clean, so abruptly it’s almost as if Logan’s imagined it, and Patton inhales deeply and lets go of Virgil.

“Text me,” Patton reminds them, as Roman and Virgil step off the front stoop.

“I will,” Virgil promises.

Roman’s face splits into a grin, and he calls back, “Merry Christmas, Elena Gil-boring!”

Logan’s head whips around, and he opens his mouth to respond—he isn’t sure with what— and the world surrounding him spins, and he’s weightless, airborne, and as suddenly as it started, it’s stopped. He sees Patton smile at him before Logan closes his eyes, the world still spinning in a way that is distinctly unpleasant.

“Okay?” Patton asks, gently touching Logan’s shoulder.

“Mm. Dizzy.” Logan takes in a deep breath through his nose—the smoke off the fire, the lingering scents of their dinner and desserts, peppermint—and releases it, shaky, through his mouth, before he chances opening his eyes again.

“Sorry,” Patton says, guilt in his tone.

“It’s all right,” Logan says, and he smirks a little. “I’m sure Roman would have said something to interrupt the Yuletide peace if you hadn’t.”

“Yes, Roman would have,” Patton teases, amused, before he blurs for a moment and comes into focus just as quickly, Logan’s empty mug in his hands, one of his many fluffy blankets over his arm—Patton is almost always eager to use his preternatural speed when they are alone in his home. “Would you like another?”

Logan evaluates it; he does not drink very often, but it is a holiday, and he has eaten a sufficient amount and kept well-hydrated today. Though, he does not usually get too vertiginous when Patton moves him quickly, unless they are moving a great distance, he does have reason to suspect that the alcohol is the reason for it today. He’ll have to mention it to Patton; so long as he avoids that, and keeps it to this last mug, he should not face any unfortunate aftereffects in the morning.

“Yes, please,” he decides.

Patton kisses his temple and casts the blanket in front of the fireplace with great fanfare, fluffing it up so that it is at optimum comfort levels, before he unfolds another with an equal amount of fanfare, wrapping it around Logan’s shoulders. Logan smiles at him in thanks, as he knows the blanket is likely for his benefit—Patton frets about Logan getting too cold when they cuddle due to their disparate temperatures—and there’s a rush of artificial wind as Patton zooms to the kitchen.

Logan wraps the blanket around himself a little more securely as he settles in front of the fire, taking a moment to adjust the wood with the poker, listening to the popping crackle that allows him to lean back in time to watch the spray of sparks leap up the chimney. There’s the sound of a needle being lifted off a vinyl, the vinyl being replaced, and the needle lowered back down; Patton has switched them to an album of orchestral performances of Christmas songs.

Another rush of wind, then, a soft tap of fingers at the top of his head. Logan tilts his head back to look up at him.

Patton’s smiling down at him, eyes reflecting the last remaining sparks, his dark eyes catching the light like stars. He cradles the mug in his hand, and, despite the great speed at which he had moved, he has not spilled a drop.

“Here you are, love.”

“Thank you, dear,” Logan says, placing the poker back where it’s meant to be before he accepts the mug. Patton takes the time to settle in beside him, setting a tray on the hearth, before he wraps his shoulders in the fluffy blanket, too.

Logan smiles a little at the sight of the tray. One half would pass as a traditional, human charcuterie board, if perhaps a bit heavier on jellies than most. The other half is crowded with sectioned blood oranges, a small bowl of pomegranate seeds, raspberries, cherries, and strawberries, all foods as red as Patton’s punny Christmas sweater. It says Merry Chrismath! on it, with math formulas sketched out to form the shape of a Christmas tree, which Patton had purchased specifically because the corners of Logan’s lips had turned up at the sight of it in the store.

Patton takes a sip from his own mug—from the smell of it, mulled wine—and sighs in satisfaction.

“This feels very human, doesn’t it?” Patton asks Logan, as if he is asking for Logan’s approval, and in all honesty he probably is; Patton has been undead for so long that the memories of his human life are dim and distant. “Sitting in front of the fire, eating snacks. About to cuddle.”

It does feel rather human—all he has to do is pretend that his boyfriend is a red food enthusiast, rather than, for whatever reason, red foods being passable enough to a vampire that they are the only human foods he can stomach.

He doesn’t waste time pretending, though. Why should he, when his reality is stranger than fiction?

Logan presses his cheek to Patton’s shoulder, for a moment.

“I’m perfectly satisfied with this being a shared vampire-human experience,” Logan says, deliberately misunderstanding why Patton is asking. He likes that Patton is a vampire; it is part of him, it is why they have been able to meet. He does not understand why Patton sometimes seems to act like Logan would prefer a human boyfriend, because he wouldn’t. He prefers Patton.

“Well,” Patton says, his voice almost unbearably soft. “I suppose I’m all right with that too.”

Logan reaches for his own mug and takes a sip, before, once again, pressing his cheek against Patton’s shoulder in a way that presses his hair against Patton’s face.

Patton huffs softly in amusement. “Are you trying to get me to smell you?”

“I find it interesting,” Logan says, and he does; the amount of data Patton can deduce by one smell is absolutely astounding. He has plans for a more specific experiment, which he will ask Patton to conduct on a day he is bored and amenable to such suggestions.

Patton hesitates, just for a little bit, before Logan scoots closer, about to tilt so that some of his more major arteries will be closer to his nose.

“All right, then, for Christmas.”

Patton presses his nose against Logan’s hair, kissing the crown of his head, before he inhales, slowly, curiously, like someone trying to place what’s cooking in a kitchen without being able to see what is being prepared.

“And?” Logan asks.

“Mm,” Patton hums, getting his thoughts in order, before he inhales again, this time as if he is a sommelier inhaling the scent of a fine vintage. “Well, you, my favorite smell in the whole world.”

Logan feels very warm in a way that has nothing to do with the blanket, Patton’s arm around his shoulders, or the fire before them.

“You washed your hair this morning—oh, this is a new shampoo!”

“You didn’t like the other one, you thought it was too chemical-y,” Logan says. “I finished it yesterday.”

“Ooh, thank you,” Patton says. “Not that you didn’t smell lovely without the overtone of whatever phoenix is supposed to smell like, but I like this one much better—ooh, lemongrass? You’re spoiling me.”

Logan grins into Patton’s collarbone; really, only Patton would think that a new shampoo scent was spoiling.

“And the usual soap smell,” Patton says. “Sweat, skin, deodorant, your aftershave. You walked by someone smoking today; tobacco and herbal cigarettes, that’s unusual, those were way more common back in the forties—damiana, blackberry leaf, rose, and,” another inhale, “hibiscus and mullein. Gosh, the thought of those takes me back.”

Logan is about to ask—perhaps a past acquaintance or friend smoked something similar in those days—but Patton moves on without ruminating on it further, which makes Logan feel an odd prick of pride; nostalgia has been one of Patton’s greatest strengths, true, but also one of his greatest downfalls.

“Did you have tacos for lunch yesterday? I can smell the spicy salsa still.”

“You cannot,” Logan says, still stunned, even after years, at the amount of things Patton can detect. He’s probably smelling the capsaicin in his salsa, for one, but Patton can also smell certain chemicals the body produces: illness, for example, but also things like cortisol and oxytocin.

“Mhm, makes my nose itch a little. And I can smell the stuff we had at the party, and for dinner last night and breakfast this morning, so it wouldn’t be as fun for you if I listed that off...” Another inhale. “Oh, and I can tell you’re a little tipsy.”

“I think that’s probably why I got dizzy when you ran with me earlier.”

Patton kisses his forehead as a form of apology. “And. You’re happy.”

Logan pulls back just enough, just so he can look Patton in the eyes.

There are a great many supposed vampire stories that claim to know the color of a vampire’s eyes; blood red, commonly, but yellow or gold were popular ideas, as well. Silver, sometimes. Almost always, the presumed color was a color not found in nature.

Patton’s eyes are so dark a brown they are practically black, the iris near indistinguishable from his pupil unless someone was shining a direct light at them. They were the same color when he was human, Patton thinks; he has an illustration of his mother hidden away upstairs, and they are identical in shape and shade. They are beautiful, and captivating, and full of the warmth and love that are so perfectly, wonderfully Patton.

“I hope you don’t have to smell me to know that,” Logan says, and then, fumblingly, “I mean—I am aware you can smell my oxytocin, but I hope you know that I am without relying on that sense. That I am happy, I mean. Because I am. I do not tell you how you make me feel enough and I feel the need to do so now and articulate it clearly. You make me incandescently, impeccably happy. I am deeply in love with you. I could not have imagined the way my life is now, but I do not want it any other way, because you have made my life so much better.”

Patton’s expression has softened, his head tilting to the side, his lips tilted up into a smile, his eyes so full of affection that Logan almost has the urge to look away, overwhelmed. But Logan, bolstered by something —the Bailey’s and peppermint schnapps, the Christmas spirit, his own love for Patton, he isn’t sure which or if it’s a combination of all of them—keeps looking at him, savoring the expression, before his hand drifts up to cup Patton’s jaw.

They lean in simultaneously, and Logan’s eyes drift shut as he presses his lips to Patton’s once again; this time, without anyone to watch or heckle, Patton’s soft lips part easily for him, Patton’s fingers tangling in his hair, and Logan shivers a little with pleasure as Patton’s tongue brushes against Logan’s bottom lip. Patton is always, always so intolerably tender with him, so careful and deliberate, as if Logan is something to be savored, something exquisite and vitreous that needs to be handled delicately, something precious.

Logan tries his best to treat him in kind. He touches Patton’s face, Patton’s mouth and lips and tongue, eternally cool to the touch, with the kind of mindfulness he gives to pipettes and microscopes and test tubes, as if touching Patton in a way that is any less than the amount of devotion and love Patton deserves will irrevocably contaminate the results of his hypothesis.

But then Patton’s tongue brushes against his own, and Logan gasps, and he moves to kiss Patton with the devotion and love and passion that ignites in Logan’s stomach, burning hotter than a Yule log, his heartbeat thudding rapidly in his ears, and Logan presses himself even closer to Patton, so wonderfully chilled to the touch, the only thing that could temper the heat flaring to life in Logan’s stomach to something bearable, the only thing that brings balance, something as undeniably well-paired as the heat source and the heat sink—they bring each other thermodynamic equilibrium, romantic equilibrium, equilibrium in all things—

Patton pulls away, just in time, just as Logan needs to break away to gulp in a breath that Patton does not need to take, and Logan looks at Patton, whose eyes are flaring with their own kind of heat.

“I love you too,” Patton says, and he presses his forehead to Logan’s, inhaling deeply; Logan wonders if his body has started producing dopamine and norepinephrine and serotonin and vasopressin, if Patton can smell it.

“I love you so much,” Patton says again, his voice trembling with the weight of it.

Patton wraps his arms around Logan’s waist, pulling him into his lap, and Logan wraps his arms around him. Patton cuddles closer, rubbing his cheeks against Logan’s hair almost like a cat.

“I love you too,” Logan says, “I love you.”

Patton bundles the blanket around them, the fire crackling and the ebb and flow of string music in the background, and Logan presses a kiss to Patton’s cheek.

“I love you,” Patton repeats.

I love you, I love you, I love you, they whisper at each other, wrapped up in a blanket until the fire sputters down to embers, Patton’s cold skin keeping Logan from overheating, the pair of them exchanging kisses that only slightly tip into overly passionate, always returning to holding each other, cuddling in front of the fire, even as Logan’s eyelids slip lower and lower as the moon rises higher and higher in the sky, so comfortable and so adored and so absolutely, completely sated that he cannot help but drift off in the comfort of it, one thing ringing in his ears that carries him off to a deep, dreamless sleep.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

#my post #text #my fic #my fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #logicality

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delcat177 · 3 years ago

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Jesus Jesus Christ Jesus God fuck fuck God Jesus fuck no oh God Jesus fuck //actual retching// God //laugh crying// Jesus Mary and Joseph oh God

F u c k

#Skyfall #Moon Knight #Skyfall: the Corporal #Fits and frets and fervors #I should not have been high for that #I have never had a moment of concentrated lucid unreality so hard my brain went bsod and summoned an attempt to puke #Probably before #Definitely in a while #This is not a negative thing #This is cathartic as hell #I can and will be making direct comparisons #There are many #Many #Similarities

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sleepdeprivedheretic · 4 years ago

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Those Shoes (Final Ch.)

Song Inspired: My Kinda Lover by Billy Squire

Notes: This chapter is kind of rushed, and is based more on the smut, and the future of the fic. Includes an OC that Rita, or @youtubequeens had created while we brainstormed <3

Warnings: This chapter has brief mention of non-consensual touching, violence, and consensual smut between two adults

………………..

Time had flown by fast since that night. Although you weren’t single, anymore, it had taken some effort for your mother’s employees and patrons to finally get the hint.

That hint happened very recently.

The bouncers couldn’t match the fast pace that Tai had possessed, after you yelped in surprise at the sudden, unwanted pinch. Cue your scantily dressed partner in a frilly maid’s outfit, holding the gigantic offender in a fierce headlock, scowling out a growl as he dragged the squirming man near the door, furling him onto the ground in a show of dominance that left the crowd gasping and hollering.

It didn’t take long for the bouncers to get the hint, grabbing the offender and tossing him out like trash. Of course, your mother gave the signal to her hired men that it was alright, winking at you as you felt yourself being tugged by Nemuri and Yu into the dressing room, making sure that you were alright, whilst teasing you mercilessly when you confirmed with flushed cheeks, that you were.

He was unaware of it, but the stunt that he pulled, left you feeling hot and flushed all over. Of course they didn’t let you live it down as they left you alone. Cue in Taishiro, walking in as if he owned the place, fretting over you with kisses and light touching. With your reassurance that yes, everything was alright, the kisses became a little dirtier, and the touching became exploring.

Of course there weren’t cameras in the dressing room, only in the fitting room, and he took in the knowledge to make an opportunity of your situation. You nodded your consent when he pulled away from you briefly to ask, and then sealed his lips flush against yours.

Hot, you felt as if a liquid fire had drizzled within you, as he bit and sucked at your bottom lip, silently asking for entry. You granted it when you felt his hand smooth up your leg, fingers inches away from your skirt as he deepened the kiss, letting his tongue slip inside your mouth, whilst your fingers were threaded through soft yellow locks of hair.

You couldn’t help but absentmindedly rub your thighs together as he ran his tongue against yours, giving it soft little suckles now and then as you trembled, feeling yourself ache considerably. He tugged a little at the skirt as he broke away first, leaving the two of you breathing heavily as drool collected on both chins. He wiped his face as his eyes gleamed with excitement, looking down at you as if you were a fine meal.

“Ya wanna continue?” He asked non-too bluntly, and you couldn’t help but nod, and he groaned with want.

“As much as it’s enticin’, we’ll get to the main course at home.” He looked as if he regretted the sentence, but looking at your desperation, he couldn’t help but lean in and whisper in your ear, laving his tongue against the flushed lobe as he gave it a gentle suck, humming with approval at the whimper he pulled out of you as your hands gripped his shoulders tightly.

“You have to wait, Baby-doll. The boys should be sleepin’ when their sitter leaves. We can continue this properly in the bedroom. That bein’ said,” His hand slid up your skirt, and your breath hitched as he leaned down to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“-it’s rude to keep a lady waitin’ for too long.” He let out a dangerous purr at your wanton moan, biting gently onto your skin as he guided curious fingers into the breach of your undergarments. You widened your legs more apart in relief as you felt him finally reach your folds, he sucked on your neck harshly when you bucked your hips, a silent warning for you to be patient.

Your obedient compliance was rewarded as thick, calloused fingers slipped past the lips, and cupped your soaked sex.

“Ya wanna cum on my fingers? Whet that appetite of yours, first?” He licked a hot, wet stripe against your neck, and you keened into a “yes”.

You were given little time, for he dipped his fingers to tease the tight muscle of your opening, gently with one hand, while his other hand that wasn’t near your soaked panties, opted to cup your ass, bringing you closer to him as he decided to resume tasting your mouth.

He swallowed your wanton cries with eagerness as he thumbed your clit, rubbing it rather gently as he slipped two digits in your relaxing opening. In an instant, you couldn’t help but tremble, holding him more closer to you as you felt yourself being stretched by curling, pumping fingers bigger than your own. He purred, breaking away from sucking on your bottom lip.

“You’re so sensitive, all tremblin’ an’ flushed.” Oh, the irony, you couldn’t help but think as his neck, ears, and cheeks were colored a deep shade of red, now.

“Y-you’re the same.” You mumbled out, and he chuckled, pecking your mouth.

“Yeah.” Was all he really could say as you bucked your hips, feeling the desperate itch only intensify after he stilled. Getting the hint, he scissored your inner walls, feeling you hug him, as if refusing to let go, and he groaned into your neck.

You bit your lip, holding onto him tightly as you bucked your hips, although hoping that nobody would walk in on you, you felt liquid heat pool within you at the thought, trying your best to cum as his breathing became louder, dampening your neck in hot gasps of air.

“Feel ya tightenin’ on me. That’s it, let loose, Baby. Know ya’re pent up.” He let out a mantra of words, and you did, stilling as you felt yourself tremble, hole fluttering and clamping against his digits as he let out a low, victorious groan from how tight that you were squeezing him. You didn’t realize that your eyes were squeezed shut, until you opened them to see him smiling ever so softly at you.

“You did so well, Honey,” He started, pulling his fingers out of your heated and soaked entrance, you felt a little empty, but words died in your throat as he brought his soiled hand to his face, slowly but surely sucking on the release that you’ve left behind.

“-tastes like honey, too.” His eyes glinted as you relaxed against him, feeling uncomfortable by your wetness as you climbed down from your climatic high. He leaned down and kissed you softly, before reluctantly breaking away.

“If ya wanna stay with me for the night, I’ll leave the door unlocked. We don’t hafta continue if ya don’t wanna.” He hummed, and you leaned up to give him a peck on the mouth.

“I’ll be there when I get dressed into my regular clothes. Mom won’t be bothered if I…take these home to wash.” You admitted rather shyly, and he chuckled.

………………

You heavily ignored your mother, and told your friends where you were heading. Changing clothes, you walked out to meet him in his car, only to find that yes, he did change, but not into his normal clothes.

“Your teacher’s outfit?” You asked. He gave a lazy smile.

“First one ya’ve seen me in, Sugar. Thought I’d make it special.” He winked, and you smiled.

The drive to his house was quiet, but short. You were surprised on how little he cared about wearing his outfit in public, bidding the sitter farewell as he handed them some money, and basically dragged you into his bedroom.

“Ya wanna continue?” He asked.

“Yes.” You answered honestly. Giving your permission, he locked the door, and in an instant, was on top of you as your back was against the soft mattress, kissing you with fervor, kneading your still clothed breast as he drunk in on your gasps and pants.

“Strip for me.” He commanded after he broke away, looking at you expectantly. Your ache and the heat fired within your blood ate away most of your shyness, plus, you were very well acquainted with stares, but this time, you wanted it. You peeled off your clothes, shucking them on the side of the bed as you felt him eye you with that now-familiar raw hunger. Already, you wanted him to touch you, again, to warm up your cool chest, and relieve you.

“So beautiful.” He complimented, crawling his way towards you, slotting himself between your open thighs as he caressed your face rather gently despite the metaphorical nitrogen within the atmosphere, ready to consume the both of you. Your legs rested comfortably at his sides as you couldn’t help but notice the bulge pressing up against his miniskirt, creating a damp spot, causing you to buck against it. He gave a low hiss, biting his lip as he stared at your all-too hungry gaze.

“Uniform’s yer thing, huh?” He couldn’t help but ask. You shrugged a little.

“There’s a lot of things that I don’t really know.” You admitted almost rather shyly, and he kissed your forehead in reassurance.

“It’s alright.” Then, he gave a predatory smile.

“Lay back an’ relax, Darlin’. Lemme teach ya a few things.”

You couldn’t laugh at the joke. He was above you, wearing a blazer with unopened buttons and it’s sleeves rolled up, dampened miniskirt, and of course heels and stockings. His hair and eyes were wild as he looked as if he was ready to make you debauched as he was. You wanted him, too.

“First lesson, Baby,” He began, cutting you out of your thoughts as he turned towards the little nightstand within reach, not leaving his place as he absentmindedly rummaged through the contents in the drawer.

“-is to wear a condom. Didn’t know when we’ll get to this part, but I got the high dollar, good ones. Just in case.” He admitted, and you thumbed his cheek in your approval of his thinking. He leaned down and kissed you in affection, before leaning back up, giving you a show. Folding up his skirt, you bit out a whine in approval. There was an outline of his thick dick pressed against satin panties, heavily dripping precum. He noticed your thighs squeezing together against his waist, trying to find relief as your eyes lit up darkly. He groaned.

“Turns ya on, huh? Don’t worry, Sugar. I’ll give ya what ya want, soon.” He promised. You felt yourself flutter and clench onto nothing as he slid his panties to the side, hissing at the cool air hit his cock and balls, paying it very little mind as he tore the foil of the condom. It was an impressionable size in length, but it was more thick, than anything, you couldn’t help but swallow thickly, watching him struggle and groan as he wrapped the ribbed rubber onto him.

After a short break, he turned towards you.

“Right, after that’s outta the way, your second lesson, is…” He drawled out, sticking his hand back into the drawer as he pulled a bottle out.

“…Lube. Doesn’t hurt to use a lot, an’ makes yer partner slick an’ wet. Prevents me from potentially hurtin’ ya.” The last part of the sentence was said a bit softer as he flipped the cap open, pouring a generous amount of the orange scented lubrication onto his fingers.

“I’m pretty touch-starved, ya know? Not really use to touchin’ anybody, so hurtin’ ya is the last thing that I wanna do.” He leaned down, and you couldn’t help but cup his face rather gently, giving him a kiss as he moaned, lubing up the condom.

“Ya ready?” He asked.

“Yeah. I’m ready, Tai.” You gave your affirmation, relaxing fully against the mattress as he opted to keep kissing you, running one of his hands against your breasts, slowly thumbing a nipple as his other hand slipped in between your folds, massaging and opening you up, further. He didn’t linger there for too long, knowing that you were on the brink of the edge, but he did curl and scissor his fingers, getting you use to the stretch. He nipped your lip softly, before breaking away.

“Alright?”

“Yes.”

No further words were needed as he grasped your hand within his, the other guiding himself towards your opening, prodding it gently as you felt yourself open up for him. It surprised you how smoothly at first the head slid in, you widened your thighs, feeling the thick of his girth stretch your walls to accommodate it. The stretch wasn’t painful, rather more causing a delicious friction, satisfying the ache. You couldn’t help but bite out a whimper as he finally stilled, resting fully flush against you.

“Squeezin’ me like a lifeline, Sugar. Damn, are ya alright?” He asked, resting his forehead against yours as he drank in your expression.

“More than fine. I need you to move.” You couldn’t help but blurt out, and he gave a soft huff of laughter, that bled into a groan as he gave a small push of his hips.

“You’re right, I do need to move.” He panted, giving sharper thrusts with his hips, and you mewled, trying your best to match each movement as you felt him prod a certain spot within you, churning your tight walls even further as electric heat began crackling and frizzling within you.

“I’m-! Not going to last!” You bit out, as if embarrassed, but he kissed you in reassurance.

“Me nei-ther! T’s alright, w-we can do ano-ah! Ther round.” He panted out broken words as he gripped your thigh, feeling your heated core flutter against him as his hips frantically seemed to move on their own. You bit the back of your hand, eyes widening with surprise as your release snuck up on you, catching you off guard. All of that aching and waiting, bit back with a fierce vengeance as you clenched onto him ever so tightly, refusing him to move any further, demanding his own release that had shot into the condom.

He stilled, panting out as now both hands gripped the sheets as he matched your shaking, trembling, and watery eyes. Although the both of you were absolutely wrecked, he managed to gingerly slip out of you, watching with interest as your opening was gaping at the loss, your own fluids seeping out as he tight the condom halfheartedly, tossing it in the small wastebasket, and then turning off the lamplight. He flopped down next to you, gathering your sweaty, mussed up form within his arms, sighing loudly.

“Ya’right?” He tiredly mumbled out the words in a jumble, and was relieved to feel you nod. He’ll deal with aftercare, later.

………………………….

Life had seemed to pick up, after that. You’ve gotten into your dream job and quit the night life, Taishiro graduated and became a certified therapist while dancing from time to time, and the two of you moved in together and eventually gotten married and had a daughter, Kirin. Although rather busy, the two of you had found time to indulge in your boy’s and daughter’s lives, as well as spend quiet, quality time with one another.

Your mother retired, and handed the place to an old friend of hers who was known to to be strict with keeping her workers safe, and yet allowed anybody and everyone to be free and dress up as themselves. Nemuri and Yu had finally gotten married in a beautiful, expensive white wedding, giggling manically as Rumi had caught the bouquet, flushing considerably, as her girlfriend, Fuyumi smiled sweetly. Keigo, it turned out, was dating Dabi all this time, and the both of them rented a fancy apartment as Keigo became the sole owner of the pet shop.

You were a little older, now, and wiser, yet still considerably young compared to of course your mother. Eijirou, now the age of nineteen, had his arms swung around Izuku, the shy boy that he met years ago, was now officially his boyfriend. You were happy for them, yet you weren’t really surprised, for Tamaki and Mirio had announced their partnership when they had just finished high school, as well.

“Kirin, stop glaring at him.” You spoke, not breaking your eyes away from the newspaper. The seven year old girl huffed loudly, before biting into her onigiri.

You weren’t sure how a feisty little thing could be your daughter, but you loved her dearly nonetheless. Especially when she was protective towards Tamaki and Eijirou when Mirio or Izuku came by, eyeing them up and down with an unimpressed scowl, more so to Izuku, for Mirio would just beam happily and ruffle her hair. Of course, then again, she knew both boys all of her life, and wasn’t too harsh on them than what she could be.

Right now, it was a family gathering. You, your husband, the children and their boyfriends, and your mother sat at the table, sipping tea. Of course your mother would take this an opportunity to blend in with her natural environment of trash, grinning wildly at the boys.

“You know, my friend could use some help.”

“Grandma, no.” Tamaki groaned, much to Mirio’s confusion. Ejirou laughed, and Izuku, being the one most picked on, blushed furiously.

“What? My intended audience are all over the age of eighteen. Specially Zuzu, he might be trembling, but I bet he could work the pole.”

Dead silence.

“That might not be so bad.” Eijirou spoke out.

“Babe!” Izuku gasped, and much to your astonishment, Taishiro laughed.

“Ma, leave them alone.”

“Thank You!” Tamaki and Izuku said in unison.

Your mother sighed.

“Fiiiiiiiine.” She drawled out.

The rest of the evening crawled slowly as Mirio, Kirin, and Tamaki drew and colored, and Izuku and Eijirou held hands whilst talking among themselves, blushing and smiling, ignoring the world around them. After everything was said and done, the children put to bed, you rested on the nook of your husband’s arm, humming as he kissed your forehead.

“Crazy, ain’t it? Gotta lovely wife, an’ great kids, an’ a good job…” He rambled, and you gave a chuckle.

“I’m questioning if Kirin is actually mine or not.” You joked, and he laughed.

“Figurin’ this out after giving birth?”

“It’s a process.”

He hummed, bringing you closer.

“I love you.” Although he said it so many times, the sentiment had always melted your heart and kept you warm.

“I love you, too.”

…………..

Alright! I hope ya’ll enjoyed this fic! I’m going to play Stardew Valley, now

#Taishiro Toyomitsu #Fatgum x reader #Mainly just smut #Not the greatest that I've written but it's a thirst quencher

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alottanothing · 4 years ago

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Left to Ruin: Chapter Eight

Summary: With no better plan, Nouke risks returning to the palace of her youth, hoping her friend is still the kind boy she remembered.

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 5853

Warnings: Some slight aggression because Kahmunrah is a piece of shit, other than that it’s mostly lighthearted fluff.

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe, @r-ahh-mi, @theultraviolencefan, @hah0106, @rami-malek-trash, @diasimar, @sherlollydramoine, @flipper-kisses, @ivy-miranda-2390, @txmel, @sunkissedmikky, @concentratedsassandcandy, @babyalienfairy, @edteche2 (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: The reunion chapter is finally here! I hope you guys enjoy this one--it’s one of my favorites of the whole story. As always, thank you all so SO much for the likes and reblogs and the comments. Your comments fill me with so much motivation and I cherish the hell out of all of them. 💕 Again, as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

The next morning, Nouke woke on the rooftop with an odd sense of calm for the first time in what felt like years. When she found sleep in the few hours before the dawn, the rest that greeted her was dreamless--a blissful contrast from the haunting images that had plagued her slumber in the recent weeks. And Nouke chose to see that pleasant void of rest as a sign her foolish idea wasn’t actually so foolish. The majority of the day passed as normal. She went about her chores on the farm as she usually did—with diligence and a finesse that came with years of hard work—stealing glances at the sun. Every hour it sank lower into the horizon, was another step closer to what she hoped would be a solution. That day, while her mother worked at her side, Nouke found Maketaten’s spirit akin to what it once had been: another sign Nouke took to mean her reckless plan was the right thing to do.

Maketaten still struggled to finish the food on her plate in the evenings, which served to remind Nouke of the necessity of her plan—never mind any apprehension she felt of her own well being.

After their meal, Nouke helped her mother to bed once she cleared away the scraps of food left on the table. With a steady grip, she easily anchored herself to Maketaten’s side and guided her to where they slept in the adjoining room.

“I think I’m going to take a walk before bed,” Nouke mentioned.

Maketaten smiled, “I pray you find peace on your venture.”

Her mother made herself comfortable on the sleeping mat as best she could and Nouke kissed her on the forehead. She took a moment to memorize everything about the woman who had given her life: her graying hair, the lines on her face, and the impossible kindness in her eyes despite all the years of hardship. Every tiny detail Nouke kept in her heart incase her plan ended poorly.

“I love you,” Nouke murmured.

“I love you, my sweet girl,” she smiled back. “Now go, and be safe.”

Nouke promised not to be gone long—praying her words not be a lie and cloaked herself in a hooded robe before making her way to the palace.

The path to the West Garden wall was not one she had trekked before—at least not from her farm. Nouke did, however, have dozens of memories of playing on the banks of the Nile with her friend to steal directions from. All she needed to do was follow the mighty river, and her feet would carry her to familiar shores.

She wove through Waset’s market streets with practiced ease, through the city's center and down to the docks were the waters of the Nile glistened like a thousand gems in the moonlight. Her feet were already aching by the time she reached the docks with half a journey still to venture. Nouke stopped only a moment to rub the sores of her calloused feet before venturing on.

Every moment north she strode along the banks Nouke spent fretting over every conceivable way her plan could go awry. By the time she came to the palace wall, her heart was pounding and the ache in her feet no longer mattered.

Logic and reason were both screaming vehemently in her skull—one at war with the other. Logic pleaded she turn back and think of another way to help her mother, while reason instilled her with imprudent motivation.

That reckless commitment didn’t begin to ebb until she found all the stones on the wall perfectly in place and immediately, her stomach churned at the thought that maybe their secret passage had long ago been sealed.

How fitting, she thought. It only made sense that his world was closed off forever; their paths split even further apart.

Nouke wasn’t sure how many stones she pushed until one finally gave away, and when more began to fall, a wave of relief brought a smile to her face. Part of her was thrilled the plan was working, while a larger part was thrilled with the prospect of seeing her friend again after so many years. She had to remind herself there was no guarantee Ahk would still be the kind boy from her youth—the boy who always helped her when she needed it most.

Nouke prayed salvation would be waiting within the walls of the palace. The only promise, however, was the one Kahmunrah left with her family the day she’d been cast out.

“That doesn’t matter,” she told herself firmly, ignoring logic and siding with reason. She had come too far to back out.

The fit was tighter than she remembered, but Nouke managed to squeeze through without too many scrapes. Only when her feet settled in the soft soil of the West Garden did realization strike with a flurry of emotions she was not prepared to combat.��After years of living in exile, she was standing in a place her adult self only dreamed of stepping foot in once more.

The garden was quiet, and with a surveying glance, she found herself alone. A sigh broke past her lips, both relieved and disheartened. Things would have been so much easier if Ahkmenrah was already in their oasis.

Nouke lingered, hidden in the lush greenery lining the towering walls, taking the time to gather herself before she went further. Every one of her senses filled to the brim with nostalgia; memories flooding into her mind faster than she could comprehend them. Nouke's heart raced with fear and fervor. Tears threatened to fill her eyes with happiness despite the looming danger.

All at once, Nouke was overcome with the wonton need to lay in the plush patches of grass and wade in the fountain the way she had countless times as a child. Everything was still as serenely beautiful as she remembered it to be--it had weathered time far better than she had.

Nouke forced her eyes shut and shook the memories out of her mind's eye; she was there for her mother, not for herself. With a deep breath, she tapped into the same reserve of determination that helped her through the break in the wall moments ago, lending her the motivation to step into the empty garden.

The stones were cool beneath her feet as she treaded lightly out of the emerald oasis and into the gilded corridors of the palace. Almost instantly, her momentum stilled. The halls were always like a maze, but in her youth, she had mastered their secrets; yet as Nouke stood openly in the glow of torchlight, she had no idea where to begin her search for the pharaoh.

Quickly, she filtered through all the possible places one would be able to find the king. There was the throne room, the council chamber, as well as his private chamber; most of which were off-limits to servants without a summons. The likeliness she would find him in one of those forbidden rooms was high, and she took a moment to decide which one she would search first. The throne room was closest.

Nouke’s feet moved keenly along the polished floors—foolish and brazen to a degree—with the hope she would simply come upon the one person in all of Egypt who could help her on a whim. When voices or the cadence of footfalls echoed near, she ducked behind statues and columns until it was safe to venture once more—a sort of dance Nouke garnered more thrill from than she knew was wise. Her smile was difficult to quell every time she evaded passer by’s; each time her heartbeat more unbridled adrenalin through her veins making the threat of the pharaoh's brother less of a concern.

As she turned down another empty hall, the sound of voices met her ears and Nouke skillfully took cover behind a wide column etched to the ceiling with hieroglyphs. A group of palace guards marched by without ever looking her way, fueling that rush that kept a grin on her face. The moment they were out of sight, Nouke boldly stepped back into the hall colliding with another human being.

Before she could utter an apology, she looked to find Kahmunrah staring down at her like a beast who had just captured its prey.

The surge of adrenalin that had filled her with thrill, was suddenly the only thing keeping her from panicking. Her heart all but stopped as dread closed in around her, and immediately shifted her focus to the floor so her hood fell to hide her face from his scrutiny. Nouke kept her breaths steady, knowing it would be better to stay calm and not draw unnecessary attention. She could feel the heaviness of his leer as he sized her up and felt the irritation that was undoubtedly twisting onto his face.

She wanted to scream and curse him for what he had done to her, but Nouke kept her eyes averted at all costs.

A snap split the silent air, echoing in the hall, causing Nouke to jump hearing the sudden sound, and again her body jolted when hulking men descended upon her. Like Kah’s men years before, they held her by her arms with an iron grip that stung, tightening with even the slightest of her movements. Kahmunrah said nothing as he turned on his heel, chin arrogantly pointed forward as he waved over his shoulder for the men to follow.

The moment his cold eyes were no longer baring upon her, Nouke risked a glance forward to take in the man strolling several paces ahead. Time had not changed Kahmunrah for the better; he still carried himself with an air of hubris unbefitting of his title. A prince he may have been, but he walked as though he were pharaoh. The sight drove her hatred of the man who’d caused hardship to befall upon her family even deeper.

For a single moment, Nouke considered her odds of wrangling free and making a run for it. She was thin, but working day after day had put some muscle on her bones. Surely the men restraining her underestimated her strength, but would she be quick enough? Possibly; but if she ran and was caught, her situation would not be made better. Nouke wasn’t about to accept defeat, but she also was wise enough to play the game as long as the outcome remained in her favor.

Nouke was ushered into a chamber she’d never seen before; there were shelves of rolled papyrus, a desk with stools, along with a few other pieces of ornate furniture: an office of some kind. The wooden doors shut behind them with a baleful thud that made her jump again, and with a few more deep inhales Nouke willed herself to keep her composure wound tight.

Her eyes followed Kahmunrah with predatory focus. His ability to destroy her was the furthest thought in her mind; instead, Nouke continued to weigh the likeliness of escaping to freedom. Finally, Kah turned to face her, smiling the same sinister smirk she hated.

“It’s not often a common thief makes their into these walls.” The indifference in his tone allowed some of Nouke's apprehension to lesson—he didn’t recognize her.

“It’s an impressive feat,” he chided, and Nouke couldn’t tell if he was mocking or being genuine. “How did you manage it?”

Nouke didn’t reply, much to his displeasure, and kept her focus far away—just to be safe.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me,” Kah’s tone rapidly lost its indifference, shifting into one seething with irritation. “I asked, how you managed to sneak in here past the guards.”

Again, Nouke kept her focus trained on the floor and her lips sealed. She wasn’t about to give up the location of the passageway in the garden.

“Speak!” he shouted, his short fuse already at its end.

Kahmunrah ripped one of the small idols off of his desk and threw it across the room when she refused him a third time. His temper spilled into the room like a thick fog, stirring fear within her that she valiantly fought back. Angry words tumbled from his mouth coated in venom as he banged his fists on nearby surfaces, scolding his men for letting a thief—a woman no less—get past them.

Her silence and her reluctance to look at him only seemed to fuel his anger, which would have been comical if she wasn’t trespassing and in the presence of a man who had promised to kill her.

“Look at me!” he growled, crossing the space separating them in a couple of wrathful stomps.

“I want you to look at me!” Aggressively, Kahmunrah grabbed her by the throat, squeezing just enough to make breathing difficult, forcing her focus to meet his.

Tears brimmed her eyes, a result of the pain and her struggle for air. He pulled her face close to his, eyes black with fury.

“You will tell me how you got in, or I will throw you into the Nile and let the crocodiles do my work for me.”

Kahmunrah’s piercing eyes bore into her own; his features twisted into a snarl like a rabid beast. At that moment, a flicker of faint realization softened his gaze—his fiendish expression shifting as his memories stirred. And for the first time, Nouke felt genuine fear writhe in her gut.

Before his memory could piece everything together, the doors behind her flew open with another loud noise that caused everyone to jump.

“Kahmunrah, what is the meaning of this?” a deep and powerful voice called out.

The men who’d been ordered to restrain her suddenly dropped to the floor into a kneel, lending Nouke the evidence she needed to figure out who had entered.

“Who is this?” the pharaoh asked, an authority to his voice that made Kahmunrah’s demeanor crumble slightly; no longer was he the man with the most power in the room.

“Release her,” the king demanded and without hesitation, Kahmunrah’s hand fell limply back to his side.

Nouke choked, sucking in the unrestricted air too quickly, and her palms rubbed away the phantom feel of Kah’s fingers until her skin was almost raw. It took everything in her not to lunge forward and tackle the pharaoh’s brother to the ground, overcome with the need to strangle him. The beaten dog expression Kah’s face held, however, was satisfactory enough.

“She’s a thief, little brother. I was dealing with a criminal, as criminals are to be dealt with,” Kah explained with a bravado that seemed to challenge his brother’s grand title.

After Nouke regained her composure and steady breaths that no longer choked her, she looked upon the boy from the garden for the first time in years.

In a word, he was beautiful.

Ahk was regal draped head to toe in finery that complemented his olive skin. The black Kohl around his eyes was a vivid chiaroscuro to the swirling blue-gray of his irises. Her fingers twitched at her side, yearning to reach out and run them along his sharp jaw; he was breathtaking.

Despite his presence awakening dormant longings, Nouke reminded herself risking her life by stepping back into the palace was not for her own benefit, but her mothers. She pulled the laces of her composure a little tighter, compelling herself not to lose sight of why she was there.

Ahkmenrah offered a fleeting glance at first, one with only mild concern but mostly indifferent. His heedless gaze should not have dismayed her the way it did, but the sharp pang of disinterest was too poignant to ignore. And again, Nouke had to remind herself she was there for her mother, not herself. It didn’t matter whether or not Ahk still held her favor, she just needed him to still be kind enough to help.

Nouke moved her focus away from Ahkmenrah, both glad and disheartened the brothers had not recognized her. Kah’s reasons rambled from his tongue in a continuous barrage and arrogant tone that the pharaoh looked utterly bored by. In that boredom, Ahk’s focus shifted, finally meeting her gaze.

Almost instantly the mask of indifference melted away as realization consumed his features in a show of varying expressions. Nouke swallowed a sudden nervous lump and smiled faintly, with a single nod, reassuring him that she was who he thought.

Bafflement coupled with joy and mixed with unbridled excitement on his stately features—Ahk’s smile almost blinding to behold. He quickly masked them, however, to keep his brother from noticing.

The pharaoh raised an open palm and a moment later, the trail of word's spilling from Kahmunrah’s mouth came to an abrupt end.

“Enough, brother,” he said with his kingly bravado. “You did well seizing this thief. Leave me now so that I may ask her why she was foolish enough to trespass here.”

Nouke watched Kah’s face shift between his brother and herself as a puzzled expression cemented on his boorish features. It seemed like hours passed between those glances, every second her heart was pounding against her ribs in fear that his ignorance would run out, and he would know her. She watched him as best she could without truly looking; if there was any suspicion as to who she was, it was buried under the questioning furrow he wore.

“This is a trivial matter, brother—too much so to concern a king,” Kah proclaimed.

“On the contrary,” Ahk recanted. “This is a matter that concerns my people—nothing trivial at all.”

Kahmunrah frowned, eyes growing narrow with suspicion and after a cumbersome silence, he folded. He left with a forced bow to the pharaoh and a snap of his fingers that called his guards to follow him out.

The arduous quiet remained after the wooden doors shut with another leaden sound, stretching far longer than both cared to let it, though, neither knew what to do or say in their newfound privacy. There was so much lost time, where did they even begin?

Nouke's avid heart thrummed in the silence, leaping from her chest to her throat as she tried to piece together words to say. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him, knowing her pulse would surely quicken embarrassingly so if she did. Still, from the corner of her eye, she caught the gleam of torchlight glinting brightly against the gold of the crown fitted to Ahkmenrah’s head.

All at once, the realization settled: she was in the presence of a son of Ra, a god-king: Pharaoh of Egypt. Her heart leaped again, this time out of fear of offending, and without another thought, Nouke fell to her knees, bowing her head.

“Your majesty!" she husked out. “Please forgive my intrusion. I’ve come to speak with you.”

When he didn’t immediately reply, Nouke’s breaths stilled and her stomach churned. She didn’t move, but she listened, hearing the light scuff of his sandaled feet moving along the stone floor as he approached. The pharaoh knelt, and with a gentle touch, his fingertips tilted her chin so that her eyes met his own.

Nouke was sure time stopped at that moment while she searched his stormy eyes for the compassion and goodness that was a staple of his character when she knew him years ago. Before she could finish, a smile unfurled slowly at first, until finally, it consumed his entire face—there’s the boy I remember.

“It’s you…” he murmured with wonderment that spread visibly across his features, affirming her hope. His tone was airy, light enough to be swept away on the most insignificant of breezes, as though he could hardly believe she was real.

Nouke let her held breath escape her lungs in a sigh of blissful relief.

Ahkmenrah’s hands found hers, taking them warmly as he guided her to stand. His pale eyes never left hers, shining like the waters of the Nile under the moonlight—glistening like faceted gems as he marveled.

“It is…” Nouke’s words flowed the same as his—light and billowy—her words making Ahkmenrah’s smile grow impossibly wider.

“Nouke.” The sound of her name falling from his lips after so many years was like the sweetest of melodies. She smiled finally as the shock began to ebb. He was really there.

“Ahk…” It felt so good to say his name, so natural. “…Or should I call you, my king, now?”

He shook his head, biting his bottom lip as he grinned through a chuckle, “No, just Ahk.”

When silence fell around them again, it was not marked with unease or emotional strain; what remained was uninhibited wonderment that made both of their heart's race. They both drank in the sight of the other, taking that moment to memorize the changes in the other’s face. Time was kind to her prince; his features were regal and sharp but not without the softness she admired. The years, Nouke feared, had been less forgiving to her.

Her skin was darkened by hours in the sun, making every line across her face twice as visible. There was no softness to her that she could tell, just a work-worn face perpetually covered by sand and grit—hands riddled with thick, scratchy callouses. Ahk’s hands were so soft in hers. The lightness of his skin a contrast to her own, screaming the different paths they tread—a thought that stole the smile from her lips.

Ahk noticed her shift in demeanor and gave her hands a gentle squeeze before leading her to a nearby bench. He never relinquished her touch, and the eagerness she found twinkling in his eyes was that of the boy she grew up with, making her heart swell.

“I’m so happy to see you,” he beamed. “I want to know everything that’s happened since your family decided to leave the palace.”

Suddenly, the wonder left her features, and her brow creased into a heavy furrow.

“Decided to leave?” Nouke asked. “What do you know of my family's departure?”

Ahk’s smile faded as he read her confusion, his own uncertainty mixing into his expression.

“I only know what I was told,” he admitted. “My mother said your family left of your own accord. I thought it strange, but I didn’t question it. Should I have?”

A hint of anger began to boil inside Nouke, anger from the pain of that day so many years ago and what became of her family since. None of it was Ahk’s fault; in fact, some of that anger was for him and his mother—someone had lied to them. She reigned that ire back, however, deciding there was nothing to be done about it.

“We didn’t want to leave, Ahk. We were cast out—my father was almost executed. We were all almost executed for a crime none of us had anything to do with.”

His big eyes grew impossibly wider, his mouth hanging slightly open from shock.

“What? How?”

Nouke did not like to think about that day, nor the emotions doing so always stirred, but Ahk deserved to know the truth—not whatever his brother told them. With a sigh, she built up the resolve it would take to tell her friend of that fateful day, from the beginning.

She started by explaining the way she and her family were brought to Kahmunrah in the throne room, the case of the missing tablet, and how her father was condemned without real cause.

“…there is nothing more frightening for a thirteen-year-old then almost being put to death.” Nouke swallowed the lump in her throat as she spoke.

The shock on the pharaoh’s face slowly shifted into anger the likes of which Nouke had never thought imaginable for her kind prince to possess. Still, he was strangely calm when he spoke.

“What happened next?”

“The council managed to talk him out of executing us given there was no proof,” she shrugged. “We were given the choice to live in a cell until there was proof or banishment. Kah promised us if we ever set foot in the palace again he would see to our punishment himself, which isn't hard to guess what he meant.”

“Did he know you just now?” Ahkmenrah asked as some of the anger faded to fear on his face.

Nouke shook her head, “I don’t think so.”

As quickly as it had come, the fear faded from his features.

“Good,” he breathed, giving her hands another warm squeeze, brushing the soft pads of his thumbs across her skin. “My father would never have let that happen to you—I never would have let that happen to you.”

“I know,” she said without hesitation.

Nouke got lost momentarily in his presence, feeling her grasp on reality slipping the longer he looked at her so fondly. It was so easy being with him again—so natural.

“Was your tablet ever found?” Nouke asked suddenly, blinking back to reality, too stubborn to let herself fall under his spell. You are not here for yourself!

“The day my father and I returned to Waset, Kah told us it was found,” Ahk said with a nod and a look of skepticism that Nouke’s features mirrored.

The entire ordeal always felt suspicious; the knots in her stomach kept Nouke wondering if Kahmunrah was somehow behind the whole thing—stealing it, framing her family. However, she pushed that particular speculation from her mind. It was not her place to accuse members of the royal family of crimes.

She sighed, suddenly displeased and defeated.

“I’m so sorry all of that happened to your family,” Ahk said, his voice only an octave or two above a whisper. “The years were kind, I hope?”

The sincerity in his tone crashed against her with such genuine benevolence Nouke wanted to lie. The truth would surely pull away the soft smile on his features, and she didn’t want to leave him with any second-hand guilt over what had become of her and her family.

With a steadying inhale, she cast him a smile even though she knew it lacked the joy often found in such a gesture, and she nodded. When his smile stretched further, urging her to tell him of her life, Nouke chose to filter out the pieces that could steal his grin away.

She told him of their farm, the evenings she spent in the market, and the city’s center—how it reminded her of their West Garden. Nouke never mentioned the nights they went hungry, or how they were hardly surviving now with no one to help plow their entire fields. She couldn’t burden him with such knowledge.

“And what of your parents? Are they well?” he asked.

Nouke couldn’t keep her frown from twisting onto her features; even after so many years, her grief was still palpable.

“The gods took my father four years ago,” she said quietly.

She felt the tight affirmation of Ahk’s hands around hers once again, and it was enough to soothe some of the sorrow that stirred from the memory.

“I’m so sorry, what can I do to help?” he asked. “Anything for you.”

Nouke’s lips ghosted into a smile hearing the compassion she’d always adored.

“Actually, that’s why I’ve come—to seek your help.”

Ahkmenrah scooted closer, his attention all hers.

“Tell me,” he implored.

“My mother,” Nouke began, willing her voice to stay even. “She’s ill. After what happened with my father—the money we have is not enough to pay for a healer's skill. I-I didn’t know where else to go.”

Nouke hung her head to keep him from seeing the tears welling in her eyes as the familiar inkling of helplessness loomed. She did not want to cry in front of her pharaoh, but her emotions were betraying her.

Ahk lulled her gently, tilting her chin so he could look once more at her face—the kindness in his eyes soft and overwhelming.

“What are the signs of her malady?” he asked. “I will consult my healer's first thing tomorrow so that we can make sure your mother maintains her health.”

Nouke listed them as best she could, describing the severity of each, and she could almost see Ahk file every detail away safely in his memory to call upon come the dawn.

“Please do not worry,” he gently begged. “Your mother was kind to me. I am honored to be given the ability to help her.”

The sweetness of his words crushed part of her composure, prompting one of the tears she’d been fighting to restrain to spill over. Whether it slipped down her cheek out of relief she had finally found a way to help her mother, or because of the compassion and kindness Ahkmenrah offered so freely, Nouke wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, she struggled to fight the urge to lunge forward and yank him into an embrace so tight he might have feared she was trying to crush him.

Instead, Nouke pulled her hands from his grasp and slid off the bench into a kneel, unsure how else to show a pharaoh the level of her appreciation. Before she could make it to the ground, however, Ahk stood, pulling her back to her feet with him.

“You never need to kneel to me,” he promised.

His hands lingered on the bare skin of her arms where he’d gently guided her to her feet. His thumb swept back and forth so tenderly until he reached to tuck stray hairs behind her ear. Goosebumps prickled in the wake of his feather-light touches—so familiar but so much more intimate than she remembered, and without reason, Nouke stepped closer to him.

Ahkmenrah was intoxicating—his warmth, the kindness in his eyes, the way his fingers felt like wisps of satin across her skin. The thick velvet of his voice captivating to her ears. Nouke would have known true happiness trapped in that moment forever, yet every flickering gleam she caught dancing in the shine of his crown reminded her she could never have him.

Before long, she would lose him again. Destiny dictated that he would remain within the palace to rule, and she would slink back to her farm where they would walk their separated paths until the gods claimed them.

Nouke smiled only to keep from frowning, but the sadness in her tone was something she couldn’t mask.

“Thank you,” she told him, stepping out of his grasp before her heart grew anymore attached. “I need to get home. I've already been away much too long.”

Although she wasn’t looking at him, she could feel Ahk’s eyes watching her tentatively, as though he were trying to decipher the doleful expression hidden in her smile.

“Then I will escort you.”

He held out his arm with a charming side smirk, dripping with a playful arrogance that made her heart flutter—a remnant from their childhood together. Such casual intimacy would make her miss him all the more, but she quickly wound herself around him, causing his grin to grow.

Kamuzu was waiting outside the door of the chamber and Nouke found herself smiling, having almost forgotten Ahk’s personal Medjay. He was just as stoic as she remembered, with an underlying kindness that always made her admire him.

Kamuzu said nothing, looking to both, raising a brow in silent question.

“Kamuzu, you remember Nouke?” Ahk reintroduced with a grin.

“I do,” Kamuzu said, a faint upturn to his lips, and he bowed his head respectfully. “It is good to see you, lady Nouke.”

“You too.”

Kamuzu fell behind them as Ahk guided her through the halls of the palace almost proudly. The palace was quiet given the lateness of the hour but several guards passed by, each one kindling Nouke’s paranoia that one of them would be Kahumunrah’s men. Ahkmenrah pulled her closer to his side, as though he’d sensed her apprehension, and wanted to reassure her he would never let anything happen to her.

When they reached The West Garden it was alive with the soft sounds of insects singing in the silver cascade of moonlight as the desert breeze rustled the leaves in time with their somber symphony. Ahk easily found his way through the line of foliage, and to where the passage out of his world waited. His eyes wandered to the hole in the sandy wall, a slight quirk to the corners of his lips.

“I suspected this was how you managed to get in without the guards noticing.”

He grew quiet as his eyes stayed fixated on the break in the stones, and slowly his upturned features became heavy with an expression akin to regret.

“I thought about running away through this wall so many times to find you...I should have.”

Nouke wanted to ask what stopped him, but she felt she already knew the answer. Like her, he knew his place and the responsibilities therein. For him, running away was more than abandoning his family, running away meant abandoning an entire nation. Ahkmenrah was too good to be greedy.

She stayed quiet, unsure she could conjure a reply that wouldn’t make her heart ache more than it was already beginning to. Whatever was growing between them: infatuation, desire. Nouke needed to keep it from blossoming further to save them both, and she untangled herself from his hold—abruptly empty on account.

The look of hurt that flashed over his features was difficult to miss even though the pharaoh worked to hide it quickly. She felt it too—the loss of his touch was excruciating.

As they lingered, neither looking at the other, both not wanting to say good-bye, the silence grew poignant.

“Thank you,” Nouke said finally, making haste to leave before her emotions got the better of her.

“Wait,” Ahk stepped to block her way, his words sounding desperate.

His hands gripped the upper part of her arms to stop her before gently sliding to take her hands in his.

Logic screamed at her to pull away from his tender touch, in order to spare her a lifetime of heartache, but it was a battle Nouke was hastily losing. She met his eyes, matching their intensity.

“Meet me here tomorrow as the sun is setting,” he implored. “The council will think I am at prayer—no one will question my absence. I will have your mother’s medicines by that time.”

Ahkmenrah’s muted excitement was contagious, and Nouke grinned despite her better judgment.

“Is that a demand, my king?”

Ahk’s features burst into a brilliant grin.

“Yes.” He pulled her into a tight embrace.

Nouke’s breath caught as she fell into him, enveloping herself in his presence, squeezing back just as snugly. Her eyes even drifted closed and when Ahk laid a kiss to her cheek, allowing it to linger long enough to make it more than a friendly gesture, Nouke knew she was falling into a path she couldn’t tread.

“Tomorrow?” Ahk asked again as he pulled away to meet her eyes.

Nouke grinned, unable to keep hope from ruining her.

“Tomorrow,” she murmured.

Next Chapter-> Chapter Nine: What We Have

#Ahkmenrah #Ahkmenrah x Original Character #Ahkmenrah Fanfiction #Night at the Museum #NATM #NATM Fanfiction #Left to Ruin #Rami Malek Character #Rami Malek Character Fanfiction #Rami Malek Fanfiction #Rami Malek

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jakey-beefed-it · 4 years ago

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Coming up with Necron Dynasty stuff, and resultant fretting about actual names, under the cut

So the first thing to square away is the inspiration: primarily drawing from cosmic horror themes and specifically early cosmic horror/cosmic horror-adjascent writers of the late 19th/early 20th century (Lovecraft, Bierce, Chambers, Machen, Dunsany), the reapers from Mass Effect, the machines from the Matrix, the Cybermen from Dr. Who, and of course a hefty dose of Ancient Egypt as interpreted through Shelly’s Ozymandias.

As such, the basic thrust of my dynasty is that they (at least the Phaeron in charge of them) are actually quite satisfied with biotransference; forsaking the weakness of mortal flesh for undying self-repairing immortality was a solid move in the right direction toward full apotheosis. The royal court have no interest in reverting to flesh bodies, and count their ‘souls’ and the individuality of most of their 'lessers’ as no great loss.

But it wouldn’t be enough to simply *enjoy* the benefits of abandoning the flesh, if they did not share this benefescience with the younger species who have come to fill the galaxy. Their lives are turbulent, troubled both by the weaknesses of their simple organic forms and the ever-looming threat of the Warp that their own ‘souls’ pose. Better by far to strip their flawed flesh, capture their minds in imperishable and warp-free forms. It’s for their own good.

I think I might run with the idea that most of the Necron Warriors and other chuds are in fact biotransferred humans, Cybermen and Husk style to call back to two of the chief inspirations. Consciousnesses stripped from body and soul, assigned to rudimentary machine forms that lack sufficient processing power to retain much in the way of individuality, loosed on their erstwhile fellows.

Maybe because the Tomb World in question saw much harder wear from time than most seem to have- I really like the new more heavily corroded look of the newer necron models and it makes a lovely way to add in various forms of oxidation for visual interest. So lots of their less ‘important’ members (warriors and such) were either ruined or salvaged for parts to repair the more ‘important’ members of the court, and they needed to replenish their numbers quickly when waking up beneath a now-Imperial hive world. Whether this forms a convenient excuse for ‘sharing’ biotransference with the humans, is a happy coincidence, or is some form of portent that the evangelization of necrodermis is The Correct Path Forward depends on who you ask and how cynical or full of quasi-religious fervor they are.

So okay that’s all well and good, a clear ‘personality’ and aesthetic for the army, but now I gotta name the dynasty, its tomb world, and its Phaeron. Fffffuck. Naming things is hard.

Ok. Start with the Phaeron. so far I’ve got a few names jotted down:

Atramenes- sounds egyptian, sounds vaguely Important, inspired by the word ‘atramentous’ meaning dark/shadowy. Downside is that I used this for like the first boss monster in my d&d campaign, a lowly Nothic. Might thus make a better name for a Cryptek of some kind? Even though it’s a cool name? Enh? Not sure though, because lifting ideas from my d&d games, while at least they’re my own ideas generally, still feels a bit like a cop-out.

Khatash- sounds vaugely egyptian, sounds vaguely important, makes a decent dynastic name ‘Khatashic’. Downside is that this is basically just part of the name of one of my d&d setting’s Evil Gods, Bel Katash, the First Tiefling, the Usurper God of Death. Upside is that the basic personality and backstory actually kinda fit for a necron Phaeron.

Khephret- sounds very egyptian as it’s just the name of the scarab god of the dawn, Khephri, with a sligthly different ending. Cool association with scarabs given the necron scarabs, might make a decent Phaeron name? Khephret/Khephretic/Khephretakh dynasty sounds okay. Downside is that Khephri is... kind of a nice dude, associated with light and rebirth and all. Actually that might work? ‘Rebirth’ into necrodermis, ‘light’ from various horrible ray guns?

Akinshekhor- sounds not egyptian at all but sounds kinda Sumerian to me, so at least it still evokes ‘ancient ass desert’? Sounds very important and somewhat intimidating. Downside is it was literally the name of my summoned Doomguard in WoW many years ago and while I was like ‘oh shit that sounds like a Babylonian Demon King! rad!’ and was very pleased with my good luck on the random name generator, fundamentally it’s still a personal MMO reference which rates even lower than lifting ideas from my d&d campaigns.

Ramesekh- sounds very egyptian obviously; Rameses = Ozymandias and all that. Doesn’t sound especially intimidating or important to me, unfortunately.

On to the tomb world. So far the ideas are:

Carcosa- just call it fuckening Carcosa. Maybe it orbits the star Hali. Maybe one of the earliest biotransferred humans was the Planetary Governor Cassilda. Downside: just outright flagrant theft from Bierce and Chambers.

Nephandor- drawn from ‘nefandous’ meaning ‘unspeakable’, ties in nicely with my early ideas for the dynasty name based on something similar but then I ran into the fact that there’s already a canon dynasty called Nephrekh so had to rethink things. Kinda sounds like Nephren-Ka, also, being Lovecraft’s ancient egyptian avatar of Nyarlathotep.

Eidolon- great ominous name for a planet. Eidolon being a word that can mean both ‘perfected form’ and ‘spectre of oncoming death’ and carrying connotations of not-quite-human. Downside of course is that there’s already a chaos space marine in the Emperor’s Children named Eidolon. Bleh.

Ophir- biblical name for a historical place proooobably in India but has the ri ght ‘sound’ to it, making one think of shifting sands and ancient ruins. ‘

“Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away”

Anyhow this got... long.... but I kinda want anyone who bothered to read this far to weigh in on your favorites because I am having a terrible time deciding anything here besides the basic ideas outlined before the names section.

#Jake plays Warhammer 40k #Looking for feedback #Opinions #Thoughts #If you don't mind reading about dumb evil space robot lore and weighing in on potential names #please read and reply

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bluexepher · 5 years ago

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Pisces 🤘🏾

[Collaborative metal performance with Doverh on drums, Cesta Embersoot on guitar, and Xepher K’awiil on vocals]

Cesta strolled up to the stage in heavy black leather boots. ‘IRON LYNXES’ was sewn into the back of her denim battle vest with the face of a roaring lynx below it. Numerous other patches adorned the old vest: ‘ELITE TAUREN CHIEFTAIN’, ‘MY OTHER RIDE IS YOUR MOTHER’, ‘GNOMETALLICA’, ‘BLIGHT BOAR’, SLAYER’, ‘CANNIBAL QUILBOAR’, ‘STAND IN THE FIRE’, ‘ALESTORM’, ‘GRIND GEARS’, ‘BANSHEE WAILERS’, and more!

Cesta hefted up a brutal-looking electric guitar. The body of the instrument curled into vicious, pointed blades on both sides. At her touch, a pair of horns sprouted from the head. Countless half-peeled stickers from other bands dotted the instrument. But one part of the body remained untouched: The signature from Elite Tauren Chieftain’s lead guitarist, Bergrisst.

Doverh takes the stage with bloodshot eyes, with well done banshee under-eye makeup down her cheeks. She wears a simplistic, black marching uniform fit with brown leather armor plates and plenty of belts and spiked chains by her waist. Doverh inspects her simplistic, classic set of rock and roll drums, that were also fit with unique additions like a Xylophone, multiple kick-pedals either for cymbals or her massive kickdrums. On the front of her kickdrums display a nice, well detailed piece of artwork reading “The Blight Stripes” written in red, black, and white.

Coming behind the bassist, guitarist, and drummer, a junoesque woman followed to take her place at the microphone stand. Musical tech was set around them to allow their live performance to mirror the clean studio sound while remaining evocatively raw. A wolfish grin blossomed on those full deep plum lips as her hands wrapped slowly over the microphone. She wore black jeans with a midriff baring top and vibrant combat boots. Her smokey eye makeup complimented that bold color choice. Her intricate white henna sleeve was on display under the lights, striking against deep caramel skin. Midnight blue curls were left free to fall wherever they pleased as she pressed forward.

Behind her, a tiny wyrmtongue in a similar leather battle jacket. ‘VOZ SQUAD’ was sewn into it with a tiny demonic smiley face. He pushed a giant amp up to the stage and jammed the guitar’s jack into it. From there, Cesta began to fiddle with the tuning pegs, occasionally strumming a note. Once done, she awaited the signal. Felfire coalesced between her index and thumb, solidifying into a scorched guitar pick. Blazing green flame trailed the pick as she brought it to the strings. She began to strum gentle, light notes. Despite the monstrous-looking instrument, each note produced a soft sound like tinkling glass. Cesta settled into a riff, continuing to strum as her black-nailed fingertips deftly fretted each note.

Doverh opens with her kick cymbal, quickly following with her lifting her custom, black, red, and white drumsticks to land on both her right and left drums before quickly clashing with the two cymbals above them to break the song out of the gorgeous melody of guitar, and into the darker tone. To be joined by base, she starts playing a simple drum beat, but quickly bounces her left knee, making her kick cymbal clatter from both it’s own kick mechanics and the occasional drumstick applied. It sounds fast, and rather difficult, however, Doverh makes it look anything but.

“Step forward...and meet a new sunrise. A coward..is shivering inside” Xepher sang in a melodic soft tone, her right hand slipping down the stand in hold. “Today I'll... be a friend of mine~. Who swallows suffering with smile” Her low euphonious tone carried the note as hands released the stand to float around her. “I drew a different reality. With unconditional loyalty. Ego hardly can be piqued...'Cause I'm selfless” Hands drawing whimsical shapes as her minor vocal fry sustained that last word. Xepher’s eyes came to close as she swayed to the trance of the instrumentals, body fluid and loose.

Without warning, the guitar’s sound exploded, aggressive and distorted. The sheer noise blasted Vozraal off of the amp. The warlock’s eyes blazed bright felfire. It crackled around her, wrapping around the fretboard and igniting the strings. Flames blasted out of the instrument’s head. Each note violently roared from the strings as she strummed. Cackling skulls manifested within the green flames, wafting off of the instrument and fading into the air with a fanged smile. Her wyrmtongue took cover for dear life, tiny red hands clasping over the back of his head as if mortar fire was raining down.

Doverh joins in behind the tune of the guitar, matching with heavy kick drums and cymbals to match the beat of the wailing, crackling guitar. Doverh grits her teeth and bangs her head a fair amount as she goes.

“Scale armour blaze!” Working from the diaphragm, Xepher projected her voice through controlled false cord screams. This sound was generated by the opening of the vocal folds to allow enough air to pass through, thus flapping the false folds. “Virgin innocence” Xepher’s motions were sharp and firm, knees bending as she carried the growl. “One being brings life. Another runs for death” She maintained an even volume growl that wasn’t pushed to create the aggressive sound. As Xepher repeated the chorus, her body leaned upwards into the mic as arms shot outwards. An expressive hand crawled towards the audience as her vowel shapes heightened the growl at “Another runs for death”.

Just as quickly the guitar blared with brutal force, it calmed. Its roaring sound gave way to gentle notes like falling rain. Cesta continued picking at the strings, her flames extinguishing from the fretboard. The horns on her guitar’s head retracted back in until they were only tiny stubs by the tuning pegs. Voz looked up with wary eyes and stood to his feet. As Cesta closed her eyes, the wyrmtongue took a seat by the amp and held a red-scaled arm up. In his hand, an ignited lighter. He slowly waved it, enjoying the brief reprieve.

Doverh transitions out of loud performance just as her other bandmates, however, she plays her first verse, with many more quick notes. It’s rapid, and back to back, keeping the adrenaline rush if not going deeper into one.

“No promises I ever give...Don't rely on me and I won't deceive” Xepher masterfully transitioned back to her clean vocals from that powerful growl. “The beginning or the end you can't tell. When I wave my fin and shake my tail” This verse sung at a higher pitch from the last, hands fluttering upwards. The note of tail wavered as her hips rolled to the melodic instrumentals. “I grew in different normality~ With unblamable morality~ Hooks and nets are there for me, but..” Xepher cooed those words, eyes darting over the audience now. “I’m skittish” A coy smirk curving those lips to display fang-like teeth.

SYKE. Cesta’s guitar roared with even more force. The sound blasted Voz over the crowd’s heads. The wyrmtongue squealed as he flew through the air like a demonic cannonball. CRASH. Hopefully, he didn’t land in any of the merchant stalls. Unfazed, Cesta continued to strum that vicious instrument. The amp beside her crackled with green flames. Even it grew horns as sound visibly reverberated from it.The warlock stomped a heavy boot onto the amp. It boomed out with a howl, amplifying Xepher’s growls. The machine rumbled like an angry demon hunter Cesta’s boot. She smashed her steel-plated toe into its head. It submitted. For now.

Doverh’s heavy drumming quickly turns from more of the same to a quick succession of hammering on the drums, going into a tiny drum solo before ending it on a single cymbal clash. Then silence on her part, creating an emptiness for the sustained guitar note to be the focus for a moment. Doverh lightly taps out a few cymbal notes as the song calms.

“Scale armour blaze! Virgin innocence” Xepher’s husky voice boomed with immense passion, filling the air with an electric sensation. The mic ripped from the stand as her body leaned backwards in a curve, flowing tresses whipping about. “One being brings life. Another runs for death” The growler’s core strength evident as the vocal distortions bellowed forth. Xepher’s knees bent low as her head thrashed forward to the repeat of the chorus. She was no longer tethered to one spot, body moving with that unbounded energy across the stage. Thick curls thrashed about her face as the mic was pressed close for a fry scream.

Under Cesta’s heel, the amp quieted as the song relaxed once more. The demonic amp fell still, the flames around it snuffing. Voz waddled back toward the stage, scooching through the crowd to join in with his master. The warlock tipped her chin toward the amp under her feet, commanding the demon to maintain it. As Voz nodded in acknowledgment and took his place, Cesta stepped off of the amp. She picked at the strings with closed eyes, enjoying the break as she bobbed her head to Xepher’s vocals.. She’d need her energy for the next part.

“Neptulon’s child shivering inside” Xepher slid down to the ground, curly hair draped about her face like a wild mane. Her head lifted upwards as eyes appeared to close, raw fervor etched across that visage. “Drowns in the liquid gold” Body swaying to one side as a hand snaked out to the crowd. “Cherished his life to the underworld~” An even tone elongated the last word, creating a mellifluous sound. “Meet me flashing when winter cries” A ferocity glowed in Xepher’s eyes as she sensually rose back up. Muscles tensing for the final breakdown. Her body slanting as she rocked back and forth, arms pushing upwards.

Cesta shot a signaling glance to Voz. The wyrmtongue cranked the amp’s volume up to 20. In a quick flurry of distorted notes, the amp roared to life again. The diabolical machine sprouted mechanical legs and even a tail. Voz piloted the machine like a horrific animatronic. It spewed fire out into the air as Cesta’s guitar ignited with flames. But regardless of the heat, she strummed with pride!

Doverh lays on heavy notes, almost every one heavy and fast, and most certainly joined by a kick cymbal. Doverh wrinkles her face and bangs her head to the maddening beat as the song reaches it’s climax. Doverh bounces both her feet, and makes the whole area shake as every note is joined by a heavy metal kick drum beat and cymbal until their final notes ring. She closes with a calculated flurry of notes alongside the guitar’s closing.

“Pisces swimming through the river. All their life against the stream” Xepher threw her head back in pure fry scream interlaced with overtones. “Searching for a hook to catch on. And see their sun beam~” The jump from distortion to her high mix register was effortless. In that moment, she took the cleans and screams connecting them into a unified thread. “Then suffocate in painful tortures. On cutting tables of callous men. Under a knife of handsome butchers” A crescendo of so many emotions poured from the woman as she jolted up. “Emeralds are ripped away!” Nails dragged beneath her vibrant eye as the false cord scream rose in pitch. Xepher repeated those words like an enraged siren chanting her spell on the sea. The final scream projected through an incredible amount of compression strength. Tendrils of ice crinkled up her pronounced throat muscles till she fell silent.

The ren’dorei’s hair ignited in a bright green blaze. It floated behind her as if she were in zero gravity, sound booming all around her like artillery fire. Despite the explosive volume, Cesta remained resolute in the face of this heavy metal apocalypse. She ended with a quick flurry of brutal notes, in rhythm with the blasting drums as flames spewed out of her guitar’s head in a flashy conclusion as she flung the guitar around her body.

Drums- @ben-doverh , Guitarist- @embersoot , Vocals - bluexepher

Performed live on April 1st, 2020 at @menagerieboutique @succulent-tart

#wow rp blog #world of warcraft roleplay #wra rp #mg rp #moonguard #wymrest accord #jinjer #pisces #skunk anansie #abra #a perfect circle #paz lenchantin #drummer #guitarist #heavy metal #metal music #afropunk

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broken-support · 5 years ago

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@heavenlypaper

Putting them in a position like this had to be one of Yahiko’s better accidents to date, if he’s going to be honest with himself.

What should’ve been a simple jaunt just outside the village proper for two of Akatsuki’s leaders had become a much less innocent affair courtesy of a few missing nin mistaking them for easy marks. The ensuing fight hadn’t been too much trouble, but drawing the overzealous attentions of Hanzo’s shinobi in the process was enough to send the two retreating to the safety of Ame’s concrete towers and watery alleyways to lay low.

Pressed and packed tightly together in a rather narrow alcove tucked away beneath the shadow of one such tower, Yahiko peeks out through the downpour, eyes narrowed in search for any overly diligent pursuers still on their trail. After a few moments he ducks back in with a sigh of relief. “Looks like we’re in the clear, Konan. No sign of them far as I can tell in this storm. Must’ve sent them running for cover.” As if in agreement a peal of thunder echoes mere moments later, the flash that proceeded it lost in the black clouds.

Yahiko merely shakes his head, blowing a wet lock out of his eye only for it to limply fall back. “Don’t think it’ll do us much good to leave quite yet though...” Settling back beside her, there’s little helping losing his train of thought once their current position finally settles in. Too narrow a space to stand shoulder to shoulder, they’d ended up all but bumping chests just to fit; merely turning his head had him rubbing noses with her, to say nothing of feeling her warmth even through the layers of soaked clothing or her breath ghosting against his neck when he’d stolen a look outside just now...

Yahiko swallowed thickly, hands suddenly itching for something to do and throat almost too dry for words at the sight of her so close. How long had it been since they’d last done more than slipped one another quick kisses and soft touches, stolen small seconds on patrol or whispered words to their sleeping other? Days, weeks, the time didn’t seem to shuffle itself in any other order but by the matters and concerns that kept them both awake and aware and away more often than they wanted but nonetheless knew they had to be.

Doubt gnaws at him, uncertainty giving way to frustration, then determination. His hands slowly reach out to her, find a hold on her waist as he gently leans into her, forehead pressed against hers. Not tonight though, Yahiko decides. Tonight there are no more missions, no reports or concerns, no worries that won’t still be waiting for them when they wake up tomorrow to fret over. Tonight the only company they’ll be keeping is in one another, and if Konan has any protests to this unspoken plan of his he hasn't heard them yet, doesn’t plan on entertaining them even until they’ve properly reunited.

“Konan...” His hands abandon their hold of her waist to make their way to her face, cupping her cheeks, and whatever else he’s planned on saying suddenly doesn’t seem all that important compared to kissing her. It’s a soft thing at first, a gentle pressing of lips and eyes fluttering closed, but deepens in tune with something that flares up hot in his gut. His hands slip back down to her cloak, fisting the soaked garment and pulling her flush against his chest, and he breaks away with panted breaths only to dive back in a moment later, the heat of his want making itself readily apparent in his fervor.

#heavenlypaper #slight nsfw;;#// this is how it starts lads #// if this plot seems thin to you then congratulations! you're already catching on

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giasonesdream · 6 years ago

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The Center Console Does Nothing To Support You (Bad Behavior 2 Part Series)

Summary: You and Jeongguk come from a wealthy background. That doesn’t stop your boyfriend from getting into activities he has no business in. All you can do is support him, encourage his bad behaviors with questionable acts of your own. (Explicit)

Word Count: (I’ll be right by your side, ‘til) 3009

tagged: Jungkook x Reader, drag racing!AU, Smut, road head, exhibitionism, dom/sub undertones

Lake Shore Drive after Rush Hour is beautiful, empty. That, plus the added late night summer air rushing through rolled down windows, it all makes you feel weightless, free, adventurous.

But tonight’s adventure is not really one of your own, but your boyfriend, who sits behind the wheel with one hand gripping the tattered leather and the other rubbing at your bare thigh. It’s a situation you two have been in more than a handful of times this summer, sneaking out of the gated community of your north side homes, travelling the half hour path to get to your friends waiting for you on the south side, your and Jeongguk’s safe haven. On eroded streets littered with potholes and weeds growing from sidewalk cracks is where you feel the most at ease.

Electricity thrums from the palm wrapped around your skin. Jeongguk is excited for the race tonight, ready to show his friends how much he has improved since their last one. You truly have no interest, unaffected by your boyfriend’s competitive side. You have been with him too long to care, but also because you know your disinterest makes him work even harder to win.

You will not lie to yourself, the dynamic of your relationship with Jeongguk must seem a little odd from an outsider’s perspective (hell, even some of the older boys in Jeongguk’s group would question him to the umpteenth degree), but it is one the both of you are very comfortable with. You and he are equals, and for the most part, you come across as best friends; not all that big on PDA besides the times either of you are feeling more introverted or needy, choosing to glue to the other’s side. And the banter is endless, sometimes quipped and hard to tell if you’re joking or not, sometimes so over the top and dramatic no one could possibly mistake you two for just being typical young adults in love.

There’s a lurch in the car as he speeds down the rather empty expressway, and you subtly eye the needle and see it push towards 75 mph. With a sigh, you continue scrolling through your phone.

“Try not to get us or yourself killed tonight, Jeon,” you mutter nonchalantly. “You know you don’t get anything if you win this stupid race, right?”

Jeongguk scoffs next to you, and you don’t even have to turn to see the offended look on his face. “Um, bragging rights is what I would win, [y/n].”

Right, because Jeon Jeongguk, Certified Shy Dork, would totally use the bragging rights with anyone but you (you, who does not give a shit). You tear your eyes away from your screen to stare him down until he feels it.

The street lights trail across his face, accentuating the roundness if his cheeks, the slope of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw, and it takes all of your strength to remember why you chose to glare at him in this moment.

He feels it soon enough, your eyes on his profile, and he chances a glance over in your direction before focusing back on the road. “What?”

“Jeongguk, you don’t have to impress these guys. They like you. You’re in their little gang.” Though you are neither here nor there when it comes to his new choice of friends, you understand his desire to fit in, to have them like him. It would be adorable if he wasn’t partaking in an...illegal form of entertainment.

You hear him scoff again, twitching at the way he involuntarily kneads your thigh. You must have hit the nail on the head, as you usually do. “I’m not trying to impress them,” he denies, not even sounding confident to himself.

You give another sigh, this one not as noticeable. You and Jeongguk were born and raised Northsiders, living a rather privileged life with proper allowances for taking out the trash and not worrying about getting sick because health insurance is a thing. Of course Jeongguk would want to make these guys think he could hang, “get down and dirty” as he had said unironically one time.

You pat the hand that’s still firmly on your leg, rubbing mindlessly at the sturdiness of his forearm before covering the top of his hand with your own, playing with the fingers. You can feel his nerves become restless as you continue to fret with his fingers, pulling at them only for them to snap back into place against the skin cloaked in warmth.

“Issue?” you hear him ask, his previous laxed state becoming more and more wired.

You give a pout you know he won’t notice, turning in your seat to practically face him head on. “Ggukie, your hands are getting clammy,” you whine, only slightly teasing. It truly did gross you out a tad when his furnace of a body would get sweaty at too much contact.

With a smirk, he loosens his grip only to move his palm further up your thigh. And normally, you would push him away, cringe away from the humid touch- but his fingers skirt on the inside of your thigh as they run higher and higher, and your legs jerk together at the barely there stimulation.

Jeon Jeongguk had been a special case, never going a moment in his 22 years of living when he wasn’t getting attention from women. You distinctly remember when you both were children, how your mother and aunt would fawn over the adorable runt, how small and pure he looked.

“Oh, [y,n], don’t you think little Jeonggukie is cute?” they would ask you, heart eyes too prevalent for your liking. It made you roll your eyes and turn your nose up at the boy.

And even through his awkward teenage years, he still got the attention because he was still adorable, or that is what your friends and mother say. He was just Jeongguk. Always had been. It hadn’t dawned on you that maybe the girls in your school had a point until one day he came over to visit you, and suddenly you opened the door and had to look...up. That was at the age of nineteen, when you first realized that yeah, Jeon Jeongguk was an eyeful and more (cue the flustered, bumbling idiot you became).

And here he sits now, one strong hand easily steering the leather bound wheel while another built arm is stretched to constantly be touching you, and really, how can someone look so hot doing so little?

He’s right there, you think to yourself, mindlessly chewing at your bottom lip as you contemplate your next move. The lights still dance over his face, illuminating his features in the dark of night in a lazy rhythm. He really is right there. All you have to do is lean over and…

You place a peck on his cheek, pulling back a bit to check his reaction, testing the waters. He seems unfazed by the gesture, only half of his lips tugging up in a smile. So you go back in again, leaving open mouthed kisses that trail down his jaw. You don’t realize the grip you have on the wrist connected to the hand still trapped between your legs until you let go to pull at your seatbelt.

With a quick glance, you look outside the windows, making sure there isn’t a car riding besides you (fuck anyone behind you). And since the coast is clear (enough), you let your hand slide over to his jean clad legs, the other hand finding balance on the leather console between you two.

“Holy shit!” Jeongguk shouts, urgency in his voice enough to make you flinch away in panic.

“What? What?!” You ask frantically, checking the road around you, slamming yourself to duck your head out the window. You swear to god, if Jeongguk hurt an animal-

“Were you about to blow me?”

As his words slowly catch up with your brain, you turn back to glare at him, eyes squinted and tongue poking in your cheek. His expression is a mixture of wide-eyed shock and an eager smile.

You speak too calmly for comfort, obviously hiding your irritation with being interrupted. “I was...planning. On it.”

That does nothing to change his face. He only glances at you, huffing out a laugh. “That’s a real thing?”

...Did he seriously just ask you if roadhead is a real thing? “What?”

With a defensive shrug, he explains. “I just...I thought that only happened in movies and fanfiction.”

Leaning against the passenger door, you scrutinize your boyfriend, pushing his hand away from you. Leave it to him to ruin the moment with his very unsexy antics. “Whose fanfiction are you reading?”

Jeongguk sputters for a second, the streetlights catching the gaping look on his face. “I...pfft, is that part important? At least, right now?”

You want to interrogate him, watch him get flustered with the idea of having to admit one dirty little secret you seemed to not know. But, unfortunately (or very fortunately, depending on how you look at it), he’s still very hot and still very much mouthwatering in probably the most naughtiest of ways.

You can curse your hormones later.

You crawl back into your previous position, noting how Jeongguk leans his head to give you more room to lick, mouth and bite at the skin of his neck. You barely miss the way his eyes flutter, and you snap instantly.

“If you don’t keep your fucking eyes and focus on the road I will climb into the backseat, I swear to god, Jeon,” comes the hissing threat. At his frantic nod, your lips fall back to his throat with more fervor, frustration building at having to stop so many times. It shows in the way your teeth bite harshly into the meat of his neck, sadistically satisfied with the air he sucks in through his teeth.

Your palm goes back to work, breezing through the foreplay of feathering up the inside of his thigh and quickly palming at the semi-hard length in his pants. You’re sure he feels the smug grin against his neck; how sensitive your boyfriend is, how worked up he gets for you so easily. It sends a shot of lust to your own core to know you affect him so.

When you try to shift closer, the seatbelt locks, and you huff again, having to pull away to shove it off of you so you can try and mold the upper half of your body to his as best you can with a goddamn console still there and immobile.

You are quite skilled, nimbly undoing the buttons and zipper of his jeans so you can stuff your hand down his underwear. The hissed “shit” he whispers only makes you thrum with more excitement. You have lost count of how many times you have done this, worked your hand up and down his cock (Jeongguk could probably tell you because, underneath this sexy exterior he sometimes wears, he is always 100% A Dork Trademark). You have become an expert, collecting the precum that pools at the tip when he’s finally completely hard and hot in your closed palm. Though the precum acts as a decent lubricate, you both know a more effective way of getting him dripping wet. You give a slow lick at the sensitive spot behind his ear, biting back a smile at his heavy exhale, before you finally lower your mouth to breathe against the head of his aching member.

It takes some maneuvering, getting into a somewhat comfortable position where your ribs aren’t entirely digging into the console. There’s still a pinch, but it’s manageable; and really, feeling the way the smallest shiver shoots up Jeongguk’s spine when you wrap your tongue around the underside of his cock just makes it worth it. You repeat the action, letting the tip of your tongue get caught under the head before wrapping your lips around it completely. With one hand wrapped around the base, you move your mouth lower and lower, always licking until the head rests at the back of your tongue. Your gag reflex betrays you when you try to inch downwards, closing up and making you pull off to breathe.

Your reflexes can be a bit finicky, sometimes wanting to cooperate, sometimes wanting to be a complete and utter bitch to work with (“so, a lot like your personality, as a whole,” Jeongguk would say, which would result in a smack to his shoulder). But you keep your tongue moving, leaving kitten licks at the crown while your throat calms down enough so you could try again.

You take your time, ignoring your own eagerness, as you suck your way down his length, making sure to breathe heavily through your nose and keep your throat open until- success.

The center console presses against your lungs, and your other hand scrapes the leather as you try to focus on the way he hits the back of your throat. With another steady breath, you experiment with swallowing around him.

You feel the car swerve and you yank your head off his cock, yelling his name angrily, though your throat is a bit scratchy. Your body lurches to the side as he jerks the car back to its straight position.

“Fuck, sorry,” he apologizes with a tight voice, weaving his fingers into the tresses of your hair. “It’s just...your mouth.”

You think any other time you would flattered, maybe even a bit cocky with how he submits when you’re the one with his dick in your mouth. But you would very much like to live, or at least not die with his dick out and have the firemen find you in this rather precarious position.

You don’t regard his apology, simply opting to go back to your previous task. The air rushes outside, but it doesn’t mask the slick sounds that accompany you coating his dick in your saliva, mixing with the salty precum that beads at the top whenever you go just a bit lower than usual.

He does a lot better when you decide to try for deepthroating again, electing to tighten his grip on your head and stuttering out a groan when you swallow a few times around him. You even congratulate yourself when you don’t choke as he bucks his hips up, desperate to go deeper in the wet, tight heat of your throat.

You’re a mess, spit dribbling from the tight seal of your lips and smearing down your chin and your hand; it’s fucking hot. The heat swirls and knots in the pit of your stomach when he accidentally pushes your head down, moaning out another frantic apology. It takes you a second, but you’re finally pulling your hand away from the base, confident that you can steady yourself enough to fit the last few inches down your throat.

“Shit, shit!” Jeongguk tries to bite back the noises, successful up until you pull up to suck tightly around the head. In the back of your mind, you notice that the air outside the car has eased, meaning you must be off the expressway and onto the side streets that take you to your destination. You must be close.

You suck with a purpose, moaning and rubbing your thighs together because you won’t have time to get yourself off. You hear his faint warning, the “gon-gonna cum, [y,n]-” as you keep your lips secured around the tip, bringing your hand back to stroke the length now completely saturated with spit and precum.

His breathing is heavy, and you chance a glance to look up to see his brows furrowed together, jaw slack as noises get caught in his throat. Right before he cums, his mouth snaps shut, teeth biting into his bottom lip and his muscles tense. Your eyes flutter shut when his seed coats your mouth, not giving yourself a chance to taste too much before you swallow it down. Your hand still twists up his cock, milking him for all he’s worth until the last remnants dribble pathetically against your tongue.

You give one last lick, holding back a giggle when he tries to flinch away from the overstimulation. With a final kiss to hiss check, you fall back into your passenger seat, rubbing at your ribs as you try to will down the lust that makes you throb in your shorts.

“Shit, [y/n].” Jeongguk’s voice pitches at the end, his tone showing just how wrecked he is. You’re sure you would sound the same if you spoke, so you only nod.

The road you’re on now is familiar, the asphalt getting bumpier and holier the further along you go. You’re almost there.

Still not trusting your voice, you only give your boyfriend a look when he suddenly pulls over to the curb, shifting the gear into park and leaning over the console to drag you into a sloppy, open mouthed kiss.

You swallow his groan, and you’re sure he can still taste himself on your tongue. When he finally pulls away with a tug of your bottom lip, he grits out, “Your turn.”

When the hand that had been on the steering wheel comes to your knee, you can ignore the dampness of his palm in lieu of how he tugs your legs open.

“What about-” you pause to clear your throat. “What about the drag race?”

Jeongguk clicks his tongue. “They won’t start without me. Besides, you can be my goodluck charm.” He beams up with a smile that seems so pure, you honestly can’t believe this boy is your boyfriend, the boyfriend - who still has his goddamn dick out -ready to finger you.

“Tch, fucking better win,” you mumble as he tugs at the buttons of your shorts. “Drag me all the way out here for nothing.”

You both knew your words were empty. Away from your homes on summer nights like these, this was your safe haven, paradise.

A/N: I haven’t watched the new episode of Bon Voyage, but I’ve been seeing gifs of Jeongguk driving and welp. Here ya go. This is the first part to a two part series. Hopefully I can finish the second half sometime soon.

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #drag race!au #sub jungkook #sorta #bts scenarios #bts

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outrealm-gates · 5 years ago

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Mun I beg of you, can you do a sentient fat based Camilla and Selena prompt? Turn the tsun into more of Camilla’s goddess chest, maybe a touch of tender tummy fluff!

“Selena......is this true? You wish to offer yourself to my hunger?” The thicker, taller princess asked worriedly, fretting and tutting over her adorable red-headed retainer.....red heads were always her favorite....but was Selena positive?

“I-I said it didn’t I? Yeah......I’m not gonna let you go hungry.” Selena was aware of just what cravings Camilla had....the urge to consume people whole and alive. She physically and mentally craved a sacrifice of this nature every now and again, yet a suitable maiden wasn’t about. Instead of outraging the public and abducting a girl in broad daylight, or sacrificing castle staff, Selena desired to be the maiden Camilla ate.

“But....Oohh....dear Selena...” Camilla came close and hugged Selena tight, her pudgy stomach grumbling as a sudden weakness overcame her. She didn’t want to lose her precious retainer, just like how eating Beruka would be a terrible thing, but one idea did come to mind. A little spell....that may keep her beloved little redhead nearby for a time to come....until Camilla’s final days....

Camilla demanded that if Selena would offer herself, that the night would be one to remember. Both would spend the rest of the eve together, dining in the hall on the food that couldn’t sustain the special need in her gullet, nevertheless she and her meal stuffed themselves on the finest available. Wine and sweets abound, Selena seemed to show a much more tender side with her liege, showing Camilla just how much she appreciated everything, and wanted to be a willing, happy sacrifice. The wine loosening her up may have contributed a tad~ Camilla lavished her retainer in affections, nibbles and kisses, one may believe the two decided to become lovers. And in a sense....thats what Camilla would want it to be with the spell she’d prepared. Her previous meals had their souls return to wherever they do when one passes on, Camilla digesting their physical forms and adding them to her already fertile and curvy frame, but this spell would keep Selena’s soul close to Camilla’s heart....specifically, it would bind her soul to Camilla’s breasts, turning Selena into sentient adipose that would remain with the princess, and feel all the pleasure and stimulation she would. The lavender haired devouress found this to be the best idea to honor her lovely little retainer’s selfless sacrifice, to hold her as close as possible and offer her a long afterlife of sexual bliss, and the occasional jostling between pleasuring herself and the distension that came with consuming people whole.

**Rest under a readmore bc longpostislong**

“Camilla, can I...make one request before you take me?” Selena lay nude on Camilla’s lavish bedspread, her bedframe reinforced to handle her growing body as she fed this dark hunger of hers. The red-head’s blush matching her crimson twintails, and her eyes spoke of a deep desire. “I.....I want to kiss you the way a lover would....and when you deem it fit, I want to be taken head first....” Camilla’s heart leapt in her chest, the hunger was beginning to weaken her again, but she couldn’t possibly deny this request. It also happened to be along the lines of what she wanted as well, a sultry smile and such a jiggly strut adorned the princess as she came towards her delicious dear. “Yes.....of course I will silly, you deserve nothing less. It will be the last time I can pleasure you like this, but you will stay with me until i say....right here....in the breasts everyone envies so....Lucky you, my sweet~” The bed would creak and groan as Camilla joined her meal, both girls on their knees right against each other as they embraced, arms wrapping around each other as they pressed lip to lip, breast to breast, waist to waist and tongue against tongue. Camilla’s experience showed, and gently she guided her retainer into a rhythm that had them conducting a symphony of wet noises and moans long into the night, no matter how hard her desires urged her she would provide Selena her last wish. The two would finally pull away with a string of saliva connecting their lips, which Camilla playfully licked up. “Haa....La....Lady Camilla.....I’m ready, and tha....Thank you....I-I’m ready to be your tit-fat....y-you better....play with me a lot...g...got it~?” Selena huffed through her exhaustion and arousal. The thought of living on in a sense as her heaving, supple breasts.....enjoying the warmth of her body and the protection of her armor and clothes, being cradled and fondled by Camilla....it was almost as arousing as giving herself to Camilla, or the kiss they just shared. “I will darling....I’ll cherish the heft you add to my bosom, and you’ll recieve kisses before bed every night....I adore you Selena, thank you for being my dessert tonight.....” Camilla murmured to her meal before giving one last smooch. The ominous gurgle came once again, and Camilla’s mouth began to open. A yawning void of flesh beckoned Selena in.... And it surrounded her. In one deft lunge Camilla had taken in the girl’s whole head, a thick slimy organ running over Selena’s face and tasting her attractive features. Sucking wind through her nose, The eldest Nohrian princess immediately let out an animalistic grunt of satisfaction at Selena’s taste, savoring and suckling at her face and head before widening her maw to accommodate those soft shoulders. Selena lay slack and limp, save her knees so that Camilla didn’t have to work harder. The fleshy pulsing walls around her created an organic siren’s song, peristaltic waves and the princess’s hands moving her deeper and deeper towards the source of this call, her stomach. Strong arms brought more girl into Camilla’s mouth, her retainers small breasts gracing her slimy tongue and causing a full body shudder at their exquisite taste! Selena was a cut above the maidens she would often send to their delicious demises, Camilla may even refer to her as the Fillet Mignon of women~! She needed more....her hands firmly grasped and raised her meal by her ass, stopping to grope it a bit and lament her lack of time to admire it properly....but there was no turning back now. With another push she was halfway done with her meal’s consumption, her tongue questing into Selena’s navel for a short spell to tease her before another shove forced that plump rump into Camilla’s cheeks. Tender slow licks to the redhead’s pussy teased out a powerful orgasm that had her meal squirming and writhing in her throat...and ohhh was it a delicious nectar to add to her meaty ass. Such a feast, such a delicacy!! Thick thighs would graze the princess’s teeth as she gently nibbled her way down Selena’s remaining body, her ability to breath improving as she finished up her dear retainer. Dangling out of her mouth now remained the feet of her devoted dinner....the final part of Selena to savor. With the same fervor and passion as their kiss, Camilla took her feet into her mouth and suckled at them, moaning as she gently chewed them to give her retainer some final bits of affection. After her last fleeting tastes, she gave the final, powerful gulp....and Selena would find herself finally curled up in her stomach, whole and wriggling. Camilla stayed awake well into the night, trying to bring some level of comfort for what came next....Digestion. It was not gentle, her stomach treated Selena like any other meal, churning and reducing her to nutrients. Like every maiden before her, she met her ‘end’ in Camilla’s stomach, her physical form now forfeit to the predator’s digestive tract. But upon Selena’s passing, she could feel a tingle in her breasts, a presence in her mind.....The spell had worked! Further digestion lulled Camilla to sleep, but true to her word she kissed both of her full milky breasts before she laid back on her disheveled bed for rest. Long into the night the sounds of Selena’s body being reduced to nutrients could be heard outside of Camilla’s chambers....said sounds of digestion becoming somewhat of a haunted rumor of the castle. Not all the rumors were false however....simply details of the gurgling coming from a dragon or demon being a bit tall. Early in the morning Camilla had a special urn available instead of her chamberpot, proper disposal for the souls sacrificed to her hunger. This urn would be filled with what remained of Selena, sealed, and taken to a mausoleum in the lower depths of Castle Krakenburg.....And Camilla? ...would be much more affectionate to her fat, overflowing breasts...so eager to show off her new gains, knowing the attention flustered her passenger-retainer. But oh how the added focus must endear her~! ((Whoo boy. Hope peeps enjoy this, Big super mega long prompt post that I had a blast making ^^ Thank for the ask anon friend.))

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maknaes-and-hyungs · 7 years ago

Text

Anniversary

{Ignore all the Exo’s. His face is just perfect for this reaction so-}

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

Group: Idol Producer / EXO

Guest Starring {What do I call this}: Lin Yanjun

Genre: Angst but like only cause of jealousy and Fluff

Note: Ok so I am trying to write this gender neutral which is hard for me. Understand that is only, because I am bad a being vague when it comes to writing but I will try my hardest. Also I love jealousy plots so thank you!~Rin

P.S. I was binge watching Signal so it kind of took me longer then I would have liked to get to your request. Sorry(also watch signal 10/10)

Request: Hello! Can you write me Yixing x reader if you’re taking requests? The reader is Yixing’s s/o and Yixing invites them to idol producer set. What Yixing doesn’t know is that she/he is a huge fan of Lin Yanjun and they fangirl/fanboy over him and Yixing gets jealous? Thanks in advance:)) (I asked a few other than you if you don’t mind, since I’m not sure if they’ll get my request...) Have a nice day/night xx

Today was your anniversary with Yixing and you two had planned months ago to go to the fanciest restaurant you could find. Of course that was before he was asked to be the Nation’s Producer on Idol Producer. You would never ask him to choose over you or his work so you promised you wouldn’t be mad if dinner got postponed due to the show.Due to the importance Yixing held in his hands the dinner ended up getting put off.

“Why?” It was currently five in the morning and your phone had been ringing for the past half hour. Every time the ringer went off you would push your head into your pillow and pray for it to stop. Except when it did it was only for a moment before the mystery person called again. Cursing them out for the hundredth time you finally answered your phone with only that one word.

“Because I’m outside with flowers for you babe and I’ve been here since 4:30. It’s like 20 degrees out so if you could hurry up and get dressed I would love you even more.”

“Get dressed?”

“It’s a surprise.” Since he decided to wake you up so early you found it fit to leave him out in the cold instead of inviting him in while you dressed. He’s been out there for this long so a little bit longer couldn’t hurt, you thought as you slipped into jeans and tee shirt.

You heard him whining through the door, but a soon as you opened it he thrust flowers at you and pulled you to the car that sat in your driveway. Once inside you greeted Yixing’s regular driver who you had come to know over the years. He grunted in his usual manner and you three were off.

“I thought you were too busy for anniversary stuff? What with all of those trainees you have to see to.”

“You know how you have experience in filming shows? Well one of our staff is out sick and we need someone to operate their camera....”Yixing trailed off, but you stared dumbly at him for a few seconds before things clicked. He wanted you to be there to film the show.

“Yixing! I love you so much and I will forever be in your debt.” You jokingly bowed down as much as you could while sitting and he righted you as he tried to hold his laughter.

“I’m so happy to see you excited about filming something again.”

“Yeah.” Feeling guilty you looked out the window. Yixing had no idea that you were actually super excited to see the trainees. He didn’t even know that you followed the show as much as you did.

“I can’t help but feel a bit jealous that one of them is going to steal my precious partner away from me. You may not know them, but some of them are strikingly good looking.” You snorted suddenly at the thought of Yixing ever being jealous. In the three years you two had been together you had never ever experienced it before. Honestly, you doubted he was even capable of the emotion.

Even though you had seen every episode of the show and every behind the scenes clip the set still had you in awe. It wasn’t really all that grand, but you had never been on the set of a show that you had watched as religiously as you watched Idol Producer. Knowing the hardships and joy that occurred here only made things that more glamorous and you couldn’t stop looking around wide eyed and slack jawed.

“Y/N if you look like that when the trainees come in for breakfast they are gonna think somethings wrong with you.” At the mention of the trainees that you idolized you shut your mouth and sat up straight. Currently you were sitting in the cafeteria eating breakfast with your boyfriend as he waited to greet the trainees for the morning. Sure you were happy to get a meal in with him on your anniversary, but in the moment the trainees were more important in your mind.

“Sorry...I just haven’t worked on such a big production in so long.”

“I know that - Oh the trainees are coming in. While I greet them you can go over by the staff and I will come over to explain things.” Yixing took both your trays and ushered you to the side where they sat eating breakfast. You then continued on with you previously awed look as the remaining contestants greeted your boyfriend and got their food.

It wasn’t until a certain trainee came in that you let your fan side show a little. Your top pick, Lin Yanjun. In all his silver haired glory he came in and flashed his dimples at Yixing before going with his fellow Banana trainees to get food. After his entrance you lost all interest in whoever followed and secretly looked at him from where you sat.

“Oh my god Yix. That’s Lin Yanjun!” You whisper yelled to your boyfriend as he came to get you, “The Lin Yanjun.”

You were to busy looking at him all starry eyed to notice that Yixing tensed up at your words. He thought you only watched his clips, but it seemed to him that you only cared for Yanjun. He couldn't help the feelings of jealousy that grew in his chest, but managed to keep them in.

“Come on.” Yixing grumbled out the words as he took your upper arm and pulled you to where your camera was. As you were too busy focusing on Yanjun you failed to notice what was happening with Yixing.

“Ooooo. Is this mine? These cameras are so much nicer then what I usually get to use. I mean I know they all look the same to you, but this is top notch stuff hun.” Seeing your mind finally directed away from Yanjun Yixing sighed in relief although he wasn’t set to be that way for long.

“Hello.” You and Yixing both whipped around to see Yanjun bowing to the both of you, “I noticed we had a new staff member and I just wanted to properly greet you and thank you for doing what your doing.”

“Oh my god... I mean no- of course- yes thank you. Sorry, you’re welcome is what I should’ve said. It’s just that you are my favorite trainee and I love you so much. I’m going to shut up.” Instantly you became a stuttering mess and couldn’t even look up from the camera that you held to properly greet Yanjun who was being super polite.

“Ha. It’s ok and I am greatful for your support. Well then,” Yanjun bowed once more before walking away looking slightly embarrassed by your actions. Yixing stood silently as rage began to boil under his surface. He may have been the sweetest exo member to you, but in this moment he was anything but typical Lay.

“He probably thinks I’m such a weird freak now and will never talk to me again.” Before you could fret even more Yixing grabbed you by your shoulders and pushed you forcefully against the open door causing it to slam shut, “Yix what-”

His lip suddenly slammed on yours and before you knew it you were in a passionate and somewhat angry make out session. He kissed you with a fervor you had never before felt from him. It wasn’t long before he was biting at you neck a leaving bruises everywhere.

“You. Will. Never. Talk. To. Or. About. Yanjun. Like. That. Again.” Between each nip and kiss he placed on your neck he growled out his warning.

“Wha- Are you jealous?” You pushed him back and looked at him accusingly. The confidence that he had had but moments ago faded away and he shyly looked to the ground.

“No...”

“Because it’s hot and I think I need to go talk to Yanjunnie!”

“Oh no you don’t.” Let’s just say the turtle neck you suddenly put on didn’t go unnoticed.

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