#is there a heart to my drawings? do they speak with a life of their own?
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hinamie · 5 months ago
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itafushi nation how r we Feeling!!!!!!!!!!!
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silusvesuius · 7 months ago
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n*loth is literally a demon i mean iHold on YAAASSSSS!
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i mean it 😒😒😒
#text#nlvs very universal love story i believe from n*loth POV it can be read as a normal romance if you ignore all the concerning shit he's -#- thinking. but from t*lvas POV and 3rd person it's an actual horror story (deserve)#but tbh not even t*lvas is as scared as the 3rd party witnessing all of it happen . if there was a 3rd parttyyy. omg. so sad#anyways enough about them..... i wanted to talk about drawing ✍#i think traditional art has a lot of power to kick you to improving especially if you're trying it for the first time after a really long -#- while (Meee) and it doesn't feel as 'consumeristic' as digital art feels to me#cus anytime i sit down to draw something digitally 9 times outta 10 i'll just be trying to out-do myself in the way i execute an idea#in terms of colors or composition or anything i can do#such a tryharddd iUUugh but in traditional i turn my brain off and live the same life and share a brain with my pencil. and nothing feels -#- boring. or like 'i already drew this 😑' i'll just be chilling#but @ the same time it might stunt me because of it's comfortability#i mean idc but still i can get better in many ways && i want tu ......#to Be honest it feels like i can only do 'Cool' ideas digitally and traditional is for stuff that is 'easier'#but it is indeed freeing#i love u-god bbbbbbbbb#i mean not like i do art studies a lot cus i don't think it's something i need at this very moment i'm happy with where my art is#but @ heart i will always! Always be a tryhard#like look at what i can doo (speaking to mirror)#my nelothian narcissism ......? Huh#i love adding -ian to pairings and names now
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I know I'm sort of rapid-posting here a little bit but I've been really wanting to read the Chasing Storm book again but because I can't at the moment I'm rewatching Cars 3 and I'm realizing more and more I have less and less proper reasoning if I get questioned why I like him.
Which I'm now giggling over remembering how I used to skip over the entire middle part of the movie because I just wanted the bits of him in the beginning and ending segments. First movie that I learned every entire bit of dialog to. I used to do the dishes to that movie playing.
#“irritating. prick. What an ass.” I say contently with my heart full.#He's not even doing anything horrendous he's literally just a pain.#I can't even say that it's the book that made me like him cause it was the second he started speaking I cracked.#I was immediately like “I like a car romantically yup I'm going to Hell” /joking.#I used to recite “My taste can't possibly get any worse” years ago in middle school when I had a TMNT phase.#I would love to tell past me about current me behavior.#I'm getting more and more shameless about it. On my blog at least. So don't worry(or do).#Am I going to start hyper Jackson Storm posting now is this what is happening here. I've been sloely thinking about him more and more.#I. hold on. hoolddddd on. Im going to shout. Have I never posted art of him here. Do yall not know what he looks like how I see him.#I mean I've been planning on posting art of him with all the art things I've been vagueing at and mentioning wanting to do.#But wow I can't believe that. That's actually gonna make me go bonkers.#Then again it took me who knows how long to finally get art of Lightning on here. Nonetheless one that I actually enjoy and think properly-#-looks like him.#I suppose it makes sense it took me this long to get art of Jackson out now.#Have I. Have I even posted any screenshots. This blog is seriously lacking in the Storm department.#Especially considering obligatory mention of him being the first one I started liking and.#I will save my life story of liking him for later.#Now im not gonna say anything to jinx anything here but.#I so wanna draw him right now if it wasn't for me being in a car right now and. It is impossible for me to draw while in a car.#I can barely write while in a car! I dont know how some people pull it off.#self ship#selfship#selfshipping#self shipping#jackson🖤💙
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skrunksthatwunk · 5 months ago
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last minute pre-grandparent-visit room deep cleaning has revealed that within the drawer i tend to assume just has old, off generic birthday cards and theater/concert programs there are also many, many going away cards and letters and things from the last couple of times i moved away. i guess i always thought of it as such a lonely thing, and i talk a lot about how i don't think i made Real friends until recently, and not to get choked up on main or anything but i think maybe i was completely fucking wrong
#Real friends = deep friends and admittedly it's hard to have deep connections with ppl when you're like 10#and also hard to have deep connection with people when you don't understand yourself at all (bc how could you share it?)#but i was so profoundly loved.#and it's not like the bday cards and stuff aren't a part of that they're just so.. obligatory? whereas such cards from friends is. guhhh#like they missed me. maybe they still do at least a little bit. ahhhhhhh#like i was a shithead but i meant something to a lot of good people and so many of these aren't from just one person#they're a bunch of them coming together and bringing along inside jokes i only half remember and drawing my fucking ocs like GUYS.#GUYS I LOVE YOU GUYS. i may not remember all of you but you were like. goddd i think you made this bearable#and im so glad i saved these. i didn't know there were so many#speaking of which i also found THREE count em THREE decks of cards i know for a fact i have never used bc i have a favorite deck and it's#not those. what off the wall madness was i planning where i needed three non-matching decks of cards within sleep-reach at all times#anyway im reorganizing bc like 10% of that drawer was stuff i actually needed regularly (literally Just the knives) and it's a nightstand#so it should be like. stuff i frequently need like pens and junk. idk#like it's not as if i don't think about how my moving away hurt ppl like i've been abandoning ppl against my will my whole life#but i guess ive been thinking of it as some kind of responsibility or guilt thing? or painful in a me-centric way. they sent me off#with well wishes though they poured their hearts into these. they drew and printed photos and made little crafts bc they loved me#and that's what you do when someone you love has to go away. waughhhhgghhghbn
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bmpmp3 · 8 months ago
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utaformatix... save me..
utaformatix
save me utaformatix
#genuinely such a godsend that website#in the far off year of like. 2015 if you wanted to turn a vsqx into a ust and all you had was utau you had to fight for your life#but you can do anything now. any vpr. any vsq. any ust. any xml whatever. you can turn it into an svp or whatever your heart desires#IN SECONDS. AND THERES japanese lyrics conversion with romaji and kana and vice versa#so so awesome utaformatix if my best friend#im doing my playing on my computer with vocal synthesis instead of sleeping at 2am thing again and like#i decided to finally check out the new voicevox song pitch editing update#review: pitch editing rules. unfortunately it seems to have broken the pitch line display tho LOL#BUT not entirely. if you draw notes directly in the program its fine#i also tested out a musicxml file and it worked fine too#its JUST the ust importing is what im learning. theres an open issue on the github about the problem#it also only displays in pitch editing mode which im not sure is intentional or not. i think it is. im preferred it when it showed in both#modes personally like it was in the old update but thats okay either way. more important is the ust importing sitch#but i dont speak japanese so i dunno if i should mention something. id feel a little bad like hello. sorry im machine translating this#entire convo because i know exactly 1 kanji (hito.....looks like ^ but big...) but im doing the scientific method on your software at 2am#i'll figure out if and how to bring it up later. now i should sleep because i have a shift tomorrow which ive been ignoring <3
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parttimecosmichorror · 11 months ago
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I do not understand the people who say that modern or abstract art takes no skill, who just look at the final result and say “even I could do that”. Sure, yeah, you could replicate all these same brushstrokes. You could splash some red paint on a canvas and smear it around. You can do that. But that’s not really the core of the piece though, is it? I deeply admire the skill of having an idea, and then simplifying it and reducing it to its barest parts, and then abstracting those into something visual and expressive. You can smudge some colors around and retroactively assign a meaning to it. But can you take a concept and condense it into shapes and colors? I wish I could. I really wish I could. I wish I had the skill and mental capacity to be truly creative in my art, to make something resonant and unique and abstract. Not enough people realize how difficult it is to have and deal with ideas
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moonlight-prose · 4 months ago
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a request, if i may, of praising old man logan as he filfthly eats you out and it makes him combust the more you praise him? okay running away again
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speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life
a/n: look at him taking off his glasses in absolute shock of this ask- no okay does old man logan have a praise kink? i would raise it higher and say every version of logan has a massive praise kink. this is a man who wants to know he's doing good in life. his love language is acts of service so he might get to hear a pretty thank you. also i'm not sorry for how feral this got. i have no explanation.
summary: he knew he loved you when your words begin to piece his heart back together. he knew he loved you when he flourishes at your praise. he knew he loved you when nothing in this world could matter but the sound of your voice telling him you love him too.
word count: 3k+
pairing: old man!logan x f!reader
warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), praise kink, logan is obsessed, dirty talk via reader, he is so pretty when he blushes, manhandling, cumplay, cumeating, overstimulation, crying, he's needy in this one, angst, tortured soul of an old man, reverence, religious trauma + greek mythology hints.
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He can feel the strings of fate pull tight around his broken heart. In a failed attempt to draw him back together. To piece together an organ that barely beat for him anymore. He might have felt it once, before it broke. Before it gnarled itself like the branches of a dying tree, one half twisting away from the other in a desperate attempt of survival.
He deemed it a useless part of his body until you came along. You with your smile that held enough cloying sweetness to choke him as he stood helpless. Silently begging for you to say his name. To bring him back to life.
Whatever horrors that plagued his mind—endless nightmares that promised nothing but anguish—suddenly came crashing to a halt at the sight of you. So pretty in your denim jeans and velvet top. An angel seated in the center of a bar that held more filth than you deserved to be near. Logan couldn’t fathom that luck struck him this hard.
Not when death had already claimed his soul; notched yet another tally in the endless wall of people that came before.
He felt the dirt pack under his nails as he clawed his way out of the grave he put himself in. Years spent alone—a man lost to the ravages of time—had turned him bitter. With rough edges and biting words that stung far more than he intended. How could he believe he deserved to live after he contributed so much to the endless pool of blood that tainted his soul? How was he allowed such softness after biting off bits of brutality his whole life?
Logan was pretty sure he survived on borrowed time that had already run out. He could feel death breathe down his neck as the days went on. A reminder that what little of his life remained would be spent suffering. And he found that accepting it was easier than battling against the will of God, or whoever toyed with his lifeline.
It was far easier to die than find a reason to live.
Until you said his name.
Softly. Sweetly. Reverence wrapped in a tight grasp of need.
You brought him back from the edge—took his hand and refused to take no for an answer. You and the safety of your touch; the promise in your kiss. You dragged him into a life he didn’t earn; one that almost tasted too sweet—too sour.
After near a decade of being buried beneath the dirt, he felt himself collapse above ground and suck in his first real gasp of fresh air. Alive, once more. Hell spit him out with a vow of love and who was he to argue against it.
His fingers dug into your plush thighs, tugging them open to see what lay between. He marveled at their softness, eyes wide and awestruck at the sight of you spread beneath him. You practically glowed in the dim light of the bedside table. Yellow, musty, yet angelic when it caressed your body with its heavenly touch.
He wondered if this was real life; your nails digging sharply into his shoulders gave him the answer.
"Logan," you sighed, voice high with need.
The strings pulled taught. A vice like hold that drew him to you.
Maybe that's what this unutterable feeling was. The gnawing pit at the bottom of his heart. A greed he'd never indulged before—too afraid of what it might ask for next. He wasn't a man who asked for much. Rather someone that found himself far too content with nothing. But tonight he found his lips forming the words of a false prayer that his mother taught him as a child.
Hail the angel in his bed. Hail every good fucking thing you brought into his life.
His teeth sunk into your thigh, body jolting at your responding moan. Fingers dug into his hair, tugging at the mussed locks with a high pitched whine. You were a needy little thing, but Logan found he desperately wanted to be needed.
He smiled laving his tongue over the tender spot, working his way up to where you dripped for him.
So slick. So perfect.
Saliva filled his mouth. "What do ya want baby?"
Your chest heaved; he could feel the heat of your body under his palms. "Your m-mouth Logan."
His eyes trailed along your brow covered in a sheen of sweat. The room was thick with the humid air of the outside world. But that didn't deter him from craving your skin near his. The pressure of your thighs around his head a welcome weight. If he sunk his teeth in where the curve of your leg met your hip he knew he could draw out that soft choking noise he longed to hear on days spent driving alone.
If he had his way he'd crawl into you to seek your serenity straight from the source. He'd never divulge about the ache that chewed him up on the inside, but Logan wondered if you knew. Could you tell how much he craved you? How much he couldn't live without you.
When your glittering eyes met his, the resolve he spent years building cracked like glass. You peered into him as if he was a stained glass window. A god you were more than happy to worship.
"You want me to lick this pretty pussy?" Fuck, he sounded drunk off your taste already.
His mouth hovered over your throbbing clit, your scent now filling his senses. Overwhelming him with what he wanted most. But he needed to hear it. The lilt of your begging; the soft echo of your need that washed over him like soothing river water.
He couldn't live without it.
"Yes," you sobbed, thigh twitching.
The string sliced his heart open, blood pooling onto the white bed sheets. Oh what a sweet death your love made. Oh...what a bittersweet way to go.
He'd die right now if you asked him to. Hand over his heart on a silver platter if you so wished it. Maybe that made him far too gone for his own good, but Logan couldn't remember a time in his life where he got this. Safety. The hope of love burning far too bright and far too hot for him to fly near it.
Yet there he was. Icarus happily soaring in your sun like glow.
"I got ya honey," he murmured. "Gonna take care of what's mine."
You nodded frantically—tears welling up in your eyes. "You take care of me Logan."
The breath in his chest stuttered, eyes dark as the words fell past your swollen lips. He wanted to explain why his cock twitched against his stomach. Why he now leaked into the sheet with heavy panted breaths. But every time he came up short with the words needed to form an answer.
"Yeah I do sweetheart," he breathed. "Don't I?"
"Uh-huh."
"Take care of what belongs to me."
There was no warning when his hands dragged you closer with a rough tug, mouth closing over your clit with a desperate suck. A cry wrenched from your mouth, sparks sharply traveling down your spine. He licked through your slick with a growl. Hands an unbreakable press against your thighs.
The sight of your body bowed, mouth open for small gasped breaths that never came, snapped something in his mind. He was an old man. Well past his years. But the taste of your pussy along his tongue brought back a ferocity he often tamped down in his younger age. He felt the feral want claw at his chest, and answered it with a broken snarl.
Swallowing down every drop you gave him, he plunged his tongue into your entrance, thrusting messily until a smear of your shiny slick began to coat his mouth. It covered his cheeks and clung to the hair of his beard. He'd clean it out later, taste you on his tongue until he was aching for another go. But for now he was preoccupied with the way you cried for him.
"Oh fuck!" Your thighs trembled over his shoulders, hips canting down to drag yourself along his tongue. "So good."
He shuddered, eyes rolling back at the sound of your praise. You caught it within seconds, lips pulling into a breathless smile that left him gasping for air. His teeth nipped at your thigh briefly as his hips ground into the mattress below.
"You like that baby?" you breathed, thumb smearing your own slick against his cheek.
Something hot washed over his body. A needy sick and twisted ache that he'd never indulged in before. He wanted to be a good man to you; longed to be needed. And fuck if you didn't give him everything.
You were his walking wet dream. His future handed off and wrapped in a neat little bow.
"L-Love your tongue Logan-" A high gasp tore from your throat when he dived back in. Slurping at your clit with a heady moan as you dragged him closer. "Taking care of me so well."
His hips canted down into the bed, fucking his cock along the warmth of his stomach, as you gushed into his mouth again. Eyes zeroed in on your face, pupils dilated as he growled into your flesh. You no longer could see the man you loved, but the feral side he tamped down during the day. The animal he longed to release in your presence.
"Fuck I'm gonna cum."
His arms looped around your thighs and with a sharp yank, he had his face buried deep enough to suffocate himself. You sobbed an incoherent version of his name. Nails clawed at his shoulders, but Logan could feel the pulse of your clit under his tongue.
He sucked it into his mouth with a grunt, rolling it along his tongue as you trembled with the oncoming shocks of an orgasm that threatened to destroy you.
Tears dripped down your cheeks and Logan felt the satisfying part of his heart begin to stitch itself back together. The strings were tight enough to numb his pain. To quell the flare of agony.
That used to be all he knew, all he counted on most days. When there was nothing left and he'd propped the shovel in the dirt—his grave open and waiting—he stumbled right into your arms. He found his reason for living.
Heat curled around his spine as you shook with the impending orgasm—the stimulation on your clit practically debilitating. He grunted into your soaked flesh, eyes narrowed as he chased the release that pulled his stomach taut. But this wasn't for him to indulge in; this wasn't his pleasure.
So with a throaty moan you felt reverberate along your body, he scraped his teeth along your clit and watched as your body went stiff.
"Logan!" you cried, fingers scrambling for purchase on any part of him you could reach.
You gushed into his awaiting mouth, praises of it's so good, you're so good falling upon his ears like the whimpered prayers of a devout worshiper thanking your god.
"Taste so fuckin' good," he mumbled, drunk on what you gave him.
He didn't care that you were jolting with each pass of his tongue along your pussy. He didn't care that you were shocked with overstimulation, small broken cries of his name muffled by the press of your thighs against his ears. He licked at you until he couldn't breathe. Buried his tongue into your twitching entrance and sucked out your cum with a happy hum.
"P-Please." You tugged at his hair, pulling him off you with a sob. "I-I can't anymore Logan."
"'M not fuckin' finished," he said, eyes glazed and face coated in your slick.
You made a mess of his face. The light catching along where you spilled into his mouth and along his throat. And still he wanted more. He'd spend hours between your thighs, burning your skin with his beard, if it meant he could divulge in your sweetness.
"It hurts-"
A grunt rumbled in his chest, his arms tugging you back even as your feet kicked along his back. "Just one more honey. Yeah?"
You shook your head. "B-But-"
"Thought you said it was good."
"It is."
"Then lemme be good for you." He wanted to tell you that the world went quiet between your thighs. That all his grief, all his pain, lessened when you sobbed his name.
He wanted to show you the string that looped his heart to yours—the only thing keeping him alive—and thank you for bringing him back from the dead. But words weren't his forte. Violence had become the only tenderness he knew and you didn't deserve the rough edges of an old man. You should have more.
But when you let him touch you like this—caress your skin and lick between your folds—he felt as if he was a man who finally was worthy of someone as precious as you. He could pretend he didn't bear the brunt of a fucked up soul.
The weight on his chest lifted when your tear filled gaze met his and you nodded. Small, barely there, but it was enough for him to seal his mouth back over you with a ragged moan. Your body shook as his tongue slid through the seam of your pussy. The tip nudging against your clit—careful to draw the pleasure from your body slowly.
He didn't want to give you pain. His heart wouldn't survive that. But he was a broken man; someone who begged for more even as his teeth sunk into what was already given.
You were his meal. His sacrament in the midnight hours until dawn broke across the darkened sky. You were the other half of his soul.
How could he not indulge in your sweetened tang until his tongue went stiff?
"I love you," you sighed, eyes rolled back when he sucked at your pussy, a wet low moan echoing in the air. "My p-perfect husband."
The cold press of his wedding band against your thigh drove him over the edge. You weren't officially married. Didn't have the backyard wedding with a preacher to match. But Logan had placed a ring on your finger near a year ago, sliding one over his own with the vow of forever cemented in his words.
Even if that didn't mean much in the eyes of a god who abandoned him near a century ago.
"Oh-"
Your head tipped back, mouth dropping open as his fingers dipped into your wet heat. Thrusting lazily until he found the spongey patch along your walls—driving the pad of his middle finger into it with a needy moan.
He knew it wouldn't take long for you to fly off the edge of a second release. That didn't make watching you climb to that peak any less satisfying. The sight appeased his soul. It gave him a chance to breathe; let him know that after so much bad—after so much pain—he could do something good. He could bring you to the edge of pleasure and drag you over again and again.
He could finally be the man you believed he was.
Not the animal they created.
"C'mon," he muttered. Eyes fixed on the shape of your breasts as your body curved off the bed. Hips dragging along his face with a stunted cry.
A wail bounced off the walls, piercing his eardrums with the symphony of your cries. His fingers rapidly pumped into you with a squelch that had heat burning his cheeks—lips pulling your throbbing clit into his mouth as you broke. The climax slammed into you; battering your already swollen pussy.
Logan could feel his cock swell at the sight.
"Fuckin' perfect," he grunted, teeth bared as he clambered to his knees and wrapped his fist soaked in your slick around his leaking cock. "'M gonna cum sweetheart."
Your eyes fluttered open, fingers digging into his thigh. "Please. Wanna see it baby. Look so pretty when you cum Logan."
His chest tightened, body shaking while you watched in rapture as he fucked his fist rapidly. He wouldn't fucking last, could feel the burning consume his body, but something held him back. The string around his heart yanked him away from the edge, tearing a cry from his throat when his frustration peaked.
You could see it—the glimmer of need in his dark eyes. This wasn't the first time he longed for your words. It certainly wouldn't be the last.
So you spread your legs and sat up slowly—arms wrapping around his shoulders to bring his lips down to yours. A soft moan was muffled by your mouth; the peak of his release within reach. He could practically feel the tips of his fingers graze it.
"Cover my pussy baby," you mumbled into his mouth. "Be good for me and mark what's yours."
The growl came from the very bottom of his chest when he finally came. Your name was a bitten out snarl pressed to your mouth in an open mouth kiss as he spurted over his knuckles. He pumped his cock to milk every drop; eyes fixed on the way it covered the swollen lips of your pussy. Dripping down to your entrance that fluttered at the sight of his sweaty and crimson tinged face.
"I fuckin' love ya honey," he murmured, hand cupping your chin to drag your lips back to his. "Best thing that's happened in my life is you."
You smiled, thumbs pressing to his cheeks. "Love you too Logan."
Clutching you close, he felt the string go loose. The breath finally rushing back into his lungs at the sight of your eyes glowing with the kind of light that brought him back to the first day The night he met you in that shitty bar—alcohol the only thing on his mind until he saw you.
The night you spoke his name over his covered grave and dragged him back to life with a smile.
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ak319 · 2 months ago
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Yan Regent Consort x fem reader
Headcanon
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(Warnings: This story contains matriarchal themes, fem dom such as mpreg, fem dominated world, role reversal, and BXG pairing! Yes, it's a boy x girl, so don't interact if you are not comfortable!!)
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Xu Junlai was a boy who held different roles in the eyes of others, son to some, friend to some, an object of admiration or envy to others. He was born into a family of five sons and two daughters. His mother, Xu Huang, served as a minister in the court, while his father, Xu... well, he wasn’t married into the Xu family, he was merely a concubine of Junlai’s mother. Because of this, Junlai never received familial love, not from his step-siblings and not even from his mother, who was always either too busy or uninterested in family matters. Her absence from his life gave his brothers free rein to treat him as they pleased.
His oldest sibling was his sister, Xu Tai, whom everyone feared. She didn’t particularly dote on him, but she maintained order in the household whenever she returned from her training and service in the army. Xu Tai had high ambitions for the country, aspiring one day to become a commander or much better a General. His other sister, Xu Ai, was studying to be a scholar; she was a year older than Junlai, who himself was the second youngest in the family.
Junlai had long learned that if he didn’t stand up for himself and speak for himself, he would live a life of misery and eventually die alone, perhaps with no one to mourn his passing. So, he did speak for himself when necessary. A hard life had forced him into this role. It wasn’t as if anyone liked him before, or that he had earned any respect, so what was there to lose?
He had passions that he quietly pursued, calligraphy, reading books, sneakily borrowing them from Tai’s library at the estate and, most importantly, dancing. Yet he was made fun of, and ridiculed for his interests.
“Your father was a prostitute, and you doing this seems to scream that you are on the same path. You disgrace,” his stepfather, Xu Fen, sneered. But his words never truly hurt Junlai.
“But your sons are learning such skills too. Are they on the same path?”
“THEY ARE NOT! They are doing that so that when the time arises, they will be presented to the court for the new Empress and her harem. That is where their skills will shine; being a Xu, that is inevitable. You, however…”
“Mother may not have married my father, but she openly acknowledged that I have been granted the name Xu.”
“So? What are you--oh--so you want to enter the court? That might be the funniest thing I’ve heard this week. Part of the reason your presence here is sometimes bearable. Have you seen yourself? There is nothing graceful about you, such venomous features, that blank face, eyes like a devil’s. You are someone any woman would avoid, not bed.” Fen’s cackles echoed in the distance as Junlai stood in the garden, his usual blank expression firmly in place.
The court? But he didn’t desire any of that. That was a life of hell. As if my life is better now... Harem or no harem, at least he could demonstrate his skills and take a jab at his useless brothers. Perhaps that was the most thrilling part of it all. There was absolutely no chance that an Empress or even the Emperor Dowager would allow the son of a prostitute to enter the harem.
So, Junlai practised night after night, in the empty hall that felt both sacred and suffocating. The flickering candles cast shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls, whispering secrets of long-forgotten elegance. The sound of anklets chimed like distant bells, while the rustle of silken fabric filled the air, wrapping around him like a lover’s embrace. In the dim light, his body became a fluid extension of art, each movement imbued with a haunting beauty that could draw anyone into his graceful orbit. And perhaps, just perhaps, the voice that emerged from his lips was powerful enough to ensnare even the coldest of hearts.
But one fateful night, when he miraculously received permission from his mother to join the ceremony, everything changed. Three of his brothers discovered him lost in his usual routine, an ethereal vision in the half-light. As always, he expected their laughter, their scorn, but no... that night, the hall, once a sanctuary, transformed into a chamber of horrors.
Instead of melodies, the air was filled with his screams as they pinned him down, the laughter of his brothers echoing like a dark symphony. They poured scalding water over his feet, the pain searing through him, brutal and unrelenting--just a week before the ceremony.
═════ ◈ ═════
The day of the ceremony arrived, and you, the new Empress, had only been on the throne for a year after successfully defeating your sisters for the throne. However you were overwhelmed by the throng of men entering your court, you sat in silence, your mind already planning the next day's work while subtly noting the movements and behaviours of your court members.
The musical festivities began, likely your father's favorite part, as it allowed him to exert his influence over the affairs of the men. You had little energy to deal with such trivialities, and the classification of men in this way unsettled you. Your mother was deeply involved in it all, and you loathed the thought of it.
"Those are the sons of the Xu family, good-looking, aren't they?" your father remarked, his voice dripping with expectation. Your head snapped to his direction, and for a fleeting moment, you glanced at the display before you.
“Um, yes,” you replied, your tone devoid of enthusiasm.
Your father internally rolled his eyes at your lacklustre response. You might have bedded a few men and have a son with one of the concubines, but it was clear you weren’t taking any of them seriously. 'This idiot daughter of mine, clearly not worried about not having an heir still. By now your mother would have had three-'
"They came for you, so at least enjoy it a bit. If you prefer any changes, the music, the dance-"
"It's fine, Father. It's fine."
You granted your approval to Xu Huang in the end, an honest minister in your eyes, someone even your mother trusted. Her daughter, Tai, was a formidable warrior, perhaps the first to impress you with her skills.
As dinner commenced, no one anticipated the doors to swing open once more. A lone figure stepped into the hall, drawing everyone's attention, including yours. He was slender, his long hair tousled—surprisingly beautiful even in such disarray. Those eyes of his, empty yet hauntingly deep, bore into yours with an intensity that both intrigued and unsettled you.
His walk was seductive yet exuded an aura of defeat and determination. Silence enveloped the hall, a palpable tension as he stood in the centre, commanding attention. That’s when you noticed his feet, bare and crimson. You were certain that if you looked closer, you would see the dark stains of blood marring his skin.
It felt as though the entire court was holding its breath, waiting for you to question him. Just then, you caught the whisper of Xu Huang, “Son…” from her seat a few feet away.
Her son?
"Are you... Xu’s son?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued.
He nodded.
“Um--your Majesty, he was sick, so he couldn't perform earlier, although his name was registered on the list by me…” Xu Huang explained, her voice steady yet tinged with concern. You responded with a curt nod, your mind racing.
“If you are sick, then you shouldn’t be here,” you asserted, a protective instinct rising within you. You were certain the sickness plagued his feet. There was no way you would allow him to dance under such conditions.
“I want to dance,” he replied, his voice challenging and unwavering.
The spark in his tone caught you off guard. What an odd boy...
“Very well. Then do. I would like to see you dance,” you commanded, a blend of intrigue fluttering in your chest
“Your Majes-” Xu Huang began, but your glare silenced her immediately.
“Begin.”
As the sounds of the pipa and hulusi filled the hall, an almost electric hush fell over the audience. Everyone shifted their attention from their meals to the boy dancing, his presence so captivating that even your father, Wang Hua, sat bewildered. A simmering anger brewed within him as he grappled with his own intrigue. Are you seriously interested in him?
Though Hua possessed some knowledge about the boy, witnessing the fluidity and artistry of his dance made those thoughts melt away. Junlai moved as if in a trance, each motion a hauntingly beautiful expression that stirred something deep within you. The performance was mesmerizing, drawing you into a world that felt both ethereal and painfully real.
The only glimmer of envy and fury came from Junlai’s own brother and step-father, their faces twisted in disdain as they seethed at the spectacle before them. Even the blood that dripped from Junlai’s feet onto the glass-like floor seemed to only heighten their ire. They couldn’t maintain your gaze for even a moment, while Junlai seemed to command the room effortlessly, as if reigning over it with merely a flick of his wrist.
As the final echoes of Junlai’s performance faded, your ears, now deprived of the boy’s beautiful voice, were met once again with a profound silence that enveloped the hall.
Junlai stood with his gaze cast down, a picture of humility, while you rose from the podium, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. A ripple of anticipation swept through the crowd, their eyes wide with curiosity about what would unfold next. To your surprise, the boy barely flinched as you stood before him, towering over his slight frame.
“Name?” you inquired, your voice steady.
“Junlai,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
“And who did this to you...?” You leaned closer, searching his eyes for the truth.
His neutral gaze met yours, and you sensed a flicker of vulnerability beneath his composed exterior.
“People... whom I would rather not talk about on such a glorious day... a day for you, my Majesty.” He lowered himself in a respectful bow, his head tilting downward, yet his posture remained defiantly graceful.
“Is that so...?” you mused, glancing at Naun, your attendant, who stood discreetly behind a pillar to your left. She nodded subtly, understanding the unspoken command in your gaze.
This boy not only is now part of your harem but...your choice for the night.
You were resolute, you would not entertain the other sons of the Xu family. What need had you for them? Junlai’s dance eclipsed all of theirs combined, a testament to his raw talent and spirit. You were not greedy, you simply sought the best. And he was not only the best but also intriguingly peculiar, a captivating boy you were eager to indulge in and explore further.
As you crawled on top of him, Junlai had been cleaned and prepared for your gaze, yet a small part of you missed his disheveled appearance, the wild, untamed beauty that spoke of his struggles. You soothed yourself with the reminder that he would soon return to that captivating state.
“When I asked you about the culprits, you didn’t name them. You don’t want me to punish them?” you murmured, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, relishing the softness of his skin as he leaned into your rough hand.
“But you already have... by choosing me,” he replied, a hint of defiance in his voice. You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound deep and rich. “You are... something, you know. I have never encountered a boy like you... but I always wanted to.”
“I never wanted this... to be in the bed of an empress, in her harem, but here I am…” His words hung in the air, laced with a surprising confidence. Something about you made him bold enough to voice such thoughts. You didn’t seem as cold and cruel as the whispers suggested, those comparisons to your mother fading in the warmth of his gaze.
Your deep chuckle reverberated against his neck, sending shivers coursing through his body. “Oh, how lucky I am then. More fortunate than any empress, for having caught you.” You pulled away slightly to meet his eyes, searching for the flicker of fear, but finding only intrigue. “Being in a harem means being mine, and I take care of what I own.”
“Do you fear me, Junlai?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “You should...."
His heart raced at the challenge in your tone. “I don’t fear you, your Majesty. I only fear what I might become under your rule,” he replied, daring to meet your intense gaze.
“Ah, but isn’t that the thrill of it all?” You leaned in closer, your lips brushing tantalizingly against his ear as you spoke. A gasp left his plump lips as you nibbled on it.
Junlai’s breath quickened as your gaze pierced into him, as if you were seeing not just the boy he was but the depths of his soul. The air thickened with an intoxicating blend of fear and desire. He could feel the heat radiating from your body, enveloping him in a cocoon of both safety and peril.
Your fingers danced down his arm, tracing delicate patterns that ignited his skin, setting his nerves alight. Junlai's breath hitched as he felt the heat of your body press against him, a heady mix of power and vulnerability.
“Do you see how beautifully broken you are?” you continued, your voice low and mesmerizing.
Junlai felt the walls around his heart tremble, caught in the magnetic pull of your words. “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the challenge now tinged with uncertainty.
“Everything.” Your lips curled into a wicked smile, a promise of the chaos to come. “I want your loyalty, your obedience, and most importantly, your heart. I will not only keep you in my harem, I will make you my most cherished treasure.”
As you leaned closer again, your lips tantalizingly brushing against his, he could feel the weight of your intentions, his robe being done deftly by your rough fingers. “Now, are you ready to dance for me?” you asked, your eyes glinting with mischief and hunger."
Junlai nodded, a flicker of excitement igniting within him. At that moment, he was no longer just a boy marked by pain, he was a dancer, ready to twirl and leap into the unknown, to be claimed by you.
═════ ◈ ═════
Junlai sat in the veranda, gazing out at the distant mountains with a forlorn expression, his slender fingers tapping absently on the polished wooden rail. Though the quarters designated for the favored concubine were lavish, adorned with silks and priceless porcelain, the space felt hollow without you. If only he could give you a daughter, the coveted title of consort would be his. The thought flitted through his mind like an unreachable dream. And yet, as the days stretched into months, it was your absence that gnawed at him, leaving him restless and aching.
God, when would you return from the campaign? Two months had passed, each day heavier than the last. He endured the whispers, and the scorn from the other concubines who mocked him for his damaged feet, but he bore it all without flinching. He knew you valued him for his skill, his grace, the things that went beyond mere perfection. You had appointed the empire's finest healers to tend to him, a silent reassurance that he still held a place in your heart.
Even the Emperor Dowager, shrewd and discerning, seemed to favour him, perhaps because he respected his daughter's choices or was mesmerized by his art. Either way, his endorsement granted him a measure of safety within the harem’s hostile world. And yet, safety was far from his mind. He spent sleepless nights worrying about you, imagining the dangers you might face, each possible harm a dagger in his chest. His own safety meant nothing if you were not there, by his side, safe and triumphant. He danced in the empty hall , every night, all night even. His gaze at the marble wall at the end, imagining you sitting in your throne watching his performance. Every word, every step a testimony for your longing. If anyone else saw him at night , they would be scared for their life.
A boy dancing as if he was possessed.
What had he become? Another lovesick boy, a fool just like his father, infatuated, aching, lost to his devotion. He had once vowed never to become so vulnerable, and yet here he was, the intensity of his love binding him more than duty or obligation ever could. He used to revel in this power, at first motivated by pride, even defiance, to show his brothers that he had won something they could never touch. But now, with every beat of his heart, every drop of his blood, he was wholly, helplessly, irrevocably yours.
Although not long ago, one significant shift rippled through the palace, Xu Tai, the skilled warrior whose loyalty you trusted, was now appointed as General. Junlai took comfort in this news. His sister's allegiance was unwavering, and her impressive abilities spoke for themselves. You chose her for her skill and integrity, qualities Junlai respected, and even admired from afar. He knew that with Tai at the helm, your interests, and your life, were in capable hands.
He hadn’t anticipated finding peace in such a development, yet knowing Tai held this position gave him a strange sense of relief. However when he just received a letter from Tai herself, that sense of relief seemed to diminish.
You had been poisoned by an arrow at the battlefield. Thankfully the physician present did their best to take it out but it was unknown if you would come back alive. The news was also sent to the Emperor and eventually spread over the harem and then the country.
The news struck the palace like a tempest. Word spread first as whispers in dimly lit corridors, then as gasps behind silken fans, until eventually, the rumours became cries of despair from every corner of the empire. The Empress has been poisoned, they said, her life teetering on the edge. The harem held its breath, the concubines offering quiet prayers. Yet amidst them all, Junlai felt as though his entire world had shattered.
Days passed in agonizing limbo, and Junlai clung to any scrap of information he could gather. The air in his chambers grew thick with dread, the whispers of the other concubines like needles against his skin. Would she return? Could she survive this? He tried to still his racing heart, to banish the wretched possibilities that plagued him day and night, but his mind clung stubbornly to images of your pale face, the way you looked as he’d last seen you, strong, assured, untouchable.
But now, you were mortal. Wounded. Vulnerable.
He’d never felt so powerless. Each night he would sit in the garden, his injured feet barely feeling the cold stone beneath them as he gazed at the stars, praying fervently for your safety. Let her come back to me, he whispered into the darkness. Take my health, my strength, take anything you want, but let her live.
The news of the looming threat reached the palace in the dead of night, casting a shadow over an already grief-stricken palace. The Chief Minister summoned her closest advisors including Xu Huang, the walls of the council chamber echoing with grave voices as they strategized. The Wei Dynasty had betrayed them, their forces striking not only on the battlefield but now threatening the heart of the empire, taking advantage of your absence. This insidious plot was spearheaded by the rebel leader Guo Wang, a lecherous woman of ruthless ambition and bloodthirsty intent. Her name alone sent ripples of fear through the court, her reputation for savagery preceding her.
The capital was left vulnerable in a way it hadn’t been for years. With Tai, your most loyal and capable General, at your side on the battlefield, and your position as Empress left temporarily vacant, the capital was guarded only by lesser warriors and the remaining commanders, a force barely sufficient for an ambush of this scale.
Junlai’s despair deepened. He had kept his composure in the wake of your injury, holding fast to the hope that you would return to him. But now the looming threat to the capital turned that sorrow into fear and fury. He knew what would come if Guo Wang breached the palace walls, the carnage that woman would wreak upon all in her path. The court, the innocents of the capital, and, he shuddered, the vulnerable harem.
He understood now what his sister had never fully articulated, the key to victory was not in repeating the old ways, but in disrupting the enemy's expectations. And Guo Wang’s forces? They would be expecting the standard defences. They would expect the palace to hide behind walls, women in armour standing guard at every gate. That was their mistake. Junlai knew better. But being a man and more so a mere consort was something that Junlai couldn't change. Nobody would listen to him. Two weeks left before the Guo reaches them even if Tai had sent for backup to the capital, it would have taken them a bit longer to get here.
No, he would not let this slide. The audacity to kill you , trying to take you AWAY FROM HIM!?. He will fucking lay corpses upon corpses of these disgusting pieces of filth. He will BURN EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND!
"I will not rest until I see you fall, Guo Wang..."
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"Mother, please. Trust me. You have to listen-"
"Your only job is to stay here, in the harem, and bear her children! Leave the military and court decisions to the court and the Empress."
Xu Huang froze, his chest tightening at the cold dismissal. His mother, ever so pragmatic, always intent on keeping him within the narrow boundaries of what was deemed acceptable for someone of his position. But tonight, he couldn’t bear it anymore. The years of suffocating silence, the weight of expectations that had been placed on him, all of it came crashing down in a wave of defiance.
"BUT I AM DOING THIS FOR THE EMPRESS!" His voice rang out, sharp and unforgiving. Xu Huang recoiled as if struck, the shock of his outburst still fresh in the air. But his fury only seemed to fuel him further. "Her Majesty’s court, her harem... I will not let some barbarian come in and tear it all apart. And don’t forget it, Mother!" He took a step forward, his voice thick with venom, his eyes burning with a passion he hadn’t allowed himself to show before. The tears were a mask, barely held together by his pride.
"I WILL protect her, and I WILL protect this dynasty."
He let his words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of their implications. He stood taller now, a dangerous glint in his eye, as he moved closer, letting the venomous truth seep into every syllable. "As for bearing children, oh sure, I will. But I won’t do it for you. I’ll do it for ME. For MY future. I’ll be elevated, not you. You will always remain a slave to the system, while I may one day be a part of the Wang dynasty. And you know what that could mean." His voice dropped to a low, almost mocking tone. "How do you think Tai became the General? If I can place someone on the board, I can just as easily toss them out."
There was a flicker of uncertainty in Xu Huang’s eyes at the mention of Tai, but it was quickly masked. He knew the truth, he had no such influence, but the bluff was enough. It was enough to make his mother tremble. The stoic, unflinching woman who had held him back his entire life now looked unsure, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if seeking something to steady herself.
"What are you proposing?" Her voice, cold as ever, betrayed the slight quiver in her tone. She had heard his words, but was she truly willing to listen?
Junlai smirked, the edge of triumph curling at the corners of his lips. "Now, we are talking."
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Junlai had always been more than just a skilled dancer; his mind was a sharp, calculating instrument that never ceased its relentless pursuit of efficiency and innovation. While the others focused on traditional warfare, the old strategies, sieging, ambushing, and brute force, Junlai saw only limitations. What he needed was an advantage that would catch their enemies off guard, something that no one had considered. The answer, as it often was, lay in nature.
Birds.
The idea came to him one evening while he watched the flock of crows circling above the harem. Their wings cutting through the air with precision, their effortless movement, a pattern of chaos within perfect order. It wasn't just the birds that caught his attention, but the fact that they held the power to burn.
In the markets, there had been whispers of incendiary techniques used by distant lands, fire-starting mechanisms using birds trained to carry torches. The court dismissed this concept as superstition, yet to Junlai, it was a brilliant, unrecognised weapon.
Junlai would need to launch the birds at night when the enemy's defences were at their weakest. The element of surprise would be vital, he knew that as soon as the birds were released, they would need to fly directly to their targets, avoiding the natural predators and the dangers of interception. So he had the women train them, following his instructions.
He took advantage of the dark sky, the birds�� natural night-flying abilities, to send them directly into the heart of Guo Wang’s camp. The wind, as if in cooperation with his plan, would be at their backs, ensuring that the fires would spread faster.
The moment the birds were released, the chaos began.
As the trained crows took flight, their wings slicing through the air like silent messengers of destruction, the fire lit up, first softly, then raging. Guo Wang's forces had no warning, no time to react. They watched in horror as the embers from above ignited their tents, their supplies, and worst of all, their weapons.
The women who had been enlisted as fighters, strong in their defiance but unprepared for such an assault, panicked as the fire spread, consuming their weapons and armour. Their leaders scrambled, but the flames had already done the work. The camp was ablaze, confusion and terror rippling through the ranks. The birds had burned their half camp, crippled their supply chain, and taken away the one thing they held most precious, control.
Thus, it made it easier for the soldiers to attack Guo's forces and easily win. Junlai watched with pride as he saw Guo's head impaled and being paraded around inside the castle's walls. A perfect homecoming gift for you. A gift to prove that he was not just a man in your harem, but someone who would do anything to ensure your reign remained unchallenged. Which made him again fall into a pit of worry for your return.
"Her Majesty has returned!" one of the attendants announced, her voice echoing down the hall.
Junlai stood in the corridor of the harem, his heart pounding in his chest. He had not realized how much he had missed you until the news arrived, that you were finally returning from the battlefield, victorious, but at a terrible cost. The victory meant nothing if it came at the cost of your well-being.
He watched from the shadows with along with other concubines as you entered, your face a bit pale but overall with no less than a sturdy and imperial aura. Your steps echoed in the hall as you greeted your father, your son and for a fleeting moment, met his gaze.
His mind was torn between wanting to rush to you and knowing that you would hate such an open display. So, he waited, watching, every fibre of his being aching to be near you.
And you called him finally, after two painful days.
"I... Your Majesty," Junlai's voice cracked slightly, betraying his calm facade. He couldn't hide the flood of emotions that coursed through him, the concern, the longing, the worry. He took another step closer, his voice low, "You came back... but how long will it take until you're truly well again?"
You always held yourself in such high regard, and the idea of being seen as anything less than the Empress was a bitter pill to swallow.
"I am better," you said, your tone firm, but Junlai could see the exhaustion etched into your features. "The battle was won, and my soldiers did well. That's enough for me."
Junlai stood in front of you now, so close that he could reach out and touch you if he dared. His gaze softened even further, and for a moment, the two of you simply stood there, him staring into your eyes, his heart heavy with the thoughts he didn’t dare speak aloud. Then he was finally graced with your embrace causing him to breakdown.
"Whatever it takes. Just... don’t push yourself too hard. You need rest." He whispered getting his act together.
You gestured for him to sat beside you on the bed. "I heard from Father...about what you did." He gulped, his form of being just...a boy in love under your gaze.
"I... I just... couldn't-- I had to! I did it all in fear of what might... happen..." You raised his chin.
"You didn't do it for love, then?"
"Of course I did! I did it for you only!" He grasped your hand against his cheek, his eyes filling with tears, his voice breaking at every word. "You... have no idea... what... torture it was for me to live after knowing that happened to you... my Queen. It was worse than death itself."
A hint of a smile graced your lips. "I am proud of you. I am... proud of my choice too..." You gazed lovingly at his face and wiped his tears, pulling his frail body to your chest. "Tai told me you... always had an interest in warfare... sneaked in to read her books."
His heart stopped. His sister... knew? All this time... she did? Yet she...
"Um... I--- yes." His whole body shivered when your deep chuckle traveled to every cell in his body.
"I have made a... decision."
His hands fisted your tunic in anticipation. "You will be the Regent consort here when I am away. You will manage the harem, manage the safety of the capital, it's people. Charities and all."
Junlai’s heart skipped a beat. His initial instinct was to deny, to say that it was nothing, that he just did his duty and wanted nothing more than to be a mere slave to your love. But the way you spoke to him with a glint of respect, of something more than just duty, it made him pause.
You saw him. Truly saw him.
He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the trembling in his hands, the heat in his chest. Regent consort. The title echoed in his mind like a promise, like a dream he had never dared to imagine. No man had ever had it...it didn't even exist until now. He would be the first man in history to have that. He will be known by every generation to come..
"But--but I... I don't deserve it," he stammered, the weight of your approval sinking into him. "I am... only a concubine, someone who had no right to such a role. You shouldn't place such responsibility on me."
You leaned closer, your fingers brushing against his cheek in a tender gesture, lifting his gaze with a gentle but firm pressure. "You don’t need to deserve it, Junlai," you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of your conviction. "You have already proven your loyalty, your cunning, and your heart."
You emphasized with a small but significant shift in tone, "You are my mind in the harem. You will ensure that my absence does not shake the foundations of this dynasty. You will stand guard over the people, the capital... everything I’ve worked for."
Junlai’s hands clenched tighter around your tunic as he processed the weight of your words. The enormity of the role, the responsibility, it was almost too much. But the way you spoke, the way you believed in him, gave him a strength he didn’t know he had.
"Are you afraid?" you asked, your voice soft but direct, your eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his knees weak.
He paused, feeling a swirl of emotions churn in his chest. Fear. Desire. Ambition. Hope. They all mixed together until he couldn’t tell where one feeling ended and another began. But he was honest with you, always. "Yes," he said simply. "I am afraid. But if it means standing by your side... I will do whatever it takes."
You smiled at him, a slow, dangerous smile that made his breath catch in his throat. "Good," you said, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a low murmur and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.
He had never imagined that the harem would become more than just a gilded cage. He had never imagined that he would be the one trusted to hold the reins when you were away. But now, it felt like everything was changing.
He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there was none. Only a quiet confidence that he knew, deep down, was meant for him.
"I won’t let you down," he whispered, his voice steady with determination, even as the weight of his new role settled over him like a mantle. "I will protect everything you’ve built, Empress. And I will make sure that no one dares challenge your rule."
You let out a satisfied sigh, your fingers trailing down the length of his arm as you leaned back, taking in the sight of him, your trusted consort, your mind in the harem.
His eyes softened, and for the first time since the battle, since everything had changed, he felt a flicker of peace settle in his chest. There was no going back now. But for the first time, he didn’t want to. He had you. And that was all that mattered.
Junlai leaned into you then, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath steadying as he let himself savor the moment, the moment where everything shifted, where he was no longer just a boy in your harem but the one who would protect everything you held dear.
Though, he mustn't forget one last thing~~
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"Ju-nlai?" Xu Fen stammered, his face twisting into an expression of disbelief. The boy, no, the boy, who once knelt before him, who had suffered beneath his cruelty, now stood in front of him as a figure that exuded nothing but cold authority. The sight rattled Fen to his core.
Junlai’s gaze locked onto him, dead and distant, as though he were staring through him. “I came to meet my brothers,” he said, his voice as calm as the still waters of a lake, but carrying the weight of a storm hidden just beneath the surface.
“Oh really? Why is that?” Fen’s words dripped with thinly veiled disdain, though his insides were anything but calm. He took a cautious step backward, uncertain of what Junlai intended. The boy had always been an afterthought, a lesser player in the family’s schemes. But that had changed, and Fen knew it.
Junlai’s eyes flickered over the room, moving like cold knives, and finally settled on the women standing behind him. His gaze was hollow, merciless. “Are you going to bring them out, or...?" His words trailed off, but the implication was clear. He wasn’t asking, he was commanding. His tone had a chilling finality, as though the fate of everyone in that room rested solely in his hands now.
Fen felt the air constrict around him, the tension thickening with each passing second. He swallowed hard, unable to hide his discomfort. With a reluctant sigh and a sour expression, he turned on his heel and went to summon the others, though it pained him to do so. He knew it was futile to resist. The man who stood in his mansion now was not the boy he had once controlled but something far more dangerous.
Minutes passed, each one dragging as Fen stood nervously, but when the Xu brothers arrived, they entered with a mixture of curiosity and defiance. They were offended, of course, by Junlai’s sudden appearance, but there was a deeper undercurrent of fear in their eyes
"Same as always..." Junlai murmured to himself, but his smile, if it could even be called that, was something else entirely. It was a sharp, knowing grin, filled with something dangerous. His voice rose, becoming almost melodic in its dark amusement. "Which is going to make it more fun!"
For the first time in the Xu household, the black sheep of the family, Junlai, let out a laugh, but it was no ordinary laugh. It was a hollow, manic laugh that seemed to echo off the walls. The sound was unsettling, almost inhuman, a reminder of the twisted journey that had led him to this moment.
Junlai’s eyes never left them as he spoke again, his voice low and chilling. “You see… I’ve come to remind you what happens when you think you can break me. You’ve burned me before… but now, I’m going to return the favour.”
Fen’s heart skipped a beat. He had always thought he could control Junlai, keep him beneath his bootheel. He had been wrong.
“Now, I think it’s time for you to understand what it feels like.”
It took one subtle gesture from Junlai and the guards moved quickly, and efficiently, grabbing the Xu brothers and laying them down on the floor. Their hands were bound, their legs spread wide, and Junlai’s eyes glinted with a dangerous gleam as he stepped closer, his boots making a soft but deliberate thud with each step. The room seemed to grow colder.
"No--p-please...forgive them...NO! I BEG YOU!" Fen's voice mixed with his son's pleas as well which earned him a slap from Junlai. That was all it took to reduce them to sobs and whimpers.
"Shut your fucking mouth, whore. And watch." He dug his hands into Fen's hair and steadied him beside himself. "Look, how cute they look." He giggled.
The guard poured more water onto the brothers' feet, the boiling liquid now bubbling and splashing as it engulfed their limbs. The screams grew louder, desperate. One of the brothers jerked against his restraints, his body writhing in pain, but there was nowhere to go. Fen could hear their flesh sizzling, the sound of raw skin peeling and blistering under the scalding heat. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He had put them through this once before. Now it was his turn to witness the consequences. God, he always loved fire and its power. In fact, he began to see himself in it. Agile, dangerous, unyielding and most importantly, passionate when it came to you.
Fen watched, trembling, as the heat of the water burned into the skin of his sons. Junlai stood tall, his form casting a long shadow over the brothers writhing in pain, and spoke in a voice that resonated with unrelenting authority: “Let this be a reminder, boys." As he turned to leave, his guards following behind him, the sound of his laughter lingered in the air, a dark, triumphant melody that filled the hearts of those who heard it with dread.
Now is the turn of some concubines who have been acting up recently in your absence. Surely, they won't mind a little visit, right?
"Everyone stresses out your father soo much, don't they?" He cooed , caressing his flat abdomen as he settled in the carriage.
Nevertheless, it's all entertainment for him.
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rqnarok · 4 months ago
Text
MOTIVE | dark!old man!logan x fem!reader
summary: strangers-with-benefits!old man!logan punishes you out of his jealousy.
— sequel to bed chem but could be read as a standalone!
content warnings/tags: smut! mdni. porn with little plot. old man!logan. unspecified age gap. dom!logan. sub!reader. possessive & jealous logan. pet names (kid, kiddo, little girl, etc). unprotected p in v. power dynamics. cnc. heavy breeding kink. barely proofread. wc: 2,6k 
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You didn’t think Logan would care—or notice, even. 
This thing between you and him has been going on for months now. He picks you up from the diner you’re working at, drives you home (his house), then fucks you stupid throughout the after-hours. 
The sex is everything you have craved for, really, “Ya’ need a real man to do this shit, huh?” A real man who does all the work and stuffs you up with his cock until you’re only speaking in high-pitched whines.
But aside from that fact, something is missing. Something your big heart always had craved, something he failed to fill.
The lack of attention and affection.
Outside intercourses, he barely talks to you. He departs from the bed after every time you fall asleep—or when he thinks that you’re already asleep. Sometimes, he takes you back to your house in the morning, sometimes he just leaves you in his vacant residence. 
All bare and worn out.
You’d rest your head on his chest in the dim room, drawing shapes on his naked skin, “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.” 
The tips of his fingers subtly stroke the crown of your head, a light touch you can barely feel, “Go t’sleep, kid.”  
It’s too unstable and lacks consistency.
That is when you start talking, well specifically, messaging, a friend of a friend, someone around your age. You are not even attracted to him but he’s nice. He gives you attention and affection you hardly even register. But hey, you just want your big heart loaded up. No one can ever blame you.
What you didn’t know is that Logan notices everything. He notices how you start to sleep more later than usual, playing with your phone for a while. How your lips curve upwards at the glowy screen when you thought that he already left the room. Making him utter a question into the cold air, “What’re you lookin’ at?” 
Strangled, your phone falls into the sheets that cover your bare form, “N-nothing, really. Just texting my girlfriends.”
And Logan knows you’re fuckin’ lying right to his face. Because he remembers you told him one time in the beginning: “Sometimes I feel lonely at night. None of my friends are a night owl like me, y’know?” He fuckin’ remembers it all. 
On a random Friday, he decided he had known enough. He drives his way to your diner and there you are. Sitting too close to his liking with some fuckin’ boy; the way those giggles left your lips makes his stomach turn. 
You didn’t know that he was sitting in his car the whole time because he never visited you on a Friday night: “Gotta do somethin’” 
But there he was, gripping the steering wheel too tightly his knuckles turned white. Muttering curse after curse under his heavy breath. Playing over the last few weeks and trying to find what went sideways. But something always went sideways with him. 
He had hoped you would understand that his aloofness was merely a product of his scars and the long life he had lived. But now, seeing you in your apron whilst smiling at another man and pouring Logan's favorite black coffee—he wished he hadn’t been so cold towards you. 
What would he do without you? What would he do if you decided that you didn’t want some old man n’picked that boy? He shakes his head lightly, no, Logan needs you. 
The thought of you leaving him makes him fucking sick and he decided to do something ‘bout it.  
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By something, he means having you on his bed, naked and splayed bare in front of him as he laps up and down your dripping pussy. 
“Pussy loves me so much, huh?” Logan murmurs as he squeezes your thighs that clamped around his neck, making you hum a mhmm to the pillow beside you.
Logan’s thick fingers eagerly stroke your clit while he continues licking your folds, earning soft mewls as your head tilts back in pleasure, “Ah- ‘M so close..!” 
“Doin’ so good for your old man.” You’re moaning and gripping his greying hair while you squirm on the sheets, rolling your hips down on his face.
You were so so so close to getting your orgasm before he abruptly pulled away and stood back up on his feet. Taking you by surprise. Delaying you. 
“W-what?”  Your head is still overflowing with your high when you watch him drape his way into the nearest armchair and put on his glasses as he reaches for today’s newspaper. As if he didn’t just have his tongue deep inside you a minute ago. 
Just as you try to catch your breath, you slowly get up in a sitting position to gape at him with your flushed cheeks and aroused body. You were so close and you need him back now. 
After a minute, you begin to notice how he grips the newsprint too tensely, how his brows furrowed and his nose wrinkled, how he keeps clenching his jaw on repeat, and how he looks furious and grumpy.
Something’s up. 
“L-Logan?” You call out to him. He clenched his jaw one more time until he could not contain his anger anymore. 
He takes off his glasses in a harsh tug and stares directly at you, “Are you fuckin’ him?” 
The way he looks at you sends electricity into your core, you feel like a deer caught in a headlight, “W-wha—who are you talking about?”
When he gets up from his seat, you can see the bulge on his pants, his stare still burning into you as if a predator catching its prey, “Fuck. That fuckin’ boy from the diner. Did ya’ let him touch what’s mine?” 
Oh. 
Oh.
He’s talking about your ‘friend of a friend’. How did he find that out? You began to wonder in silence. 
You gulp as he gets closer and closer into the bed, making you push your back onto the headboard subconsciously, “Oh- no, no, he— he’s just a friend, Logan.”
He isn’t satisfied with that answer, you know this because the bed squeaks out a creaking sound when he gets his whole weight on the bed, latching and trapping you, “Ya’ thought about leaving me, kiddo?” He rumbles as he squishes your face cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, looking at you sternly as if he’s scolding a misbehaved child, “Thought about leavin’ your old man?”
“N-no!  Never!—” You’re being honest! You would never leave him…you just needed a little more. By sensing his rage that radiates the entire room, you try your best to stare back at him with your doe-eyes, a look that never fails to weaken down his knees.
Then, you build up the courage to cradle his face with your soft palms and stroke his beard, focusing on the greying parts. “Just a friend, Logan. ‘Would never leave you.” Your voice comes out as a whisper but it successfully eases him down. You can hear his breath steadying after a while. 
He closes his eyes as he lurks forward towards you, greedily locking his lips onto yours, “Was so fuckin’ mad.” As he pulls away to mumble, you keep pampering kisses on his face—to assure him that you do want him and him only. 
He pulls down his pants and lets his cock spring free to his stomach. A sight of pre-cum on his heavy tip and the grith of his fat cock makes you cry out. 
Logan trails his hands from your face down and down until he reaches your pussy. It’s still as wet as he delayed it a few moments ago. His calloused finger probes at your entrance, making you whimper into his mouth. 
“This is all f’me, little girl?” He keeps teasing your folds in one hand while pinching your peaking nipples with his other hand. All while still looking at you oh, so hungrily. 
“Y-yes! All for you. No one else—” You fail to finish your sentence when he enters one finger into your heat, placing kisses on your collarbones and mumbling mhmm onto your skin.
You can’t hold it anymore since he delayed your orgasm earlier—you’d do anything, “Pleasepleaseplease, need’a cum, please!” 
The squelching sound of his finger moving in and out, in and out of your cunt didn’t help either. You’re staring at him lust-filled and dumbfounded; you wish he could just read your mind.
“Such a pretty pussy, baby.” He removes his finger and brings it to his mouth, swirling it around his tongue to savor you, “Tastes so sweet too.” 
“Where d’ya want me?”
You whimper pathetically at his words while making grabby hands at him. “I-inside, pleasepleas—” At this point, you don’t even know what you’re begging for.
In fact, you don’t even know anything…
“Don’t got any rubber, kid. Can’t fuck you, y’know?” Logan is fucking a liar. He threw all the condoms he had into the trash bin this morning for this sole purpose. You mumbles a small ‘wha’ into his face because he delays you over and over just for him to delay you again? 
No, no, no—you gotta have him now. 
You look at him like he’s the only man - like nothing matters but him and he’s making you furrow your brows in sadness, in desperation. 
So then,
“I-it’s okay… you can- still-if you want to. I’ll let you.” 
Bingo. 
Just how Logan wants this to go. Because again, out of your awareness, this is how Logan punishes you. For making him so jealous he can barely get any sleep, for pulling away from him the entire week that he can only jerk his cock off to your pink ribboned panties (the one that you left on his house), and for making him think about you every second he’s awake because you’re his air.
He was so fucking pissed—but now, he feels that he had won already. 
“Mhm, no can do, princess. Don’t wan’ you to regret it.” Your face fell into disappointment, can’t he see how much you want this? How much you need him? “‘S alright, yeah?” He says and earns a whiny protest from you. 
Tears begin to build up in your eyes as you stutter over your words. All you’ve got is sobs because you’re so overwhelmed by everything that’s happened tonight. You can only call out his name, trying to get his attention and affection. 
“Logan.” You’re squirming on the bed, wrapping your legs around his hips, pressing his body against yours— making him pull an indifferent look to continue on his act.  
“Next time, alright, kiddo?” He kisses the tip of your nose as a decoy. 
“N-no! Now! Please, Logan. Now, please—” You move your hips upwards and make his tip kiss your wetness. He begins to lose his composure when you wrap your small fingers around his cock. Logan grunts and lurches forward because he’s just an old man who needs you. There’s little he can do.
“Wan’ you inside…” You whisper breathlessly as you move your hands up and down on him the way he loves it, “‘S okay, Dada, I promise.” Your thumb swirls around his cockhead before bringing him closer and closer to where you want him until the tip pushes inside your aching folds, “‘Just pull out, okay?” 
Logan grins at you, showing his wrinkles. Oh, he won’t pull out. He knows he won’t. 
This is the climax of his ‘punishment’. Yes, he’s a bad man, the worst kind of man. But this is his only way to keep you, don’t you see? To make sure you won’t leave him, to make sure shit like yesterday won’t happen again. 
He bumps his nose into yours and kisses your forehead, “Y’sure, baby?” 
And you just let out a ‘yes’ because you just need him so so so badly. He nudges forward, in in in, until he’s buried inside of you—then he kisses your lips again. It’s so hot because he has never fucked you like this before, so raw and deep. After feeling your velvety walls, he knows he will never let you go. 
He starts a cruel pace and jolts you; your cute tits jiggle every time he thrusts inside—he’s sure that you’re made for him, to be with him. Put on this place to be his pretty baby and to have his baby. 
“Ya’ll let that boy do this to ya? Mm?” You shake your head rapidly at his question, hoping he’ll understand. And he does. “T-Tha’ right. Pussy’s glad to see me - loves me.” 
Your eyes squeezed so tight but he can’t stop, not when you’re squelching ‘round him and gripping him as if he’d disappear, “My good little girl - fuck - fuckin’ love you.” He confessed while burying his face on your neck and the only thing he has on his mind is puttin’ a baby in you.
It’s the truth: he loves you. More than anything–more than himself. He just doesn’t know how to show it in a normal way.
He thrusts and thrusts and thrusts—your moan gets louder and louder and louder. Logan takes your hands, interlinking your fingers together and kissing your knuckles.
You make these pathetic little noises, ah ah ahs, and he knows you’re close. Now is the time to do his final act, “Y’know why it feels so good, kid? 
He touching you everywhere: pinching your nipples and holding you by your throat,  “‘S ‘cause you’re fucking a real man, baby.”
“Y-yeah! Jus’ need a man—need you—” Logan nearly cums right there and then when he sees how tears stream down your cheeks as you look up at him in pure admiration—like you worship him. Again, just the way he wanted it.
Your shaky voice as a newborn fawn reminds him what he’s here for, what his punishment is to you.
“F-fuck. Gonna pull out soon, darlin’”
What? It’s too soon for you and your vice grip somehow manages to get stronger around him. He can barely withdraw before you squeeze your walls so deliciously and wrap your legs tighter; ankles locking his hips onto yours.  
“N-no! Don’t- don’t go anywhere— Staystaysta—” Logan sighs in relief. You ate up all his acts. It’s working. 
His palms move to your waist to work himself deeper in you, hitting that gummy spot that he knows will make you sob.
“Wha’dya mean no? Logan asks, “D-don’t wanna knock you up, kiddo.” Oh, but he does! He does. He does. “Gotta pull out. You don’t want that, ‘kay?” 
“I-I do! I do.” You finally plead to him with your soft voice. “I wan’ it..” 
Logan can’t last any second longer but it’s okay because you’re so close to getting to where he wants you.
He snarls a ‘Fuck’ under his breath and, “Gonna get ya’ pregnant, sweets.” His mouth gets to your neck and starts leaving dark bruises on your silky skin, “S’that what you want? My baby, hm?” 
“Yeah.” You squeak up while meeting down his thrusts, “Yeahyeahyea—gimme a baby.” You continue your mindless babble, your brain is empty except for the thoughts of him. “Fill me up, fill me up…” It’s becoming a plea. 
“I’ll fill you up, sweet girl.”
And he’s gone. Lips latching onto yours as you both reach ecstasy. Logan fucks you through it—fucks his seed so deep in you so it fuckin’ takes.
He wished he’d feel guilty as a sick old man for ruining you and your life—but here you are, milking him for all he’s got and telling him that you love him too.
You’re gorgeously unaware that he’s punishing you the entire time; you’re too fucked up when he’s spilling warm ropes of his cum on your walls. He pulls out slowly, staring at the white strings that gush out of your wet hole before plugging himself to make sure it takes.
Logan thinks everything’s fine because he’s got his assurance:  that you’re never going to leave him—that now you’re fully his—and that he has won. 
1K notes · View notes
imaginedanvrs · 4 months ago
Text
show and tell
masterlist
dark!wandanat x reader. sub!wanda, dom!natasha, dom-turned-sub!reader
word count: 2.2k
warnings: cheating, dubcon, undiscussed voyeurism, exhibitionism, size kink, strap on sex (r giving and recieving), mentions of tribbing, praise, degrading, gun play, threats of violence, rough sex, begging, masturbation
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“Too much…y/n- baby,” Wanda panted helplessly. Despite the words she was hardly able to speak, her legs tightened their hold on you whilst you pushed your newest toy deeper. The Sokovian whined as her back arched off of her King sized bed and her fingers clawed into your back. 
  You grinned, gazing down at the beautiful view you had created. “All that power yet you can’t take a few extra inches,” you remarked. “And there I thought this poor neglected pussy would be desperate for it after being left alone for so long,” you continued, drawing your hips back only to thrust in further. She was so close to taking it all, she just needed some extra encouragement. 
  “Please,” she uttered, eyes connecting with your own the way they always did. She was so influenced with lust she was practically at your mercy, so you filled her to the brim with a grunt. “Fuck!” Wanda hissed, nerves ablaze. You felt her slick against your thighs when your pelvises pressed together and acknowledged the signal she was ready. 
  You fucked Wanda like it was the last time you’d do it, because that was always in question. She had an unpredictable life and her marriage was even more so. As though the absence of planning wasn’t challenging enough, the fact that Wanda was married to the world’s best spy (and assassin) was constantly looming over you. 
  “I bet she never makes you feel this way,” you said, watching Wanda’s blissed features as she moaned breathlessly. She looked insatiable when you had her like that, cheeks flushed, hair messed, pupils blown. All from your actions. “You like when I fuck you with this big cock?” You questioned with a smirk, as though you couldn’t hear how wet she was. 
  “I love it,” she cried out, mind frayed. “So good.” She just couldn't help herself. Neither could you. 
  “Better than her?” She met your cocky grin with a mere flash of hesitation before the carefree smile returned. 
  “So competitive,” a voice behind you mused. Your recognition was instant and you didn’t even turn around when you made to scramble out of the bed. You didn’t get the chance. With a distressed whine, Wanda’s magic entangled with your frame and pulled you flush against her until the strap was buried to the hilt once more. 
  “Wanda,” you gasped, unsure if she had heard her wife come in. “Let go,” you hissed as you heard the widow’s boots thud across the floor. Wanda didn’t oblige and instead began to move your hips for you to resume her pleasure. 
  “Stop that,” Natasha demanded and you stilled, unable to escape. “She was just saying how I could never make you feel this way, so by all means, let her go ahead,” she told her wife, gliding her cold fingertips over your hips and pushed you down. You registered Wanda’s hitch at the action. 
  “Please, I-” you tried but the spy wasn’t interested. 
  “Shut the fuck up.” You knew better than to argue with the Russian, especially once she rounded the bed to kiss her wife tenderly. 
  “Welcome home,” Wanda greeted, still very flushed to her wife’s amusement. You eyed the pair warrily, your heart hammering against your chest so hard you felt your ribs bruise. It almost stopped short when Natasha’s glaze turned cold and locked in on you. 
  “Fuck her,” she ordered. You didn’t dare object but had to tear your eyes away as you dutifully began to thrust into the woman beneath you. You focused on Wanda’s sweet noises of pleasure in an attempt to forget your fear, but it was difficult with Natasha’s stalking behind you again. 
  “So you’re the one who’s been fucking my wife while I was saving the world,” she commented casually. “Such a big strap on you too,” Natasha continued as she watched the soaked toy leave Wanda’s pussy only to be driven back in. “Does it make you feel tough to use this on her? How would you feel if I used this nasty cock on you?” You felt Wanda clench around you at her words. 
  “I’m sorry!” You tried again, imagining all of the different weapons that she could be carrying on her. 
  “You’re sorry you were caught,” she corrected. “If you make my wife cum I might consider letting you leave here with all of your limbs,” she considered, delivering a hard smack to your ass. You jolted forwards and heard Wanda cry out, falling into the rhythm Natasha pushed you into in a desperate attempt to please them both. It wasn’t hard, you had fucked Wanda countless times before, but you momentarily regretting bringing such a large toy to use under pressure. Still, it didn’t seem to be an issue for the Sokovian who gasped into your shoulder, peering at her wife with a knowing glint. Unknowingly to you, Natasha winked back with the same smirk she had stripped you of. 
  “ты хорошо себя чувствуешь, дорогая?” You frowned at the Russian’s words, knowing they were directed at Wanda but still feeling like you should know what they say. 
  “Wha-” you turned to question Natasha only to be met with the barrel of her handgun pointed at your head. You instantly cowered away but knew that even if you had tried to leap out of the bed again, it was pointless against the assassin. 
  “так хорошо!” Wanda answered, entirely unphased by the weapon she happened to be in the firing range of. Natasha hummed, seemingly pleased with her partner’s response.
  “I’m not gonna hurt you,” she told you pitifully. “As long as you do what you came here to do.” You figured there wasn’t much point protesting any longer, so you turned back to the woman beneath you and tried to pin all of your focus on her as you usually wouldn't without prompt. Even with a gun pointed at your head, you couldn’t stop admiring how much Wanda looked like some tainted angel that had succumbed to her desires. 
  “Don’t stop,” she called to you. She was breathless, desperate and despite her partner’s looming presence, entirely under your influence. You fucked Wanda relentlessly, just the way you knew she went crazy for until it became hard for you not to grow smug at the sounds you were drawing from her infront of her wife. Soon, the gun became a lingering thought and Wanda returned to the forefront of your mind as she had a habit of doing. 
  “I’m gonna cum,” she announced as your hips slapped against her own. You felt the tension in the room rise accordingly but didn’t let it affect you as you drove your fake cock into Wanda’s pussy harder. 
  “That’s it, fuck,” you encouraged, feeling the harness rub against you with every thrust that Wanda tried to meet. She dug her nails into your back as she came, soaking the toy that she clung to with such might that you had a challenge fucking her through her high. You rocked your hips against her as you coaxed her through her orgasm and felt yourself become impossibly wetter. Her slick was running down both your thighs and you wanted nothing more than to throw the harness off and rub your cunt against her ruined one. Perhaps you might have if it weren’t for the eyes on the both of you. 
  You grinned down at Wanda, your arrogance gradually making its way back until Natasha cut it short by dragging the harness off from your waist, as though she could read your mind. For a moment, you really did wonder if she was going to have you do what you were thinking of, until you noticed her tightening the harness to her own hips with practised ease. Somehow, seeing it on the widow made the strap look bigger. 
  You snapped your head back to Wanda when she began to shuffle herself out from under you and up towards the headboard that she rested against with heavy eyes. You made to follow until the barrel of the gun was pressed into the centre of your back and you were forced back down into the mattress with a grunt. 
  “You think we’re done?” Natasha scoffed. “What do you think, detka?” You peered up at Wanda with wide eyes only to see her fingers had returned to the space between her legs that was still red and leaking. The mischievous glint in her eyes was one you didn’t trust one bit. Your instincts were right. 
  “Make her take it,” the Sokovian husked. 
  “как скажешь,” Natasha replied simply, tossing the unnecessary gun to the side so that she could place both hands on you waist and lift your ass into the air. 
  “Wait,” you tried, knowing how large the toy was and how tight the fit would be. It was rare that you were on the receiving end so you were sure you weren’t ready for such a toy. At least you had worked Wanda up to it. Her wife didn’t seem to care because barely a second passed until you felt the head nudge at your exposed pussy. You could show your fear as much as you wanted, but you all heard the sound of the toy against your wetness. You whined into the bed, accepting you were made. 
  “I bet you wanted this from the start,” Natasha mused, pushing the toy past your reluctant entrance. You held the sheets in a death grip and cried out into the mattress at the immediate stretch. “You just need to be put in your place. Made to feel like the bitch you are,” she spat, pushing inch after inch into your dripping pussy without any consideration. 
  “Please!” You wailed inaudibly, needing a moment to adjust to the intrusion. Apparently you hadn’t earned that yet, because Natasha forced the rest of the toy in with a low groan that was overshadowed by your pleas of protest. It felt like you were being split apart, walls stretched to accommodate the cock you had such a thrill using just minutes prior. Needless to say, that power had been stripped. 
  “What happened, tough guy? Is it too much?” The Russian laughed. You registered Wanda’s breathy moans picking up again. “Too bad.” She drew her hips back only to slam them back into you along with every inch of the toy. You whined, high in your throat, and tried to close your legs but Natasha held them firmly apart. “No, no. Take it all. It’s only fair,” she pointed out, slamming herself against you. 
  The pain was prominent and stubborn, enhanced with every sharp thrust into your cunt that was soaked beyond belief, and you were powerless against it. Your slick only served to allow Natasha to fuck you as hard as she wished as your walls obediently parted for her to reach your depths in ways you had never felt. With that, the pleasure was finally able to peek through the haze of pain. 
  “Such a fucking whore letting me use you like this,” Natasha hissed but you hardly registered her over your burning sensations. She grabbed ahold of your hair and hauled your head up enough for your neck to ache and forced you to stare at her blissed out wife who sat pleasuring herself at your defeat. “You like being turned into a brainless fucktoy?” She asked. You didn’t respond as you looked at Wanda, knowing it would counteract with everything you had ever uttered to her but the harsh slap to your ass rid you of that final secret. 
  “Yes,” you whimpered. At the confession, Wanda fingered herself harder though it was clearly nothing compared to what her wife had you subject to. 
  Natasha’s thrusts were harsh, deliberately pushing as far inside you as she possibly could each time to make you bask in how large the toy was and how much it filled you up. You were stretched out perfectly around the toy, reshaped to take it as much as Natasha pleased. She was cruel, etching the words of ‘slut’ and ‘dumb’ into your mind as she ruined you in every sense of the word. 
  “I know you’re getting close, you’re clenching around me like a desperate bitch in heat,” Natasha told you, feuling Wanda’s arousal. 
  “Make her cum, make her know how good it feels,” the Sokovian called. Natasha huffed.
  “You’re lucky she’s here,” she muttered, clearly having planned on leaving you hanging despite the ruthlessness of the way she pounded into you. 
  Your moans grew along with Wanda’s and a matter of moments later, you were cumming around the unforgiving cock as hard as she had, pushing your own face into the bed to avoid meeting her eye in your moment of complete helplessness. You pushed back against Natasha as you came, desperate to have as much of her inside of you to cling to as your mind went blank. Your chest heaved and the world went quiet as your orgasm rushed through you. It was so much. Too much, all at once. 
  Once the intense waves finally finished crashing over you, you felt a pair of hands lift you up and place you on another body. You couldn't place either of them, too frazzled to tax your brain with the task, but you appreciated the warmth regardless and didn't fight it when a red haze clouded your mind and pulled you into a state of measured unconsciousness.
1K notes · View notes
ivy-elle · 1 month ago
Text
"What are you even talking about?"
Or: How they react to you being overly intoxicated aka drunk af
Feat. Albedo, Scaramouche
Notes: No mentions of vomiting, do not worry
Version ft. Xiao and Kaeya
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“You… are like totally the most beautiful being on this earth. How is that even legal?”
Your drunk-hazed gaze looks up at him, an admiring, nearly even mesmerised expression on your face.
Albedo stifles a surprised laugh behind a cough, his fist concealing his soft smile. “Thank you, y/n. Why don’t you sit down first?”
Obediently, you follow along as he gently guides you to the couch, the slight grin not wanting to leave your face. Even less, when he crouches down in front of you, studying you with intent focus. He can’t help the slight concern slipping into his expression as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face.
Meanwhile, you seem to have the time of your life with him being so close to you, with his gentle touch, like you’re something delicate.
How is it even real that you are able to call him your friend – let alone your partner. Like, your very own!
Just the way his crystal-like eyes follow yours, his shimmering hair catching the faint light of the room, down to how pretty his lips move when he speaks…
Wait. Right. He speaks. Listen.
Focus.
Right.
“If you’re able to eat right now, I suggest getting some carbohydrates into your system, my love,” he explains, gently tilting your face. “That way we can nudge your blood level back to normal again.”
You barely contain a silly giggle at his tender touch. “I’d eat straight-up eat wheat right now if you asked me to.”
Albedo nods, very slowly, his brows furrowing as he ponders about how to handle this situation best. “I see. Well, that’s not quite what I had in mind.” And yet, a part of him can’t help but be fascinated by your responses. “Would you be satisfied with some toast instead?”
You hum airily, but the moment he lifts himself up you feel your face fall into a pout, immediately missing his warmth.
“Wait,” you quickly try to prevent him from leaving. “On second thought – I am not even that hungry. You can keep staying here. Sitting.”
“I will remain here.” He slips his fingers from yours, a smile tugging his lips. “See? I am just across the room.” You should eat something to prevent some serious hungover.”
You watch him quietly, nearly enchanted by his smooth movements as he prepares some snacks, listening to his soothing voice. Has he always had this effect on you? You can’t tell. You can’t even care less right now.
“Personally, I’ve never experienced a hangover myself, but it starts right after the alcohol level in your blood starts to drop. And given your state…” He offers you a plate with some fresh toast and light fruits, “I presume it’s best to take precautions now.”
“Thank you,” you murmur fondly, accepting the plate. To your relief, Albedo joins you on the couch.
“Slowly. Take your time.”
“Maybe I was starving a bit. Archons, this is good.”
Albedo chuckles softly, gently taking your hand in his. You feel his thumb lightly tracing along your wrist before it settles on your pulse.
Your turn toward him, tilting your head in confusion. “I am still alive. I think.”
His eyes crinkle, soft musing laced in his voice. “Yes, I can see that, my love. I am merely checking your heart rate.”
Albedo looks you over and the moment your eyes meet his again, you feel your heart rate slightly quicken beneath his fingers.
His frown turns into a soft smile. “You’re feeling alright?”
“If you keep touching me this way, I’ll feel even better.” You hum, your eyes drifting to his lips.
But before you can follow your impulses, Albedo draws back, gently pushing you back by your shoulder. “Forgive me, love, but I’d rather you be sober first.”
Now you can’t help but pout, your face scrunching up. “That’s a bit excessive.”
Amused but persisting, he shakes his head, but not before leaning in and to place a soft kiss on your temple.
“Eat up. I’ll set up some tea and antidote for your headache.”
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“I see you’ve lost your mind entirely,” Scaramouche remarks dryly as he halts at the doorway.
“Shhh. I need to focus,” you murmur, not even bothering to look up from where you’re lying on the ground. The room is cloaked in darkness - all windows are drawn shut to prevent any lights from falling inside, and disturbing work of art.
Scaramouche’s gaze darts to the perfectly good bed right beside you. Why, in Teyvat’s name, would you prefer the cold, hard floor? Hasn’t his day been eventful enough as it is already?
“Look at this,” you whisper again, and Scaramouche raises an eyebrow as your Electro Vision flickers to life again. His eyes follow your gaze to the ceiling, where charged threads of Electro dance in a chaotic disorder, illuminating the room in soft purple light. But your attention is glued on the lights, absolutely fascinated by this spectacle.
He steps closer, a pinched expression on his face. “Why don’t you-“
Before he can finish, you reach out, snatching his wrist and pulling him down next to you.
“Look!” you repeat once more.
Obviously, you’re only able to actually move him, because he lets you. But he does not lay down on the ground – who do you think he is? Instead, he crouches down next to you, fixing you with a look, like you’ve lost it entirely. His eyes narrow as he notices your abnormally flushed face, grasping that something is not quite right with you.
But you’re completely ignoring his unsettled expression, rather lifting your hand again to tilt his chin upward, directing his to the ceiling. “Listen to the sky, Scara,” you explain in a tone like it’s supposed to clear up everything.
Listen to the sky?
Scaramouche’s eyes dart down to you again, irritation building up inside him now. He dislikes this - having you physically here, but at the same time you not acting like yourself.
“What the hell is going on with you?”
Your eyebrows scrunch up as you turn your head toward him, like you’re pouting that he isn’t taking your lightning show as serious as he should. “You’re always complaining how fake the sky of Teyvat is. So, I recreated it. Now you have your own. Or, my own. Like – ours, I guess.”
For the sake of his pride, Scaramouche quickly schools his face. A strange combination of confusion, irritation and at the same time a strange warmth settles in his chest. His eyes flicker over your slightly dazed features.
“You’re drunk,” he states flatly, trying to sound unbothered.
For that he earns yet another. “Shhh!” This time a small, but sheepish grin tugs at your lips.
For a moment his eyes linger on you, before he tears them away, letting his gaze return to the ceiling. Now that he’s seeing the purple mist of electro from this angle, your perspective…
“How fake can it be, if I created it myself?”
At the sound of your gentle whisper, he feels his resolve weakening, eyes flickering between the charged branches, now finally taking form on the ceiling.
You created … a sky. For him alone.
Then, even softer, as if to not drive him away, you add, “Sometimes you need to be a bit intoxicated to see the world differently.”
Scaramouche stretches his legs out, leaning back on his elbows. “The ground was the best solution you had?” But there is no real bite in his voice, he is way too immersed in the little universe you’ve created in the room.
For him, his own Electro Delusion has always been nothing more than a tool – a means to gain power. To destroy. Yet, here you are again, showing him the other side of the coin, proving, that in destruction lies its own universe of creation.
“You smell nice,” he hears you mutter suddenly, breaking him through his trails of thoughts.
Of course, you’d say something like this right now. Without looking at you, He doesn’t look at you the corner of his mouth twitches. “I know. You, on the other hand, have had better days.”
You gasp, pushing him away lightly. “Rude! I do not smell bad!”
“You reek of alcohol. It’s onerous.”
He hears you grumble something incoherent under your breath, slurring the words into a mess.
Unimpressed, he clicks his tongue. “Consequences of your own actions.”
But as you shift to stand back up, the electro particles above start to dissolve as well. Almost immediately, his hand grabs your wrist, holding you close. “Stay down.”
You stare at him. Then you blink once. Twice. And then a shit-eating-grin spreads on your lips. “Oho! So, you do like my sky. Ha!”
A scoff escapes him as he tries to act nonchalant and averts his eyes back to the ceiling. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I simply prefer not having you stumbling around the room like a drunk sailor, just because you don’t know your limits. Which seem to be quite low.”
You sit back down, not without grouching a quiet “Jerk.”
“Idiot.”
The two of you glare at each other, daring the other to say something. Eventually, you relent, rising your hands and bringing the lighting to life once more.
Scaramouche remains quiet, savouring your presence for a second longer. Before he looks back at the stars again.
Who needs a fake sky, if a whole universe is right there beside him already?
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Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3
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pucksandpower · 4 months ago
Text
Find Me Again
Lando Norris x Reader
Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)
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Alexandria, 30 BC
The scorching Egyptian sun beats down on Alexandria as you hurry through the bustling streets, your sandals slapping against the warm stone. The air is thick with tension — whispers of Octavian’s approaching army have the city on edge. But your mind is elsewhere, focused on the stolen moments you’ll soon share with Lando.
You slip into a secluded alleyway, heart racing as you spot his familiar silhouette. Lando’s face lights up when he sees you, though worry creases his brow.
“There you are,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”
You melt into his embrace, savoring his warmth. “I’m sorry I’m late. The palace has been in chaos with all the rumors flying about.”
Lando’s arms tighten around you. “It’s true then? Octavian draws near?”
You nod against his chest. “I fear so. Cleopatra grows more desperate by the day.”
He pulls back, cupping your face in his calloused hands. His dark eyes search yours intently. “Come away with me,” he pleads. “We can leave the city tonight, find passage on a ship bound for Greece or Cyprus.”
Your heart aches at the longing in his voice. “Lando, you know I can’t abandon my duty to the queen. She needs me now more than ever.”
“And what of my need for you?” Lando’s voice cracks with emotion. “Each day I’m torn between my loyalty to Rome and my love for you. I cannot bear the thought of you in danger when Octavian’s forces arrive.”
You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath your fingers. “My brave soldier,” you murmur. “Always trying to protect me. But I’ve survived far worse than regime changes. We’ll find a way through this, as we always do.”
Lando leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. “I wish I had your optimism. Every time I close my eyes, I see visions of you lying lifeless amidst the chaos of battle.”
A chill runs down your spine despite the oppressive heat. “Don’t speak of such things,” you chide gently. “We make our own fate, remember?”
He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know. I just ... I can’t shake this feeling of impending doom. Promise me you’ll be careful, my love. Promise you’ll do whatever it takes to stay safe.”
“I promise,” you whisper, sealing the vow with a tender kiss.
Lando responds eagerly, drawing you closer as the kiss deepens. For a blissful moment, the world fades away and there is only the two of you, lost in each other’s embrace.
A distant shout breaks the spell. You reluctantly pull away, both breathing heavily.
“I should go,” you murmur regretfully. “Cleopatra will be wondering where I’ve disappeared to.”
Lando nods, though he doesn’t release you from his arms. “When can I see you again?”
You bite your lip, considering. “Three days from now, at sunset. Meet me by the lighthouse?”
“I’ll be there,” he vows solemnly. “Be safe, my love.”
With a final lingering kiss, you slip from his embrace and hurry back towards the palace. Your heart feels lighter despite the looming threats, buoyed by Lando’s love and the promise of your next rendezvous.
But fate, it seems, has other plans.
The next few days pass in a blur of mounting tension. Cleopatra grows increasingly erratic, oscillating between grandiose plans to seduce Octavian and talks of ending her own life. You do your best to comfort and counsel her, all while stealing moments to daydream about your upcoming meeting with Lando.
On the fated evening, you’re helping Cleopatra prepare for bed when she suddenly fixates on a basket of figs brought by a servant.
“Ah, how fitting,” she muses, a strange glint in her eye. “Did you know, my dear, that the Egyptians that came before us believed figs to be the fruit of the afterlife?”
A chill runs down your spine. “My queen?”
Cleopatra waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t look so worried. I was simply contemplating the cyclical nature of life and death. Come, help me into bed.”
You obey, tucking the sheets around her with practiced ease. As you turn to leave, her hand darts out to grasp your wrist.
“Stay with me a while longer,” she implores. “I find I cannot bear to be alone with my thoughts tonight.”
Your heart sinks, knowing you’ll miss your rendezvous with Lando. But duty wins out over desire. “Of course, my queen. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”
Hours pass as you sit by Cleopatra’s bedside, listening to her reminisce about better days. Just as your eyelids begin to grow heavy, a commotion in the hall startles you both fully awake.
“What’s happening?” Cleopatra demands, sitting up.
Before you can answer, the doors burst open and a breathless messenger stumbles in. “My queen,” he pants, “Octavian’s army has breached the city walls!”
Cleopatra’s face hardens. “So, the end has come at last.” She turns to you, her gaze intense. “Fetch me the asp.”
Your blood runs cold. “My queen, surely there must be another way-”
“Do not argue with me!” She snaps. “I will not be paraded through Rome as Octavian’s prize. Now go, quickly!”
With a heavy heart, you hurry to retrieve the venomous snake from its hidden chamber. Your hands shake as you return, presenting the basket to Cleopatra.
She reaches for it eagerly, but pauses. Her eyes meet yours, softening slightly. “My faithful friend,” she murmurs. “You have served me well. I release you from your duties. Go, find that Roman boy of yours and flee while you still can.”
Your eyes widen in shock. “You knew?”
Cleopatra’s lips quirk in a sad smile. “I’ve always known. Now go, before it’s too late.”
Torn between duty and desire, you hesitate. In that moment of indecision, everything changes.
Cleopatra reaches for the asp, but in her haste, she knocks the basket from your hands. The snake falls to the floor, immediately striking at the nearest target … you.
Pain explodes in your ankle as the asp’s fangs sink into your flesh. You cry out, stumbling backwards.
“No!” Cleopatra wails, lunging to catch you as you fall.
The world begins to spin as the venom courses through your veins. Your last coherent thought is of Lando, waiting faithfully by the lighthouse. As darkness closes in, you pray he’ll forgive you for breaking your promise.
Hours later, Lando fights his way through the chaos of the conquered city. He charges into the palace, heedless of the danger, desperate to find you.
When he bursts into Cleopatra’s chambers, his worst fears are realized. Two bodies lie motionless on the floor — the queen and beside her ...
“No,” he chokes out, falling to his knees beside your lifeless form. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”
Lando gathers you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as sobs wrack his body. “You promised,” he whispers brokenly. “You promised you’d stay safe.”
But promises, like empires, are so easily broken. As the sun rises on a new era for Egypt, it sets on this chapter of your shared story. Yet even as this life ends, the seeds of the next are already taking root, waiting to bloom in another time, another place.
For true love, like the mighty Nile, cannot be contained. It flows ever onward, carving new paths through the landscape of eternity.
Pompeii, 79 AD
The ground trembles beneath your feet as you race through the chaotic streets of Pompeii. Ash rains from the sky, coating everything in a ghostly gray shroud. All around, people scream and push, desperately seeking escape from the fury of Mount Vesuvius.
“Lando!” You call out, your voice hoarse from the acrid air. “Lando, where are you?”
A hand suddenly grabs your arm, yanking you into a narrow alleyway. You whirl around, ready to fight, only to find yourself face to face with Lando. His usually immaculate toga is torn and stained with soot, his dark curls matted with ash.
“Thank the gods,” he breathes, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “I thought I’d lost you in the crowd.”
You cling to him tightly, savoring his familiar warmth amidst the chaos. “We need to get out of the city,” you say urgently. “The mountain — it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Lando nods grimly. “I know. I’ve been trying to make it to the harbor, but the roads are completely blocked. It’s madness out there.”
Another tremor rocks the ground, stronger than before. Pieces of masonry rain down from the surrounding buildings. Lando shields you with his body as you both press against the alley wall.
“We can’t stay here,” you say once the shaking subsides. “It’s not safe.”
“Nowhere is safe,” Lando replies, his eyes haunted. “But you’re right, we need to keep moving. Come on, I know another way to the docks.”
Hand-in-hand, you dash back out into the crowded street. The air grows thicker with each passing moment, making it harder to breathe. You pull the edge of your stola over your mouth and nose, squinting through the haze.
Lando leads you through a maze of side streets and back alleys, avoiding the worst of the panicked crowds. But with each turn, your hope dwindles. The mountain’s fury seems to be growing by the minute, raining down fire and ash with terrifying intensity.
As you round another corner, you come face to face with a wall of rubble blocking the entire street. Lando curses under his breath, pounding his fist against a fallen column.
“It’s no use,” he says, defeat creeping into his voice. “Every path to the harbor is cut off. We’re trapped.”
You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Then we’ll find somewhere to wait it out. The gods won’t abandon us. We just have to have faith.”
He turns to you, a sad smile playing on his lips. “Always the optimist, aren’t you? Even in the face of certain doom.”
“One of us has to be,” you reply, managing a weak smile of your own.
Another violent tremor shakes the ground, nearly knocking you both off your feet. In the distance, you hear the ominous rumble of collapsing buildings.
“Quick, in here!” Lando shouts, pulling you towards a sturdy-looking stone building. You duck inside just as a fresh barrage of burning rocks pelts the street where you were standing moments ago.
As your eyes adjust to the dimness, you realize you’re in some kind of workshop. Half-finished statues and blocks of marble are scattered about, coated in a fine layer of ash that has sifted through the cracks.
“A sculptor’s studio,” Lando muses, running his hand along a nearby bust. “Rather fitting, don’t you think? To spend our last moments surrounded by art meant to outlast us all.”
You shoot him a reproachful look. “Don’t talk like that. This isn’t the end. We’ll get through this, just like we always do.”
He sighs, pulling you close. “I admire your spirit, my love. But I fear this time, the Fates have other plans for us.”
As if to punctuate his words, the ground gives another violent lurch. The air grows even thicker, filled with choking dust and sulfurous fumes.
“It’s getting harder to breathe,” you gasp, fighting back a coughing fit.
Lando guides you to a relatively clear corner of the room, helping you sit on the floor before settling beside you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, drawing you against his side.
“Just try to take shallow breaths,” he instructs, his own voice strained. “Like this, see?”
You nod, focusing on matching your breathing to his. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your labored breaths and the distant rumble of the mountain.
“Lando?” You whisper after a while.
“Hmm?”
“I’m scared.”
He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know, love. I am too.”
“Tell me a story?” You ask, your voice small. “Like you used to, when we first met. Remember?”
Lando chuckles softly. “How could I forget? You were the most stubborn student I’ve ever had the misfortune of tutoring.”
“Hey!” You protest weakly, managing a smile despite everything. “I wasn’t that bad.”
“Oh no?” He teases. “Who was it that insisted the Odyssey would be vastly improved if Odysseus had simply asked for directions?”
You laugh, the sound quickly dissolving into a cough. “Well, it’s true! Twenty years to get home? Penelope should have moved on.”
Lando shakes his head in mock dismay. “Such disrespect for the classics. I clearly failed as your tutor.”
“Never,” you murmur, snuggling closer to him. “You taught me far more important things than dusty old stories.”
“Oh? And what might those be?”
You tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “You taught me what it means to truly love someone. To find a home not in a place, but in a person.”
Lando’s eyes shine with unshed tears as he leans down to kiss you softly. “And you, my darling, taught me that life is meant to be lived, not just studied. You brought color to my world of scrolls and stone.”
Another tremor shakes the building, sending a fresh wave of dust raining down on you both. The air grows thicker, each breath a struggle.
“Lando,” you wheeze, gripping his hand tightly. “I don’t want to die.”
He pulls you onto his lap, cradling you against his chest. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
“Promise you won’t leave me?” You plead, your vision starting to blur.
“Never,” he vows fiercely. “Not in this life or any other. Wherever our souls go next, we go together. I promise.”
You manage a weak nod, focusing on the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. As consciousness begins to slip away, you’re struck by a strange sense of déjà vu.
“Lando?” You murmur, your voice barely audible.
“Yes, love?”
“I think ... I think we’ve done this before.”
He lets out a shaky laugh. “What, died in each other’s arms while a volcano erupts? I think I’d remember that.”
You shake your head slightly. “No, not exactly. But this feeling ... like we’ve known each other forever. Like we’ll find each other again, no matter what.”
Lando is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. “Maybe we have. Maybe we will. I’d like to think so.”
“Me too,” you whisper.
As the world crumbles around you, you cling to each other. Your last thoughts are not of fear or regret, but of the love you share. A love so powerful it transcends time itself.
And as this chapter closes, another waits to begin. For some bonds are too strong to be broken, even by death. Your souls are destined to find each other again and again, weaving an eternal tapestry of love across the ages.
Salem, 1692
The air in the Salem courthouse is thick with tension and the bitter scent of fear. You stand before the assembled judges, your wrists bound tightly with rough rope that chafes your skin. The crowd of onlookers murmurs and shifts restlessly, their faces a sea of suspicion and barely concealed hostility.
Lando sits among them, his face a mask of anguish as he watches the proceedings. He wants nothing more than to rush to your side, to shield you from the madness that has gripped the town. But he knows that any show of support would only damn you further in the eyes of the court.
Judge Hathorne’s voice rings out, silencing the whispers. “The accused will step forward.”
You take a shaky step, raising your chin defiantly despite the terror coursing through your veins.
“You stand accused of witchcraft and consorting with the devil,” Hathorne intones gravely. “How do you plead?”
“Not guilty,” you declare, your voice stronger than you feel. “I am no witch, merely a midwife and herbalist. I have done nothing but help this community.”
A snort of derision comes from the crowd. You turn to see Goodwife Putnam, her face twisted with malice. “Lies!” She shrieks. “I saw her dancing naked in the woods, consorting with dark spirits!”
“That’s not true!” You protest. “I was gathering herbs for my remedies, nothing more!”
Judge Hathorne raises an eyebrow. “And can anyone vouch for your whereabouts on the night in question?”
Your heart sinks. You had been alone that night, as you often were when foraging. “I ... I was alone, your honor. But I swear on all that is holy, I am no witch.”
A ripple of whispers sweeps through the crowd. Lando’s fists clench at his sides, his jaw tight with the effort of remaining silent.
“Very convenient,” Hathorne remarks dryly. “Goody Putnam, you may continue with your testimony.”
The woman stands, her eyes gleaming with a fervor that chills you to the bone. “I’ve seen her speaking to animals as if they could understand her. And just last week, my cow’s milk turned sour the very day after she visited our farm!”
“That’s ridiculous!” You exclaim. “Milk spoils, it’s a natural occurrence. And I often speak to animals, as do many others. It does not make me a witch!”
But your protests fall on deaf ears. One by one, your neighbors step forward with increasingly outlandish accusations. Every misfortune, every unexplained event is laid at your feet.
“She cursed my crops!”
“My child fell ill after eating her bread!”
“I saw her flying on a broomstick!”
The claims grow more absurd, but the judges nod solemnly at each one. You feel the noose of suspicion tightening around your neck with each passing moment.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Lando leaps to his feet. “This is madness!” He shouts. “You’re condemning an innocent woman based on nothing but gossip and superstition!”
All eyes turn to him. Judge Danforth fixes him with a steely glare. “Master Norris, you will remain silent or be removed from this courtroom.”
“I will not be silent while you murder an innocent woman!” Lando retorts. He turns to the crowd, imploring them. “Can’t you see what’s happening? We’re tearing our community apart with these baseless accusations!”
A murmur of uncertainty ripples through the onlookers. For a moment, you dare to hope that reason might prevail.
But then Abigail Williams, one of the young girls at the center of the witch hunt, lets out a blood-curdling shriek. She points a trembling finger at you. “Her specter! I see her specter tormenting me even now!”
The other girls quickly join in, writhing and screaming as if in the throes of possession. The courtroom erupts into chaos.
“Order!” Judge Hathorne bellows, pounding his gavel. “Order in the court!”
As the commotion dies down, he turns to you, his expression grave. “The evidence against you is overwhelming. Unless you confess and repent, I have no choice but to find you guilty of witchcraft.”
Your heart pounds in your chest. You know that a confession might spare your life, but it would mean living a lie. And worse, it would lend credence to the madness gripping Salem.
“I will not confess to crimes I did not commit,” you say quietly but firmly. “I am innocent before God and man.”
Judge Hathorne’s face hardens. “Then you leave us no choice. You are hereby sentenced to death by hanging. May God have mercy on your soul.”
The crowd erupts into a mix of cheers and shocked gasps. Lando’s anguished cry rises above the din. “No! You can’t do this!”
He rushes towards you, but is quickly restrained by two burly constables. “Let me go!” He shouts, struggling against their grip. “She’s innocent!”
Your eyes meet his across the chaotic courtroom. Despite everything, you manage a small, sad smile. “It’s alright, Lando,” you call out. “Be strong. This isn’t your fault.”
As the guards move to lead you away, Lando breaks free and rushes to your side. He cups your face in his hands, his eyes wild with desperation. “I’ll find a way to stop this,” he vows. “I won’t let them take you.”
You lean into his touch, memorizing the feel of his hands on your skin. “There’s nothing you can do, my love. Promise me you’ll stay safe. Don’t let them take you too.”
“I can’t lose you,” he chokes out, tears streaming down his face.
“You won’t,” you whisper fiercely. “Not really. I don’t know how I know this, but I swear we’ll find each other again. In another life, another time. This isn’t the end for us.”
The guards roughly pull you apart. As they drag you away, you keep your eyes locked on Lando’s, drawing strength from his gaze.
The next few days pass in a blur of fear and desperate prayer. You cling to the strange certainty that had come over you in the courtroom — that somehow, someway, this is not truly the end for you and Lando.
On the day of your execution, you walk to the gallows with your head held high. The crowd that has gathered is subdued, some already beginning to question the justice of what’s happening.
You scan the faces, searching for Lando, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Your heart aches at his absence, but you understand. It would be too painful for him to watch.
As the noose is placed around your neck, you close your eyes and think of Lando. Of his laugh, his gentle touch, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. You hold onto these memories as the world falls away beneath your feet.
Your last conscious thought is a promise — to find him again, no matter how long it takes.
Miles away, hidden in the woods, Lando feels the exact moment you leave this world. He collapses to his knees, a wordless cry of anguish tearing from his throat. But even in his grief, he feels the echo of your final promise.
“I’ll find you,” he whispers to the uncaring forest. “In this life or the next. We’ll be together again. I swear it.”
And so another chapter closes, the threads of your shared destiny stretching onward through time. The cycle continues, each life bringing you closer to the moment when you’ll finally break free of this endless dance of death and rebirth.
Yekaterinburg, 1918
The Ipatiev House looms dark and foreboding in the Yekaterinburg night. You pace the confines of your makeshift prison, the once-opulent rooms now a stark reminder of how far the mighty Romanovs have fallen. The sound of raised voices and heavy footsteps from the floor below sends a chill down your spine.
“They’re coming,” your sister Maria whispers, her eyes wide with fear.
Before you can respond, the door bursts open. A group of armed men file in, their faces grim and purposeful. Your heart nearly stops when you spot a familiar face among them.
“Lando?” You gasp, scarcely able to believe your eyes.
He meets your gaze, his expression a turbulent mix of emotions. “Grand Duchess,” he says stiffly, the formal title at odds with the intimate moments you’ve shared in secret.
“What’s happening?” You demand, struggling to keep your voice steady. “Why are you here?”
Yakov Yurovsky, the commandant of the house, steps forward. “The Ural Soviet has decided to execute the Romanov family,” he announces coldly. “You are to be moved to the basement immediately.”
A wave of terror washes over you. “No,” you breathe. “No, this can’t be happening.”
Your eyes lock with Lando’s, silently pleading. For a moment, you see the conflict raging behind his eyes. But then his expression hardens, and he looks away.
As the guards begin herding your family towards the stairs, you manage to maneuver closer to Lando. “How could you be part of this?” You hiss under your breath.
His jaw clenches. “The revolution demands sacrifices,” he mutters. “Even from those we ... care about.”
“Care about?” You repeat incredulously. “Is that all I am to you now? After everything we’ve shared?”
A flicker of pain crosses his face. “You know it’s more complicated than that. Your family’s rule has caused immeasurable suffering. This ... this is justice.”
“Murder is not justice,” you retort, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.
Before he can respond, you’re roughly pushed forward. The journey to the basement is a blur of terror and disbelief. Your mind races, desperately seeking a way out of this nightmare.
In the dank cellar, Yurovsky instructs your family to line up against the wall. You find yourself between your younger siblings, instinctively trying to shield them even as your own knees threaten to give out.
“Wait,” you cry out as Yurovsky raises his hand to signal the firing squad. “Please, spare the children at least. They’re innocent in all this!”
Yurovsky’s face remains impassive. “There can be no Romanov heirs left to rally around. The old regime must end here and now.”
You turn to Lando, making one last desperate appeal. “Lando, please. If what we had meant anything to you, don’t let this happen. Help us!”
For a moment, you see the Lando you knew — the passionate young man who spoke of creating a better world, who held you under the stars and whispered promises of a future together. But then the revolutionary mask slips back into place.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely audible. “But this is bigger than us.”
As the soldiers raise their weapons, time seems to slow. You think of all the lives you might have lived — the futures now forever lost to you. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you, as if you’ve faced death with Lando before.
“Ready!” Yurovsky’s voice cuts through your reverie.
You straighten your spine, determined to face your end with dignity. Your eyes find Lando’s one last time.
“Aim!”
“I forgive you,” you mouth silently, even as tears stream down your face.
You see Lando’s composure crack, anguish flooding his features. He takes a half-step forward, as if to intervene, but it’s too late.
“Fire!”
The basement erupts in a deafening cacophony of gunshots and screams. You feel a searing pain in your chest as bullets tear through you. As you crumple to the ground, your fading vision fixates on Lando’s horrified face.
With your last breath, you whisper, “Find me again.”
Then darkness claims you.
Lando stands frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from your lifeless form. The smokey smell of gunpowder mixes with the metallic scent of blood, turning his stomach.
“Finish them off,” Yurovsky orders dispassionately. “No survivors.”
As his comrades move forward with bayonets, Lando stumbles back, retching. He staggers up the stairs and out into the cool night air, gulping it down desperately.
What has he done?
He’d believed so fervently in the revolution, in the need to sweep away the old order to build a better world. But staring at his blood-stained hands, Lando feels nothing but horror and soul-crushing guilt.
Your final words haunt him. “Find me again.” But how can he, when he’s destroyed any chance of a future together?
As dawn breaks over Yekaterinburg, Lando makes a decision. He can’t undo what’s been done, but he can ensure the truth isn’t buried along with your body.
Over the coming weeks, as the Bolsheviks spread lies about your family’s fate, Lando works in secret to document what really happened. He gathers evidence, writes detailed accounts, and arranges for the information to be smuggled out of the country.
It’s a dangerous game. If caught, he’ll be branded a traitor to the revolution. But Lando no longer cares about ideology or politics. His only goal is to honor your memory and ensure that history remembers the truth.
Late one night, as he prepares to flee the country with his damning documents, Lando allows himself a moment of quiet reflection. He thinks of your smile, your compassion, the way you challenged him to see beyond his rigid beliefs.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers to the empty room. “I failed you in this life. But I swear, somehow, I’ll make it right. If there’s any justice in the universe, we’ll meet again. And next time, I’ll protect you. I’ll choose you over everything else.”
As he slips out into the night, Lando feels a strange sense of certainty. This isn’t the end of your story. Somehow, someway, you’ll find each other again.
The wheel of fate continues to turn, carrying your intertwined souls towards yet another lifetime. But with each cycle, the bond between you grows stronger. Perhaps next time, you’ll finally break free of this tragic pattern and find the happiness that’s eluded you for so long.
Jonestown, 1978
The humid Guyanese air hangs heavy over Jonestown, thick with tension and the cloying scent of tropical flowers. You stand among the gathered crowd, your heart pounding so hard you fear it might burst from your chest. Beside you, Lando’s hand finds yours, squeezing tightly.
“This isn’t right,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the droning speech coming from the pavilion. “We need to get out of here.”
You nod imperceptibly, not daring to speak. Jim Jones’ paranoid ravings have reached a fever pitch in recent days, and you both know that even the slightest hint of dissent could be deadly.
“My children,” Jones’ voice booms out over the loudspeakers, “the time has come for us to make our final stand against the oppressors who seek to destroy our paradise.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd. You scan the sea of faces, seeing a mix of blind devotion and barely concealed terror.
“Our Congressional visitors have betrayed us,” Jones continues, his words slurring slightly. “They will bring nothing but destruction. We have no choice but to enact our glorious revolutionary suicide.”
Your blood runs cold. You’d heard whispers of this plan, but had desperately hoped it was just another of Jones’ manipulative tactics.
“Lando,” you whisper urgently, “we have to run. Now.”
He nods, his face pale but determined. “Follow my lead. When I give the signal, we make a break for the jungle.”
But before you can move, you feel a vice-like grip on your arm. You turn to see your mother, her eyes wild with fervor.
“Where do you think you’re going?” She hisses. “This is our moment of triumph. You will not ruin it with your lack of faith.”
On Lando’s other side, his father has a similar hold on him. The older man’s face is a mask of grim resignation. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, son,” he says quietly.
You watch in horror as Jones’ lieutenants begin distributing paper cups filled with a sinister purple liquid. The bitter almond smell of cyanide fills the air.
“No,” you breathe, struggling against your mother’s grip. “Mom, please. This is insanity. We don’t have to do this!”
But your pleas fall on deaf ears. Your mother’s grip only tightens as she accepts two cups from a passing aide.
“Drink,” she commands, thrusting one towards you.
You shake your head vehemently, clamping your mouth shut. Beside you, Lando is engaged in a similar struggle with his father.
“You can’t force us to do this!” Lando shouts, drawing the attention of nearby cult members. “This is murder!”
Jones’ voice cuts through the growing commotion. “Those who resist are traitors to our cause. They must be made to comply, for the good of all.”
Suddenly, you’re surrounded by a group of Jones’ most fanatical followers. Rough hands grab you, forcing your head back. You struggle wildly, but it’s no use. You feel the cold rim of the cup pressed against your lips.
“No!” Lando cries out, fighting to reach you. “Leave her alone!”
But he too is overwhelmed, multiple hands restraining him as the poisoned drink is forced upon him.
The sickly-sweet liquid burns your throat as it’s poured into your mouth. You choke and splutter, but can’t prevent some of it from going down. Beside you, Lando’s muffled cries tell you he’s suffering the same fate.
As the hands release you, you collapse to your knees, coughing violently. Your vision swims, the world taking on a surreal, nightmarish quality.
“Lando,” you gasp, reaching out blindly.
His hand finds yours, gripping it weakly. “I’m here,” he manages, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t protect you.”
You crawl closer, fighting against the growing weakness in your limbs. All around, people are collapsing, some screaming in agony while others slip away in eerie silence.
“It’s not your fault,” you whisper, cupping Lando’s face with a trembling hand. “We never stood a chance against this madness.”
Lando’s eyes, clouded with pain, meet yours. “This can’t be how it ends,” he says desperately. “Not again.”
A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you. “Again?” You murmur, confused.
He nods weakly. “I don’t know how, but I feel like we’ve been here before. Facing death together, unable to stop it.”
As the poison works its way through your system, flashes of other lives flicker through your mind. Ancient Egypt, Pompeii, Salem, Russia — each time, finding each other only to be torn apart.
“I remember,” you breathe, wonder mingling with the pain. “We keep finding each other, but we never get our happy ending.”
Lando pulls you closer, both of you shaking with the effort of fighting off the inevitable. “Next time,” he vows, his voice barely above a whisper. “Next time we’ll break this cycle. We’ll find a way to be together.”
You manage a small, sad smile. “Promise?”
“I promise,” he murmurs, pressing a weak kiss to your forehead.
As consciousness begins to slip away, you cling to each other. The sounds of screaming and Jones’ maniacal laughter fade into the background. In these final moments, there is only you and Lando, and the love that has somehow endured across lifetimes.
“Find me again,” you whisper, echoing words spoken in another life.
Lando’s grip on your hand tightens fractionally. “Always,” he breathes.
As darkness closes in, you’re filled with a strange sense of hope. This tragic cycle can’t go on forever. Someday, somehow, you’ll find a way to break free and finally have the life together you’ve been denied so many times.
Your last thought, as you slip away, is a prayer to whatever cosmic force keeps bringing you together.
Next time, let it be different.
Next time, let us live.
And as your souls depart this tragic scene, unseen wheels of fate begin to turn once more. The cycle continues, but perhaps this time, with the weight of so many shared lifetimes behind you, you’ll finally find your way to a happier ending.
In the years that follow, as the horror of Jonestown is revealed to the world, two names are lost among the hundreds of victims. But your story — the story of a love that refuses to be extinguished — lives on, waiting for the next chapter to unfold.
Monaco, 2024
The soft glow of computer screens illuminates Lando’s face as he leans into his microphone, his eyes darting between the chat and his game. “No, chat, I’m not going to sing the Baby Shark song,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You lot are absolutely mental, you know that?”
The door to his streaming room creaks open, and he glances over, his face softening into a warm smile as you pad in, wrapped in an oversized hoodie you’ve stolen from his wardrobe.
“Speaking of sharks,” Lando grins, addressing his audience, “look who’s decided to join us. It’s my favorite cuddly shark!”
You roll your eyes fondly at the nickname, a reference to your habit of playfully nipping at his shoulder when you’re feeling particularly affectionate. As you approach, Lando pushes his chair back slightly, making room for you to settle onto his lap.
“Come here, you,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist as you curl into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. To his stream, he explains, “Sorry chat, the missus is feeling a bit clingy tonight. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
You mumble something unintelligible into his skin, making him laugh. “What was that, love? The stream can’t hear you when you’re trying to become one with my neck.”
Lifting your head slightly, you repeat, “I said, don’t let me interrupt your gaming. I just wanted cuddles.”
Lando presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “You’re never an interruption. Besides, I think the chat’s been asking for a cameo from you all night.”
You turn to face the camera, waving sleepily. “Hi, chat. Sorry I’m not more entertaining tonight. Long day at work.”
The chat explodes with greetings and well-wishes, scrolling by almost too fast to read. Lando chuckles, giving you a gentle squeeze. “See? They love you. Probably more than they love me, to be honest.”
“That’s fair,” you murmur, nuzzling back into his neck. “No one loves you more than I do.”
Lando’s breath catches for a moment, and you feel his heart rate pick up. Even after all this time together, simple declarations of love still affect him deeply. It’s one of the many things you adore about him.
“Alright, chat,” Lando says, his voice a touch huskier than before. “You’ve gone and made her all sappy. I hope you’re happy with yourselves.”
You can’t help but giggle at his attempt to deflect. “Oh please, you love it when I’m sappy.”
“Maybe,” he concedes with a grin. “But if I admit that, they’ll never let me hear the end of it. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”
You snort inelegantly. “What reputation? Everyone knows you’re a big softie.”
“Oi!” Lando protests, poking you in the side and making you squirm. “I’ll have you know I’m very tough and manly. Right, chat?”
The stream erupts with a mix of agreement and playful disagreement, peppered with emotes and inside jokes. You watch the scrolling text with amusement, marveling at the community Lando has built.
“See?” Lando says triumphantly. “They agree with me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure at least half of those messages were sarcastic, babe.”
Lando waves a hand dismissively. “Details, details. The point is, I’m incredibly macho and not at all a softie.”
“Mmhmm,” you hum skeptically. “Is that why you cried watching Up last week?”
“Hey!” Lando exclaims, his cheeks flushing slightly. “That’s classified information, that is. You can’t just go revealing my secrets to the entire internet!”
The chat goes wild at this revelation, demanding to know more about Lando’s movie-watching habits. You can’t help but laugh at his mock-outraged expression.
“Sorry, love,” you say, not sounding sorry at all. “But if I have to put up with your sniffling during Disney movies, the least I can do is share the joy with your fans.”
Lando groans dramatically. “That’s it, I’m filing for divorce. Chat, you’re my witnesses. This is grounds for divorce, right? Revealing a man’s most intimate vulnerabilities?”
You roll your eyes fondly. “We’re not even married yet, you goof.”
The words slip out before you can think better of them, and suddenly the atmosphere in the room shifts. Lando’s eyes widen slightly, his gaze locking with yours.
“Yet?” He repeats softly, a note of wonder in his voice.
You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don’t look away. “Well, yeah. I mean, unless you had other plans?”
For a moment, Lando seems to forget entirely about the stream. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently across your skin. “No other plans,” he murmurs. “Just you. Always you.”
The intimacy of the moment is broken by the chat exploding once again, this time with a flurry of ring emotes and excited keysmashes. Lando blinks, seeming to remember where he is.
“Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well, chat, I think that’s my cue to end the stream for tonight. Got some, uh, important things to discuss with this one.”
You bury your face in his neck again, half embarrassed and half thrilled by the turn of events. As Lando rushes through his usual sign-off, you can feel the barely contained energy thrumming through him.
The moment the stream ends, Lando spins his chair to face you fully, his eyes bright with excitement. “Did you mean that?” He asks eagerly. “About the marriage thing?”
You lift your head, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “Of course I did. Lando, I’ve loved you for lifetimes. There’s nothing I want more than to marry you.”
Something flashes in his eyes at your words — a fleeting moment of recognition, as if some long-buried memory is struggling to surface. But then it’s gone, replaced by pure joy.
“Lifetimes, huh?” He grins, pulling you closer. “Well, in that case, I suppose we better make this one count.”
As his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, you’re filled with an overwhelming sense of rightness. After so many tragic endings, you’ve finally found your happily ever after. And this time, you’re not letting go.
“I love you,” you murmur against his lips. “In this life and every other.”
Lando’s answering smile is radiant. “And I love you. Always have, always will.”
As you lose yourselves in each other’s embrace, the echoes of past lives fade away. This is your time, your chance at happiness. And you plan to make the most of every single moment.
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boyfhee · 6 months ago
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﹙𝓲ssue﹚ㅤ:ㅤclingy boyfriendsㅤ...ㅤ( 엔하이픈 )
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ㅤㅤ﹙2189﹚ ㅤ장르 fluff fluff fluff, est. relㅤㅤwarnings a few kisses and pecksㅤㅤᐢᗜᐢ had sm fun writing this bc i love cuddles. happy reading ^^ please rb and give feedback, it helps a lot ^_^ iNDEX requested
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HEESEUNG
“hee, i need to go,” you whine, trying to get out of his arms but his grip only gets tighter around you as he keeps holding you against him, laying on top of you. he has always been clingy, but he’s especially clingier today— been holding you for the past thirty minutes and refusing to let go. 
you like this— on contrary to your words. it’s nice when he’s being this cute and clingy. you feel him press a few tender kisses on the base of your neck, something that always makes your heartbeat faster.
“i see,” is all he says, propping his chin up on your chest, pretending to think as he looks up at you. you mouth a quiet ‘please’ and he chuckles, burying his face in your chest again. “no,” 
and you groan again while he continues to hold onto you stubbornly. he holds you even closer when you try to resist, a sigh falling off your lips as you seem to give up. “lunch is not going to make itself,”
“lunch can wait,” the words are muffled against your chest but you can hear him smiling. it’s only a few seconds until he looks up at you, stealing a quick peck before shooting you a grin. “let me hold you for a little longer, darling,”
JONGSEONG
he said it would be just a few kisses but it has been quite a while since you’ve been on jay’s lap, and his arms only seem to wrap tighter around you. you lift your head up from his shoulder, looking at him with a slight pout. “how long are you going to keep this up?”
“dunno, sweetheart,” he whispers against your lips, tilting his head to the other side to go in for a few feathery kisses on your cheeks and lips before looking at you longingly. “can’t seem to get enough of your lips today,”
and the club room is not the most ideal place to kiss since a student— or worse, a teacher— could walk in anytime. usually he’s the responsible one, making sure you two don’t get caught during your sneaky kisses and meetups between classes. however today, his mind is far away from thinking about anyone else but you.
“your new chapstick—” he speaks between the kisses, fingers drawing soft circles on your back as he pulls you closer. “is it cherry?”
you nod, one hand on his chest while the other on the back of his neck. “yep, i got it yesterday,”
“forgive me for taking up a little more of your time,” he chuckles, leaning in and capturing your lips in another kiss. he kisses you for longer this time, a bit slower, savouring the taste of your chapstick and the feeling of your lips moving against his. he pulls away reluctantly and lowly chuckles under his breath. “gosh, i can never get enough of you.”
JAEYUN
“sorry for being too clingy, angel,” he whispers, nuzzling his face deeper into the crook of your neck as his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. “you’re so warm, it’s nice,”
“you’re always like this,” you giggle, reaching out to brush his hair with your fingers. it’s always nice to have him spooning you as if no worries exist and it’s just you, him and your bed in this entire world.
you feel his lips trailing over the back of your neck down to your shoulders, planting soft and tender kisses in their wake. it doesn’t take you much to melt in his embrace— just a few kisses with his arms around you usually do the job.
“i hope you don’t mind it,” he says with a quiet laugh, turning you slightly towards him to look at your face. “you’re my sweetheart, the love of my life. i can barely spend an hour without you,”
and all you do is laugh at his words, a sound so melodious that it makes his smile grow wider. jake shifts a little, propping himself on his elbow before leaning in and smothering your face in kisses and whispering sweet nothings in between, his heart fluttering at the sound of your giggles. 
“watching you being clingy is my favourite thing in the world,” you manage to speak between his endless kisses and pecks, cupping his cheeks tenderly. 
the smile never leaves his lips, only growing wider as he presses his lips against your cheeks and gives you a few pecks before his lips are back onto yours. “you are my favourite thing in this world,”
SUNGHOON
“don’t you dare move,” you freeze at his words, surprise evident on your face. he doesn’t give you a chance to speak, pulling you closer with your back pressing up against his chest. “you’re not going anywhere,”
it’s new, almost rare for sunghoon to be this clingy. usually, he prefers you sitting next to him, arms linked or fingers intertwined, your head on his chest with his head on yours, kissing it every few seconds. but this— his arms basically engulfing you from behind and making it hard for you to focus on the movie with the way his chin rests on your shoulder, breath tickling against your neck— is usual, and you like it. 
“let me go get more popcorn,” you stifle your laugh, gazing at him from the corner of your eyes. you try your best to sound convincing, even though his arms only wrap tighter around you. “i’ll be back in a minute,”
“i said, no,” he tries to sound firm, although you chuckle at how cute he sounds and looks, his lips pressed together, brows furrowed. he catches you looking at him and narrows his eyes at you before shaking his head, kissing your forehead. “you’re not going anywhere until i say so, princess,”
you end up laughing, giving up on your request and relax in his arms, leaning back completely against his chest. “you’re so cute when you’re clingy,”
sunghoon only hums with his face against the crook of your neck. you can feel him leaving a few kisses there before he looks up, kissing the top of your head, whispering softly. “you feel too good in my arms for me to let you go,”
SUNOO
the silence and dim lights in your room almost lull you into sleep, the warm comforter only making the process easier before you hear sunoo whisper in the dead of the night, although not long after you’ve come to bed to sleep. “come closer,”
your stay quiet in your position for a few seconds before shifting closer to your boyfriend, arms slithering around his waist. “you okay?” 
and it’s not really rare for sunoo to ask you to sit or lay close to him. in fact, he would trade anything to cuddle with you and have you all nice and snug against him. although, the fact that he likes his own personal space while sleeping stands false for now, because he pulls you even closer, your body basically pressed up against him completely. 
he nods, burying his face in your hair while his hands trace up and down on your back, his soothing touch making you smile at the sensation. “i just want to hold you,”
your smile only grows wider at his words and you swear your can feel the thumping of your heart that paces as he starts leaving fluttering kisses on your cheeks. “you can hold me as much as you want,”
it only takes him a few seconds before he pulls you even closer, positioning you on top of him and enjoying the way your head rests on his chest. his hand continues to caress your back while the other fixes the comforter over you two. “this is better,”
JUNGWON
“baby,” you hear his voice as soon as he enters through the door, quickly shuffling out of his shoes and making his way to you before wrapping you in his arms. “gosh, i’ve missed you, my love,” 
it’s cute, especially the way he’s almost lifting you off your feet while hugging, having you on your tippy toes. a few seconds in and he’s swaying you left and right, mumbling something against your shoulder that you can’t quite catch. “you’re squeezing me, wonie,”
“can’t help it,” he gives a quick response, lifting his head up slightly to look at you. it’s quiet for a few moments, just him admiring you as if taking in your face and remembering every little detail about it. you smile simply at the lack of words, finding his expression utterly sweet before he continues. “i missed you so so much. so damn much, you have no idea.”
you giggle at his words, poking his nose gently with your index finger, his arms holding you by your waist. “i think i do. those voice messages everyday give me a slight idea,”
he can’t help but laugh sheepishly, looking away briefly. it’s true he spammed you with texts and voice notes, and they were about everything— the weather, what they had for breakfast, the poor joke some member made or the way a cloud looked like you— everything.
“i’m never going on tours again,” he whispers between the quick kisses he plants all over your face, your eyes squinting at the act, something that, according to him, makes you look even more adorable. “too much for my heart,”
NI-KI
riki positions himself on top of you, basically burying you under himself on the couch and engulfing you in his embrace. it’s warm and nice— you can barely breath, trying to wriggle your way out before he mumbles against your shoulders. “stop moving,”
“i can’t breathe, ‘ki,” you manage to muffle out, your arms encircling around his much larger frame. he knows you are going to slip out from under him if he moves, probably laying on top of him— which he loves just as much as this, but laying on top of you is way more fun.
“so spoiled,” he grunts from your neck, although not moving for another few seconds before he shifts slightly and switches to a position where you can breathe properly. “better?”
you huff when he calls you spoiled as if reminding him of the postion you two were in. riki had practically begged for cuddles while you were working on a project, saying he’ll help you with it later. although, you two are more likely to end up sleeping in each other’s arms than getting up to work on the project.
if laying on top of you was not enough, he nuzzles his face even further in your neck as if he isn’t already close enough. you squint your eyes at him, poking his cheeks with your finger. “you are spoiled,” 
“well push me off yourself if you have a problem,” he says with a scoff, raising an eyebrow up at your silence. he wonders if you’re contemplating in silence, but when your arms wrap around him a bit more tightly, making him chuckle as he leans down to press his cheeks against yours. “thought so,”
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icarusredwings · 4 months ago
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Thinking about Wade's life and his mental health issues a lot, and I just thought about this. Not only being abused, but his entire brain being made out of cancer, and the fact that oxygen was physically taken from his brain over the course of 2+ days multiple times?
We see him coloring a lot and claim multiple times that he doesn't/ can't read (this is probably a bit, I guarantee he can read), but it had me thinking what if some days were more childish then others as part of his coping mechanisms?
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At first, Logans was really confused about why Althea puts up with it until he realizes that it's extremely good for him to just... be taken care of? Praised and given affection for the bare minimum? He thinks it's weird. This wasn't the same man he was fighting with yesterday.
Coming into the living room, he sees Wade sprawled out with crayons and markers all around him with multiple pictures already coloured, his notebook having pages ripped out of it as he kicks his feet and hums.
On the tv, there are cartoons playing. Once in a while, he'll look up at the tv and then go back to coloring. "What are you doing??"
"Hi wolvie. 'm colouring."
"He's behaving, so don't ruin it." Al says. There's pictures by her, and she is holding a box of cereal.
"O..kay??" Sitting down, he's almost too curious to just walk away, picking up puppins so she doesn't ruin his drawings, petting her confusedly.
Sometimes, Al will hold out some cereal in her hand. "Wade." And he will see him shimmy over and take the cereal. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, baby."
As hes scooting back to his color spot he stops and watches the tv for a bit longer then usual.
"...What.. the fuck." Logan says to her and she gives him a brow raise. "What?"
"What is he doing?"
"He's coloring. And I thought I was the blind one."
"No no I mean.. those aren't murder plans. That's puppins."
"Yes? And?"
"And.. what did you do to him?"
"Treated him like a human being. Give it a try once inawhile." She says, and he comes back with more pictures, climbing in between them with no regard for space as he leans into her.
"Oh thank you. What is it?"
"It's you."
"Oh? How sweet. Do I look good?"
"Mhm!"
"Im glad. How about you show our friend here your amazing pictures. And he better be nice!"
So wade turns and now is leaning on logan as he points to a different picture. One of Logan with Puppins on a leash with a sun in the corner and crappy grass, a hearts all over the place.
At first he wants to tell him to get off of him, but seeing the pictures and how excited his eyes were to show him, it hits him and he understands.
".. uhm.. thank you?" But he puts it back in his hand. "Oh- you want me to keep it?"
Wade nods and starts cleaning up his crayons.
Logan turns to whisper to Al "How long does this go on?"
"About 2 hours or so."
"Why?"
"God only knows, but it helps with his nightmares."
"Colouring helps with his nightmares??"
"Its more then that. Hey sweetheart? Why don't you bring your ponys out."
"Theyre horses."
"Oh im sorry, my mistake. I think logan here wants to play horses."
Logan gives her a look like excuse me? When did I sign up for that? "No.. uhm.. I think im good."
Wade gets this look of sad innocence but goes to get them anyway, beginning to play by himself, brushing them and making them talk to each other quietly. As if he speaks any louder, he would get hit.
Logan groans and is like "Gimme a fucking horse.."
From then on, Logan is quick to understand what's happening and is much nicer to him, starts giving him snacks, buying him actual coloring books, and has pinned his drawings to the fridge each time he's gifted one. His horses name is Buttercup, by the way.
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velvetures · 7 months ago
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Soap would be so fucking protective of you, and I can’t get it out my head. So now it’s your problem :)
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You don’t like drinking? He’s the first to draw attention away from the lack of a beer bottle in your hand. Using that irresistible charm to woo everyone out of their questions and peer pressure to get you to join in. He sees how nervous it makes you. And he’s far too sensitive to your feelings to let it happen. Besides… he’s gotten really good at giving the right orders to bartenders, so that he can give you some fruity, soda-laden thing, that passes off as one of the other cocktails all your friends are nursing.
Uncomfortable family dinners? You know, that one where your least favorite uncle is oh-so-willing to give you shit for not going into the career all of them think you should’ve pursued? Oh hell no. Soap won’t spend one second thinking over whether it’s polite or not to speak up. He just does. Abandoning your mom’s casserole he’s been complimenting with a full mouth, just to look your bastard of an uncle in the face and tell him he’d be better off complaining to the business end of a pistol. At least then, he’d get a response that would shut him up for good.
That ex who won’t take ‘no’ for an answer? He’s as good as dead. Not that he’s instinctively jealous… because really, he knows better. It’s just the mere thought of someone taking advantage of your life. Of your time. He’s livid because you’re too special to be harassed like that. Treated like a game that can be picked up and put down whenever the mood arises. Soap won’t make a spectacle of it… but the monthly calls and texts suddenly stop after a while. And you think it’s because you finally broke down and changed your phone number a second time. But… that hadn’t stopped your ex the first time. Soap just shrugs. Giving the excuse that common sense might’ve given him a change of heart. Johnny just didn’t have the heart himself to tell you that ‘common sense’ didn’t have the chance. He was far quicker.
Soap had lived a life so uncomfortable for so long, that seeing a sweet thing like you experience it becomes intolerable. It’s as if all of the killing and destruction he’s committed was for nothing, when something -even trivial- blockades your walk through life. His nature is to fix the problem. And his training only enhanced the instinct to do it violently. Quick and controlled action, using brute force to make the world spin to your tempo. And god… you hate when he does it. Constantly reassuring him that you’re an adult. That you’re prepared for life not to be easy, and that it’s only going to make you stronger in the end.
He won’t hear it though.
He wants you soft. Desperately, actually. More of a requirement for his own happiness than anything. And often times he thinks that it’s selfish. That maybe he is truly robbing you of some experiences that might be good for you. Make the life you lead interesting for the kids and grandchildren you tell stories to. But then again, he’s so staunch in his ways, that it comes to fruition like muscle-memory. Placing you on your silken throne and taking a defensive stance in front of you like a medieval knight hellbent on keeping his royalty alive and well.
John MacTavish knows your place and it’s to be behind him. Right where he can protect and provide, without the fear of you crying or getting hurt by the seemingly endless amount of people who unfathomably don’t want the same things for you. They all say they love you… want the best… but he challenges it.
Every. Single. Time.
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nicka-nell · 6 months ago
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How they act when they have a crush on you
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Pairing: Atsumu x, Suna x, Kuroo x, Ushijima x, Daichi x, Hinata x, Iwaizumi x, Oikawa x reader
Warning: fluff, mdni
Part 1 | Part 2 (end)
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A total bully. Constantly in teasing mode.
Whether it’s in class and he throws little paper balls at your head, pulls your hair while you’re tying your shoes in the gym, or “borrows” your homework to copy it and give you your notebook back with a scrabbly drawing next to your exercises.
Atsumu takes every free opportunity to pick on you, thinking that you take it as a form of pleasant affection.
You’re chatting with some friends in sports class when you get hit in the back of the head with a ball. It wasn’t a powerful throw. In fact, you barely felt it, but you know immediately who the ball came from when you turn around with a grim expression and see the wide-grinning blond Miya brother running towards you. “Sorry sweetheart. But ya were standing in my throwing lane.” he grins and picks up the ball. Oh, how you’d love to hit him in the face with the ball.
After school you just want to go home, the umbrella is already open as it is pouring like hell, when you feel two strong hands snatching the umbrella from your hands. “Hey sweetheart, I’m sure ya won’t have a problem if I borrow the umbrella, will ya?” Atsumu smirks at you again, already holding the umbrella in his hands so that he doesn’t get wet. You’re next to him, but half your body still gets wet as you try to take the umbrella away from him. “Hey, I’m a damn superb athlete. Can’t risk it to get sick,” he complains, putting his arm around your shoulders and pulling you towards him so that you don’t get completely wet. You walk home together for quite a while until Atsumu leads in the opposite direction to his own home. With your umbrella, of course. You can prepare yourself to arrive home soaked and chilled. Awesome.
Atsumu would never think of telling you that he has a crush on you. He assumes that you already know this and that you also have feelings for him, but are too shy to tell him.
When a guy invited you out for ice cream and you agreed, Atsumu complained to Osamu. Osamu first had to make it clear to him that you two are definitely not a couple and that you certainly don’t assume that he has feelings for you, because Atsumu is also just an asshole towards you.
Atsumu interrupts you sulking while you’re eating ice cream with the guy, completely ignores this dude and tells you that you shouldn’t eat ice cream with other guys because he likes you and it annoys him when you do things with other guys who aren’t him.
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Suna is probably more of a secret, very laid-back admirer who takes things rather slowly.
He doesn’t behave any differently towards you in everyday life. That’s why it’s not obvious to outsiders that he has feelings for you. Even for you.
You’re in the same circle of friends. He’s not particularly jealous when you talk to other men. Possibly also because he knows exactly what he has to offer and is convinced of himself to a healthy degree.
But after a while, you notice that he’s more interested in you. He always likes your pictures on social media. Sometimes he comments on them with emojis. A fiery heart, or a smiley looking mischievously to the side, or even a smiley with heart eyes. Sometimes he also speaks to you directly about your pictures.
Rarely does he tease you.
“Saw your picture yesterday. Looked good,” he says calmly, his legs up against the wall as he lies on his back on the bed, his head hanging off the edge of it as he looks at his phone in his hands. You’re sitting on the floor with your back against his bed, still finishing up a few things for your group work for school, when you look sideways at him. “Thank you, that was with Tsumu. We played CoD,” you answer him. “A game date?” he replies with an almost arrogant look, still scanning you from his casual position as you shake your head and roll your eyes. Suna wouldn’t admit it, but deep down, he’s glad you denied his question.
Your free classes are for learning. But sometimes you use them to just relax, chat or do nothing. While one or two of you are studying in the school's common room, you approach Suna, who is sitting on a bench with Atsumu and Osamu. Both boys are looking at Suna’s phone, who’s playing a game, when you approach him and ask curiously what he’s doing. All three boys look at you before Suna grabs your hand and casually pulls you onto his lap while resting his head on your shoulder. His hands are around your waist while his phone is in his hands in front of you. “It’s a new mobile game that came out. It’s based on a webtoon,” he answers, still focused on his phone.
Suna would probably confess his feelings to you first. However, his confession is rather spontaneous.
For example, in a store when you buy some fruit sticks on the way back home and he also pays for your stick. Outside, you tell him that he didn’t have to do that and that you can pay for it yourself, but out of the blue, he just tells you that he did it because he likes you. “So what does it matter? I did it because I like you. So bad?”
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Like Atsumu, Kuroo is someone who would tease you to get your attention. But not in that childish way with paper balls in your hair.
But at the same time, Kuroo would also help you and is very attentive.
In sports class, you are currently learning the basics of basketball - how to dribble, make a lay-up and so on - before your sports teacher tells you to practice on your own for the next 30 minutes. Kuroo grins at you and throws you the ball. “Do you think you can beat me in a one-on-one?” he smirks, knowing full well that you can’t. Nevertheless, you accept his challenge, start to play and quickly lose the ball. “You need to be less stiff. Try to move with the ball. And... try to keep the ball at about waist height when you dribble,” Kuroo says as he dribbles past you to make a smooth 3-pointer. 
You’re sitting on a bench in the shadows during your break. It’s a hot summer day and you just want to get somewhere where there’s air conditioning. “You should drink more. It’s pretty hot today and you’re not an oryx antelope that can go without water for long,” says Kuroo, who suddenly stands next to you at the bench and holds out a small bottle of water.
He always acts so tough around others, but he cares about the people who are important to him.
Would he tell you that he has feelings for you? Probably not, but at some point you would notice it yourself and ask him casually. 
If you asked him about it, he’d start off by rambling and beating around the bush, but then eventually admit to having feelings for you.
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Ushijima would probably behave the same way towards you as he usually does. At least that’s what he thinks.
But you can actually see him looking in your direction from time to time and subconsciously observing you.
He also subconsciously thinks of you, asking Tendou, for example, whether he could imagine that you might also like certain things.
In class, you are all already in the classroom waiting for the teacher, while you talk to Semi about the new shop next to the school and Tendou tries to tell Ushijima about the latest manga he has read. Tendou quickly realizes that Ushijima isn’t paying any attention to him, but that his gaze is instead wandering toward you and Semi. “Wakatoshi? Were you even listening to me?” Ushijima barely visibly flinches, noticing that his thoughts were somewhere else when he looks over at Tendou again. “Can you lend me the magazine? They always have such interesting promotions on the last page,” he says, completely forgotten that his attention was still on you earlier. Unlike Tendou, who purses his lips and narrows his eyes.
“Uhhh, tell me, did you watch the new K-Drama series? The one with the lawyers and the forensic scientist? Mmmh, the lawyer’s secretary is sooo cute!” Tendou chants as he walks with Ushijima towards the gym for training. “No. Do you think Y/n would like the series? She likes watching these things, doesn’t she?” Ushijima asks dryly, not realizing that he’s only thinking about you again. “Mmm, I don’t know, maybe you two should watch the series,” Tendou replies, hoping to finally get a little more out of Ushijima, but he doesn’t respond to his statement anymore.
It would take so long for Ushijima to realize that he has feelings for you. Whether he finds out on his own, because he realizes that this rapid heartbeat is not because of his “suddenly worsening condition”, or because Tendou gives him a few clues to think about his feelings for you.
However, Ushijima would tell you as soon as he recognized it for himself. But not with a bouquet of flowers and a romantic dinner.
No, he would simply ask you at the next opportunity, if you were interested in him, because he is pretty sure that his interest in you goes beyond friendship. Not caring if you were alone or around friends during his confession.
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Sawamura is a little gentleman. He would show his kind of affection through small things. The typical “act of kindness”.
Whether it’s opening the door, holding your school bag while you put on your jacket, or simply walking home together, even if it means a ten-minute diversions for him.
“Ah damn...” you curse quietly as you sit in your seat in the classroom and realise that you’ve forgotten your pencil case at home. “Dai-“ you’re turning around to ask Sawamura if he can lend you a pencil only to see him holding one out to you already, with a slight smile on his face. “Thank you.” You whisper quietly and turn back to the front.
You’re on your way home after a pretty exhausting day at school. All of you stayed a little longer in the school library today to study for your final exams. So it’s already dark when you go home and you’re upset about not bringing a jacket. “Here. Next time you should remember to pack something warm. You never know when it might rain and the temperature could drop,” Sawamura says calmly, holding out the jacket he wears for volleyball training. He himself is still wearing his school uniform jacket. After all, he doesn’t want to catch a cold. You gratefully accept the sports jacket and put it over your shoulders. Sawamura wouldn’t admit it, but he wouldn’t mind if you forgot your jacket next time as well, and wore his instead, because seeing you in his way too big jacket somehow makes his heart beat faster.
Sawamura would think long and hard about whether to confess his feelings to you, because he wouldn’t want to ruin the friendship between you. But in the end, he would be the one to confess his feelings to you first, in the hope that you would return them.
Unlike Ushijima, however, he would do it at a moment that suits him. For example, when the two of you are alone, on the way home together, in a quiet and laid-back environment and a relaxed atmosphere.
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Hinata is so clumsy and although he tries to hide his feelings a little bit and keep them under control, even a blind man would understand how much he has a crush on you.
As soon as you enter the room, he gets all nervous and his vocabulary suddenly shrinks so much that it feels like it only consists of 30 words.
Even if Hinata appeared nervous towards you, he would never be someone who would tease you or have a cheeky remark on his lips. Nor would he ignore you. He would also be the cheerful and friendly whirlwind towards you, just a little awkward. He would try to support you, even if it was just carrying the bench in the gym together with you.
“H-hi,” Hinata stutters and turns away, glowing red in the face, as you smile at him and greet him too. “I’ve brought water for myself,” he says with a smile and holds out a water bottle to you. You give him an irritated look, but then giggle. “For you? Yes, that’s nice, but why are you giving it to me?” you ask and notice Hinata blushing again. He’s probably embarrassed right now. But you think it’s cute. “Eh, I mean for you. You. I’ve got my bottle here! See? It’s even full!” he says and reaches for the bottle in the side of his bag, wanting to shake it to show you that it’s full. But instead, he presses down on the bottle and splashes the water on his face. You giggle, but reach into your own gym bag and pull out a small towel to put on Hinata’s wet head so he can dry off. A gesture that is probably too much for his nerves right now.
Tired after his hard and long volleyball training with Kageyama, Hinata is just about to get on his bike and ride home when he sees you sitting at the bus stop in the dark. A little confused, he asks you what you are still doing here at this time of night when you tell him that you missed your bus."Then come on, I’ll drive you home!" he says with a cheerful smile and you don’t even have the chance to say no. Because you’re already sitting on the front of his handlebars while he pedals his bike and takes you home. He doesn’t seem to care that you live in the opposite direction to him and that it will take him even longer to get home, thanks to you. “Hold on tight, the Shouyou taxi is fast as lightning,” he says with a grin and drives you home.
With Hinata, it’s a fifty-fifty chance whether he confesses his feelings to you or not. Either he confesses them to you, but then because he babbles and the words just fall out of him with nervousness, or you tell him at some point that you have feelings for him.
If you are the one who confesses his feelings first, you can literally watch a fuse burn out in his head and how he is completely overwhelmed until he realizes what you have just told him.
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Iwaizumi is similar to Sawamura. He would also shine through his act of kindness. Even if he would try to hide it coolly.
However, Iwaizumi also has a protective and slightly jealous side, especially when Oikawa gets the idea to flirt with you. He doesn’t like it when you feel uncomfortable or when other guys get too close to you.
“You shouldn’t carry such heavy things. You’ll damage your back,” Iwaizumi grumbles, before taking the bag with all the water bottles for the volleyball team from you and hanging it over his shoulder. “Hajime... I’m not five anymore... I can carry the bag by myself.” You answer him with a sigh. He’s a bit like your mum... far too caring. The only thing missing now is that he shouts after you in the morning to always bring a jacket so that you don’t freeze in the summer when it’s thirty degrees… “Never mind, I’ll carry the bag now...” he replies casually and turns his head away from you, but the tips of his reddish ears betray his coolness.
“Uuuhh my favorite manager is back” grins Oikawa, who runs up to you and hugs you as if you were best friends, but quickly lets go of you when he is hit in the back of the head with a ball. “Hey Shittykawa, leave her alone. We’re here to train, not to flirt with women. Especially not with our manager, you idiot!” Iwaizumi yells annoyed and approaches you both, while Oikawa tries to hide behind you. “Not my face, not my face!” Oikawa begs from behind you, leaning his head against your back. Iwaizumi tries to pull him away from you as the coach calls everyone together and demands their attention.
Iwaizumi would definitely be the first to tell you that he has feelings for you. But also alone, not in front of all your friends.
He would pull you aside, casually ask if you had a moment and just before he confessed his feelings to you. His tough determination would leave him and he would scratch the back of his neck until he got the words out almost sulkily, not looking you in the eye at first, before repeating his words with more determination, this time looking at you.
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Oikawa would try to win your attention with every second.
Whether it’s in class because he offers to answer difficult questions and flaunts the answer to make himself look smart and strong in front of you, or whether it’s in training when he scores 5 points only with his serves.
Even your teacher doesn’t call you by name as often as Oikawa does when he wants your attention.
He also doesn’t like it when he sees you with other guys. He always pushes his way in between your conversations and tries to be close to you.
“Oh hey, Y/n-chan, what are you talking about right now?” he asks with feigned curiosity, his arms draped over your shoulders as he stares darkly into the eyes of the young guy in front of you. “Oh eh, we were talking about the new movie that airs tomorrow,” you reply, looking back over your shoulder at Oikawa, who suddenly looks at you with a smile, the dark expression completely gone. “A movie? Shall we go together?” He’s not really in the mood for the cinema, but if it means this guy leaves and Oikawa can spend more time with you, it’s a win-win.
Oikawa walks out of the changing room with a big grin on his face. Freshly showered and in everyday clothes after his team won the game against a neighboring team. “Did you see how many points I scored in that game? It’s amazing, isn’t it?” he asks, totally full of himself, as he puts his arm over your shoulders and pulls you closer to him. “Yes... you really scored a lot of points. But Hajime was also really-“, ”Iwa-chan could only score so many points because I’m the best setter. Right? You saw that, didn’t you? How I pass the ball into Iwa-chan’s hand?" he interrupts you, almost as if it annoys him that you were about to praise his best friend. With a sigh, you just chuckle. “Mhh yes, that’s right. You’re really great.” you answer him and watch as his eyes sparkle even brighter and he happily presses you against his chest. “I knew you only had eyes for me, little birdy.”
Since Oikawa assumes that every woman likes him anyway, he also expects you to like him. Would he tell you that he has feelings for you? Maybe.
The fact that you two are always doing so much together and that he’s like a clingy puppy somehow blurs the line between friendship and relationship.
At some point, when a guy had asked for your number, Oikawa had then shouted loudly that the guy should leave his girlfriend alone. You looked at him in confusion and there was a brief, awkward silence until you asked him if by any chance he had feelings for you.
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