The Bowery Presents
oozey mess
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Misplaced Lens Cap
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Show & Tell
will byers stan first human second
tannertan36
Cosimo Galluzzi
No title available
Discoholic 🪩
NASA
No title available
Cosmic Funnies
Today's Document
Noah Kahan
Origami Around
shark vs the universe
No title available
izzy's playlists!
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Russia
seen from Bangladesh
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Mexico
seen from Colombia
seen from Bangladesh
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from Ukraine
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Philippines
seen from Bahamas
@rockingrobin69
(please click on the image for better quality)
Origami I did and photographed for Robin! I had the idea of doing this piece of birds who found a cut piece of a kite string, and picked it up to play with while flying it in a similar fashion
Buy me a ko-fi | Commissions
Long-er
The first time, Hua Cheng came insultingly fast. It took nothing—the accidental brush of His Highness’ inner-robes to Hua Cheng’s chest, and he was already undone. He thought he might never recover.
But taking care of His Highness was, of course, paramount, and so Hua Cheng continued to undress him, hands trembling and eyes wet, mouth tracing reverent paths along the almost-revealed, warm, impossible, there, actual, real, body of the god he’d worshipped for centuries. Then His Highness moaned, and Hua Cheng came again, punched-out, helpless and unbidden.
It did not go much better from there onwards. Hua Cheng came when his lips were directly on His Highness’ skin, while he himself was untouched; once again when His Highness’ fingers raked through his hair, the scrape against his scalp so maddeningly sweet; and again, choking and crying, when His Highness took his face in both hands, slanted a look up at him, fond and warm and trusting. He was spent well before His Highness was fully naked. Of course His Highness was infuriatingly kind about it, cooing and peppering his wet face with kisses, telling him horrible things.
(“San Lang is perfect. San Lang makes me feel so good. Yes, San Lang, yes, yes, just like that.”)
Drained and entirely without the will to fight, Hua Cheng (long-surrendered) blinked miserably, head fuzzy on the scent (plum blossom and sword-metal, ink and sweat, warm, real), on the soft flesh just under the pads of his fingers, where he could barely make himself touch. He—it—all of it was leagues beyond him, a millennium too advanced; he had been craving and longing and desperate for all of his life, and now it was, he was, the, it, what he, in his arms, His Highness was lying there on his bed and Hua Cheng could, not, comprehend, at all, how it happened.
Knew exactly how it happened. Hua Cheng had been a most meticulous and observant servant to His Highness, the way he always hoped, wished to be, a dream finally fulfilled. Whatever His Highness wanted, Hua Cheng got for him: His every breath was Hua Cheng’s command. And, apparently, impossibly, at some point, the thing His Highness wished for was—him.
And—
(In his heart of hearts it always bloomed, a white-petaled flower of pure, shattering devotion).
He never allowed himself to imagine the things he imagined, and imagine them still he did. Somehow—as he should have expected—His Highness outshone every fantasy. Simply by being here and breathing, he eclipsed anything Hua Cheng could have conjured. He was perfect. In his arms.
It was… happening. Real. That was His Highness’ waist under his fingers. His Highness’ breath of amusement as Hua Cheng stared, reverent-awed, pummelled by it. He loved—with all of his might, with every cun of his soul, he loved, loved, loved him, loved His Highness, his gege, this man, he loved. Laid open on the edge of it. Revelling.
No bedsheets ever felt this luxurious; Hua Cheng still wished he had better to offer his god, still wished… oh.
“You,” he said, dried-mouth with horror. “Your Highness. You never—”
“Shh,” His Highness huffed, warm, to the skin under his jaw. “This is perfect.”
Brokenly, Hua Cheng managed, “Gege.” It felt like spitting blood.
“I mean it, San Lang,” said the most awful god in all the heavens, sighing tiny little sounds of contentment, rubbing his forehead on Hua Cheng’s chest. “You’re perfect.”
An arrow straight through his heart. Never matter, he’d take much worse for His Highness’ pleasure, and this was, somehow, worse and also more; his gege’s joy and his god’s comfort. Everything he could wish for. And still.
“I want…” they were both bare. Together. Pressed into each other; bare; here; really. Hua Cheng could not find his tongue. Presumably somewhere inside his mouth, keeled-over by the shock of the whole evening. Of how horribly he ached for it.
“Soon,” said His Highness. “Just a few more moments of this?” in a tone of pleading, as though Hua Cheng was physically capable of refusing him. As though he would dream of it.
“Of course,” hollowed-out.
“San Lang is so good to me.”
Brutal, delivered with a kiss to the ridge of his breastbone.
“San Lang is so good.”
It took tremendous energy to keep still. Hua Cheng was trembling.
“San Lang is—”
“Gege,” he whispered, “please.”
His Highness looked up at him from where he was perching at Hua Cheng’s waist, liquid-gold open in question. “Please what? I would do anything you asked.”
That—unbelievable—this was his line His Highness had stolen, right from his lips with his kisses, devious and unendurably precious and magnificent and here, and Hua Cheng wanted—unravelling in front of him, joyful and terrified worship unspooling. He had never been so close. On the cusp of living his brightest, dearest wish.
“Let me,” he wrung somehow, through his teeth, “Gege, let me, please.”
His Highness blinked, devastating.
“All right,” he said. “My San Lang can do as he pleases.”
A fatal attack, of course, which His Highness must have known he was delivering, splitting Hua Cheng in half. A plaque was most likely now hanging above his smoking ruins: here once stood a silly ghost king. There was no better demise.
His Highness gave a small sound of surprise as Hua Cheng rolled and, gently, took one pale wrist in his shaky hand. Brought it to his mouth, barely able to exhale, for the tenderest kiss; then down to the mattress, fixing it to place with a reverent thumb.
“Oh,” said His Highness when Hua Cheng took the other wrist. His mind was melting and probably dripping down from his ears; that he was somehow allowed to do this. A deep kiss to the fine bones, and then he had both wrists above His Highness’ head, and His Highness was looking at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, panting softly.
Something inside Hua Cheng broke.
Helplessly he charged forward to capture those lips too in a kiss, seared entirely on it, steaming and squirming, pleasure-pain bursting in white spots behind his eyelids. Helpless: that was that exactly.
Under him, His Highness said, “San Lang,” this breathy voice which—Hua Cheng couldn’t—think—he just wanted, so terribly, openly wanted, and he did not allow himself to miss the little way in which His Highness shuddered, the tiny ah, ahs slipping out of his mouth. Swallowed them greedily, ravenous, grinding against him mindlessly, and when His Highness threw his head back as if to defend from the onslaught, Hua Cheng didn’t hesitate.
So maddened that he did not even realise he was sucking a bruise into His Highness’ neck, and so sacrilegiously unrepentant that he truly frightened himself. But His Highness was moaning now, which rendered Hua Cheng powerless to stop, and, oh, he was, he was thrashing under Hua Cheng’s hands, he was—enjoying this—enjoying him—wanting—the splintered ruins of Hua Cheng’s mind caught fire and, impossibly, he was already close to the edge, again.
His Highness keened, holding him so tightly, real and in his arms and shattering in his beauty, one hand sneaking in between them to—ah—squeeze whatever life remained in Hua Cheng out of him, it would seem—long, deft fingers gaining confidence on his cock as Hua Cheng squealed like a dying animal, broken, careening through the crest, stars exploding wildly between his ears, deafened, defenceless—
“San Lang,” His Highness cried, and Hua Cheng finally made himself move and—fingers skirting on His Highness’ perfect skin, silk-soft, he was touching his Highness’ cock, he was going to make him come, it was—not—something Hua Cheng could comprehend with his mind, only with his hands, only barely. Elation was lightning-bright under his skin. His own climax paled in comparison, and everything in him was jolting towards this long-awaited conclusion, his heart’s desire, to serve and to please, for these hands to extract pleasure out of this beloved body, this dear face—it was him—
Hua Cheng came without even noticing it, and His Highness was not long behind, trembling wildly, ruining Hua Cheng’s taste for anything else and possibly his sight, forever, ruining him completely, punched-out groans chasing the sweetest gasps. His release was jolty, painful almost, sticky in Hua Cheng’s hands and beyond delightful, miraculous. His Highness surrendered to it only for a moment, then tucked his face into his elbow.
Hua Cheng could have none of that. Gently pulling him out: “Your Highness,” disastrously fond. This man who owned him body and soul now trying to hide.
“San Lang,” His Highness pouted, “I’m—”
“Perfect,” Hua Cheng said truthfully. This ridiculous, absurd man, divinity in his arms. Unparalleled. Hua Cheng always knew nothing else would compare. But he didn’t ever expect to actually have this.
In his dreams he did not allow himself to dream…
“Disgusting,” His Highness argued, ridiculously.
“Your Highness could never be disgusting,” Hua Cheng assured him. And although he was entirely honest, His Highness only scoffed.
“San Lang is too kind to ever tell me otherwise. Come now, you must allow me to move at some point?”
He wasn’t exactly aware he was keeping His Highness. Oh, right, with one wrist still captured and Hua Cheng’s weight on him. Hmm.
“Where do you plan to go?” he asked, suspicious.
“Just to clean up. San Lang! Just to clean up!”
“Denied,” said the servant of the world’s most magnificent god, and cheekily even stole a kiss. “Stay right here. I will bring a cloth and—”
“Oh, you think so, do you,” His Highness said, laughter so bright in his face, alight, and used the force of his attack to unfairly wrestle Hua Cheng until His Highness was somehow atop him and blessedly real and heavy and truly, immeasurably wonderful. Hua Cheng could only look up at him, wordless, helpless.
His Highness grinned. He was painfully charming. “You stay right here,” he said, with a kiss to the tip of Hua Cheng’s nose. “Do as I say, San Lang.”
He will. Always. Of course. But, “Gege—”
“I said,” another kiss, “to stay here,” laughing, and a kiss to his forehead, oh, Hua Cheng was a goner. Burned to a crisp. His body was sated-heavy, exhausted and still buzzing. He might actually dissipate here, and he won’t regret it.
His Highness was back quickly anyway, and he was halfway through wiping Hua Cheng’s belly before he even realised what was happening, dazzled. There was such a soft look of—His Highness was looking at him as though Hua Cheng was something else entirely, a revelation, a wonder.
“San Lang,” he said. His voice was quiet. Just with a blink he could demolish an entire city.
Hua Cheng said, “Yes,” meaning, all of it, it is all yours, always, for good.
“Yes,” said His Highness, solemn as a vow. Then, swallowing, tight throat bobbing in the most deviously distracting manner, “I—uh—quite liked when, ah,” gaze dropping to Hua Cheng’s lips, and the bright spot of colour on his neck singing like a beacon. Hua Cheng cursed under his breath, then, helplessly, surged upwards to grab him.
The first time he came insultingly fast. But the second time was very fast approaching. And Hua Cheng was determined to last. Longer, at least.
Long-er
The first time, Hua Cheng came insultingly fast. It took nothing—the accidental brush of His Highness’ inner-robes to Hua Cheng’s chest, and he was already undone. He thought he might never recover.
But taking care of His Highness was, of course, paramount, and so Hua Cheng continued to undress him, hands trembling and eyes wet, mouth tracing reverent paths along the almost-revealed, warm, impossible, there, actual, real, body of the god he’d worshipped for centuries. Then His Highness moaned, and Hua Cheng came again, punched-out, helpless and unbidden.
It did not go much better from there onwards. Hua Cheng came when his lips were directly on His Highness’ skin, while he himself was untouched; once again when His Highness’ fingers raked through his hair, the scrape against his scalp so maddeningly sweet; and again, choking and crying, when His Highness took his face in both hands, slanted a look up at him, fond and warm and trusting. He was spent well before His Highness was fully naked. Of course His Highness was infuriatingly kind about it, cooing and peppering his wet face with kisses, telling him horrible things.
(“San Lang is perfect. San Lang makes me feel so good. Yes, San Lang, yes, yes, just like that.”)
Drained and entirely without the will to fight, Hua Cheng (long-surrendered) blinked miserably, head fuzzy on the scent (plum blossom and sword-metal, ink and sweat, warm, real), on the soft flesh just under the pads of his fingers, where he could barely make himself touch. He—it—all of it was leagues beyond him, a millennium too advanced; he had been craving and longing and desperate for all of his life, and now it was, he was, the, it, what he, in his arms, His Highness was lying there on his bed and Hua Cheng could, not, comprehend, at all, how it happened.
Knew exactly how it happened. Hua Cheng had been a most meticulous and observant servant to His Highness, the way he always hoped, wished to be, a dream finally fulfilled. Whatever His Highness wanted, Hua Cheng got for him: His every breath was Hua Cheng’s command. And, apparently, impossibly, at some point, the thing His Highness wished for was—him.
And—
(In his heart of hearts it always bloomed, a white-petaled flower of pure, shattering devotion).
He never allowed himself to imagine the things he imagined, and imagine them still he did. Somehow—as he should have expected—His Highness outshone every fantasy. Simply by being here and breathing, he eclipsed anything Hua Cheng could have conjured. He was perfect. In his arms.
It was… happening. Real. That was His Highness’ waist under his fingers. His Highness’ breath of amusement as Hua Cheng stared, reverent-awed, pummelled by it. He loved—with all of his might, with every cun of his soul, he loved, loved, loved him, loved His Highness, his gege, this man, he loved. Laid open on the edge of it. Revelling.
No bedsheets ever felt this luxurious; Hua Cheng still wished he had better to offer his god, still wished… oh.
“You,” he said, dried-mouth with horror. “Your Highness. You never—”
“Shh,” His Highness huffed, warm, to the skin under his jaw. “This is perfect.”
Brokenly, Hua Cheng managed, “Gege.” It felt like spitting blood.
“I mean it, San Lang,” said the most awful god in all the heavens, sighing tiny little sounds of contentment, rubbing his forehead on Hua Cheng’s chest. “You’re perfect.”
An arrow straight through his heart. Never matter, he’d take much worse for His Highness’ pleasure, and this was, somehow, worse and also more; his gege’s joy and his god’s comfort. Everything he could wish for. And still.
“I want…” they were both bare. Together. Pressed into each other; bare; here; really. Hua Cheng could not find his tongue. Presumably somewhere inside his mouth, keeled-over by the shock of the whole evening. Of how horribly he ached for it.
“Soon,” said His Highness. “Just a few more moments of this?” in a tone of pleading, as though Hua Cheng was physically capable of refusing him. As though he would dream of it.
“Of course,” hollowed-out.
“San Lang is so good to me.”
Brutal, delivered with a kiss to the ridge of his breastbone.
“San Lang is so good.”
It took tremendous energy to keep still. Hua Cheng was trembling.
“San Lang is—”
“Gege,” he whispered, “please.”
His Highness looked up at him from where he was perching at Hua Cheng’s waist, liquid-gold open in question. “Please what? I would do anything you asked.”
That—unbelievable—this was his line His Highness had stolen, right from his lips with his kisses, devious and unendurably precious and magnificent and here, and Hua Cheng wanted—unravelling in front of him, joyful and terrified worship unspooling. He had never been so close. On the cusp of living his brightest, dearest wish.
“Let me,” he wrung somehow, through his teeth, “Gege, let me, please.”
His Highness blinked, devastating.
“All right,” he said. “My San Lang can do as he pleases.”
A fatal attack, of course, which His Highness must have known he was delivering, splitting Hua Cheng in half. A plaque was most likely now hanging above his smoking ruins: here once stood a silly ghost king. There was no better demise.
His Highness gave a small sound of surprise as Hua Cheng rolled and, gently, took one pale wrist in his shaky hand. Brought it to his mouth, barely able to exhale, for the tenderest kiss; then down to the mattress, fixing it to place with a reverent thumb.
“Oh,” said His Highness when Hua Cheng took the other wrist. His mind was melting and probably dripping down from his ears; that he was somehow allowed to do this. A deep kiss to the fine bones, and then he had both wrists above His Highness’ head, and His Highness was looking at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, panting softly.
Something inside Hua Cheng broke.
Helplessly he charged forward to capture those lips too in a kiss, seared entirely on it, steaming and squirming, pleasure-pain bursting in white spots behind his eyelids. Helpless: that was that exactly.
Under him, His Highness said, “San Lang,” this breathy voice which—Hua Cheng couldn’t—think—he just wanted, so terribly, openly wanted, and he did not allow himself to miss the little way in which His Highness shuddered, the tiny ah, ahs slipping out of his mouth. Swallowed them greedily, ravenous, grinding against him mindlessly, and when His Highness threw his head back as if to defend from the onslaught, Hua Cheng didn’t hesitate.
So maddened that he did not even realise he was sucking a bruise into His Highness’ neck, and so sacrilegiously unrepentant that he truly frightened himself. But His Highness was moaning now, which rendered Hua Cheng powerless to stop, and, oh, he was, he was thrashing under Hua Cheng’s hands, he was—enjoying this—enjoying him—wanting—the splintered ruins of Hua Cheng’s mind caught fire and, impossibly, he was already close to the edge, again.
His Highness keened, holding him so tightly, real and in his arms and shattering in his beauty, one hand sneaking in between them to—ah—squeeze whatever life remained in Hua Cheng out of him, it would seem—long, deft fingers gaining confidence on his cock as Hua Cheng squealed like a dying animal, broken, careening through the crest, stars exploding wildly between his ears, deafened, defenceless—
“San Lang,” His Highness cried, and Hua Cheng finally made himself move and—fingers skirting on His Highness’ perfect skin, silk-soft, he was touching his Highness’ cock, he was going to make him come, it was—not—something Hua Cheng could comprehend with his mind, only with his hands, only barely. Elation was lightning-bright under his skin. His own climax paled in comparison, and everything in him was jolting towards this long-awaited conclusion, his heart’s desire, to serve and to please, for these hands to extract pleasure out of this beloved body, this dear face—it was him—
Hua Cheng came without even noticing it, and His Highness was not long behind, trembling wildly, ruining Hua Cheng’s taste for anything else and possibly his sight, forever, ruining him completely, punched-out groans chasing the sweetest gasps. His release was jolty, painful almost, sticky in Hua Cheng’s hands and beyond delightful, miraculous. His Highness surrendered to it only for a moment, then tucked his face into his elbow.
Hua Cheng could have none of that. Gently pulling him out: “Your Highness,” disastrously fond. This man who owned him body and soul now trying to hide.
“San Lang,” His Highness pouted, “I’m—”
“Perfect,” Hua Cheng said truthfully. This ridiculous, absurd man, divinity in his arms. Unparalleled. Hua Cheng always knew nothing else would compare. But he didn’t ever expect to actually have this.
In his dreams he did not allow himself to dream…
“Disgusting,” His Highness argued, ridiculously.
“Your Highness could never be disgusting,” Hua Cheng assured him. And although he was entirely honest, His Highness only scoffed.
“San Lang is too kind to ever tell me otherwise. Come now, you must allow me to move at some point?”
He wasn’t exactly aware he was keeping His Highness. Oh, right, with one wrist still captured and Hua Cheng’s weight on him. Hmm.
“Where do you plan to go?” he asked, suspicious.
“Just to clean up. San Lang! Just to clean up!”
“Denied,” said the servant of the world’s most magnificent god, and cheekily even stole a kiss. “Stay right here. I will bring a cloth and—”
“Oh, you think so, do you,” His Highness said, laughter so bright in his face, alight, and used the force of his attack to unfairly wrestle Hua Cheng until His Highness was somehow atop him and blessedly real and heavy and truly, immeasurably wonderful. Hua Cheng could only look up at him, wordless, helpless.
His Highness grinned. He was painfully charming. “You stay right here,” he said, with a kiss to the tip of Hua Cheng’s nose. “Do as I say, San Lang.”
He will. Always. Of course. But, “Gege—”
“I said,” another kiss, “to stay here,” laughing, and a kiss to his forehead, oh, Hua Cheng was a goner. Burned to a crisp. His body was sated-heavy, exhausted and still buzzing. He might actually dissipate here, and he won’t regret it.
His Highness was back quickly anyway, and he was halfway through wiping Hua Cheng’s belly before he even realised what was happening, dazzled. There was such a soft look of—His Highness was looking at him as though Hua Cheng was something else entirely, a revelation, a wonder.
“San Lang,” he said. His voice was quiet. Just with a blink he could demolish an entire city.
Hua Cheng said, “Yes,” meaning, all of it, it is all yours, always, for good.
“Yes,” said His Highness, solemn as a vow. Then, swallowing, tight throat bobbing in the most deviously distracting manner, “I—uh—quite liked when, ah,” gaze dropping to Hua Cheng’s lips, and the bright spot of colour on his neck singing like a beacon. Hua Cheng cursed under his breath, then, helplessly, surged upwards to grab him.
The first time he came insultingly fast. But the second time was very fast approaching. And Hua Cheng was determined to last. Longer, at least.
Long-er
The first time, Hua Cheng came insultingly fast. It took nothing—the accidental brush of His Highness’ inner-robes to Hua Cheng’s chest, and he was already undone. He thought he might never recover.
But taking care of His Highness was, of course, paramount, and so Hua Cheng continued to undress him, hands trembling and eyes wet, mouth tracing reverent paths along the almost-revealed, warm, impossible, there, actual, real, body of the god he’d worshipped for centuries. Then His Highness moaned, and Hua Cheng came again, punched-out, helpless and unbidden.
It did not go much better from there onwards. Hua Cheng came when his lips were directly on His Highness’ skin, while he himself was untouched; once again when His Highness’ fingers raked through his hair, the scrape against his scalp so maddeningly sweet; and again, choking and crying, when His Highness took his face in both hands, slanted a look up at him, fond and warm and trusting. He was spent well before His Highness was fully naked. Of course His Highness was infuriatingly kind about it, cooing and peppering his wet face with kisses, telling him horrible things.
(“San Lang is perfect. San Lang makes me feel so good. Yes, San Lang, yes, yes, just like that.”)
Drained and entirely without the will to fight, Hua Cheng (long-surrendered) blinked miserably, head fuzzy on the scent (plum blossom and sword-metal, ink and sweat, warm, real), on the soft flesh just under the pads of his fingers, where he could barely make himself touch. He—it—all of it was leagues beyond him, a millennium too advanced; he had been craving and longing and desperate for all of his life, and now it was, he was, the, it, what he, in his arms, His Highness was lying there on his bed and Hua Cheng could, not, comprehend, at all, how it happened.
Knew exactly how it happened. Hua Cheng had been a most meticulous and observant servant to His Highness, the way he always hoped, wished to be, a dream finally fulfilled. Whatever His Highness wanted, Hua Cheng got for him: His every breath was Hua Cheng’s command. And, apparently, impossibly, at some point, the thing His Highness wished for was—him.
And—
(In his heart of hearts it always bloomed, a white-petaled flower of pure, shattering devotion).
He never allowed himself to imagine the things he imagined, and imagine them still he did. Somehow—as he should have expected—His Highness outshone every fantasy. Simply by being here and breathing, he eclipsed anything Hua Cheng could have conjured. He was perfect. In his arms.
It was… happening. Real. That was His Highness’ waist under his fingers. His Highness’ breath of amusement as Hua Cheng stared, reverent-awed, pummelled by it. He loved—with all of his might, with every cun of his soul, he loved, loved, loved him, loved His Highness, his gege, this man, he loved. Laid open on the edge of it. Revelling.
No bedsheets ever felt this luxurious; Hua Cheng still wished he had better to offer his god, still wished… oh.
“You,” he said, dried-mouth with horror. “Your Highness. You never—”
“Shh,” His Highness huffed, warm, to the skin under his jaw. “This is perfect.”
Brokenly, Hua Cheng managed, “Gege.” It felt like spitting blood.
“I mean it, San Lang,” said the most awful god in all the heavens, sighing tiny little sounds of contentment, rubbing his forehead on Hua Cheng’s chest. “You’re perfect.”
An arrow straight through his heart. Never matter, he’d take much worse for His Highness’ pleasure, and this was, somehow, worse and also more; his gege’s joy and his god’s comfort. Everything he could wish for. And still.
“I want…” they were both bare. Together. Pressed into each other; bare; here; really. Hua Cheng could not find his tongue. Presumably somewhere inside his mouth, keeled-over by the shock of the whole evening. Of how horribly he ached for it.
“Soon,” said His Highness. “Just a few more moments of this?” in a tone of pleading, as though Hua Cheng was physically capable of refusing him. As though he would dream of it.
“Of course,” hollowed-out.
“San Lang is so good to me.”
Brutal, delivered with a kiss to the ridge of his breastbone.
“San Lang is so good.”
It took tremendous energy to keep still. Hua Cheng was trembling.
“San Lang is—”
“Gege,” he whispered, “please.”
His Highness looked up at him from where he was perching at Hua Cheng’s waist, liquid-gold open in question. “Please what? I would do anything you asked.”
That—unbelievable—this was his line His Highness had stolen, right from his lips with his kisses, devious and unendurably precious and magnificent and here, and Hua Cheng wanted—unravelling in front of him, joyful and terrified worship unspooling. He had never been so close. On the cusp of living his brightest, dearest wish.
“Let me,” he wrung somehow, through his teeth, “Gege, let me, please.”
His Highness blinked, devastating.
“All right,” he said. “My San Lang can do as he pleases.”
A fatal attack, of course, which His Highness must have known he was delivering, splitting Hua Cheng in half. A plaque was most likely now hanging above his smoking ruins: here once stood a silly ghost king. There was no better demise.
His Highness gave a small sound of surprise as Hua Cheng rolled and, gently, took one pale wrist in his shaky hand. Brought it to his mouth, barely able to exhale, for the tenderest kiss; then down to the mattress, fixing it to place with a reverent thumb.
“Oh,” said His Highness when Hua Cheng took the other wrist. His mind was melting and probably dripping down from his ears; that he was somehow allowed to do this. A deep kiss to the fine bones, and then he had both wrists above His Highness’ head, and His Highness was looking at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, panting softly.
Something inside Hua Cheng broke.
Helplessly he charged forward to capture those lips too in a kiss, seared entirely on it, steaming and squirming, pleasure-pain bursting in white spots behind his eyelids. Helpless: that was that exactly.
Under him, His Highness said, “San Lang,” this breathy voice which—Hua Cheng couldn’t—think—he just wanted, so terribly, openly wanted, and he did not allow himself to miss the little way in which His Highness shuddered, the tiny ah, ahs slipping out of his mouth. Swallowed them greedily, ravenous, grinding against him mindlessly, and when His Highness threw his head back as if to defend from the onslaught, Hua Cheng didn’t hesitate.
So maddened that he did not even realise he was sucking a bruise into His Highness’ neck, and so sacrilegiously unrepentant that he truly frightened himself. But His Highness was moaning now, which rendered Hua Cheng powerless to stop, and, oh, he was, he was thrashing under Hua Cheng’s hands, he was—enjoying this—enjoying him—wanting—the splintered ruins of Hua Cheng’s mind caught fire and, impossibly, he was already close to the edge, again.
His Highness keened, holding him so tightly, real and in his arms and shattering in his beauty, one hand sneaking in between them to—ah—squeeze whatever life remained in Hua Cheng out of him, it would seem—long, deft fingers gaining confidence on his cock as Hua Cheng squealed like a dying animal, broken, careening through the crest, stars exploding wildly between his ears, deafened, defenceless—
“San Lang,” His Highness cried, and Hua Cheng finally made himself move and—fingers skirting on His Highness’ perfect skin, silk-soft, he was touching his Highness’ cock, he was going to make him come, it was—not—something Hua Cheng could comprehend with his mind, only with his hands, only barely. Elation was lightning-bright under his skin. His own climax paled in comparison, and everything in him was jolting towards this long-awaited conclusion, his heart’s desire, to serve and to please, for these hands to extract pleasure out of this beloved body, this dear face—it was him—
Hua Cheng came without even noticing it, and His Highness was not long behind, trembling wildly, ruining Hua Cheng’s taste for anything else and possibly his sight, forever, ruining him completely, punched-out groans chasing the sweetest gasps. His release was jolty, painful almost, sticky in Hua Cheng’s hands and beyond delightful, miraculous. His Highness surrendered to it only for a moment, then tucked his face into his elbow.
Hua Cheng could have none of that. Gently pulling him out: “Your Highness,” disastrously fond. This man who owned him body and soul now trying to hide.
“San Lang,” His Highness pouted, “I’m—”
“Perfect,” Hua Cheng said truthfully. This ridiculous, absurd man, divinity in his arms. Unparalleled. Hua Cheng always knew nothing else would compare. But he didn’t ever expect to actually have this.
In his dreams he did not allow himself to dream…
“Disgusting,” His Highness argued, ridiculously.
“Your Highness could never be disgusting,” Hua Cheng assured him. And although he was entirely honest, His Highness only scoffed.
“San Lang is too kind to ever tell me otherwise. Come now, you must allow me to move at some point?”
He wasn’t exactly aware he was keeping His Highness. Oh, right, with one wrist still captured and Hua Cheng’s weight on him. Hmm.
“Where do you plan to go?” he asked, suspicious.
“Just to clean up. San Lang! Just to clean up!”
“Denied,” said the servant of the world’s most magnificent god, and cheekily even stole a kiss. “Stay right here. I will bring a cloth and—”
“Oh, you think so, do you,” His Highness said, laughter so bright in his face, alight, and used the force of his attack to unfairly wrestle Hua Cheng until His Highness was somehow atop him and blessedly real and heavy and truly, immeasurably wonderful. Hua Cheng could only look up at him, wordless, helpless.
His Highness grinned. He was painfully charming. “You stay right here,” he said, with a kiss to the tip of Hua Cheng’s nose. “Do as I say, San Lang.”
He will. Always. Of course. But, “Gege—”
“I said,” another kiss, “to stay here,” laughing, and a kiss to his forehead, oh, Hua Cheng was a goner. Burned to a crisp. His body was sated-heavy, exhausted and still buzzing. He might actually dissipate here, and he won’t regret it.
His Highness was back quickly anyway, and he was halfway through wiping Hua Cheng’s belly before he even realised what was happening, dazzled. There was such a soft look of—His Highness was looking at him as though Hua Cheng was something else entirely, a revelation, a wonder.
“San Lang,” he said. His voice was quiet. Just with a blink he could demolish an entire city.
Hua Cheng said, “Yes,” meaning, all of it, it is all yours, always, for good.
“Yes,” said His Highness, solemn as a vow. Then, swallowing, tight throat bobbing in the most deviously distracting manner, “I—uh—quite liked when, ah,” gaze dropping to Hua Cheng’s lips, and the bright spot of colour on his neck singing like a beacon. Hua Cheng cursed under his breath, then, helplessly, surged upwards to grab him.
The first time he came insultingly fast. But the second time was very fast approaching. And Hua Cheng was determined to last. Longer, at least.
Long-er
The first time, Hua Cheng came insultingly fast. It took nothing—the accidental brush of His Highness’ inner-robes to Hua Cheng’s chest, and he was already undone. He thought he might never recover.
But taking care of His Highness was, of course, paramount, and so Hua Cheng continued to undress him, hands trembling and eyes wet, mouth tracing reverent paths along the almost-revealed, warm, impossible, there, actual, real, body of the god he’d worshipped for centuries. Then His Highness moaned, and Hua Cheng came again, punched-out, helpless and unbidden.
It did not go much better from there onwards. Hua Cheng came when his lips were directly on His Highness’ skin, while he himself was untouched; once again when His Highness’ fingers raked through his hair, the scrape against his scalp so maddeningly sweet; and again, choking and crying, when His Highness took his face in both hands, slanted a look up at him, fond and warm and trusting. He was spent well before His Highness was fully naked. Of course His Highness was infuriatingly kind about it, cooing and peppering his wet face with kisses, telling him horrible things.
(“San Lang is perfect. San Lang makes me feel so good. Yes, San Lang, yes, yes, just like that.”)
Drained and entirely without the will to fight, Hua Cheng (long-surrendered) blinked miserably, head fuzzy on the scent (plum blossom and sword-metal, ink and sweat, warm, real), on the soft flesh just under the pads of his fingers, where he could barely make himself touch. He—it—all of it was leagues beyond him, a millennium too advanced; he had been craving and longing and desperate for all of his life, and now it was, he was, the, it, what he, in his arms, His Highness was lying there on his bed and Hua Cheng could, not, comprehend, at all, how it happened.
Knew exactly how it happened. Hua Cheng had been a most meticulous and observant servant to His Highness, the way he always hoped, wished to be, a dream finally fulfilled. Whatever His Highness wanted, Hua Cheng got for him: His every breath was Hua Cheng’s command. And, apparently, impossibly, at some point, the thing His Highness wished for was—him.
And—
(In his heart of hearts it always bloomed, a white-petaled flower of pure, shattering devotion).
He never allowed himself to imagine the things he imagined, and imagine them still he did. Somehow—as he should have expected—His Highness outshone every fantasy. Simply by being here and breathing, he eclipsed anything Hua Cheng could have conjured. He was perfect. In his arms.
It was… happening. Real. That was His Highness’ waist under his fingers. His Highness’ breath of amusement as Hua Cheng stared, reverent-awed, pummelled by it. He loved—with all of his might, with every cun of his soul, he loved, loved, loved him, loved His Highness, his gege, this man, he loved. Laid open on the edge of it. Revelling.
No bedsheets ever felt this luxurious; Hua Cheng still wished he had better to offer his god, still wished… oh.
“You,” he said, dried-mouth with horror. “Your Highness. You never—”
“Shh,” His Highness huffed, warm, to the skin under his jaw. “This is perfect.”
Brokenly, Hua Cheng managed, “Gege.” It felt like spitting blood.
“I mean it, San Lang,” said the most awful god in all the heavens, sighing tiny little sounds of contentment, rubbing his forehead on Hua Cheng’s chest. “You’re perfect.”
An arrow straight through his heart. Never matter, he’d take much worse for His Highness’ pleasure, and this was, somehow, worse and also more; his gege’s joy and his god’s comfort. Everything he could wish for. And still.
“I want…” they were both bare. Together. Pressed into each other; bare; here; really. Hua Cheng could not find his tongue. Presumably somewhere inside his mouth, keeled-over by the shock of the whole evening. Of how horribly he ached for it.
“Soon,” said His Highness. “Just a few more moments of this?” in a tone of pleading, as though Hua Cheng was physically capable of refusing him. As though he would dream of it.
“Of course,” hollowed-out.
“San Lang is so good to me.”
Brutal, delivered with a kiss to the ridge of his breastbone.
“San Lang is so good.”
It took tremendous energy to keep still. Hua Cheng was trembling.
“San Lang is—”
“Gege,” he whispered, “please.”
His Highness looked up at him from where he was perching at Hua Cheng’s waist, liquid-gold open in question. “Please what? I would do anything you asked.”
That—unbelievable—this was his line His Highness had stolen, right from his lips with his kisses, devious and unendurably precious and magnificent and here, and Hua Cheng wanted—unravelling in front of him, joyful and terrified worship unspooling. He had never been so close. On the cusp of living his brightest, dearest wish.
“Let me,” he wrung somehow, through his teeth, “Gege, let me, please.”
His Highness blinked, devastating.
“All right,” he said. “My San Lang can do as he pleases.”
A fatal attack, of course, which His Highness must have known he was delivering, splitting Hua Cheng in half. A plaque was most likely now hanging above his smoking ruins: here once stood a silly ghost king. There was no better demise.
His Highness gave a small sound of surprise as Hua Cheng rolled and, gently, took one pale wrist in his shaky hand. Brought it to his mouth, barely able to exhale, for the tenderest kiss; then down to the mattress, fixing it to place with a reverent thumb.
“Oh,” said His Highness when Hua Cheng took the other wrist. His mind was melting and probably dripping down from his ears; that he was somehow allowed to do this. A deep kiss to the fine bones, and then he had both wrists above His Highness’ head, and His Highness was looking at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, panting softly.
Something inside Hua Cheng broke.
Helplessly he charged forward to capture those lips too in a kiss, seared entirely on it, steaming and squirming, pleasure-pain bursting in white spots behind his eyelids. Helpless: that was that exactly.
Under him, His Highness said, “San Lang,” this breathy voice which—Hua Cheng couldn’t—think—he just wanted, so terribly, openly wanted, and he did not allow himself to miss the little way in which His Highness shuddered, the tiny ah, ahs slipping out of his mouth. Swallowed them greedily, ravenous, grinding against him mindlessly, and when His Highness threw his head back as if to defend from the onslaught, Hua Cheng didn’t hesitate.
So maddened that he did not even realise he was sucking a bruise into His Highness’ neck, and so sacrilegiously unrepentant that he truly frightened himself. But His Highness was moaning now, which rendered Hua Cheng powerless to stop, and, oh, he was, he was thrashing under Hua Cheng’s hands, he was—enjoying this—enjoying him—wanting—the splintered ruins of Hua Cheng’s mind caught fire and, impossibly, he was already close to the edge, again.
His Highness keened, holding him so tightly, real and in his arms and shattering in his beauty, one hand sneaking in between them to—ah—squeeze whatever life remained in Hua Cheng out of him, it would seem—long, deft fingers gaining confidence on his cock as Hua Cheng squealed like a dying animal, broken, careening through the crest, stars exploding wildly between his ears, deafened, defenceless—
“San Lang,” His Highness cried, and Hua Cheng finally made himself move and—fingers skirting on His Highness’ perfect skin, silk-soft, he was touching his Highness’ cock, he was going to make him come, it was—not—something Hua Cheng could comprehend with his mind, only with his hands, only barely. Elation was lightning-bright under his skin. His own climax paled in comparison, and everything in him was jolting towards this long-awaited conclusion, his heart’s desire, to serve and to please, for these hands to extract pleasure out of this beloved body, this dear face—it was him—
Hua Cheng came without even noticing it, and His Highness was not long behind, trembling wildly, ruining Hua Cheng’s taste for anything else and possibly his sight, forever, ruining him completely, punched-out groans chasing the sweetest gasps. His release was jolty, painful almost, sticky in Hua Cheng’s hands and beyond delightful, miraculous. His Highness surrendered to it only for a moment, then tucked his face into his elbow.
Hua Cheng could have none of that. Gently pulling him out: “Your Highness,” disastrously fond. This man who owned him body and soul now trying to hide.
“San Lang,” His Highness pouted, “I’m—”
“Perfect,” Hua Cheng said truthfully. This ridiculous, absurd man, divinity in his arms. Unparalleled. Hua Cheng always knew nothing else would compare. But he didn’t ever expect to actually have this.
In his dreams he did not allow himself to dream…
“Disgusting,” His Highness argued, ridiculously.
“Your Highness could never be disgusting,” Hua Cheng assured him. And although he was entirely honest, His Highness only scoffed.
“San Lang is too kind to ever tell me otherwise. Come now, you must allow me to move at some point?”
He wasn’t exactly aware he was keeping His Highness. Oh, right, with one wrist still captured and Hua Cheng’s weight on him. Hmm.
“Where do you plan to go?” he asked, suspicious.
“Just to clean up. San Lang! Just to clean up!”
“Denied,” said the servant of the world’s most magnificent god, and cheekily even stole a kiss. “Stay right here. I will bring a cloth and—”
“Oh, you think so, do you,” His Highness said, laughter so bright in his face, alight, and used the force of his attack to unfairly wrestle Hua Cheng until His Highness was somehow atop him and blessedly real and heavy and truly, immeasurably wonderful. Hua Cheng could only look up at him, wordless, helpless.
His Highness grinned. He was painfully charming. “You stay right here,” he said, with a kiss to the tip of Hua Cheng’s nose. “Do as I say, San Lang.”
He will. Always. Of course. But, “Gege—”
“I said,” another kiss, “to stay here,” laughing, and a kiss to his forehead, oh, Hua Cheng was a goner. Burned to a crisp. His body was sated-heavy, exhausted and still buzzing. He might actually dissipate here, and he won’t regret it.
His Highness was back quickly anyway, and he was halfway through wiping Hua Cheng’s belly before he even realised what was happening, dazzled. There was such a soft look of—His Highness was looking at him as though Hua Cheng was something else entirely, a revelation, a wonder.
“San Lang,” he said. His voice was quiet. Just with a blink he could demolish an entire city.
Hua Cheng said, “Yes,” meaning, all of it, it is all yours, always, for good.
“Yes,” said His Highness, solemn as a vow. Then, swallowing, tight throat bobbing in the most deviously distracting manner, “I—uh—quite liked when, ah,” gaze dropping to Hua Cheng’s lips, and the bright spot of colour on his neck singing like a beacon. Hua Cheng cursed under his breath, then, helplessly, surged upwards to grab him.
The first time he came insultingly fast. But the second time was very fast approaching. And Hua Cheng was determined to last. Longer, at least.
first doodles of thr yearr
been rereading no home smile. guys lets make this house a home🏠☀️
quick map part for my friend aster : )
go read no home itll make you feel worse but its worth it
me when there’s no home
do people still like no home…
part 2
part 1
Why you should read No Home by Wanan
A quick review of one of the best stories I've come across
This is a dead funny, heart-wrenching story about--well, everything; grief and abuse and neglect and trauma, found family and building out of the shatters of what life gives you, finding joy, goofing about, goofing some more, wanting to die, more goof, absolute bleak no-hope depression, goofing. No I am doing a very bad job at explaining: this story has everything, and it really, just, works. It's written so well and so--from the heart. No character is flat, everyone is a person, and no matter how terribly huge the gulf may seem, we do end up crossing it.
Enemies to lovers? I mean, not quite. But how would you like enemies to becoming each others' homes?
Very basic explanation:
And ✨✨ EVERYONE HAS ISSUES ✨✨
and it WILL break your heart
Fucking Beautifully.
Listen, I'm still in the whaaaaaa stage of having-just-finished-reading-this-yesterday. (Was it only yesterday?!) It's difficult for me to actually distill into words how beautiful this story is. But these guys, who absolutely ruin each others' lives in the beginning, end up saving each other in so many ways and maybe also they sort of saved me. So I owe them a bit. Whatever.
Point being: if you like webcomics, or curious to try, if you want to read a very human story that features a lot of hard topics and a lot of suffering and a lot, a lot of heart, you should totally read No Home by Wanan.
Then come shout with me.
Why you should read No Home by Wanan
A quick review of one of the best stories I've come across
This is a dead funny, heart-wrenching story about--well, everything; grief and abuse and neglect and trauma, found family and building out of the shatters of what life gives you, finding joy, goofing about, goofing some more, wanting to die, more goof, absolute bleak no-hope depression, goofing. No I am doing a very bad job at explaining: this story has everything, and it really, just, works. It's written so well and so--from the heart. No character is flat, everyone is a person, and no matter how terribly huge the gulf may seem, we do end up crossing it.
Enemies to lovers? I mean, not quite. But how would you like enemies to becoming each others' homes?
Very basic explanation:
And ✨✨ EVERYONE HAS ISSUES ✨✨
and it WILL break your heart
Fucking Beautifully.
Listen, I'm still in the whaaaaaa stage of having-just-finished-reading-this-yesterday. (Was it only yesterday?!) It's difficult for me to actually distill into words how beautiful this story is. But these guys, who absolutely ruin each others' lives in the beginning, end up saving each other in so many ways and maybe also they sort of saved me. So I owe them a bit. Whatever.
Point being: if you like webcomics, or curious to try, if you want to read a very human story that features a lot of hard topics and a lot of suffering and a lot, a lot of heart, you should totally read No Home by Wanan.
Then come shout with me.
Why you should read No Home by Wanan
A quick review of one of the best stories I've come across
This is a dead funny, heart-wrenching story about--well, everything; grief and abuse and neglect and trauma, found family and building out of the shatters of what life gives you, finding joy, goofing about, goofing some more, wanting to die, more goof, absolute bleak no-hope depression, goofing. No I am doing a very bad job at explaining: this story has everything, and it really, just, works. It's written so well and so--from the heart. No character is flat, everyone is a person, and no matter how terribly huge the gulf may seem, we do end up crossing it.
Enemies to lovers? I mean, not quite. But how would you like enemies to becoming each others' homes?
Very basic explanation:
And ✨✨ EVERYONE HAS ISSUES ✨✨
and it WILL break your heart
Fucking Beautifully.
Listen, I'm still in the whaaaaaa stage of having-just-finished-reading-this-yesterday. (Was it only yesterday?!) It's difficult for me to actually distill into words how beautiful this story is. But these guys, who absolutely ruin each others' lives in the beginning, end up saving each other in so many ways and maybe also they sort of saved me. So I owe them a bit. Whatever.
Point being: if you like webcomics, or curious to try, if you want to read a very human story that features a lot of hard topics and a lot of suffering and a lot, a lot of heart, you should totally read No Home by Wanan.
Then come shout with me.
Why you should read No Home by Wanan
A quick review of one of the best stories I've come across
This is a dead funny, heart-wrenching story about--well, everything; grief and abuse and neglect and trauma, found family and building out of the shatters of what life gives you, finding joy, goofing about, goofing some more, wanting to die, more goof, absolute bleak no-hope depression, goofing. No I am doing a very bad job at explaining: this story has everything, and it really, just, works. It's written so well and so--from the heart. No character is flat, everyone is a person, and no matter how terribly huge the gulf may seem, we do end up crossing it.
Enemies to lovers? I mean, not quite. But how would you like enemies to becoming each others' homes?
Very basic explanation:
And ✨✨ EVERYONE HAS ISSUES ✨✨
and it WILL break your heart
Fucking Beautifully.
Listen, I'm still in the whaaaaaa stage of having-just-finished-reading-this-yesterday. (Was it only yesterday?!) It's difficult for me to actually distill into words how beautiful this story is. But these guys, who absolutely ruin each others' lives in the beginning, end up saving each other in so many ways and maybe also they sort of saved me. So I owe them a bit. Whatever.
Point being: if you like webcomics, or curious to try, if you want to read a very human story that features a lot of hard topics and a lot of suffering and a lot, a lot of heart, you should totally read No Home by Wanan.
Then come shout with me.
Why you should read No Home by Wanan
A quick review of one of the best stories I've come across
This is a dead funny, heart-wrenching story about--well, everything; grief and abuse and neglect and trauma, found family and building out of the shatters of what life gives you, finding joy, goofing about, goofing some more, wanting to die, more goof, absolute bleak no-hope depression, goofing. No I am doing a very bad job at explaining: this story has everything, and it really, just, works. It's written so well and so--from the heart. No character is flat, everyone is a person, and no matter how terribly huge the gulf may seem, we do end up crossing it.
Enemies to lovers? I mean, not quite. But how would you like enemies to becoming each others' homes?
Very basic explanation:
And ✨✨ EVERYONE HAS ISSUES ✨✨
and it WILL break your heart
Fucking Beautifully.
Listen, I'm still in the whaaaaaa stage of having-just-finished-reading-this-yesterday. (Was it only yesterday?!) It's difficult for me to actually distill into words how beautiful this story is. But these guys, who absolutely ruin each others' lives in the beginning, end up saving each other in so many ways and maybe also they sort of saved me. So I owe them a bit. Whatever.
Point being: if you like webcomics, or curious to try, if you want to read a very human story that features a lot of hard topics and a lot of suffering and a lot, a lot of heart, you should totally read No Home by Wanan.
Then come shout with me.
Why you should read No Home by Wanan
A quick review of one of the best stories I've come across
This is a dead funny, heart-wrenching story about--well, everything; grief and abuse and neglect and trauma, found family and building out of the shatters of what life gives you, finding joy, goofing about, goofing some more, wanting to die, more goof, absolute bleak no-hope depression, goofing. No I am doing a very bad job at explaining: this story has everything, and it really, just, works. It's written so well and so--from the heart. No character is flat, everyone is a person, and no matter how terribly huge the gulf may seem, we do end up crossing it.
Enemies to lovers? I mean, not quite. But how would you like enemies to becoming each others' homes?
Very basic explanation:
And ✨✨ EVERYONE HAS ISSUES ✨✨
and it WILL break your heart
Fucking Beautifully.
Listen, I'm still in the whaaaaaa stage of having-just-finished-reading-this-yesterday. (Was it only yesterday?!) It's difficult for me to actually distill into words how beautiful this story is. But these guys, who absolutely ruin each others' lives in the beginning, end up saving each other in so many ways and maybe also they sort of saved me. So I owe them a bit. Whatever.
Point being: if you like webcomics, or curious to try, if you want to read a very human story that features a lot of hard topics and a lot of suffering and a lot, a lot of heart, you should totally read No Home by Wanan.
Then come shout with me.
