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padfootagain · 3 days ago

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Love in verses (XXVI)

Chapter 26: ‘Well, how else are you to live except by denial’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! This is one of my favourites, just… some adorable stuff!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

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Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 4227

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Earl

In Sitka, because they are fond of them, People have named the seals. Every seal is named Earl because they are killed one after another by the orca, the killer whale; seal bodies tossed left and right into the air. “At least he didn’t get Earl,” someone says. And sure enough, after a time, that same friendly, bewhiskered face bobs to the surface. It’s Earl again. Well, how else are you to live except by denial, by some palatable fiction, some little song to sing while the inevitable, the black and white blindsiding fact, comes hurtling toward you out of the deep?

Louis Jenkins

The pain in your abdomen was a sensation you were used to, sadly. You recognized the pattern in the intensity, you knew it perfectly after years of suffering once a month. This month seemed to be particularly nasty though, and there was little doubt on to why. Your stress was so high these days, between your new job, your research, your career, and Frank’s bloody wedding�� You were drowning, to be fair. Drowning in an ocean of emotions. You bent in front of your sink, waiting for the wave of pain to fade again, closing tightly your eyes, while the microwave beeped with the heating pad now reaching a burning temperature. You placed it on your stomach, not caring about your skin, only about the pain under it.

Damn… that was a bad month…

You stood straighter again, letting out a long and careful exhale, relaxing once more. Your head was spinning a little, but you didn’t dare to eat too much for now, your nausea was too bad and you didn’t want to end up throwing up. You settled for a bit of rice and an apple for lunch.

You were supposed to see Andrew this afternoon, but there was no way you could plan on fucking up Frank’s appointment at the tailor when it was hard to stand… At least, it was the weekend, you didn’t have to deal with work, and could spend your day being a burrito on your couch while watching TV and eating junk food.

You were supposed to shop for groceries in the morning, but you didn’t have the strength for that either, so you decided that you would get some food delivered for the rest of the weekend and would tackle the issue of not dying of starvation on Monday.

You sat down on your couch, at long last, heaving a sigh of relief. You held the heating pad against your stomach, covered yourself with a blanket and grabbed your phone while you turned on the TV.

You pressed on Andrew’s name on whatsapp while the tu-dum noise of Netflix echoed in your living room.

You heaved a sigh…

… you had forgotten tea… never mind, you were too much in pain and too tired to be bothered making some tea now that you were seated.

Back to your phone, you typed your message quickly.

Hi Andy! Sorry, but I’m not feeling well today, gonna have to cancel for this afternoon. We’ll talk about our plans next week. Hope you have a nice weekend, see you on Monday! Xx

You pressed ‘send’ and started browsing in the list of movies available on your TV screen.

Your phone lit up with Andrew’s name.

Sorry to hear that! Are you alright? Do you want me to drop you something?

You were too tired not to acknowledge the warmth that spread in your chest as you read his text.

Nothing to worry about, don’t worry.

His answer was quick to arrive.

Are you sure? You want me to drive you to a doctor or something?

You chuckled at his obvious worry. He really was too sweet…

No, I’m okay. Period being bitches, that’s all. I can handle it.

He answered with a thumbs up right under your text, right when you found Pride and Prejudice was on Netflix…

Well, it looked like your afternoon was all set.

You cursed under your breath. You didn’t have any snacks. Not even chocolate… and your kitchen was so fucking far… a whole ten steps away…

Damn you and your stupid brain.

You were surprised when you received another text from Andy.

So, what’s planned for today? Did you get your groceries this morning?

You snorted at the mere thought.

Nah. Too much in pain. Too tired to go to the kitchen and make myself tea, so imagine going outside with people?! No, thanks.

I’m gonna spend my afternoon with Mr. Darcy instead.

You waited for his answer, ignoring your TV now.

The Keira Kinghtley movie?

You sent him a thumbs up.

Will you hate me if I admit that I’ve never watched that film?

You almost dropped your phone.

YOU’VE NEVER SEEN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE?!

OH THAT’S IT! DISHONOUR! DISHONOUR ON YOUR WHOLE FAMILY!

He sent a laughing emoji.

You’ve forgotten the dishonour on me and my cow too…

You couldn’t refrain a laugh, even though it hurt your stomach.

You don’t have a cow. But I’ll take it out on Elwood.

You could picture the grin on his face at the joke.

HOW DARE YOU! HE’S SUCH A GOOD BOY!

Elwood, my son, don’t listen to the nasty lady…

You laughed again, but quickly stopped this time, the pain getting too strong.

You didn’t think as you wrote your next text.

You could drop by and watch it with me.

You reread the text and realised your mistake; your eyes grew round. You were in your old pyjamas, you hadn’t showered and had no intention to do so, your hair was a mess, you hadn’t washed your dishes…

You wanted to delete the text, but the blue symbols under it let you know that he had already read it.

Damn it!

I mean… I’m in pain, grumpy and look like trash…

So… maybe not the most pleasant way to spend your afternoon.

Feel free to refuse.

You waited for his answer, watched the dancing dots, until a text was received.

I’d love to, actually.

Besides, I am not five, I know about menstrual cycles, thank you very much…

You bit on your lips as you hesitated.

You’ve never seen me like that.

A pause. You guessed that he had rephrased his text several times.

Would that make you feel uncomfortable?

You thought about it for a second. Frank didn’t really pay attention to that part of you. It was cliché, but you knew he was making a conscious effort to acknowledge your period and how much of a burden they were to you. You saw it as him making an effort at the time. Now, you were worried Andrew would be the same, with typical disappointing male behaviour…

And yet, you didn’t care. You couldn’t find a way to care. You couldn’t imagine Andrew, out of all people, disappointing you on that. Perhaps it was naïve, you weren’t sure. Your answer was earnest anyway.

His answer came in a matter of seconds.

Give me forty minutes to come over then.

You smiled.

An hour then.

You laughed again at his answer.

Gobshite…

You didn’t select the movie for now and merely watched some crappy TV instead, with whatever was on.

You tried not to pay too much thought on how excited you were at the idea of Andy coming soon…

Andrew ended up ringing at your door an hour and fifteen minutes later, proving you right about his time blindness, and the thought made you smile. You had washed your dishes waiting for him, using a fifteen-minutes break from the pain to stretch your legs and attempt to look like a human being. The pain was soon back with full strength though, and you gave up on the idea to change into a proper outfit. You remained in your comfortable pyjamas, tied your hair up to hide the mess it was, and went back to suffering on the couch, the heating pad growing colder and less effective, but you were too tired to get up again.

You groaned as Andrew rang at your door, forcing yourself to stand. You couldn’t hold yourself completely straight, not with the pain in your stomach being now combined with a sharp stinging sensation in your lower back. You opened the door still, and welcomed Andrew with a genuine smile.

He was wearing his hair in a bun today, his glasses perched on his nose, and a warm smile on his lips as his gaze rested upon you. He looked gorgeous in a simple brown jacket, dark jeans and a black turtleneck. You couldn’t refrain the way your heart fluttered at the sight, nor the butterflies that were added to your painful stomach.

“Hey! God, you do look like shite,” he exclaimed, but there was worry in his frown despite the obvious teasing in his voice.

“Thanks for the compliment,” you stuck your tongue out, and he couldn’t refrain a chuckle.

He walked inside, took off his shoes and jacket, and it’s only when he set the bags on the floor to do so that you noticed them.

“What’s that?” you asked.

“Groceries.”

You looked up at him with a puzzled look.

“Jeez… if you were busy this afternoon, you should have declined!”

He laughed, and you were more puzzled than ever.

“These are for you,” he clarified, picking up the bags again.

You blinked up at him.

“For… me?”

“Yeah… you said you didn’t get any groceries this morning. Can’t let you starve! Come on, get a move on, these need to go in the fridge.”

You let him pass, followed him in your kitchen. He started to empty the two paper bags on your kitchen counter.

“I didn’t get you much, just enough to last for a couple of days. Pass the weekend. Nothing that needs fancy cooking either, don’t worry. Mostly pasta, rice, and a few vegetables and fruits. I also got some take out for tonight, so you don’t have to bother with cooking today. Chinese, hope you’re in the mood for that. And then, the obvious ice cream, crisps and chocolate combo. Oh, and I bought you this tea! My mom recommended it once for menstrual cramps to one of my cousins, and it’s apparently pretty nice, so… thought you could use that too.”

He looked up at you then, after his little babbling. He frowned at your expression though, and you noticed the shift in his demeanour: the way he shrank, bending over himself instead of standing straight, with his full height. Trying to look smaller than he was, to occupy as little space as possible. He rubbed nervously at his collarbone.

“I… I thought it would make things easier for you. I… I’m sorry if I’m overstepping… if you… sorry. Sorry…”

But he was interrupted by your arms around him; you almost tackled him with the strength, and you heard the loud huff he let out at the impact. It took him a couple of seconds to close his arms around you too, but then it felt like he was unwilling to ever let go.

“Thank you so much,” you mumbled into his chest. “That’s… so fucking sweet, Andy.”

“That’s nothing,” he tried to brush your thankfulness away, but you could hear in his voice that he was smiling again, feel that his body was relaxing once more. “I didn’t mean to overstep… I just… I just thought it would make it easier for you.”

You spotted your favourite chocolate on the table, along with some ice-cream.

“These are my favourite,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“You didn’t have to do that…”

“It’s nothing.”

You didn’t say it. You didn’t say that Frank had never done that for you. And Andrew did? When he wasn’t your boyfriend? When he didn’t even have feelings for you?

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, rubbing your back, and the caress was so soothing you were ready to cry. “Painkillers or something? I can go to the pharmacy…”

“I’ve got that covered, don’t worry. Thank you.”

“Right…”

Another cramp came breaking your embrace, you let out a groan as you held your painful stomach. You tried not to think of how your heart stumbled and missed a few beats when Andrew brushed a messy strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You really don’t look well. You should sit down.”

“I need to reheat my heating pad…”

“I’ll do it. I’ll do that, love. Sit down, okay?”

‘Love’… he had called you ‘love’… You wanted to cry…

Why were you so affected by it? It was Andy. It was Andy, not Frank, and you wanted Frank, you wanted Frank, you wanted…

He walked into the living room about 10 minutes later, carrying your heating pad under his arm, ice cream and some chocolate. He had to go back to the kitchen to fetch your two cups of tea.

“Alright… need anything else?”

You shook your head, and he settled on the sofa next to you. Readjusted the blanket so it would cover your feet. You didn’t recognise the flavour of the tea, you reckoned he had made a cup of the one his mother had recommended.

You refused to name the feeling that was spreading across your entire body, the unbearable fondness aimed at Andrew that came with it.

I want Frank, I want Frank, I want Frank…

“Alright, let’s watch Mr. Darcy getting rejected…” he grinned at you, as if he was at his happiest, as if he couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend his afternoon than to watch Pride and Prejudice with you while nursing you back to health because you were on your period…

You scoffed, trying to hide the tears in your eyes by looking for the movie on Netflix again.

“He doesn’t just get rejected. They do get together at the end, you know?”

“Thanks for spoiling it all to me…”

“Wait… you told me you read the book…”

He laughed.

“I did! I was joking, like… It was a joke. I did read it. I simply haven’t watched any adaptation.”

“Wow… Oh… so you haven’t seen the one with Colin Firth either?! The BBC series?”

“Nope…” he answered, popping the ‘p’ before taking a sip of his tea.

Two teabags. As always. The detail made you smile.

“Okay, that is going to be our next activity together.”

He laughed, but didn’t contradict you, on the contrary.

“Well, I guess my next Sunday is all booked…”

“Indeed, it is!” you grinned, but your tone was too soft not to show how emotional the thought of spending another afternoon like this with Andrew made you feel.

He didn’t comment on that, though, and you were grateful for it.

He reached for your coffee table, where he had put the two sets of ice-cream and spoons, and handed you one.

Your heating pad was back on your stomach, warm and effectively soothing your cramps. You seized the opportunity to eat a large spoonful of chocolate ice cream.

You moaned at the taste.

“Andy… this is perfect, I hope you’re aware of how amazing you are.”

He chuckled, but there was something a little sad in his eyes when he looked down at his food, a tinge of melancholy. You didn’t know why.

“Bribing you with chocolate is the way to your heart, then,” he joked, clearly stirring the conversation away from himself, while pushing his glasses higher on his nose.

“Of course,” you rolled your eyes, starting the film.

You exchanged another smile, while the movie started. You didn’t realise your own movements as you scooted closer to him on the couch, and neither did he notice how he leaned towards you, until your arms were softly touching.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul. And I love… I love… I love you…”

You heaved a sigh after whispering the words in sync with Mr. Darcy, clutching at your heart, burying your face further in Andrew’s shoulder.

You weren’t sure when you had ended up in Andrew’s arms, but you were now. He had wrapped an arm around your shoulders at one point, noticing how livid you had become because of the pain, how you had tried to withhold your wince but failed. And it was meant as a temporary anchor, a soothing gesture that should have lasted just a few minutes, until the pain subsided again. But when you relaxed once more, he didn’t pull away, and instead of freeing yourself from his hold, you leaned closer, sank deeper into his embrace. And now, he was resting his long fingers on your waist, while you leaned into his chest.

Which was… better not think about boundaries and friendship and professional behaviour and all those limits you were breaking.

Meanwhile, Andrew was brushing a tear away, but you spotted it before he could pretend it hadn’t happened.

“I know… I know…” you patted his chest, trying not to notice that you were touching his chest. “I cry every time too.”

“For proof,” he chuckled, brushing your tear away with his thumb, making your heart stutter and expand to the point that you wondered how it hadn’t broken any of your ribs yet.

“It’s Jane Austen’s superpower, Andy… we can do nothing against it,” you concluded before nuzzling into his chest again.

“I’ll have to agree,” he nodded.

You noticed how his breathing was a little irregular for a moment, when you shifted to be a little more comfortable in his arms, but he didn’t push you away, didn’t move at all, in fact. Instead, he waited for you to settle again, readjusted the blanket on both of you, and stared at the end of the movie. His cheeks were turning a bright shade of red. You hated the thought that crossed your mind…

There were but a couple of minutes left, it was the end: Mr. Darcy had walked across the moor already, he had declared his love and Elizabeth had accepted his hand in marriage. They were waiting for Elizabeth’s father. You were staring at Andrew, the feeling of your gaze on him made him look down as well, catching your eyes with his. His hazel eyes, they looked so green now, in the rather bright light of the late afternoon, and the tears he had dried just before had enhanced that colour too. Green… like leaves bathed in sunlight during the summer… you loved that shade…

You didn’t even notice when the screen went dark, when the credits started rolling. You were thinking of Andrew, of how sweet he had been all afternoon, of how handsome he looked now, how much turtlenecks suited him, how cute he looked with his glasses…

He blinked a couple of times, as if he were coming back from a reverie, and looked at the TV again. You looked at his profile, found yourself longing to run your fingers through his short beard, noticed the red tainting the brown of his hair.

“Well, that was an amazing film,” he easily admitted, bringing you back to earth.

And indeed, the story was over. Mr. Bennett had accepted their union. Elizabeth would marry Mr. Darcy. All ended well. Black screen and a list of names, printed in white pixels…

You pushed yourself out of Andrew’s arms.

Back to reality now… and in the real world, you wanted Frank. You wanted Frank. You wanted Frank…

You looked away in a hurry, and trembled at the loss of contact, when Andrew finally moved his hand away from your waist.

You kept on talking about the film for a while, but eventually, Andrew checked the time.

“I should get going, let you get something to eat. And I mean… something proper. Not snacks,” he teased, standing up and taking the remnants of your various snacks with him to the kitchen.

And you had to tell yourself that mantra again. Because your heart was aching at the thought of Andrew leaving. Which was ridiculous because you would see him in two days. Which was ridiculous because he was only a friend. A colleague, even. And it was ridiculous because you didn’t want him, you wanted Frank. You loved Frank. You wanted the life you had with him back. You… you wanted Frank. You wanted Frank… You… You wanted…

“Andy?”

He reappeared, coming from the kitchen, and tilted his head a little as a silent invitation for you to speak again.

“Do… do you want to stay for dinner?”

He stared at you for a few seconds, long enough for you to start spiralling and babbling…

“Unless you need to take care of Elwood…”

“No, my parents took him to the seaside today, they’re keeping him for the night. He’s living his best life, trust me. I bet my dad is giving him all the treats he wants.”

“Or like… I mean… you’ve already spent your afternoon with me, even if I’m sick and not the best company today, and… yeah, I totally get it if you don’t want to stay, like… that’s…”

“Y/N.”

“Hmmm?”

“I’d love to stay.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Because I’m too much to take care of…

You merely shrugged in response, making him chuckle, clearly unaware of your thoughts.

“Well, if you’re not bored of me yet, I’d love to stay for dinner.”

You grinned.

“Grand…” you nodded, and Andrew disappeared in the kitchen again to prepare dinner.

Still, you noticed how he was smiling when he turned around, how he was blushing, too…

You ended up watching tv again after dinner. The pain wasn’t as vivid as it had been during the rest of the day, and so you were more comfortable during that part of the evening. So much so that you started dozing off, as you were watching for the nth time how Luke and Han were trying to save Leia.

You had stumbled upon a rerun of the old Star Wars movies, and settled on the nostalgic feeling of these stories to end the day. Andrew was supposed to go home after the end of the movie, once the Death Star was gone and Leia was placing medals on the heroes’ chest.

Andrew had made you laugh with his best impression of Chewbacca, and you had made him choke on his glass of water with one of your jokes and snarky remarks. It was lovely, but you were so tired you neared exhaustion by now. So, it was quite logical that you started dozing off after a while, losing tracks of the story when Han and Luke were dressed as stormtroopers.

You hadn’t noticed that your head had fallen on Andrew’s shoulder as you were falling asleep. You didn’t notice how he stopped paying attention to the movie when you did. How his heart started pounding at how adorable you looked like this. He waited for a few minutes, to see if you would stir and wake up again, but you didn’t. He stared at you for a moment longer, but you weren’t aware of it. You weren’t aware either of the longing in his gaze, of the smile on his lips as he watched how peaceful you looked in your sleep.

You blinked your eyes open again only when you felt something slipping under your knees and behind your back, felt the warmth upon which your head rested move.

“Andy?” you called in your drowsy state, still unable to understand what was happening, where you were…

“I’m here, love.”

That pet name again… were you dreaming it?

You reached up, held onto a soft fabric, and somehow, despite the fact that you had closed your eyes once more, you knew it was Andrew’s turtleneck.

“You’re falling asleep, you need to go to bed,” he said softly, his voice unbearably low and deep, it made your heart skip a few beats and warmth spread across your entire frame.

And it sounded so reassuring… so safe… He was so reassuring…

You nuzzled into his shoulder, breathing in his scent. His cologne, his softener, him…

“Can I help you reach your bed? Can I do that? Is that okay?” he asked in the same caring voice, and you nodded. But then again, you would have accepted anything, for as long as you could remain in his warmth, as long as his voice came back…

You realised then that he was slipping his arms under you, it took a moment longer for your brain to register he meant to carry you.

“I can walk,” you whispered, opening your eyes again and forcing yourself to look at him.

You were too stunned when he bent down to kiss your hair to argue when he told you there was no need, that he got you, that you could close your eyes again. You obeyed, having no strength left to argue, and you wrapped your arms around his neck when he stood up and lifted you off the couch.

He readjusted your position, and then you were vaguely aware of moving, while he walked through your apartment. You nuzzled closer, your forehead brushing his jaw and your entire body trembled as you felt his beard against your skin.

Too soon, he was gently putting you down on your comfortable mattress, tucking you in, under your warm blanket.

You blinked your eyes open before he could leave, found his hazel eyes looking down at you. He seemed so tall like this, standing above your bed.

“Thank you, Andy. For everything.”

He smiled, gesture gentle and full of fondness.

“Sleep well, Y/N. Goodnight.”

He tucked a strand of your hair away from your face, and the brush of his fingers across your cheek made you close your eyes for good.

Your last thoughts were of him, while you heard him move away from the bed, recognized the creaking of the tiles by the door of your bedroom.

God, you wanted him so much…

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier x fem!reader #hozier fanfiction #hozier fic #hozier series #hozier au #hozier professor au #professor au #series #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

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lisenberry · 2 days ago

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The mountain is you

Chapter 4: I'm scared to let go of what I'm scared to lose

Dom Price x Fem Reader

MDNI/NSFW/18+

CW: Dom/Sub, Bondage, Sex Work, Voice Kink, Size Kink, Oral Sex, Bathroom Sex, Mirror Sex, Boot Riding, Orgasm Denial, Possessive Behavior

(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3)

AO3

No two sessions with John were the same. You learned something new about yourself with each one.

That the act of waiting could be so therapeutic. Had you ever been so still as when he took his time looping ropes around your arms, breasts, ribs and waist? Tying the intricate knots just right, in perfectly symmetrical patterns, carefully avoiding your neck and throat. Reminding you to breathe, and hold your posture, in that voice that sounded so rough you wondered if it caused him pain just to speak.

That a deep, dull ache that never wavered, no matter how you squirmed or struggled, could be as cathartic as a sharp, fervent strike. When the bindings compressed your tissue and made your muscles throb with confusion. Like your skin was too tight, and you’d burst from the pressure. Until you finally broke through the building panic and let yourself melt into the fibers like well-tailored Chanel suit.

That being helpless wasn’t the same as being out of control. That surrender wasn’t as much about giving up as it was giving yourself over to something else. Someone else. To trust that his patience was his gift to you, and that he didn’t ask for anything in return for a reason. Maybe being there for you was enough for him.

He’d certainly been greedy for your abandon. Collected orgasms from you like they were precious stones, with his mouth and his hands. Played your body like an instrument to be drummed and plucked. Mouthed and blown. Percussion, string, and wind.

All to make you sing.

Little deaths. Little victories each.

But it had you feeling a bit like a selfish Sub. You listened. You obeyed. You cried. You came. But the more you played, the more anxious you became to give him some release. Relief. You wanted to see him taken care of, too.

You’d never bothered to explore new things with Ghost. He’d had a list of services he offered, but you hadn’t been tempted to branch out from the standard package. Anything extra, like temperature play or Shibari would cost a premium due to the additional time needed and the specialized skill they required.

Anyone could spank your ass, you supposed, but you had to pay extra for the finesse. Now, it seemed like you were getting it all for free. Or perhaps John didn’t desire anything more from you. It was simply a one-sided transaction for him, and he was just being nice. A favor for his old friend.

But you tried to shake those thoughts away when they threatened. He’d promised that you’d always know what he wanted. And never be left wondering what he was thinking. There was no room for insecurity when he’d stuck to the book when it came to everything else.

And once each scene was over, you stayed a little longer. After the first, when you’d practically run out the door like the building was on fire, he’d made a point to have food on hand that you could eat together. Something tasty and satisfying sitting in his gigantic, high-end fridge waiting to be heated up in the microwave and eaten cross-legged on his couch.

Conversation developed more easily, and you weren’t too shy to talk about the things you liked the most (rope play, hot showers, barehanded spanking, his aftershave), and those you weren’t keen to try again (so far, blindfolds hadn’t added anything to the experience for you). You found him to be funnier than you expected, with a wry sense of humor and an easy laugh.

You always left feeling...secure.

*****

The two men sitting across from you at the table of your go-to restaurant for closing deals with pushy potential clients were a father and son, CEO and VP team. Your company offered a service that they needed desperately. And they had the audacity to demand it at a cut rate.

They tried so hard to impress you with their staggering wealth and impressive portfolio, they must’ve forgotten that this was your job. That you weren’t fooled by overwhelming displays of douchebaggery. By smoke and mirrors. Cutting through the bullshit was what you did best.

And as dinner went on, they piled it waist high. Flung it around like monkeys at the zoo. In the end, you just had to plug your nose and wade through it with patience and your head held high.

Fuck them, their rare car collection, their villa on Lake Como, and their 75-meter yacht. You were ready to give in, to take the loss just to get them to stop fucking talking so you could go home and take off your bra.

The waiter had just brought over another round of drinks when you looked up to see John find a seat at a nearby table with an older couple who looked to be in their late sixties, and a beautiful woman in her early thirties.

It only took a second for his gaze to meet yours across the room. It was exactly the type of situation you had avoided with Ghost. That awkward breaking of the fourth wall when you ran into each other in the real world. Outside the protection of your carefully curated sessions.

You tried not to stare, but it shook you more than you thought it would. Part of your contract was that you’d be exclusive. For safety purposes, you’d have no sexual partners outside of each other throughout the duration. It was one of his hard lines.

One you could easily keep. Was it so hard for him?

He even had the gall to look angry, eyes darkening perceptibly even in the distance as he held up his phone briefly.

A second later, you received a message on yours.

Meet me in the bathroom. Five minutes.

Surely, he wasn’t serious.

Your companions were still talking away, congratulating each other on their mastery of the universe, as you quickly typed your response.

Wife or girlfriend?

Taking a sip of your water, you smiled impressively to the older man naming dropping who he was playing golf with over the weekend. Taking great care not to turn back toward John, whose daggers you could feel as sharply as though they were lodged in your skin.

Sister. Fucking the father or the son? Or both?

You looked up at the dynamic duo and stifled the urge not to vomit a bit in your mouth.

Ick, no. Clients.

There was a long pause before he responded, but you still didn’t look back at him. His presence was too much for the room. His hold on you too strong for polite company. The vibration of the next message jolted you like a jump scare.

I gave you an order.

The blood drained from your face. Your mouth went dry. Your panties, on the other hand, seemed to catch both like a grounding rod of sensation. Hot and slick.

Fine. But don’t be nice, you typed, before adding. Please.

You did look up then, just in time to see John nod once before excusing himself and disappearing down a long hallway.

“I’m getting the feeling that I’m being dicked around here, gentlemen. I’m going to take a minute in the ladies’ room. When I come back, if you don’t have a number ready that I can work with, I’m going to walk out that door and instruct my assistant to stop taking your calls.”

Not that she could anyway. You were still working on that particular aspect of her job description.

But that, along with any other concerns, disappeared below the surface when you opened the door to the single restroom in the back of the restaurant.

“Did you really just say ‘fine’ to me, like a whiney little brat? ‘Don’t be nice’? Hope you know what you’re asking for, sweetheart.” He growled from the corner behind the door, just before he pounced on you like a panther in the dark. Eyes flashing with a sort of calm, primal hunger. The kind that waits, as long as it takes, despite the sweet smell of fear in its prey. Despite the promise of how good it will taste.

You stumbled back out of instinct, only to hit the hard wall behind you. Trapped.

“Yes, sir,” you stuttered. Suddenly not really sure at all.

Outside of your sessions, text messages had been an open space. Where you were free to object to somethings and discuss others. Negotiate times and dates. But as his hand spun you around gruffly and gripped your hip from behind, fingers just above your pubic bone while his thumb massaged deep circles where your ass met your spine, you realized you’d miscalculated somewhere.

You'd never thought of yourself as manageable. Moveable. You took up space. You were a lot to handle. No one ever called you “cute” or commented on how nicely you cowed and begged over their knee. Not until him.

Not until you watched from the mirror above the cold, stainless steel sink as his other massive paw cupped your jaw. This man made you feel like a ragdoll. A toy. A mouse trapped in the jaws of that big dark jungle cat.

"Just for me, aren't you?” He raked teeth and stubble along your cheek.

You were boneless then, even more pliable under this sudden mean streak. The hand at your jaw trailed lower, skipping past your throat and neck, and your head rolled backwards against his chest without its support.

It paused to slip under the fabric of your top and bra, to cup your breast and pull it free. There was a primal hitch of breath in his teeth as he admired the way he could cover it all. A stiff, darkened peak notched between his knuckles as he gave it a painful squeeze.

“Use your fucking words. I thought we’d been through all this.” He didn’t sound like himself. Patience had gone out the window somewhere and you scrambled to right yourself.

To get him back.

“Yes, sir. All for you, sir.” You met his eyes in the mirror in the way he trained you. Wanting to be good. “I’m sorry, I just—"

Another squeeze, tighter and concentrated on the bud of your nipple. This time, the hiss was yours as the sensation rippled straight to your sex.

He was big enough to swallow the moon. Eclipse the sun. Envelope you into darkness. There was nothing but the stars bursting behind your eyelids as his other palm slunk lower from your hips to the hem of your skirt.

As stealthily as an avalanche of rocks and sand. Abrading and disrupting everything in its path until it settled back up to the base of you.

"Please,” you whispered, whimpered, on some foreign tongue that felt too big, too thick, to be yours.

Because he was in your mouth. Lips against yours, tongue pummeling inside. No affectionate peck, but an assault that promised to leave you maimed. A kiss you’d never get used to. One that would only consume you. His solid body against yours from behind as he bent over you and arched you into him.

The grip you had on the sink felt strong enough to leave marks. Dents. Tiny little divots like bird prints in the snow.

"Open up, brat. If you ever hope to fit the real thing, you still need more practice."

He found you wet, a small accommodation as you muttered a silent thanks to your nature. Your brain needed him, and your body did its best to oblige.

"I want it. Please, I’m ready." He’d dangled what you desired most in front of you like carrot. You’d get down on your knees and beg if you could only escape his hold.

"Maybe next time. After you show me how good you can be."

His long, thick fingers disappeared three at a time, to the gnarled and swollen knuckles before your eyes in the mirror. Knickers notched to the side and your skirt up around your waist.

The cry that slipped from your lips would’ve been heard across the restaurant if hadn’t had the clarity of mind to bite your tongue. The satisfied huff from his could conjure magic. Gods and monsters. Things best left dormant.

He liked it like this, you could tell. Where you both could see in the stark, fluorescent reflection. The dark hair of his hand reemerging from your depths silky and dripping with slick.

The glass was like a barrier, a window or a picture frame that kept you hanging just on the outskirts of real and make believe, as he circled those same fingers again and curled them back inside, tormenting your most vulnerable weakness.

While his other still worried and bullied your poor nipple. He stretched the offering of your flesh up to his mouth, biting and sucking until you bucked and writhed along his hand for more, more. Just a little bit more.

He felt on top of the world. And you were his puppet on a string. Brought to life.

But in your mindless dash to reach the end of his rope, to plummet off the side into the wind, your backside hit against his rigid length. Once again reminded of what you’d been denied. What you were fighting for.

You leaned into it, ignoring your own pleasure to steal a chance at his.

But he spun you around so fast, his fingers leaving you cold and empty, that you teetered precariously before he could lean you back against the sink.

“Spoiled little bitch, always whining and going on. Haven’t I been nice to you?” His tone lightened, to the point of…regret? “I’ll indulge you, then. But will you like what you get?”

"Yes, please, sir!” You weren’t going to waste the kindness as you settled down in front of him.

The tile floor of the bathroom cold and hard on your bare knees.

“The only way you’re coming today is on my old boot,” he slipped his leg between yours, helpfully, giving you something to sit on and a needed friction along your unsatisfied folds, “while you fuck me with your pretty little face.”

Sir thought you were pretty, was the only message your horrifyingly needy Sub brain could hear. You weren’t too deep in subspace yet, but if you weren’t careful, you’d need to be carried from the restaurant in his big, strong—

He interrupted your warring brains with the tip of his cock against your cheek and a warm, heavy hand on the back your head. Not even enough pressure to guide you. More of an anchor, as it tipped you back just enough to find his eyes.

Signal fires, burning bright.

Emboldened, you opened your mouth as you would for your inspection, flattening your tongue and waiting for him to test you. Eager to please.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’ve got the big brass now, don’t you, brat? So, show me,” he taunted, the flesh bobbing heavily just out of your reach.

Tentatively, you moved forward, clutching the sides of his thighs for balance and licking out at the rosy meat in front of you. You’d never expected to see it for the first time in the dingy bathroom of an overpriced downtown restaurant, but it was indeed massive.

He wasn’t being overly boastful in that you’d have trouble taking it unprepped. As it was, your mouth could only work him in halfway, as you hollowed your cheeks and took him just to the point of gagging.

You could still breathe through your nose, and you weren’t choking yet. You were doing okay, but that didn’t stop him from using that hand on your head to pull you back when your throat started to fight him.

“Easy, now,” a softening at the corners of his eye lids, as your own teared up at the intrusion.

Somehow, you fell into a clumsy rhythm where he didn’t take any control and you focused on the enjoyment of him. The smooth, salty skin of his dick along your tongue. The rough loops of his shoelaces against your bare cunt.

And before you knew it, you were so close to coming that he pulled his foot away just in time for his cock to go rigid against your tongue.

“Ah fuck, that’s good, sweetheart,” he muttered an oath to the ceiling.

You blinked your betrayal through dazed eyes and shuttered around nothing while he took his release all over your face. By the time he milked the last drops along your chin, he paused only a second before wetting a paper towel in the sink to clean you up.

He tenderly wiped away the pearly ropes of his spend first, then the eye makeup that had smudged along your cheeks.

You didn’t look that bad, you thought, as you focused on yourself in the mirror and quickly put your tits away. You were a bit wrinkled, and your nose was leaking snot like a puffy faucet, but no worse for wear.

“Tell those wankers you had an allergic reaction or something. You’ll be fine,” he assured you as he found your lip gloss in your purse and moved to help you apply it.

You let him, with a reassuring smile of your own, before taking his hand along with the gloss.

“You all right?” you asked, needing to check on him. You’d done something new. Potentially crossed a line. It mattered to you that he’d enjoyed it.

“Bloody grand,” he grinned in a way that made you believe him. Left no shadow of a doubt. “Now get out there and give them hell.” He gave you one last once over before slapping your ass and sending you out ahead of him.

“Yes, sir.”

You left the restaurant on a high like you’d never felt before. Your cunt ached, inside and out, and it hurt to swallow, but you’d closed the deal. With your clients, and with John, too, in some way.

And you swore you heard him chuckle as you texted him to set up your next session on your way out the door. He’d left you hanging without an orgasm.

Not nice at all.

#call of duty #john price #captain price #captain john price #price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #life connect 141 #cod smut #john price smut #price smut #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3

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hyabbstay · 2 days ago

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c.b.g. - hang around by echosmith (it's like you were tailor-made for me)

song: hang around by echosmith (listen)

-- in which beomgyu thinks he might be a little too much for you. god forbid you'll ever make him think that.

genre: slight angst, fluff/comfort

note: i just love beomgyu so much guys he's my bias u dont understand he deserves to be held and loved and praised all the time i love him sm hhhhhhh 🥹 let him be his silly self he's so cutehsakjdhakdaskd

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

“You were never this naughty before!” Yeonjun pointed out, casting an accusatory glare at the man beside you. Meanwhile, the man in question - your boyfriend, was doubled over in laughter, blindly reaching out to hold on to your shoulders while he gasped into your hair. You stood, grinning mischievously at Yeonjun.

“Hey,” you said playfully, “I’m exactly the same as before I met you guys!”

“Not after becoming his girlfriend, though,” Yeonjun glared at Beomgyu, who was now peeking at him from behind you, still shaking with laughter. You could feel him shuddering on your back. “Now give me back my sweater! I have a date!”

You gave in and pulled the clothing from behind your back, but Beomgyu whined. Well, you still were not as cheeky as him yet, but you reluctantly tossed it at Yeonjun. The older boy made a face at you both before moving to his bedroom.

Beomgyu collapsed in laughter on the couch, clapping his hands together like a seal. He enjoyed getting a rouse out of annoying his roommates, a naughty boy indeed, but his joy was contagious. You began to giggle again until it turned to a full-blown laughter.

You both had calmed down the minute Yeonjun shut the front door. Sighing, Beomgyu leaned his body into yours, nuzzling his face in your neck. The next few minutes were spent wrapped in silence, save for the whirring of the fan and distant rumbling of rubber tyres on asphalt.

You're just what the doctor ordered for me You're one of a kind, yeah, I can barely believe It's like you were tailor-made for me I don't even mind that I've been losing my sleep

You felt Beomgyu’s fingers curl around your own, and you reciprocated the action.

“Am I that much of a bad influence?” he asked quietly, breath tickling your skin.

You scoffed, thinking it sounded a bit like a silly thing to be worried about, but followed it with a gentle smile. You knew he couldn’t see it while his face was hidden in your shoulder, but you spoke softly to reassure him, “Don’t take what they say so seriously. They’re harmless pranks, you know that.”

Beomgyu hummed, as if he was thinking, but somehow not yet convinced.

“It’s not something that’ll put us in the depths of hell, oh my god, just, probably in Yeonjun’s wrath.”

“They’re the same thing.” He was pouting when he raised his head to look at you.

“Then find someone else to annoy other than Yeonjun.”

His face morphed into a sneaky grin, he lifted his head to look into your eyes, “You?”

Silence.

Before you let escape the giggle you’ve been holding in, you caught the anxiety dancing around in Beomgyu’s eyes.

“Just kidding! I don’t want you to get annoyed at me.” He quickly draped his arm around your shoulders to pull you close. You melted when he pressed his plush lips against your temple, like he always did when he thought you were the slightest bit irritated at him.

It didn’t take much for you to remember how he used to appease his ex the same way, except back then, his eyes were always glossy with fear.

If you're like a fire then I'm pouring gasoline I just wanna hang around If I'm like an earthquake, you see past the fault in me I just wanna hang around

It killed you a little bit whenever you caught his actions, so you surprised him with a kiss on the lips. Beomgyu, although taken aback, leaned into the kiss, thumb caressing your waist. Physical touch was something he typically initiated, not you. Suddenly, he felt like soaring.

“What was that for?”

“For your adorable ass.” You raised his hand to press another kiss to it, “You’re never annoying, Gyu. You’re never too much. I love you.”

Beomgyu’s eyes were glossy once more, but for a different reason. The anxiety disappeared into nothingness, but something brighter shone in him when he heard those three words.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

a/n: this was originally written with a different song, but i figured this fits the narrative the most c: i interpret it as beomgyu's pov, he's happy he met reader and how she can see past things he thinks is aura points loss for himself lmao c: cutest cutest cuTEST GRR

#choi beomgyu fluff #choi beomgyu angst #choi beomgyu x reader #tomorrow by together #txt fluff #txt #txt angst #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu angst #hyabbstay songfics

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anonymousewrites · 1 day ago

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Apple of My Eye Chapter Two

Eventual! Harry Hook x Child of Snow White! Reader

Chapter Two: Friend Like Me

Summary: (Y/N) and the VKs get along very well, even if other Auradon kids are avoiding them.

(Y/N) grimaced as they walked towards the “Remedial Goodness 101” classroom. They wished they had known about the class before Evie, Carlos, Mal, and Jay arrived. Then they could have said, “No, that’s a terrible idea for a class because it’s demeaning and horrible and also says to their face that we think they’re stupid and already evil.”

Unfortunately, it was done, and the VKs were stuck in the class. Fortunately, the hour was up, and (Y/N) got to save them from Fairy Godmother’s cliches and take them to their next class.

“You find a vial of poison!” said Fairy Godmother dramatically. “Do you: A, put it in the king’s wine? B, paint it on an apple?—” Laughter from Evie, non-malicious, and the others— “Or C, turn it over to the proper authorities?”

“Obviously paint it on an apple,” said (Y/N) as they walked into the room. “Because who is silly enough to take an apple from a stranger?” They laughed.

Evie chuckled a little, Mal snorted, and Jay and Carlos grinned. Fairy Godmother sighed, used to (Y/N)’s humor, and put on a smile.

“Is our time up already?” said Fairy Godmother.

“You’re the stickler for time,” said (Y/N). “It’s time for gym for Jay and Carlos, and Evie and Mal have English with me.”

“Alright, don’t be late,” said Fairy Godmother, waving as her students packed up to leave. “And remember to be good!”

“I’m really sorry about that class,” said (Y/N). “I think Ben was pushed into allowing it so that everyone would relax.” They sighed. “At least it’s an easy A.”

“Pick the least fun option is the answer key,” said Mal, smirking. She’d already figured it out.

(Y/N) chuckled.

“Welcome to our poetry class,” said (Y/N), sitting down at a table. Evie and Mal sat across from them.

“We have to write about our feelings?” said Mal, unimpressed.

“No, we can write about anything. Today’s a free day,” said (Y/N). “We can either read the assigned pieces—we’re currently reading about poems on nature and how some social classes look at nature positively due to their position while others look at it negatively—or we work on our own pieces. At the end of the year we’ll have a curated collection to show growth and understanding of various techniques.”

“I’m still not going to make it…sappy,” said Mal.

“Do spells have a cadence?” asked (Y/N).

“Yes,” said Mal. “Obviously. Otherwise you’re just talking.”

“So spells are poems with magic,” said (Y/N). “Try making your own spell.”

“And it can be anything?” said Mal, considering now. She could create an evil spell to impress her mother with.

“Preferably not a curse, I don’t think anyone would appreciate that,” said (Y/N).

Mal hummed noncommittedly. She’d behave in front of everyone, but her mission was clear. She would make her mother proud.

“I’m going to write about finding my prince,” sighed Evie. “And castles. And ballgowns.”

“You’re going to love your arts elective,” said (Y/N). They smiled. “It’s design.”

Mal could have sworn she saw hearts in Evie’s eyes and decided to erase the disgusting sight from her memory. And she pushed away the smile that twitched at the edges of her lips upon seeing her best friend so happy.

“I can use any of this,” said Evie, staring at the rolls upon rolls of fabric before her.

“Yeah,” said (Y/N) as they sketched. “And if you’re part of the design club, you can come any time during the day, not just your class.” They smiled. “Most people in this class do it to learn small DIYs, they still like their personal tailors and everything, but some people have made formal gowns and suits here, too.”

“I’m going to make a whole new wardrobe,” said Evie, flipping open her sketchbook and getting to work.

(Y/N) smiled.

“You don’t have to work with me,” said Mal coldly as she measured the chemical they were about to combine in the flask. Chemistry required a lot of close attention.

“You needed a partner, and everyone else here knows someone,” said (Y/N), holding the flask steady.

“You mean no one wants to work with the Villain Kid,” said Mal, straightforward. “And you’re assigned to us.”

“I volunteered,” said (Y/N).

Mal paused and looked at them. “You volunteered?” She didn’t believe it.

“Yeah,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“Why?” demanded Mal.

“Because I think Ben’s right,” said (Y/N). “You and all the other children born on the Isle aren’t at fault for what your parents did. You deserve freedom, a chance to live your own story.” They smiled. “So I volunteered to work on the project. I want you, Evie, Carlos, and Jay to do well here so that Ben can bring more kids over.”

“And yet he chose the worst and the worst to start out with,” said Mal.

“Go big or go home, right?” said (Y/N), chuckling.

“My mom tried that by turning into a dragon, and I think she got the ‘go home’ option. She’s still not over that,” remarked Mal with a grin.

“My mom had to create a pros and cons list for eating nectarines because they’re a cross of peaches and apples, and she’s still suspicious of all apples,” said (Y/N).

The pair looked at each other before laughing.

“How do you think things are going?” asked Ben excitedly. “I think Jay is interested in Tourney, and Carlos likes Dude!”

“That’s great,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“I saw Mal with Jane. Are they friends?” said Ben, a large grin on his face. “This is going so well.”

“Slow down,” said (Y/N). “It’s only been a few days. Things are still settling for them.”

“But it has been going well,” said Ben.

“Well, they’ve been doing well in classes, which is good,” said (Y/N). “And Jane and Mal have hung out more.” They frowned. “Even if it is because Mal did Jane’s hair…” They were a bit hesitant around beauty magic due to the…lengths some people went with insecurities—someone trying to murder your mother over looks would make you unsure about that magic—but it was just hair, right? And it was a nice thing Mal did. “But Jane seems happier, and Mal was only hanging with the VKs and me before that, so I guess it’s a step. And Evie spends time with Doug. And Chad, unfortunately, but he’s harmless other than having a pretty face with no real brain.”

“You spend a lot of time with them,” said Ben. “You guys seem to be real friends.”

“Jealous?” said (Y/N), glancing at Ben. They knew he spent a lot of time checking up with Mal when he saw her.

He coughed and turned a bit red. “Jealous? No, just concerned. I want to make sure they’re doing well.”

“Uh-huh,” hummed (Y/N).

“Mom said, ‘If a boy can’t see the beauty within, then he’s not worth it,’ ” complained Jane. “Can you believe it? What world does she live in?”

“Auradon,” said Mal.

“Jane, do you want a man who only wants beauty or one that loves all of you?” said (Y/N).

Jane sighed. “All of me. But they all want beauty, too.”

“You are beautiful, Jane,” said (Y/N). They wished their friends could see their own beauty, inside and out.

“Says the child of Snow White, the most beautiful woman ever,” grumbled Jane.

“Does it look like I got those genes?” said (Y/N), leaning on their hand.

Jane huffed. “Still better than me. I got stocky fairy genes.”

“Mal, (Y/N), what do you think?” Evie held up her latest creation, a black and blue dress.

“It brings out your eyes,” said Mal.

“It looks nice,” said (Y/N).

“I know,” said Evie proudly.

“I’ll never get a boyfriend,” bemoaned Jane.

“Boyfriends are overrated,” said Mal.

“How would you know, Mal? You’ve never had one,” said Evie.

“It’s ‘cause I don’t need one, E,” retorted Mal. “They’re a waste of time.”

Evie gasped at the mention of time. “I forgot to do Chad’s homework!”

“And that is exactly what I mean,” said Mal.

“Evie, you shouldn’t do it for him,” said (Y/N). “He is not worth it.” Evie was worth so much more than just her looks, and that was all Chad would look at.

“What, is he a bad ex?” said Mal, smirking.

“No, he’s just a shallow idiot,” said (Y/N). “Think male version of Audrey but less sharp.”

Mal snorted at the description.

“You always land great partners,” said Jane. “That’s why you don’t worry like I do.”

“I’ve had two dates,” said (Y/N), shrugging. “And neither of them were right for me.”

Evie put down Chad’s homework to grin. “Spill. Who?”

“Princess Ariel and Prince Eric’s son and Prince Naveen and Princess Tiana’s daughter,” said (Y/N).

“You dated two royals?” Evie sighed. “Lucky.”

“I went out on one day with each, but neither gave me a real��spark. I just felt content. I didn’t feel alive,” said (Y/N). They smiled. “I’m still waiting to find True Love.”

“True Love, huh? If it hadn’t defeated my mom, I wouldn’t believe in it,” said Mal.

“It is pretty rare,” admitted (Y/N). “But it would still be nice to find it.”

Evie smiled softly. “Yeah.”

Knock-knock.

Lonnie, (Y/N)’s friend, knocked on the door of the room and peeked inside.

“Hi,” she said, smiling at everyone. “I’m Lonnie. My Mom’s Mulan? No? Anyways, I love what you’ve done with Jane’s hair.” Lonnie grinned at Mal. “And I know you hate us, and, well, you’re evil—” (Y/N) frowned “—But do you think you can do mine?”

Mal frowned. “Why would I do that for you?”

“I’ll pay you fifty dollars,” said Lonnie.

“Good answer.” Evie took the money. “I need to buy more material. Let’s see…I’m thinking we’ll lose the bangs, maybe some layers, and some highlights.”

“Yeah, yeah, I want it to be cool,” said Lonnie. “Like Mal’s.”

“The split ends, too?” said Evie. Mal glowered, and Evie just smirked and shook the money at her.

Mal sighed, grabbed her spell book, and flipped through it. “Okay…‘Beware, foreswear, replace the old with cool hair.’ ” She drew a design in the air with her finger.

Lonnie’s hair became a lighter brown and cascaded down her shoulders in soft curls. She touched the soft locks and looked into the mirror. Her eyes widened.

“I know, I know,” said Evie. “It looks like a mop on your head. You know what, let’s cut it off. Layer it—”

“No, no, no,” said Lonnie, grinning. “I love it.”

“You do?” said Evie.

Lonnie grabbed the edge of her skirt and ripped. Now she had a slit in her skirt. “Now I’m cool,” she said proudly.

Jane walked up next to her and looked in the mirror. She grabbed the hem of her skirt. She tore. Then, she gasped. “What did I just do? Mom’s gonna kill me.”

“She won’t, it’s just a skirt,” said (Y/N), waving a hand.

“Thanks, Mal,” said Lonnie. She smiled. “I’m going to tell all the girls. Bye!” She left the room. Jane hurried out after her, already trying to figure out what to tell her mom about her skirt.

(Y/N) yawned as they walked towards the dorm kitchen. They were starving, and they’d run out of fruit they’d kept in their dorm, so off to the kitchens they went. They opened the door and found a startled Mal, Evie, Carlos, and Jay staring at them from inside.

Smiling, they walked farther in. “Hey, guys, grabbing a midnight snack, too?” They looked at the cookie batter on the table. “Looks good. Mind if I try some?” They grabbed a spoon, dipped it, and took a bite. “Mmm.”

Evie and Mal winced, Carlos and Jay exchanged glances, and all four looked at (Y/N) expectantly.

“Do you…feel anything?” said Evie slowly.

“Like it’s…missing something?” said Mal.

“You guys could add chocolate chips,” suggested (Y/N), turning to the fridge. Behind them, all the VKs let out a breath of relief that nothing had gone wrong.

“Chocolate chips?” said Jay, furrowing his brow.

“Some of the best treats out there,” said (Y/N), taking a bag out of the fridge. They smiled. “My mom would always add them to brownies and cookies when I was feeling down.” (Y/N) sprinkled some into the bowl, and the VKs watched the tiny pieces of chocolate mix with the batter.

“Feeling down?” said Evie quietly.

“Yeah,” said (Y/N), leaning on the table. “I had a tough time with insecurity growing up. When everyone in the world thinks your mom is beautiful, they make comments expecting you to be. It took me a while to learn not to compare myself to others.” They smiled as they remembered their childhood. “But my mom would always remind me of what mattered when I got down, and she’d make us sweets, put on a movie, and just hold me.” They looked up, and their face fell.

Each of the VKs was staring at them with a strange look in their eyes. Carlos had leaned in longingly. Jay was silent, looking at his feet. Mal had furrowed her brow, confused by the idea of what (Y/N)’s mom was like. Evie stared at the cookie batter, thinking of all the times she’d been insecure and been reminded she would never be as fair as her mom but she needed to be second best at least.

They hadn’t gotten that softness, that kindness.

“Did I…say something?” said (Y/N) quietly. They hadn’t meant to upset them.

Mal cleared her throat. “It’s just different where we’re from.”

“Oh. So your parents didn’t—” (Y/N) swallowed as they watched the VKs shift and blink away their emotions. Tears burned the edges of (Y/N)’s eyes. The VKs’ parents hadn’t helped any of them deal with their insecurities and instead fed into them. “I’m sorry,” whispered (Y/N). “You deserve better.” A tear ran down their cheek.

Mal’s eyes widened, she reached out, and she wiped the tear from (Y/N)’s cheek. (Y/N) blinked in confusion, and Mal flicked her hands dry—and the tear “happened” to fall into the bowl of batter.

“Yeah, well, big bummer,” said Mal, clearing her throat and moving on. She was not soft. “But we have to get these in the oven, so thank you so much for coming by.”

“Bye,” said Evie as Mal pushed (Y/N) towards the door.

“Oh, yeah, right,” said (Y/N). They wouldn’t intrude any more after ruining the mood. “Goodnight.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” said Mal.

“Swe—Evil dreams,” said Evie.

Taglist:

@neenieweenie

@hampterfae

@american-idiot-jpg

@lunalixya

@roo024

@unholycheesesnack

@paastaboi

@lbee13

#descendants 1 #descendants x reader #mal descendants #disney descendants #descendants #descendants harry #harry hook x reader #harry hook #x reader #gn reader #nb reader #x gn reader #x nb reader #disney x reader #child of snow white #evie descendants #carlos descendants #ben descendants #jay descendants

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perpetualcontrolleddrowning · 2 days ago

Text

Moshang Fic - Part 2

half of something else

JRaylin441

Summary: The tomfoolery continues

Content Warnings: blackmail and some vague talk of bad childhoods and emotional neglect

Read it on ao3 here (x)

Read Part 1 (x)

Read Part 3 (x)

Mobei-Jun is not going to ask for help. He is not the sort of demon who does such shameful things. Luckily, Tianlang-Jun has made it clear that he is the sort of demon that likes to stop by and offer unsolicited help, so that will not be a barrier.

He was not expecting it to be so effective, using words rather than actions. Qinghua still ran away, but it seemed as though he noticed, this time. That Mobei-Jun was interested.

There is something hopeful in Mobei-Jun's chest. This does not often happen. He was raised in a family where trusting others, hoping for things. These were not done. To be able to do so now...

He has been attempting to court Qinghua for years. That lowly general had no right asking for permission after Mobei-Jun had cooked Qinghua's meal for the feast the night before. He is lucky his head is not displayed as a trophy this very moment.

"Well you're all smiles today," Tianlang-Jun drawls as he slinks his way into the room where Mobei-Jun is consulting with the royal tailor to plan out new pieces to both his and Qinghua's wardrobes. This is patently untrue. Mobei-Jun's face is flat as ever. "Turn down that sunshine or your human might start to get jealous."

"Tianlang-Jun."

"Present and accounted for. But that's not as interesting as the obvious joy I'm seeing from you." Tianlang-Jun navigates effortlessly around the silent tailor and chooses a seat for himself. "Has our plan been working, then?"

"Qinghua came to talk last night." He needs to give a little ground for any of this to work.

"Oh, did he? Good. I'd hoped he might."

"He said you stole his list."

"I most certainly did, and you're welcome for that. It sounds like you two were able to get all cozy because of it. Did he fuck you?"

Mobei-Jun is holding one arm out for the tailor to measure. Without even glancing away, he manifests a dagger of ice and hurls it in Tianlang-Jun's direction. He knows it's not going to hit, and he is right. Tianlang-Jun knocks it out of the air and laughs good-naturedly when it hits the wall and shatters behind him.

"Not yet, then. You're far too pent-up." Mobei-Jun can feel a tic in the muscle behind his eyebrow. He wants to banish Tianlang-Jun from ever setting foot in his palace. If he thought it would work, he might. Most likely, though, it would simply increase whatever this absurd behavior is.

"You took his list."

"I did. You already said that."

"Give it back."

"He knows what he needs to do to get it back, and you're welcome for that. I'm doing all of this for you, you know."

"Give it back."

"If this is the kind of brilliant negotiating technique that you bring to the table, then I'm suddenly understanding a lot better just how much you rely on your little human."

"Give it back."

"I'm beginning to think you don't want me here. Which, of course, couldn't possibly be true, since I'm a delight and also could defeat you in front of your entire court."

The tailor clears their throat delicately. Mobei-Jun shoots a murderous look in Tianlang-Jun's direction. Tianlang-Jun smiles back guilelessly.

Mobei-Jun pauses for a moment. Orders the tailor to leave the room. If they are going to have this conversation, he would rather not continue to lose face in front of his subjects. The tailor follows the command quickly and silently. This is the kind of obedience Mobei-Jun is accustomed to.

When the tailor leaves, he waits for Tianlang-Jun to continue with the irritating chatter. Tianlang-Jun has a ridiculously smug smile on his face. He does not speak.

Mobei-Jun does not speak.

They sit in silence for almost a quarter shichen. Mobei-Jun needs to remember that he can't win in a test of patience against a demon who spent the last few decades alone under a mountain. He could wait here for several shichen as well, but he does need an answer, and he has several more things he must do today if he has any hope of maintaining Qinghua's good will.

"Last night."

"When you didn't fuck Qinghua," Tianlang-Jun says, almost immediately. As if he had been preparing that response. Mobei-Jun wants to try and kill him again.

"I attempted to use more words." Mobei-Jun's face is burning at this admission. This is the only thing that has worked in his years-long attempt to court Qinghua. This is the path forward.

"Oh fabulous!" Tianlang-Jun's grin goes from smug to eager, and he leans forward over the space between them. "You listened to my advice! And how did your man of words respond to it?"

"He listened." For many of the people Mobei-Jun talks to, this would be a response that would be difficult to parse. Tianlang-Jun lets out a long, low whistle.

"Oh, so he really liked it, then. I knew that would work for him. Humans, they always want you to say things out loud and communicate. My Xiyan always wanted that too. And she wasn't even as into words as your man is."

"You knew that would work."

"It wasn't hard to figure out." Mobei-Jun can feel the way his face slams shut at those words. "Oh. You really hadn't figured that out yet? This might be worse than I thought."

"How did you know." This is the extent of Mobei-Jun's ability. He has never asked for help like this before. If it wasn't Qinghua, he still would not be. This is not something he does. He does not have the words.

"He keeps lists. He keeps a brush behind his ear. He writes things down. His room is full of books. When you ask about the books, he can talk about them for hours. How did you not know?"

"Qinghua has always behaved in such a way."

"Ah, so you wrote it off and took it all for granted." Tianlang-Jun strokes at his chin as though he is an elder stroking a beard, even though he has no such beard. Mobei-Jun reaches deep for the calm inside him to keep himself from starting another fight. "The same trap that many old married couples can fall into, except you aren't even married yet. Haven't even kissed yet!"

Mobei-Jun sits in silence for several more minutes, sifting through the raging fury within himself to try and find words to ask the questions he needs to ask, rather than starting and losing another fight.

"What words did you say. To your human." He can't make it sound like a question. He can't concede that ground.

"Ah, the age-old question. What words will woo a human? What words worked so well last night, that you've already come around to my side?"

"I told him that he is needed here."

"Appreciation! That not a bad start at all, considering all the things he seems to run around here. I can't read that ridiculous list of his, but I know enough to see that he seems to be managing everything on the demon and human sides of things. Appreciation would probably always go well with that one. Couldn't hurt to use some flattery as well. He definitely has little in the way of self-esteem, so he might be easy to get to that way."

Mobei-Jun throws another ice dagger, because Tianlang-Jun has already demonstrated that it will not cause him to leave and because it helps him feel better about sitting here in the same room as this demon.

"Qinghua is aware that he is useful."

"I mean, of course he's useful, but surely you must find him attractive too? Not that I could ever understand just how that happened, there's no way you would be putting up this much of a fuss if you didn't want to fuck him."

Mobei-Jun was wrong. He won't sit here for this. When he stands to leave, Tianlang-Jun makes a cooing, cloying kind of noise and stands up too. His arm drapes over Mobei-Jun's shoulders in a way that makes his skin crawl.

"Don't go, don't go. I forgot how young you are. I'll be kinder, promise." Tianlang-Jun holds out his hands in a sign of innocence and defenselessness. Mobei-Jun doesn't buy it for a moment, but he does sit back down. "I wasn't kidding. It seems like your man doesn't have a very high regard for himself. Flattery about his physical appearance could probably get you far. Especially if you keep this whole appreciation for his work up at the same time."

"I do not need your advice on how to say nice things to my advisor."

Tianlang-Jun stares at him in disbelief for a second. "Right. Which is why you definitely did ask me for that exact thing at the start of this conversation."

"It is time for dinner."

"All this work I do, and you're just going to try to walk away from our conversation without a thank you. You don't even deserve the dinner surprise I've got set up for you." Tianlang-Jun somehow manages to sail out of the room ahead of Mobei-Jun, turned to face him and continue the conversation while he is walking. "You still should definitely keep up with those letters, though. He appreciates the written word, your boy."

Mobei-Jun grunts rather than admit that any of this has been helpful in any sort of way. Tianlang-Jun laughs and glides down the hallway toward the banquet hall, since everyone else needs to be there before the king anyway.

When Mobei-Jun sits down at the table in the front and center of the room, he is ready for it to be a banquet like many others he has attended in his life. These are boring moments of posturing. He will sit and be quiet. People will look at him and decide that he is thinking or saying whatever it is that they want him to be saying, and then he will leave. And then they will leave. He has done this so many times in his life.

Qinghua has an open invitation, by nature of the multiple courting acts Mobei-Jun has performed, to sit at the head table. He does not. Instead, Qinghua usually sits at a table along the side of the room. Mobei-Jun hates this. It does not appropriately communicate his rank and value in the court. Mobei-Jun loves this. It allows him a much better view of Qinghua than he would ever get if he were sitting at his side.

When Mobei-Jun arrives to the banquet, Qinghua is not in his seat. This should be considered a high offense, considering that the king has arrived. Mobei-Jun won't enforce that. Qinghua can do whatever he wants.

It is a notable change in behavior. He likes to arrive early so he can listen to gossip and conversation. He says it's one of the most helpful times for his map of important people. Mobei-Jun suspects that, whatever is happening, Tianlang-Jun is involved. He seems bent on disrupting every pattern and ritual in the court.

When Mobei-Jun sits, the food is brought out. Immediately, the room explodes into noise. All illusions of formality disappear. There are several rotting animal carcasses brought to the center tables. Blood in pitchers. Fruit and vegetables and some minimal starch.

Usually, a specific platter is set before Mobei-Jun. Today, there are two smaller platters set to either side of him.

Mobei-Jun does not spend time looking around or concerned. The food will come when it will come. Or it will not. He does not particularly care about eating either way.

And then, from the side door into the banquet hall, Qinghua comes skittering in. Mobei-Jun automatically finds himself orienting all his attention in that direction.

Qinghua is carrying a dish of food. This is very strange, because Mobei-Jun is the one who cooks for him, or he eats what is prepared by the kitchens. If someone else in the court has dared to cook for him, Mobei-Jun will find them and remove their heads from their shoulders.

Qinghua steps up to the dais and places the dish before his king. It is in a low, wide bowl. There are light noodles, a dark sauce that smells of meat, and cut carrots and vegetables. Mobei-Jun looks down at it in confusion and then up at Qinghua. The dish is not as elaborate or beautifully arranged as the things he normally eats. There is a possible explanation for this. Mobei-Jun will not consider it until Qinghua says that it is the case.

"Zha jiang mian," Qinghua mumbles. He shoots a significant look toward Tianlang-Jun as he sets it down. Tianlang-Jun nods back. Another departure from their typical pattern. Another clear sign of interference from Tianlang-Jun. Mobei-Jun will not consider the possible explanation until Qinghua says that it is the case. It does not take long for the explanation to come. If someone stares at Qinghua silently for long enough, he usually moves to fill the silence. "You said the other night that it's your favorite food." Mobei-Jun did say that. He said that because one time, early on in their knowing each other, Qinghua had eaten it, cooked by one of the few cooks at the time that knew how to prepare human cuisine. It was one of the first things he had expressed enjoying about the Northern Palace. Mobei-Jun does not like food, but he wants to know about the things that make Qinghua happy. Make him willing to stay. "I just thought, if I was going to make you something, it would probably be best to make something you would actually like, since I know you don't really like much food at all, most of the time. And that seemed like a big waste of time, to try and make something if you wouldn't even like it."

"Qinghua made this dish," Mobei-Jun clarifies, because he needs to be absolutely sure.

"Ah ha ha, yeah." Qinghua scratches at the back of his head. "Yeah, I made it for you. You know. You cook noodles and stuff for me all the time and I thought I should return the favor." Another glance at Tianlang-Jun, but that does not matter right now. "So, it might not be as good as some of the other stuff you get to eat all the time, and it's fine if you want to throw it away and eat your regular stuff. I had the kitchen prepare a backup meal too, so they can bring that out if you want. Actually, let me just go get that right now. That would probably be better. Yeah. Okay. Wait here and I'll-"

Mobei-Jun grabs Qinghua's wrist tightly. Not so tightly that it will bruise. He knows the difference and carefully maintains it. It causes Qinghua's mouth to snap shut, the way physical touch often does. Before Qinghua can run off and ruin it, Mobei-Jun scoops a generous bite of the noodles into his mouth. Qinghua watches with the wide eyes of cornered prey as he chews it slowly and swallows. Only when Mobei-Jun feels that he has established his point does he let go.

"Go sit down, Qinghua," he orders, because Qinghua cooked for him and presented that food to him in front of the entire court. It's a blatant act of demonic courting and Mobei-Jun will not stand for any hint of a suggestion that it might be taken away.

Qinghua is still watching him with wide eyes, even as he pulls his hand back and holds it against his chest.

"Yes, My King." There's a panicked little smile at the corner of his mouth and Mobei-Jun wants to bite it. Bite it until his teeth are bloodied and then bite down Qinghua's neck until he is scarred and claimed in a way that will never be mistaken. He'll mount Qinghua now, before the entire court, and then dress him only in the finest of gauzy silks, make it impossible to cover the mark of his king's teeth.

He does not do this. Qinghua would not like it. Probably. It will at least require further information gathering. Instead, he holds Qinghua's gaze as he savors the entirety of the dish before him. Every now and then, he pauses his staring at Qinghua to move his gaze across the court, meeting the eyes of every demon present. Let it be very clear what is going on right now.

The food is just like any other food. He does not particularly enjoy the experience of chewing. The texture of chewed food on his tongue. The way it freezes as it moves down his throat before landing heavy in his stomach.

It does not matter. This is food that Qinghua prepared for him. He presented it before the entire court. Mobei-Jun relishes each bite.

*~*~*

Here's a fun fact: Shang Qinghua knows how almost every person in this universe likes to fuck. Or have sex, whatever. Even the characters who never got to have their own on-screen erotica. It's not just because he's a horny pervert, though that is definitely true. It's also just, he's always found it to be an important detail about a character. How does someone behave, when they're being vulnerable and intimate with someone? Are they even able to be that open? Do they control the encounter from start to finish?

This means that, theoretically, he knows exactly what Mobei-Jun is like in bed. Probably. Any doubt comes from the fact that, one time, he managed to coax some details out of a very drunk Cucumber-bro. It is possible to change things. Butterfly effect and all that shit. He definitely never wrote his son to be the kind of man who cries all over the person he's fucking and begs for the opportunity to bottom or suck a dick. Life events change people.

So, that means that he might not know everything there is to know about how Mobei-Jun behaves when he is having sex with someone. Shang Qinghua is reminding himself of this fact over and over again as he once again finds himself standing outside his bedroom door late at night.

The door opens at the first knock. Mobei-Jun is similarly dressed-down, but does not have the same groggy, grumpy expression of the newly awakened. Shang Qinghua can see from the doorway that there is a fire roaring happily in the fireplace, and there is some level of heat radiating out from the doorway. It's bringing a soft blue flush to his king's cheeks. Shang Qinghua is not looking at that, because if he looks at that he's going to explode and then it'll be a whole mess for the servants to clean up and, more than that, it will make it so that he never gets an answer about all of this, and he needs for there to be an answer.

"Explain this," Shang Qinghua demands, slapping the folded parchment of a letter against his king's chest. This potentially has the added benefit of pressing his hands up against the exposed skin of Mobei-Jun's collarbones and tits, but Shang Qinghua wouldn't know anything about that, because he's not paying attention. He doesn't even notice the way that he can feel the cold of his king's skin through the thin layer of the parchment, the way that the harsh, carved lines of his musculature cause the parchment to bend and conform to the dizzying shape of him.

Shang Qinghua isn't paying attention to that. Because there is something infinitely more pressing in the words contained on that parchment. It was waiting for him (along with his daily pile of mail and the desperate relief from the return of the Overarching To Do List), sitting innocently on his desk as if its departure hadn't spelled potential disaster for everyone in both realms. It had worked beautifully as a mechanism of blackmail. Shang Qinghua is going to have to figure out a fail-safe right now or at least in the next couple days, because he doesn't have enough to do already but he also cannot have something like this happen again.

The letter had sat there, on the bottom of the pile of letters, with his name scrawled across the top in familiar handwriting, just as it had been for the past few days.

Qinghua,

The meal you prepared for me was appreciated. Thank you.

You wore the colors of my house at the banquet tonight. I appreciate seeing you in blue. It will always be a color you are welcome to wear.

You organized an effective banquet. Well done.

Again, there was no signature. Again, there was no need for a signature. Shang Qinghua knew immediately who wrote it, even if it is utterly impossible. Obviously, that is his king's handwriting. Those are his king's stiff sentences and phrases.

But the words are not at all the sort of thing his king would say. He has known this demon for the past thirty years. Since he was nothing more than a headstrong adolescent doing everything he could to make himself something remarkable among his family members.

These are not the sort of things that Mobei-Jun says. He knows how to read between the lines of what he says. These are attempts to thank him, praise him. This is not the sort of thing Mobei-Jun says.

Something is wrong. Based on the experience that Shang Qinghua has been having for the past few days, he would bet all of his staggeringly unfairly low income on this all being due to the influence of Tianlang-Jun.

His king still hasn't answered, hasn't even moved, an unfairly beautiful ice statue under Shang Qinghua's hand.

"Explain." He demands again. Something in it must make it clear that he will not be moved from this point, because Mobei-Jun reaches up to take the letter from his hands. He does not go through the motions of pretending to look over the letter. They both know he wrote it and that he knows what it is.

"Qinghua deserves to know that he is appreciated."

How dare he! Saying that sort of thing out here in the middle of the hallway where anyone in the entire court could hear him. Shang Qinghua shoots a terrified glance down both ends of the hallway. There are multiple demonic servants making their way through the hallway for various reasons. At least two of them are running errands specifically assigned by Shang Qinghua, because he is relentlessly causing his own downfall at every moment of every situation.

"What are you doing? Out here in front of everyone! Let me into your room and we can talk about this quieter." This happens sometimes, when Shang Qinghua gets anxious enough, where he'll just start ordering everyone around until things are exactly the way that he wants them to be. He usually doesn't even notice the tone or words that he used until after he finished speaking. Then, afterward, he sits in horror as his mind plays back everything that he just said. Sometimes he has to go and retrace all his steps until he can do damage control for all the delicate politics he disrupted.

When Mobei-Jun was younger, he would become offended as soon as he would dare to presume to give him an order. Sometimes it would result in Shang Qinghua smacked clear across the hallway. More recently, especially in the past year or so, it has more resulted in unnerving cooperation and compliance from Mobei-Jun, who will follow wherever he is led and do what he is told with a peaceful, half-smile on his face.

This is another one of those times. Shang Qinghua grabs ahold of him and tugs him into the room. Instead of resisting or pushing back in any way, Mobei-Jun follows easily at the slightest pressure. It's bad, it's dangerous, because it means that Shang Qinghua is inside the room faster than he was prepared to be. He's standing in the firelight, watching it play across the planes of his king, relishing in the strange comfort of the warmth in this room. It's before he had a chance to brace himself.

He can feel his mouth going dry. Resists the urge to lick his lips like the pervert he is but tries to pretend not to be. Ends up licking his lips anyway because he can't stop imagining what it would be like to lick Mobei-Jun's washboard abs that are on display through the very loosely tied single robe that he is wearing.

"My King," he orders, because he needs to distract himself now before things get even more off track. "What are you saying here? What is happening? Is Tianlang-Jun blackmailing you? As your primary advisor and the person who runs almost all of your kingdom, you need to tell me if you're being blackmailed into doing things you don't want to do."

Mobei-Jun is staring down at him with those same softened eyes but a slight furrow to his kingly brow, now.

"Is Qinghua being blackmailed?"

"What? No, not anymore. That's not the point. I was asking if someone is blackmailing you!"

"What would make Qinghua think this King has been blackmailed?"

"What do you mean?" Shang Qinghua slaps the paper against Mobei-Jun's chest again. "This letter is why I think you're being blackmailed. My King, this is completely out of character. How else was I supposed to take this other than as a cry for help?"

"This letter is out of character." His voice is flat as the frozen tundra outside, in the way that it tends to get when he is asking a question but would rather demand someone provide further context than admit that he might not understand something. Sometimes, Shang Qinghua starts to think too closely about what it means about him that this is his dream man. He doesn't let himself think about that for too long.

"Um? Yes? If you do not remember, My King, it was just a few years ago that you were hitting me around whenever you felt like it. A letter full of compliments to me is something that you have never done, not once, in the decades that I have known you." The furrow of Mobei-Jun's brow carves itself deeper and deeper with every word that Shang Qinghua says, and it's kind of sending him into a fucking panic, because he's clearly pissing off this powerful demon in front of him, and he doesn't even know what about this situation is pissing him off, so he doesn't have anything he can pull off the Overarching To Do List, or even add to it, that would help to fix it.

"Qinghua sees this as a change in character."

They're standing there in the middle of his king's cavernous and beautiful room, staring at each other like idiots, saying the same thing back and forth to each other over and over. Shang Qinghua wants to hit his head against the wall. He wants to grab his King's thighs and hide his face in the strong muscles there and also use it as an excuse to never look him in the eye again.

"It's a pretty big change from how you have literally ever acted before, yeah. I think I've already said that." Mobei-Jun is just looking grumpier and grumpier and Shang Qinghua is about to lose his mind.

"Qinghua is appreciated. This comment being a departure from normal behavior is a failure of this king." Mobei-Jun even fucking reaches out with his hands to grasp tightly to Shang Qinghua's upper arms as he says this. He could probably pull away and escape if he tried to, Mobei-Jun would let him. It's more like he wants to make sure that he has Shang Qinghua's full attention before he says this. Shang Qinghua would have really appreciated more warning and also for his full attention to never be demanded because this is the literal worst case scenario of all time ever.

"Ah," he says, like an idiot. "Right. Yes. Well, in that case, your advisor should go continue to work on the things that made him so appreciated." Shang Qinghua can feel himself squirming to pull away from Mobei-Jun's grip. He lets go, just like he knew he would, but his expression is tilting more and more from frustrated to bereft, if you're someone who just happens to have known him since he was very young and are therefore able to read the micro-expressions he uses in his everyday life. "So enjoyed this talk. Please stop saying such things out in the main hallway, since it really will open you up for someone to come along and blackmail you." A step back toward the door. "If they haven't already started doing that." Shang Qinghua makes it all the way to the door unimpeded. Mobei-Jun is still just standing there. "Which I really think they have and you should definitely tell your main advisor about it."

With that last statement, he edges his way out the door and slams it shut behind him. That was strange, strange, strange. He never wants to do that again. He had to leave that room or he never would. He finally has his Overarching To Do List back, and that's really where he should be spending his time right now. He's fallen behind, surely, after a whole day without it.

He skitters down the hallway, clinging to the shadows even though he has more right than almost every demon here to be in this palace.

He slams the door to his office closed behind him, blocking out that whole interaction.

*~*~*

"You will help me." Mobei-Jun slams an empty sheet of parchment onto the table before Tianlang-Jun.

"Oh, will I?" He drawls. Mobei-Jun hates him. "And what will I be helping the peerless Mobei-Jun with?"

"Letters." The words are gritted out through Mobei-Jun's teeth. He is not the sort of man who asks for help.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear that, darling." Tianlang-Jun sprawls out further, clearly relishing this concession to his abilities. "Maybe it's the way that you were mumbling. I'm afraid you'll have to say that again."

Mobei-Jun begins to walk away. He has to clench his teeth, physically restrain himself, drag himself back. This is for Qinghua. Things have been better, ever since Tianlang-Jun started interfering and advising. It's been awful, but it's also been effective. More progress this week than the last few decades together.

Or, well, not really, is it? He has made progress on his own. When they met, Qinghua was nothing more than a trembling, terrified servant who would say whatever he thought it would take to make it through the next day alive. It was manipulative and brilliant, looking back, all the ways that he managed to wriggle his way into the important places of Mobei-Jun's life in a way that would make it all fall to pieces at his removal. The sort of thing that has made him invaluable as a member of Mobei-Jun's court.

Mobei-Jun had spent too many years treating him like the pathetic mess that he pretended he was. By the time he realized that Shang Qinghua was one of the only places in the world where he felt safe and calm, where he was secure enough to arrive at any time and fall asleep without a care in the world, they had already established patterns.

It's been years of Mobei-Jun picking through all their habits and patterns so he can find the things he does that push Qinghua into behaving like that old, terrified version of himself, instead of the terrified version of himself that he tends to just default into at all times of the day.

He did do that work. He did make that progress. Qinghua no longer flinches every time he moves too quickly or expresses displeasure. Qinghua allows him to cook for him almost every day. Qinghua knows to call on him when he needs help. Those are things that he built without the help of Tianlang-Jun. It had been enough to get them to this place. They eat together at times. They talk. They spend time together in the same places.

But, ever since that realization of safety, Mobei-Jun has been working toward something more. He desires Qinghua the way that a demon desires a spouse. He could live like this, but he would like to move forward. He had resigned himself to the impossibility of it.

Then Tianlang-Jun arrived.

Now, he has Qinghua in his rooms at night. He stands closer than he ever does, stares back when Mobei-Jun is staring at him.

He made progress before. He has made more progress with the influence of Tianlang-Jun. And so, he will ask for help. If this is what it will take, is it really all that bad?

"I need your help with writing a letter to Qinghua." He manages to say the words because this is what it will take for him to finally be allowed near Qinghua in that way. That is why he is doing all of this. With that perspective, it isn't even that awful, saying it all out loud.

"Well why didn't you say so right at the beginning?" Tianlang-Jun laughs, "Because I've known you've needed my help from the very first one that you sent."

Grit teeth. Breathe. This is for Qinghua.

He had not written out multiple drafts of any of his letters. They were the sort of things that he wrote as quickly as possible because he would stop himself if he thought about it for too long. Tianlang-Jun is right that Qinghua is a man of words. Mobei-Jun is most decidedly not that. He has never enjoyed expressing his thoughts and feelings aloud. Even the brief moments of writing these letters have been excruciating.

Excruciating enough that he remembers everything he wrote. He did not make multiple drafts, but he is able to replicate the letters easily, and sets the contents before Tianlang-Jun now. It might not matter. This might just be a technique to humiliate him. From all accounts, it would seem the Heavenly Demon is already reading everything he sends to Qinghua. Still, he write them out. In case Tianlang-Jun missed one.

It does not take Tianlang-Jun long to read through all that he has written. "I must say, I'm impressed. You give the appearance of being so stoic and stubborn, but this little Mobei-Jun is capable of learning." Tianlang-Jun holds up the most recent letter. "Look at this! A true effort to praise him for his hard work and to compliment his appearance! It's all still short and terribly phrased, of course, but you must have had a worthy teacher at some point, to make you this willing to listen."

The teacher was Qinghua. While he was almost the same age as Mobei-Jun, he had always seemed to hold the wisdom of many years beyond that, when he would advise Mobei-Jun on this or that. His mind for strategy. His ability to step into a room and gain a handle on the complicated interpersonal dynamics between every other person there. Mobei-Jun has only managed to make it this far into his rule because he learned early on to listen to whatever Qinghua tells him to do, and to comply. The fact that this also often causes Qinghua to smile at him, sometimes even praise him, only adds to the benefits.

"And how did your trembling little human respond, when you sent such a letter to him?"

Mobei-Jun refuses to be embarrassed by this part. He is the king of his lands, of the Northern Desert, second-in-command to the emperor of the demon realm. He does not feel embarrassment in front of anyone. Well, he occasionally feels it in front of Qinghua, but that is a separate situation, where his titles and accolades mean nothing at all.

"He believes that I am being blackmailed."

"Ha! Okay, yeah, I can see where he would get an idea like that." Tianlang-Jun reads through some of the letters again. "'The meal you prepared for me was appreciated.' You do sound a little bit like you're being held at sword point."

"If you will not offer help, I will take my things and depart." Mobei-Jun is aware that he has signed up to stand her and be mocked. He is only allowing this because he believes there may be some helpful information, hidden within the rest of it.

"Of course, of course. So, your little human thinks you're being forced into saying these sorts of things. That doesn't bode well for you, kid. Have you ever said anything kind to him? In the whole time you've known him?" His voice is a combination of mocking and incredulous. Mobei-Jun returns to the now well-worn fantasy of ripping out his throat.

"I have." Certainly he must have. They've known each other for years.

"Name one time," Tianlang-Jun says, with all the smug challenge of someone who already knows that he won't be able to. It makes Mobei-Jun all the more furious to realize that he can't think of a single time.

"I have shown my regard for Qinghua in my actions." This is true. Mobei-Jun is not the sort of person to treat the person he cares for with little regard. He will never be that person. His regard simply takes the form of protection, coming when called, following instructions, listening to Qinghua when he talks, obeying when he asks for things to be different.

"See, this is exactly what I was talking about." Tianlang-Jun rifles through the letters again, probably for dramatic effect rather than any actual need to reread them. There are not so many words there that he would not already be aware of the content. Mobei-Jun wants to rip them from his hands, cast them through a shadow portal until his inadequacies are far from anyone's sight. "It's not just that your human is a man of words. Humans are people who enjoy words. It's a whole thing." He waves a hand lazily through the air, as if this should all be foregone knowledge. "They want to hear you tell them the things you like about them, that you appreciate them, that you think they're beautiful, that you care for them and want them. If you don't say these things aloud, humans don't understand them."

Mobei-Jun isn't sure that's true. There is only one other human he has some level of familiarity with, and Luo Binghe's Shen Qingqiu doesn't seem to share that trait at all. From what Mobei-Jun has witnessed, he would put any demon to shame for his tendency to speak with actions over words.

On the topic of Luo Binghe, though, that is a man who requires those kinds of words and affirmations. He may be part demon, but he's also part human, and he was raised by human. Does that mean that his tendencies should be taken as the model for all?

None of this matters. Tianlang-Jun is not some wise sage who knows the answers to the human race. In fact, Mobei-Jun can't recall any stories of him having interacted with humans much beyond the one that ended him in so much trouble. None of his words should be taken as truth. Instead, he should merely acknowledge that, whether or not Tianlang-Jun understands people, he does seem to understand Qinghua. And, once he is able to focus past the way that this fact rankles against his pride, Mobei-Jun needs to use it.

"I used words. You say that they are the wrong ones. Qinghua thought they were said against my will. This is the matter in which I am requesting your wisdom." He needs to get them back to the useful part of all of this. He doesn't have time to deal with any of the nonsense that Tianlang-Jun loves to hear himself spew.

"Of course he accused you of being blackmailed. Just look at the few letters you gave me. Listen to the words you say to him. You can't remember a single time you said a kind word to him. It won't matter which compliments you try to pick at the beginning. He won't believe any of them!" Mobei-Jun can feel the foreboding snarl creeping into his expression. There is ice crackling and crawling up the walls in the corners of the room. Tianlang-Jun pauses for a moment to look pointedly at the ice and then back at Mobei-Jun with a raised eyebrow. When Mobei-Jun refuses to acknowledge any of what he may be trying to communicate, Tianlang-Jun continues.

"It's like this. Think of what would happen, if there were another demon who had ignored you or undermined your authority for the past ten years. And then, suddenly, one day they bring a freshly killed corpse of a legendary beast to your feet, the clearest declaration of serious intent that someone could give. This same demon that has been an active threat to your standing and the stability of your position for the past decade. What would you do, with such a declaration?"

Mobei-Jun knows that this is a story meant to illuminate his own situation. Even so, Tianlang-Jun is looking at him expectantly, and he clearly wants an answer. Mobei-Jun will answer. Only because his mind is not made for these kind of metaphors and double-meanings and he will not understand until it is spelled out for him.

"I would think the trophy to be some kind of trick or poison. Perhaps an attempt to remove me from my current position."

"Exactly. And what if it was proven that it was none of those things? That this demon had suddenly and drastically changed their behavior from the past years? Would you think that some exterior force might be influencing or controlling them? That there may be some kind of blackmail involved?"

Mobei-Jun can feel the beginnings of understanding brewing in his mind. Still, it is clear that this is something Tianglang-Jun wants to follow to the end.

"The option would cross my mind."

"And what would this demon need to do, then, to convince you that this was a genuine declaration of intent? One they pursued of their own free will and interest?"

"I would not accept their declaration. I have no need for another consort."

"Right," Tianlang-Jun drawls mockingly. "But let's say that, hypothetically, you were going to let them convince you they were genuine. What would a demon like that need to do?"

It is hard, for Mobei-Jun to imagine things like this. He does not want to consider the courtship actions of anyone other than Qinghua. He does not bother himself with hypotheticals or the motivations of others. That is what Qinghua manages. Mobei-Jun learned long ago that Qinghua is simply better at it than he will ever be, and at this point is quite happy to simply go where he is led.

He tries now. To imagine what it would be like, if someone who had been a threat to him started to suddenly behave in a blatantly romantic manner. What would have to change for him to believe it was their genuine intention?

It's impossible. He would send the demon away at the first indication of such a thing. He has made his efforts to court Qinghua clear to the entire court. Anyone who would dare to do something as disrespectful as interrupt an active courting with one of their own would be banished from the court before they could make anything close to a point. If he didn't kill them where they stood, for the slight against Qinghua's honor. Interrupting an ongoing courtship would be tantamount to saying that Qinghua did not deserve the king's full attention. This entire premise is impossible to think of.

Qinghua, then. Perhaps it will be easier to imagine this way. He had cooked a meal for Mobei-Jun the night before. This represents a shocking change in behavior patterns from the past few years. Mobei-Jun is tempted to take it at face value but, thanks to his more recent comments, it is more likely that this was the result of some kind of blackmailing or exterior influence.

What would it take for Mobei-Jun to start to believe that Qinghua was doing this of his own free will? He would need to continue doing so, even after Tianlang-Jun is shown to not be influencing his actions. He would want to see him do so with the kind of shaking panic that comes from his moments of vulnerability, rather than the kind of shaking panic that arises when he is being forced into doing something and he's angry about it.

"It would need to happen more than once, and appear genuine."

"Exactly! Good boy!" Tianlang-Jun praises, as if any approval other than Qinghua's has ever mattered to Mobei-Jun. "So, since you clearly need your hand held to get there, that's what your human needs as well. For years, I would bet you've only been trying to court him in a demonic fashion. I bet you've even challenged the poor coward to spar. For humans, they don't court like that. It's just threatening. So you've been threatening him for years, and then you suddenly start sending him letters declaring your admiration of him. Of course he's going to be suspicious."

"You are suggesting that I simply need to speak genuinely and remain constant."

"I never thought you'd get there. Are you proud of yourself?" Tianlang-Jun has kicked his feet up on the desk before him, lounging like a king surveying his conquered lands.

Mobei-Jun does not wait around for him to continue to inflate his own ego. He turns and walks from the room, even as he hears Tianlang-Jun talking cheerfully to himself.

"Why, thank you, great Tianlang-Jun. Your incredible wisdom regarding the humans is everything I need to finally pursue the man of my heart. Where would I be-"

Mobei-Jun moves outside of hearing range long before he is finished with whatever useless drivel he has to offer. He has another letter to write.

*~*~*

It has been almost a full day since Tianlang-Jun had last sought Shang Qinghua out, and instead of relaxing, it's just winding Shang Qinghua up tighter and tighter. He's jumping at every footstep and watching around every corner. He has The Overarching To Do List to manage, as well as his daily to do list that he's drawn from it, but he left so much space in his daily timetable for the flexibility he'll need for the unpredictable spontaneity of Tianlang-Jun's. Now, it's only early evening and he's almost to the end of his daily list, which means there's still about eight hours of time left to get work done, and nothing he planned to fill it with, which is also only contributing to the sense of panic.

Shang Qinghua has always been an anxious person. When he was living his first life, it mostly showed up in his being quiet and allowing himself to fade into the background, hiding away from the world. His family had all clearly moved on to others, and he had more than enough to keep him home, with all the writing he had to do. Better to avoid anything outside his front door. He was still anxious, but it was less of the shaking-trembling-begging for his life kind, because he never put himself in any kind of situation that would bring any of that out.

It's strange, to have lived solidly into adulthood and then have your spirit and mind transferred into that of a young child. When he first got here, his body wasn't even a year old! He hadn't ever thought about just how much babies can't do! He couldn't focus his eyes, couldn't walk, couldn't even hear a lot of the things people were saying. He just had to lay there for days on end and wait for the people in his life to look after the body he was in.

His tongue wasn't clever enough to know how to form the words to go with his thoughts. Even if it had been, Shang Qinghua knew better! As the creator of this world and an incredible purveyor of angst, he knew exactly what happened to people who stood out as strange or different. The kind of rejection they faced. It's good for building tragic backstories! Not as good when you're a baby transmigrator.

He did know for sure that he was in the world of PIDW. That he was a transmigrator. But that was only from the System in his head cheerfully telling him so. For the first decade of his life in this world, Shang Qinghua had to pretend to be just a normal child, and the only entity he could speak to regularly was his own tormentor and captor.

It would have made for a really incredible character arc. Even just thinking about it, there are so many narrative themes in there that are ripe for the picking. If it were happening to a fictional character, he could have done something amazing with the story. Since it was happening to him instead, and he actually had to live through those years and years before he could speak to anyone else with the level of cognitive functioning happening inside his head, it was the worst thing ever. He used to spend hours and hours at a time going over every single detail he could remember from his book, because it was suddenly a lot more relevant to his life and he had to hold onto it until it all actually started to happen. Which wouldn't be the case for several more decades. He had to settle into the long haul of remembering things. Also, it gave him something to do inside his mind, so that he didn't lose his mind while pretending to be a young toddler.

It lead to a different kind of panic, too. Oh, how much he missed those old days in the modern world, when he could simply lock himself inside his house and avoid any confrontations or encounters with the things that made him panic in the first place. In this world, in PIDW, he really hit his stride in the trembling, panicked babbling and shaking that he knows has become something of a signature by now. You try being in his shoes! He had to live every day of his childhood afraid that he would be kicked out onto the street for giving himself away before he was old enough to actually take care of himself!

And then! He had to go join his sect, because the System liked to pop up and hold his own death over his head like the sword of Damocles (another metaphor he can't say out loud because no one in this world knows what that is).

In the sect, he had to become head disciple and then sect leader. More pressure from the System. But don't get attached to anyone! Because he was going to have to betray the sect in just a few more years, and that was going to kill a whole hell of a lot of his sect siblings, and he couldn't let any attachments get to the point where that would be even more painful than it already was.

Work for the king of the northern desert. He's going to kill you in a few years. He can come into your room whenever he wants. Be a double-agent. Don't get caught by anyone in the human realm. Win over a bunch of demons that have a lot of very good reasons to never want to listen to a human speak. Use your knowledge of PIDW to figure out what you need to do next. Don't give away your status as a cultivator or you'll be killed right away.

Is it any wonder that he got such a terrible reputation? Anyone else in his situation would too! Is it any wonder that he started to develop a habit of running over the details of this world over and over in his head whenever he needed to calm down, since it wasn't safe to have it written down anywhere?

He didn't bother to spend much time remembering Tianlang-Jun, since he hadn't been part of the final draft. Just the outline. He didn't think it would be necessary, and he needed to leave space in his head for all the other details that were going to be important to staying alive.

Yeah, he knows it was a mistake. No one needs to tell him that now. He would really like anyone with strong opinions on this to think about what it would be like for them to be stuck as a baby again and have to remember every little detail about a story they wrote, mostly in a caffeine-fueled fugue state. And then keep all of that in mind for the next several decades.

The point is: Tianlang-Jun fell off his radar. This wasn't a problem at all until all of a sudden it very much was. He had thought he would just sleep away Shang Qinghua's lifetime under a mountain! That's what he had ended up doing in PIDW, and it only changed once Cucumber-Bro came in and fucked up all the narrative tension.

So, really, it's all Cucumber-Bro's fault, and it's important to Shang Qinghua that everyone else knows that too.

Assigning blame doesn't actually help with the problem at hand, though. The problem, which is that he still hasn't heard from Tianlang-Jun all day. That's not a good fucking sign. It's not that he left the court! Shang Qinghua saw him sitting up there right next to Mobei-Jun during dinner tonight. They were talking with their heads bent together for the whole meal. Well, okay, it was really more that Tianlang-Jun was lounging into Mobei-Jun's space and rambling on and on. But! Mobei-Jun wasn't ignoring him! Sometimes he would make vague comments or noises! That's basically him showing rapt attention! Shang Qinghua would like to be informed about shifting alliances and relationships between VIPs in this court, please and thank you! Where is the very good boy that he trained up to be a ruler and tell him these sorts of things?

A servant walks into Shang Qinghua's office and hands him some of the mail that has arrived in the evening. Usually, Shang Qinghua is not in his office when this happens, because he is off doing the many other things on his to do list for the day. This is another terrible disruption in plans! Now he has to look the demon in charge of mail for the palace in the eye, even though he's been explicitly avoiding doing that due to all the extra work he makes for her every single day!

He thanks her. She is very polite back. More than most demons in this palace are to their resident human. Shang Qinghua feels even worse than he did at the start of this.

The letters are easy to sort. There's not even that many of them today. Just a few details to shift around on his map of important people. A few colored dots to add to his color coding system. A few things to shift around on The Overarching To Do List.

He could pull a few more things off the Overarching To Do List and add them to what he needs to do today. That feels like inviting disaster. As soon as he lets himself be confident that Tianlang-Jun is not going to disrupt his day, that's when the Heavenly Demon will strike. This is the way that Shang Qinghua's luck works. He's only halfway convinced that it's due to the System trying to create moments of narrative irony.

There are a few pieces of personal correspondence, there at the bottom of the stack. One from Cucumber-Bro, mostly including a rant about the newest updates to Resentment of Chunshan, written in the Chinglish shorthand they use, as if he's ashamed to let anyone see him have strong feelings about literally anything in the world at all.

There's also, part of a new pattern, a letter that is clearly from his king. Shang Qinghua braces himself for whatever could possibly be inside. There's no way to predict, after the rollercoaster of the past few. Is it going to tell him to kick Tianlang-Jun out of the castle? Is it going to tell him that he has pretty eyes?

Qinghua, it reads, rather than allow him to continue down his newest anxiety spiral.

I want to make hand-pulled noodles for you every day that you want them. If you decide you do not want noodles, then I want to know what else you like and learn to make that too.

Your King

Huh.

It's.

Huh.

It's somewhat like the one from the night before. It's more words than his king almost ever strings together.

It's also-, huh. It's hard to explain what's so different about this one from the other ones. It feels more...believable? Like it really was his king who wrote it. The words are phrased the way that he would say them, if he were to say something so incredibly out of character.

The words are also incredibly...something. Soft? Vulnerable, maybe? He would almost describe them as romantic, if this were the sort of thing he had written in a novel for a super reserved character to say. Mobei-Jun, implying that he might want to continue cooking for Shang Qinghua. That he enjoys serving him in that way. That he wants to keep working to make him happy. That would be a romantic thing to say, if he were looking in from the outside.

And then, well, Your King. Huh. That's fucking. Huh. Shang Qinghua has been calling Mobei-Jun My King since long before he was king of anything. Part of that was just a matter of practicality. The Mobei family does not name their children. They have to fight for rankings and then they get the honor of being addressed by their title. It's just another part of what makes the competition for the throne so harsh and terrible. It's a great little character development detail for a book character. A terrible thing to do to an actual teenager who has no connections or support in the world.

When they had met, there was very little else to call Mobei-Jun. He had no name, and Shang Qinghua needed something to call him so that he could better beg for his life. My King had been what he called him, sometimes, when he was thinking about him while writing PIDW. Like, his favorite character. His king. You know. It's not weird. It's writer stuff. He did way weirder shit than that. He's a successful writer. Shut up.

When he had first actually called the teenaged Mobei-Jun that, it had clearly done wonders for his case not to kill him. Mobei-Jun was already going for the throne at that point, and no one in his family or the demon realm believed he would be successful. It had made him puff up a little, with pride, every time Shang Qinghua said it.

And then, well, then several decades passed, and they kept right on knowing each other. And, slowly, the title shifted from just a substitution for a title to something more affectionate. Something closer to a name. Maybe even a nickname. Shang Qinghua would never say that it's sometimes even like a pet name, because he doesn't want to die, but it does feel like that. He says it like that, sometimes. Just for something that he can hold in his own heart. A secret between him and himself.

All this to say: Shang Qinghua has been calling Mobei-Jun My King for as long as he's known him. In all of that time, Mobei-Jun has never referred to himself as Your King.

It's different. It's a different kind of possession. A king owns all of his subjects. Any of his subjects could call him my king. A king doesn't belong to any individual subject, though. It's a one-way possession.

Shang Qinghua can't stop staring at that signature. Your King. As if the power between them isn't the heinous level of unbalanced that it very much is. He knows that it is. It always has been.

Your King.

He's never called himself that. He would never have a reason to.

It should sound like something forced again. It should have Shang Qinghua hunting him down and accusing him of being blackmailed again. Clearly, there should be no other explanation for this.

But someone else, someone coming in and forcing him to write these words, they wouldn't know to have him say that. They wouldn't know why that would be so significant. If this were Tianlang-Jun telling him to say these things, he was stuck under the mountain the entire time My King was developing into something significant between the two of them. These days, it can fly under the radar as a perfectly normal and respectful form of address.

Someone looking in would never know all that it means to them. There would be no reason for anyone other than Mobei-Jun to even think to write something like that. Which means, impossibly, that it was Mobei-Jun who chose each of these words. Who said these things.

Shang Qinghua has to do something about this. He wants to go and confront him again, but it would probably just lead to a similar embarrassing showing as the night before. Sputtering and struggling for words while his king stares down at him with vague bemusement. It's always good and terrifying and heart-stopping to see him, but he doesn't know what he would say. Hold the letter up in his line of sight and demand that he explain himself again? There's nothing to explain. It's an incredibly straightforward letter. He wants to demand that Mobei-Jun sit down with him for several hours and unpack every single potential hidden meaning and subtext and ulterior motive with him.

But his king is not the type of man to think like that. Mobei-Jun, impossibly, simply says the things he is thinking and feeling and puts no more thought into it than that. Even more impossibly, often he doesn't say anything at all.

Usually, it's a safer bet to just watch the things that he does rather than the words that he is saying. That's how Shang Qinghua manages to keep close enough tabs on his opinions of other members of the court to write his speeches and give him his to do lists. Mobei-Jun is a very good listener until the moment he doesn't want to do what you told him to do, and then there's no moving him.

He says what he means, when he speaks at all. He speaks with actions over words. Going to pursue a further explanation would reveal nothing, because there was likely no further thought to the letter than what is before him. Should Shang Qinghua try something like that, too? Using his actions over his words?

Shang Qinghua does not work like that.

But Mobei-Jun works like that. What could Shang Qinghua do, then, to show him that this, whatever the fuck it is, was appreciated? How can he use a kind action to also work to gain some kind of clarity about what could possibly be going on here?

He cooked for Mobei-Jun, the other night. It seems like Mobei-Jun likes that, when they cook for each other. He said in the more forced-sounding letter, the night before, that he had appreciated the meal.

Shang Qinghua knows that some people in the court might look at all of this and get the wrong idea. It's a demon tradition, you know. One of the ways someone can declare intent for someone else. Cooking a meal for them. Some people look at Shang Qinghua and Mobei-Jun and assume it must be like that, between them. Really, it's just something that started after Shang Qinghua almost ran away that one time, and then continued because his king seemed to gain some kind of satisfaction from it.

They've been just friends up until now. Not even really friends, actually. Shang Qinghua would never say something like that out loud. More like...partners? Partners in crime, maybe? They've known each other for so long. They've worked together for so long. They understand each other.

It hasn't been anything more than that, between them. But this letter, it's blurring the lines. A lot. Shang Qinghua is really having to work hard to think of any kind of platonic or, he doesn't know, some kind of cosmically-connected coworkers situation explanation for any of this.

He wants to make noodles for Shang Qinghua for the rest of his life. If he stops wanting noodles, he wants to learn how to make the things he does want. What is Shang Qinghua supposed to do with that? The longer he thinks about that part, the more it's sticking in his brain too. The Your King snagged in his mind first, because what the fuck, but actually, he would like to know what the fuck is happening with literally every part of this letter, because it's going to do his head in.

When was the last time someone cooked for him? Before Mobei-Jun? He'd eaten at the dining hall when he was spending more of his time on An Ding Peak, but that wasn't a personalized meal. That was just the same meal that disciples took turns making for the whole peak. There wasn't any heart behind it.

It would have been when he was a child in this world, but even that had been such a strange and distant time. Being doted upon by parents, parents he was mentally older than, parents he could never speak openly to. There was a strained distance there. He knows it confused them, the whole time they were alive. Their strange, distant child who never behaved quite the way they expected him to. Their child, who knew, the whole time he was growing up, exactly when and how his parents were going to die. He did everything he could to make their lives easier. There is nothing he could have done differently.

Before that. In his first life. Instant noodles and energy drinks and bao from the convenience store down the street, when he thought he would shrivel up and die if he didn't actually leave his studio apartment. Scrounged together meals before that, when both of his parents had already split, were off trying to build families that would work this time, leaving him alone to cook for himself before he ever learned how.

When was the last time someone made a meal for him? For Shang Qinghua, in all that he was?

Has someone ever done that?

Fuck. It's some fucking dark shit tonight. This is why he stays busy with lists. No one wants to live in thoughts like this.

But fine. Fuck. If this is what it's like between them, then does it really matter if there is or isn't some hidden meaning underneath it? Does it matter if he means it as friends or coworkers (or lovers)? The idea of something more glows within him with a brightness Shang Qinghua can't look at head-on. He has never learned how to exist around the reality of something like this.

Because, the horrible truth is, all of this with Mobei-Jun is so much more than he has ever had in either life.

And so, really, it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter what he means by the letter. They'll figure that out. Eventually. And any explanation will be more than he's ever had before.

Right now, though, he has to do something. Do something that might make Mobei-Jun feel one hundredth of the overwhelming glut of emotion that Shang Qinghua is feeling right now.

*~*~*

Mobei-Jun opens the door to his room. It's late, later than he ever even thinks to stay up. He was already awake, though, and a fire is burning huge in the fireplace. Just in case. Just in case he comes back again. Mobei-Jun wants him to be comfortable here.

Qinghua only needed to knock once. Mobei-Jun knows what it sounds like when he does. He has a frenzied, anxious, light way of rapping his knuckles against the door. Sometimes, when he spends days away at his cultivation sect, Mobei-Jun imagines it and goes to answer the door to no one.

Qinghua is here, now. It's what Mobei-Jun was expecting to see, so it takes another few moments for him to realize what else he is seeing.

Qinghua is holding a dish piled high with noodles and sauce and vegetables. Zha jiang mian. The same dish he made for Mobei-Jun just the other night, to eat in front of everyone in the court.

"Ah, My King," he stutters. There is a bright flush on his cheeks. Mobei-Jun wants to scratch them open and lick up the blood. He doesn't.

"Qinghua."

"Yes! Ha ha, it's me. Yep. I noticed earlier tonight that you didn't eat very much at dinner, and I thought that might be because you didn't really like what they were serving for dinner, since it was a lot of northern game and you tend not to eat much of that when they have it, not that you eat much of anything else anyway." He's speaking at a rapidly increasing pace, seeming to become more panicked the longer that Mobei-Jun does not speak. "And, well, I thought about the other night, and how you did end up eating all of the thing I made you, so I thought that you might still be hungry and there's nothing I have to do tonight anyway, so I thought that I could cook for you and maybe that would be better than going hungry all night but if that's not the case then I can just go and leave you to do whatever important things you need to be doing right now."

Mobei-Jun does not bother to acknowledge that last part. Ridiculous. He would be sleeping if Qinghua were not here right now. He much prefers this.

He also does not speak because his tongue is frozen to the top of his mouth.

When Qinghua cooked for him, before, it was very blatantly due to some kind of pressure or blackmail from Tianlang-Jun. Mobei-Jun was still happy to accept it, because it happened in front of the entire court, and so even if Qinghua didn't mean what he was saying, at least the rest of the court would get the message to stay away from the two of them.

This, though. Shang Qinghua generally tells Mobei-Jun the truth, especially when his mouth runs away with him like this. He will still withhold things, of course, but the words that he says are truthful.

He said that he noticed that Mobei-Jun did not eat at dinner. That Mobei-Jun prefers food when it is prepared by Qinghua. He thought Mobei-Jun might be hungry, and so he cooked for him.

Mobei-Jun is going to tear out his heart and hand it to Shang Qinghua. That feels like the only action that would appropriately convey what he's been trying to say. An appropriate reaction to something like this. Qinghua cooked for him. Because he wanted to and he thought Mobei-Jun would enjoy it.

Mobei-Jun gestures him deeper into the room. Gestures him toward the chairs near the fire, again. He's replaced the pelt that was there before with that of a Great Mountain Burrow Timber Wolf, with thicker, warmer fur that wraps around your feet when you step on it. There's a quilt as well, commissioned to be made of the heaviest, finest fabrics. It's draped over the chair that Shang Qinghua sat in last time and has spent the last few hours warming before the fire.

When Shang Qinghua sits down, he does this little shiver, nestles down into the warmth of the fire and blanket and rug. Something possessive and satisfied floods Mobei-Jun. Good. Qinghua is comfortable in his space. It's worth the slightly-dizzying heat that makes a blue flush come to his own cheeks.

Mobei-Jun is holding the food now. He's not quite sure when that happened. He must have taken it when Qinghua came through the doorway. Now, he goes to sit in the chair across from Qinghua. They are tilted toward each other, just like he imagined they might be when he rearranged the room. He starts taking small bites, savoring the rudimentary texture and flavor of the dish.

He does not eat human cuisine often. When he does, it is prepared by the finest chefs in the land. This food is not nearly of the same quality, and that makes it taste all the better. Qinghua is not an experienced chef. He does not know how to cook many things. And yet, this is the second meal that he has prepared for Mobei-Jun to eat. It shows a significant departure from his usual patterns and habits. This was something intentional. Something purposeful.

It should feel uncomfortable to sit and eat while the other person has nothing to consume. If Mobei-Jun were willing to share a single bite of the treasured thing that Qinghua made for him, he might. For them, though, this is not much of a departure from the norm. Mobei-Jun rarely speaks while Qinghua rambles on and on, and so having a mouth full of food will not make much of a difference at all.

He's not speaking right now, instead sitting pressed back into the quilt on his chair and staring nervously at Mobei-Jun while he takes his first bites. Mobei-Jun tries to look pleased, so that Qinghua will know that his gift is appreciated. It's unclear how well that does or does not work.

Sometimes Qinghua gets like this. All tensed up and shaky while they are in the same space. Silent, but as if all the words are building up inside of him because he is not saying them out loud. It makes Mobei-Jun want to bend him over a surface and fuck him until all the panic is gone from his body. Until his words can flow freely and easily again.

He does not do this. Instead, he merely waits. Soon enough, the words will build up too much, and Qinghua will choose to fill the silence, and they will continue in their old patterns.

"Right, ah, My King is probably wondering what I am doing here." Mobei-Jun cannot help the somewhat smug smile that comes to his face at that. Just as he knew would happen. Because he does know this man, better even than Tianlang-Jun, who likes to come in and claim to be such an expert in humankind.

"I know I said earlier that there's nothing to do. But, you know, obviously, there's always something to do, so if My King wants me to leave him alone or let him sleep, just say the word and I can shut up and go away." Mobei-Jun does not say the word. "I've been going through the Overarching To Do List, but I already got through my list for the day, because I keep waiting for Tianlang-Jun to show up and make everything difficult, and I accounted for that in my schedule, but then he didn't even have the decency to show up. It's guys like that who get off on being strange and unpredictable that I can't stand. He doesn't even have a goal or anything, I don't think! He just wants to make people's lives harder and, as soon as he feels like people are starting to catch onto his patterns, he goes and changes them."

"I want him to leave," Mobei-Jun contributes, in between bites of his meal, because it is the truth and it seems like it will make Qinghua happy to hear it.

"Yes!" Qinghua sits upright in his seat, pointing in enthusiasm, happy to have someone agreeing with him. It makes Mobei-Jun want to agree with anything else that Qinghua has to say. He has felt like this many times before. "But, My King, we have to let him stay as long as he wants. A Heavenly Demon like that, we can't afford to make him angry." Mobei-Jun knows this. He also knows that he is regularly tempted to try and kill Tianlang-Jun. He makes a note of the determination in Qinghua's face right now, as something to recall when he is about to lunge at the interloper in his court. "Plus, someone like that thrives on going against the norms and expectations! If you make it obvious just how badly you want him to leave, he'll only stick around longer. It's like a younger sibling who is bothering you."

Mobei-Jun's half-siblings were never so kind as to merely "bother" him, and if he had ignored them, he would be dead. Qinghua, as far as he has been made aware, does not have siblings. They both nod along to this metaphor anyway. Mobei-Jun does not care about what the motivation or reasoning is. He will do this because Qinghua asked him to and because he trusts Qinghua to always know what the best move is for him to make.

They sit like that for several more minutes. Qinghua is talking, mostly about his frustrations with the members of the court, or his intentions for upcoming diplomatic interactions. Mobei-Jun interjects now and then with his vague agreement, as that is all that is required of him to keep his kingdom thriving.

Instead of listening properly, he finds himself distracted. It is rare, that he sees Qinghua in firelight. This is a grave oversight that he will need to correct as soon as possible. There should be lit fireplaces and lanterns throughout this entire castle, so that Qinghua always looks like this.

He is so small, Qinghua is. Mobei-Jun can lift him with one hand. He's done it before, back when he thought that sparring would win him over. Back when they were in danger and he did not trust Qinghua to move himself fast enough. He's squashed himself down into the chair, and the more he speaks and the longer he sits before the fire, the more comfortable he looks. The jittery panic is soothed into calm confidence, the way he only looks when he's so wrapped up in what he's saying that he forgets to be nervous.

Many of the demons in this realm, and almost all of the humans that Mobei-Jun has met, have deep black hair. He understands that many see this as a mark of beauty. And yet, that hair would not glow the way that Qinghua's does in the firelight. Brown now shot through with strands of red and ocher and yellow. His hair is always a little bit unruly and difficult to contain in his bun and now, at the end of the day, there are pieces hanging loose around his face. The firelight is in his eyes too, bringing out notes of gold and honey, pooling deep in the dark brown and settling there like stars in the sky.

He looks happy. He looks comfortable. He looks like the most beautiful thing Mobei-Jun has ever seen.

Mobei-Jun is helpless to do anything but listen as Qinghua talks. As the night grows later, his conversation wanders. Qinghua speaks not just of the tasks he must do and the kingdom they run together, but of his most recent conversations with his human friend, Shen Qingqiu. He speaks of his dreams for the future of their kingdom, and not just politically, but aesthetically, culturally. He paints pictures with his words in the air between them.

It grows later, and when Qinghua starts to become self-conscious about how much he has spoken, Mobei-Jun fetches him tea to soothe his throat.

It grows later, and the fire has crackled its way down to embers between them, and Mobei-Jun is discovering even more ways that shadows can catch and cling to the angles of Qinghua's face.

It grows later, and Mobei-Jun is awake so far past when he normally is, and the night is sparking through him like magic, and he can't believe he gets to have this. He never thought he would have something like this. A place to be calm. A place to be safe. A person who would never run out of new things to tell him.

"Tell me a story," Mobei-Jun murmurs. It is so late in the night that it is now well into morning. The words should come out as a command, but instead they are soft and warm. Qinghua should be panicked and confused and embarrassed at such a request, but instead he smiles like a candle held between two cupped palms.

"Once upon a time." He says the words like he's casting a spell. Like he's telling a joke. "There was an ice prince and his servant."

He speaks for hours. They have never done this. Mobei-Jun does not know how he knew that Qinghua would have a story to tell, but it flows out of him like he does not even need to think to find the next word. He spins a story of an ice prince and his human servant and the brilliant adventures they go on together. He tells how, again and again, they save each other from danger, the ice prince with his fighting prowess and the human with his quick words and unwavering loyalty.

When it's all put together like that, Mobei-Jun can't help but notice the ways that they really are something like a story. From the outside. A cultivator that found a demon and saved his life, even though there was no reason he should have done that. A demon that found safety and comfort and warmth for the first time ever. A human who learned how to live in a realm so far from the one he was born into. A king that learned to trust his advisor with every part of the kingdom and every word from his mouth.

They should be enemies. Or, if not enemies, then certainly not this. They should never have a reason to speak like this. There should be some terrible distance between them that Shang Qinghua would never dare to cross and Mobei-Jun would never even think to challenge.

They shouldn't have this. They do, and it is the warmest thing that Mobei-Jun has ever known.

He brews more tea, brings a steaming cup to Qinghua when his throat goes scratchy and hoarse from all the speaking. Qinghua tries to wrap up the story a few different times, but Mobei-Jun can see the way that he's still bursting with more to add, more words to say, and all it takes is a single follow-up question or inquiring hum and he'll continue on with another chapter of this fantastical story.

It's a silly thing. A child's pastime. There is something warm and intimate in doing it anyway, in allowing himself to truly enjoy it.

They sit before the fire and Mobei-Jun is being cooked from the inside out, with how warm his room is. There is a deep flush to his cheeks and the frost that always lines the edges of his hair has melted, leaving something like sweat clinging to his temples.

It goes on and on, stories spinning out into the darkness, and Mobei-Jun will always listen to every word that Qinghua has to say, even the ridiculous ones, especially the ridiculous ones, because he wants to understand him better than anyone in the world has ever understood another person before. Is that too much to ask?

The moon makes its way across the sky and Qinghua never stops talking but his sentences start to trail off into fuzzy, half-finished thoughts. He keeps being interrupted by his own yawns.

Qinghua is a cozy, sleepy-eyed thing, his eyes heavy and liquid where they blink out at Mobei-Jun from across the fire. When he yawns, his entire face scrunches up like a small animal's might, and sometimes a small noise, like a squeak, will come out too. It makes Mobei-Jun want to build a terrible tower and lock him up on the highest floor, so that no one in the world would ever be able to see or touch him again. Only Mobei-Jun.

This plan would not work, because Mobei-Jun wouldn't know how to go about commissioning a high tower like that without the help of his closest advisor, and Qinghua is not the type to build something like that without asking endless questions about its purpose, and Mobei-Jun is not a good liar. Particularly not when the person he is lying to has known him for more of his life than not.

When he falls asleep, it is a soft, mumbling thing. Qinghua's sentences trail off into quiet, shapeless syllables and then into snuffling snores. He had curled up into a small ball in the chair an hour ago, and now his head rests against the back of the chair while his arms wrap around his legs.

He is so small.

Mobei-Jun is tired too. It's a miracle that Shang Qinghua fell asleep before him, considering the fact that he is almost universally awake long past the time that his king goes to sleep. It is a unique and treasured opportunity. Mobei-Jun goes to gather another quilt from his own bed, because the fire is burning down and it will likely get cold as the night goes on.

When he wraps it around the balled-up form of Shang Qinghua, he makes a small huffing noise and nestles into it further. There is something cracking at the center of Mobei-Jun's chest. He didn't know it was possible to feel this way toward another person. He doesn't know what to do with this new knowledge of himself.

And so he does what he always does, when feeling too many things. Mobei-Jun goes to sleep.

Read Part 3 here (x)

#svsss #svsss fanfiction #my writing #svsss fic #svsssaction #scum villain #scum villian self saving system #moshang #mobei jun #shang qinghua #tianlang jun

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