#like - people who would have read the fic as it is now not wanting to read the fic with the cult element

[amogus-real-not-clickbait]

part 1 of a little comic / art sequence that i've been working on! :D it's part tribute, part experimenting with brushes n colors and trying new thingz :]

and thus continues my endless quest of spreading the carrot fics like a plague! if you've seen my art floating around you probs already figured that this au holds a very special place in my heart, forever and always!!

if you haven't heard of it, it's a fic series by @crowned-ladybug called carrot soup!! it made me wish i could speak colors and i need more people to share my struggle xd

go check it out if you're into sweet voice lore and qpr level gayness and just wanna feel warm and soft and warm (hurt/comfort my beloved) <333 there are some heavier themes cos everyone's traumatized but they're working through it! be sure to check the tags and stay safe! <3

[badger-tales]

Stolen Glances// F.W x Reader

a/n: Guys my requests are still open, who and what i write is pinned on my account!

request:

I’ve been reading your fics for awhile now and I’ve finally worked up the courage to request a fic. (Anonymously, of course)

Can you please do a fic of reader x Fred Weasley where reader has liked Fred for awhile but he never noticed. But then, after a quidditch match or smth, Reader heads back to the common room real sulky (because she saw Fred and Angelina and came to the wrong conclusion) when Fred comes and walks her to the common room. They don’t have to confess their feeling or anything if you don’t want to, but I just want a nice, wholesome, fluff fic. Thank you!

word count: 6K

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. The Gryffindor team was in the middle of an intense practice session, their scarlet robes fluttering behind them like the tails of streaking comets. The air was filled with the sounds of beating wings, shouted instructions, and the occasional thud of Bludgers hitting the bats of Beaters.

You sat perched on one of the higher rows in the Gryffindor stands, surrounded by a mix of excited students. The air was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of damp grass and the thrill of competition. Your friends were chatting animatedly beside you, their eyes flitting from one player to another, but your gaze was locked on one figure alone.

Fred Weasley.

There he was, flying circles around the rest of the team with that familiar, confident ease that made your heart pound in your chest. His messy red hair caught the sunlight, and every now and then, that infectious grin of his would flash across his face, making him seem even more brilliant. It was like he belonged up there in the sky, as if the broom was just an extension of him, a natural part of who he was.

You sighed, resting your chin on your palm, trying (and failing) to tear your eyes away from him.  

"Why does he have to be so annoyingly perfect?" you thought to yourself, a touch of bitterness seeping into your internal monologue. "I bet he doesn’t even know I exist."

The practice continued, with Fred and George working seamlessly as a Beater duo, sending Bludgers flying toward their teammates who were practicing dodges. Each time Fred whacked a Bludger, his muscles tensed, and you couldn’t help but admire the strength and grace behind each swing.

But it was more than just his skill on the field that had you so utterly captivated. It was the way he seemed to light up a room—or in this case, an entire Quidditch pitch—effortlessly drawing people in with his charm, his laughter, his natural charisma. And yet, it was that very charm that made him feel so... out of reach. 

"He’s probably got girls lining up just to talk to him," you mused bitterly, shaking your head. "Why would he ever notice someone like me?"

As if on cue, Fred suddenly pulled up on his broom, hovering in place for a moment. His gaze drifted toward the stands, squinting slightly as if trying to spot someone in the crowd. Your heart leapt into your throat. Was he looking... at you?

Time seemed to slow down as he raised his hand and waved. For a fleeting, heart-stopping moment, you could have sworn his eyes locked with yours. The blood rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel your heart thudding against your ribcage like it was trying to break free.

"Could he really be waving at me?" you wondered, hope blooming in your chest. You even managed a tentative wave back, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat.

But then, reality crashed down like a Bludger to the gut.

Fred's grin widened as a group of younger Gryffindor students a few rows below you erupted into cheers, waving back enthusiastically. He shot them a playful salute, his eyes crinkling with laughter.

Your arm froze mid-wave, a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You quickly lowered your hand, trying to pretend you were just brushing a stray hair out of your face. 

"Of course, it wasn’t for me," you muttered under your breath, a bitter smile twisting your lips. You could feel your friends exchanging glances beside you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at them. Instead, you focused intently on the pitch, willing the sting of rejection to fade.

Fred turned back to his teammates, seemingly unaware of the little scene that had played out in the stands. He was back to his easygoing self, joking with George as they lined up for another round of Bludger practice. 

And you? You were left sitting there, trying to force your heart to stop racing, trying to swallow down the disappointment that tasted far too familiar. Because that was the thing about having a crush on someone like Fred Weasley—it was always just out of reach, like trying to catch a Snitch with your bare hands.

But despite the sting, you couldn’t stop your eyes from drifting back to him, couldn’t stop that tiny flicker of hope from lighting up inside you every time he came close. Because maybe, just maybe... one day, he'd notice you.

But for now, you stayed in your seat, surrounded by laughter and cheers, with only the warmth of the afternoon sun to keep you company.

The late afternoon sun was beginning to set behind the castle, bathing the Hogwarts grounds in a soft, golden glow. The sky above was a mix of pinks and oranges, the colors reflecting off the shimmering lake in the distance. Quidditch practice had ended, and now, players were trickling out of the changing rooms, their laughter and banter filling the cooling air as they made their way back toward the castle.

You lingered just outside, leaning against the cool stone wall, pretending to be busy adjusting the strap of your bag. In reality, your fingers were fidgeting aimlessly, your mind barely registering your friend's conversation with one of the reserve players beside you. The words were just noise—a distant hum as you scanned the players leaving the pitch.

Your heart was racing, but you kept your expression carefully neutral. You were waiting. Waiting for a glimpse of him. You told yourself you were just delaying your walk back to the castle, but deep down, you knew the truth: you were hoping to see Fred Weasley one last time before the evening was over. Maybe today, after catching his eye during practice, he’d notice you. Maybe he’d smile, say something, anything...

"Pathetic," you thought, scolding yourself, but you couldn't help it. That flutter of hope was there, persistent and stubborn.

Just as you were about to give up and turn away, the door to the changing rooms swung open. Your breath hitched as Fred stepped out, his red hair damp and tousled, droplets of water still clinging to his neck. His practice robes were slung casually over one shoulder, revealing the snug, sweat-stained shirt beneath that clung to his broad shoulders. 

Your heart did a little flip, and you stood a bit straighter, your pulse quickening. He looked so effortlessly perfect, his grin bright as ever. For a moment, you felt a spark of courage, the fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, you could muster the nerve to wave or even call out to him.

But before you could act, someone else beat you to it.

Angelina Johnson appeared beside him, striding out of the changing rooms with that confident, easy grace that seemed to come so naturally to her. She was still in her Quidditch gear, her dark braids pulled back, and there was a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. The two of them shared a laugh, the kind of laugh that made it seem like they were the only ones in the world. 

You felt your chest tighten, your heart sinking like a stone as you watched Fred drape an arm over Angelina’s shoulders. It was such a casual gesture, the kind he did with all his

close friends, but the way she leaned into him... the easy familiarity between them... it made your stomach twist painfully.

"You’ve always been my favorite Beater partner, Angie," Fred said, his voice carrying easily over the noise of the other players. His tone was light, teasing, and it sent a ripple of laughter through Angelina.

The world around you seemed to blur, the laughter and chatter of your fellow students fading into a dull hum. All you could hear were Fred’s words, replaying over and over like a cruel echo. The scene in front of you—Fred’s arm around Angelina, the way he looked at her—felt like a punch to the gut.

"Why her?" you thought bitterly, feeling a sharp pang of envy. Angelina was everything you weren’t—confident, beautiful, athletic. She fit effortlessly into Fred’s world, while you... you were just a spectator on the sidelines, always watching but never truly part of it.

A sharp sting pricked the back of your eyes, and you blinked furiously, refusing to let the tears fall.  

"Get a grip," you muttered to yourself under your breath. "It’s not like he ever noticed you, anyway." You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it felt like it was stuck there, making it hard to breathe.

You took a deep, shaky breath and tore your gaze away from them, your vision blurring with unshed tears. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to see you like this—especially Fred. 

"How could I have been so stupid?" you berated yourself silently as you turned on your heel. You began walking quickly, your footsteps heavy and hurried as if you could somehow outrun the hurt clawing at your chest.  

"Of course he’d go for someone like her. How could I ever compare?"

As you weaved through the students still lingering near the pitch, the world around you became a blur. All you could see was that image of Fred’s arm around Angelina, his bright, carefree smile, the way she leaned into him without hesitation. It was like a scene burned into your mind, tormenting you with each step.

"You idiot," you thought harshly, clutching the strap of your bag so tightly that your knuckles turned white. "Did you really think you ever had a chance? He’s always been out of your league." 

The laughter from the Quidditch players echoed behind you, and it only made the ache in your chest worse. You ducked your head as you passed a group of Hufflepuffs, hoping they wouldn’t notice the tell-tale shine in your eyes. The castle loomed ahead, its familiar silhouette now feeling more like a cage, every corridor and stairway a reminder of how foolish you’d been to ever think Fred Weasley could see you as more than just another face in the crowd.

By the time you reached the main staircase, you were practically running, desperate to reach the sanctuary of the Gryffindor common room where you could hide away from the world. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, your throat tight with the effort to hold back tears.

"I was just a fool," you thought, a single tear finally slipping down your cheek as you turned the corner. "He never noticed me. He never will."

You wiped it away angrily, quickening your pace. Maybe once you got to your dorm, you could bury yourself under your blankets and pretend this day had never happened. But as Fred’s laughter replayed in your mind, that hollow ache in your chest only deepened, a painful reminder that the crush you’d tried so hard to ignore had just been shattered into a thousand pieces.

The castle was growing colder as the evening chill settled into the stone walls, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows that danced eerily across the corridors. Most students had retreated to the warmth of their common rooms by now, leaving the hallways nearly deserted. Your footsteps echoed in the emptiness, each step seeming to mock you, the sound hollow and taunting in your ears.

You walked quickly, head down, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if you could somehow hold yourself together. The memory of Fred with his arm around Angelina replayed in your mind like a cruel, broken record: the way they laughed together, how natural and easy it was between them. Every replay brought a fresh stab of pain, and your heart clenched with a bitterness that spread like ice through your veins.

"Why did I let myself hope?" you thought bitterly, your breaths coming faster, more shallow. "I should’ve known better. It was foolish to think someone like him would notice someone like me." 

The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly before you, each flickering torch like a cruel spotlight illuminating your thoughts. Your eyes stung, but you pressed your lips together to stop them from trembling, refusing to let the tears fall. 

In the silence, your whispered words seemed to echo louder than you intended:  

"Stupid feelings. Stupid Fred."

As soon as the words left your mouth, a pang of guilt washed over you. You didn’t really think Fred was stupid. No, the problem was that he was far too wonderful—kind, funny, effortlessly charming. It was why it hurt so much that he didn’t see you the way you saw him. But right now, the hurt and frustration twisted your feelings into a tangled mess that you couldn’t sort through.

"No," you argued with yourself, wiping furiously at your eyes. "He’s not wonderful if he can’t even see what’s right in front of him."

But just as you were nearing the corner by the library, hurried footsteps echoed behind you, breaking the silence of the empty corridor. Your heart lurched, and for a wild moment, you hoped it was just a Prefect doing their rounds. But then, you heard that unmistakable voice—slightly breathless, tinged with concern.

"Oi! Wait up, will you?"

You froze, your back stiffening. Of course, it had to be him. You clenched your fists, trying to steady your breath, but your heart was already racing, your emotions threatening to spill over. You took a deep breath, wiping at your eyes one last time before reluctantly turning around.

There he was—Fred Weasley, jogging toward you, his hair slightly tousled and cheeks flushed from the cold. His Gryffindor scarf was loose around his neck, his shirt still slightly damp from practice, the scent of soap and fresh air clinging to him.

"Oh, Merlin," you thought, your heart sinking. "Why did it have to be him?"

You averted your gaze, focusing on the floor, the ancient stones suddenly fascinating. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you were sure they were glowing like a pair of red lanterns.  

"What do you want, Fred?" you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended. You winced internally but kept your eyes down, afraid that if you looked at him, everything you were feeling would be written all over your face.

Fred paused, leaning forward slightly to catch his breath, his hands resting on his knees. When he straightened up, his expression was a mix of concern and confusion.  

"Just... thought you shouldn’t be walking back alone," he said, his tone light but with a hint of something softer beneath it. "It’s late, you know."

You could hear the familiar teasing lilt in his voice, but there was also that glimmer of genuine worry that made your chest ache even more. Why did he have to be so kind, so thoughtful? It only made everything hurt more. 

"I’m fine," you replied curtly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, trying to keep your voice steady. "I can walk myself."

Fred’s brows furrowed, his smile faltering. He looked genuinely taken aback by your tone, his eyes searching your face.  

"Alright, alright," he said, holding up his hands as if in surrender. "Didn’t mean to step on your toes. Just thought you might want some company."

Company. The word grated against your already frayed nerves. Company now, when it no longer mattered. Where was this when you needed him to notice you, to see how you felt? But instead of voicing your thoughts, you shrugged, still refusing to meet his gaze.

Fred didn't move, though, and you could feel his eyes on you, trying to read what was wrong. The silence between you was thick and heavy, and all you wanted was to escape, to put as much distance as possible between you and those concerned hazel eyes.

"Seriously, are you alright?" he asked, his voice softer now, the teasing tone gone. "You’ve been... well, you don’t seem yourself tonight."

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to push down the tears that threatened to spill. "I wonder why," you thought bitterly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. You couldn’t tell him how much it hurt to see him with Angelina, how foolish you felt for ever thinking you could be anything more than a friend to him.

Instead, all you managed was a quiet,  

"I’m just tired, Fred. It’s been a long day."

Fred’s face softened even more, and he took a step closer. He was so close now that you could smell the faint, comforting scent of soap mixed with the crisp chill of the evening air.  

"Alright," he said gently, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But if something’s bothering you... you can tell me, you know."

You nodded stiffly, not trusting yourself to speak. If you opened your mouth now, you were afraid everything would spill out—all your hurt, your frustration, your stupid, unrequited feelings. The ache in your chest was almost unbearable, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you like this.

Fred hesitated for a moment, like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t push. Instead, he simply fell into step beside you, matching your slow, tense pace. The corridor stretched ahead, dark and silent except for the faint sound of your footsteps and the occasional crackle of torchlight.

As you reached the staircase leading up to the Gryffindor tower, Fred’s fingers brushed lightly against yours, the touch almost hesitant, as if he was testing the waters. Your heart leapt at the contact, a flicker of warmth amidst the cold that had settled inside you. But before you could process it, you pulled your hand away, clenching it into a fist to stop it from trembling.

"Goodnight, Fred," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, you hurried up the stairs, your footsteps echoing behind you. You didn’t dare look back, afraid that if you did, the tears you’d been holding back would finally break free.

Fred stood at the base of the staircase, watching you disappear, a confused and slightly hurt expression on his face. But you didn’t see it—your vision was too blurred by the tears that had finally escaped, leaving a glistening trail down your cheeks.

The Gryffindor common room was unusually quiet, the warmth of the crackling fire filling the near-empty space with a cozy, intimate atmosphere. The flickering glow danced across the walls, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to move in sync with your erratic thoughts. The few first-years in the corner barely registered to you—they were simply background noise, whispers that faded away as you focused on the tightening knot in your chest.

You and Fred entered together, the cold from the castle corridors clinging to your clothes, quickly replaced by the welcoming heat of the common room. You hesitated near the door, feeling that strange tension between wanting to run to your dormitory and wanting to stay near him, even though every second hurt. 

Fred paused, looking at you with a gentle gaze, before nodding toward the large armchairs by the hearth.  

"Come on, let’s sit for a bit," he suggested, his voice softer than usual. There was an uncharacteristic uncertainty in his tone, as if he sensed just how fragile the moment was. 

You swallowed hard, reluctant but following him nonetheless. Every muscle in your body was tense, as though you were walking into a trap of your own making. You felt like you were about to break, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave—not with the way Fred was looking at you.

You sank into the plush armchair, the warmth of the fire licking at your face, but it did little to chase away the cold that had settled deep in your bones. Fred sat across from you, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He was watching you, his eyes full of that same concern that had been haunting you all evening, and it was almost unbearable. You turned your gaze to the flames, the dancing colors easier to focus on than the intensity of his eyes.

The silence between you was thick, heavy with words unspoken, questions unasked. You didn’t want to be here, didn’t want this conversation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You bit the inside of your cheek, hard enough to ground yourself, to keep yourself from snapping. "Why can’t he just let this go?" you thought, frustration and hurt battling for control.

Fred cleared his throat, trying to break the tension. He flashed that familiar grin, the one that usually made your heart flutter, made you forget everything else.  

"You’re awfully quiet tonight. Lost your voice after cheering for us so much at practice?" he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

But tonight, that grin was a reminder of everything you could never have, everything that seemed so far out of reach. You forced a laugh, hollow and thin, barely glancing at him.  

"Yeah, something like that," you muttered, your voice sounding distant even to yourself. 

"Come on, just act normal," you scolded yourself internally. "Don’t let him see how much this is affecting you." But the ache in your chest made it impossible to mask your feelings, no matter how hard you tried.

Fred's grin faded, his brow furrowing as he leaned in closer, his eyes searching your face.  

"Alright, enough of that," he said, his voice softening, the teasing gone. "Something’s definitely off, and I’m not leaving until you tell me what it is."

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten painfully. You didn’t want this—didn’t want his concern, his kindness. It was easier when he was teasing, when you could brush him off and pretend you were okay. But this, the gentle tone, the genuine worry—it was too much. It made the walls you’d built around your heart feel like they were crumbling, and you weren’t ready for that.

You bit your lip, your fingers digging into the armrest of the chair as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded.  

"It’s nothing, really," you said, forcing your voice to stay steady, though it felt like you were holding back a dam that was ready to burst.

Fred’s eyes narrowed slightly, clearly not believing you. He shifted in his seat, leaning even closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.  

"You’ve been acting weird all evening. And it’s not just tonight—it’s been going on for days." His gaze softened, a touch of uncertainty entering his expression. "Did I do something wrong?"

The question almost shattered you. If only he knew. You felt a lump form in your throat, your vision blurring as tears threatened to spill. You shook your head quickly, focusing on your lap, trying to blink the tears away.  

"No, it’s... it’s not you, Fred," you managed, your voice trembling, barely holding together. 

He was silent for a moment, his eyes searching your face. You could feel him studying you, trying to piece together what was wrong. He sighed softly, rubbing the back of his neck, a rare sign of discomfort.  

"Look, I’m not great at this stuff," he admitted, "but you can talk to me, you know. Whatever it is, I’m here."

His words almost undid you. There was a raw earnestness in his voice, a vulnerability that you rarely saw from Fred. For a split second, you were tempted to tell him everything—the hurt, the jealousy, the way your heart ached every time you saw him with Angelina. But the fear of rejection, the fear of making a fool of yourself, kept you silent. The walls around your heart were fragile, but they were still standing.

Fred reached out, his fingers brushing against your knee gently, and it sent a jolt through you.  

"Hey," he said softly, his eyes meeting yours, his gaze pleading. "Please, don’t shut me out."

The unexpected touch, the warmth of his fingers, was too much. A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You turned your face away quickly, your breath hitching.  

"I-I can’t," you whispered, your voice breaking. "It’s too... I just can’t, alright?"

You heard him inhale sharply, and you knew he’d seen the tear. You hated how vulnerable you felt, hated that you were falling apart in front of him. You wished you could disappear, wished the floor would swallow you up.

Fred’s expression softened even more, and he moved his chair closer, the legs scraping softly against the floor. He was so close now that you could feel his warmth, the scent of him mingling with the smoky heat of the fire.  

"Please," he urged again, his voice barely a whisper, filled with so much gentleness it made your heart ache. "Just talk to me."

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. The emotions you’d been bottling up finally overflowed.  

"I thought—" your voice broke, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. "I thought you and Angelina... I saw you two after practice, and I just—" You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. "Forget it. It’s stupid."

Fred looked confused, his brow furrowing.  

"Angelina?" he repeated, his voice tinged with surprise. "What about her?"

The words came out in a rush, a mix of frustration and hurt.  

"I saw you two together. You had your arm around her, and you were laughing, and I just... I thought..." You trailed off, your voice barely a whisper, realizing how pathetic you must sound. 

Fred stared at you for a long moment, and then, to your utter confusion, he started to laugh. It wasn’t mocking—there was no malice in it—but it caught you so off guard that you flinched, more tears spilling over.

"Merlin’s beard," he said between chuckles, rubbing his forehead. "Is that what this is about? You thought... oh, no, love, no." He leaned forward, his tone softening as he reached for your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours warmly.  

"Angelina’s just my friend. We’ve been teammates for years, that’s all."

You blinked, the words taking a moment to sink in.  

"But... you were so close, and I thought..."

Fred shook his head, smiling gently.  

"Nah," he interrupted, squeezing your hand. "I promise you, there’s nothing like that between us. She’s practically my sister." He paused, his gaze searching yours, his eyes filled with warmth. "Is that really what’s been bothering you?"

You nodded slowly, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment washing over you. Fred was still holding your hand, his touch grounding you, and for the first time tonight, you finally looked up into his eyes. They were warm, soft, filled with something you couldn’t quite name, something that made hope flicker inside you.

"Well," he said quietly, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand, "if I’d known you were jealous, I would’ve done something about it sooner."

Your breath caught in your throat.  

"Jealous? I—I wasn’t—" you stammered, your cheeks burning.

Fred smiled softly, leaning closer, his eyes never leaving yours.  

"You were," he said gently, his voice teasing but affectionate. "And... I think I like it." His eyes flickered to your lips for a split second before returning to yours. "I think... I like you."

Your heart stuttered, his confession hanging in the air between you. The warmth of the fire, the way he was looking at you—it was overwhelming. But for the first time, it didn’t feel like you were making a fool of yourself. It felt like maybe, just maybe, your hopes weren’t so foolish after all.

"You... you really mean that?" you whispered, barely daring to believe it.

Fred grinned, squeezing your hand again.  

"Yeah, I really do."

And just like that, the ache in your chest began to lift, replaced by something warm and light—a flicker of hope that maybe, this time, things would be different.

The days following your confession with Fred passed in a blur, the bustling atmosphere of Hogwarts enveloping you in its usual hustle and bustle. The castle was decked out in festive decorations for the upcoming winter break—garlands of evergreens draped over staircases, candles twinkling like stars, and the faint scent of cinnamon drifting through the corridors. Yet, none of that seemed as magical as the way Fred Weasley was now treating you.

It started almost immediately after that heartfelt conversation in the common room. You could hardly catch your breath before Fred began seeking you out at every opportunity. It was as though a switch had flipped inside him, and he was determined not to let another moment slip by. The morning after, you were quietly sipping your pumpkin juice in the Great Hall when Fred slid onto the bench beside you, so casually that it nearly made you spill your drink.

“Morning,” he said, grinning widely as he nudged your shoulder playfully. “Saved you a spot.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your lips, even though your heart raced at his proximity. It was a heady mix of disbelief and delight—was this really happening? You nodded shyly in response, still getting used to this new, attentive version of Fred. The way he looked at you, with that warm sparkle in his eyes, sent a flurry of butterflies through your stomach.

In the days that followed, Fred’s usual playful teasing shifted into something deeper, more affectionate. You couldn’t take two steps in the castle without him appearing at your side, whether it was slipping into the chair next to you in the library or “coincidentally” bumping into you as you walked between classes. It was as if he couldn’t stand to be away from you, and every encounter left you feeling giddy and lightheaded.

One afternoon, as you chatted with your friends near the courtyard, Fred leaned against the wall nearby, waiting for you. When you finally noticed him, he shot you a cheeky grin. “Finally! Thought you’d forgotten all about me,” he teased, his eyes crinkling in that familiar way that made your heart flutter.

You tried to play it cool, rolling your eyes even as warmth spread through you. “You’re impossible, Weasley,” you muttered, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips.

During Potions class, when you were paired together, Fred took full advantage of your close proximity. As you tried to focus on your bubbling cauldron, he leaned in close, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered jokes that sent shivers down your spine.

“You know,” he said in that low, teasing tone, “if I’d known you liked me that much, I would’ve asked you to be my personal cheerleader ages ago.”

You laughed, cheeks burning as you tried to keep stirring the potion. “Cheerleader? I think you’re confusing me with the actual Quidditch team,” you shot back, though your voice wavered slightly.

“Nah, I’d rather have you cheering just for me,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. The lightness of his words was underscored by something far more genuine, something that made your heart race.

Yet despite his affectionate words, a tiny voice of doubt lingered in the back of your mind. Every time Fred brushed his fingers against yours or leaned in too close, your heart soared, but the question remained—was this just Fred being Fred? What if it was all just another one of his jokes?

One evening, after a long day of classes, you were walking back from Transfiguration when Fred fell into step beside you, his shoulder bumping yours playfully. “So,” he said, sounding almost nonchalant, “I was thinking... maybe we could sneak out after dinner tonight? I hear the view from the Astronomy Tower is pretty spectacular.”

You paused, turning to look at him, your heart thudding in your chest. “Are you... are you serious?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, a thread of hope woven into your words.

Fred turned to face you fully, his teasing grin softening into something far more genuine. “Of course I’m serious,” he said, his voice quiet and earnest. “I... I want to spend time with you. Just the two of us.”

Later that night, you found yourself sneaking through the castle under the cover of Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. The thrill of sneaking around with him sent your heart racing as you tried to stifle your giggles whenever Filch’s footsteps echoed down the corridor. Fred’s hand held yours tightly, his warmth steadying you as he led you up the winding staircase to the Astronomy Tower.

When you reached the top, you stepped out into the cold, crisp night air. The sky above was clear, stars scattered like diamonds across a velvet expanse, the moon casting a silvery glow over the castle grounds. For a moment, it felt like you’d stepped into a dream.

Fred pulled the cloak off with a dramatic flourish, spreading it on the cold stone floor so you could sit. “Perfect spot, isn’t it?” he said, grinning as he settled beside you.

You nodded, sitting so close that your knees touched. The night was silent, except for the soft breeze and the occasional distant hoot of an owl. For once, Fred wasn’t joking or teasing. He was just watching you, his eyes reflecting the starlight.

“I’ve been thinking a lot since... well, since you told me how you felt,” Fred began, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “I’m sorry I was so thick. I should’ve noticed sooner.”

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “I never thought you’d... I didn’t think you felt the same.”

Fred’s gaze held yours, his eyes soft and sincere. “I do. I think I’ve liked you for a long time, but I was too busy being an idiot to realize it. But now that I know... I don’t want to waste any more time.”

Your breath caught as he leaned in closer, his gaze flicking to your lips. You nodded slightly, and that was all he needed. Fred closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was warm, tender, and filled with all the words that had gone unspoken between you. The world seemed to melt away until it was just the two of you under the stars.

When you finally pulled away, you were both smiling like fools, your foreheads pressed together. “So... does this mean you’ll be cheering for me at every Quidditch match?” Fred teased, his grin returning.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Only if you promise to score at least two goals every game.”

“Deal,” he whispered, sealing the promise with another soft kiss.

Sneaking back to the common room, your hands still intertwined, you couldn’t stop smiling. As you stepped through the portrait hole, a few friends shot you knowing glances, but Fred just pulled you closer, unfazed by the attention.

“Guess the whole castle’s going to know by morning,” you muttered, half-embarrassed, half-delighted.

“Good,” Fred said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let them know. I’ve finally got the girl I’ve been waiting for.”

The two of you curled up together on one of the sofas by the dying fire, the warmth from the hearth wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. Fred rested his chin on top of your head, his arms around you. “You know,” he murmured sleepily, “I never thought I’d get this lucky.”

You smiled, snuggling closer to him. “Neither did I,” you whispered.

As the castle settled into peaceful quiet and the fire burned low, you drifted off in Fred’s arms, knowing that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

[4only1]

Hello, hi. I read your fantastic Gitae fic and was wondering if you could do one where him and reader are business partners and are like considered a deadly duo because they work so well together and because the basically have the same personality but reader is much more sane and mostly tries to keep Gitae's bloodshed clean and not too messy but she overworks herself and is constantly on alert and Giate want to assure that they can both trust each other but reader was betrayed alot because people considered her weak and useless. 💋 thank you for listening to my Ted talk lovieeee

What you know

Gitae Kim X Reader

Masterlist

------------------------------------------

When people heard the names (Y/N) (L/N) and Gitae Kim, they knew there would be trouble. Gitae, a man of strange habits and pure strength, the patricide. (Y/N), a genius who kept the whole drug cartel together, heck, kept Gitae together. Without you, he would be a dysfunctional wreck, not keeping his bloodsheding tendencies together.

You had been waiting in the car since Gitae went to deal with Kwak Jichang, the king- well, soon to be former king of Seoul. As you shuffle papers around in your hand, casually glancing at your phone every now and then, waves of exhaustion hit you. You both had arrived in Korea a few days ago, but when did you last sleep? Someone had to keep the drug cartel running at all hours, and while Gitae was meeting with James Lee and relaxing, it was up to you to do that work. Paperwork really wasn’t Gitae’s thing anyway. Numbers too.

As you kept fighting the feeling of sleep, the car door opened. Gitae entered the car soon after, talking on the phone, most likely to James Lee. Frustration bubbled within you as you noted Gitae's new addition to his look. He didn’t have that much blood on him when he left.

“Seriously”

Is all you manage to get out once Gitae hangs up the phone. Not only did he do the exact opposite of what he told you he was going to do, but he also came back soaked in blood. 

“I thought we talked about being less swing happy with the axe!”

���Not my fault. That Jichang guy was alright, but the police came so I had to deal with them.”

Gitae casually said, blowing out a puff of smoke with his sentence. You click your tongue at his response, before looking back at the papers. A yawn you tried so hard to keep back escapes your lips, drawing Gitae’s attention to you.

“And you have the nerve to scold me in that state. I thought we talked about you not overworking yourself.”

Gitae says, a bit mockingly, turning your own phrasing against you. You look at him, annoyance in your tired eyes. No matter how many times he told you to rest, you just couldn’t. You needed to prove your worth, no matter what personal cost came from it. You weren’t a fighter like Gitae, even the lower members of the gang have you beat in strength. You were the brains, you had to be, you couldn’t let simple exhaustion prevent you from doing the one thing that defined your worth. If things were running smoothly, you weren’t useless. 

You couldn't let a small mistake even become a thought. You feared that if something did happen, big or small, you would be cast aside, replaced with someone else. You couldn't let it happen, not again, you couldn't allow yourself to be thrown away again.

Lost in thought, you don't notice that Gitae has grabbed the papers until you feel them leaving your hand. You turn to him, ready to yell, when his gaze stops you. He didn't have a caring bone in his body, so why did he look at you with those soft eyes? Why did he make it so hard for you to not trust him. In all the time you've known him, he hasn't so much as yelled at you, just playful banter. Even that was enough to put you on edge. Why was he so kind to you but harsh to everybody else?

“Go to sleep.” Is all he says. 

“You can't be serious. I have to finish that work by tonight or-” He quickly cuts you off in a stern tone. But the gentleness is still there.

“Sleep. I refuse to spend another second being scolded by your sleep deprived ass. What's the saying, happy wife, happy life? You’re basically my wife with how you nag me all the time. I prefer if your grouchy ass was rested, so I don't have to deal with your complaints.”

Gitae calmly says before again reaching over and forcing you to lay down across the backseat, your head resting on his leg. You fought to keep your eyes open, but the comfort of Gitae's presence kept you relaxed. You wanted to argue back, but it didn't take long for sleep to consume you.

His large hand rested on the side of your head, stroking your hair. Cigarette smoke filled the air, but that didn't bother you much. You felt comfortable, safe, trusting. Maybe just this time, you can trust someone a little bit more.

------------------------------------------

Always love writing a Gitae request. I need to see more of this man in the story please. Next request comes out next week, spoilers, it's another Shingen request (what do y'all see in that man?)

I didn't properly proof read this one so I hope it sounds fine.

[tunglo]

I would so love to watch/read that! Here's my own little bit of personal history with it:

I went in from Gotham after getting a human/android fic prompt based on the game (after which I ended up watching a run through on Youtube in German, a language I hadn't done more than read an occasional news article in since high school, and that was my only actual engagement with the gameplay...), fully expecting to write Hank/Connor, but I just could not deal with Cole's death. Like, it's a cornerstone of Hank's story, but I can't bear to think about losing a child. (Parenthood ruined true crime for me too. Just gotta stick my fingers in my ears and find something where everyone was an adult instead...)

But! There were a few people trying out Gavin/RK900 instead and, now I'm back on my wireplay bullshit, so I figure I'll give that a go. For ages I had been thinking about writing some Paul/MX-43 (Almost Human) fic but, you know, you've gotta get a new characterisation right, work out how an MX would *think*, etc. Here, on the other hand, I can write basically the same dynamic with little to no restrictions on how I want to characterise, backstory, etc, etc.

At the time there were only a few pages of Reed900 fics on A03, and a lot of them were quite heavy BDSM stuff that just wasn't my thing. I like my characters to be kind of sickeningly, adoringly in love with each other after the obligatory enemy stage - so RK900 would have to drop the cold characterisation that had been gaining favour.

Then I read a Hank/Connor fic (cos that was still overwhelmingly the main ship), I can't remember who by, that was genderswap with the idea that Connor's face was fixed into a polite smile and the resulting restrictions that placed on her.

That! That was the answer. RK900 just had extreme resting bitch face. He's not created to be public facing, it really doesn't matter to Cyberlife whether he can express emotion or not. The more android the better, in my book.

Re. the name. Nines was already widely used (this was late July 2018) but I didn't particularly like it. The designation was nine hundred. It was early enough that I didn't feel compelled to use it though, especially as what I wanted to write wasn't going to fit with much of the existing fic, so I shortened to RK instead.

I didn't really expect to get much response because, like I say, the 'norm' for the ship seemed to be pushing in a different direction and, more to the point, I'm essentially playing in a sandpit with OCs. But, to my delight, my Tumblr inbox quickly filled up with all kinds of prompts for me to write and I churned out nearly 200k before exhausting it and moving onto the next thing.

I was already on that when the first short film was announced, but I had to come back to watch that and the follow ups. It was so wild to see how much the general characterisation, etc, had changed since the beginning. I feel like, if he had the ability, the ruthless RK900 I started reading about would be sick at the thought of the character he became - even if I infinitely preferred it! xD

I need someone to make a 3+ hour video essay about the history Reed900

The origins, where it came from

The first art, fic, other fan content made for it

The most popular head-canons, Nines getting a name, different interpretations of the personalities

How the most agreed upon quality of Gavin Reed, loving coffee, comes from a scene, where the importance of him asking coffee is minuscule and it is not even confirmed that he even likes it, and it leading to the other super popular head-canon of him having insomnia

The mods and modding community

The most influential fics

The comics, and the shear amount of dubbed vids of them on youtube

The movie, the short film and the behind the scenes stuff for it. Neil Newbon engaging with the cast

It becoming the top DBH ship, with basically nonexistent characters

[solar4seekstron]

Tf1!SG!Orion Pax/Optimus Prime x Cybertronian!GN!Reader: Trapped

150 followers special!

TW/Tags: Toxic Relationship, Manipulation, mention of Pregnancy, mild dubcon/noncon, threats, mild cursing, death, couple sex scenes (will be in purple if uncomfortable), OP is loyal but evil, I think that’s all??

Content: Orion pax becomes Optimus Prime and with that power he becomes your Conjunx. You don’t find out his true colors until it’s too late. At least…that’s what you tell yourself.

Note: The reader is basically the same in the regular universe. I just got this idea because I saw some cool art with their SG versions. This fic is pretty dark so please read TW/Tags if you are uncomfortable. I have been cooking this one up for a while so I hope you enjoy! In my stories when the reader is GN! They both have a spike and valve since they’re both genders and genderless. So they can get pregnant and get other gn or femmes pregnant.

You were best friends with the iconic duo. Although D was a bit of a cry baby. You were always so gentle with him. And had to scold Orion when he would make fun of him. You were even used to Orion's flirts and quick remarks towards you. You were like a mix between the two being both strong and kind.

You always had a strong personality and quiet when it came to your actions. You are gentle but tougher than what most people would expect you to be.

Overtime you and D became more like siblings if anything.And Orion mostly kept to himself unless he wanted to hang with you two. Even at times placing both of his cervos on your hips when you two would be talking to each other.

At times when it was just you and Orion. He would always flirt and mak you smile. Even when he got touchy at times. You dint mind. You just wanted him and D to be happy. You did have a bit of a crush on him.

You wont lie. But you didn’t always agree with him and you didn’t really know how to deal with them.

Youre certain he has a good heart and you know he has feelings for you as well. He even started courting you a few days before he disappeared.

He became intimate with you one day when he asked you to go with him to the sign for the Iacon 5000 to just “Hang Out.” You weren’t against it. To finally feel his embrace was wonderful. And he was so gentle. That was the start of his courtship.

And the next day made a promise to you as Disclocure. To always protect you and keep you by his side. His Prefference by showing that he truly sees and treats D as his own brother.

The next day he was to give his devotion as the final part of your courtship….but..After a day though they disappeared…Until that day.

When the events happened you weren’t able to fully know what they were talking about but just their actions told a story…

You didn’t know who to believe and you just tried you best to find out what happened after you had to watch one of your best friends leave with the high guard. You were spark broken. After some time some guards found you as you spoke with the crowed. They took you by force and flew you to the tower that once belong to Sentinel.

Now belonged to the city its new leader Optimus Prime.

As you made your way in you noticed Elita and a blue bot with yellow shades glare at you as they leaved the room. Once you entered you realized it’s just you and Optimus Prime. His back to you. When he turned to you he was holding a data pad and had a grin on his face.

“Ah Y/N my closest friend.” He sat in one of the chairs. “Please come. Have a seat.”

You walked forward and pulled the chair next to him and takes a seat. He watched you with a grin and once you sat down he spoke.

“So old friend. Was worried I’d never see you again.”

His cervo rested on top of yours on the table as he smiled down at you. His optics narrowing down at you as he grinned. You decided to just get to the point.

”Ori-Optimus. What really happened that day. That moment with D…” His grin was soon gone. He then closed his optics for a moment then opened them. His cervo gently squeezing your cervo as he leaned a bit closer.

“He betrayed us. He’s nothing but a traitor to you and me. He wanted to continue to enslave us!”

He lied as he stared down at you. You took in his words and sighed as you turned your cervo to hold his. “I…I just can’t believe it….”

Optimus optics narrowed. “You know, we are no longer slaves to our city. I’ve been thinking.” He then held your cervo then kiss the back of it as his optics stared at you.

”Will you be mine sweetspark? Be a part of my life as I will for yours?” You only stared at him as you looked at your cervo in his… “I…..”

Is this the right call? He’s devoted to you and it shows… almost and he only stared at you. You then descide..

“Yes. I’ll be your Conjunx Optimus.” You gave him your usual gentle smile. He loved that smile. He created for that smile.

He gently pulled you to him. As you stood up he set you on his lap and gently held you. His cervos on your thigh and aft as he still looked down at you as your cervos rest on his shoulders. “Let’s make it official now, shall we sweetspark.” He gently pulled your frame against his.

Both frames now pressed together as your dermas connects. You both stared at each other for moment until you both closed your optics the room was quiet as you both heard nothing but your kisses.

One of your cervos gently holding the side of his helm as his cervo that was once on your aft move to your lower back to keep you pressed against him.

You both two stayed in this moment for a while longer. After what felt like minutes he tried to press his glossa against your dermas asking for access. But before you can accept. The doors opened. You turned to look at the entrance of the doors much to Optimus annoyance.

“What do you want Elita?”

She then speaks of how they need to get started with rebuilding the city. Optimus rolled his optics. Your frame no longer against him as you listened to her. Who just seemed annoyed to even see you right now.

His cervo now resting on your aft once more as his helm rests on his fists as he listens to her. He’d then sit a little straighter as Goldbug walks in and starts to pick a fight with Elita. You were basically sitting on his thigh as your cervos rested on your own lap.

”I should probably go…I’m kinda hungry.” You got off his lap and stood as the two continued to bicker. His cervos gently grabbing your waist and the other your arm.

”Wait hold up sweetspark no need to go. We can both grab some energon together.”

He said softly as he stood up bringing you a bit closer as he stared down at you. You only looked up at him with an unsure expression. “Optimus you are a leader now. I’ll bring you some treats on my outing, alright?” you leaned up and gently kisses his dermas as his expression seemed more annoyed.

You then walked off as he stared at you. Passing by the two and walking through the door.

———————————————————————————

After some time you returned through the doors to the meeting room. You knew he was in there thanks to the guards letting you know. When you walked in you didn’t see Elita or goldbug. And Optimus was speaking tp a few other high councils that you knew who were once miners.

They were speaking and when you peaked through the door. They seemed to still be busy and slowly closed the door.

You noticed Elita and Goldbug weren’t there. You were then told by one of the guards that you and Optimus have your own sleeping quarters. He led you there and told you by orders you must wait there. And so you did. Looking out the window. “I hope his meeting is going alright..”

After a few hours. The door finally opened. You head down the stairs in the apartment as Optimus walk in. Locking the door behind him as he walked past the kitchen area and living room. As you got down stairs you treated him with snacks you got when on your day out. He seemed out of it. “Would you like to lay down. You look exhausted.”

He only stared down at you and slowly nodded a small smile on his dermas. And so you both walked up stared to your shared room. You held his cervo as all he looked at was your aftas you walked unaware.

Once in your shared room, he’d gently picked you up like a bride as he walks to the berth. As you wrapped your arms around his neck and gently kiss his helm.

You heard him chuckle as he lays you on the berth. Him ontop with one cervo on the bed to support him as the other gently rubs the side of your waist. Your cervos holding the side of his helm and pulled him down to you and kiss him. The kiss a lot more hungry as he let out a moan against your dermas. He has been waiting to do this all day. You could tell just by the way he pressed his panel against yours as he thrust against it a few times. His cervos around yours waist lifting you up. Your arms around his neck.

You accepted when he pressed his glossa against your dermas. Accepting the kiss only became more hungry.

As his panel rubbed more against yours as he growled in the kiss, you finally finished teasing him and opened you panel.

He was quick to open his. His spike large and- pretty girthy. He wasn’t too gentle though. Shoving his spike into you without preparing. This caused you to moan and groan loudly against the kiss for a moment in mostly pain then pleasure.

He left his spike in there as you adjust to his size. Your legs shaking as he placed gentle kisses on your neck cables and shoulder.

His cervos holding your hips up against his own. His knees on the berth now as your arms remain around his neck. It took you some time as tears run down your cheeks from your optics. He gently kissed your tears away and he whispered to you.

”Breath sweetspark. It’s alright…” He whispered.

After a few moments you slowly nodded to him and he began to thrust into your valve. Slowly pulling out at first then pushing back in.

This causing you to continue moaning. His dermas against the front of your neck, gently sucking on the sensitive cables. You can feel his grunts and moans against your neck.

Even the berth moving with your body as he thrusted. each one fast and rough.

This continued on for what felt like hours. He mustve overloaded in you at least four times now. You loaded at least 7 times.

And you were becoming exhausted. You tried to speak saying you were exhausted for the past few minutes but your moans always got in the way.

Until you finally was able to say “Stop”. He did so. He looked at you. Seeming like he was barely not out of breath. So you looked at him with tired optics. “You have showed…Your devotion…” He stared at you and chuckled.

”Ready to bond Sweetspark?” You slowly nodded, his spike still in your valve as his load slowly leaked out.

He gently kissed your forhelm as you closed your optics. You chest slowly opening which you weren’t sure why it did. His spark then opened a lot faster and you were hit with a pleasurable feeling.

Both of your sparks dancing together as a bond begins for you both.

After a moment your both are bonded. You two stared at each other as you continue to catch your breath. He only looked down at you with loving optics and gently lifted you against his frame.

Then laying you on the berth closer to the window. As he lays on the other side. Your legs were closed and still shaking a little.

Your frame over heated as your helm turned to him. He was smiling as his cervo gently rubbed your other arm. Your other cervo against his chest as he used his other arm to support himself “You did so good sweetspark.”

He’d give you a gentle kiss as he sat up and grabbed a towel and started to clean you up gently. Being a true gentlemen. After he slowly cuddled you. You were on your side facing the window as he came behind you also laying on his side.

His arm wrapped around your waist as his front frame is against your back and aft. As his legs pressed against yours.

You turned your helm a bit to look at him. He leaned his hel forward to be able to kiss your dermas as a good night kiss. You both then lay your helm down and fall asleep as you both closed your optics. Though….it took you some time to fall asleep yourself. Not to mention his grip around you was pretty….firm.

———————————————————————————

In the morning as the sun started to rise. The window was the cause for the sun to hit you first. Your optics slowly opening and as you slowly sat up.

Your valve and thighs were very sore. As you sat up, you noticed Optimus was on his back still asleep. But his cervo was resting on the side of your hip. As you sat up you moved his cervo to your lap.

Using your body to keep the sun from hitting his optics as you sat up. Using your arm above his helm as support as you leaned down to kiss his forhelm. You’re sure because of you moving caused him to wake up.

He grumbled a bit, his optics stilled closed as his cervo that was icloser to you was now under you. It now resting and holding your waist as you kissed his helm. Your cervo that wasn’t supporting you up now on his cervo that’s on your lap.

His optics slowly opened as he stared up at you. “There’s a view id like to wake up to every day”

You chuckled. “Good Morning to you too.” Both of your dermas connect. Both closing your optics. As his cervo that was once under yours moved to the side of your helm, his other one on your waist was pulling you closer. Until you stopped him.

”Why don’t I fix us some breakfast before our day start, yeah?” You gave him your usual soft smile. He held back a groan and just nodded. Giving to a half smile as you got up. Out of his grasp. He sat up, moving his cervo up to protect his eyes from the suns light as he watched you make your way to downstairs.

He’d then get a comm by Ratchet. He soon had a frown on his face.

You made it downstairs and started to get some energon ready for the both of you on some nice plates in the room. As you sat the plates on the table and sat down. Optimus came down and seemed annoyed.

“I have another damn meeting with the new council.”

You stood up and walked closer to him. “You should eat before your meeting sweetspark.” You hand him his plate. He only stared down at you with a bit of a frown before closing his optics for a moment. Then gives that same fake smiles as he leaned down and kissed the top of your helm. Gently taking the plate and sits down as he eats. You watched himm. Noticing the change in him. You summed it up to the council and meeting he has coming. You just picked up a data pad on a shelf and started scrolling through it as you stood there. Your back to him.

He noticed and finished his food. Then walking to behind you and looked over your shoulder. His helm a bit closer to you. “And what are you doing sweetspark?” He glanced down at you as you payed not much mind to him. using your gig it to scroll through a page as you spoke.

”I’m just looking for any opened jobs. I should do my part for the city sweetspark. I cant be just the Leader of Iacon cities Conjunx.”

You speak with optimism. A gently smile gracing your dermas.

Little do you know his optics are dark as he stared at you. Until his cervo rests on our hip. The grip firm as this caught your attention. His other cervo grabbing the data pad as he moved it behind him as he stared down at you. You turned to look at him with confused optics.

“Optimus I need that.”

”No..you don’t..I descided. You can join me. My personal assistant as that you are with me. How about that?” You chuckled. “We’ll get bored of each other. And besides I wish to help others. So why not out of the tower.”

He sighed and his other cervo once on your hip moved to hold your chin. “Please…I already lost my bestfriend…..I just want what I have left with me….Please?”

His optics were almost… sincere. You weren’t sure how to respond. You just looked down as he put the data pad down. Little did you know he had a grin on his dermas as he stared down at you. “Just come with me. I’m sure we can find a job for you sweetspark. Now be a good Conjunx and join me. Hm?”

His digit gently held your chin as he then kissed your cheek. You let out a small hum and looked at him. “Sure…why not sweetspark.” He chuckled

“Good Conjunx.” He takes your cervo and you both walk out of the room. As you made it to the meeting room.

———————————————————————————

There were other Cybertronians speaking amongst their self. Optimus walked forward as you stay close behind. As he made his way to his chair, you follow behind and notice some of the femmes and mechs look at you as you stand next to Optimus once e takes his seat.

”Alright. Let the meeting commence.” You stayed next to him with a few data pads in your arms for him. The others sitting down. You noticed one of the femmes making ‘eyes’ to Optimus. You had to remind yourself that Optimus is Loyal. Isn’t he?

Your spark implied a bit of pressure. Something he can feel through the bond. And out of no where. The bond from him sent a wave of annoyance and warmth. He moved his cervo back toawrds your gently holding the one that isnt holding all the data pads in your arm.

He kissed the back of your cervo, you noticed the femme looked annoyed and glared at you as he glanced at the femme with very dark eyes.

He did not like this femme making you sad.

You continue to just look at the statues of the former primes around you as he spoke during the meeting. Your cervo still in his larger one as it continues to hold yours. His digit gently rubbing the back of your cervo.

You’d keep a few of the data pads with one arm. As the meeting continues on, some of the mechs looked at you. You ignored them. But you could feel through the bond that Optimus was getting annoyed by the meeting still going on.

Eventually the meeting soon ends and as the bots left and you watched them exit the door.

You felt Optimus cervo gently pull you closer as he stayed in his seat. He took the data pads and set them on the table far from him.

He then sets you on the table in front of him even scooting closer as he spoke.

As he spoke he wrapped his arms around your waist as he looked up at you with hungry optics. Having his usual devious grin as he sets his chin on your chest as you looked down at him. You had a shy smile on your dermas.

“Now sweetspark. I believ with you as my assistant it can give a better chance for me and you to grow….closer as Conjunx. If you be a good Conjunx. I’ll be sure you’re always treated as a Queen.”

”Queen?” You chuckled

”Well you are the wife of the relationship my dear.” He kisses your chest and waist as his cervo gripped the side of your waist and pulled it a bit closer against his dermas and his other cervo rested on your thigh. That cervo then moved to your panel.

You chuckled as you cervo gently rubs the top as his held as the other rests against the table.

“Sweetspark if I’m the wife. Does that mean I will the soul carrier for a future sparkling?” He stops for a moment. His optics soft as he thought for a moment as his body moved up in his chair getting closer.

His chest against your waist as his chin rests on your chest.

”Yes….Our sparkling. My successor.” His dark optics look up at you. You almost felt fear. Something telling you to stop at the back of your head. He’d then gently pat your panel.

”Let me see that lovely spike of yours my love?”

”Optimus we really shouldn’t do this in here. We’re disrespecting the primes aren’t we?” He forcefully opened your panel. Showing your valve and then spike. You shivered at the cold air.

He starts to gently stroke your spike. Having a firm grip and squeezing rather tightly. Your legs slowly shaking as he licked at the tip. You were a bit smaller then him and not as thick. But you can stretch a valve pretty well.

Your hips almost thrusts forward a few times. He chuckled as he continued. Your cervo grabbing the one still stroking your spike. As your other cervo covers over your intake. Trying to hide your moans.

“O-Optimus please we shouldn’t-“

“I will please my Conjunx. Will you so rid me of that?” His helm leaned down to the tip and gently licked at the tip. This made it harder to not thrust forward as you stared down at him…

You couldn’t stop him for a good while……

….You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting there. But your cervos gripped his helm as he deep throated your spike in his intake. You came in his throat a couple times now. A few small moans escaping your dermas a few times. Your legs shaking as both of his cervos held firmly under your thighs.

Once you loaded for the third time. He finally pulled your spike from his intake even licking at the tip. Then licking his dermas as he stared up at you. “W-Why did you..-“

“The only good thing of use this spike will have is for me to pleasure you. And your valve is for you to pleasure more.” He gently rubbed the lips of your valve making you shudder. “Now then….be a good bot and sit on your Conjunx lap as the next meeting commences hm?”

He sat against his chair once more. Holding his cervo out to you to take it. You were hesitient at first as your cervo reached out for his. But when he noticed you were holding back he was quick to grab it and pull you onto his lap. His chuckle was deep as his cervos firmly grab your arm and upper thigh.

“You were so good for me.. Now how about we enjoy some time before lunch. I don’t have another meeting for a while my dear.”

He kisses you once more. You took a moment to return the kiss. You had a horrible feeling in your stomach…You told yourself it was hunger. He noticed. His hands gripping tightly to you as a sort of warning.

You both kissed for a moment longer and all that’s heard in the room was your kisses and moans. He’d then stop and stood up holding you and gently sets you down. “Now there’s a really nice restaurant I wish to take you to sweetspark.” You could only nod. As he walks with your cervo in his.

——————————————————————————

Once at the restaurant he was often stopped and asked mid sentence about himself and more now that he was the leader of the city. You only looked at the menu as many people continue to talk to him.

You noticed even as femmes and mechs flirt with him in front of you, he’d always shut them down rudely and glance at you as your looked down as you only feel nervousness.

He didn’t like feeling that through the bond. His side of the bond made you stop that and to be good. You sighed as told the waiter what you wanted. He then asked for the fans to be taken out so that he can eat.

After that the rest of the day went by before you knew it. He’d often pul you closer to him by your waist when walking around. In and out of the tower. You’d always notice femmes, mechs, and neutral bots either give you stink eye or admiration of lust or affections. You still don’t know how to feel about it.

He’d go around, with you with him as he makes speeches and promises. Even going to some charities. Although some of his actions seemed forced. This took all day and before you knew it. It was night.

Once at the tower and back in the meeting room after stopping by a few of the rooms to see what Goldbug and Elita were working you. You noticed they had a few dents in them. Something that made your body shiver as you felt Optimus larger cervo on your waist.

Keeping you close. Once you made your way to the meeting room he took his spot in the sweet. He seemed tired but willing based on how tired his optics appeared.

As he sat he rested the side of his helm on his fist as his other cervo rests on the arm of the chair.

You stand next to his chair as you looked over the updated data pads as he glanced at you. “Sweetspark. Why don’t you take the seat next to me. No one else took it in our meeting before.”

You’d slowly nodded and sat in the seat he told you. He’d then brings you closer by the chair and rests his cervo on your lap as his other cervo holds a data pad. As the others came in the one femme who made eyes at Optimus before glared at you. She then took as seat next to Ratchet. Who descided to sit next to you. You didn’t mind as much. As the meeting continue Optimus kept his cervo on your thigh. Gently squeezing it so often. God do you feel trapped. Ratchet would speak to most with Optimus as the others listened. You’d then notice he seemed annoyed. Even feeling it through the spark bond.

Once the meeting was over you watched as Optimus moved his cervo that once held a data pad go to his face as his digits held the bridge of his nose.

Your cervos moved from the table to the top of his still ontop of your thigh. You then noticed how late it was and stood up. Gently holding Optimus chin with your digits making him look at you.

He watched you as you leaned forward and kisses him gently. “Let’s go to bed sweetspark. You earned it.”

You said as you took his cervo and started walking to the other door to your shared room.. He was quick to stand up and walk with you. Liking the view of you taking a small lead. Not noticing how Moonracer was watching and waited by the door.

As you both made it to your room, you tried your best to not slap his cervo away when he set it on your aft.

You turned around to face him and he was quick to pick you up. Placing your legs around his waist as you wrapped his arms around his neck on your own. Your kiss was soon hungry and passionate as he made his wa the sofa and had you laid down. Having one leg on the couch as he kept kissing you. His panel against yours. Gently humping against it as he whispered between kisses and moans “I love you.”

That’s until you’re interrupted by a knock at the door. He groans and sat down between your legs. Rolling his optics. “It’s probably something important Optimus.”

You sat up as he only looked more pissed off. You then set your cervos on his chest as you looked up at him with a smile. Trying to calm him down. You’d then stand up to go answer until he stopped you.

“Just sit here and look beautiful sweetspark.” He said with a smile and gave you a small kiss.

As he walked to the door he had a huge frown on his face. But he didn’t let you see it.

Once he answered the door it was Moonracer. She instantly started flirting with him. Telling him how she’s been watching him. How she’ll be a loyal bitch and all that. Even a good Conjunx. You could only watch as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

He only watched her with an unamused expression. She’s then trying to pull him down closer to her as she tried to kiss him.

You stood from the couch as you made your way, about to speak that she needs the cut that out. Yes you were angry. You are his Conjunx after all.

But when you were about to speak, Optimus noticed you. And raised a cervo to stop you. Only turning his body a bit to look at you. She then looked at you.

”What are you doing here you Bi-“ Before she could finish. She’s then blasted on the side of the face.

Her head completely off as her body falls to the direction the same as when her head was shouted at.

You…were frozen…Even backing up.

”Ugh you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to fo that. Just to shoot her from across the table.” He groaned as he turned to you. You could only fall onto your aft as you looked at him with wide optics. “Oh come now sweetspark don’t be scared. The others can clean this up in the morning.”

He put his canon away and kicked the body out of his way.

He walked to you. Even as you backed up he still grabbed your cervos and pulled you against him. He had a large and….terrifying grin on his dermas as he stared down at you. “Let’s go lay down…” He pulled you closer. “Shall we?” His optics glowed.

———————————————————————————

You were sitting on the berth. Your back against the wall as you stared out the window. Optimus was laying on his back His helm on your lap as he looked up at you with a…..’smile’.

You only had an uncertain frown on your lips as you kept looking out the window. Seeing the city lights as many Bo’s still flying around late.

Your cervos gently holding the side of his helm as his cervos hold the side of your thighs. He was loving his spot. After was felt like almost an hour he sat up. You kept looking out the window.

He was on his knees. His cervos grabbing your arm on both sides and pulled you close onto his lap.

”You love me…Don’t you my dear?”

He stared down at you as his cervo held your chin to make you look at him. Your optics were narrowed and tired. You didn’t know how to feel. His optics….They were a mix of love….lust…and hate. He was so possessive and……a killer….

Your intake slowly opens and….aganist your better judgement…you know he can hurt you..and so..

”Optimus…I love you.”

His smile only grew. As he leaned down and connected his dermas with yours and closed his optics, the kiss passionate. You were quick to return the kiss. Your cervos resting on his chest. Closing your optics as you both stay together as so. For a little while longer….but dread rests in your spark…for a moment longer…..

Primus….what have you done?…

This one I have been working on for a good while. I hope you guys enjoyed this and can’t wait to see the comments after. As always a repost is appreciated and hope to see you all in the next post. Hope you all have a good rest of your day!

[impactrueno]

I saw your twt about holding back on telling stories with serious and deep tones and it reminded me of an issue I had a while back. Im a south park fan and I loved reading deep analysis of the characters. and south park being south park, people dont take it seriously and think its just funny so it doesnt deserve deep analysis like other forms of media. I always came across comments saying "its not that deep" or "doing all of that for south park" and I used to hate that so much because why are you commenting that under the authors post? In media there is like a "spectrum" of how deep you are in it as a fan, and it doesn't make you less of a fan if you like to binge watch the show when you feel like it because its funny. Someone who makes fan fiction and psychoanalyses the characters doesnt make them a better fan than you. I hate "it's not deep" because it is that deep to me, I enjoy it, but it dismisses critical thinking and discourages deep discussions about our interests. I want to learn more about the turning point for eric cartman and the friendship dynamics between the main 4. I want to read psychoanalysis of the characters and understand why they do the things they do. I loved reading fan fics with an author that understood how the characters work and put them in situations while making it believable. Whether the content was deep and serious or lighthearted and silly. I don't see those as cringe at all. What I see as cringe is trying to downplay someones time and effort. you dont care for it. cool, just dont make it our problem.

I believe in recent years, this cringe and its not that deep mentality is linked to media literacy/reading comprehension issues. On top of the fact, that fandoms right now has been "normalized", so alot of mean and rude kids and adults are in this space not having a mature and respectful conversation and discussions, as well as zero fandom etiquette. (I understand the past wasnt this magical respectful place but this behaviour has increased compared to past years).

Please don't worry about making deep content, its super fun and there will be fans of what you write/draw that will definitely be into it.

GOSH anon you are absolutely right. cringe culture has done some serious damage to people's creativity and freedom of expression. doing things in earnest is now cringe to so many people (specifically that 18-21 age where they think they're better than everyone else and everything is cringe to them, image is everything) and they actually give you shit for it?? it's crazy. the most harmless thing in the world. whenever my hey arnold comics would leave my target audience on instagram i would get the meanest comments for no fucking reason, because i was taking hey arnold "seriously" (nevermind that hey arnold is probably the nicktoon with the most emotional depth and moments besides ginger but i digress) but hey at least i'm not the one losing my marbles over some random cartoon comic on the internet.

i think rudeness in general has been too normalized not just in fandom, but in social media in general. it's sad. the only thing you can do about it is be kind as much as you can to counterbalance it. i'd like to think that rubs off on people just like how being rude rubbed off on them.

i said that thing about holding back because i'm admittedly too hard on myself sometimes. no one is calling me cringe or making fun of me for what i do, thankfully, people have been super cool and supportive. and it means a lot to me because i'm very earnest about everything i create, even when i try to hold back. i literally cannot help being myself. it's all i know how to do. i'm just glad i was able to grow a platform where i'm free to be openly passionate about the things i like, talk about them and why i like them, the little things that i find fascinating, the emotions they make me feel, all of that shit is awesome and i wish more people did that.

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

You're a Dead Man (Part 2) | JJ Maybank x Routledge!reader

Summary: After JJ has a run in with his father, he begins to spiral and doubt his abilities to be a father, leaving you wondering if you're going to be a single mom.

A/N: A couple people requested part 2 and a great anon gave me this idea! Hope you like it. Link for part 1 is down below, but this could probably be read as a stand alone too!

|||| Part 1 ||||

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

** Rules for Requesting **

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********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

“What do you know about being a dad? You’re gonna fuck that kid up just like I fucked you up.”

JJ replays the conversation with is dad over and over in his head. The anxiety growing even more intense. His hand shakes as he presses it into his heart.

He didn’t know anything about being a dad. His dad was right with that one. JJ had the bad genes; Alcoholics, drug addicts. The reoccurring jail time. The dead beat dads. It all ran in his family. A never ending vicious cycle that he was going to be continuing.

You recently had your scan, finding out you and JJ would be welcoming a baby boy into the world 20 weeks from now. A mini JJ. After needing to get back to work, both you and JJ split ways and headed back to work.

He was working on a boat motor in the local shop when his boss came to him, “Maybank, you got a visitor.” He threw his thumb over his shoulder.

JJ glanced up, expecting you or one of the pogues but didn’t expect to see his dad there, taking a drag of his cigarette, a subtle sway in his posture.

JJ mentally cursed, not wanting to deal with this.

“Take it out back. I can’t have customers walking up on his bullshit today.” His boss instructs, knowing Luke enough.

JJ wipes his greasy hands on his rag and jumps down from the ladder of the boat, heading toward his dad. “What the hell do you want?” He motions over to the right with his head, walking toward the side of the shop, Luke following with a stumble.

“Jesus Christ.” JJ mutters, smelling the alcohol on his breath.

“Heard you’re gonna be a dad.” Luke says with a slur.

JJ places his hands on his hips and nods, replying with a nonchalant, “yup.”

Luke sniffs, wiping his hand against his nose, “What do you know about being a dad? You’re gonna fuck that kid up just like I fucked you up.”

JJ couldn't believe his ears, “Did you seriously come all the way down here just to say this? I got work to do.” JJ begins to walk away but Luke roughly grabs him by the arm, “I’m not done talking to you, boy! Don’t you walk away from me.”

“You know it’s true. Do the kid a favor and stay away from him. We don’t need another fucked up Maybank in the world. Look at you, working at the local boat shop. You’ll never make it at anything else. You’ll never be able to give the kid a good life. Face it," Luke takes a step toward JJ, pointing an accusing finger in his face, "you’ll end up just like me, drunk trying to make it by in life wondering where it all went to shit.”

JJ rips his arm from Luke’s tight grasp, a red mark left behind, “you have no idea of what kind of dad I’ll be. As far as I’m concerned I know exactly what kind of dad not to be.” He starts to walk away, Luke continuing to slur and insult him.

“JJ you’re going to be a shit of a father! Don't say I didn't warn you. You'll be a sorry son of a bitch bringing a kid into this world!"

~

JJ's thoughts were running rampant. His mind slowly convincing itself his dad was right. He would never be a good father. He didn't know how to be a father. You and the baby deserved better than what he could offer you.

The old rock music thumping in his ears as he opened the wooden door. It smelled like cigarette smoke. The place started to get full as everyone begins to get off work.

"What can I get you?" The barkeep asks, cleaning the bar top in front of him.

JJ has his chance to back out of this. He glances down at his watch, you'd probably just be getting off of work and heading home. You told him at the doctor's appointment you would fix his favorite tonight. It was you and JJ's turn to fix dinner for the Pogues.

He knew he needed to leave and go home but his mind pushed his legs forward, taking a seat at the bar. He knew addiction ran in his family and this was bound to happen to him. His dad was right. Might as well speed things along.

"Whisky."

~

As you came close to finishing dinner, you glanced at your phone again, nothing from JJ. He should have been home by now. You'd called and texted but no response, you began to worry.

"Hey sis," John B greeted coming through the front door, Sarah following behind.

"How did your appointment go?" Sarah asks with a smile, pushing past John B to greet you. She was just as excited as you to find out the gender. Sarah had a bet with Kie - it was gonna be a girl. She just knew it and even placed a bet on it. She immediately frowns at your worried appearance, "What's wrong?"

"JJ should be home by now and I can't get in touch with him."

"Maybe he got stuck working late? I know he said he had to finish building that motor and wanted to get it done today." John B shrugs it off, popping one of the veggie pieces in his mouth, "I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"Yeah but," you shake your head, "He usually would at least send me a text to let me know. He knew I was cooking his favorite tonight and he said he wouldn't miss it. Somethings wrong, I can feel it." You place a hand on your growing bump, a sense of uneasiness flooding over you.

"Have you tried calling him?" Sarah asks, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, "Like John B said maybe he's busy."

"I've called and texted." You look between your brother and Sarah, "Something's wrong, John B."

He sighs with a nod. He didn't need to hear anything else from you, he can see it was truly bothering you. "I'll find him."

"Thank you." You say softly.

He nods and kisses your head, "Anything for you."

~

JJ couldn't remember which drink he was on. 8? maybe 9? He was slurring his words, swaying. He'd become the center of attention at the bar, talking with a few people, laughing it up. He could feel his phone buzz and checked it, blinking his eyes to try and focus. The thinks it says John B but he can't be for sure.

One of the guys he'd been talking to slapped him on the shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts, he slid the phone back in his pocket.

"Another drink," JJ slaps the bar top.

"You sure? I think you've had enough," The bartender states.

"Oh come on, man, give him what he wants!" One of the guys says, "The fun is just getting started."

JJ saw the little baggie and the guys crazy eyes. JJ raised his eyebrows, "I don't know man." Even in his drunken state, you flash across his mind.

The guy places a hand on JJ's shoulder, "Live a little. You deserve it." And so JJ follows the guy and a few buddies out back.

~

John B went by his work to find the shop closed and moved on to a couple places to check. It was the 4th place, Blackbeards Bar, that he finally had someone say they saw JJ, but when he went to check out behind the bar, JJ and those guys were no where to be found. John B filled with dread.

He drove the Twinkie through town, looking left and right for any sign of JJ but didn't see him. He reluctantly returned back to the chateau where you and Sarah sat around the table. He dreaded having to return without JJ and explain where he was last seen. The bar was known to be occupied by the drunks and druggies. Luke was a frequent customer.

He could tell you'd been crying. You stood when he opened the door, "Did you find him?"

John B shook his head and saw your hopes get crushed, your body physically showing the signs. Your shoulders dropped, "he has to be out there somewhere, John B. Maybe you didn't look hard enough-" You snatched your keys off the table, storming past him, but he steps in front of you, "I looked everywhere. Y/n he was last seen at Blackbeards."

"he wouldn't-" you shook your head, "It had to be a mistake."

"He was seen with Luke's crowd, y/n."

And your world came crushing down.

~

JJ didn't know how he'd done it and made it all the way to the chateau but he did. He stumbled up the front stairs. The lights, indoor and out were on. He hoped he hadn't missed dinner. You'd cooked his favorite and he was starving. He belched as he kicked his shoes off, stumbling into the nearby shelf, something came crashing down. He giggled to himself, "Oh fuck."

The door swung open, there you stood in your gown and robe. He closed one eye, squinting to focus in on you and gives you a drunk grin, "there's my baby."

He's taken aback as you lunge at him, hands hitting his chest. it sends him flying back into the porch post. You probably could have just done it with your finger and knocked him over at how drunk and high he was.

"What the fuck?!" He manages to catch himself, "What the fuck was that for?!"

"You stupid son of a bitch! Do you know how worried I've been? It's 4 o clock in the morning! I was about to call the police!"

John B and the other Pogues stood at the door, watching this scene unfold. They committed to staying up with you, hoping to keep you company and keep you calm. You were only a few minutes from having another breakdown.

"Oh shit," JJ laughs, "It's 4 am? Time flies when you're having fun then." He straightens himself up, but stays with his back pressed against the post to keep himself from swaying. It didn't stop the room from spinning.

You didn't know whether to cry or scream. You were beyond angry; heartbroken that JJ had put you through something like this. Pregnancy hormones only made it worse. It was only in the light, you could see the white powder on his nostrils.

"Is that coke?" You ask in disbelief, pointing to his nose.

He quickly wipes it away with his sleeve, "no-"

You cry out, absolutely frustrated, "JJ, what the fuck is wrong with you! This isn't you. You're out late, drinking and now doing drugs with some of your dad's buddies? We're going to have a baby in 4 months. You can't do shit like this. You can't spiral. You have responsibilities!"

JJ could feel his anger boiling, threatening to blow. His entire body going hot, his face growing red, as he points an accusing finger in your face, "You don't get to tell me what to do."

You'd seen JJ get angry before, but had never had it directed at you. You couldn't believe you were about to say this, but he looked like Luke staring back. You could feel John B's presence beside you, ready to defend his sister. He didn't like the crazy look in JJ's eyes or how he threatened you.

You straighten your back, showing JJ you weren't afraid of him. You were pissed he'd done something like this, but when you thought more about it, there had to have been something that set JJ off. He was so happy at the appointment. Nervous, but excited to find out he was having a boy. He even made the comment, "My son will never feel the way I did."

From the time you departed to back to work, something had changed and the only thing that could have set JJ off would be his dad. You knew his anger wasn't meant for you.

JJ surrenders, "Go ahead, yell at me. Tell me how horrible of a dad I'm gonna be. How I'm gonna fuck that kid up just like I'm fucked up." He holds his arms out at his side, "The kid doesn't need me. If anything he's better off without me. You're better off without me." His eyes fill with tears, "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve a happy ending." JJ is defeated and emotional.

Your heart aches at the fact JJ would ever think that way about himself. He'd already proven to be a better dad than Luke would ever be and your son wasn't even in this world yet. "Is that what Luke told you? That you're going to be a horrible dad?"

JJ wouldn't meet your eyes. You step forward, hands cupping his jawline, willing him to look at you, "JJ Maybank, you've already proven you will be an amazing dad and our baby isn't even earth side yet. Me and him both will never be better without you because you complete us, you make this family whole." Tears fill in your eyes, seeing his doing the same, "You never felt a father's love and that has been your encouragement from the beginning. You know exactly how to be a father because you have first hand of what not to do. You've stepped up and become more than a father than your own will ever be."

JJ relinquishes into you, sobs racked his body as he held onto you as if you were his lifeline.

"shhh..." You ran your fingers through his hair in a calming manner, holding him. You stayed like that for a while, holding each other before you were able to lead him into the house where he passes out on the couch.

~

JJ sulks onto the front porch, his head pounding and body feeling like he was hit by a bus. You're leaned against railing, gazing out to the water. It was a calm morning.

"Morning," His voice is husky and he smells clean as he approaches you.

You glance at him, his hair is wet and he's in clean clothes. At least he showered. He reeked last night. "Morning."

"about last night-" He scratches the back of his neck. It had come back to him in pieces but he knew enough to know what happened last night - or well this morning.

"I'm only going to say this once." You're stern as you face him, "If you ever pull the shit you did last night, you won't have anyone to come home to. I'm here for you JJ, always. And you can't spiral like that ever again." You rub a hand over your bump, "Are we in an understanding?"

He nods, "I can't even begin to apologize or have the words. I should have come home to you two." He places an uneasy hand on your belly, "I'm not him. I never will be."

"I know you aren't." You loop your arms around his middle, laying your head against his chest, "You're more than he will ever be."

~

I hope you all enjoyed this part two and I hope I did it justice for those who asked for it! I feel like I'm still a little rusty as I get back into writing here and there, so please be nice and be patient.

Likes, comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated!

[faeriekit]

Final Chapter is up 💚: The Basement

"It's a school night. It's dark outside. It's cold. Green— fog?— has invaded the whole house, and now he has to get his parents to tackle whatever that problem is. ...The only problem is, Danny woke up alone in his bedroom, and he can't seem to find them.

Like. Anyone. Anywhere."

💚👻💚👻💚

Check out the final chapter here, or check out @minnowmarsh's art here!

Want to read the whole fic from the beginning? Start here!

Happy Ecto-Implosion, everyone! 👻💚 I had a great time during the event, and it's let me focus on a lot of great art— including the extra piece Minnow ended up making for the fic! I couldn't be more grateful!! Overall, the timeline felt almost too long for me— so that's something to know about my limits moving forward— but it gave me more time to edit than I would usually bother with, so it ended up giving me and my partner a lot of time to work and revise as we went. It was so fun to work with a stranger in a partner project for something more official for the first time😊💚💚

I wanted to make a spooky haunted house narrative about Fentonworks and what his home means to Danny, specifically, so if you wanted to know more about how I ended up with this spooky story over here, I have a couple notes about the fic below, (which I also abbreviated on ao3):

I made this post about how Danny's brush with the portal ended Danny's pre-accident life in a way that was never going to be recovered from in many ways, and it ended up getting me thinking about Fentonworks, specifically, as Danny's grave site. Not the portal-- the Fenton household, where Danny had been raised, but now also had to contend with the constant possibility of being attacked, feeling unsafe, and having no one to reach out to about how he felt. Imagine growing up in a loving, warm home and then having the security system suddenly be wired to mess you up at a random moment's notice?? That's got to be alarming, if not mildly traumatizing! The people you would look to to help you can't help you! They're not an option anymore! The home you were so familiar with is suddenly scary and aware of you in a way it never was before!

...And although Danny ("Danny") couldn't remember being dead, I tried to throw nods in there to post-show things— like his ice core leading to a constant sense of being cold, his ghost sense activating at the sight of Danny-in-the-mirror, the constant green film over the world, etc. The busted electronics/timelessness was purposeless meant to feel achronological and dream-like, but had an added benefit to fitting a very popular ghost story mold: that ghosts make tech glitch out when they get close, haha.

And, of course, Death was always in the corner, waiting for him. He waits in the walls of Fentonworks still.

What is Danny— not Phantom, but Danny's— ghost waiting for? Who is he waiting for? His mom and family, probably; isn't that what every kid wants?

This was suuuuuper fun, and was in no way planned in any tangible way up until I saw Minnowmarsh's spooky bathroom in the server, haha. Who needs a super-powered ghost fighting story when you can think of the tragedy of man's mortal state?! 😄💚💚❕❕

Catch you on the flip side! 💚

[gumnut-logic]

Lego Volcano (Part 7 and The End)

Alexander Sweetapple series | Lego Volcano - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

At this point, it should be remembered that this fic, whcih is now complete at over 11,000 words, originated in a post that devolved into bathing in Lego and how much whumping that would involve :D

This is why fault belongs to @idontknowreallywhy, @sofasurf @womble1 and @sailing-on-a-puddle and other wonderful Thunderfam peeps. it would not exist without them.

@onereyofstarlight has also kindly kept me on the straight and narrow and all improvements belong to her :D

So thank you to all of the above and to all who have encouraged this little fic, that didn't stay little, along the way ::hugs you all::

this bit is very much M/M because Virgil is feeling so much better :D If that isn't your jam, this isn't your bread. There is also buckets of fluff :D

I hope you enjoy :D

-o-o-o-

“Do you think he likes me?”

Virgil frowned down at the man lying in his arms. They had thrown some pillows and a blanket onto a fold up daybed and were whiling away a few hours as the sun was setting across the sea.

The Island was quiet. Grandma and Dad were still on Aotearoa, Gordon and Alan were torturing Scott in the infirmary, and, as always, John was watching over them from far above.

His star would become visible once the sky was dark enough.

“Who?”

“Mr Tracy.”

He had the urge to ask which Mr Tracy, but where Alex was concerned, there was only one Mr Tracy. “Scott likes you fine. Always did.”

Alex fidgeted in his arms. “I feel like a klutz around him.” He looked up at Virgil - something that only happened when they were lying down and Virgil was quite happy about that. “I just know how important he is to you and, well, I don’t want him to feel I’m intruding.”

“You’re not intruding.”

Alex looked away. “I’ve seen you on rescues. All of you are special, but there has always been something extra between you and the Commander. There are rumours.”

Virgil frowned. “About what?”

“That you’re telepathic, that you can read each other’s minds and move as one.”

“You’ve been talking to Gordon.” The Fish had been ribbing them about that for years.

“No…well, yes, but not about that. It’s in the fandom. It’s common knowledge.”

“You’re in the fandom?”

Now Alex was definitely looking away. “Well, yeah, been a fan forever, and there are like-minded people out there.” He looked back up at Virgil and grinned. “You are very nice to watch.”

The arm Virgil had draped around his boyfriend, quite conveniently reached his ribs, which were apparently very ticklish.

The two of them tussled and giggled a moment, Alex finding a few ticklish spots in return. But it was broken up when Virgil’s laugh turned to a cough. Alex caught him and pulled him close.

Virgil cleared his throat and smiled. “So you’re a card carrying fan?”

“You knew that.”

“I did.” He kissed Alex’s messy blond hair. “But then, I’m a fan of you, so we’re even.”

Alex snorted, but sobered. “Seriously, it’s important that I’m not…messing things up with your brother…with any of your brothers.”

Virgil sighed. “Alex, you’re fine. Scott approves, and even if he didn’t, you’re my boyfriend, not his.”

“I know. It’s just I don’t want to mess with the magic.”

Oh, god. “You’re not messing up anything. All my brothers are happy for us. It’s fine.” He pulled Alex in close, kissing his hair again. “Especially for me.”

But even as he said it, he knew his man and this was probably one of those bones his brain would chew on if it wasn’t taken away. “So you like math?”

“I’ve always liked maths, I’m an engineer.”

“Well, yes, of course, but that wasn’t engineering math.”

Alex shrugged. “It’s just fun stuff. I play with patterns sometimes.”

Virgil stared down at him a moment. “Scott enjoys math.”

A snort. “I noticed. He can run rings around me. He makes some beautiful stuff.”

“He does?”

“Yeah? Didn’t you see that last result - it was like a field of origami flowers.”

Virgil blinked. “Flowers?”

That earned him a frown. “You couldn’t see it?”

“I could see elegant math. Scott writes a good solution.”

“He does, but it is how he does it.”

“Should I be worried?”

“About what?”

Virgil’s lips curled into a smile. “If my brother has caught your eye.”

“Oh, ho, ho, yeah, right. Mr Tracy is straighter than an Australian railway line.” It was Alex’s turn to smile. “Besides, he’s not you.” Alex reached up and caught Virgil’s lips with his own.

Conversation stopped for a while as Alex made it very clear which was his favourite Tracy brother.

The sun finally reached the horizon and lit up the ocean, coating everything in that beautiful gold only Sol could provide. A gentle breeze wafted off the caldera and wrapped around them, clapping palm leaves and pōhutukawa branches alike.

“Thank you for looking after me. It has been a relief having you here.”

“Next time let me know. I don’t want you suffering in silence. People pair up for a reason.” He cleared his throat.

Virgil brushed a strand of hair behind Alex’s ear. “Okay, I’ll make sure to send the Fish earlier next time.”

“So Gordon is your gopher?”

“Uh-huh.” Alex’s skin was a little flushed in the light of the sunset and very distracting.

“Does he know this?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You are feeling better, aren’t you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Alex smiled and his dark eyes glittered in the golden air. “C’mere.”

His lips were soft.

Virgil lost more time.

So very, very distracted.

It was getting dark by the time they bothered to check their surroundings again. The breeze was cooler, and Alex shivered as it drifted over them.

Virgil’s stomach was rumbling - a good thing since eating hadn’t been his favourite activity recently.

Since there was no sign of Gordon or Alan, or anyone else for that matter - probably giving him and Alex space - it looked like Virgil was cook tonight. So as they finally climbed off the bed and began packing up, he mentally recalled what was in the fridge, the freezer, and what could be quickest to prepare.

“Where should I put these?” Alex had the pillows in his hands.

“Chuck them on the sunken lounge. If you feel like a movie we can use them later.”

“Sure.” But Alex hesitated, frowning a moment before, turning to walk inside.

“Alex? You okay?” Virgil had his hands full of blanket and folded day bed, but something wasn’t right.

“Um…I don’t…” Alex was stumbling sideways, pillows falling to the floor.

Everything slowed and Virgil was moving, but not fast enough.

Alex struggled to keep his feet, but one bare foot caught in that damned Lego sculpture and then it was all slow motion deja vu.

Lego scattered everywhere, tinkling on the hardwood floor as Virgil slid in to catch Alex. The Lego volcano exploded in all directions as his body collided with it, arms full of lanky, falling engineer.

Time and speed caught up.

“Alex!”

Shocked dark eyes looked up at Virgil. “I don’t feel very good.” His eyelids fluttered closed. “Dizzy.”

“Alex!”

“Uh…” He screwed up his face. “Dizzy.”

Virgil’s heart climbed into his ears thudding away all sound as he lowered Alex gently to the floor, brushing away stray bricks and cushioning his head with one of the dropped pillows.

Scrabbling to his feet, Virgil dashed across the comms room and grabbed the first aid kit, yanking out the medscanner and flashing yellow light across Alex’s prone body.

The machine beeped, and delivered its prognosis.

Oh, hell.

His shoulders dropped.

Alex groaned and tried to roll over.

“Hey, stay put. You’re sick.”

“Wha-?”

“Thunderbird Five?”

John popped into being in the middle of the room. “Tracy Island, what can I- ? Alex? Virgil, report.”

“Please let Māhia know that Alex won’t be returning for at least another week. He has the flu.” Virgil brushed hair out of Alex’s eyes.

“FAB.”

“What? I have- I can’t, I had all my shots.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“But-“

“Your turn to rest, love.”

“But I have to…goddamnit!”

Virgil couldn’t help but smile through his concern. “You can play math with Scotty in the infirmary.”

Was that a challenged cant to a grumpy eyebrow?

“But I have to-“

“Rest.”

“Viiirgil.” He coughed.

Virgil continued to stroke his hair as both Gordon and Alan came running with a hoverstretcher in tow.

“Not the Lego again?” Alan looked both worried and exasperated at the same time.

As Virgil’s bare foot came down on a very sharp and hard brick while crouching to lift a wriggling Alex onto the hoverstretcher, he only had one solution to that problem. “Yeah, please pack it away this time. I think we’ve had enough Lego this month.” Ouch, he stumbled over another one. “Possibly for decades.”

Alex was muttering something about Erica laughing her ass off and excuses to lengthen his stay on Tracy Island.

Gordon was grinning and agreeing.

Heart still beating just that little too fast, Virgil limped after the hoverstretcher.

New bruises keeping him company.

Damn Lego.

-o-o-o-

FIN

[perpetualcontrolleddrowning]

Moshang Fic - Part 3

half of something else

JRaylin441

Summary: A few things are added to the Overarching To Do List

Content Warnings: some discussion of bad childhoods again, EXPLICIT, NSFW, light restraint, dom/sub undertones, size difference, temperature play (a little), and anal sex

Read it on ao3 here (x)

Read Part 2 here (x)

Shang Qinghua wakes up with his entire body aching. His legs are both asleep. He can't feel them. There's a terrible crick in his neck and he's not sure where it's from.

There are nice things about being an immortal cultivator. Even though it took so much more work than he would ever want it to take, and he didn't really have a choice, it's nice that a lot of his injuries heal quickly and that he doesn't really age. His original body was in much worse shape, and he always had to be doing wrist stretches and move around to maintain any kind of mobility with the amount of time he spent writing. Mostly, he wouldn't do those things and then would be in pain day in and day out.

This is a very long way to say that he has gotten used to not feeling all those terrible aches and pains, now that he has a body that rapidly heals itself.

So it's disorienting, waking up like this. He's warm. He's really warm right now, more so than he usually is in this palace. It made him all sweaty and he knows that he stinks right now.

When Shang Qinghua opens his eyes, he is in his King's chambers. Right. That's right. He was here last night. Talking with his king until late late late into the night. Telling him, fuck, did he tell him stories last night? He's pretty sure he made up a silly little child's fairy tale version of their life? And his king just watched him and listened while he talked for hours?

Who does that?

When has that ever been something that people do? What the fuck has been in the water in this palace for the past few days? Did Tianlang-Jun start up a very slow carbon monoxide leak? There's not any other possible explanation for this stuff and Shang Qinghua is going to lose his mind. This is ridiculous.

He stretches his limbs out. There are so many blankets on top of him. Where did all of these come from? He definitely didn't fall asleep with this many blankets. The blood flowing back to his legs prickles with pins and needles. He circulates his qi to make it all happen a little bit faster, bring that crick out of his neck that he can now tell came from sleeping with his head against the back of a chair for the whole night.

Or, okay, maybe not the whole night. The sheets of thick ice that make up stained glass skylights in this room are not letting in any kind of light, just yet. The fireplace is full of the fire from earlier, smouldering in quiet embers now.

When Shang Qinghua glances behind him, he can see the dark shadow of the shape of Mobei-Jun, asleep in his own bed. He is sprawled out atop the nest of pillows and blankets, rather than huddled under them to protect from the cold. There are notably fewer blankets on his nest than there were earlier this night.

The blankets on top of Shang Qinghua smell like the air right before it starts to snow.

His King doesn't do things like this. This isn't how they interact, except for the way that it absolutely has been for the past few days. This is still more. This is consideration for Shang Qinghua's needs and, like, gentle and shit. Shang Qinghua has literally never had anyone do something like this for him, not since before his parents split, and that was when he was five fucking years old. So, you know, it's been a while.

That doesn't mean that he's not burning to death right now, under all these blankets. He shoves them off, and then it's not clear what to do about them. Should he just throw them on the ground? Put them back on the bed? Is it weirder if he folds them back up?

Mobei-Jun is sleeping over in the corner. He doesn't snore, but he's breathing in that deep, dragging way that people who are deeply asleep do.

Shang Qinghua could probably sneak out right now without waking him. It's what he would normally do in a situation like this. Not that there's been situations exactly like this before, but he's most certainly been in a room when Mobei-Jun is asleep there before. It happens, when you've been living life alongside each other for literal decades and also your relationship has to stay a secret, due to all the betraying humanity and double-agent aspects. They've spent nights in the same places before. Shang Qinghua generally handles it by making himself as quiet and invisible as possible and not doing anything to upset his king and ruin all the tentative peace.

Things have been different recently.

He could sneak out again. It's easy to do that, in this castle. He's been living here for years. He knows how to make his way back to his room without it being something Mobei-Jun gives a single thought to.

He could do that. He knows how. It wouldn't be hard.

Things have been different.

He takes some of the blankets in his hands and starts to make his way over to the bed on the side of the room. He hasn't been over to this side of the room before. Never once, no matter how long he has known Mobei-Jun. He could leave. Some would say that he should leave.

He doesn't do that. Instead, he is going to take the blankets over to Mobei-Jun's bed and put them back where they belong. He'll probably sleep through it. He's sleeping pretty deeply. If he wakes up, though, well. There's no way he could have known that would happen. No way that Shang Qinghua could have controlled that. He's just trying to be a good guest at the surprise sleep over.

Shang Qinghua gets closer to the bed. Mobei-Jun's face is smooth and expressionless in his sleep, much like it looks when he's awake, except that little line between his eyebrows is gone. He's huge, laying on his side like this, so that his shoulders are almost the same height as Shang Qinghua's shoulders, even though he's standing. His voice is always deep, and the tone of his breath is similar, huffing in and out with just the edge of a snore to it.

He's so...physically here. So present. So much more touchable and real than he ever feels. He sounds like a man. A man much larger than Shang Qinghua. Spread out on his bed, heavy with his physical presence.

Shang Qinghua licks his lips.

He should redirect this thoughts. He's acting like the old pervert that he actually is right now, creeping on his king while he is asleep. That's not good. He definitely shouldn't be doing this.

Mobei-Jun heaves in another deep breath, slowly lets it out. His long, straight dark hair is tied into a loose braid and strewn across the pillow to the other side of him. He's not wearing a shirt. The lines of his musculature are round and soft, the way that real muscles act when they're relaxed, rather than the dehydrated, porny version that Shang Qinghua would always imagine. It would be the perfect snuggling place, the way his two pecs are large enough to look like pillows. Each one is the size of Shang Qinghua's head. His thigh is thicker around than Shang Qinghua's head. Everything about him is thicker than Shang Qinghua.

He shouldn't be standing here, perving at his sleeping king.

Shang Qinghua clears his throat.

He is holding several blankets in his arms. Slowly, he reaches out and begins to tuck them in around the sleeping form of his beautiful king. He is maybe clumsier about it than he technically needs to be. There is no shift in his King's breathing or his body, and he thinks that the blatant ploy for attention hasn't worked, until the last blanket is placed. When he glances up at his king one more time, he sees the steady gaze of two ice-blue eyes, clearly trained on him.

Shang Qinghua knows he is trembling. He would like to say it's from the cold, but it's not really that cold in here right now, with the fire and the blankets and everything.

They don't do this.

They don't do things like this. They really, really don't do things like this. He's not sure where the courage for something like this is coming from, except for all the comments and letters over the past few days (Your King). It's all ringing in his head and it's making him act like he never would. It's killing his endless pragmatism and all that terrified anxiety that always keeps him right where he knows is safest. That's gone. It's all completely gone and there's nothing he can do about it.

Qinghua can know whatever he likes, regardless of reason.

Because Qinghua does not have fur.

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.

He created Mobei-Jun to be his perfect man. From the very moment he came into existence, he's occupied a special place in Shang Qinghua's heart.

When he was living his first life, it's not like he pretended that Mobei-Jun was alive or anything. He never crossed the line that far. Instead, it's more like Mobei-Jun was a character that lived inside his head. Something that was always so nice and comforting to think about. When he was on a long train ride and his phone had died, what better thing was there to do than look out the window and imagine all the things Mobei-Jun would be saying, if he were there too? When he was alone, and it was so late that his fingers weren't working and he had to stop writing for the night, who better to imagine while he flicked mindlessly through songs? He could be another person there to share in the experience. Shang Qinghua liked to imagine what he might think of each song that played.

When he wrapped his own lonely hand around himself because he was bored and alone and horny and didn't have anything better to do, and he'd been writing endless straight smut for days on end and just needed a cleanse from all of that, what better thing to fantasize about than his dream man?

When his family remembered he existed for the first time in months, invited him to attend the graduation of one of his younger half-siblings, just so he could see what a huge party they had been capable of throwing for him but didn't. When he was in a situation like that, can anyone blame him for this? Standing there, in his too-tight and too-small suit jacket, watching as his own family members forgot that he existed, feeling the way that his hands were starting to shake in his pockets. In a situation like that, of course he knew it wasn't real, but it was still nice to imagine someone strong and powerful and beautiful and cold and intimidating standing right by his side. Driving away all the people who didn't value him enough to push past that, fully focused on Shang Qinghua.

Mobei-Jun has been a source of comfort, warmth, companionship, everything for longer than he's even been alive in this world.

When Shang Qinghua met him for the first time, he was young. So young. He didn't desire him the same way, exactly, but his soul still recognized him. Suddenly, that silent, strong, and beautiful presence over his shoulder was very much a real thing, and Shang Qinghua wasn't alone.

As he aged, as they grew closer, as he truly did begin to accompany Shang Qinghua everywhere, answer his call, stand by his side, what could Shang Qinghua do but fall utterly and inescapably in love with him? It's a trap he set for himself! Thank you, past self, for thinking only with your downstairs head and surrounding us with a completely inscrutable and incomprehensible man who will forever be so far out of our reach that we could never even hope that he might love use back! Way to go! Really looking out for the team there!

But it's fine. It was all fine. Shang Qinghua has a whole fucking lot of practice being in relationships with people who forget that he exists. Who would happily trample all over him and his silly little feelings while going after their own heart's desires. That's not new. He knows how to live off something like that alone.

It's been years. He's thankful he even got to have what he's had up until now.

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.

It's early in the morning, so that the icy skylights are letting in only the very faintest hints of gray light.

Shang Qinghua is standing over Mobei-Jun's bed and he's awake. He's staring back at Shang Qinghua. He's not moving. It seems like he's waiting for Shang Qinghua to do something first.

And that just really isn't going to happen. Shang Qinghua isn't the sort of man who takes a leap of faith. What part of reclusive shut-in author did you not understand? He's never going to be the one to take the first step for something like this. If there even is something. Which there almost definitely isn't. It's just the early-morning light that's doing his head in and making him think about impossible things. It's a lifetime of imagining a version of Mobei-Jun that doesn't exist in reality.

His hands are shaking. Actually, there's a fine tremor running all through his body. Every part of him. He can't tell if he's panicking or turned on. Probably some terrible combination of both. Shang Qinghua has never pretended that his libido is anything healthy or sane.

Mobei-Jun is still just...waiting. Watching. The same kind of intense watching that he always does, except it's different right now, because he's in bed and Shang Qinghua is standing over him and Shang Qinghua's hands are separated from touching his ribs by a single layer of thin blanket. Something woven by a silk spider demon in the court, responsible for making sheets and blankets that slide off the skin and keep heat in.

He can feel the chill of his king's body through the blanket now. He wonders if Mobei-Jun can feel the warmth of his hands on the other side of things.

It would take just the smallest movement, just barely anything at all. It could be an accident, really, if you think about it. Shang Qinghua moves a single pinky, allowing it to shift the blanket out of the way, brush against the bared skin of his king's ribs with nothing between them to block the heat of it.

Mobei-Jun hasn't moved for all of this. They have been suspended in some kind of terrifying limbo, while he seems to merely stare piercingly at Shang Qinghua and wait for him to tell him what they're going to be doing next.

At the touch of the pad of his very smallest finger, he can't miss the harsh breath that gasps into Mobei-Jun's lungs. It is loud in the silence of the early morning. More than that, his finger is resting just against his ribs, and he can feel the physical way that they expand with the gasping inhale and slow, hissing exhale.

God. Fuck. This is not anything he knew to be prepared for today. This is not on the Overarching To Do List. This is so ridiculous. This sort of thing does not happen. They don't do things like this.

Shang Qinghua shifts his hand, allows gravity to tug the blanket down to settle alongside Mobei-Jun's body. It leaves absolutely nothing between his hand, fingers spread and palm flat against his king's ribs. He can feel the muscles stretching from his back to his abdominal muscles. Fuck, but he's a man and he's a demon and Shang Qinghua imagined the exact person that he wanted more than anything, and now he's touching him and it's dark and he's not wearing a shirt.

The first touch of his finger could have been an accident. This, clearly, is not. Shang Qinghua has no excuse for completely letting go of the blanket, and even less of an excuse for lingering in this space, rather than moving away as soon as it happened.

Mobei-Jun sits up, moving slowly like he's interacting with a spooked animal. Maybe he is. Shang Qinghua can feel the way that he is still trembling, all over, and can't help but hear his own panting and panicked breathing in the silence of the room.

The blankets that Shang Qinghua spent so long painstakingly moving shift and rustle with the movement, and then Mobei-Jun is sitting up before him, and now he's back to a height where he can look down on Shang Qinghua again, and it's exhilarating.

He's moving slowly. Predictably. There is no excuse for the shocked gasp that Shang Qinghua makes, when Mobei-Jun's enormous hand finally touches the side of his face, brushing some of the loose strands of hair behind his ear. There is no excuse for being surprised, but he still is.

His hand is so big. Shang Qinghua likes big hands. Mobei-Jun's hand could wrap around that entire side of his head. If he brought both hands into play, he could probably cover the entirety of Shang Qinghua's head. It's cold, because he's an ice demon, and Shang Qinghua made him that way. It's cold, because he's an ice demon, and he's been cold since the moment they first met, all those decades ago.

Shang Qinghua hisses out his own breath, and then leans his head into the touch on his face, allowing his cheek to fully press into the hollow of his king's palm. They freeze there, for a moment, Mobei-Jun still silent and still watching to catalogue every movement, because he is the kind of man who makes sure he understands what is happening before taking his next step. Shang Qinghua made him that way. Shang Qinghua watched him grow up and become that way.

The two versions of all of this keep overlaying themselves in his vision. The man that Shang Qinghua created to be an indulgent daydream on the nights when he was his most alone and invisible. The man that Shang Qinghua has spent the last several decades of his life working with, getting to know, understanding. Of course he knows him. Of course he knows him ten times over.

Shang Qinghua leans into the touch. Mobei-Jun is still not moving a single part of his body, except for one thumb, which is stroking a delicious line from the edge of Shang Qinghua's temple to his hairline. It's just a small thing. It's the only thing he can think about right now.

He is still not moving. Why won't he just take over and take control and then Shang Qinghua doesn't have to worry about whether he's reading any of this wrong, or whether or not it's an okay thing for him to be doing? Why can't Mobei-Jun be the kind of man who just takes what he wants without asking? Isn't that how Shang Qinghua wrote him?

It is how he wrote him. It is not the man he has watched his king become in the past few decades. What does that mean, when Shang Qinghua is the only thing that has been different in his life?

It doesn't matter. It could not matter any less right now. Shang Qinghua is waiting for him to do something else, but he's not going to, because he's waiting for Shang Qinghua to show him what is happening right now.

Dammit. Fucking damn it all to hell.

Shang Qinghua can't stop noticing that delicate touch at his temple. He doesn't even try to distract himself. Instead, he turns his head, just a little, presses a soft, dry kiss to the very edge of the hollow of Mobei-Jun's palm. That's as clear as he can allow himself to be. What else could that possibly mean, but that he is willing to do whatever it is Mobei-Jun wants from him? What else could that possibly mean? There is nothing else to see in that.

And, sure enough, he can see as the fire flares higher in Mobei-Jun's eyes. This, then, is the moment when it has all moved from coincidental to undeniable. Shang Qinghua has made the lay of the land clear enough, finally.

Mobei-Jun leans in with inexorable force. He is an iceberg moving across the land, carving new landmarks in his wake. Changing the geography irrevocably.

His lips are cold when they touch Shang Qinghua's, but the shock wave it sends through Shang Qinghua is blazing hot. This is something he hasn't had in years and years and years. In over a lifetime, really. He can't help the way his entire world is narrowing down to this one instant.

Mobei-Jun is so large. His presence is overwhelming. Just this gentle press of lips, barely moving, Shang Qinghua can feel the cold of him radiating down to his bones. This is the closest he has ever been to his king.

Mobei-Jun is keeping it light. He's keeping it courtly. Shang Qinghua has been writing porn for longer than this demon has been alive. He has been lusting after this specific demon for longer than he has been alive. He is also, potentially, completely and utterly in love with him, which is a terrifying complication to this situation that he is not willing to examine at this point in time.

Instead, there is nothing he can do to stop a frantic whimper from making its way between his lips. Cannot help the way that his hands are drawn to Mobei-Jun's long and glorious hair. It slides gently between his fingers, light tension from the hold of the braid he wears to sleep.

Shang Qinghua changes the angle, gets their lips just that littlest bit off center, so he can press in even closer than before. Mobei-Jun's hand moves to the back of his neck. One at the back of his neck and one pulling him closer by the small of his back. With the new closeness, he breathes out a cold breath that warms on Shang Qinghua's flushed face.

That's all the welcome Shang Qinghua needs. He presses closer, closer, takes advantage of the opening of his mouth to slip him the tongue, just for a second. Or, well, he was planning for it to be just a second until a low groan echos out of Mobei-Jun's chest, at which point Shang Qinghua figures that this is ridiculous and that they should stop pretending that they want this to be chaste in any kind of way.

To help with properly throwing that idea out of the window, Shang Qinghua pushes his way closer, lets that hand at the small of his back guide him, clambers up until he is properly straddling his king's lap, just as he has always kind of fantasized about doing when he's sitting so grandly on his throne.

Mobei-Jun is quick to get with the program. Good boy. Shang Qinghua trained him so well, over the years, to follow his lead and do whatever he tells him to do. Good boy. Clever past Qinghua. This is all setting him up for nothing more than perfect success.

Their teeth click against each other with the change, but it hardly matters. Shang Qinghua yelps a little, pulls away, but doesn't get far before his king is smiling softly, just a little, just if you really know where to look for it (and Qinghua does because he made him this way, because he's known him for years), and reeling him back in.

With this new position, Shang Qinghua can press his flushed and super-heated body against the cool skin of his king, since he apparently doesn't sleep with a shirt on. The combination of arousal and cold is making his nipples tighten. His whole body is tightening. He's shaking again, still, but it's a different thing now. There's something electric running through him. The tremors are just a side effect.

Mobei-Jun can read the position well enough to know that Shang Qinghua would not mind getting a little bit more intimate, apparently, because the hand on his back slides lower, to take a proprietary grip on Shang Qinghua's ass. It's making little sparking shivers run up and down his spine. The hand on his neck is still there too, but it's pulling him in even closer, so that Mobei-Jun can lick deep into Shang Qinghua's mouth, let him suck on his tongue. There is absolutely no part of this that Shang Qinghua does not want.

It's clear that Mobei-Jun feels the same. If not only from his body language, from his smile, from the way that he keeps escalating the physical contact, then from the way that Shang Qinghua cannot help but notice the shared state of arousal where their hips are helplessly close to each other.

Shang Qinghua has put more thought than most people in this world into the exact mechanics of having sex with demons. He would argue that he may actually be the person who has put the most thought into these mechanics, if it weren't for the existence of Cucumber-Bro.

That said, he knows that he gave demons monster cocks. He stands by that choice, even as he can feel the undeniable proof of it pressing into his hips and lower stomach. He also knows that he put extensive thought into how someone much smaller might be able to take on such a thing. Although, that was primarily in a heterosexual kind of configuration.

There's still a lot to be adjusting to here. They are so close, and he knows better than most other humans what to expect below the pants, but it's one thing to write about it and another thing to jerk off to the fantasy of it and something completely different to be here in the moment.

They're so close to each other. They're so close. Shang Qinghua wants to babble himself to death, just because he's feeling so much all at once, but there's no way for him to do that and keep kissing his king, and there's only one of those options he's been wanting to do for years and years.

Mobei-Jun probably doesn't need to talk. He's a quiet man. He does keep making these faint noises, though, something growling and possessive and satisfied. They're shaking down to the very bottom of Shang Qinghua's bones, curling in his stomach and making him helplessly grind his hips forward.

That makes Mobei-Jun let out the same kind of noise, a little louder, a little more aggressive, and all that old fear that sometimes flares up when he has this vibe has magically transmuted itself into raging libido, and Shang Qinghua can't help but throw his head back a little.

Mobei-Jun wastes no time at all, clawing Shang Qinghua's body even closer to himself, moving his mouth down to nip against the bottom of Shang Qinghua's chin, making its way down his neck. There are cool, sucking bruises being kissed into a ring around his neck, and there is nothing that Shang Qinghua can do but lean into the pressure of hands, of body, and let himself revel in the feeling of it.

"My King," he gasps, and he can't stop thinking about that letter from yesterday. Your King. His king. It's coloring the way that he says the words. He can't help it. There's no way to hide it, and maybe he doesn't have to, with the way that Mobei-Jun is holding him even closer now. Maybe there's nothing he needs to hide about how he feels anymore, and isn't that a fucking thought. "Yes, good boy, you're so good. You're doing so good. I can't believe you're here right now. I can't believe this is happening."

He can't shut up. Mobei-Jun doesn't seem to mind. He wouldn't be the kind to mind. Shang Qinghua designed him to be the kind of person who listens when he talks, who cares about him. He invented him to be the perfect man, and then they spent decades building up a trusting and knowing relationship between them. Mobei-Jun really does listen, and he's doing that right now. He's kissing his way down to the edge of Shang Qinghua's fluffy and thick outer robes, and there's nothing that could keep Shang Qinghua from babbling away right now, and there's no reason he should try, so he's spilling out praise and commentary and compliments.

"My King, you're so good. You're doing so good." Mobei-Jun hits the edge of the robes, tugs a little bit in that entitled way he has, where he's communicating his desires without bothering to ask the other person a question. It should be presumptuous and offensive. Shang Qinghua used to see it that way, but that's really just the only way that he knows how to ask for things, after a lifetime where it was never safe to openly put himself in a vulnerable enough space to ask a question.

"Yes, yes, of course." Shang Qinghua will answer the question anyway. He frees one of his hands from the grip in his king's hair and uses it to tug the folds of his robes open further. Loosen the ties. Let them drip a little bit off of his shoulders.

There's something powerful about the way that Mobei-Jun's eyes fly directly to the newly-exposed skin of his shoulders. Shang Qinghua knows that it's just pale and freckled, nothing to write home about, but Mobei-Jun is staring like a feast has been laid before him.

They are so wrapped up in each other. Time doesn't exist like this. They might have been kissing for hours, except the sun still isn't up, so it can't have been that long. At some point, they ended up where Mobei-Jun scooted up the bed, Shang Qinghua isn't quite sure when that happened. It means, though, that he's leaned back a little bit, indolently, like the lazy king that he is, with his weight slouched against the headboard and both hands full of his closest advisor. Shang Qinghua, for his part, is sort of draped over top of him, if he's being honest about things. It helps to make up for the height difference, plus the coolness of his body is the only thing keeping Shang Qinghua from spontaneously combusting.

They kiss like that. Mobei-Jun makes his way back up from his shoulder and Shang Qinghua can't help but shove his tongue back in his mouth.

They might have gotten stuck like that, if the cold air hadn't started to conspire against Shang Qinghua. Now that his robes are falling down, and he's moved away from the fire, and he's pressed against an ice demon, the cold is moving away from sexy temperature-play and much closer to freezing his balls off. There's a fine line. When his testicles try to crawl back up in his body, it's a barrier to the rest of this.

He's been shivering this whole time, because he's pretty much always shaking. Just a byproduct of being himself. It shifts a little bit, though, a combination of cold and panic now. The change is subtle, just the smallest little thing, but Shang Qinghua has only just noticed when Mobei-Jun seems to adjust. They've been enjoying this sort of draped-over-his-king position for a bit, but now Mobei-Jun takes one solid handful of Shang Qinghua's ass, wraps an arm tight across his shoulders, and then they're flipped.

It's a new position, Shang Qinghua flopped back with his head against the pillows and his king huge and pressing down onto him. In the hustle of all that shifting, Shang Qinghua is pretty sure he let out a high-pitched yelp. He's never been manhandled quite like that before. It's no secret that it's the kind of thing that he enjoys. He worries, sometimes, that it's annoying, the way that his voice goes high-pitched and whining at the drop of a hat. Something about the way his king's grip tightens immediately to a bruising degree makes him think that he might not have to concern himself with such things.

They have to pause, enjoy the liberties granted by this new position. Or, well, not quite. Before they can do anything like that, there are more immediate concerns that Mobei-Jun seems focused on addressing. His king is looking around and trying to drag the blankets closer, to surround his smaller, human advisor. Said advisor has the better idea to wrap his legs around his king's waist, cling like a limpet, and roll his hips up into the delicious pressure and coolness of him.

"Stop," Mobei-Jun growls, and it's one of the first things he's said since this all started. His voice is so low, raked through the gravel. Fuck, but Shang Qinghua really did a good job when he created this one. No regrets here. Just to be a little bit more of a shit, he rolls his hips again and locks his arms behind his king's neck.

"What do you mean, My King?" Shang Qinghua is an immortal cultivator. He should be more than able to maintain a simple grip like this. Mobei-Jun is stronger though, and he isn't really fighting that hard, so it's almost effortless for him to reach behind his neck, unhook Shang Qinghua's arms, gather them above his head and pin both wrists in one enormous hand. "Ha, is this not what you wanted?" He's wiggling his hips, and he can feel the tension, see the tension, in every one of his king's muscles as he tries to stay focused despite it. It's so fucking good. Fuck, but why haven't they been doing this for decades? Why did they wait so long for something like this?

"Hold still," Mobei-Jun snaps, and he's reaching behind himself to try and wrangle Shang Qinghua's legs.

"Make me, My King," Shang Qinghua teases back, because he's never known how to quit while he's ahead, and he has consumed far too much porn in his life, and he's dizzy with the glare that he gets in response. It doesn't take long for Mobei-Jun to fully pin him. As soon as both his legs and arms are held still, Shang Qinghua can feel a peaceful hum through all of his body. It's easy to lay there, limp, knowing he's staring up at Mobei-Jun with relentless heart eyes. How can he do anything else? At the sight of him, his king merely scoffs, and then continues to hold his arms in place while he gathers the blankets closer. It's going to be a little bit counterproductive to cover him up, but his king makes a sort of nest all around him, bolstering the edges of Shang Qinghua's body with the thickest furs and blankets, so that the rest of him is kept warm even while he's still exposed to the chill of his perfect ice demon.

It's brilliant. It feels like sitting in a car with heated seats while blasting air conditioning at full blast. There's something about it. Pinned and warming up and taken care of by his king. Shang Qinghua feels so held.

There's an easy peace winding its way through his muscles. He could live in this moment for the rest of his life. What a way to go. What a life to live.

When Mobei-Jun finally swoops back in, mouth open, claiming his mouth again, there is nothing standing in the way of Shang Qinghua's eager welcome.

*~*~*

He keeps looking at Mobei-Jun.

Qinghua's eyes are wide and a little bit glassy, and ever since this started they haven't stopped staring right into Mobei-Jun.

That's not how this usually goes. Mobei-Jun is the one who stares like a fly caught in honey, unable to do anything, say anything, but unable to stop watching. Qinghua is the one who flits from task to task to task, always off on some new check list to make sure that Mobei-Jun's kingdom stays standing and his power remains unchallenged. Obtaining his focus for a full minute is a gift granted maybe once in a week. This kind of laser-focus, without any distractions, is completely new.

It's drugging. It should simply be gratifying, and it is that. It most certainly is appreciated: Mobei-Jun finally feels as though he is desirable and appreciated by the man he has loved for more of his life than he hasn't.

More than that, though, this bright-eyed, teasing focus that Qinghua is bringing. The way that he is relaxing back into the bed that Mobei-Jun made comfortable for him, it is settling onto his shoulders with the weight of responsibility. Like the day that he was coronated, and felt the crush of a kingdom resting on him.

Qinghua never relaxes. He is never still, never calm, never present in the current moment. The idea that this is what it takes, that Mobei-Jun has the ability to change that, he is responsible for it now. He will take this on with more honor than even that of his kingdom. He will worship at the feet of this responsibility. There are no words, for the way that it is coursing through him now.

He kisses Qinghua, kisses him, kisses him. He is learning how to pleasure someone right now. Mobei-Jun never bothered with things like this before. He didn't have a name. He didn't have any power. He was never safe enough to trust another person to have them this close. It was never worth the risk of it all.

And then, when he was finally in a position where that was not the case, it was only thanks to the actions of this small, precious human before him. By then, his heart had already pinned itself to the man before him, and there didn't seem to be much of a point learning how to pleasure someone generally when he had such specific interests.

Qinghua likes it when he presses down. He had been holding himself back at first, careful with the larger size of himself, but when he lost a little focus, leaned in too far, there was no denying the gasp that tore from his human's lips. Even less denying the praise and commentary that flowed from his mouth like sugar.

Mobei-Jun doesn't want him to stop talking. He wants to listen to this voice for the rest of his life. It's not even a particular barrier to anything they're doing. If he's talking right now, why would Mobei-Jun ever do something to make that stop? He kisses his way back down his neck instead, allowing Qinghua to ramble about whatever might catch his fancy.

"Come on, you went through all that trouble. Got me all comfortable. My King, My King, come on. You know what you want. I can't move. You've got me all pinned and trapped now. Come on, keep going, I know you want more than this. I know you. Come on, take it."

It should be lovely. It is, it is, it's everything that Mobei-Jun has wanted from the moment he realized he could want such things.

He has thought, before this, that he was doing the right thing. He has thought they were in the same place of understanding, only to later discover that Qinghua had been hurt, scared, thinking of running away. Tianlang-Jun knows nothing at all, except he was right to say that Qinghua is a man of words.

Mobei-Jun is not. He hates all the effort it takes to speak, only to end up with an unsatisfactory result. He can never manage to take all the vast, animal urges and feelings that course through him and pare them down into such small little syllables.

He will speak, for Qinghua. He will learn how to do this, if it means that he gets to keep him. If it means that he can stay Qinghua's king and never lose him again.

He pulls back just a little, lets the space between them grow, uses the last of his self-control to overcome the siren song of Qinghua's grumpy little noises and grabby hands.

"You are willing." He drags the words out of his chest. They aren't enough to clarify what he's asking. It's so few small words for the riot of thoughts and feelings inside. He has to trust that Qinghua will be able to hear what he is trying to say with all of this. That his man of words will understand where his own abilities fail.

"Yeah, that's right, you're doing such a good job. You're-, wait, huh?" Qinghua has been clinging to Mobei-Jun like a second skin, wiggling and arching to get closer than he already was. It clearly takes a moment for the haze of pleasure to clear from his eyes enough that he can process that Mobei-Jun is trying to have a conversation. "Are you asking if I'm, like, into this?" His voice is disbelieving. There may be some space between them, but Qinghua hooks his heel around the back of Mobei-Jun's legs, rolls his hips up against where they are both straining against their pants. "What part of this makes you think for even a second that I might be phoning it in?"

The words are confusing, but Mobei-Jun learned long ago that, while more than half of the words Qinghua chooses are absolute nonsense, the tone is generally a good guide to what he's trying to say. Mobei-Jun has never been very good at reading tone. He has put extensive effort toward developing this skill.

"There have been times, before, when this king thought he understood Qinghua's intentions." This is all that he can manage to say. Qinghua deserves more. This is more of an admission of fault than Mobei-Jun has given to a single other person in his entire life.

Qinghua is below him on the bed, nestled among the best of his comfortable things, his brown hair sprawled across the pillow and fully free of the bun. There is a pause after Mobei-Jun says his piece, as Qinghua clearly works to parse through what it could possibly mean. Words, words, words. They're such dreadful things. And then, maybe not, because he can watch as the understanding softens over Qinghua, melting him like ice in the summer sun. There's this tiny, cautious little smile that spreads across his face and it's the most beautiful thing that Mobei-Jun has ever seen. Qinghua tugs one of his hands from where it is still pinned above his head. Mobei-Jun lets it go easily. He had forgotten he was still holding on.

"My King," Qinghua murmurs, brushing along the edge of his cheekbone with just the very tips of his fingers. "My favorite. This one is willing." He seems to laugh at some private joke, and Mobei-Jun already knows that the next words from his mouth will not make any sense. "This is all very safe, sane, and consensual of us. I never thought it would be like this."

Those words are shaking through Mobei-Jun, and how could he resist, now that he knows for sure, gathering Qinghua's hands back up and licking a long stripe up the burning hot skin on his neck?

"Qinghua has thought of this."

He knows what he's doing, with a question like that, now that he has a proper read on what Qinghua is thinking. Sure enough, Mobei-Jun is able to set himself to systematically removing every one of Qinghua's layers and fastening his mouth around one of those pert, dusky nipples while listening to the endless ramblings of the only person he has ever been able to trust.

"Thought of this? Of course I've thought about this. My King, what else did you think was happening, when you were walking around this palace with your tits fully out? Lounging around on that throne of yours, ha, that throne of yours like you're just waiting for someone to come along and pleasure you?" He lets out a yelping laugh then, because Mobei-Jun can't listen to something like this without bringing teeth into the equation. "My King, ha, you animal. What do you think you're doing down there? Are you trying to turn me into a chew toy?"

He nibbles a little harder, because it's what Qinghua deserves, and it's what he deserves too, after waiting this long for something this good.

"And what about you, My King? Sending me letters like that. I thought I was supposed to be the one who was good with words." Mobei-Jun is kissing lower and lower down Qinghua's body. He can't help the smile that he is pressing here as well, because there is no other way to respond to such ridiculous comments, and because he knows that Qinghua is going to ask for a response anyway, and how else is he supposed to contain this much knowledge of another person? "You called yourself My King, do you know that? Do you, ha, do you remember that?" Qinghua keeps rolling his hips up into the grip he's got around Mobei-Jun's legs. With the size difference, the way that he's been moving down his body, it's pressing his erection into Mobei-Jun's chest rather than his own hips. It's fairly obvious that this is not an accident.

"I remember."

"You're laughing at me. I know you're laughing at me. No, don't stop that. I'll just talk and you keep that up." Mobei-Jun continues back up Qinghua's body, leaving cold hickies around his neck and reaching down with his one free hands to finally palm against the erection that Qinghua seems so intent to focus on. "Haaaaa, yeah, like that, My King. I almost lost my mind, you know, when I saw that. You can't just call yourself my king and not expect me to lose my mind a little bit. Did you do that on, ha, on purpose? You have to tell me if you did it on purpose."

Mobei-Jun has a loose grip around Qinghua's cock, not enough to provide any real satisfaction, especially not while he's still wearing his loose pants, but that isn't stopping Qinghua from thrusting into the loose circle anyway. There is a red flush high on his cheeks, and he keeps squirming against the nest of blankets, and he is so dear that he could live inside of Mobei-Jun's heart for the rest of his life.

"It was on purpose," Mobei-Jun confirms, and the noise that Qinghua makes at that is nothing short of filthy. He sort of lunges, pressing back against the grip on his wrists for leverage, and smashes his face into Mobei-Jun's, mouth open. The kiss is an immediate transition from the luxurious, sucking ones earlier. This is flame-hot and desperate.

Mobei-Jun is happy to oblige. He lets Qinghua take the lead, because he always does when Qinghua asks for it. When the small, hot tongue plunges deep, Mobei-Jun can't keep himself from sucking against it desperately, keeping it there. He leans in closer, so that it's less of a reach for Qinghua and he can get a little more leverage with his head, shoulders back against the bed beneath him.

"My King," he breaks the kiss to gasp, and he's saying it that way he does sometimes, an endearment rather than a title, as if he doesn't know how much it destroys Mobei-Jun every time he hears it. "My King, more, I need more. You can, ha, come on. I know you can do it." He's shifting and writhing more and more against the grip, thrusting into Mobei-Jun's hand. It should maybe look foolish, the way that he is so focused on chasing his pleasure. Something about the unselfconsciousness of it, though, is ripping right through to the core of Mobei-Jun.

This is Qinghua. Mobei-Jun has known him and loved him for decades. He has never seen him appear to be comfortable and happy in his own skin. Rather, it is simply a matter of noticing the different degrees of panic and finding the ways to lower it. To see Qinghua like this, flushed and happy and comfortable, focused on nothing but increasing his own pleasure. Mobei-Jun would burn civilizations to see this happen. It's a miracle, that this is all that it take, just his own touch, his own attention.

That same, heavy settling of responsibility on his shoulders.

How can he do anything other than exactly what Qinghua has asked?

He breaks away from the kiss to allow himself to gain some level of focus, pulling frantically at the ties around Qinghua's waist and tugging the loose trousers he wears under his robes free. Finally, finally, finally he is fully unclothed in this bed. He's flushed pink and soft and human and so incredibly small and eager. Mobei-Jun wants to lay on top of him and hide him from the entire world for the rest of their lives.

Instead, he palms at Qinghua's erection again, rough with friction, and returns to kissing him.

Qinghua permits it, frantic and hot, for just a minute before he starts to wiggle more determinedly and begins to pull back.

"No fair, no fair, My King, you can't do this to me. Ha, you, ah, My King, you can't deprive this lowly one now. After all the hard work I put in, all the fantasies. Pleaaaahhh, please, My King, it's not fair." It takes a moment for Mobei-Jun to work out what the point of this rambling is, because his brain completely whited out at the pleading tone he just heard from Qinghua's mouth. He has to work to pull his thoughts together long enough to realize that Qinghua is waiting for him to remove his own clothes as well.

It is a privilege to be desired this way. He does not take the time to make a show or a tease of it. Mobei-Jun stands from the bed, ignores the pleading whine at his withdrawal, and strips the loose-fitting sleep pants from his body. When he makes his way over to the bed, Qinghua licks his lips and reaches for him, squeezing at the air like he is already touching him.

"Come here, come here, come here holy shit yes. You're perfect, literally perfect. My favorite, come here." And how can he do anything but follow, when that is his reception? Mobei-Jun lays himself back atop Qinghua, and the press of skin without anything between them is intoxicating.

They rut like that for just a moment. Mobei-Jun wonders if the temperature difference feels as stark and exhilarating to Qinghua as it does to him. Whether or not it's the case, Qinghua's body is certainly receptive. Mobei-Jun can feel the drag of his erection against his own, between their bodies, electric and too-dry and still so staggeringly good. How is he supposed to do anything else but this ever again? He's the king of the Northern Desert and, together, he and Qinghua pretty much run the Demon Realm. How tragic, that everything else will have to fall to disrepair and anarchy, because he is not going to allow either of them to ever stop doing this.

"My King, My King, My King," Qinghua is chanting. His voice is high and whimpering, like someone is squeezing the words out of him with every movement of their bodies.

And suddenly, the lazy heat of this moment flares into a roaring fire. Mobei-Jun needs to be inside of him, and that needs to have happened yesterday. There is no more desire for lazy touching. He is ravenous.

Counterintuitively, Mobei-Jun pulls away at this shift. The whine that spills from Qinghua's lips is almost enough to bring him back, but there is a goal that means more than that.

He has envisioned this many a time. For most of his life, when he thought of sex, it was in vague images and impressions of pleasure. Only in the past few years has he learned more about the specific mechanics of sex between two men.

This was not unwelcome, but it was also not intentional. Rather, several months after the weeks-long celebration of the marriage between the Junshang and his empress, Luo Binghe had come to Mobei-Jun with a list of destinations he wished to be teleported to and extremely limited patience.

Apparently, it is complicated to have sex in a way that is pleasurable to the receiver, rather than painful, particularly when the receiver is a human and their partner is a demon. This is not something that Mobei-Jun wanted to know about his boss, but it is also the sort of thing that is inevitable, when he is the one in his retinue able to transport over vast distances in the blink of an eye. When Junshang had wanted to quickly travel to find experts and information on the appropriate way to make sex more pleasurable, Mobei-Jun had been the one accompanying him.

If he was already going to be there, and already holding these fantasies in his head of what it might be like to one day take his closest advisor, then it would have been foolish for Mobei-Jun to do anything but listen.

This is all a very long way of saying: Mobei-Jun has recently come into possession of a fragrant unguent, meant to ease the way. In this pause in their activities, he goes to the dresser further in his room and retrieves it.

"Oh shit, is that what I think it is? Yes, well done, My King. Come back here. Good thinking. Good job. Good boy." Qinghua is doing that same thing as before, reaching his hands out in front of him and opening and closing them in the air. He is still sprawled on the bed where Mobei-Jun left him. His small body, flushed and nestled in a nest of the finest fabrics. His legs are open, the knees spread wide so that Mobei-Jun might fit himself right back between them and be sure of his welcome. At the crux of him, his flushed member stands red and glistening.

Mobei-Jun has waited for decades to have this moment. He is unable to wait any longer.

The noise Qinghua makes as his king returns, licks deep into his mouth, wraps a slicked hand around both their cocks, is nothing short of rapturous. That's good. That means he's feeling at least one tenth as much as Mobei-Jun is right now.

He's slicked the way, made it easier for Qinghua to thrust up against his King's stomach, but that's not enough anymore. There is so much more that he is craving.

While still kissing him, this beautiful, small man, Mobei-Jun holds one hand to his cheek and allows the other to move lower. His hand is slick with the oil he gathered earlier. It is likely still chilled from being against his own skin. There is no helping that. When he first touches the soft, silky skin at his inner thighs, Qinghua jumps in his hold, yelps into his mouth.

Mobei-Jun cannot help but smile at that, swallow the sound down. How is he meant to do anything other than build a home in the feeling they are creating together? How could he ever hope to leave?

"Ah, My King, yes. Yes yes yes." Qinghua gasps the words into the connection between their mouths. He shimmies his hips to press into the touch, making his fingers slip even closer to the crux of him. It's everything Mobei-Jun ever thought it would be. There are parts of this he never would have even dared to dream about. It's good. It's so good that it's blasting through him, leaving him scorched and remade. There are no words for this.

His fingers are slick and Qinghua's body is warm and wanting. In the end, it is nothing at all to slide one of his long fingers along the rim of him and then inside. He was mocked, as a child, for his long thin hands. Artist hands. Not those of a warrior. But here, he cannot help but think that thicker, rougher fingers might not feel the same way. He is thankful, now, for every part of him that is allowing him to please Qinghua in this way. It is as if he were made for this. This, specifically, is the point of him. Of his life.

He is shattering in half. Magma is bubbling up from the core of him and filling the wreckage left behind. He is being reforged into something new and unrecognizable. There are no words for this feeling. He would simply feel, revel in it in silence.

Qinghua is a man of words. As Mobei-Jun presses another finger inside of him, alongside the first, he throws his head back and gasps toward the head of the bed. There are no words for this, but Qinghua is a man of words, and so he will try. He will try.

"You are beautiful." That, after all, now that he has said it, was not that hard to say at all. That is true. Even so, the effect of the words is immediate. Qinghua's eyes blow wide. His head rears back and he searches to catch his king's eye. Mobei-Jun allows himself to be caught. In that moment, spun between them like filigreed ice, he watches as a splotchy flush crawls its way up from his chest. "You are so beautiful," he says, again. It is more true every second.

"My King." He's gasping with it, and his voice has gone so soft, so tentative, so worshipful. There is something here. Something terrifying and deeper than Mobei-Jun had ever thought they would be able to have. Deeper than Mobei-Jun had ever thought he might deserve. "My King, please, you can't say things like that unless you mean it." He wiggles his hips again, thrusts down onto the two fingers deep within him even as he struggles with the words. "You have to, ah, you have to be careful when you say things like that to me or I don't know what I'll do."

It's a warning. He is afraid too. Afraid of the feeling that is swelling up between them right now.

Mobei-Jun does not listen.

He widens his two fingers from where they are held in the clutch of Qinghua's body, dragging them against the inner walls of him and crooking them. He is not trying to accomplish anything in particular. More, he is simply trying to make his presence here undeniable and overwhelming. Prove to Qinghua that he means what he is saying.

At one solid drag of his fingers, he feels as he brushes past something of a slightly different texture. This is particularly notable, because as soon as that happens, Qinghua lets out a shocked yelp-shout and jumps in Mobei-Jun's hold, almost fully escaping his touch.

They stare at each other in surprised silence for a moment, and then Mobei-Jun has one hand on the jut of his hip bone. He drags Qinghua's smaller frame down the bed, back onto his fingers, and thrusts them back inside, aiming for that place. It takes a moment to find, but soon enough he's got him again.

Qinghua seems to be overwhelmed with it. That hectic flush is growing deeper, darker, and it seems as though the rest of his blood has flooded to his neglected cock, which thrusts damp and proud up toward his stomach, bobs in the air with their movements. The feelings seem to have him caught in some kind of disoriented pleasure, and he keeps rolling his head back and forth on the pillow and mouthing at the fabric of the pillowcase. It's intoxicating. Mobei-Jun would shove his fingers in that mouth, since it seems so desperate for something to fill it, if both of his hands weren't busy here.

"Yes, God, fuck. My King, My King, my favorite. You're so good. You're doing so good. I'm going to die right here. You're going to kill me if you keep doing that. My King, My King, My King."

It is impossible to make Qinghua be quiet. Mobei-Jun has never particularly wanted him to be, either. Even less so in this moment. He is pushing further and further. There are three fingers buried deep and spreading within Qinghua, and he keeps whining just on the edge of his gasps for breath. Mobei-Jun can feel something terrible and wonderful welling up within him, pushing against his lungs.

And then he's got four fingers deep in Qinghua, spreading them on the pull out, and he's not grimacing in discomfort at all. He's pressing back against it, and that is all that Mobei-Jun's self-control can take. He pulls his hand out, releases his vice grip on Qinghua's hip. Qinghua makes some kind of confused, bereft noise at that and it's more than any person could be expected to resist. Mobei-Jun lunges his way up his body, a predator with prey sprawled out in front of him, defenses down. He slams their mouths together, graceless and teeth-clacking and hungry, so hungry, so desperate for every part of this. Qinghua's hands, which have been grasping uselessly at the sheets beneath him, jump to his hair and dig in deep. His small legs wrap around Mobei-Jun's waist and his hips keep thrusting, thrusting, thrusting while they kiss, like he's trying to draw Mobei-Jun into him by feel alone.

He wants to pull back, slam home, take him as ferally as he feels. He almost does.

Mobei-Jun is a man of actions. Qinghua is a man of words. He has thought they understood each other before. He is trying to be better.

"Qinghua," he has to pause, press his face against the side of Qinghua's and breathe deep to catch his breath. Get some kind of control back over himself. This is all so much more than he ever imagined it would be. Qinghua is not helpful in his quest to gather the faintest hint of his composure, nuzzling and searching for his king's mouth so they can go on kissing. Mobei-Jun indulges him twice more before he is able to pull any kind of thought together. "Qinghua, wait."

"My King," he gasps, and it's a new way of saying it, something he has never heard before. There is sometimes fondness in those words, but it is nothing compared to the way that he is saying it now. As if it were something holy. As if it were a secret, just between the two of them. As if they have known each other for decades and loved each other the entire time. "What, what, My King. Please. Come on. Comeoncomeoncomeon-"

Mobei-Jun kisses him again, briefly, because if he keeps talking like that then he is going to have to start this all over again. He pulls away before the intoxicating drag of it can pull him back under.

"Qinghua, you are willing." He can't keep kissing him while he talks, but he noses his way between the soft brown strands of hair that hang sweaty around this beloved face. "You are willing to continue further."

It's too little. It's always too little, to capture everything that he is feeling inside. To illustrate the abstract and overwhelming shape his thoughts take. He needs to know the answer to every question welling up inside of him and he doesn't have the words to ask a single one of them.

Qinghua, Qinghua, Qinghua, the man who knows him better than anyone else in the Three Realms. Qinghua, who would never let him get away with saying something like that without a little bit of gentle teasing. He can feel, under the bulk of his own weight, as Qinghua stills, all motion stopping as that brilliant mind of his puzzles through what his king has just said, pulling out every piece of meaning hidden in those few words.

"Ha." He's still got his legs wrapped around Mobei-Jun's waist, and his hips seem to be moving in occasional, helpless little jerks to chase some kind of stimulation against his neglected cock. "My King, My King." He pulls a hand through the long strands of Mobei-Jun's hair, all fallen loose from any semblance of a braid, pulling him until he is no longer able to hide his face and must face his closest advisor head-on. "This really isn't how I thought you would do this. What happened to that brute who used to beat me up every day, huh?" Mobei-Jun can feel himself closing off a little, maybe pouting a little bit. Who could say? Either way, Qinghua makes a chastising, coaxing little noise and holds his king's face between his hands.

"No, no, no. Don't go hiding now. My King, what would give you the idea that I am anything other than completely into this?" He rolls his hips again at that, this time very obviously intentionally.

"I am making sure."

"You're good." Qinghua pulls his face down, smacks a kiss to his forehead, and Mobei-Jun can't stop himself from blinking in shock. This is not at all what he imagined. This is all so new. "Good job getting consent. Yes, yes, we all love to see it. Such an unproblematic fave." It is important, when you love Qinghua, to understand that you will only understand approximately half of the words that leave his mouth. If they are important to understand, he will repeat them or write them down. Mobei-Jun listens closely anyway. "Now, My King." Here, his gaze turns serious, in that cheeky way that he shows so rarely. Qinghua pulls his face down until he is able to speak directly into Mobei-Jun's ear. "Are you going to fuck me, or do I have to do it myself?"

And that, really, is all that Mobei-Jun can take. That fire that had been dimming slightly, warming instead of burning over the course of this conversation, flares so high that he can feel it in his throat.

He raises himself back up to his hands and knees, crouching over Qinghua's disheveled form. He shifts down, grabs a handful of Qinghua's ass on each side, lines himself up. They may have paused, but he is still stretched and eager and waiting. It is nothing at all, in the end, to haul him down and thrust into that tight heat.

At their coupling, finally, Qinghua releases a high and wandering moan that breaks in two places. Mobei-Jun feels animal with it, grunting and doing everything he can to hold himself back from immediately losing his mind.

"Yes, yes, yes," Qinghua chants, and he wraps his legs around Mobei-Jun's waist again, like they live there now. Mobei-Jun is doing what he can to override the possessive voice in his head that is telling him that he should never allow Qinghua to leave again. He's strong enough. He could carry him around like this all the time. Let him live like this. Mobei-Jun could feed him cold grapes and refreshing drinks and they could never be separated again. "Come on, My King, please."

A sharp kick from a small foot at the small of his back is what brings Mobei-Jun back to be fully present in this moment in time. He was trying to be gentle, take his time, as he learned on those trips with Junshang, but Qinghua does not seem to be interested in such things.

He pulls out, thrusts back in solidly, testing. Qinghua scrambles up the bed, clenches tight on him, wraps his arms around his shoulders. That is a positive response, and the welcoming clutch of him is staggering. There is nothing that could have stopped the next several judders of his hips, thrusting into that tight heat.

And Qinghua, Qinghua, Qinghua. He's so beautiful. He's flushed and sweating and scratching at Mobei-Jun's back. He's so beautiful. Why did it take them this long to get here? Mobei-Jun thrusts in as hard as he wants to, hears the filthy sound of their bodies slapping together. Qinghua yelps and holds on tighter and it's good.

It's all so good.

The sun is still not even up, but the sky above them has gone dove grey, just enough to catch in his wet brown eyes, and Mobei-Jun cannot look away. He uses one hand to grab at Qinghua's shoulder, haul him down when he thrusts up, and Qinghua shouts his approval for everyone in the palace to hear. Good. Let them try to comment on this. Let them try to take Qinghua from him ever again. He will murder them all for even looking.

The scrape of Qinghua's soft little nails down his back are still drawing blood, and the scent of it, along with the sweat and oil and sex of it all is coiling through the air. There is something tight and hot building in Mobei-Jun's lower dantian. He can feel his balls pulling in closer to his body and he cannot let that happen yet, not when this moment is still so lovely and so perfect and Qinghua has not come yet.

He refocuses on his companion, pulls himself out of his own pleasure. Qinghua is gasping in overwhelmed pleasure, clinging so tightly to his shoulders. Mobei-Jun moves his arm from his shoulder to help brace himself, so that his other arm is free to move down to his cock. Qinghua's cock is smaller than his own, able to fit within his hand and barely emerge through the tunnel he has made with his hand. It allows him to get a proper grip, stimulate the entire thing in one motion.

At this touch, combined with the relentless pace Mobei-Jun has set with his hips, Qinghua releases a hiccuping little sob. Looking closer, there are tears limning his eyes. One drips down the side of his face, and Mobei-Jun licks it up, bites the apple of his cheek while he's there.

"Don't stop, don't you dare stop, My King. This one is willing. I'm willing. Please, My King. Please."

How can he do anything but comply? Mobei-Jun can feel as Qinghua grows tighter around him. His voice is raising in pitch and his grip on his shoulders has grown ever tighter. His head starts to shift restlessly from side to side again. Mobei-Jun cannot help the sudden, visceral hunger that sweeps through him. He needs to see Qinghua come. He needs to know what he looks like when pleasure overtakes him completely.

He continues to stroke his cock in time with his own thrusts. When that seems to be almost enough, he lets one of those long artist fingers dip down and fondle his balls, press firmly along his perineum where he can feel the heat radiating from the stretch at his hole.

And that is all it takes. Qinghua comes with a bubbling, yelping laugh. His cock spurts onto his own chest and Mobei-Jun rubs him through it, still thrusting into him even as the pressure around his own dick flutters and clenches.

The laughing moan turns into something of a whimper, and Mobei-Jun forces himself to slow, even though it's going to kill him. The sight of Qinghua like this, ruined and satiated and calm for the first time ever, it's scratching an itch deep within him. That sense of responsibility satisfied. He did this. Qinghua works so hard to take such good care of him, and now Mobei-Jun has managed to return the favor in some sort of way.

His own erection is aching, still locked deep within Qinghua, but it seems like it's causing him some kind of discomfort, and there are other ways to achieve his own pleasure. He starts to pull away, only for Qinghua to muster some level of awareness and lock his ankles closed at the small of his back.

"Nope nope nope, My King, don't you dare. I haven't waited this long for you to fuck me for you to not finish inside me. If you don't come like this, I'll never be satisfied. Come on, come on, you did, ha, you did such a good job, ah, taking care of me. Come on, My King, keep going."

With such an encouraging litany, Mobei-Jun can do nothing but obey. At each deep thrust, Qinghua makes a whimpering gasp, but his body remains welcoming. He keeps holding on tight.

It takes nothing at all for Mobei-Jun to return to that same place. Not with Qinghua below him, flushed and ravished and covered in his own spend. Not with such things being said in such a breathy, desperate voice. Not when this is everything he has wanted for decades.

He can feel that pleasure building in his lower dantian again, the tightening in his own balls, and he does nothing to try and divert his attention now. He knows he is grunting like some kind of animal, but Qinghua is receptive. He is welcoming and warm and so good and Mobei-Jun can't help the pistoning of his hips now.

He's close. He's close and the reality of the moment is swelling up and crashing over his head. There is so much and he could never capture any of it in words but Qinghua is a man of words and so he will try. He will try, because this is the most important thing in the entire world and he will do whatever it takes.

"So good. Qinghua is so good." He is close. He's so close. Just a few more seconds of this and he won't be able to last. "This king is yours, Qinghua. I want to be with you every day. Cook for you every day. Fuck you until you can't worry about anything else. Qinghua. I think I was made to please you."

The words strike true. He can see the way Qinghua's eyes fly wide, and that's it. That's all he can take before he finds himself wrapped around Qinghua, animal, and shaking through the waves of pleasure that shake out through his core.

He realizes, only a few moments after he is able to think again, that somewhere in the middle of all of that, he had latched on to the soft skin of Qinghua's chest, just above his heart. He can taste blood on his teeth from the force of his bite. He would worry about that, about letting the more violent and painful urges of his demonic instincts influence things again, if it weren't for the quiet way that Qinghua is murmuring in his ear and the soft, hesitant hands he can feel stroking along the hair at the nape of his neck.

He could move. He probably should move. But why would he go anywhere, when everything that has ever mattered is right here?

*~*~*

It should be more awkward than this.

Shang Qinghua keeps waiting for it to get uncomfortable. They just fucked. They've known each other for decades. They've built a kingdom together, and they've never had sex or even kissed each other until right now.

He's laying, sprawled in the comfortable and silky nest his king has made up for him on the bed in the royal bedchambers. There is an enormous demonic ice king laying on top of him.

Honestly, he's kind of being crushed by the weight of his king. He can feel the cold stick of sweat cooling in the blankets around him. The tacky itch of come drying on his own stomach. The strain in his ribs when he tries to breath past the much larger weight of his partner. The sting on his chest where Mobei-Jun's fangs had sunk deep. The ache in his own backside as he is forced to reckon with the realities of his old, wish-fulfillment tendencies to make all demon dicks inordinately large.

There is so much happening. It should be horribly uncomfortable. It should be awkward.

Instead, Qinghua lets himself snuggle in a little closer, tangle his fingers in the fine baby hairs at the base of his king's skull.

How long has it been since he touched someone else? Like, physically? He honestly can't think of the last time. Maybe Tianlang-Jun bumped into him or draped an arm across his shoulders. Maybe Mobei-Jun had grabbed his arm to redirect him or something. But, thinking of it, it's been years and years since the last time he really spent time touching another person. Snuggling? It's been ages. Probably not since he was a young child for the second time.

So, sure, maybe this is weird. Maybe this is a little bit uncomfortable. He's still going to take advantage of literally every moment of it, because Shang Qinghua has never claimed to be anything other than the worst kind of opportunist.

They rest there, in silence, for an uncountable length of time. The icy skylights above lighten and lighten until it's properly sunrise. Fuck, he can't believe this literally all happened in the early hours of the morning. He's not some college kid with endless energy and stamina. What's he supposed to say? That he was swept up in the heat and lust of the moment? He's the advisor to the king. He runs the demonic and human realms. He's pretty much 80 years old. That shouldn't be an excuse at all.

It's true, though. And, you know, #noregrets. Not when it means that he gets to have this moment.

Still. The endorphins are starting to fade a little and the discomfort isn't.

"My King, ah," he murmurs. "I don't think we can lay here all morning."

"Mmph," says his king, very persuasively, from where he is nestling his face in at the crook of Shang Qinghua's neck and shoulder. To be fair, it's a very good point.

"We have a kingdom to run. The sun is coming up." He pokes a little at one incredibly large deltoid muscle where it's within his reach. Please see this action as a functional way to get your attention and not as him acting on a fantasy he has held for literal decades. Please also see the motivation for this entire conversation as admirable dedication to his profession rather than any kind of avoidance of a longer conversation. There's a lot to do. There's always a lot to do. This is the reason for the Overarching To Do List. They are in the position that they are in because they do their jobs and they do them well (unlike a certain emperor and empress of the demon realm). There is no time to lounge around and waste the day away.

Shang Qinghua, seeing that he is going to be ignored by the enormous demon king currently crushing him, starts to wiggle his way out from under him. Mobei-Jun makes an even louder unhappy noise than before and tightens his grip. There is no way that Shang Qinghua is going to be able to escape this position until Mobei-Jun decides he is willing to allow it to happen.

The thought of that doesn't make his dick twitch. Or, if it did, then he doesn't know how he was supposed to help that. He is a simple pervert and purveyor of fine pornography! So what if the implication of a little restraint gets to him? That's not important! He is still going to escape! There is work to do! Also if he looks his king in the eyes right now he might die!

"Qinghua is sending two different messages." He can feel the smartass smile his king is hiding by pressing it into his neck. He knows exactly what expression is on his face. He's known this man since he was nothing more than an acne-ridden teenager! "There have been times, before, when this king thought he understood Qinghua's intentions. He cannot help but work to make sure that he is understanding Qinghua now."

The nerve of this man! What was Shang Qinghua thinking, making a love interest like this! He slaps ineffectually against his king's arm. Mobei-Jun starts to laugh in response, low and quiet and happier than Shang Qinghua has literally ever heard him before. Fuck. Fuck, but he's so fucking in love with this stubborn asshole. He slaps a little harder, wiggles to escape more thoroughly. Mobei-Jun just continues that low chuckle that rumbles through them and bites playfully at the neck right in front of him.

Shang Qinghua yelps in offense, slaps a little more aggressively, until Mobei-Jun has no choice but to pull away and pin his arms back down again. Defeated by the strategic mind that runs both the demon and human realms! Take that!

Ah, but this was something of a miscalculation, because now he can see his king's face again, and he's even smiling a little bit. There's a deep contentment there, more than he's ever seen before. What is he supposed to do about that? Not that he has much of a choice either way, because all of his muscles automatically go lax at the sight, and he flops back into the grip his king has put him in.

"Stay," Mobei-Jun orders, exactly like the kind of command one might exasperatedly say to a puppy who hasn't actually learned how to do this trick yet. Asking for something but clearly not expecting to be obeyed. "Qinghua is always in such a hurry to run off somewhere else." He presses in a little more firmly against his grip on Shang Qinghua's wrists, makes sure to catch his eyes in intense eye contact. "Stay."

Then his king gets up and wanders over to the ensuite attached to his bedchambers. Shang Qinghua considers getting up, just to be a little shit, but he doesn't actually want to move yet, and also he kind of liked the way that his king had ordered him around just then.

In just another minute, Mobei-Jun has returned with a damp rag, warmed with his demonic qi. That's not the natural way that his qi works. It would have taken intention and thought and focus, to make it warm rather than cold.

When he makes it back to the bed, Mobei-Jun begins to slowly wipe down Shang Qinghua's body, clearing it of some of the worst of the messiness they just created. It's so much softer than Shang Qinghua ever would have thought to expect from a hookup with his king. Also not the roles he thought either of them would take. He can't help but sit in paralyzed silence while it happens. He feels like prey in the eyes of a predator again, but in the kind of thrilling way, not the terrifying way, you know?

Maybe that's stupid.

When his stomach and chest have been wiped clean, Mobei-Jun tosses the rag to the side of the room and grabs his shoulders. Before Shang Qinghua can do something logical, like get up and start his day, Mobei-Jun has tugged the blankets up from underneath him and wrapped him up in something of a blanket burrito. After that, his king gets into the bed and hoists Shang Qinghua up into whatever position he wants. Shang Qinghua wiggles a little, just to put up a token protest, but there is nothing that can stop him from ending up snug as a bug in a rug and tucked beneath his king's chin.

"Tell me, Qinghua." He can feel the way that Mobei-Jun's low voice resonates in his chest while he speaks, from this angle. It's going to lull him back to sleep if he's not careful. "How does this king's closest advisor go about categorizing the items on his Overarching To Do List?"

"Huh?" This is not at all what he thought the sexy, post-fuck pillow talk would be. But, well, he is always able to talk about logistics. So, you know, whatever. "Um, well it's divided up by a couple different categories. There's the Immediately Pressing section, which isn't sorted out any further because it all needs to happen, like, right now. But then, after that, I've got it sorted between area of the world and realms, and then by whether I have to do it or if I have to delegate it, and then ranked in importance based on how much trouble it's going to cause us or how much it might impact relations with someone important-"

He is cut off there by a sweet kiss. It's one of the more effective methods someone has tried for shutting him up. The things you learn about yourself.

"And what might cause something to end up in the Immediately Pressing section?" his king asks, tone utterly indulgent. Shang Qinghua still has no idea what to make of this conversation but, as this is what he spends almost every minute of every day of his life thinking about, he is more than able to answer.

"I mean, it really depends, I guess? That's the sort of thing where, as soon as you try to put some kind of criteria on it, something is going to come up that doesn't fit at all, but still definitely needs to be on there, and then you have to start all over again. Which is why I can't just delegate this to anyone else, because they're never going to know what things actually need to get done right then and what things can wait, even if it doesn't sound like they can wait when whatever messenger is panicking to you about it." He knows that he's rambling, but his king asked, and he doesn't seem to be losing interest? Qinghua could talk about this forever, because this is basically what the inside of his head sounds like all the time.

"I guess, if I had to talk about general timelines, it's things that are going to be, like, realm-endingly bad if they aren't done right then. So, like, making sure we're keeping peace with the other tribes and making sure that Junshang doesn't go off and start a war because someone looked at his husband a little bit funny. After that, it's also the stuff that's going to make my life hell if it isn't handled right away. So, like, things that would make the castle wards break and stop the temperature regulation from working the way that it should. Or, sometimes, requests from certain demanding kings." He reaches out at that, to flick at the exposed skin of his king's chest, just to make sure it is crystal-clear who he is speaking about.

He has more to say, but it seems that, whatever was motivating Mobei-Jun to ask in the first place has been answered, because he leans in again to steal another kiss. This one isn't the short, sweet kiss from earlier. It also isn't the same as those heated, desperate ones from earlier. Instead, Mobei-Jun leans forward on his hands to press against Shang Qinghua's blanket-bundled form and dives between his lips in a deep and languid kiss. It is dragging and heated and intoxicating, so that, by the time that he pulls away, Shang Qinghua has fully and completely forgotten what it was he was even talking about in the first place. It takes a moment for his brain to even start to blink back online and have complete thoughts. Fucking wild. His brain literally never shuts up. He can't believe this is all that it took and it still took him this long to actually go for it.

"This King has a demand." Shang Qinghua feels the Pavlovian urge to roll his eyes and grab for a scrap of paper at those words. It is the sort of thing Mobei-Jun has been saying since the day they first met, and it usually means that he is going to have to take careful notes and rearrange his schedule for at least the rest of the day.

"Yes, My King. This servant is listening." This is kind of weird, considering the fact that they just fucked, but it's also so incredibly normal to the pattern that they've made over the past few decades that he almost doesn't notice all the weirdness. He's so mad that this is happening while he's all bundled up and can't write. He'll just have to listen closely and fucking repeat it to himself over and over until he's somewhere he can write it down. This ridiculous demon. Why was this the kind of man he dreamed up for himself?

Mobei-Jun smiles a little, like he's just played a winning move in weiqi. He pecks another brief kiss to Shang Qinghua's lips and then pulls back to hold his eye contact with great seriousness.

"This King commands Qinghua to spend at least the next several hours in bed with him." Shang Qinghua, who had been prepping his mind to pay very close attention and memorize words, is offended at the grievous trick that has just been played on him. He starts to wiggle out of his king's grip and off the bed, just to show him what happens when he decides to pull things like this.

He doesn't get more than a few cun away before Mobei-Jun drags him back with an arm around his waist, slings himself up and over, pins Shang Qinghua down with a hand on either shoulder.

"I am afraid this is a very important demand." He is clearly doing what he can to maintain a straight face, but there is a deep joy shining out from his every pore. It's going to kill Shang Qinghua, probably. "If my advisor does not follow it, I may even go start a war." He leans down, drags a kiss down Shang Qinghua's neck, cold tongue flickering along the tendon. This is all horribly unfair.

"My King, there are actual tasks that need to be completed today." He's not even just saying this to be difficult! There is an Overarching To Do List! There are two separate realms to be run! Things will fall to pieces the second he stops looking. It's happened before.

"This King has complete belief in Qinghua's backup systems." And, well, okay. There's maybe something valid there. Shang Qinghua definitely has safeguards in place. Obviously.

"Those are for emergencies only, My King. They can't be counted on for the everyday." He doesn't even know why he's arguing against this so hard. He does want to be here, in bed, with the man he created to literally be his ideal. Well, he sort of wants to be here. He's also pretty sure it's going to all blow up in his face in just a few minutes, and it might be better to just dip before it has the chance to do that. But, you know, most of him wants to stay. There are things to be done, though. He really is the one thing holding all of the human and demon realms together. If he suddenly starts slacking, there will be no one left around to pick up all the extra jobs from everyone else's laziness.

"If Qinghua does not stay with this king, who knows what he might do. It could be realm-ruining." Shang Qinghua knows that his king is joking about this (which, weird, this never happens), would never actually go start a war without Shang Qinghua's say-so, but he really doesn't have the time to sit around and joke like this. He was so relaxed, for just a second, after that incredible orgasm, but he can already feel his brain running off and making a list of everything that should be on his list for today, and what the most efficient order would be to get it all done. He's a wind-up toy, and someone is constantly winching the spring inside of him tighter and tighter. He's going to snap if he doesn't get up and start moving. He opens his mouth to begin explaining all of this to Mobei-Jun when he is once again interrupted by a gentle kiss. This time, it's not against his lips, but cold and soothing against the center of his forehead. He doesn't know if he's ever been kissed there before.

"Qinghua works too hard." The call of the bed, the call to relax and actually let everyone else do the work for once, is strong and seductive. Still.

"This lowly one wouldn't have to work so hard if everyone else would carry their own weight for once. Why don't you go take it up with Junshang, if you have such a problem with my workload," he grouches. Mobei-Jun doesn't laugh, but the fond breath that huffs across his face is something close to it.

"Qinghua would not allow anyone else to take over his tasks."

"As if you know that! No one else has even tried to help, so you've never even seen how I would respond to something like that!"

"Mm," Mobei-Jun is laughing at him. He knows he laughing at him, even if he isn't doing it out loud, and it's winding Shang Qinghua up even tighter. "Of course. This king will write his next speech for himself."

"Well, now, hold on a second." Shang Qinghua knows he's being played, knows that this is a trap he's walking into, but he really can't take the risk that his king might follow through on this joke and accidentally fuck everything up. "Don't do that. The next speech you have to give is to the Eastern Snake Clan. They aren't going to respond well to your, ah, more direct approach to things. Don't do that, My King. I'll just write that speech. Please don't get any ideas like that in your head. If you have something you want to say, maybe just come let me know and I'll see if I can fit it in."

He finishes this ramble, and Mobei-Jun still has him pinned down and trapped within a blanket straight jacket. There is a smile hiding in the crease of his eyes, and it's smug and knowing. Shang Qinghua rolls his eyes but doesn't try to defend himself. He knows what just happened.

"Qinghua works too hard."

"Yes, yes, okay, My King. But, still, I can't just suddenly stop doing that. Everyone's counting on it, at this point. If I stopped, no one would even know how to pick up the tasks that they would need to start doing again. And then they would fuck it all up anyway."

"What is on the Overarching To Do List that needs to be done in the next few hours."

"Oh, sure," Shang Qinghua snarks, because he hates being backed into a corner like this. Hates feeling like his control and choice are being taken away from him. Hates when someone acts like they know how to do his job better than him. "Let me just pull up the several-dozen-page-long, always-changing document that I just keep memorized in my head at all time." His king gives him a Look, as if he's calling Shang Qinghua on some bullshit, which is absolutely unfounded. "I really don't have it memorized! Have you seen how long my list is, My King? Even if I tried to remember all of it, I would maybe forget something really important. I can't just pull it up like that."

"Mm," Mobei-Jun hums. He is using the tone that he employs when he is in the middle of a political negotiation that Shang Qinghua has perfectly prepared him for, when he has all the cards in his hand and already knows exactly what to say to counter every argument. It is not turning Shang Qinghua on. Especially not when he also kisses a line down the tense tendon in his neck. "Then we should go back to Qinghua's office and check."

"Fucking, okay. Fine. Let's go, My King." Mobei-Jun stands up and does not help while Shang Qinghua wrestles and scrambles to get himself out of the constricting blankets. He shoots a glare in his king's direction and receives nothing but placid calm in response.

He still has that feeling like he's walking into a trap. He knows that his king is secure in the knowledge that, whatever he's trying to prove, he is going to win. Shang Qinghua hates this feeling. He rarely ever has to feel it because, generally speaking, everyone in his daily life ignores and underestimates him, while he holds all the cards and knows more than just about anyone else. He does not enjoy the feeling that someone is looking at him, sees all that he is capable of, and is still secure in the knowledge that they are winning anyway.

There's nothing he can do about it now, though. If he suddenly changes his mind and doesn't follow through with going to look at the Overarching To Do List, then his king will have already won. So, they walk down the hall together, Mobei-Jun striding leisurely at his side while Shang Qinghua mutters and grumbles to himself, generally making things more difficult. He's already halfway to his rooms when he realizes that he's actively shivering, the few layers he hastily threw on doing nothing to offset the chill in the halls of the Northern Palace, particularly when he still has a fine layer of sweat on his skin.

He tries to just keep walking. There's nothing he can do about it now and this is something he just has to come to terms with, as a human who has chosen to build his life in the northern desert of the demon realm. He has only been thinking these thoughts for a few moments when a heavy, thick cloak whoomphs down onto his shoulders. He is immediately surrounded by the sharp smell of his king and the deep comforting warmth of fine pelts. When he glances Mobei-Jun's way, he is already staring back, watching with a steady and laughing gaze while Shang Qinghua cannot help but wiggle deeper into the thick ruff of furs in the collar.

"Shut up," he says. His king continues to not say anything at all, but grandly gestures with his hand for Shang Qinghua to go ahead of him.

They make it to Shang Qinghua's rooms without any further incident. When he stomps inside, it's to the sight of multiple piles of work already there and waiting for him. There have been several pieces of correspondence that arrived in the night, and they have been stacked on his desk where the letter pile will build up throughout the day. Several scraps of parchment are on the pile too, reports on the movements of VIPs from various members of the spy network. His Overarching To Do List looms large and ominous in the center of his desk, the first stop for all things. There is always something that needs to be done.

He strides over to the desk, pulls up the Overarching To Do List, begins reading it out loud. Maybe he reads out every single word. Maybe he's showing off (and complaining) a little about just how much he does every day and just how busy he actually is. Who can say. He'll certainly never tell. The point is: he reads off the first full page of the Overarching To Do List, putting extra emphasis on the items that are more like seven thousand items under one big task umbrella (like maintain peace in the Northern Desert, as if he hasn't already broken this down into a thousand different sub-points that are all also part of the Overarching To Do List).

Mobei-Jun watches on with the indulgent smile of someone who has been through this kind of rant before. In his defense, Shang Qinghua can admit that he has forced him to sit there and listen while he reads out every item on the Overarching To Do List before. Just so that he might have a better understanding of all the things that Shang Qinghua is forced to manage by himself every single fucking day. He didn't realize that he was actually listening every time, okay??? That's not on him! What kind of king listens to every word that his main advisor has to say? What's the point of even being the king, if that's what you're going to spend your time doing? If anything, Mobei-Jun is the strange one here, not Shang Qinghua.

He gets through all of the items on the Immediately Pressing list, as well as several items into the general list before Mobei-Jun interrupts him again. There's a smile on his face like he already knows that he is going to win this argument. Shang Qinghua wants to kill him and also fuck him until he can't make a face like that anymore. It's a complicated feeling.

"So, at the end of the list, this king cannot help but notice that none of those items will cause the end of the world if they are not completed in the next several hours."

"That's what you think!" Shang Qinghua exclaims, furious, furious about all of this. His control over everything is being slowly taken out of his hands and he hates it. "But if I don't get in touch with the representative from the Owl Clan in the next few days, then that's going to throw off my entire sixteen-step plan for building rapport and relationships with the clan. If we're going to pursue a truce with them at the next meeting we have scheduled, then we need in-roads before that ever happens, and if we wait until the autumn solstice hits then it will already be too late."

"This king is not asking his foremost advisor to wait until the autumn solstice." Mobei-Jun walks forward, prowls, really, and slides himself right up alongside where Shang Qinghua is standing. The smell of him washes over the space between them. He still smells like sweat and sex and himself. Shang Qinghua is not going to let the useless gay hamster in his brain take over at that. He is going to be stronger than that.

"This king appreciates all the things his foremost advisor does to maintain peace and prosperity in this kingdom." He reaches out, one long, thin-boned hand, made that way because that's how Shang Qinghua likes for men's hands to look, and plucks the Overarching To Do List from Shang Qinghua's hand. He is furious with himself, for how unresisting his grip is.

"This king is asking his lover to come back to bed, for a few hours more." He's so close. His body is cold, his breath is cold, and it's all bringing up goosebumps across the tops of his arms. Fuck. He needs to stay focused. He has a point here. He can't remember what it was, exactly, but he definitely has a point. Never let it be said that forgetting exactly what the plot is has ever stopped Shang Qinghua from speaking hundreds of words anyway.

"My King, this is all," he pushes at Mobei-Jun's chest a little and, thank every good fucking thing, his king moves with the pressure. His head clears up just the smallest little bit. "This is all very sexy and romantic and everything, and we are going to come back to that comment about me being your lover, but it's also true that if I stop doing all of the things that I do, things are really going to fall to pieces in the demon realm and in the human realm. So, it's nice that you want to spend the whole day languishing in bed and everything, but my whole entire job is to work my ass off so that everyone else gets to do things like that. So, you know, really appreciate it, really want to do it, but also really just can't make that happen right now. If you want to do something like this again, which, again, lover, wild to think about, then let me know and I'll try to make sure it's on the Overarching To Do List."

He realizes that he is breathing pretty hard. The trembling panic attack of it all is something that he feels pretty much every minute of every day of his life. Still, it's only the fact that it's coming back that helps him realize that, for just a second there, he wasn't feeling like this. Maybe it's just the post-nut clarity, or the afterglow, or whatever the fuck, but he was definitely feeling, like, settled and shit. Indignant and angry, sure, but usually the panic is so loud that there isn't even space for feelings like that.

Mobei-Jun is going to be pissed about literally every fucking thing he just said in the past few seconds. That's not how you're supposed to talk to your king. That's not how you're supposed to talk to your new lover. Schedule him in??? Like they're some washed-up married couple making a last ditch attempt at holding onto intimacy before they split up and never speak to each other again. Like all that they just did meant nothing more to him than any other little bullet point on a list. He's braced for something, a hit, if he's honest. Physical or emotional, it would be the same.

"Qinghua works too hard." The words are not said harshly. Shang Qinghua wasn't even really looking at his king while all of these thoughts were flying through his head, so it catches him a little off guard when he feels sudden pressure around him. Rather than touch him with his cold hands, Mobei-Jun has stepped forward and pulled his cloak, already around Shang Qinghua's shoulders, even tighter around him.

This is all completely stupid. He should be clinging to his king's thighs and crying in thanks for the opportunity, not whatever he would call this. He designed this man to be the perfect man for him and he finally got the chance to get with him after literal decades of pining and even more decades of fantasizing. He could still be in bed, snuggling with him right now. Why is he spending so much time thinking about the Overarching To Do List, as if anyone else in either life has ever taken a single moment to appreciate all that he does? So, what, he's just going to throw his gold opportunity with Mobei-Jun into the garbage as soon as he gets a chance to taste it, just so all those people who never thank him a day in his life keep not noticing all that he does for them?

Oh, look. He's crying. It's about time.

His king does not hush him or whisper quiet, comforting words. It would probably be terrifying if he even tried to. His grip, though, tightens just a little bit more, and he stands there and holds Shang Qinghua for the entire quarter shichen it takes for him to remember how to breathe properly. When he pulls away, puffy and embarassed and rubbing at the itchy dryness of his eyes, his king is staring down at him with that same terrifying fondness that makes him want to run screaming out of the room. When Shang Qinghua huffs a self-depreciating laugh and shrugs his way from the grip, Mobei-Jun lets him go easily.

He grabs a handkerchief from over by his desk, blows his nose, somehow finding a way to still be embarrassed about the noise that it makes, even though he's already made a thousand more shameful noises than that since he woke up.

"Ah, so, yes," he says, because he needs to say something or he's going to lose his mind. He'll find the point of it all once he's got the words already flowing. "That was, ah, this one is perfectly fine. Don't worry about any of that. Thanking my king for his patience."

Patience is not the right word. Patience does not encapsulate the way that Mobei-Jun continues to stand there, soft and smiling just a little, if you know how to look. The way that he just held him for so long without complaining and still looks happy to see him. A better word would be a much scarier word, even to just think it, and so Shang Qinghua isn't going to do that.

"I am, that is, this one did not intend to make it sound as though he is not, ahem, is not honored that the King of the Northern Desert would deign to see him as someone worthy of such status as a lover." Mobei-Jun steps toward him again and Shang Qinghua shuts up. He's just talking. The words don't mean anything at all. He doesn't know why this is such a big deal.

"When would Qinghua schedule this king?"

"Ah, ha ha, not like that, My King. It's not like that. I don't want to you to think I don't care about this, or that, you know, it doesn't matter to me or anything like that."

Mobei-Jun steps in closer, doesn't say a single word, holds his hand up to the side of Shang Qinghua's face. A line of cold and grounding touch. And then he just stands there. His king. Quiet and calm and waiting for Shang Qinghua to tell him when he's willing to spend time with him. The man of his dreams, who he created to be everything he wants. The man he has spent the past decades getting to know and building a friendship with. The man he loves so fucking much it might as well be carved into the marrow of his bones.

Why is he doing this, again? Why is he standing in the middle of his office, fighting to spend more time hacking away at the endless pile of work, rather than laying in bed and snuggling with the incredible musculature of his king?

The panic is draining out of him, and there's something twisty and quiet left behind. He's happy to be held like this. Embarrassed for making such a scene. Frustrated that the trap set up for him is going to work. Excited that any of this happened. Worried worried worried about what all of it could mean. It's all twisted up and nauseous and happy inside of him, but he thinks maybe that's just how it feels, for someone like him, to be handed the thing that he's wanted after so long wanting it.

He knows what he's going to say. He wants to say it, even. It's still hard to get the words out. His fellow transmigrator, Cucumber-Bro, can never bring himself to say shameless things without a hardy blush and hiding behind a fan. Shang Qinghua has never struggled with shameless things. This, though, admitting that he was wrong and that someone else, who he'd been arguing with for a long time, is the one who is going to win. This is almost impossible.

He forces the words out anyway.

"The Overarching To Do List can wait a few more shichen." There. He said it. It's fine. The world is fine. Just admitting that he is going to let someone else take control over what he's doing instead of following his own list of priorities. Mobei-Jun doesn't smile, because he's never been that expressive, but his eyes go soft and warm and he gently strokes his thumb along Shang Qinghua's temple.

"A few more shichen," he repeats. And then he uses that hand to draw Shang Qinghua into a deep, toe-curling kiss, and maybe this isn't so bad after all.

He's going to have to shift a few things around. Schedule around this. Because spending time like this, pressed together and touching, is about to jump to one of the top priorities of the Overarching To Do List. It's maybe not the level of relaxing and not working "too hard" that his king would want to see, but it's more than Shang Qinghua has done for anyone else. It's already a terrifying prospect.

Shang Qinghua pulls away from the kiss, holds his king's hand and starts walking down the hallway again, moving as fast as he can so that his thoughts don't have time to take back over and argue aginst this plan. They head back toward his king's quarters, because that's where Shang Qinghua wants to be, because the bed there is bigger and softer and he's going to take advantage of that as much as he can.

"Ah, it seems our resident lovebirds have finally managed to work out their differences."

Right. The royal nuisance in residence. Tianlang-Jun is lounging against the wall just outside of Shang Qinghua's rooms, even though it's still so early in the morning that no one should be up and moving.

"Tianlang-Jun!" He yelps, because it becomes clear quickly that his king is not going to say something, and someone has to speak up before they piss off the Heavenly Demon staying in the palace. "Is there something Tianlang-Jun needs from this servant?" He sketches a hasty salute, not putting too much effort into it because they both know that Tianlang-Jun outranks him but they also both know that he keeps sneaking into his room at night and stealing all his shit. And then holding it hostage. So, you know, no real mutual respect there.

"I was merely coming to pay a visit to my dear friend, Shang Qinghua, but it seems as though he's found another member of demonic royalty to entertain himself with."

Shang Qinghua knows that Tianlang-Jun is being a little shit on purpose. Mobei-Jun probably does too. That doesn't stop the sudden flare of staggering demonic qi that pulses at his side, or the possessive hand that clamps around the back of his neck. It seems that Mobei-Jun will be a very possessive lover. Shang Qinghua is trying to tell himself that this is a bad thing, a red flag, has the potential to turn into a toxic relationship. Shang Qinghua is trying to ignore that he's suddenly half-hard.

"Tianlang-Jun will return at a later time, if he would like to petition for a conversation with the King of the Northern Desert's consort."

"Consort!?!" Shang Qinghua yelps, contradicting Mobei-Jun's surety even though one of the very first things he ever nagged his king about was how important it is to present something of a united front in the face of foreign dignitaries. But come on, my king! This lowly servant has only just started to wrestle with the idea of being his lover! A consort? The very idea of it is so hilarious that Shang Qinghua might break down cry-laughing right now. Fuck.

Also, if he's going to go making grand changes in the power structure of the palace, he really should have told Shang Qinghua about it several weeks ago, at least, so that he could start getting things in order. If that is happening (which, fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck is happening), then there would need to be all kinds of political moves made ahead of time to make that a success.

"Ah, it seems that congratulations are even more in order than I thought when I first arrived." Tianlang-Jun sweeps into a half-sarcastic salute, which he can get away with because everyone here knows that the only reason this entire palace hasn't been exploded is because he's in a good mood right now. Shang Qinghua would like to go back in time and convince the past version of himself to make the entirety of PIDW into a fluffy, slice-of-life thing. Except with one super-hot demon king in the background. That only he knew about. All these other ridiculously OP characters are welcome to depart, please and thank you. He never should have written them in the first place, crowd-pleasing or not.

Please disregard the fact that it is suddenly becoming painfully obvious that their entire relationship would not exist right now if it weren't for the fact that Tianlang-Jun had so blatantly meddled. Shang Qinghua honestly didn't know he had it in him, but, then, he'd never really bothered to think about or write about a version of Tianlang-Jun that made it out of the mountain and also found out the truth of his whole tragic imprisonment in the first place. Huh.

It doesn't matter too much. He doesn't have any more time to think about this stuff, because Mobei-Jun is scooping him up by the scruff of his own robe around Shang Qinghua's neck, and then they are moving past Tianglang-Jun and back toward the warm and luxurious nest they built in the center of his king's bed.

To think. This is all it took. Just a few letters and conversations. Just taking the time to actually participate in some acts of service. Ones that Tianlang-Jun may or may not have implied were actually demonic courting actions, which Shang Qinghua really should have already known, considering he's the one who invented them. It really wasn't at the top of his list of priorities, when he was stuck in the body of a toddler and working to remember everything that might be able to keep him alive.

To think. This is all it took. Decades of knowing each other and learning the strengths and faults of each other. Learning how to lean on each other and build something better than either one of them ever could have alone. Just Mobei-Jun pushing past a lifetime of self-protection in an effort to learn how to speak what he was feeling. Just Shang Qinghua, taking the time to step away from the lists that are the only ways he's found to make sense out of his life.

To think. This is all it took. Waking up in the light of a fading fire and finally acting on the thing that has been buzzing in the air between them for as long as they've known each other, now that he knows how to look for it.

Mobei-Jun hoists him up and places him in the center of the nest, before Shang Qinghua can take the time to clamber up there himself. It's in no way an unpleasant feeling. He certainly wouldn't mind doing something like that again. Potentially experimenting with other ways that Mobei-Jun could pick him up and move him as he pleases.

But, for now, that frantic need is no longer shimmering between them. Instead, Mobei-Jun pulls Shang Qinghua close, so close that he can rest his head right on those fantastic pectorals that he created for this exact purpose. They wrap themselves together, there, with both of them tucking blankets in strategic places so that Shang Qinghua doesn't get too cold in the middle of all of this.

There is so much he should be doing right now. But, for just this one moment, he doesn't feel guilty about relaxing. This is where his king wants him to be. More than that, it's where he wants to be.

As they lay there, Mobei-Jun's hand moves up Shang Qinghua's back and begins tugging lightly through his hair. It feels fucking glorious.

There are things to do. There will always be things to do. But this is so nice, so comforting. Maybe he'll stay here, for just a few hours longer.

And then, you know, maybe for a lifetime after that. If his king will have him.

He'll put it on the list.

[aimasup]

throws up my hands in mock resignation but also a hint of frustration Okay Valentino is a cool villain I guess

He's like. Genuinely unsettling. Wish the show struck a better balance with his character sometimes (like sometimes when he's onscreen I have to skip over because I feel queasy and sometimes he's so unsubtle he feels more like a prop than a guy who's going to be a Huge Deal in s2)

[crownedwille]

.

[nostalgia-tblr]

i nearly anon'd the thorki non-con fic out of SHAME but in two weeks it's become my third most clicked-on fic of the year, behind only a multichapter fic and a bit of angsty sifki porn lololol

[carpisuns]

gaining a new interest/joining a new fandom is always kind of intimidating it feels like there’s so much you’ve missed out on by not enjoying this thing before so you’re like GRAHHHH got to catch up so I can have peak enjoyment like all the Enjoying This Thing experts around here! which is so silly bc if you enjoy a thing you’re already there but. yknow

[sentimentalslut]

Sometimes I want to yell at you to update your fics but I remember you’re a whole ass lawyer and have a life.

also writers block dont forget the writers block

[brittlebutch]

officially 10K into this fic and having a realization about where I'm at on characterization so far, so i'm wondering: