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Shang Qinghua was not a demanding man. He was low-maintenance — a cheap date, even. A roof over his head, warm meals in his belly, plenty of snacks and some reasonable job security; that was enough for him. Oh, and occupational hazards that didn’t include a non-exhaustive list of potential disembowelment; assassination; poisoning; being eaten (alive or dead), or being used as a moving target by anyone of consequence in the Northern Demon Realm for daring to stick his dick where he shouldn’t.
That last one had been added to the top of said non-exhaustive list only recently.
So when Shang Qinghua found himself collapsed in a heap on top of a naked body he should never have been in close proximity to, let alone — as he was now — physically inseparable from for at least the next fifteen minutes, he definitely had a little explaining to do.
Perhaps he ought to go back to the start.
The late morning was bright, serene, and surprisingly peaceful. It was so mild that Shang Qinghua had even shed his thick outer layers; the man himself lounged on his bed, kicking his feet in the air while he leisurely flicked through the rumour mill’s latest offering. His ledgers lay in a chaotic mess on his desk in the other room. He’d spent many years cleaning up the heinous mess that the palace had worked itself into — nowadays the books practically ran themselves, and Shang Qinghua could steal a few hours to indulge in his enduring love of safely fictional harem drama.
Well, mostly.
Shang Qinghua grinned down at his codex as he turned the page. The Emperor’s fifth concubine had just schemed her way into deposing the Empress from the pinnacle of the harem through a wicked and elaborately-laid plan involving several well-placed feathers, a pigeon’s egg, and two jugs of milk. Now it was time for the masterful reveal in which the Empress and the Crown Prince would be tragically executed at the hands of a misled husband and father, just one more page and—
“Qinghua.”
Shang Qinghua shrieked in a masculine fashion and contorted like a dying spider, limbs flying out and his robes ruching up around his thighs as he scrambled onto his rump. The previously empty circular doorway between his bedroom and study now housed seven feet of stony-faced Mobei Jun. The man glowered at him, his judgmental gaze landing on Shang Qinghua’s barely-covered crown jewels for the barest second before flicking back up to his face in distaste.
“Dawang,” Shang Qinghua wheezed, hurriedly rearranging his decency. “Why didn’t… couldn’t you… uh… knock?”
Mobei Jun snorted. He reached out with one long, black talon and sliced downwards through the air, creating a hairline rift that spread into a slender, rippling portal. Its edges seeped shadow, and the pitch blackness on the other side gave no hint as to where it led.
“Come,” he said, as verbose as usual, and walked through the portal without a backwards look.
Shang Qinghua stared dumbly, watching it shimmer and sizzle in mid air. Only when the portal started to shrink did Shang Qinghua collect himself and scramble to his feet. The previously Mobei Jun-sized fissure was now barely taller than him, its jagged edges pulling in rapidly. He lunged for it, stumbling headfirst and bent double, and tumbled out into the throne room. Which, honestly, didn't require portal travel, but whatever. Sometimes he wished he'd written demons with the less of a flair for the dramatic. His concepts had seemed sexy at the time.
The portal closed behind him until the sight of his beloved quarters and all their comforts had been completely swallowed up. The huge hall yawned with empty space. Instead of wooden pillars, great, twisted spires of solid, blue-green ice held the cavernous ceiling aloft; couplets were carved directly into the ice at the farthest end, the edges of each indented character sharp as a blade. The most striking thing about the room was its colossal throne, a hulking thing made of thick ice and obsidian that grew seamlessly from the floor. Or rather, it would have been, if it were there. Shang Qinghua was struck now not by its towering magnificence — huge in a way that should have dwarfed Mobei Jun and reduced his grandeur, but somehow never did — but by its conspicuous absence. Instead, the dias was populated by a single post of carved black stone as tall as a man with a heavy O-ring hanging from the side.
Mobei Jun was already at the far end of the room, head together in conversation with a second demon. Shang Qinghua hurried to catch up. The other demon was sallow-skinned with blue markings dappling his cheeks and eyes, thin shards of frost accenting his temples and the tips of his hair. He threw Shang Qinghua the most cursory of looks, curt eyes giving him a quick, dismissive once-over. Shang Qinghua was used to it, but it still burned on the way down. He was An Ding’s Peak Lord! Maybe to Mobei Jun that counted for nothing, but that's because Mobei Jun was totally OP, third strongest in the whole universe! Shang Qinghua could take this guy if he really wanted to!
He did not, in fact, want to, and so he plastered on his best, most obsequious smile and turned to Mobei Jun instead. “How can this humble one be of service?”
“Now that I am the official Mobei Jun, it is time for me to produce a child,” he said. “I need an alpha to give me strong heirs.”
“The hall is being prepared for the ritual,” the advisor said with a sweep of his arm. “Our Lord will be ritually impregnated by the alpha here to boost the cultivation of the offspring. His powers will be restrained during the mating.”
What? Shang Qinghua didn’t write this.
Wait. Fuck. Shang Qinghua did write this. Actually, several omegas had been ritually impregnated in various elaborate and fanciful ways across the plot of Proud Immortal Demon’s Way — it proved to be a fan favourite, and Shang Qinghua was nothing if not a people-pleaser when it came to paying his bills. But Mobei Jun had never been written a love interest — let alone a sex scene. System, those arcs were for wives, not Mobei Jun! Don’t just chop and change his drafts like that!
To Shang Qinghua’s surprise the System burst to life in his ear, summoned for the first time in months by his indignant internal yelling.
【Quests are automatically generated using existing data for optimum plothole-filling user experience.】
“What are you, Peerless Cucumber?” Shang Qinghua muttered under his breath. Mobei Jun never getting tied to a post and ritually impregnated wasn’t a plot hole, it was a design feature. “Let me guess: I’ll lose B-points.”
【This is not a System-mandated plotline.】
Oh. Well… okay. That was comforting to know. He looked from the throneless dias to the coiled rope in the advisor’s hands. It seemed like they already had everything covered.
"So, you need me to…”
“You will decide the sire,” Mobei Jun said shortly.
Oh.
Oh.
“Me?” Shang Qinghua squawked, horrified. “But I can’t— I don’t know — I — Dawang, wouldn’t it be better to—”
“No.”
Shang Qinghua grimaced and shrank back. Many things that he’d done were decidedly not in his job description, but this took the cake. Then again, Mobei Jun had a habit of redefining his job description as it suited him. The advisor demonstrated, through several elaborate hand gestures and a long measure of coiled rope, exactly what position Mobei Jun would be taking during the ritual. Neither demon seemed phased. It was as if they were talking about palace renovations and not the position that the king of the Northern Demon Realm was going to be bred in. Shang Qinghua's eyes bugged.
“Isn’t that a little… uh…”
The advisor narrowed his eyes to suspicious, icy slits. “This is a very dignified position for our Lord,” he snapped. “It is tradition.”
“Of course, of course!” Shang Qinghua babbled, waving his hands soothingly. “As long as… ah… you know what, nevermind.”
The advisor pointedly turned to Mobei Jun. Shang Qinghua got the impression that a big, icy wall had just been thrown up to block him out. “Your Majesty, perhaps someone with a more nuanced understanding of the ritual would be a better—”
“Qinghua will deal with it,” Mobei Jun said so quickly that Shang Qinghua didn’t even have time to feel annoyed at the aspersions on his organisational capacities. It was delivered in a tone that offered no quarter, and the advisor backed down immediately. Mobei Jun shot Shang Qinghua an inscrutable look.
Dawang thinks I can do this, he thought gleefully, his heart soaring from Mobei Jun’s unexpected offhand confidence.
Dawang thinks I can do this?! he thought miserably a few hours later, his candles nearly burnt to stubs and his head firmly in his hands. He slumped over his desk with an exhausted groan. Barely any of the dark wood could be seen through mountains of loose paper and scrolls — treaties, lineages, aggressive breeding proposals from any clan worth their salt. Plenty from ones that weren't, too. Shang Qinghua had already struck many unworthy hopefuls from the roster, but narrowing that down was proving to be a nightmare. A weak sire was easier to control and might be grateful for the privilege — but a less impressive pedigree could endanger the child. A more powerful sire meant more powerful offspring, but a politically ambitious demon supported by a strong clan could endanger Mobei Jun. Shang Qinghua had written enough baby plots, kidnappings, and papapa-infused power struggles to know that the child’s sire could leverage some serious influence if they were smart enough, and plenty of his characters were proving time and again to have far more intelligence than he’d ever written them.
What Shang Qinghua needed was a candidate with high cultivation and a solid power base, but who was politically aligned with Mobei Jun and had his best interests at heart. What he had was everything but that.
The truth was, Shang Qinghua had written demon politics to be just too cutthroat!
He scrubbed his hands over his face and loosened his bun. Really… there were no characters in this universe like that. Shang Qinghua's mind wandered. He zoned out staring into the sputtering flame of his dying candle, the white light at the centre leaving colourful spots dancing across his vision. Shang Qinghua knew, more than anyone, how important this decision was — how vulnerable the demon omega would be, tied down at the mercy of whichever alpha Shang Qinghua chose to present to him. The thought of some faceless alpha looming over his king, seeing his most intimate parts while Mobei Jun was obligated by instinct and tradition to take it, hit Shang Qinghua with a sudden wave of discomfort. He grunted and shifted a little in his seat, trying to focus on the issue at hand and not on the idea of a bound, ovulating Mobei Jun, squirming against his bonds in the position that the advisor demonstrated earlier—
Right. The issue at hand. The issue of a bound, ovulating Mobei Jun.
He wondered, idly, whether Mobei Jun had willingly given up control over deciding his own partner or whether he’d never had any from the start. Shang Qinghua knew next to nothing about ice demon mating rituals — after all, he'd never written any. None of the ritual pregnancies he had written had ever featured the tedious process of choosing an alpha because they’d all revolved around Luo Binghe. Shang Qinghua grabbed scrolls at random and scanned the many breeding lineages he’d been sent, searching for a bolt of inspiration. There was the young, headstrong scion of the Xiong bear-demons, physically powerful but dangerously volatile. Or the indomitable and ancient water demon Mistress Wu, although her loyalty was as questionable as her age. The same could be said for most of Mobei Jun’s prospective partners. All had served the Mobei family for millennia — but then, they were ruled with an iron fist by very virtue of the demon realm’s transient loyalties.
As he flicked through, one name that was missing from his shortlist caught his eye, and the germ of an idea flourished like an invasive weed. He scrambled for scrolls and papers, feverishly scanning the candidate’s history and pedigree. Someone with high cultivation and an iron-clad network of connections... someone who was powerful, but not too powerful… someone who would be politically aligned with Mobei Jun no matter what, and whom Shang Qinghua could trust to meet him face to face in that breeding chamber…
Shang Qinghua fumbled for his inkstone and writing brush and began hurriedly composing a letter, every nerve humming with manic excitement. Of course there was only one person for the job — the perfect person, in fact. He wiped clammy palms down on his robes impatiently, his grip on the brush beginning to slip. Pulling this off would require pinpoint precision and no small amount of extraordinary luck, but nonetheless…
Shang Qinghua had found Mobei Jun’s alpha.
Shang Qinghua’s stomach spent the day of the ritual turning itself inside out with nerves. The event wasn't until the very crux of the full moon, leaving him to suffer through hours of preparations that seemed to drag by in slow motion. Demon nobles flocked to the palace in droves, and it was Shang Qinghua’s responsibility to feed and house them all, as well as to coordinate Mobei Jun’s brief confinement. He couldn't remember the last time so many had congregated in one place, noble houses great and small insisting on attending in person. As the hour drew nearer and his nerves grew more sickening he made his way towards the grand doors of the throne room, forcing himself to breathe deeply. A light sweat broke under his heavy cloak. Outside the chamber, attendants, high-level demons, and officials were milling about. Shang Qinghua’s skin prickled at the idea that just within, Mobei Jun was already bound and waiting. Although faint through the thick doors, the scent was unmistakable — inside, there was a fertile omega.
The scent was clearly affecting the assembled onlookers, many of whom were large alphas. In theory, Shang Qinghua had already chosen Mobei Jun’s breeding partner. In reality, once those great doors were locked there was no going back. All another alpha had to do was force their way inside before that happened. Shang Qinghua’s candidate wasn’t the largest among them, but he was certainly the loudest; he stood out proudly, bare but for an orange silk robe. He had already been prepared for the ritual by the palace physicians, filled with concoctions to trigger his rut and painted with sigils that would concentrate his spiritual energy under the full moon. He had the back of a tiger and the waist of a bear, every inch of him rippling with muscle. Only his bestial characteristics gave away his lower cultivation; faint tiger stripes crisscrossed his neck, arms, and legs, and his sclera were pure black with a thick waterline. He tipped back his head and roared as the scent emanating from the chamber increased and the crowd became more agitated. The sound travelled through the floors and walls, vibrating up Shang Qinghua’s legs and making his guts quake.
“Was this really the best you could do?” the advisor Shang Qinghua had seen before hissed under his breath, coming to stand beside him.
“He has a solid lineage with no history of insurrection,” Shang Qinghua shot back peevishly. He rolled his shoulders, light silk sliding over bare skin under his heavy cloak. “His family is only a cadet branch, so his connections aren't as strong as he looks. And he’s already produced several powerful offspring. Our Lord’s own majesty will make up for his shortcomings.”
“He's a brute,” the advisor sniffed. “I heard his family still partake of rotten human flesh. It's simply uncouth.”
Calling him a brute was a lot by demon standards. Shang Qinghua had watched Mobei Jun tear throats out with his teeth. Subjugating an omega as powerful as him would be truly boastworthy.
Luckily, Shang Qinghua had no intention of actually letting the tiger demon breed his king.
He slipped a hand into one of his sleeves, gently rolling a small, smooth bead between his fingers. Attention turned to the large gathering of posturing alphas as they grew rowdier. The air grew thick with the smell of rut, the pheromones grating on the edge of Shang Qinghua’s instincts. An army of servants gathered cautiously around the edge of the crowd with towels and buckets of water. Not for Mobei Jun — the throne room had long been stocked with everything the king might need, and the doors to the throne room couldn't be forced. It was up to Mobei Jun to unseal them just long enough to admit one mate, after which they would automatically re-seal themselves, locking him and the alpha inside. Nothing was coming in, nothing was getting out.
Including Shang Qinghua if everything went horribly wrong.
The servants’ supplies were for cleaning blood out of the floor. Shang Qinghua recognised the beats of the plot. Luo Binghe had proven his mettle against many a contender in these arcs, bursting into the breeding chamber covered in the blood of rival suitors to claim his waiting prize! It was always a fan favourite, especially when Luo Binghe was the rival who had come to steal an alpha’s girl!
Shang Qinghua’s audience liked what they liked, okay?
The tension was simmering, but it hadn’t yet come to a boil. With the crucial moment fast approaching, Shang Qinghua needed to crank up the temperature. He discreetly retrieved the bead from his sleeve. It vibrated in his fingers, imbued with his spiritual energy. The bead was a Chatter Pearl, the unique creation of the Thousand-Eyed Silk Mussel, which used it to mimic the sounds of waves and hide from the keen ears of shoreline predators while it clung to the rocks. This mimicry could also be used to record other noises, and Shang Qinghua kept a few in his possession at all times.
Admittedly, it was… not the smartest plot point he’d ever come up with. Not least because he hasn't realised until after posting the chapter that molluscs didn’t really make noise, per se. But whatever — he’d needed a way for Sha Hualing to turn the Qin sisters against each other in one of the harem arcs, and a proto-recording device had done the trick. Cucumber-bro had still paid for the chapter, and Shang Qinghua had still paid rent. With a subtle flick of his wrist he tossed the pea-sized, iridescent pearl into the crowd. It skated across the floor, directed this way and that by Shang Qinghua’s spiritual power as it zipped between people's feet.
‘Lord Wen cannot satisfy an omega,’ the devious little thing whispered, sowing discord among the alphas. Shang Qinghua watched heads begin to turn with a low buzz of gossip and muffled laughter. The anxiety that was crushing his insides to powder tightened its hold while his plans raced towards fruition.
‘Lord Wen’s seed is weak,’ the pearl spoke. ‘Lord Wen’s offspring are cowardly and feeble.’
“Who said that?!” the tiger demon roared, whipping around in the direction of the noise. “Who dares?!”
The advisor frowned, craning his neck to catch a view. “What's going on?”
Shang Qinghua’s fingers twitched in his sleeves, guiding the pearl closer to Lord Wen. In his peripheral vision the heavy doors of the great hall started to crack open, but the sound was drowned out by the rising commotion.
‘Lord Wen can only last half an incense time.’
‘Lord Wen’s member is like a slender spring onion.’
‘An omega can barely feel Lord Wen’s knot.’
Mistress Wu shrieked with laughter and pointed, triggering a wave of titters from the crowd. Lord Wen whirled around, teeth bared and his face bright red. He fell into a fighting stance, wicked, four-inch-long claws protracted, and turned on a demon directly opposite him. The Chatter Pearl sat by the unwitting alpha’s ankle, still muttering away.
“You?!” he snarled. The other alpha immediately reared up in response, puffing the coarse mane along his neck out in an impressive display. Lord Wen shoved him backwards and he went careening into a third person, who lashed out and caught him savagely across the cheek. The metallic scent of blood pierced the air and cut through the pheromones. Shang Qinghua watched with satisfaction as the crowd devolved into a mosh pit, all of the highly strung, hormonal demons venting their barely-restrained violence in an orgy of claws and teeth.
“Wait,” the advisor said as he realised what was happening. He took a step forward and then a step back, torn between preserving the ritual and preserving himself. “Wait, stop, it’s — control yourselves — it’s nearly time!”
Shang Qinghua gravitated to where the doors of the throne room were now open wide enough for him to squeeze through, inching his way around the perimeter to avoid drawing attention. The heavenly smell of an omega in full heat emanated from the room and made his cock stir, his member plumping under his robes. He shed his heavy outer cloak, suddenly unbearably hot even though the temperature was barely above freezing. He strolled right through the gap, now about shoulder width; as soon as he crossed the threshold, the doors registered the presence of a breeding alpha and began to shudder closed with an almighty groan.
It was enough to catch the advisor’s attention. His head snapped towards the sound, confusion morphing into disbelief and then violent fury when he saw Shang Qinghua standing inside the chamber clad only in a fine, blue silk robe, his arms and legs daubed with sigils. Shang Qinghua grinned and waved.
“You—!” he cried, lunging for him, but Shang Qinghua had planned his usurpation to the second. The last thing he saw was the ice demon’s livid, horror-stricken face before the doors slammed shut with a definitive bang. With a sound like a cracking glacier, thick ribbons of ice shot up the seams and hinges, sealing it against intrusion. Heavy silence fell. Shang Qinghua tossed his head back and exhaled deeply with relief, his racing heartbeat finally slowing down.
The sound of clanking chains and a low, sonorous growl brought it right back up. His pulse spiked violently, his muscles seizing. He turned slowly and was immediately fixed by two frigid black eyes glaring at him down the length of the room. A low, threatening rumble emanated from his chest and stirred a stomach-turning mixture of fear and desire. The first step towards Mobei Jun was agony, his instincts torn between claiming the fertile omega and plastering himself defensively up against the farthest wall. Up on the dias the demon lay naked with his wrists in shackles, short lengths of heavy chain tying him to the post. His pale limbs were decorated with elaborate scrolls of silver and blue that mirrored Shang Qinghua’s, and the markings fed like arrows towards a sigil painted over his core.
Shang Qinghua had never so much as sniffed in the direction of a fertile omega before. In a world where Luo Binghe should have been commanding a harem the size of a small army, no one with any sense would! Sure, he wrote the novel. But writing and living were two very different things. Shang Qinghua was an alpha — the mysteries of exactly how omega heats worked were as beyond him now as they had been back in the modern world when he'd been bullshitting ways to satisfy his readership's surprisingly voracious breeding kink! All he knew was hot water, soft blankets, and a very wide berth that wouldn’t trigger his own rut!
Something told him that his failsafe formula would very much fail to keep him safe under these circumstances.
Okay. He had to focus. Panic was not an option. If there was anything he knew about this universe, both in theory and in practice, it was that scent was everything. An omega could smell fear, which was bad enough under normal circumstances when a vulnerable, ovulating omega needed the comfort and support of their alpha. A powerful one like Mobei Jun would eat him alive. All the ritual impregnation Shang Qinghua had written featured omegas trembling with desire, their submissive bodies pliant and sweetly inviting. Even the feisty wives were swiftly conquered by the Heavenly Pillar, all their fight dissolving into helpless, orgasmic cries for more.
Mobei Jun had all the allure of a caged panther.
Shang Qinghua didn’t have anything close to a heavenly pillar, either. In fact, every part of him looked terrifyingly small in comparison to Mobei Jun's colossal bulk. The demon, for his part, looked about ready to finish him off in two bites. Being bound and naked did nothing to diminish his petulant, commanding air. Shang Qinghua was suddenly profoundly glad that he didn't write these things to be a public spectacle.
“Qinghua…?” Mobei Jun said slowly. “Where is Lord Wen?”
“He’s, ah—” Shang Qinghua jumped a little at the sound of something heavy slamming repeatedly against the sealed doors. He looked back over his shoulder, then threw Mobei Jun a sheepish smile, “—indisposed.”
“Indisposed,” Mobei Jun repeated quietly. His frown deepened. He cocked his head with a jerk of his chin.
“Unforeseen circumstances,” Shang Qinghua said as he slowly approached. He shrugged, trying to keep the tone light and non-life-threatening even as Mobei Jun’s lips twitched over his fangs the closer he got. The insistent itch that had settled under his skin hours ago rose to the surface with the shortening distance, Mobei Jun’s pheromones overwhelming his senses. His scent was earthy and sweet like freshly-felled pine and the frigid oncoming of winter. Shang Qinghua rolled his neck, his body stiff with tension. Mobei Jun shifted his closed legs and a fresh wave of his scent hit Shang Qinghua right behind the eyes. His back teeth ached with the desire to lunge and bite — to scent every part of Mobei Jun until they smelled the same, until all the alphas banging down the doors could smell was him.
“Don’t worry, Dawang,” he soothed, “I’ll… I’ll take care of you.”
“You fought them off?” Mobei Jun said, ignoring him. He licked his lips and Shang Qinghua got a glimpse of sharp, white canines.
“Something like that,” he muttered. Mobei Jun exhaled deeply. A feral snarl ripped through him when Shang Qinghua knelt at his feet, his muscles straining against the chains that held him fast. It took a herculean effort not to flinch, but Shang Qinghua forced himself to hold his gaze, vocalising softly. His hand crept up from the floor towards Mobei Jun’s ankle. He earned another savage snarl when he was a hair’s breadth away.
Then his hot fingers made contact with the omega’s cool skin, and Mobei Jun broke.
His eyes squeezed closed and his brow furrowed, his abdominal muscles contracting. His scent couldn’t lie; Shang Qinghua could smell the desire rolling off him, his pheromones spiking abruptly at being touched. For all that the alphas outside had been in a frenzy — Shang Qinghua included — Mobei Jun’s condition must have been worse, tied up alone here for hours as he fell further into his heat with a gang of alphas in rut just outside. He slid his hand up to the calf. The tiny pants escaping Mobei Jun’s lips had him so sensitive that the slide of silk against his cock hurt.
Mobei Jun growled again weakly when Shang Qinghua nestled between his thighs, but his legs spread easily under his palms in tacit acceptance. His pussy looked soft and dewy, the lips already dark with arousal and his hole drooling slick into a puddle on the floor. His chubby outer lips were fat and flushed, and the sight of him had Shang Qinghua’s cock hard as the obsidian that he knelt on, reaching eagerly for the wet haven that lay just between Mobei Jun’s sprawled thighs. Instinct and his own pounding need ordered him to mount, to take, to breed — to grab Mobei Jun by the hips and fuck him hard and fast until his pussy was so stuffed with cum that it overflowed, his fertile womb welcoming Shang Qinghua’s seed. The part of his brain that was still clocked in reminded him that he would never, ever have this chance again. This was his only opportunity to push Mobei Jun down and take what he wanted for once. What was his was Mobei Jun’s… but just for this short time, what was Mobei Jun’s was his as well.
“Uh! Unh!” Mobei Jun groaned, his thighs and pelvis seizing. His cries wrent the air as Shang Qinghua dragged the flat of his tongue from just above the cleft of his plush cheeks to his clit, the tart, earthy flavour of Mobei Jun’s slick making his mouth water. The chains screeched against the floor. Shang Qinghua kept his eyes locked on Mobei Jun’s face as he devoured his wet pussy — Dawang’s pussy — with a ravenous, wet slurp, his folds petal-soft against his tongue when he sucked them into his mouth. It was a struggle to hold on as Mobei Jun bucked under him, all that thick muscle grinding helplessly against his face while his tongue drove Mobei Jun higher and higher. Shang Qinghua didn't have a freakishly long, prehensile tongue like Mobei Jun did, but damn if he didn't wish for one now as he pushed the tip past the fluttering rim of his omega's hole. Mobei Jun's moans made his head spin like sweet wine and he was quickly becoming addicted. His juices flowed thicker here, slick coating Shang Qinghua's lips and chin, and he feasted on his pussy like he was starving.
It was relief without relief, stoking the flame into a wildfire. Shang Qinghua ached to be inside, and from the way those powerful hips rolled against his face, he knew Mobei Jun was rapidly giving into his own instincts; knew that he ached for Shang Qinghua to be there too.
“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun moaned, writhing against his bindings. “Qinghua, higher. Qinghua. Qinghua.”
Shang Qinghua pulled away long enough to nip sharply at the scent gland in Mobei Jun’s inner thigh. Mobei Jun tossed his head back against the pillar and moaned wantonly, his clit visibly jumping and his pussy quivering at the pain. Then he bowed his head and sucked Mobei Jun's plump clit into his mouth. The ice demon grunted, his hips jerking up sharply as he instinctually sought relief in Shang Qinghua’s tongue. Shang Qinghua rested a palm against the tightly-muscled planes of Mobei Jun’s lower abdomen, right above the seal over his womb. His other hand gripped the meat of the omega’s ass and encouraged him to buck up against his face as he sloppily sucked and kissed at the eager, swollen nub. He hollowed his cheeks and massaged his tongue against the soft, silken hood covering Mobei Jun’s clit, rolling the hard bud underneath back and forth until Mobei Jun’s breath came loud and ragged, a mixture of sensual moans and animalistic cries.
He pulled off with a pop. “That’s it, Dawang,” he crooned, “that’s it, just like that.” When Mobei Jun thrashed against his bindings with a roar of frustration Shang Qinghua flicked the rigid tip of his tongue over the length of his clit, drawing patterns with it until Mobei Jun broke down sobbing once more. He hollowed his cheeks and alternated long, sucking pulls on his stiff clit with lapping at his slit, nuzzling his face into his velvet-soft pussy and drowning in the potency of his taste and smell. He dipped his tongue in and out of Mobei Jun’s fluttering hole, chasing his flavour.
“Mmn, mmm, ah… Qinghua… I want — hn — now!” he ordered, slamming his fist against the floor and cracking the tiles. Shang Qinghua pulled away entirely and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, making Mobei Jun demand even louder.
Under normal circumstances, Shang Qinghua would have been leery about putting his hands or face anywhere near Mobei Jun’s huge canines — but these weren’t normal circumstances. Shang Qinghua was a mating alpha trying to wrangle a disobedient omega, and the flood of hormones filled him with uncharacteristic confidence.
His hand shot out and grabbed Mobei Jun by the chin. “Enough,” he barked. Mobei Jun’s eyes widened, his pupils dilating until his irises were little more than slivers. He gritted his teeth and pulled against his chains with all his strength, his eyes falling half-closed as he curled in on himself and came untouched.
“Mmmn, mnn, hah, ah, ah…” he snarled through clenched teeth. Shang Qinghua took himself in hand and smacked his length against his slit, Mobei Jun’s clit throbbing against his cock. He rolled his hips, his dick gliding across Mobei Jun’s sticky folds. Sticky sweat coated his lower back, his chest, and the backs of his knees, his own desire restrained only by monumental force of will — but now, with Mobei Jun quivering and lax under him, he couldn’t fight the desire that had been bubbling since he first caught the scent of Mobei Jun’s heat. He grabbed the demon’s thighs and threw him over, bending him into that position that all omegas knew until his plush pussy was presented and his face was pressed against the cold floor.
“Uh!” they both yelled in unison when Shang Qinghua sheathed himself fully within Mobei Jun’s cunt. Inside he burned hotter than an ice demon had any business being. The sigils, now glowing intensely, must have been helping to regulate his body temperature, but sweat still beaded at his temples and coated his chest in a light sheen. That first, perfect glide was like magic, copious amounts of slick easing the way, but Shang Qinghua was too far gone to bask in it. The cavernous hall was filled with mingled moans and the brisk slap of skin against skin as Shang Qinghua picked up an unforgiving pace, the wet shlick of every upstroke sensual, pornographic.
“Mine,” he growled, deep and low. He leaned forward to graze his teeth over the ice demon’s scent glands, eliciting a panting whimper. “You’re mine, do you understand? You’re going to take my knot, carry my young, cum on my cock. You were made for me.”
Mobei Jun reacted enthusiastically, his pussy bearing down hard until Shang Qinghua was sweating from the exertion of every thrust, impossible tightness sucking and milking his length. His fingers dug deeply into Mobei Jun’s hips, throwing him back and forth on his dick while the omega did his best to thrust back.
"No one else could handle you." That was a lie. Mobei Jun was a force of nature, a creature formed from frigid winds and hoarfrost that defied all authority except Luo Binghe’s. But right now, in this primal, frenzied ecstasy, he was ass-up and face-down for Shang Qinghua, his cunt weeping around Shang Qinghua’s cock while his body yearned for Shang Qinghua’s cum and Shang Qinghua’s knot. Any other alphas — anyone else at all — had ceased to exist for this desperate, electric moment. It might as well have been true, because Mobei Jun’s talons were carving deep claw marks into the obsidian floor.
“Please, please…” he rasped.
“Fuck,” Shang Qinghua swore. Mobei Jun was disregarding even his monumental pride, begging to be bred — begging for him. “I’m going to breed this pussy until you forget about anyone else. As many times as it takes, d’you understand? You’re not leaving this room until you’re pregnant with my children.”
“Yes!” Mobei Jun roared, his cunt clenching so hard that Shang Qinghua briefly forgot how to breathe. He reached down to slap Mobei Jun’s abused clit, petting it in tight circles while he howled for more, more. Shang Qinghua gasped for air, his length pulsing with the ferocity of his orgasm and his knot tightening as it swelled.
“Hah, hah,” he cried. The ice demon writhed beneath him, caught between his tight grip and his chains while Shang Qinghua pumped his pussy full of cum, his knot popping fully inside and stretching him open. The tight sucking against his knot as it tied them together made his thighs tremble. He stroked Mobei Jun’s stiff clit insistently. Every pulsing wave of his pussy as Shang Qinghua wrung another orgasm from him suffused his body with warmth.
It must have been this that divorced Shang Qinghua’s good sense from his body. Knotting Mobei Jun felt so good — too good. The painted juncture of his shoulder and neck was too good to resist; in a moment of insanity, Shang Qinghua grabbed Mobei Jun by the hair and sank his teeth into the spot right above his scent gland, coppery blood exploding on his tongue when his teeth broke the skin. His brain screamed at him to let go, let go, even though it was already too late, the two of them irrevocably bonded by teeth breaking skin and his swollen knot anchoring them together. Surprise registered in the back of his rut-addled brain when, rather than fight him off, Mobei Jun went entirely limp. He relaxed under his bite obediently with a pleasured sigh. His trembling knees finally gave out, the weight of his body dragging them both down into a panting, sweaty heap. Shang Qinghua soothed the raw bite with his tongue, nuzzling the scent glands in his jaw against Mobei Jun’s neck and vocalising softly.
The two of them lay in a pile, their laboured breathing loud in the otherwise silent throne room. The banging on the door had stopped at some point; the sound of their enthusiastic coupling must have made it clear that Mobei Jun had already been claimed, or perhaps the competing alphas had realised that attempts to break in were futile. When his knot waned, Shang Qinghua would search out the stash of supplies that the servants had left somewhere and make his omega comfortable. They had a long way to go before either of them were leaving.
For now, he slumped against Mobei Jun’s back, starfished on top of his much larger body and pleasantly drowsy. A mechanical ding nagged at the edge of his fuzzy consciousness.
【+2,000 B Points. Congratulations on surviving the ‘Bloodlines’ subplot!】
Motherfucker.