When is the next chapter of “little bit of lead”? I love your work I genuinely finished like almost every he tian/mo guanshan fanfic and nothing compares.
Oh thank you!
Honestly, not right now? Not never, but not right now. The next chapter is about halfway done and it should take another few weeks before I’m ready to post it. The June-July period has been and will be very busy for me and leaving the google doc unopened for a while kinda killed the writing groove I had managed to get myself into for the last few chapters.
The groove will return, I just need a bit of downtime
huge huge props to anyone who can write long-form stuff on their phone or literally anything that isn't a PC. i could never, i get way too distracted 😅😅😅
Guan Shan wakes up in his childhood bedroom with a headache, after maybe four hours of sleep. He didn’t even drink yesterday, neither did his parents. It’s just that the bedsheets are tucked too tight and this bedroom simply isn’t really his anymore although it has been kept almost as he left it years ago."
For now I'm at 14 chapters plus an 'epilogue' BUT the 'epilogue' keeps getting longer and I'm wondering whether to publish it as chapter 15 and 16 or to just upload it as another work
(Full disclosure: this is part of a 4k word pwp fic i recently whipped out in a single sitting [literally never have had that kinda writing stamina lol]. I must have been exorcising the sad horny ghosts out of me or some shite, but as soon as i get the same energy this is gettin edited and posted in full heheh)
cw: implied power play
[...]
A pathetic huff of laughter escapes him, and he lifts his eyes, only to find Mo still watching him in incredulity. It melts into a wobbly smirk, as though Mo truly can read every depraved thought flashing through his head.
"You're such a pervert."
The word, startingly clear, goes right to He Tian's gut. His cock jerks inside Mo at the sound.
He asks Mo to say it again. He doesn't need to ask twice.
Mo loosens his grip on He Tian's chin, fair hands sliding to cup either side of his jaw, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. It's as much of a settling touch as it is a prelude to a side of Mo he's not privy to often. Leaning in, Mo's shuddering voice ghosts against the shell of He Tian's ear.
"What happened to taking your time? Huh? Where's the guy who bent me back in half and pounded me into believing I need to feel the stretch for days? Just so I can't miss you. You said a lot of shit. Mind repeating it?"
He Tian's mind reels to the door, where it all starts. They barely get out of their clothes before he drags Mo to the wall, sinks down to his knees. Makes a whole show of it, nosing along the front of his boxers, mouth hot and wet over the hard outline straining the fabric. Mo's socked toes curl over the zipper of He Tian's pants, pressing lightly. He babbles filth into Mo, spurred on by his moans, promising to wreck him piece by piece. Every dirty fantasy he can conjure pours out of him, although most stopped being just wet dreams a long time ago. Mo doesn't twist in shame or avert his eyes when he pushes back against his tongue and fingers. If he grows anxious, it's because at some point they aren't nearly enough anymore. Both are in agreement: He Tian has diligently tended to his hole, and now Mo will come for him, only for him, when he occupies the space he has created for himself.
"Maybe you need me to remind you?"
The image before He Tian: Mo raising his ass and positioning himself right over He Tian's angry-red tip. The hand wrapped at the base is pumping the sensitive flesh in languid, barely-there strokes. He doesn't go any further.
Will he really not do anything? Will he strand He Tian in this half-unspooled stasis? Would he, any other night—day? That doesn't make any sense. Does it? He Tian can't hold onto anything but the wicked image of Mo parting for him every time they find themselves in this situation, with each goodbye. If he had playfully withheld any of those times, would Mo have behaved this ruthlessly? Would he have been forceful? What would he do. What would he have He Tian do.
He Tian isn't breathing. No. Not quite true. Air fights its way into him, but it's Mo who fills the expanse of his chest, the weight of him so heavy it won't let anything occupy his place. Like this, his body is useless, unused, and the knowledge is intolerable liquid fire coursing through him.
I studied Chinese for three years in high school and my teacher was the nicest person. She was from Tianjin and also an evangelical Christian who was considering converting to Catholicism because she didn’t like how much French protestants love to dunk on the cult of saints. When we went on a school trip to China with her, she made sure to bring us to mass on Sunday (which was the third and last time I attended mass) (the other two times being my own baptism when I was 6 months old and my cousin’s communion)
"It’s sizzling hot today, and it will be at least until the end of the week.
To make their meal more bearable, the restaurant owner decides to pull the canopy over the patio. Guan Shan gets up from his plastic stool before he is asked to give a hand to the small old man. Once it’s done, he sits down at the table and his dad, sitting across from him, thanks them for the extra shade.
“Always helpful having a tall guy around,” dad says.
The old man smiles back at him in agreement and heads inside.
“I’m not that tall,” Guan Shan retorts, digging back into his food. A bit taller than average, maybe, but he’s seen worse. Senior citizens just like him, for some reason. It’s a thing. There’s always some little grandma asking him to pick stuff from the high shelves for her when he goes grocery shopping. He used to think having that many visible tattoos would scare most people away. Little grandmas don’t give a fuck."
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