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luveline · 4 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬

Aaron sets the record straight when an overheard conversation convinces you that you’re not good enough for him. 5k

c: fem, hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive theme (non-graphic implied sex scene). hotch is a good husband. requested here

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“Honey, this is Clint McMoore. We went to college together.”

You step into Aaron’s side. Clint McMoore is a handsome older man with silvering hair and a beard that looks out of control. His bowtie is loose around his neck, and his cheeks are blotchy with drink, but Clint smiles at you and offers his hand. “How do you do?” he asks.

“Quite well, thank you.” You’ve been practising fancy dinner talk with Aaron’s friend Emily for weeks. She has all the political background you’d needed to see yourself into the culture. “It’s nice to meet one of Aaron’s school friends.”

“While you still can,” Clint says with a chuckle. Something about being in your forties is obscene to these men, as though death waits for fifty candles to snuff them out.

“Clint and I were in the Student Theatre club together, our first year.”

You grin, smile laced with teasing. Each time you’re reminded of Aaron’s young interest in drama, you have to focus very hard on not laughing; the Aaron who has his hand to your shoulder isn’t one you could envision on stage. “Did you perform together?” you ask.

“Saturday Night Fever,” Clint says.

They laugh and reminisce. You find these sorts of events hard to keep up with, but you come when Aaron asks because he so rarely asks you for anything. He hasn’t mentioned knowing that you don’t like coming, But perhaps he hasn’t noticed —it’s not like you to frown, not when you’re with Aaron. The way he treats you, he probably thinks you’re the happiest girl in the world.

There’s a contentedness to be found when he touches you. He spreads a hand against your lower back and you let yourself sink into his side, curled into his embrace and amazed at the giggly laugh he lets out as Clint brings up the ‘King of the River’ tattoo Aaron has hidden beneath his shirt. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek.

Clint asks, “Isn’t that right?” and forces you back into the conversation.

You’re wearing a dress you panicked over for days. It’s black, cut playfully just above your knees with small petal sleeves. Your necklace is of a delicate chain and a not so delicate pearl —a black Tahitian South Sea pearl that glows pink and green in the light. For you, Aaron wrote, his pretty scrawl inky across a square of scalloped card from atop the box. I’m in love with you. Forgive me for not having the courage to tell you in person.

Your Aaron is quiet. Some days he comes home from work and doesn’t manage more than a sentence. Some days he can barely speak at all. But there are nights when he holds you to hold you and talks in murmurs against your ear, and he’s good at making calls when he’s away. Talking or not, smiling or otherwise, Aaron finds a way to let you know he loves you, and that’s all you care about.

“Excuse us,” Aaron says, giving Clint a rare, warm smile, “I’m being flagged by my boss.”

Sure enough, Erin Strauss is beckoning Aaron with a strange pained look.

“Nice to meet you,” you say quickly to Clint. He repeats your goodbye, and you and Aaron swerve around him.

“He was nice,” you murmur.

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

“How come you fell out of touch?”

“Oh, you know how things go, honey, you forget all the people you meet and make room for new ones.” He kisses your cheek. “And besides, he used to gossip like my mother. Why don’t you go find JJ?”

“You’ll be alright?”

“No, maybe not.” He squeezes your elbow quickly. “Go, find some hors d’oeuvres, at least.”

You find neither JJ nor finger foods. The gala you’re attending is being held in a hotel in the richest part of D.C, and the events hall is huge. The ceiling is a fantasy, glass and miles upward, overhead chandeliers dangling lower, dousing the crowds below in a light that’s clean. The rich and powerful gather at the edges of the room, though the performance toward the back of the room is watched by a few tens of couples with flutes of champagne held in gloved hands.

You hadn’t worn gloves. Hadn’t thought about it until you got here. Honestly, you felt grateful enough that JJ texted you to tell you to buy a shawl; if you weren’t wearing one you’re sure you’d feel bare.

What you’re lacking in fancy is made up for by your earnestness, or so you’d like to believe. You aren’t rich nor powerful, but Aaron’s a good man and you his good wife. You work hard, which is more than some of the richest in the room can say. You hold your head high without a second thought.

The hall is confusing. Tables are set but you aren’t sure Aaron said anything about a dinner service. Wait staff carry silver platters and hold bottles of champagne, but each time you approach one they seem to have already headed in another direction. JJ and Derek are both supposed to be here tonight, but you haven’t seen either of them since you arrived. You cast your gaze for Derek’s figure, searching for an easy gait and a strong set of shoulders. You cock your head waiting for a hint of JJ’s practised, polite laughter, but any familiar signs are gone. You can’t even find Aaron anymore, and your shoes are pinching your toes.

Disaster. You should’ve listened to Aaron when he told you to size up, just you doubted his knowledge of ladies shoes considering how rarely he wears them. Stupid man, you think to yourself, lovingly yet ruefully as you sit down at one of the uninhabited tables to the very side of the room. Knows everything. Tonight, you’ll limp back to the car and he won’t bother saying I told you so, he’s too good for it, which is worse. He’ll give you one of his amused smiles. He might offer you a massage.

Ridiculous man, you further to yourself, biting back a cheesy smile as you peel your shoe from a sore foot. If you shove your hand deep enough into the toe you can stretch them out a little.

“Darling.”

You look up. Clint McMoore’s resurfaced just a table away with his back to you. A sweet-faced woman with brown hair sits adjacent to him, her shoulder under Clint’s hand.

“You’ll never guess who I just bumped into,” he says.

Me, you think.

“Aaron Hotchner and his new wife.”

“You didn’t,” the woman says.

“I knew you’d be envious of that,” he laughs. “Charlotte, she’s unbelievable.”

Your stomach does a strange flip. He’ll say something nice, you insist, but you know his tone is a precursor for gossipy nonsense.

“I’ve never seen such a mismatched pair,” he says.

Charlotte rolls her eyes at him. “Well, what were you expecting? They were married after six months of knowing one another. I couldn’t so much as tolerate you until our first anniversary.”

“Hardy-har.”

“What’s wrong with her, then?” Charlotte asks.

“Nothing like that, Charlotte. She seemed perfectly pleasant–”

“But?”

“But, she’s nothing like Aaron’s usual woman.”

“Hm, I said as much when we saw their wedding photos.“ They both laugh. “It’s not like she had much of a chance. First Haley, and then that Beth, the designer, she’s in Milan now–”

“He seems rather besotted, in any case,” Clint says. “Very lady and the tramp.”

“Gentleman and the tramp.”

“Don’t be cruel, Charlotte.”

You know in a way that Charlotte is kidding, but you boil up with anger the moment you recognise what it is they’re implying. Then they laugh, and your anger quickly finds itself taking a crueller shape.

You slip your foot back into your shoe slowly. Your throat feels dry and then warm, like a crux of smouldering coal stuck in your windpipe as you stand, jerkily, hand stiff where it holds your weight on a silken tablecloth.

You blink and stare at the floor. It’s marble. It’s shot through with dark veins like a drop of ichor in water.

What the fuck?

You aren’t sure why you’re leaving the hall until you’re walking down the steps of the hotel and turning along the skirts of a hedge. A low brick wall lies in front of it, just short enough to sit on with your heels. Your coccyx stings with the force of how hard you go down.

Your head races with hurt feelings.

You’re not unaware of your husband’s past loves. It comes as no surprise to you that people regard Haley and Beth highly —Haley was extremely beautiful and veritably brave, intelligent, kind-hearted. Beth was funny, Aaron said, and not too much else. Being a designer in Milan hasn’t been mentioned before, but it’s impressive. They’re both impressive, and– and his usual woman.

You rub the starchy stockings stretched over your knees.

What had they meant by usual woman?

Mismatched?

It hadn’t felt mismatched when Aaron asked you to marry him. It wasn’t six months after knowing one another as Clint’s wife suggested, but it wasn’t much more than that. He proposed to you after eight months together, and you were married two months later, which is incredibly fast to some people but it just hadn't felt fast when he asked. It was exciting —it still is.

“Would you marry me, if I asked you to?” he’d said, some seven months after you’d agreed to be his girlfriend. Your head in his lap, his fingers rubbing at the soft skin of your nape. A sleepy Sunday morning like any other, you suppose that was a proposal in itself, but you hadn’t realised that when you murmured, “Yeah, handsome. I would.”

You thought it was just love. Making innocuous comments about the future is part of falling in love. It’s terrifying to tell someone that you’d like to live life in their lap, but you tell them, and they tell you to go ahead if you’re lucky.

He asked you to get married a few weeks later. “I had to talk to Jack,” he explained, “or I would’ve asked you then and there.“

You’re a wife suddenly, a step-mother, a partner. Aaron would’ve sold the house and bought you a new one if you wanted him to, but you like his life. You’ve always felt like you fit right in.

Angry again, you scrub at your knees with itchy palms and practise how you’re going to tell Aaron about his cruel friend. Gossipy was right, what a lark, and you’re not perfectly pleasant, you’re a delight, you hadn’t said one bad word to Clint and you didn’t deserve to be whipped and twisted into a bad joke between sips of Cristal.

Your eyes burn with the injustice of the thing.

Rawness overtakes. A thudding in your chest turns painful, neck wrought with tightness as you hang your head. Hiding from the cold air. November brings with it a promise of chapped lips the longer you stay there, biting into your thighs as your hands turn stiff with disuse.

She was unbelievable.

“Y/N!” The shout is sharp. You’ve never heard Aaron’s voice at that level or with that level of formidability, carrying from the bottom of the hotel stairs. You twist in shock on the wall and watch in real time as his face fills with relief. “Honey,” he says, calling but not half as scary as he jogs to you, “are you alright?”

“What?”

“You scared me,” he insists, bending down to hold your shoulders. “Nobody’s seen you for the last fifteen minutes, sweetheart, we talked about this. You can’t just disappear, you left your purse on the table, I thought something happened to you.”

You startle at his scolding. “I–”

“You should feel my heart.”

“I didn’t mean to come out here.”

“I wish you would’ve let somebody know,” he says. His frown softens slowly, but the concern around his eyes remains. “What?” he asks.

“Sorry.”

His eyes finally soften. “No, I’m sorry. It’s alright, I just worry when you’re not with me.”

“That’s romantic.”

He holds your cheek, pulling you in, and gives you two gentle kisses. Your lips part instinctively to receive them. “We’ll get our things and go home. It looks as though dinner isn’t happening.” He smiles. “Why were you out here?”

“Scavenging for food.”

That gets a laugh out of him, and another nice kiss. “You tried your best.”

—

Aaron takes you home, and when dinner’s been cleared away, when you’ve showered and he’s undressed, he pulls you toward the bed and kisses you warmly. His eyes track from your face to the tucked corner of your towel, a silent Can I?

You let him take it off. He lays you out, and for a while you’re only his. His wife, his half, his to tease and turn and delight. He says “Beautiful,” against your thigh, says, “Honey, is that okay?” says, “Please, I’ve got it, I have you, just let me have you…”

After, he tells you he loves you, his voice still ever so slightly high in contrast to usual dulcet tones.

“I love you, too,” you say.

His breath comes fast. Your lap is a mess he’d wiped as clean as he could manage, the memory of him bearing down on you yet to fade. He lies on his stomach beside you with his arm over yours, his face turned into you, his nose on your cheek.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. “You feel tense.”

“Mm.”

“No, did I hurt you? You’re rigid.” His hands fret a line down the side of your chest. “You didn’t…”

You hadn’t said anything, because he really hadn’t hurt you. But the thoughts you’re having now are intrusive —am I okay? you think. Do I measure up? He’s never made any indication that you’ve let him down, not in sex or anything else, but you’re unbelievable.

You swallow a lump. “Sorry,” you say, the lingering ebbs of pleasure twisting into tears faster than you can stop it.

“Are you crying?” he asks under his breath.

You suck in a breath as he pushes onto his hands.

“These aren’t good tears,” he says.

He’d know. They’re not.

Aaron reaches over you to turn on the lamp on the nightstand before settling, his hand cupping your waist. It’s too much suddenly, too bare, he’s too much to look at as you squeeze your eyes closed. “Sorry,” you squeeze out.

“What did I do?” he asks, holding you carefully. “Please, sweetheart, what’s hurting? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not you.”

“But something does hurt?”

“No, no, I’m okay.” You cover your face with your hands. When you start to sob, it shakes the entire mattress, Aaron’s hand wobbling where it cups your ribs.

“Please.” His thumb works a soft spot into your skin. “Honey, please, you can’t cry now without telling me what’s wrong.” He tries a laugh, but it falls flat. “Honey. Honey.”

It wasn’t the sex. He never does anything wrong, he’s so gentle even when he isn’t, and if he did you’d only have to tell him, but the rush of being touched by him so nicely, fuck, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he took your face into his hand as he moved —you’re not trying to be a crier, but he makes you feel like you’re everything and you’re just not.

He looks sick.

“It wasn’t you, it was at the gala,” you manage.

For a long while after, you can’t get a word out. You shiver and sob as Aaron scoops you into his chest, his nose in your shoulder waiting for you to calm down. He rubs your waist, fingers parted and waving slowly as he shushes you. Not to make you stop, though. He’s reassuring.

“What happened at the gala?” he asks quietly.

“It’s so stupid.”

“No, it’s alright. Can you tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?”

You wrap your arms around his head. It really is stupid, you feel smaller than an ant under the shadow of a giant heel. Aaron doesn’t waver when you struggle to answer, feeling around behind you for a pillow and helping you against it. He kisses your forehead. “Let me get you something to wear.”

You catch his wrist. “It wasn’t you, wasn’t–” You lift your chin.

He kisses you. “Okay,” he says simply. “Let’s get dressed.”

He dresses quickly, bringing you underwear and one of your sleep shirts, a loose fit. You shuffle into them and watch him patiently as he cleans the small mess of the evening away. You’re sniffling softly when he returns to you, sitting with his back to your thighs.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry if I read things wrong. I never would’ve initiated anything if I knew you were feeling like this.”

You laugh weakly, worriedly, looking at him through your lashes. “It made me feel better,” you admit.

“If this is better, you must’ve been feeling awful.”

You relax as he puts his hand on your thigh.

“In the time I left you to talk to Strauss, something upset you. JJ and Morgan didn’t see you. So someone in the gala said something or did something that made you leave. If you tell me who it was, I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“You’re trying to bargain with me,” you mumble.

“I’m just telling you what can be done. I can take care of things.”

“It’s nothing… nothing so severe. You’ll wonder why I–” You give an unexpected sob. “Made all this fuss.”

“I don’t think I’ll wonder,” he says.

You laugh through tears. These ones are slow, your eyes already itchy from crying.

“Please tell me.” He tries teasing instead of sternness, lowering his face to yours. “Or I’ll cry too.”

“Aaron.”

“I will. You think I can’t, but seeing you crying like this, it’s more than enough ammunition.”

You let out a breath, admitting defeat. “Your friend, Clint? I overheard him with his wife. He didn’t have very nice things to say about me.”

“What could he possibly have to say?” Aaron asks with a frown.

You pull the sheets up your legs. “He said I’m… unbelievable, and I don’t think he meant it kindly. Said that I’m not your type, and that I… I had no chance of measuring up, because of who you’ve been with before. They were laughing about our wedding photos.” Your throat feels pressed into by a hot poker. “They said we were the gentleman and the tramp.”

His eyes squint. He looks disgusted, and for an uncomfortable moment you feel like it might be directed at you, but then he scoffs. “What a crock of shit.”

“Aaron!” you laugh.

“What could Clint McMoore possibly know about marriage? This is his fourth wife. And to imply that you’re any sort of calibre below the women I’ve dated before isn’t just misogynistic nonsense, it’s not true. You are the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and what’s that supposed to mean, gentlemen and the tramp?” He gives you such an earnest glare of confusion that you can’t for a second doubt what it is he’s saying. “I’m sorry, honey, I think he’s allowed himself a few too many nightcaps over the years. Perhaps he’s suffered a stroke.”

“Aaron, don’t say that,” you chide, secretly very pleased.

“Our wedding photos,” he says, his hand drifting further down your leg to rest just shy of somewhere more intimate, “are beautiful. You look beautiful. Clint would’ve writhed in jealousy in the pews if he’d been invited, because he would’ve seen it for himself.”

“I just sat there while they laughed at me,” you mumble.

“What were you supposed to do?” His hand travels out, to your hip, and then he holds you by the waist with both of his hands. They have a way of making you feel encapsulated, big and strong and careful on the bump of your hips.

“I don’t know.”

“Nothing,” he says, meeting your eyes with his usual tender-hearted compassion. “You weren’t supposed to do or say anything.” Aaron appears younger than he is for a second, his eyebrows raised, eyes big and brown as they track over your lips. “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise he was like that. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“I guess I’m just worried he’s right.”

“He’s not right. You are everything to me.” Again, he puts weight on the word, roughly said, like it takes a lot from him to say it. “I’m lucky to have been with women who were beautiful, and intelligent, but if there’s a question of you measuring up, there’s no competition. I’ve never been this in love.”

You take a shaky breath. “Never?” you ask.

He holds your gaze. “I knew it when we met. That's why I couldn’t wait to ask you to marry me.”

“You said you weren’t getting any younger.”

“Well, I’m not, but not everything’s about my age, you know,” he says, giving your waist a playful squeeze.

”You said it.”

“I did. That felt easier to say than, if I don’t marry you soon I might implode,” —he shuffles forward, encroaching on your legs and pressing his lips to your cheek— “would’ve just,” —he kisses your cheek, before turning your head— “wasted all that time waiting for someone else’s idea of the right time,” —and he kisses the other cheek, his nose skirting up your face— “wishing I was your husband when I could just,” —he smiles into your eyebrow as his hand slips under your shirt, holding your bare back— “ask.”

“I’m glad you asked me.”

You’d cried then, too, but it was less to do with a rush of adrenaline that knocked you out of balance and more to do with how lovingly he’d taken your hand as he asked. You knew from that moment on that someone was going to take care of you for the rest of your life. He’s doing it right now.

“I love you,” you say, forcing your arms over his shoulders.

He pulls you in so much that you lift from the mattress.

“I love you. Are you sure it wasn’t me that upset you? I have to check.”

“No. What you did to me wasn’t particularly upsetting.”

He laughs. “Are you sure? You can look a little teary–”

You shush him quickly.

He tips your head to the side to kiss your ear. “Maybe next time, you can tell me about whatever upset you beforehand.”

“And you can make me feel even better.”

His laugh is nearly inaudible, but his lips are by the side of your head. You hear it, the warmth of his breath kissing the shell of your ear.

—

Aaron likes to see you in your sweatpants. You look nice in everything, especially your dresses for the evening events he often drags you to, but he likes it when you wear sweatpants because it opens a window. You’ve purchased the wrong size, too big and too long, but you’ve tied them at the waist and you make do. You’re wearing the big shirt he helped you into the night before, sitting on the couch with your ferried breakfast.

The night before has been washed away, no sign of tears or upset. You have a clean, bright face, one he’d quite like to kiss, or hold, or have pressed to his neck, but none of this is unusual. Your eyes look sore, if he really looks. He’ll make you a compress after breakfast.

Dropped off by Jess an hour ago, Jack sits beside you picking at the breakfast tray. You’re sharing a plate. You don’t ever mind.

“Are you eating that one?” you ask.

Jack immediately nudges half of a chocolate chip pancake your way. “Was the gala fun?”

“Uh, sure. Saw your dad’s friends. But they had a weird thing with the caterers and we had to get dinner on the way home.”

“You could’ve made dad cook.”

“I guess, but we were tired. What did you have for dinner?”

“Jess made spicy chicken. It was amazing.” Jack squints at you. “Your eyes are puffy, Y/N. Are you sick?”

“I think I might be a little. Not enough to make you sick too, don’t worry.”

Aaron piles the last of the pancakes onto a plate and carries them to you in the living room. “Here, you two.”

“Did you eat?” you ask.

He loves you, bending over to kiss your forehead right in the middle. “Yes.”

“How come they didn’t have dinner at the gala, dad? I thought that was the whole point,” Jack says.

He sits down next to Jack on the couch. You cut a big square of pancake and grin at him, seemingly pleased with your breakfast and Jack’s sense of humour.

“It was a disaster, that’s all. No food, barely any wine, and terrible, awful company.”

“I thought Miss Jareau went?”

“She did. But besides her and a handful of others, it was a party for sad old people.”

“And you didn’t have fun?” Jack asks.

You laugh so hard tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Aaron cups Jack’s shoulder, surprised when his son doesn’t duck away from the touch. The older he gets the less affection he requires, so it’s nice for Aaron to hug him sideways and be allowed, better that you finish your choking laugh with a hug of your own. “Jack, thank you for that. I think you cured whatever illness I had,” you say.

“Hey,” Aaron says.

You run your hand up his neck. Your wedding ring catches against his jaw.

“It was worth going, though, to see your step-mom in her nice dress,” Aaron says, peeling away from Jack so he has room to breathe.

Jack turns to you, and his smile is audible, “Do you have any pictures?”

“I didn’t take any, sorry.”

“Just think of her now but in a dress, and that’s how beautiful she looked,” Aaron says.

“Dad, don’t be gross,” Jack says, cutting into the pancakes with his fork.

“It’s not gross, it’s just a fact.” Jack drops pancake down his front. Warm chocolate chips stain his t-shirt. “Missed your mouth, bud. I’ll get a rag.”

He’s up as quickly as he sat down, running his fingers along your arm and to the palm of your hand, touching you until he can’t. He heads back into the kitchen. His phone is beeping on the table, screen flashing with each new text.

Penelope: boss, I think the thing you asked for is illegal

Penelope: also, I assume you were kidding?

Penelope: so while making it that every link on McMoore’s computer freezes the desktop would’ve been very very funny, I didn’t do that

Aaron had been kidding, emphatically, because illegal activities aren’t his style. It was a sarcastic suggestion, and yet he’s disappointed nonetheless.

Penelope: I just signed him up for a bunch of recovering narcissists forums and an email subscription for self help, and maybe also a free online class about manners and etiquette

Penelope: And I ordered that big canvas for you. It was the one of you guys cutting the cake, right?

Aaron texts her back quickly: Thank you, Penelope. I couldn’t work out the dimensions online.

Penelope: You’re welcome! I live to serve :D

The canvas will look good in the entryway, Aaron believes. Somewhere you can see it, and remember exactly what it is he thinks of you; his eyes glowing with love where he’d been staring at your face, his hand guided yours atop the knife as he traced your features, and you cut that first, fat slice of cake.

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thanks so much for reading! please think about commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed I love knowing what you think!❤️

also small note: this fic is in no way meant to diminish haley im a haley supporter usually (these days at least!) and I just didn’t mention her for brevity’s sake

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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sylviesoothsayer22 · 4 months ago

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Lured Deep Beneath The Waves (Complete)

He Xuan x Wei Ying

In order to save their worthless lives, Wei Ying's village offered Jiang Yanli up on a silver platter to a beast, only for her little brother to step in and oh so nobly take her place. Forcefully whisked away from his -ahem- not so peaceful living situation, he now finds himself in a queer place, looking like the spoiled wife of a dotting lord, wondering what he ought to do with his new circumstances.

That sounds like one of those questionable novels I'd catch jiejie reading. Also, I didn’t exactly ‘step in’ of my own accord.

At least the clucking hens back at the village now have new writing material to work with.

Author's Note:

The idea for this work came to me when I had a mental health retreat by the sea a few months back. Told some discord friends about it and it sorta snowballed to this. Also, I was accused of having a Hua Cheng-bias and needed to clear my name. *shrug*

This fic may or may not have some Deadpool & Wolverine humour here and there. Oops.

Anyways! This whole premise will eventually turn into a series of instalments that deal with HeXian's marital life. Now, onto the first fic!

He would’ve done it had she just asked. Madame Yu really didn’t need to go through all the trouble.

Wei Wuxian had been kneeling for so long that his legs had already gone numb. The cliff he was on faced the roiling, blackened sea, stretching out as far as the eye could perceive, so much so that he was unable to differentiate between the darkened waters and sky. He could taste the bitter salt in the air, the sea-spray clinging to his clothes, the chilling breeze, which forced his body into sporadic shivers. Not a single gull dared to caw, no fishermen hollering at each other to go home before curfew or paddles splashing against the water’s pull. Aside from his own breathing, the only other sound Wei Wuxian’s ears knew were the roarous crashing of waves smashing into the rocks of the cliff that he was chained to.

It was already nighttime, a smattering of stars splashed across the sky, the crescent moon hung high like an arced axe about to fall on his head at any moment, its subtle glow barely providing him any light for his surroundings. Not that Wei Ying could see much through the stupid veil.

All this over some moronic ritual that should’ve died out in a bygone era.

It all began with a rumour. Black Water Demon Xuan was looking for someone, a woman, with hair like shadow, a face as fair as snow and eyes so bright they reflected the night sky. Said rumour trickled its way into the tiny fishing villages located near the South Sea, where the fabled Black Water Demon Lair resides. This led many to believe that he was looking for a wife, a concubine or perhaps just a bed-slave. As you can imagine, it resulted in numerous families offering up their daughters to the Water Demon, praying that it would spare their village from the Calamity’s dismay.

The act of ‘offering’ one’s daughter to Black Water had become so common among the five villages that, throughout the centuries, it warped and spiralled into a ritualistic sacrifice where, every ten years, one fishing village out of the five, Lianhua, Huīshuǐ, Lántiān, Rìluò and Jinyǔmáo, had to place a fair maiden, dressed in the most elaborate bridal robes each village could afford, upon the Weeping Cliff, named after the silently weeping brides who would be carried there. The most hysterical bride would find themselves chained to the cliff in order to prevent them from escaping or even finding a way out of the marriage by plunging themselves into the watery depths below.

Each village has their own method of choosing a bride, ensuring that it was random to make it ‘fair’. For Lianhua village, it was through a single pearl. As soon as it was Lianhua’s turn to sacrifice one of their own, the unmarried women of their village would gather at the main square, there they would find a bucket filled with perfectly round white stones and an opalescent pearl hidden among the identical rocks. Upon the ringing of a bell, each maid was forced to step up and dig deep into the bucket, as it was forbidden to pick anything from the surface, until one woman was saddled with the unlucky pearl. This year’s chosen maid was unfortunately none other than his jiejie, Jiang Yanli.

Well, she wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s actual sister, as the lovely Madame Yu was keen on reminding him every damn day.

Wei Ying’s parents were wandering cultivators that got killed on one of their hunts while he was very young. By some miracle, Wei Ying managed to find his way back to Lianhua where village head Jiang Fengmian recognized the lost little boy as the son whom his parents helped the people of Lianhua deal with some pesky water ghouls a few months back and so, decided to take Wei Ying in as a way to pay his debt to the boy’s parents.

Of course, the Dear Madame Yu didn’t like how her husband seemingly favoured Wei Ying over their son, Jiang Cheng. Going out of her way to belittle every single achievement Wei Ying ever made while growing up. Oh, Wei Ying far exceeded Jiang Cheng in their studies? Madame Yu would give Jiang Cheng a scolding so severe that Wei Ying started deliberately underperforming just so that there would be less friction between mother and son. Wei Ying tied fishing nets faster than Jiang Cheng? Any praise given to him by Jiang Fengmain would be met with an equal amount of derision from his lovely wife. Wei Ying caught more fish than Jiang Cheng? He would wake up the next day and find his fishing tools tampered with to which Wei Ying chose to keep his mouth shut and carry on with his day.

Wei Ying can easily forgive and forget all these little transgressions. After all, he was just an interloper, an orphan who was saved from a life on the streets thanks to the Jiang family’s pity. The least he could do was keep his head down and not offset the delicate balance among his hosts.

However, Wei Ying drew the line at Madame Yu’s ill treatment of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze’s memory. The woman would go out of her way to stamp out Wei Ying’s tendency to emulate his parents, as in whenever he tries practising the cultivation techniques that the two wandering cultivators taught him. The same techniques that helped Wei Ying survive on his own until he managed to find his way back to Lianhua. Even going as far as to disparage any attempted meetings between Wei Ying and rogue cultivators that found their way into the fishing village. All Wei Ying wanted was to follow in his parents’ footsteps, but the mere idea of him being better than the blood-son in anything was enough to set Madame Yu off a bunch.

Needless to say, once he was old enough Wei Ying spent most of his days out of the Jiang household. Only ever using the residence as a place to sleep or shelter from harsh weather. Wei Ying only hoped that he could make it until he found a wife and finally moved out of that dreary house.

Perhaps if Wei Ying was around more often, he wouldn’t be in this mess or at least spare his jiejie some grief.

I could’ve convinced her to hide out in one of the neighbouring villages until the ritual was over. Her idiot betrothed would’ve certainly helped. Or tamper with the selection process. Or or-

Aiyah, he was overthinking again. Now, where was he?

Ah, yes. His current predicament.

To Madame Yu, it was bad enough that her husband barely paid attention to their son, but finding out that she’ll lose her only daughter to a Calamity of all beings, was the last straw. She secretly hired the Wen Gang to capture Wei Wuxian-Really, Madame? Really?! Of all the scum you could’ve hired to do your dirty work, you chose the bullies notoriously known for encroaching on the villages’ fishing territories and beating up the weak?! Come on, Madame Yu! Have some class!

Anyways, the hired help managed to sneak up on him (Wei Ying blamed it on the wine he drank to drown out his sorrows), knocked him out by a swift log to the head, dressed him up as the bride and chained him to the damn cliff.

Shackled to this lonely rock while bedecked head-to-toe in wedding garb, Wei Wuxian resembled a royal bride shipped off to an ill-fated marriage. He wore scarlet robes with a long gradient train, the colour blending from crimson to sunset red, his shoulders padded and decorated with dangling golden chains, teardrop shaped lapis lazuli dripping at the tailends of the delicate metalwork. Water dragons stitched with silver thread, serpentine jaws open in defiance, their long bodies coiling around his front and waist. Each dragon sporting eyes embroidered with golden thread, glinting eerily. His hair was held up by two golden criss-crossing hair pins. The metal of the pins twisting and bending like roots, the stems cradling shining red flowers nestled within raven tresses. Were one to look more closely at the pins, they’d see that the ‘petals’ were in fact seashells painted in red lacquer, carefully arranged to look like blooming flowers. Hanging off his pale arms were long, billowing sleeves made of satin with a silk, semi-transparent outer layer, offering a ripple effect akin to low tide. The bridal veil had a similar, wave-like pattern at the edges. Underneath it, his ears sported red-pearl earrings with arced silver fishtails attached at the bottom end. Each fin studded with tiny diamonds. His fair face had a light layer of makeup. Bow-shaped lips coated a deep red, golden eyeliner emphasising the silver in his eyes and a soft pink blush dusting his cheeks, completed with the huadian of a lotus flower in full bloom, its soft petals unfurling, beguiling in its simplicity.

For all their atrocious behaviour, Wei Ying had to give it to the Wen Gang. They knew how to dress up a bride. Top marks for their efforts. Truly.

The Madame spared no expense, he was almost flattered! Wei Ying knew he could never afford a single piece of jewellery on this accursed outfit were he to start saving up until he was ninety.

Except for one, miniscule flaw in this elaborate plan:

Wei Wuxian wasn’t a woman!

Sure, he looked like a bride befitting an emperor, but no amount of polish will turn a rock into a diamond! For the past -who knows how many- centuries, all of the sacrifices have been women . What’s stopping Black Water’s displeasure at finding a trussed up male dressed in wedding robes as opposed to a beautiful maiden? What’s stopping him from showing that displeasure to Lianhua village and -potentially- the other villages as well? Would he curse the village heads and all their future descendants? Would he stop providing them with fresh fish and clear waters, have the villages slowly starve to death as they lose their primary food source? Or would he simply drown them all in a fit of rage?

Outcome after outcome flashed through his mind, each one worse than the last. The wound on his temple, where the idiots smashed it with a log, throbbed painfully. Wei Ying was about to slam the back of his head on the rock behind him to stop his spiralling thoughts before remembering the hair pins. Deciding it wasn’t worth stabbing into his scalp, Wei Ying lowered his chin in defeat and sighed.

With his luck, maybe the Water Demon won’t even bother showing up and leave Wei Ying chained here until he dies from thirst, turning the expensive wedding robes into his funeral shroud. Or maybe Black Water will take a liking to him and turn Wei Ying into a trophy wife. Forbidden from leaving the Calamity’s side until he was old and wrinkled, a used-up, shrivelled thing tossed into the sea like trash once his natural good looks fade with age.

By the heavens, if this backfires, he’ll haunt Madame Yu for the rest of her miserable life.

Look on the bright side, he thought glumly, at least you finally got away from that house. Potentially forever.

Wei Ying just hoped that jiejie was alright.

Ignoring the pins and needles running up and down his legs, Wei Ying shifted into a more comfortable position and decided to pass the time by squinting through the veil, counting the stars.

He was on star number thirteen when it suddenly disappeared, like a candle flame swiftly blown out. One by one, the stars winked out of existence, the shadows shaping the moon into a crescent drew back like soundless curtains, until it resembled a great, lone pearl stitched upon endless black cloth. The crashing waves slowly fell into a murmur and Wei Ying was left with his own blood pounding into his eardrums.

SPLAT!

He startled. Back going ramrod straight.

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

Wei Ying felt his body break out in cold sweat. Adam’s apple bobbing painfully as he swallowed.

Someone or some thing was climbing up the cliff.

Wei Ying slammed his eyes shut and started doing what he hadn’t done in years. Pray.

Who should he be praying to?! The Flower Crowned Martial God? No. That doesn’t make any sense. He could hardly call himself a cultivator let alone a warrior.

Should he pray to Crimson Rain for luck? Best not. The Ghost King was pretty finicky and he might end up displeasing Black Water if he started praying to a rival Calamity.

Water Master Shi Wudu? Oh, now Wei Ying was asking for eternal torture. It’s no secret that Water Master and Demon Xuan had a rivalry as tumultuous as a ship caught in a malstrom.

Which of the thousands of negligent, apathetic gods is more likely to show Wei Ying a shred of pity? Maybe-

An overwhelming coldness washed over Wei Ying, as if he had just been doused with seawater, the wetness seeping into his skin. Whatever breath he had in his lungs was viciously expelled.

He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that the figure had stopped just a foot away from him.

Wei Ying felt more than saw the hand slowly reaching out towards his face, long fingers grasping at the sheer red veil, carefully moving it out of the way.

The flimsy barrier between bride and groom disappeared. Wei Ying blocked out the feeling of goosebumps rioting all over his skin. With one final prayer for strength, he cracked his eyes open.

What stared back at him had his heart hammering against his chest cavity, ready to burst.

Yellow eyes as bright as molten gold, ever-changing and malleable, reminding Wei Ying of the precious metal’s capacity to shift into whatever form or role the owner fancies. There was a cool temperance behind that hooded gaze, it bespoke of someone who witnessed centuries-worth of depravities, followed by the painstaking build of calculated viciousness to counterattack, of hard-won strength carried with ease, lurking just beneath the surface of faux-boredom. It made Wei Ying think of the sea during sunrise, when the yellow rays have barely touched the darkened waters, still and inviting. Teasing onlookers to take one little dip, since it looked so relaxing, so easy , only to stray too far and get struck by a sudden riptide, dragging down the ignorant into a watery grave.

It was terrifying, it was beautiful . Doubly so when those eyes were all that Wei Ying could see.

He couldn’t make out the being’s face nor his figure. Not when it was enveloped by a mist so dark that the only form of light capable of piercing through were those golden eyes. It wasn’t too dissimilar to squid-ink, now that Wei Ying thought about it. Plumes of blackish-blue clouds engulfing any unsuspecting swimmers, knocking them off course, unable to tell which way was up or down, to move forward or back.

Wei Ying subconsciously leaned forward, a helpless moth in the face of an inviting flame, so enthralled was he by the sight, that he did not pay any heed to the brief flash of recognition, of disbelief, in those golden depths. Did not pay any mind to the smooth, pale hand faintly brushing against his cheek, achingly familiar. Long fingers traced the path of dried blood running down the side of Wei Ying’s head, until they were softly tapping at the wound on his temple.

Wei Ying had been staring into the abyss for so long, he failed to register those two points of light blinking back into the shadows.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

It took a while for his mind to crawl back to consciousness. Wei Ying fully expected for there to be a godsforsaken ache equivalent to a pickaxe slammed into his skull or a gnawing, persistent throbbing in his temples demanding attention the moment one opens their eyes.

Instead, when Wei Ying’s moonstone eyes cracked open, he woke up feeling rejuvenated and fully alert. Like long-awaited rain washing over a cracked and withering field.

It was easily the best sleep of Wei Ying’s life.

Feeling that both his hands were now free, wary fingers prodded at the bump on his temple, checking for any damage.

Only to be met with smooth, unbroken skin.

Wei Ying shot up, pupils blown wide. Head veering left and right, wildly taking in his new surroundings.

He was sitting on a bed covered with pitch black sheets made of satin, the canopy drawn, but Wei Ying could still see through the azure, silken sheets.

It was a windowless bedchamber, five times the size of his pitiful, dingy room back at the Jiang household, with muted grey walls and flooring, seemingly made out of stone.

The closets, nightstand, chairs and low table looked as if they were also made out of this mystifying grey stone, protruding from the walls and floors, completely carved from the material. The bronze mirror appeared to be the only piece of furniture not made out of stone.

Looking down at himself, Wei Ying finally registered that he was no longer wearing those suffocating wedding garments along with another peculiar observation.

To be fair, he didn’t put up much of a struggle, but his movements while chained did result in his wrists to turn raw and swollen, yet Wei Ying could only see unblemished, milky-white skin.

Did… he heal me? He wondered, lightly stroking his fingers against the no-longer-tender skin. Why? To earn my favour? Ensure that I warmed up to him quicker?

Then again, if he was powerful enough to change the sky, healing a few bumps and bruises would be childsplay.

Maybe Black Water just didn’t want any defects on his new merchandise. Wei Ying thought, distantly. Caught between incredulity and exasperation. Now realising that he was put into yet another fancy outfit.

Tentatively drawing back the curtains, feet now on the ground, Wei Ying crossed the cold, rugless floor to the bronze mirror, gauging his current appearance.

Ocean blue outer robes with hints of seafoam green and inner robes the colour of midnight starting from the top, turning into lighter, daytime shades as it reaches the bottom. Leaping fish made of silver and dark blue thread were stitched on the outer robes’ wide sleeves and shoulders, some fish holding what looked like seaweed in their mouths, while the ends of the robe had more seaweed embroidery, appearing as if they were swaying with the water’s currents. He had on a bright blue belt with silver accents and…a fish’s spine overlaying the sash, the bones of its caudal fin curled around the start of the spine like a claw. Blue and grey tassels with white and black pearls dangling off the belt.

Carefully running his hands upon the spinal segments, Wei Ying felt a strange-yet-pleasant shock zap through his skin. As if he had just brushed against a metal pole whilst a thunderstorm was churning above him.

Attempting to move past how off-kilter he felt, Wei Ying looked back at the bronze mirror.

Still gawking, Wei Ying gingerly grazed his fingers against the new accessories cradling his ears. Pearlescent ear cuffs in the shape of fish with long curtain-like fins, the ones that only emperors and nobles would keep as decorations in their private ponds. Their billowing tails delicately wrapped around the shell of his ears, the fins resting beneath his lobes. Lightly turning his head to the side, Wei Ying noticed that his hair was mostly let down, only timidly gathered at the base of his neck, a seaweed-shaped hair clip practically draped across his nape.

At least it’s comfortable. Wei Ying thought, perturbed and somewhat annoyed. To think that he was dressed up like a doll while unconscious, twice in one day.

Is this to be his life now? Dress in whatever manner that pleased his new husband with no sayso? Hanging off his arm like a kept-woman, a walking art piece with no thoughts or opinions of his own, that wasn’t expected to do more other than breathe and warm his bed?

Husband…. His mind numbly echoed. Wei Ying tightly gripped the mirror’s frame to prevent himself from swaying on his feet.

Oh gods. He was married. And to a temperamental water demon at that.

In order to protect their worthless hides, Lianhua village offered Jiang Yanli up on a silver platter to a beast, only for her little brother to step in and nobly take her place. Now whisked off from his -ahem- not so peaceful living situation, finding himself in a queer place, looking like the spoiled wife of a dotting lord, wondering what he ought to do with his new circumstances.

That sounds like one of those questionable novels Liu Mingyan would lend out to jiejie. Also, I didn’t exactly ‘step in’ of my own accord.

At least Mingming now has new writing material to work with.

His thoughts were taking such a leap to the absurd, Wei Ying felt the unbidden laugh sputter past his lips before quickly slapping a hand on his mouth.

Silver eyes darted towards the only entrance to the room, almost waiting for some kind of demonic servant to knock on the stone doors to deliver Wei Ying to its master, like some prized cargo.

Isn’t that how those stories go? Wait until your newest guest wakes up before sending them off to the host with no warning?

Okay. Stop….

One breath….

Two…

..three….

By the time he reached a hundred, Wei Ying’s white-knuckled grip around the mirror’s frame loosened. By a hundred and two, his body started uncoiling bit-by-bit.

No knock ever came. That didn’t mean he was going to drop his guard, though.

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Wei Ying started pacing around the room. There was quite a lot of ground to cover. How generous of Demon Xuan.

Could…could it be possible that he was just…forgotten? Merely tossed into a spare, impersonal room, while his new husband had some pretty little concubine to keep him entertained?

Did he already displease his husband before he even had the chance to greet him properly?

No. He wouldn’t have bothered healing me or letting me sleep if that was the case. Wei Ying thought, mind still racing. Not to mention the attire….

Wei Ying let out a long sigh, which echoed back to him in this grand chamber. Shoulders drooping, he leaned his forehead against the bed frame, its solidity grounding Wei Ying.

He didn’t ask for this! What he wouldn’t give to be back at the village, sitting on the beach with jiejie and her giggling gaggle of friends by her side, a pot of lotus pork soup simmering above a fire.

Maybe if I earn husband-dearest’s ‘affections’, he’ll let me visit her….

Only one way to find out.

Squaring his shoulders, Wei Ying marched towards the wide stone doors, hand poised to push them open, halting just a hair's breadth away at the last second.

Wei Ying instinctively knew that he stood at the edge of a precipice. That the moment he opens the door, he will be sent careening straight into uncharted territory.

A part of him wanted to stay. To keep floating in this pool of uncertainty, at least here, it seems as if he won’t have to keep swimming into the unknown.

But Wei Ying was no coward.

He layed both hands flat on the cold stone, ready to push the double doors with all his might -the stone looked incredibly dense, it would’ve taken at least ten men to make it budge!

Yet, as soon as his hands touched the lifeless grey surface, there was a faint grinding sound as the doors smoothly slid against the hinges. As though this unfamiliar stone recognised Wei Ying as its master. That the lightest of touches was more than enough to make it obey him.

The double doors gradually split open and what met his gaze beyond it seemed so vast and unfathomable that it took Wei Ying a moment to process what he was seeing.

A sprawling hallway lined with numerous stone doors not too dissimilar to the main entrance of the bedchamber he was in.

The hallways were lit by large crystal formations growing out of the hall’s ceiling and floor, the shape and size reminding Wei Ying of some of the underwater caves he was reckless enough to explore, of stalactites and stalagmites, except unlike them, these crystals didn’t have a rippling limestone appearance, but bear more of a resemblance to frosted glass that contained their own soft, eerie light. Bright enough to illuminate his path, but dull enough to leave the high-ceiling and distant halls in shadow.

It made Wei Ying compare these crystals to the ones he saw during one lonely winter night. After an argument he had with Jiang Cheng, what was the fight about, he can’t even bother to remember, all he knew was that he stormed out of the Jiang household to cool off and was met with a world of pure white. The entire ground was covered in soft powder akin to crushed diamonds, deep blue icicles dripping off the edges of every roof, the light of the full moon shining down and reflecting off the ice.

Yet, unlike that night, where the subtle white light brought him peace of mind, these crystals gave off a more distant, melancholic feel. Of providing you with the false assurance of knowing where you’re going, but were in fact, wholly lost and directionless.

The more Wei Ying walked, the more it felt like he was treading a perpetual lane with the same doors, the same walls, the same crystals. Still , he was able to catch a few, minute differences that assured him he wasn’t going in circles. Each door was the size of a palace gate, likely the same width too, all with their own intricate carvings etched into the smooth grey surface. Ships caught in storms with waves as high as mountains aggressively crashing into them from all sides, giant sea serpents locked in territorial fights as they catch each other hunting the same prey, haunting imagery of the seafloor with decaying sunken ships, their wooden skeletons slowly overtaken by seaweed, corals and other forms of aquatic flora, nature gradually staking its claim on those lost vessels, providing a new hub for smaller, more vulnerable creatures.

He took a left, then a right, then another left, climbed ten flights of stairs, turned one more corrido- and I swear to all the gods twiddling their thumbs up in Heaven, if I find any more stairs I’ll tear all my hair out! Then Demon Xuan will have a bald bride to deal with! Does this hallway even have an end?! Should I just take my chances and go through the next door I see?

Why does Demon Xuan even need all this space?!

After walking for what felt like hours, Wei Ying finally found a passageway that wasn’t lined with gargantuan doors. The left side of the hall was a smooth, dull grey wall like any other, whilst the right appeared to be made of glass, from floor to ceiling, segmented by oddly-made pillars with strange patterns.

They seem familiar…. Wei Ying thought, running his fingers into the etches and groves of these pillars, images of stalactites and stalagmites flooding his mind once more. Of how the two halves would grow, one from the ceiling, the other from the ground, both simultaneously dragged downwards and reaching up, eventually meeting in the middle till they entwined as one immovable column.

Only what was beneath his fingertips, what was meant to be dripping water, meant to show signs of steady growth, of life , felt cold, still and dead. Forever petrified where it stands, no longer able to evolve into something more.

Unnerved by where his thoughts were heading, Wei Ying decided to shift his focus on the glass from which these odd pillars were attached to. The more he looked, the more Wei Ying felt disheartened. Keen eyes attempted to parse through the darkness. There were no signs of a faint moon glow or even the glimmer of a single star.

No wonder this place seems so melancholic. If my mere existence would result in the sky blotting itself out, I would feel pretty gloomy, too.

Now wondering what time of day it was -perhaps he slept through the night- something…unnerving caught his gaze. It was bizarre, completely alien, so utterly outside the realm of possibility for an orphaned fisherman like him to see outside of exaggerated illustrations, yet there it was.

A long, skeletal fish about the size of a cottage, slithered past the window. Its head was the ugliest thing Wei Ying had ever seen. Broad, pushed back and slanted with what appeared to be a highly flexible jaw, giving it the ability to swallow prey as big as a horse with one gulp, its teeth were narrow and sharp with large gaps in between, allowing it to slice tender meat between their lips to bits. The creature’s entire body emitted a sinister radiance, its hollow eyes housing twin spectral lights. The behemoth was followed by a school of smaller bonefish similar in appearance, presumably its brood.

It was the cold press of grey stone onto his spine that snapped Wei Ying back to the present. Realising that he’d been backing away from the window that whole time, the reality of his situation finally sunk in.

I'm not looking at a veiled sky. Wei Ying thought numbly. I’m at the bottom of the sea.

The chasm between all that he knew and where he was at now was only getting wider, to the point that Wei Ying wondered if he’ll still be able to leap back. If he would ever be permitted to.

Just as when it seemed like he was about to slip into another panic-induced spiral, something cool and slippery licked the back of his hand.

Wei Ying could’ve sworn that his very soul jumped out of his skin and crumpled up like wet paper. He probably lost ten years of his life from how startled he was.

Praying that this wasn’t something that was sampling him, beads of sweat trickling down his brow, Wei Ying creakingly twisted his head to the thing’s direction, trying to make sense of what his eyes were telling his mind for what felt like the nth time in this bizarre place.

A glowing, iridescent, bell-shaped body, resembling water droplets capturing all the colours produced by the sun’s light, shrinking and expanding like the beatings of a heart at ease, curly tendrils as long as a man’s legs swaying just beneath its body.

For the second time that night, Wei Ying felt a slight, hysterical laugh squeeze past his lips.

A jellyfish… floating in the air.

Sure. Why not? This place is chock-full of eccentricities. Best that I get used to it, since this seems to be my life now.

There have been far too many surprises for him to even care that it just brushed its potentially poisonous coils against his bare hand.

Maybe Wei Ying should just call it a night and slink back to his new room. Crawl into that comfy bed and, with luck, he might be able to convince himself that this was all a dream.

The jellyfish was observing him (Wei Ying wasn’t sure how he knew that, it’s not like he can see the thing’s eyes ). It started floating around him in slow, languid circles. A part of him felt like he should still be on guard, but the way the creature was acting seemed guileless, dare he say almost child-like.

As it made its turns, the gelatinous surface glowed brighter, one dominant color sprouted from its head in misshapen splotches, spreading all over the creature’s body until it was coated in varying shades of blue.

It stopped right in front of Wei Ying, wiggling its body back-and-forth, tendrils swishing in the air with every sway, as if it were showing off.

Is it…trying to say we match?

“Uhh…It looks good on you..?” Wei Ying mumbled, feeling ridiculous after saying that. Maybe he should get his head checked. Who knows if this thing even understands human-speech.

The jellyfish-thing-spirit(?) trembled excitedly, its bell-shaped body inflating the way a child would proudly puff out their chest after winning a silly game.

Its odd behavior felt somewhat endearing that Wei Ying couldn’t help the breathless chuckle from coming out. The tension between his shoulders easing.

Finally, a moment of sweetness in the midst of all the muffled bitterness and uncertainty that threatened to swallow him whole.

The jellyfish drifted closer, gingerly wrapping itself around his arm, having learnt its lesson on not to startle him.

It started tugging him away from the windows, Wei Ying let it guide him to a different hallway. Adding its own bright light among the dim crystals’ glow decorating their path.

Must’ve taken too long. Black Water probably sent this thing to come find me. He thought, studying the spirit. Whilst its body seemed wet and cool, none of that dampness seeped into his new robes and it seemed much more approachable compared to the other sea creatures under his new husband’s command.

Hopefully those bonefish weren’t also air-swimmers like his companion here. Wei Ying would rather have meters’ thick glass between him and them whenever they choose to grace him with their fleshless presence, thank you very much.

“You know…out of all the grotesqueries I’ve seen in this place, you are by far the most friendly-looking. Maybe I can convince my lord husband to let me keep you.” Wei Ying mused out loud, mostly to fill in the silence.

The creature appeared to approve of the idea, judging by how it eagerly squeezed itself around his arm, practically hugging the limb.

They eventually stopped at a set of doors that were easily double the size of the previous ones Wei Ying had seen. He took a moment to study the iconography, an emperor, his wife and what looked like their two daughters, in the midst of a grand feast. Oddly enough, the seat meant for the heir was left empty.

The dining hall.

He’s in there.

The jellyfish gently detached itself from him, hovering by his side now. Beads of sweat ran their cold fingers down his back.

It wasn’t the journey that made Wei Ying’s heart constrict, but what lay waiting for him at the end. He took a deep breath and was about to knock on the door, to wait for the inevitable clipped voice to tell him to ‘enter’.

His new companion stopped him, softly nudging away his raised fist. The creature brushed one of its coils against the grey surface, taking cues from Wei Ying as if it were his own personal servant, wanting to open the door for him.

(You need not stand on ceremony nor feel like a stranger in your own home. His lord husband would eventually remark to Wei Ying later on in their marriage, a harsh edge lurking beneath whispered-tones. You are this Manor’s master just as much as me. Act like it.)

The colossal doors let out a low yawn as they split down the middle and Wei Ying was bombarded by an assortment of scents.

The savoury aroma of smoked fish and chicken roasted on a spit, coupled with whiffs of enriching herbs and seasonings, their distinct citrus notes lively and invigorating, titillating Wei Ying’s vacant stomach. Traces of floral scents interwoven with the striking, yet delectable smell of freshly baked cakes that he could almost feel their honeyed flavours dance across the surface of his tongue. The heady fragrance of various wines, their familiar woodsy undertones tickling his nostrils.

Wei Ying’s mouth started watering. Very much aware of the fact that hadn’t eaten in hours.

He clenched his hands, digging his fingernails into his palms to get himself back to focus.

A great, pillarless chamber capable of hosting a great army while also leaving plenty of room for servants to scurry around at their beck and call. Yet, there was only one Western-style long table as opposed to the standard low dining tables arranged in neat rows.

And a lone occupant sitting at the helm.

Their eyes locked as his host stood and Wei Ying felt all mental faculties screech to a grinding halt.

Wei Ying needed a moment to simply take in this Calamity, this man, this husband of his…..

He had thought those molten pools of gold for eyes would be the most bewitching feature, he couldn’t be more wrong. Flawless ivory-white skin that would enrage even the most regal of princesses, a deceptively wiry frame that reminded Wei Ying of a fragile willow branch, but knew he should never take it at face value. A smooth mouth and brow with no laugh lines or forehead wrinkles to be found, perfectly straight nose, pointed ears and sharp angular features, as if he were an impeccable bust cut and carved from the purest of jades, straight ink-black hair that flowed downwards to the small of his back.

The top of those dark locks were encircled by a golden dragon-shaped guan, holding a gleaming pearl between its jaws. The dragon looked as if it were swallowing the moon. A groom’s wedding robes that were mostly red, embroidered in golden thread were majestic phoenixes, their bright wings spread in triumph, a stark contrast to the vermillion outer robes, whereas the inner robe seemed to be made of a different material all-together, of small, rigid plates seamlessly overlapping each other, reminding Wei Ying of finely crafted chain-mail or fish scales. The top of the inner robe seemed to be a red that matched the outer, yet as it flowed downwards, the shade changed from vermillion to ruby, to mahogany until the slitted edges appeared as if they were dipped in ink. Completed with a pure black belt studded with squared-golden plates that had water dragon motifs engraved into the precious metal, red and white pearls artfully looped around the belt, their tail ends dangling from it like chains.

The surface of Wei Ying’s tongue had suddenly gone dry, breath shuddering, struggling to swallow around the lump in his throat.

What the hell was that back at the cliff?! There…..there’s no way that this is what he actually looks like, right?!

Yes! Yes! That’s right! Ghosts and demons can be such vain creatures….only shifting into forms that suit their own self-absorbed tastes….

So caught up in his new groom’s appearance, he almost didn’t register the other man glide his way towards him till there was only a foot of space between them. Golden eyes meticulously studied his form.

Black Water started speaking.

His mouth is moving! He’s talking to you! Snap out of it, Wei Wuxian!

“-any discomfort?”

Wei Ying blinked owlishly and in his infinite wisdom decided to reply back to the clear question with a:

“Huh…?”

That smooth brow furrowed in what looked like slight concern, but Wei Ying was sure it was annoyance. Their first exchange and he was already making a fool of himself.

Wonderful.

Maybe he needs to start laying it on thick? Does he have to make himself look pitiful to this Ghost King and beg his forgiveness for not paying attention? Should he put on a coquettish mask? Start cooing and twittering like a brainless little bird?

Many men never tire from listening to songs that boast of how great and merciful they are. Was Black Water one of those men?

The older male stepped right into his space, close to the point that they were almost nose-to-nose. Wei Ying stiffened, biting his tongue so he wouldn’t dig himself a deeper grave.

He shut his eyes.

Might as well get it over with….

Fully expecting Black Water to steal a kiss -along with whatever else that was demanded of him- Wei Ying instead felt a slim finger delicately stroke his now-healed temple in what almost felt like a lover’s caress.

Moonstone eyes fluttered open, confused.

Black Water wasn’t even looking at him. Too occupied in assessing whatever damage was left to meet his new bride’s perplexed gaze.

“I was asking if your injuries are still causing you any discomfort? Healing has never exactly been my specialty.” He answered Wei Ying’s poorly phrased question. His words quiet and rich with a touch of gruffness, the deep bass almost caused his skin to vibrate from how close both their faces were.

Wei Ying’s breath hitched, goosebumps breaking out for a different reason now.

Frowning at Wei Ying’s lack of response, Black Water started reaching for his wrists to inspect them.

“No need for that!” He blurted, stuffing his hands inside the wide sleeves of his robes, like frightened snails ducking back into their shells. He rocked backwards, balancing his weight on his heels, hoping Black Water wouldn’t notice his ‘subtle’ attempt at giving himself more space.

Doing what he does best, Wei Ying plasters on his winning smile and starts blathering:

“Lao Gong is so proficient! More than capable of erasing every scrap and bruise on this delicate wife!”

“.........”

The longer the silence went on, the more Wei Ying could feel his very soul start wilting, like a plucked flower that was left to dry out in the sun for too long.

The elder’s brow furrowed deeper as a complicated look crossed his face, but Wei Ying couldn’t possibly discern if Black Water was pleased with the compliment or not. He might have better luck deciphering the symbolic meaning behind every carving that he walked past in his nerve-wracking journey to get here.

Their sudden muteness could have gone on indefinitely were it not for the abrupt break in tension.

A mortifying gurgle rumbled through the lofty chamber, its echoes reverberating back to Wei Ying’s burning ears.

Wei Ying slapped a hand on his hollowed stomach, as if that would silence its cries for food. He started praying for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

Oh. Just put me out of my misery already…!

“Pfff-!” Black Water just barely managed to stop his laughter from escaping. Covering his mouth and giving an utterly convincing performance of ‘Oh, dear! It seems I’ve suddenly got the coughs!’.

Laugh it up now , you bully! Wei Ying mentally whined. What kind of host stuffs his gullet while leaving his guest, his new wife , to wander around his home without at least feeding them first?!

If Wei Ying weren’t keeping himself in check, he would’ve thrown a fit and cussed out Black Water straight to his face. So focused was he on not vocalising his wounded pride, that Wei Ying couldn’t stop his lips from pouting slightly.

Noticing his new bride’s upset, He Xuan promptly wiped away any traces of humour on his face and cleared his throat.

“What a relief. It seems I’m not the only one with a voracious appetite.” He gestures to the awaiting feast. “After you, Lao Po. ”

End of Part I.

Worldbuilding Notes for this AU:

1. WWX DOES indeed have some cultivation training, but it's half-assed and incomplete. Essentially a hodgepodge between some techniques his parents taught him, tips that he got from some generous rogue cultivators and what he learned on his own. He barely has any knowledge of ghosts, demons and anything spiritual-beast related. Good thing he married a scholar!

2. The five fishing villages are a direct homage to the five clans in MDZS:

Lianhua = Lotus Flower/Jiang Clan

Huīshuǐ = Grey Water/Nie Clan

Lántiān = Blue Skies/Lan Clan

Rìluò = Sunset/Wen Clan

Jinyǔmáo = Gold Feather/Jin Clan

3. Before ya'll got on my case and ask how the hell did HX acquire all those expensive jewellery/robes, etc. The sea IS his domain. I can totally see him ordering his Bonefish to gather all the oysters and mussels they could find for the pearls. The rest have an in-universe explanation and/or HX just increased his debt to HC tenfold.

4. Lao Gong = Husband / Lao Po = Wife

My justifications for the jellyfish-spirit...? WWX needs a friend. Ya'll want him to wander around Nether Water Manor all by his lonesome while hubby's out..? Even XL can just go talk to Yin Yu and/or Ghost City residents whenever HC's not around!!

WWX is confused. WWX is panicking. He be asking: "Should I be wary of this man or jump his bones...?" Who knows?

Now. This whole thing was mainly setup, but there ARE plot-related reasons as to WHY there's a ritual and why HX seems completely okay with his marriage to WWX specifically. If ya managed to catch some of the hints, congrats. If not, stick around for the next instalment.

Hope you enjoyed! If ya did, please leave a like/comment! Many thanks~

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