#and i still have this unclean scratch between my fingers

[kryptic-krab]

man this sucks

[pictureinme]

cheri cheri lady – kitten braden (5)

❧ you go to a peepshow. you meet kitten. your life is flipped upside down.

patricia 'kitten' braden x f!reader tags: voyeurism, oral sex, p in v, etc. (see ao3 for full list) parts: (1) (2) (3) (4) 5 (6)

You kiss her awaiting lips, kneeling between her legs. As the two of you embrace, your hand sneaks its way to her opening, teasing once more.

Kitten leans her head back and groans, “Oh, get on with it! I’m quite ready, (Y/N).”

“Just making sure…” you smile softly, and grab the strap from the base, leading it to her.

You slowly tease her entrance with the tip, causing her to gasp quietly.

“Ready, doll?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

She bites her lip, and relaxes as you enter her. You stare at the way her body takes you, feeling how tight she is.

“Oh, (Y/N)...” she moans, and moves to grab your guiding hand for support.

“You look so saintly, my Kitten,” you fully sheathe inside of her, stilling.

“More than you know, dear,” she grins widely with eyes delicately shut, “You can move now.”

She moves her hand back as you reach for purchase, ready to please. You begin to move into her, bringing out delicious noises. Your confidence grows by the minute.

“Taking me so well, my good girl,” you fuck into her at a steadily growing pace, watching her expressions for any sign of discomfort. Her eyes open, and they seem almost glazed over in utmost pleasure.

“All for you, (Y/N), you’re treating me so good,” she grinds back into you, stuttering the rhythm, but evoking a high-pitched whine as it hits the right spot inside of her.

You take note, and lean over her further to hit that spot again.

“Right there, yes, oh!”

Her nails move to scratch down your back, causing you to groan in pleasure. You lean even further to kiss her, teeth and tongue clashing. If there was blood drawn, neither of you noticed.

You moan into each other’s mouths, with her constant chanting of ‘more’ and ‘please.’

Kitten’s body, glistening with sweat, undulates along with yours, the two of you never separating for more than a millisecond. Her hands are all over the place, grabbing either you or the sheets. The so meticulously styled blonde curls became frizzy, and stuck to her damp skin. You wanted to lick her clean, or make her sweat even more.

Your eyes dance over her movements, without once stopping yours. The way she took you was hypnotic, almost siren-like. What a minx she is. A particularly desperate whimper catches your attention, and you smile down at her.

She looks at you with lidded eyes, almost completely fucked out, “Touch me, please, love. I’m so close, ah!”

“Anything for you, good girl.”

You ghost your hand over her length, and it somehow seems to respond to that. Touching from base to tip, her hips thrust upwards suddenly, accompanied by a cry. You don’t yet stop your teasing, and you circle her tip with your finger. It was so warm and wet, you had to taste.

She watches as you suck on your finger, and moans.

“Please!”

Finally giving in, you fist it along with your hard thrusts. Her body begins to tremble.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, God, yes! (Y/N)!”

Kitten comes apart in your hands, and you continue to touch her all the way through the orgasm. She moans and moans, eyes fluttering at the overstimulation and the way you’re still deep inside her.

She grabs your wrist, stopping your borderline torture. Her chest rises and falls, and she laughs, “Good lord.”

“You did so well, Kitten. So, so well,” You move your hands to caress her thighs, “How are you feeling?”

“Spectacular, (Y/N).”

As you’re pulling out, she winces at the change. You undo the various straps before kneeling in front of her again. She looks at you, confused, until you begin to lap at her release, still sitting on her tip and stomach.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You smirk as you hear her various noises, but you have a job to do. Your tongue dips into her belly button, leaving no nook and/or cranny uncleaned. She moans at your ministrations, her hands digging into your hair.

“God, that’s enough, love, ah!”

“All clean now.”

You kiss her, and wipe the sticky sweat away from her forehead. She giggles into the kiss, pulling you on top of her, “Beautiful girl.”

The two of you stare into each other’s eyes, heartbeats having calmed since her climax.

“You’ve all but tuckered me out, I don’t know if I can ever fuck again.” You whisper into her mouth, jokingly.

“That best not be the case, because once I’m ready to go again, I may have a surprise you might like.”

Your eyebrow raises, “Oh, is that so, Miss Kitten?”

She nods, “You’re gonna love it,” and pulls you back in for a tongue-filled kiss.

[unnecessarilydeep]

Inhale

written July 17, 2023

Lately I've been watching 4am like an old friend. 

The school - not mine, never mine, not anymore - sits unmoved, and across the field is the worst place I’ve ever been, and in between them is a dead bird. I sit at the school and I wish someone would call me. I don’t want to talk, please don’t answer my calls. 

Lie on the ground, lie in it. Lie six feet under, lie to your fathers face. Lie in bed, tell yourself you prefer this. 

(You’ve been changing out pieces Theseus, your actions have come back to find you are not the person who committed them, but you bear the consequences anyways.)

Lately I’ve been 17 and scared. I’ll die the same day, the same way my 16 did, the same way my 15 did before them, and my 14 before them. I don’t remember being this scared at 13, at 8, at 6. Wake up everyday and walk a step closer to my death, to 18. (The death comes sooner this year. It happens slowly as you cut tape off your posters, and stack books into boxes, and avoid telling your sisters you’ll come back).

Foolish boy, the sky won’t answer if you keep staring into it. The clouds know, but they’re running from you, you’re chasing them. Your sisters are behind you and it’s your mistake on their hands. They want you to stay. They want you to stay. They want you to stay but it’ll kill you. The world might kill you too but at least it won’t be in this house. 

I’m the deer, and I’m the car swerving too. I’m the car crash. It’s all a car crash. Most car crashes happen from behind but I’ve been staring this one dead in the eyes for 13 years. I’m 17 and dead as the deer the car hit. I’m 17 and terrified that tomorrow won’t be more than another day. Terrified it will be. I’m 17 and ignoring my alarms because 18 will come for me whether or not I get out of bed.

Talk of flesh and my mother. Tell me she can’t let go. I’m prying her fingers off of mine and all she ever wanted was to not see me hurt and I can’t bear to tell her that she hurt me, that I hurt myself, that this world will hurt me anyways. I leave and I don’t tell her when I’ll be back. I get into your car at the end of my driveway and I don’t look behind me. 

The next time you take me out to to the city I promise I won’t say I love you. It’ll ruin me more than you. I’ll hold your phone and you can tell me about whatever you want and I promise I won’t say I love you. You’ll look like 2am, and I’ll be a shadow. 

If life weren’t so specific I would be fine. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re driving us home, in your tiny car with chip bags on the floor, going 20 over the whole way, while I’m holding the 4 litres of five-alive you bought earlier, I’d be a wreck. I get in your car and I don’t say ‘take me anywhere’, and you do. In a movie we’d get to do the whole thing over. In a movie, maybe I’d be allowed to say I love you. It’d be a medium shot from the backseat of your car, and we’d be stopped at a red light just outside the next town over, and you wouldn’t look at me as the car hit us headon. There are no credits, but the movie still ends. 

It’ll be a sunday when the world ends, or maybe a thursday. It’ll be 4am when the world ends, and everyday after that. 4am and slushies and paperwork and unanswered calls. Newly empty corners of my room look like 4am. In the mirror, I am 4 years old again. In the mirror I am already dead. 

It’s easy to forget these trees raised me. I lie on the pavement in front of them, and I wait to get picked up (one part I cannot bear to get up, two parts I miss the summer you bring me) and they look the same as they did from a hundred different angles on a hundred different days. How many kids have sat here? How many have tripped over the roots, scraped themselves on the bark? The sky seems too wide here- reach out and grab it, foolish boy with the unclean room. You’ll make it this time I promise. 

Claw your life out from the fog. Hold it so tightly it has scratch marks. Never let anyone else have it. Snap out of it, twice on your right. Save it for when you stop finding threats down the hall. Save it for a therapy office as you stare at the horizon behind the clock when you admit that it’s fake most days, you’re fake most days. Do your best to act like a real person anyways, and they won’t be able to tell the difference. 

(I’d cry if I could. I tried, and I couldn’t, but I’d cry if I could.)

[gotnofucks]

A Man’s World

Pairing: soft!dark!Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: To advance in a man’s world, you must allow one to own you. He promises you success, as long as you give yourself to him.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: Dub-con (at the beginning), smut, language, implied age gap, poor knowledge of law and legal system, 18+ ONLY

A/N: This is my late entry to Berry’s Sugary 4k Challenge (everyone go and send some love to @donutloverxo​ for being so awesome. I am also dedicating this fic to Lexi ( @bluemusickid​ ) who’s had a difficult few weeks recently. I hope you feel better my love.

Sweat was building under your top hat, the urge to itch making you frustrated with the delay. The officer before you was young, probably your age and fumbled with the papers you had handed to him. You tried to relax, almost as nervous as the man in front of you and tried to console yourself with the fact that he was far too jittery to look at you long.

No one will find out, you’re safe.

“Sir?”                                                                                  

You chewed your chip, feet tapping irregularly on the ground in agitation.

“Sir?” The officer said again, peering at you worriedly. You quickly pulled down the rim of your hat, still not used to being called ‘sir’.

“Uh, yeah. Yes.” You said, clearing your throat and trying for a deeper voice. The officer handed you your papers back, all signed and stamped. “Thank you.”

He nodded slightly and motioned for you to wait while your client was brought out. This was the first time you’d been out in the open alone, the fear of discovery clashing with the freedom that ran in your veins.

“Did you bail me out?” A rough voice asked. You looked up at Mr. Lane, a huge mountain of a man who towered over you. You nodded and offered him your hand to shake, wincing as his rough palms scratched against your soft ones. He looked doubtfully at you and you could understand why. You barely looked like a person who belonged in the police station, no matter as a man or woman.

“I am Mr. Barber’s assistant. He was busy with a hearing and sent me to bail you out. If you’d follow me to his office, he’d like a word before we proceed to your trial next week.” You explained, a little more confident. You knew the work, you knew the ways. You only needed to sell your lies to make your truth valid.

Mr. Lane nodded, following and entering the coach outside the station after you. He sat across from you, eyes narrowing as he ran over your soft features, the clip clop of the horses the only sound within.

“You old enough to be an assistant, boy?” Mr. Lane asked, and you scowled. Oh, how you’d like to tell him you were old enough and good enough to be not just an assistant but also a lawyer. You could be the one representing him in court and making him a free man. You should be that one. But, alas, this world doesn’t see women doing much rather than peeling potatoes and popping out a child every second year.

“I am.” You replied in a gruff tone that made it clear you weren’t about to entertain more questions. Your companion nodded, looking out the window and into the streets where peddlers screamed about discounted watches and handkerchiefs and buttons. Not many people had cushioned coaches like this, but Mr. Barber insisted one for your travels.

The journey to the office was quick and silent and you gestured Mr. Lane to follow you up to the top floor where your boss sat in his office. Some people nodded at you, now getting used to seeing you here though they didn’t stop to talk. You had never spoken much to anyone here outside of the receptionist who was deaf in one ear and considered every man under the age of 40 was a boy.  

“Wait here, I’ll let you in in a moment.” You said and had Mr. Lane take a seat on the benches outside. Then, you knocked softly and entered, shutting the door after you. Andy was sat behind his desk, frowning at some paper, and beckoned you closer without looking up from them. You walked over to him, licking you lips softly.

“Sit.” He said, taking your hand and pulling you into his lap. You positioned yourself on his thigh, squirming a little. He scribbled something in the corner of his paper before pushing it away with a sigh, turning his face to you. His eyes, bluer than the ocean at the docks, glittered at you and a small smile curled on his lips. With a practiced move, he removed your top hat and released the band that held your long locks tied together at the top.

Running his fingers through your hair, he leaned closer to press a kiss on your lips. You instinctively kissed back, holding onto his shoulder and moulding your lips to fit his.

“How did it go?” He asked, caressing your cheek softly. You fingered his collar, not looking in his eyes.

“I was worried someone will see through me.” You softly murmured. “There were so many men out there.”

Andy chuckled, pressing another kiss on your lips as his hand sneaked around your waist to bring you closer.

“There are always going to be men around. But you must remember you’re better than them. Better than any other son of a dick out there pretending he is the boss.”

You looked at him at that, taking in his beautiful face that had you smiling and crying in equal parts. You could tell exactly how that well-groomed beard felt between your legs, how those lips could make you utter the filthiest of sounds and curses and how those large hands touched you in the dark of the night.

“Better than even you?” You tentatively asked and Andy smiled, taking your hand and bringing it to his mouth.

“You’ve always been better than me.” He said. You blinked and looked away, his gaze far too intimate to hold. Try as you might, you could not figure this man out. Months you’d spent with him, living, and working and being his any way he asked, and yet he was as much a mystery as he’d been the first time you met.

“Uh, Mr. Lane is waiting outside. Should I call him in?” You asked and he nodded, squeezing your side before releasing you. You put your hair up again and wore your hat, hiding your face under its shadows and calling the client in.

When a girl turns a certain age, she is expected to find the most eligible bachelor and flutter her eyelashes in a bid to secure a match. Your mother threw grand balls for your sisters and was planning an even grander one for your introduction to the society. But you had had enough of dancing with lecherous bastards with as wandering hands as their eyes. You couldn’t stomach the thought of being bound to one of them, so you took your chance and ran.

Leaving behind your quaint town, you entered the bustling city with an assortment of clothes and a heart full of hope. It took you a week to understand that this was no place for you, no place for a lady who dreamt of being her own person. No one wished to employ you, a young girl who had no business demanding pay and rights.

However, in this bustling city of strangers, you found a man who wished to own you. Andy Barber told you in no uncertain terms that he would not hire you as long as you dressed like a woman, but he also promised that he could train you to be better than any other man. Provided, you give yourself to him. You weren’t naïve enough to pretend to not know what he was asking for, but you were desperate enough to say yes. This was better than a marriage anyway. There too, a man would have parched his thirst over your naked chest, but at least here you could learn and get paid for it without being bound to him.

Andy was not unkind. As a mentor, he was strict and meticulous. He worked you hard, taught you well, gave bitter feedback but praised you just the same. As a lover, he was exacting, exploring your chaste body with touches rough and soft, demanding response and reverence. The first night you laid with him, he spent hours worshiping you. His lips, lined by his bushy mustache, traced your face and neck, roving over each contour of your body until his mouth had tasted all.

The modesty you had guarded forever was bare to his gaze, but he didn’t lust like a man who cornered women in dark alleys. He had knelt before your open legs like men of cloth did at the lord’s altar, kissing the dewy folds of your sex with so much passion and delicacy that you had indeed felt like a goddess. Never had you imagined a man to put his mouth there, not when your mother had told you it was unclean. Andy, on the other hand, tasted it like he tasted absolution in your nectar.

He taught you more than simply law. The pleasures of flesh, of learning to please yourself and your companion were lessons that took place in the dark of night. He whispered things that Satan preached in your ear, seducing you into sin that you soon came to crave.

“Touch yourself”, a command he gave often. Nothing pleased him more than seeing you bring yourself to completion with your eyes trained on him, thoughts full only of him and how his body rocked yours.

You had done a great many things with him, things that had you flustered for days on end whenever your thoughts would turn to him, but what you were doing now was nothing short of scandal. It was blasphemous, something that would ruin you way more than if people found you falsely parading as a man in the city.

“Andy!” You hissed, pushing against him to no avail. He had dragged you into the men’s room inside the courthouse, cornering you against the wall and pressing his body flush to yours. He was wearing his best clothes today, about to represent an important man in a case that had made the front page for two weeks straight. Time together had been more work than pleasure, and it seemed Andy had reached his breaking point right before the trial started.

He started working on the buttons of your waistcoat, a frenzy in his eyes. “I need to take you now. This might as well be the most important case of my career, and I’ll begin it by being inside you, and end it just the same!”

You moaned, letting your hands roam his body as he finally undid your waistcoat and shirt, frantically ripping away at the bandages that bound your breasts. As he took one of your hardened nipples in his mouth, you palmed his pulsing hardness from over his pants, shivering at the thought of feeling it inside you again.

He scared you like this, for someone could walk in and see the illustrated Andrew Barber making a beast with two backs in the male room with someone who greatly resembled a man. He will be ruined. You would be ruined. And as of now, the very thought of that caused wetness to pool in your underpants.

“Get on your knees and taste me.” He urged, pulling out his cock and pumping it. “As you sit beside me today, I want you to have my taste in your mouth. One day, I’ll sit beside you too.”

You were a gently bred lady of impeccable reputation, but you sunk to your knees with the practiced move of a street woman to take him eagerly in your mouth. Oh, if your proper mother could see you, sucking a man like a whore in the damp men’s room, her teachings of propriety and modesty all but forgotten. But nothing made you feel more than a woman that receiving Andy like this. His desire, his need for you burned in his eyes and you lapped on those flames to quench the thirst in your heart.

His hand moved behind your head, easing you into taking him deeper. “Look at me” He whispered, and your eyes met his, shining with unshed tears. He did this to you, reduced you to who you loathed to be and yet loved. Swirling your tongue over his soft skin, you bobbed over his length, the squelching sounds filling the small room.

Just like always, you tasted his power and his yearning. The milky drops of precum coated your tongue, your nose taking in the smell of his musk as he groaned above you. He reduced you, but then why did you feel raised?

“Touch yourself, let me taste you too.” He ordered, and you complied. Your hand slipped inside your pants, finding your moist core. Generously lubing your fingers in your slick, you rose on shaky knees and presented your wet fingers to Andy who sucked them eagerly in his mouth. Warm, wet, his tongue took in your taste with relish.

You couldn’t stop but stare into his blue eyes, eyes that should have haunted your nightmares, but you only saw them in sweet dreams. “Kiss me” You begged, and he did. He kissed you like a man starved, like a man who could suck out your soul and draw it in himself. He kissed you like dew kissed the morning grass, like the colours of rainbow that scattered in the sky to paint it pretty.

“Tell me where you want me, how you want me.” He said, surrendering control. You stilled, hands resting on his chest. How were you to lead him when he was infinitely more experienced about the art of making love?

“I – I want you inside me.” You softly said, eyes fluttering as you shy looked away. Why was saying what you do so many times so difficult.

“Inside where?” Andy asked, tilting your chin up again. You gulped, your face and chest flushed.

“In my – in my” You stuttered, fearing to speak the word he spoke often. “In my pussy.”

You would have thought he would ravish you as soon as you said the words, instead he brought you closer and nudged your nose with his. His breath came out in erratic spurts, his need evident in his gaze. “You will put me inside you, however you want. It’s time I let you take some lead.”

Holding his gaze, you pumped his length gently before turning around and presenting him your ass. You struggled to position him, trying to place his tip at your opening. He didn’t move an inch to help you, only chuckling slightly when you huffed in frustration. Finally, you felt him at your slit, and you slid him between your folds carefully, trying to coat him in your wetness like you’d seen him do.

“What if someone walks in?” You asked, hesitating for just one moment.

“They’ll have to wait while we finish. You’re not walking out of here unsullied, so how about we hurry up?”

You pushed back into him, taking him inside your pulsing sleeve with ease. The stretch of his cock had always felt good, a pain that had a lasting effect and reminded you of him. As you moved back and forth, urging him to meet you halfway, you wondered why the self loathing never came. Andy had a way of making you feel like a queen when others may suspect you of nothing more than a whore.

“Andy” You brokenly said as he thrust inside you faster, “I want more. Please.”

He gave you more. He took over, holding onto your waist and sliding home inside you in deep, powerful strokes. You whined under his assault, jerking when his fingers found your nub and mashed it. Praises, curses, words of love and lust that had the power to destroy hearts and armies flowed freely from his mouth, as if the only thing tethering him to this earth was your body.

Your hands went to play with your breasts, a strangled moan caught in your chest. Suddenly, even when he moved inside you with such passion, you craved more intimacy than his cock could offer. You tilted your head to the side, offering him your mouth that he took in a sensual kiss. You were so close that you couldn’t decide what limb was yours and which was his anymore. In the age old dance of sensual love, you became one.

“What do you want?” He asked, and your eyes met his. He asked you this every time, and you had always answered the same thing. But today, this felt different. You were in the courthouse, a lawyer’s battleground and also the place of worship. He was more than your mentor and boss, he was also the man who you had grown to care for so deeply it could only be called one feeling.

“Inside me. I want you to finish inside me today.” You answered and his hands clutched you tighter. You’d never allowed that before, never allowed him to call you his so completely. But you felt compelled by his heat today, by the desperation he never bothered hiding from you. Once, this may have felt like a chore. Today, it was your blessing. “Andy, make me yours.”

He groaned, pumping in you with abandon and bringing you over the edge with his fingers that were running circles around your clit. You moaned loud, blubbering in pleasure that spilled from you, uncaring if someone were to walk in. His thrusts were getting irregular, hips jerking until you felt him twitch and release inside you in hot spurts. Warmth bloomed in your core, your essence mixing with his.

He hugged your sweaty body to his, the wool of his coat scratchy against your flesh. “You were mine, even before. Now, more so than ever. And one day, when you’re ready, I’ll claim you in front of the world as fully as my heart has done in private.”

You felt him run his thumb over your ring finger and licked your lips. He wasn’t asking, and you weren’t answering. But one day, maybe you will. Until then, you were happy to be his beautiful secret, posing as his assistant and learning from him.

“Don’t,” He whispered hotly in your ear, turning you around swiftly. “Don’t think too much. We’ve got a case to win.”

He helped you dress again, buttoning your shirt and waistcoat with nimble fingers. He was getting back to being your boss, and you couldn’t have been prouder of him at this moment. One day it will be you in his spot, you knew it.

“Just one question.” You said, fixing his tie and smoothening the wrinkles on his clothes. He raised an eyebrow at you, softly smiling at the mischievous look in his eyes. “What will happen once I am a lawyer too?”

Andy chuckled, pressing the softest of kisses on your lips. “Whoever wins more cases gets to be on top of course.”

You exited the men’s room with him, head high as any other man’s. As you entered the courtroom, you licked your lips and smiled as you tasted him on your tongue.

[slasherrabbitmadness]

Bo Sinclair x Female Reader

Sinclair College AU Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Woo, NONCON ELEMENTS! This was written by demand. Seriously, bug me to write the AUs if you want to read them lol

Underthecut - NSFW, NONCON do not read if you do not like noncon, Dark fic, Vaginal sex, brief mention of anal, Bruises, creampie and Brief mentions of pregnancy

You shivered as Bo brought the blankets over you, cooing at how tired you must be, how you'll need all the rest you can get.

The dull ache throbbed throughout your body. Your toes hurt from curling them repeatedly, your hips hurt, from Bo's near incessant pounding and nails digging into your hips. Your breasts were sore, nipples teased and played with so long, his stubble scratched along your valley. Your neck was bruised, a feint handprint along the front mixed in with hickeys. Your lips sore and dry, lip gloss smeared around your mouth.

Dried tears over your cheeks, into your hair, onto the pillow.

"Hey, c'mon Sweets." Bo leaned in to kiss your cheek, making you squeeze your stomach in response, "Hey, you're good." He sat next to you, lightly patting your cheek, "Y'did so good for me, hm? So perfect." He leaned in, lips inches from your cheek, "Just like you've always been."

Bo looked down at you, bit his lower lip as your eyes remained vacant, body reacting out of an impulse to his touch, but emotionally wrought.

"You can rest for a lil while but then we gotta clean ya up, Sweets."

You cringed at the nickname, what was once a cute endearing term made your stomach turn.

"Rest for a bit, then we shower." Bo leaned in to kiss your temple, kissed your cheek ad a chaste kiss over your sore lips.

You curled into yourself, letting the motel blanket, stale smell, and lull you into a weak state of slumber.

Bo walked over to the chair, grabbing his crotch as he sat down, letting his chub rest against his thigh. He tapped his foot on the cheap carpeted floor. He leaned back to rummage through his stuff on the table, grabbing a joint and lighting it up.

He took a hit, leaned back. He listened, listened as the cars outside drove by, tires hissing along the wet pavement. A random dog barking, its deep thundering barks upsetting another tenant enough he heard a woman shouting for the thing to shut up.

The rain hit along the window, repeated taps along it felt commoning to Bo. The dull noise helped with his racing thoughts.

Bo wanted to curl into you, wrap his arms around you, kiss along your shoulder, laugh as you playfully reprimand him "Bo, stop! Your stubble is tickling me!" He smiled, "Bo, least you could do is just kiss me."

He coughed, smoke sputtered out through his lips. A deep hum rumbled from his chest, the image of you and him on the bed, curled into each other came so easily. Just like that one Valentine's day...

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

Bo held you in his arms, hand running up and down your back. He kissed your lips, groaning as you let him slip your tongue in.

He cupped your cheek, tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Your moans spurred him on, his thigh pushed in between your legs, spreading you out for him.

"Bo...again?" You asked in a whisper.

"You know you got another round in ya." He kissed you again as he angled his cock at your entrance, grunted as his cock head was met with your warmth. "Ah, sure feels like you're ready." He pushed in, his hands grabbing your wrists to pin them above your head.

Deep intimate strokes have you cantering into him, "Bo..."

"Daddy, c'mon you know how we do this."

"Daddy, please, I want more."

Bo pulled out all the way and bucked forward, a quiet laugh as you squirmed under him.

He picked up speed, huffing and moaning above you. Placed sloppy kisses along your neck, sucking and biting, groaning at the fresh bruises forming along the skin.

"Daddy, ah, more." You freed your wrists from his grasp and ran your hands down his back, resting your hands on his ass. You pushed him further into you, "Daddy please, deeper in me."

His cock twitched in response, "You like when Daddy fucks you? You just need me fuckin' you always."

He kissed you as you moaned in response, hands traveled to the back of his hair, fingers threading through his brown hair.

Bo's hips grew sloppy, your pussy clenched around him as he pushed in deeper and deeper. He wanted to scream out his release, get another call from the front desk. Telling him that there have been noise complaints coming from his room.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in, his movements became shallow, you felt his cock throb within you.

Bo moaned into the kiss, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into you. He grinned as you sobbed under him, mewling out praises, whimpering how full he was making you feel.

"Daddy, you keep coming in me, and it might just take." He wheezed, running a hand over his forehead to brush away the sweat.

"Would that be such a bad thing?" His smile fell as you gave him a mortified look.

Reality hit him, "Bo, I can't get pregnant. I'm only in my second year of University! I need my degree first. How in the hell can I have a baby? I can't afford it, I can barely afford my classes."

He groaned at your rambling, he knew you were right, knew that realistically you could never afford a baby, that a degree gave you and your children together with a better shot.

He hummed in agreement, pulled you back into him, "Shh, we'll figure it out later." He kissed your forehead, growled as you nipped at his neck.

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

Bo sat up and walked over to you on the bed, "C'mon, we need to shower now."

You remained still, eyes closed, face turning into the pillow.

Bo pulled off the blankets, a hard breath through his nose as he took you in. He lifted you into his arms, pressed kisses to the top of your head, mumbling at how sweaty you smelled and tasted.

He walked into the shitty motel bathroom, a far cry from the last time you ever shared on together on Valentine's day.

The yellow light and avocado green sink, toilet, and tub held a nasty hue.

Bo looked at himself in the mirror as he held you, his eyes held a light pink hue (the weed), bags under his eyes, his hair sticking to his forehead. He grinned taking in the bruises along his shoulders and chest. A mixture of teeth marks and fists.

He set you down, an arm around your waist to steady you.

"Okay, Sweets, gonna get you clean. How many days has it been?"

You swayed in your spot, eyes downcast.

"About five days, best to get you clean." He leaned in to place a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

He turned on the water, the steam rising up to the ceiling. "Let's step in."

The water felt euphoric on your skin, washing away the last five days of bodily fluids. Bo's dried saliva, the dried semen on your front, the bits you couldn't fully wipe off your face. The hot water kissed your bruises, a pleasant ache from the hot touch.

You stared at the yellow shower tile, steadying a breath as Bo rubbed his hands over your body. You let your mind race, let it fall into a day more pleasant thoughts.

You thought of Vincent, his arms around you, holding you close, outside the library. Tears spilled as you cursed yourself, wishing you blew off Dan to accompany Vincent. Wanted to sleep in Vincent's arms like you had been almost every night since you started dating.

"Sweets?" Bo patted your cheek, "You good?"

You snapped your attention to Bo, his thumb whipping away your tears, "Might be in the shower but your red eyes are giving you away." He kissed you, tongue running along your lips.

Bo retched back, hand raised up to his cheek, he looked at his fingers, the blood trailing down.

You held a feral look, your eyes hed a feral glare, your nails with blood being cleaned by the running hot water.

"I. Want. Vincent!" You punctuated each word. Teeth bared to the tall man in front of you. You looked through him, not taking in his baby blues, his confused expression.

Bo gave you a booming laugh, you jumped as he grabbed your wrist, "Five days of this and you still want him. I thought I could get you cock drunk on me."

Be spun you around as he pushed you against the tile. Your front pressed into the slimy uncleaned surface had you gagging.

You steadied a breath again, letting your mind race to Vincent. Not Bo poking his cock along your entrance.

"Y'know, you should be pregnant by now, I think the other whole is a little lonely." You fought back a scream.

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

Vincent ran through the campus, running up to the Flamingo dorms. He had no time to think about how silly it was that the campus dorms have animal mascots.

Brahms burst through the dorm's door. Pulling on his jacket as he scratched his stubble.

Vincent ran up to him, knowing his girlfriend was a friend of his own, "Hey, Brahms, you seen Y/n? Has your girl seen her?"

"No, Princess hasn't seen her."

Vincent would normally smirk at Brahm's nickname for his girl. It was fitting, Brahms did treat her like a Princess. The gifts, the lavish vacation he took her on, she was even invited to a family wedding.

"She did mention that she has yet to get ahold of her though, apparently Dan is upset that they missed their study dates."

Vincent slapped his leg in frustration.

"I haven't seen her in five days. I've talked with my brother but I haven't seen him either." Vincent breathed in heavily, he staggered back.

Brahms reached for him, steadying his friend, "Bo probably took her."

Vincent's eye went wide.

"I mean, think about it, is it that hard to get to that conclusion. You fuck her, start dating her, flaunt how good you've both been to each other. Bo's always been, Bo. Masking his insecurity with macho bravado, hitting on pretty girls, and when they take the low-hanging fruit it fuels his ego. For a day, at least. And the one girl who managed to escape his low-level bullshit falls into his brother's arms, of course, he's pissed."

Vincent clenched his fist, "You justifying my brother?"

"No," Brahms stood up straight, arms over his chest, "Remember when I punched him for bugging my Princess? He tried to jump me a week later. For me," Brahms gave Vincent a cocky smile, "Was nothing. I can only imagine if he had anger towards a female."

Vincent's blood went cold at Brahms words. "Y'sure?"

"Hm, I am an actor! I observe people constantly, I am not known as the best method actor this school has ever had for nothing!" Brahms puffed up his chest, his cocky smile faded as he watched Vincent's shakes become near tremors.

"Look, Vincent, Have you been to the police, her parents, sibling? or whatever?" Brahms leaned closer to Vincent, a sympathetic hand remained on his shoulder.

"Yeah...her parents said...she sounded a little shaken up but fine. They said it was stress. The police are useless."

Brahms laughed, "When are they useful?" He frowned when Vincent shot him a glare.

"Okay, no joking, though not a joke, Look, I'll get Princess later and us three can go around asking for her, okay. I'll even ask my drama teacher to put pressure on the campus police."

Vincent nodded a weak defeated nod.

His hope had been diminishing day by day. He missed class and called into work. The past five days were spent on you, finding you, wanting you back in his arms. The sick feeling in his gut knew you were being held by him...the other half of him.

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

You sat on the bed, your clothes back over your, the warmth they offered little comfort.

"Okay, Sweets, we're gonna get going, alright?" He nudged your shoulder.

"I need to get back to class, Bo. I need to finish my degree." You said lifelessly as if on autopilot.

"You will don't worry." He kissed the crown of your head, inhaling your scent. "Sweets you smell so damn good. So clean for her Daddy."

Your throat felt tight, the urge to barf suppressed as you pinched yourself.

"Why did you cheat on me?"

Bo looked down at you, head cocked, "Cheat on you?"

"Yes."

"I never cheated on you."

"Don't fucking lie to me, Bo!"

He stepped back, hand running over his bandaged cheek. He composed himself, leaning over you, "You better watch your tone." He growled.

The past five days had gotten to you, a resentment, and anger bubbled to the surface, "You date me, Cheat on me, on valentine's day. And you expect me to never be angry, never be upset. And you get mad when I cheat on you. fuck you, Bo. I meant nothing to you. You're nothing to me."

You screamed as Bo shoved you down onto the bed, his large hands pressed hard into your arms, he huffed above you, "Nothing to me? Did I not just spend the last five days lovin' you? Being intimate with you? Shared the most wonderful experience two people together could experience together?"

He shook you as you failed to answer, "Hm? That Valentine's day meant everything to you. This meant everything to you." Bo kissed your tears, gritted his teeth and he shook your head under him.

Bo cheated, he knew this. Knew why he cheated. Self-sabotage as always.

How could someone so sweet, caring, friendly, and loving as you fall for him, why would you? Bo was awful, downright awful, his own parents even said so.

"You'll see, Sweets, you'll see our love grow within you."

You sobbed under him, you murmured Vincent's name, repeating it over and over, as if you said it enough he'd burst through the door, saving you from Bo's hell.

[michaeldemiurgossociety]

“Oh Saint Michael, whose prayer I never seem to be able to remember, protect me from the dangers of low blood caffeine levels. Bring me coffee and good tidings...”

Michael looks up from working the books to scowl at the human theatrically praying to him. Hands locked in prayer, not looking up like humans usually do even when he's in the room, but instead looking right at him.

“And get yourself a good strong cup too, o Protector of the Church, Prince of the Heavenly Host and-... huh! I guess I remember more than I thought...”

Michael wearily drops his ancient bic pen on top of the far too cluttered desk. How he got himself roped into this he still can't fathom. Everyone seems to think he loves to do paperwork... He rubs his eyes and rolls his shoulders, trying to shake the tightness between his shoulder blades. Maybe this is his penance...

“Besides you look like you could use a break...”

He does, doesn't he? He feels the more than extra scruff on his cheeks and he scratches his chin, suddenly annoyed by it.

“O Michael, my good friend. Feed me coffee and I promise to do that cuddle thing you really like, for as long as you like.”

That catches his attention like nothing else. His eyes snap up to look at the human and he's once more taken aback at the glittering humour he finds there. One more thing he got roped into without him realising it.

He sighs and drops his head back against the ratty office chair he found somewhere in Lucifers back rooms. He had scrubbed it until his fingers were raw because with the devil, you never know what happened to it. He fights the full body shudder at the thought.

“Pretty, pretty please?”

And there's the pout...

“Fine, fine.” He lurches up from his suddenly, frighteningly unclean seat and sways for a bit. He may indeed have overdone it a bit if he can't even feel his own legs anymore.

“But you owe me!” He points a stern finger, widening his eyes in warning but the human just laughs in his face.

“Well, amen to that!”

A wholesome Michael HC thread only. No angst allowed! Reblog with your sweet and lovable headcanons, pics, links and drabbles. Let's make Michael great again!

And let's make @antonivs cry less 😉🤣

[ibijau]

on AO3

Beta Nie Huaisang goes to check on omega Lan Xichen, since his lover hasn't gotten in touch in a few weeks. When he finds Lan Xichen nesting, he can only conclude that the child isn't his.

It had been a while since Nie Huaisang had last seen Lan Xichen, and longer still since he had come to the Cloud Recesses. Usually, for everyone’s convenience, it was simpler for the two of them to meet in the Unclean Realm, where people knew to mind their own business, and where Nie Huaisang’s failings as a sect leader gave them a good excuse to spend time together.

It had been over two months since they’d last met. In all that time, Lan Xichen had only written once, and about sect business too, so it hardly counted at all. And so Nie Huaisang, who was in the area for some other dealings of his, had decided that it would probably be fine to drop by and check on the omega. 

The men watching the gate did not bat an eye upon seeing him, since it wasn’t so unusual for him to come unannounced, but one evasively warned him that Lan Xichen might be busy. That wasn’t a problem of course. Nie Huaisang had a permanent invitation to make himself at home in the Hanshi for those times Lan Xichen wasn’t free to deal with him right away.

So like always he headed right for the Hanshi, already wondering what tea he’d make for himself while Lan Xichen dealt with his own business. Only when he entered the Hanshi, Nie Huaisang was struck by an unexpected sight.

The Hanshi, usually so neat and tidy that one could have eaten off the floor, was an absolute mess . There were fabrics everywhere in all shades of white and blue as well as the occasional dash of green, plus a great number of cushions of many sizes that Lan Xichen was organising in some manner that must have made sense to him.

Nie Huaisang gaped at the sight.

Lan Xichen was nesting.

There was no other explanation. Although Nie Huaisang was a beta, as a sect leader he’d had to deal with that sort of things before. People were always surprised to hear about it, but Qinghe Nie was very welcoming to omega disciples, and of course alphas had to deal with their spouses. A whole portion of the sect’s budget was dedicated to this sort of things, just because Nie Huaisang had found that it spelled trouble to have a frustrated omega failing to build their nest exactly as they envisioned it. In fact, although he complained about the waste of money, Nie Huaisang found the process somewhat fascinating, and he’d always been happy to give his opinion whenever asked for it.

This nest, though, was instantly hateful to him.

It wasn’t as though Lan Xichen and him had made any clear promises to each other. They liked to fool around when they could, but being a beta he couldn’t mark the omega, and would have been unlikely to ever impregnate him. That was the whole reason why Lan Xichen allowed himself such liberties with Nie Huaisang: it was a safe way to scratch that itch without ruining his prospects for a proper match when the time came. 

Still, even without promises, Nie Huaisang had thought they had a certain understanding. He had never taken other lovers since falling in bed with Lan Xichen, and not just because he was too busy for it. Compared to the esteemed Zewu-Jun, everyone else felt boring, no matter if they were alphas, omegas, or betas. But Nie Huaisang himself, by comparison… well, if Lan Xichen had found himself a proper mate, an alpha, he couldn’t be blamed for it of course.

Busy with the delicate task of constructing his nest, Lan Xichen didn’t realise that he had company until Nie Huaisang closed the door behind himself, a little more forcefully than he should have.

He hated the way Lan Xichen’s face illuminated upon seeing him, so pretty like this, kneeling in the middle of his half built nest.

“A-Sang!” he exclaimed,. “I was just about to write to you, as soon as I finished with this.”

He gestured at the mess around him, and Nie Huaisang couldn’t help a disdainful scoff.

“I think I’d have waited a long while before seeing that letter then,” he remarked. “Congratulations are in order it seems. And I suppose I’d better leave you to it, you seem very busy.”

“Nonsense, you simply have to help me,” Lan Xichen protested, picking up an embroidered cushion and looking around for the best place to put it. “I’m not too good at this, but you’ve said you’ve helped with that sort of things before, right? I need your expertise, A-Sang.”

If Nie Huaisang had been a reasonable person, if he’d had a little more pride, he would have left immediately. Hearing himself still being called A-Sang after this hurt too much, as did Lan Xichen’s casual attitude, as if he truly didn’t realise that it might pain Nie Huaisang to discover in such a brutal manner that he had been replaced. Above all, no self-respecting person should have had to help their lover help prepare a nest for someone else’s child.

But apparently, Lan Xichen really saw no wrong with that. Nie Huaisang, kindly, decided to blame it on nesting frenzy rather than on the omega’s tendency to close his eyes to anything he didn’t like thinking about.

Lan Xichen was the only person that Nie Huaisang could have allowed to be so cruel to him without hating him. His one weakness, now and always. So instead of leaving, he quickly untied his shoes and came to join Lan Xichen in the middle of his nest.

“Hold this,” Lan Xichen ordered when Nie Huaisang knelt next to him, handing him some delicate furs, a present from Nie Huaisang himself some years before. “And this, and…”

“Quite the luxurious nest you’re building here,” Nie Huaisang remarked as he started laying the furs and fabrics around so they would be both elegant to look at and comfortable to lay on. “Is that even allowed by your sect’s rules?”

“It’s my nest, I get to decide how I want it,” Lan Xichen replied in a playful tone. “For once in my life, nobody has the right to tell me how to do this. I will take full advantage of it.”

“Hm. And what about whoever sired your child? Don’t they also get a say? Maybe they’ll think this is too ostentatious.”

For some reason, that remark made Lan Xichen laugh. Nie Huaisang found himself increasingly curious as to the identity of whatever alpha had gotten his friend with child. It couldn’t be another Lan, or else Lan Xichen would not actually allow himself to be so extravagant. A Jin then? He really didn’t like the idea that it might be a Jin, because there was only one of them close enough to Lan Xichen for this to happen, and if Jin Guangyao had dared to touch the omega…

“He won’t mind,” Lan Xichen claimed with laughter still in his voice, before grabbing Nie Huaisang to kiss him.

Again, Nie Huaisang thought of protesting on account of his pride.

But what was the value of that pride when Lan Xichen's lips were on his, tender and demanding, when the omega's arms were wrapped around his waist to pull him closer. 

Nie Huaisang had sacrificed his pride for less pleasant purposes before. He didn't mind doing it again, for one last tryst with the man he shouldn't have loved.

One of Nie Huaisang's hands grabbed the back of Lan Xichen's neck. This made him gasp, and gave Nie Huaisang the chance to deepen the kiss, licking into that willing mouth. Then, with his free hand he started pulling on the ties of Lan Xichen's clothes, eager to undress his lover. 

Under layers and layers of pale silk, delicate skin became revealed. Nie Huaisang's fingers lazily danced over his lover's collarbone, over a firm chest, taking a moment to play with a nipple, just for the joy of seeing Lan Xichen's lips part for a soft gasp. His chest was still all muscle, but it would probably soon start to soften and prepare for the child’s arrival. The thought sent heat coursing through Nie Huaisang’s groin, for which he cursed himself. By the time such changes started appearing, everything would be over between them, Lan Xichen would certainly have married whatever lucky idiot had managed to breed him.

Enraged by that idea, Nie Huaisang tore off the rest of the omega’s robes, letting precious silk pool around them and adding to the mess of the half built nest. When Lan Xichen was left in nothing but pants, Nie Huaisang roughly pushed him down against the nearest pile of pillows.

Lan Xichen went down willingly, though could have resisted if he wanted. He was the stronger between them, and by far, but when they were alone he liked to pretend Nie Huaisang could push him around, to play the part of a delicate and submissive omega. Another game between them, another thing they didn’t talk about, and Nie Huaisang to this day didn't know if Lan Xichen did it for his own pleasure, or out of pity for his weak lover.

It had to be at least partly for pleasure, with the way Lan Xichen gasped when Nie Huaisang, having pulled down his pants pushed a finger into him to find him slick with arousal already.

“Zewu-Jun, how shameful of you to get in such a state while nesting,” Nie Huaisang teased, pressing in a second finger already, while his other hand pressed on Lan Xichen' s shoulder, pinning him against the side of his nest.

Lan Xichen writhed weakly, as if trying to escape but unable to.

“A-Sang don’t, ah, don’t call me that,” he complained, gasping when his lover’s fingers found the right places to tease. “It’s not…”

“Then what should I call you?” Nie Huaisang asked, trying to keep his tone casual even as he added another finger. “Er-ge? Lan-gege? Xichen-ge? A-Huan, perhaps?”

Lan Xichen, whose eyes had closed upon that most welcome assault, opened them again and whined at that last suggestion. Even though they had been doing this for some years now, Nie Huaisang had never really dared to use his lover’s personal name, fearing it would have been too intimate for the sort of relationship they had. Now though, if he was to lose all this, there was little point in not taking everything he could before it was over.

“You’re so wet, A-Huan,” he accused, removing his fingers from his lover’s hole and carelessly wiping them against the side of his naked thigh. “Isn’t it against your sect’s rules to be unrestrained?”

Lan Xichen pouted at feeling himself empty again, and shivered at Nie Huaisang’s words. As if suddenly remembering something, he quickly sat up in spite of the hand pushing down on his chest, proving that Nie Huaisang was only in control because it was granted to him. Nie Huaisang found it a more potent aphrodisiac than actually having the strength to subdue his lover could have been. He then saw Lan Xichen quickly reach behind his head, saw the white embroidered ribbon he wore be loosened and slide down, saw his lover smile at him with that spark of mischief Lan Xichen only ever showed when they were alone together.

“There, now I’m allowed to be unrestrained,” Lan Xichen said after dropping the ribbon out of the way and carefully laying down on the side of his nest again. “Let’s make the best of this, A-Sang.”

He opened his legs a little wider, shamelessly inviting Nie Huaisang to come enjoy his body. Nie Huaisang, in turn, pretended to ignore him and started undressing himself, taking care to fold everything neatly so it wouldn’t get lost in the luxurious mess of that nest around them. Lan Xichen observed him with hunger at first, which quickly turned to frustration.

“You’re teasing me,” he accused with a slight whine to his voice that made Nie Huaisang want to devour him.

“I’m just trying to be respectful,” Nie Huaisang retorted while fighting with his pants, the last item of clothing on him. “I believe your sect has a rule against undue haste, and against being careless with one’s possessions.”

“Then stop being careless with me,” Lan Xichen ordered.

Nie Huaisang froze, unsure whether to cry or laugh. Once again, he was stunned by how innocently cruel his lover was that day. He really should have put an end to this joke and gone home, leaving Lan Xichen to go get fucked by whatever alpha he’d found himself.

He should have.

He couldn’t.

Instead, Nie Huaisang quickly finished undressing, dropping his pants to the side without even pretending to fold them this time, and came to kneel between Lan Xichen’s legs. The omega smiled up at him, so radiant it hurt.

Without thinking, Nie Huaisang’s hand trailed down his lover’s chest, coming to rest on his stomach. Nothing was showing yet, not even the first signs of softness, though when he probed using spiritual energy, he definitely felt there was something there, a presence too small to have reached consciousness yet. 

The pregnancy wasn’t very far along, three months perhaps, which would place its start rather close to the last time Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen had been together. That would fit, of course. Last time, Lan Xichen had needed to leave the Unclean Realm in something of a hurry when his heat had surprised him, forcing him to rush home before it overcame him completely… or so Nie Huaisang had thought at the time. 

Back then, he’d been disappointed that they’d barely managed to fool around at all. He’d been disappointed at himself, also, for still not finding the courage to ask Lan Xichen to stay, heat or not. With himself a beta there was so little risk of unwanted consequences, while surely it would have been more comfortable for Lan Xichen to go through this with a partner for once…

As it turned out, Lan Xichen hadn’t faced the discomfort of his heat alone. He just hadn’t wanted to spend it with Nie Huaisang either.

Suddenly, Nie Huaisang grabbed Lan Xichen's arm, forcing him to turn around. Lan Xichen willingly obeyed and got on his hands and knees, a spark of excitement in his eyes. He gasped when Nie Huaisang pressed into him faster than he normally did. But then, normally he wasn't so angry at the man he… 

The man he didn't want to love, Nie Huaisang thought as he started moving without giving the omega time to adjust. The man he shouldn't have loved. The man who he should have known he'd never get to keep. 

“A-Sang, be gentle,” Lan Xichen begged, before moaning when Nie Huaisang, instead, fucked him harder. 

The beta soon fell into a punishing rhythm, skin slapping against skin. The only sounds leaving Nie Huaisang’s mouth were grunts, while Lan Xichen alternated between begging to be treated gently or more roughly, as if unable to make up his mind. 

When Lan Xichen's pleasure cries became louder, his body tighter, Nie Huaisang found it in him to fuck even harder into that too willing body, until at last Lan Xichen tensed under him, coming undone with a silent gasp. Nie Huaisang kept going, enjoying that slick tightness for a few thrusts more until he felt he could hold on no longer. 

Pressing inside as far as he could go, Nie Huaisang bent down and bit as hard as he could onto Lan Xichen while spilling his seed.

It was a vain effort, of course. Still, when Nie Huaisang’s senses returned to him and he saw the imprint of his teeth on the side of Lan Xichen's neck, almost deep enough to have broken the skin, he felt a twisted satisfaction. The mark would fade in a few days, a few hours even if Lan Xichen expended some energy to get rid of it. But now Nie Huaisang knew what the man he didn't want to love would have looked, had he been able to mark him and keep him. 

A memory he would surely cherish in the future, when nothing else remained. 

Nie Huaisang pulled out and sat up on his haunches, the better to look at Lan Xichen lying under him, beautiful in his contentment, pale skin decorated by the first signs of future bruises. If he hadn't just come, the sight of such perfection on display for him would have made him hard. Even like that he felt some new desire run through him. 

Lan Xichen cracked open one eye. He smiled, turned around to rest his back against the now crumbling side of his nest, and opened his arms in a silent invitation. One that Nie Huaisang should have refused, the same as he should have refused all the rest. One he took, as he had taken all the rest. 

It was comfortable to lay like this, his head on Lan Xichen's chest, cuddled against one side of that hateful nest. Nie Huaisang could have fallen asleep like this, sated and warm, with Lan Xichen's long fingers lazily tracing senseless patterns on his back. 

Life didn't get better than this, and Nie Huaisang was selfish enough to take what wasn't his to enjoy. 

"I was thinking what we should do, since both our sects need an heir," Lan Xichen said, just as Nie Huaisang was abput to fall asleep. "If it's a girl, let's raise it like a Nie. Your sect is more reasonable about letting women rule, so it'd be… you don't like that?" 

Nie Huaisang shook his head, his body suddenly so tense he could barely breathe, let alone speak. 

That child was his? 

He would have assumed… betas weren't very fertile, and everyone said they had better chances of conceiving with a woman of any sort than a male omega. Nie Huaisang had made his peace with that, knowing he and Lan Xichen wouldn't… That there would only ever be a very low chance of...

But a low chance was still a chance. 

"It's fine if you'd rather see a boy inherit Qinghe Nie as well," Lan Xichen said, his hand turned soothing on Nie Huaisang's back. "In that case if it's a girl, we'll get to spoil her." 

"I don't mind seeing our daughter rule the Unclean Realm," Nie Huaisang weakly replied, still terrified he'd misunderstood somehow, that Lan Xichen had just been carelessly cruel again, that… 

But Lan Xichen kissed the top of his head with affection, and took to running his fingers through Nie Huaisang’s hair. 

"We'll see when the baby is there," Lan Xichen concluded. "I… you want this too, don't you?" he asked, suddenly sounding worried. "We never really spoke about… if you don't want to be involved, I'll… of course I won't force you. I can raise it alone if you're not interested."

Nie Huaisang rose on his elbows to look at the man he loved, who carried his child, and was shocked to find Lan Xichen looking truly worried. As if there were anyone in the world who wouldn't give everything to be in Nie Huaisang’s place. As if Nie Huaisang himself hadn't been ready to sacrifice any dignity he had left for what he thought were scraps of Lan Xichen’s attention. 

"We're raising our child together," Nie Huaisang firmly stated. "I'll claim it if you let me, I'll marry you if you let me. Anything you want from me, just ask and it's yours." 

Lan Xichen smiled brightly at him, happy beyond words. Nie Huaisang found it in him to smile back.

He would just have to get Mo Xuanyu to hurry up with that ritual, so that Jin Guangyao could be taken care of before the birth.

[thebiscuiteternal]

I had an evil thought on twitter and way too many people encouraged it, SO-

“Collecting the Pieces”

Mild Horror, Family Secrets, Mental Instability, Magical Fuckups, Sangyao-lite, Nie Huaisang Doesn’t Know Yet, Jin Guangyao Is About To Know More Than He Ever Wanted To

__________

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang.

It manifests in small signs at first.

Little things like how he would look at a person, but not at them, green eyes dull as if he wasn’t actually seeing who he was talking to. The unnaturally pale tint to his skin and the dark shadows under his eyes. The fact that his robes had gotten heavier over thr last several months, trying to hide that he was getting thinner.

The incident where he had lost consciousness in the middle of a discussion with Ouyang-furen and had only been saved from cracking his skull against the floor by the reflexes of his head disciple was… concerning. But like all of the other symptoms, it could easily be tallied up as exhaustion from lingering grief and having so much responsibility dumped onto an unprepared back.

But then...

Then there are the conversations none of them can hear. Those moments where he sits with his head slightly bowed, staring at nothing and lips moving silently.

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang, and for those not of his sect, his presence has gone from mildly concerning to downright unnerving.

Jin Guangyao has to point out to his father more than once that they have only just averted the conflict with the previous sect leader; to bar the new one from the discussion conferences just because he seems strange would be an insult tantamount to inviting war, even if Nie Hengbai does seem to be doing all the talking for the Nie at the moment, his sect leader a quiet little shadow at his side.

He finds it a unique opportunity to observe, in fact. Everyone is so unsettled by the mere fact that Nie Huaisang converses with empty air that no one has apparently thought to find out what he is saying when he does .

The seating arrangement isn’t ideal. The only person besides his own disciples who doesn’t seem to be scared off by Nie Huaisang’s unnatural behavior is Jiang-zongzhu, who pointedly settles himself on the opposite side from Nie Hengbai and scowls at all gossipers, their host included. His height half-blocks Nie Huaisang from view.

But still, Jin Guangyao can see.

And as he watches the words fall unheard from Nie Huaisang’s mouth, he feels a chill slowly creep up his spine.

‘Da-ge, come back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll behave. I'll be good. Please come back. Please, Da-ge…’

He is glad that his sleeves hide the involuntary clenching of his hands.

While he knows better than to completely dismiss a possibility, no matter how small the odds, his mind nonetheless rebels at the first idea to enter it. It cannot actually be Nie Mingjue's resentful ghost haunting his little brother. Even if it had been whole, if he and Xue Yang had not scattered it with the man's physical pieces, it is decidedly not Nie Huaisang that the man would be tormenting with his presence if he were capable.

Isn't it?

And yet, he cannot shake the cold in his bones.

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang, and he will seek out the source.

---

"San-ge?"

Nie Huaisang blinks at him, eyes glassy and confused. He tilts his head questioningly like the birds he is so fond of, then slowly regains awareness of his surroundings and smiles, looking more like himself.

Jin Guangyao forcibly clamps down on a shudder. "It's good to see you, Sang-er," he says, allowing himself to adopt the regional address since they are nowhere near the judging eyes of Koi Tower. He reaches out and sweeps the younger man's hair out of his eyes, then tuts in concern. "Are you still not sleeping well?"

"Ah-" Nie Huaisang flinches and looks embarrassed at the gentle chiding. "It's… nothing, really. Busy times and too much paperwork, that's all. Can I get you anything?"

"I just need to look over some map records, if you don't mind. A handful of small sects have brought a problem to my father, and I'm afraid our own records are… a bit lacking."

The younger man simply nods, accepting the excuse at face value, and Jin Guangyao isn't sure if that says something about Nie Huaisang's state of mind, or the Jin sect's reputation for ignoring anything that isn't expenditures or debts to be collected. Either way, when Nie Huaisang reaches out to tug his sleeve, he goes willingly and tries to ignore the slightly unsteady sway to his friend's pace.

Even though the poor end to his relationship with Nie Mingjue had been loud and public enough that the whole of the Unclean Realms knew about it before the day had even ended, he is apparently still a familiar enough face that barely anyone pays him mind.

Indeed, most of their worried glances are directed towards their sect leader.

He refuses to examine the possible reasons why that might be settling sour in his stomach.

They are still a few halls and turns away from the library when Nie Huaisang lets go of his sleeve and puts a hand to his head, looking even more pale than before. Jin Guangyao catches him before he can topple into the wall and then bites his tongue when green eyes slide over him, gaze unseeing.

“Sang-er?” he asks cautiously.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes don’t clear, but he seems to still be at least halfway lucid. “I’m sorry… I don’t feel well. I think I need to stay here. You remember the rest of the way, don’t you?”

“I do, but this is no proper place for you to rest.” He leans around the corner and waves over a passing servant. “Would you assist Nie-zongzhu to his room, please?”

“Of course, of course,” the woman says in a tone that conveys she is apparently -unfortunately- used to this. “Come along,” she says, taking hold of Nie Huaisang’s hand and wrapping a steadying arm around his waist, as if guiding a lost child, and he follows her lead without complaint.

Jin Guangyao watches them go and squashes that sour feeling when it threatens to churn.

Answers.

Answers first.

---

The library he needs, he has decided, is not the primary library, the one that Nie Huaisang had been taking him to. No, he seeks out the room buried so deep in the Unclean Realms that no daylight reaches it, that he had only stumbled upon by accident back when he had been employed here.

Lighting the only lantern in the room with a flame talisman, he finds that nothing has changed since the last time he was here other than a thickening of the layer of dust.

Swallowing hard, he straightens his back and starts with the family records.

---

‘After much deliberation and testimony from the physicians and healers involved in the care of the first young master, it is the advice of the sect elders that- ’

He has relit the lantern twice, and he’s fairly sure it’s long past dinner when he sinks into a chair and slaps the open scroll down onto the table, feeling lightheaded and shaky.

A spirit-tethering.

Until he had seen the books Lan Xichen carried from the library of the Cloud Recesses, such a thing had been the stuff of fantasy stories. Even in the vaunted Lan texts, it was only described in abstract theory.

And yet there was apparently enough foundation to it that a serious proposal had been made to cast such a thing between a pair of children to keep Nie Mingjue from being torn apart by the saber he’d bonded with far too young.

He forces himself to keep reading, feeling his stomach sink with every passage.

Nie Haoran had argued viciously against the idea for two years, even offering himself as the tether, only to be shot down due to his own unstable health. He had only given in when his son had experienced his first qi deviation at eleven years of age.

Eleven years old.

Nie Huaisang would have only been five.

Jin Guangyao bites his tongue again and presses the back of his hand to his mouth to forcibly swallow back the bile that bubbles up in his throat.

The mechanics of the matter only make the horror of it even more stark. The only ones who would have been able to undo the tether would have been the brothers themselves. He finds notes, plans, all written in Nie Mingjue’s sharp-edged calligraphy, of how he would set his brother free once his own health became too compromised but before his mind was too unstable…

But he hadn’t done it.

Hadn’t been able to do it.

He’d deteriorated too quickly.

Instead...

Nausea continuing to roil in his guts like a thunder cloud, Jin Guangyao rolls up the scroll and shoves it back into place with enough force that it crumples, practically fleeing the room even though there is no monster there to escape, just-

It is indeed dark outside as he traverses the hallways, barely able to restrain himself from running.

No one answers when he knocks at Nie Huaisang’s door. He sucks in a sharp breath to ground himself, then carefully pushes it open.

The room is as stark as he remembers from his last visit. Though he knows he Lan Xichen have both offered to help, Nie Huaisang has yet to start replacing any of the possessions that his brother had burnt. There is a tray of food on the table near the bed, untouched and probably long cold.

The person he’s seeking is curled up on the bed on top of the covers, still fully dressed. Fingers twitch and scratch at his own arms as he shivers, most likely in the throes of a nightmare.

His lips are moving.

Jin Guangyao doesn’t dare read them.

He closes the door behind him and crosses the room to the bed. Nie Huaisang doesn’t react to the dip in the mattress as he sits down, nor to being pulled and shifted until the younger man’s head rests in his lap. When he gently removes the guan from his hair and begins combing out the braids, however, the fit finally eases, the anxious lines of Nie Huaisang’s face smoothing out as he calms.

Jin Guangyao closes his eyes for a moment and sighs.

He now knows what is wrong with Nie Huaisang, and he knows he is at fault.

He could lay the blame elsewhere. He wants to. The elders who’d made the proposal... Nie Haoran for allowing it... the healers who’d carried it out… It is most tempting to blame Nie Mingjue for having not undone it as soon as they were both grown.

But no. The fact of the matter is that Nie Huaisang’s condition can be laid at his feet. Had he not hastened Nie Mingjue’s death… He doesn’t regret that.

He refuses to let himself regret that.

But this…

Grief could be moved past.

Missing pieces could not.

He opens his eyes to find Nie Huaisang has shifted to curl against him, and he allows himself a small, weak smile as he begins carding his fingers through silken hair again.

He knows what is wrong with Nie Huaisang, and perhaps he can’t fix the damage already done, but there are still things he can do. Information he can find, pieces he can move or remove. He can make things easier.

“It will be alright,” he murmurs, then leans down and gently presses a kiss to the sleeping young man’s temple. The gesture makes Nie Huaisang snuggle closer in his sleep, and his own smile gains strength.  “I took care of er-gongzi before, I will be happy to take care of zongzhu now. He is my responsibility, after all.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

For a prompt how about a scenario where against all odds Nie Huaisang is able to inherit Baxia (maybe it wants revenge for NMJ too?)

After all the funeral necessities are done, Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao reluctantly depart – each one having pledged their full support in helping Nie Huaisang hold off any threat to his inheritance of his brother’s position, and in helping him run his sect afterwards, and all of that, but of course they have their own sects to tend to; they can’t stay at the Unclean Realm all the time.

Nie Huaisang remained.

He wasn’t alone – no sect leader, presumptive or otherwise, ever was, surrounded by disciples and retainers and petitioners – but it very much felt as though he was, as if there was a window between him and the world that couldn’t be broken no matter what.

There wasn’t a scratch on him, but everyone in Qinghe treated him like he was walking wounded.

It was better that way, he thought numbly, better than Jin Guangyao’s poisonous smiles, meant to comfort, or Lan Xichen’s self-centered attempts to ease Nie Huaisang’s grief by taking steps to ease his own, suggesting seclusion and meditation and gentle music as if Nie Huaisang had ever cared about any of that. If he had to hear one more thing about how his brother’s too-early demise was just the way things sometimes happened, the mysterious ways of the heavenly dao, and out of the mouths of the men that murdered him –

He’d do nothing, of course. He couldn’t do anything about it – he was too useless, a good-for-nothing just like his brother always worried he’d be; his brother who had always wanted the best for him, who’d warned him that if he didn’t take care and make himself strong, he might one day be lack the ability to do what he wanted…

Nie Huaisang had scoffed at the thought, back then. Back then, as far as he was concerned, his only desires were for a bit of peace and quiet, some pretty things, fans and paintings, brushes and books, and absent a complete collapse of the Nie sect, he’d always be able to get those. And if that was the case, why did he have to be strong? What could he possibly want that he’d need strength to get?

It’d never occurred to him that what he’d want was revenge.

Revenge needed strength.

He didn’t have strength, so he’d have to substitute it with time. His brother had once tried to explain saber training to him that way: yes, it was repetitive, yes, it seemed pointless, yes, all yes, but it was a trade with the future. Each minute of training was capital, built up from your sweat and exertion, and with that capital you could in the future afford that little extra burst of strength, that extra hour of endurance, that might mean the difference between life and death.

The cost of strength was time. He’d spent his younger years living free and easy, thinking his brother would always be there for him, leaving him without the strength he needed to avenge him, and the cost of his youthful arrogance would be the next ten years of his life, if not more.

It would take at least that, if he wanted to destroy the men who killed his brother.

And he would. All of them, without fail.

Jin Guangshan, who’d instigated it, would be easy enough to bring down. Nie Huaisang had money, if nothing else, and Qinghe had plenty of prostitutes who wanted better lives for their bastard sons – it’d be a matter of nothing to pay one of them to pack up and move to Lanling, to get Jin Guangshan’s attention, to get him talking on the matter of children…to instigate him to say something unforgivable about Meng Yao’s mother, who had always been his reverse scale; after that, he could just step back and wait for the consequences to fall where they would, to let Jin Guangyao do the dirty work for him the way he’d done it for Jin Guangshan.

(The prostitute’s child would be given a new name and a position as a Nie sect disciple, very prestigious, a proper young master. Every day, Nie Huaisang would look at him and he would think of Meng Yao trapped in the brothel dreaming of exactly that sort of rescue and he would smile, because the man who murdered his brother deserved nothing from him, not even sympathy for the unfortunate child he’d once been.)

But Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao – that would take time.

Jin Guangyao had a tongue made of silver, capable of turning every situation to his benefit by saying exactly the right thing; Nie Huaisang would need to find solid evidence of his wrongdoing if he was to destroy his life. That would take time, time and patience, years of needing to pretend that nothing was the matter, that he relied on him, that he needed him, that he didn’t see the way Jin Guangyao’s lips curled with sick smug satisfaction as he played the role of older brother that should have been Nie Mingjue’s.

He didn’t need to worry about bringing down Lan Xichen, who valued righteousness but couldn’t recognize it when it stood before him; destroying Jin Guangyao would destroy him, too, and all the better if he realized too late that he would be one of the hands that pushed Jin Guangyao to his demise, just as he’d pushed Nie Mingjue to his.

They would see if all of his seclusion and meditation and gentle music helped him with his grief then.

It would be long and it would be painful and it would have to be that way because he wasn’t strong enough.

Thinking grim thoughts, he walked to his brother’s bedroom, thinking only of seeking some comfort on his sheets before they, too, forgot the smell and weight of him, and that’s when he saw her.

Baxia.

Nie Huaisang’s hand automatically fell to his waist, where his little-used saber still hung in some belated attempt to appease his brother’s spirit – not that Aituan was ever going to be any protection against Baxia. Especially now: she should be safely in his brother’s tomb, placed there like all the other sabers that had lost their masters to fight against fierce corpses for the rest of eternity instead of finding her way out into the world where she would fight against evil no matter what its form. Saber spirits didn’t discriminate: living or dead, evil petty or major, it was all the same to them, and that was what made them so dangerous.

As sect leader, it was Nie Huaisang’s duty to tend to the masterless sabers, something Jin Guangyao foolishly thought meant tomb maintenance and which Nie Huaisang knew meant keeping them from hurting people. That had been the duty the other Nie sect disciples had worried that Nie Huaisang would be unable to perform, and in his heart he’d doubted it, too, but he’d thought it didn’t matter – the masterless sabers hadn’t gotten out in years.

Baxia –

Baxia shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be floating in the center of Nie Mingjue’s bedroom, her blade having a dull red shine from all the blood she’d drunk over the years in his hand; she shouldn’t look as if she were keeping a vigil, waiting for her master to return when he never would.

Aituan vibrated under Nie Huaisang’s hand. It wasn’t lust for a battle (Aituan wasn’t the type), but rather almost – an echo.

Sympathy.

Family lore said that saber spirits didn’t understand compassion. And yet, Nie Huaisang would swear that that was what it was: an echo of pain made in understanding, a sharing of loss.

His fingers released Aituan’s hilt.

“Baxia,” he said, his voice breaking – too raspy from all the tears he’d wept, pained from the rage he’d swallowed down. Heedless of his own safety, he stepped forward. “Baxia…they killed him.”

Baxia didn’t attack him, which was already something: Nie Huaisang knew very well that he counted as evil by her standards. He who sees injustice and does nothing to prevent it – he who closes his eyes to truth and refuses to help the helpless, preferring to waste time on indulging himself instead –

“They killed da-ge,” he said, his eyes fixed on Baxia. “Your master, my brother…they killed him, and I’m not strong enough to get them back. Not yet. It’ll take time. But I swear to you, I’ll do it. I’ll avenge him, no matter the cost. I swear it.”

Baxia finally responded, floating over towards him – blade pointed down the ground rather than at his throat, which he appreciated.

Moved by some instinct he didn’t understand, Nie Huaisang reached out and pressed his fingers to the flat of Baxia’s blade. He hadn’t touched Baxia in years, not since he was a child, and suddenly there was a spark of energy that he could feel and –

He shouldn’t be able to feel that.

He shouldn’t be able to – that was the way he felt when he finally mastered Aituan, his soul fluctuating as he became one with his saber, and that was impossible; everyone knew sabers only had one master. At first he thought somehow Baxia had stolen his link to Aituan, but no, he could still fell him there, grumbling a little but not overly worried (nothing worried Aituan, Nie Mingjue had once said, with great displeasure, that Aituan was the capybara of sabers), but Nie Huaisang could still feel her.

Not just her.

The spark didn’t stop at his fingers but flowed inwards, running through his meridians in a sudden cycle that took Nie Huaisang by surprise: he was cultivating, somehow. Without doing anything, he was inexplicably growing stronger, filling up with power from –

From Baxia.

From his brother.

No wonder Baxia had come here to wait for him. She’d come to give him his inheritance, his brother’s last gift to him – his brother must have planned this long ago, wanting his little brother to have at least a little of the power he’d never bothered to earn for himself.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes filled with tears.

It wouldn’t make that much of a difference to his plans – he still wasn’t anywhere near ready to challenge someone like Lan Xichen – but he wouldn’t have to worry, now, about any further assassination attempts by Jin Guangyao: he had enough strength, now, to defend himself.

To raise a saber, if necessary.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I’ll do him proud – I’ll do you both proud. I promise.”

This time, it was a promise he’d keep.

[detroitbydark]

So I shared this with the wonderful @jangofctts already but I was embarrassed by my horrible lack of basic editing. Here's a better version. Thank you @jangofctts for creating such a wonderful character and a wonderful squad as a whole. If you haven't checked out Sunburst Squad you need to. Now.

Title: Unclean

Characters: Reader/Void of Jangofctts’ Sunburst Squad

Summary: We all reach a breaking point, some are just lucky to have someone to cradle our landing.

Warnings: vague mentions of the horrors of war. mild allusion to PTSD. Angst/softness.

Word Count: 1K

He’s staring at his hands when you walk out of the small field theatre. 

Disgust roils in your gut. Another day of war. Another life wasted. You peel off your gloves and hear them smack wetly against the bin as they hit the edge and slide down the side.

That’s when you see him turn the water on again. The steam hits the air forming a protective cloud around him. The air is crisp otherwise and a harsh breeze sneaks under a side of the makeshift field hospital. 

Void applies soap and scrubs. You can see the almost methodical way he normally cleaned begin to become frantic. He’s digging harder. His short blunted nails scratch against the palm of his hand, the paler skin blooming into harsh red between the scalding water and manic way he works at it.

“Void?” You say his name. He doesn’t twitch. You take a step closer and say it louder. “Void?”

The clone and you had become friends of a sort. You slipped steaming caf under each other’s noses when bad days happened You slide ration packs in front of homescreens to remind each other to eat. You didn’t speak much but this life didn’t allow for much idle chatter. You knew Void didn’t sleep enough, you knew he liked his caf black with just a splash of cream, you knew he valued the lives of his brothers and those in his care more than his own. That’s all you needed to know.

You watch as Void’s hands stop their furious work and grip the edge of the sink basin.

“Void?”

“They’re not clean.” He says looking down into the still running water. “They won’t come clean.”

There’s nothing normal about his voice. The strain, the way it cracks as if he’s hanging on a razors edge. Void was steady if not a little irritable. Void could control himself. Why was the man you were staring at sounding like he was seconds from breaking.

You all have been these last few days. It was a brutal campaign run by a young Jedi Knight who was getting more men killed than not. 

He says your name quietly. 

“I’m here.” 

He reaches for the soap again and this time you take it before he can start, insinuating yourself into his space. His head tracks slowly to yours and he blinks dumbly. Dark circles crowd under his eyes. You think to ask the last time he’s slept but it has to be just as long ago as your last time. Maybe longer.

“They’re not clean yet.” He says again slowly, the words gritted out through his teeth, “I need them clean.”

“Let me help you?” He doesn’t fight you as you set the soap down and cup his hands in your own. They’re red front and back from his attempts to clean them free of any dirt or debris but otherwise pristine. You frown but turn away before he can see. 

The first thing you do is turn the hot water down. It’s luke warm after only a minute and you're sure there’s a trooper who will thank you for not letting all the hot water be drained from the small travel tanks. You feel it against your wrist like checking milk from a baby's bottle. Body temperature and perfect you step between him and the sink. It’s a snug fit and you can feel him pressed along your back. Tension radiates through his tired frame. He says nothing as you take his hands in yours and move his arms around your body. Slowly you run them under the water before grabbing the soap. Void is taller than you, heavily muscled and broad but he’s incredibly gentle when he sets his chin on your shoulder. 

You set his hands on the edge of the sink and lather your own before picking up one of his. You use the slippery soap to slide your fingers over and around his hand. Your fingers slip through his and your thumbs press and massage along his thumb and along the lines of his palm.

A ragged breath travels past your ear and goosebumps travel down your spine. 

You rinse the soap from both your hands and then relather before picking up his other and repeating the process. The tension bleeds from his body. You can feel the tired weight pressing into you but you don’t care, just brace one leg against the sink for support.

“Why are you doing this?” The question is whispered like he’s almost afraid to ask. You rinse his hand and shut the water off. A stack of towels sit on the shelf above you and Void reaches up and grabs one when you can’t reach.

You turn and find yourself locked between his arms. You still don’t answer. You don’t even look at him as you take the towel and dry the first hand.

“Why?” He asks again. 

This time you can’t stop yourself from looking up into his tired imploring eyes. He’s seen a lifetime of pain and yet still hasn’t known any of the good. Maybe that was what was so hard about losing troopers these days. It wasn’t just a life lost. It was a life  unlived wasted on someone else’s war.

“We look out for each other, right?” You offer a watery smile, feeling your own emotions from the day weighing you down. “All clean.” You try to sound perky but suddenly his gaze is too much and you feel like if you don’t get away you are going to wither under it.

You toss the towel in the bin and duck under one of his arms. Your focus is on the door and then on getting to your rack and getting a few hours of sleep before the next wave of wounded rolls in. You're almost free when Void’s hand on your arm stops you, spins you slowly to him. 

Void doesn’t break eye contact with you as he takes your hands in his own. He brings each in turn to his mouth and presses dry chapped lips to one than the other.

“Thank you.”

[folderolsfollies]

sangyao arranged marriage fic (arranged by Nie Huaisang)

summary: Before Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli’s marriage and after Wei Wuxian’s flight to the burial mounds, Jin Guangyao is rapidly gaining power, which a strong marriage alliance would cement. Jin Guangyao likes taking care of people. Nie Huaisang wants to be a trophy husband. If you ignore literally everyone else in their lives, they’re a perfect couple. (Basically I saw this post and then this post and then I blacked out thinking about playing games with power dynamics.)

word count: 2.5k rating: t

Part 1

“San-ge! San-ge!” Nie Huaisang shouts, skidding through the halls of the Unclean Realm. He has to go farther than he thought before he sees the ridiculous black official’s hat bobbing along, one of the disciples had only informed him that Jin Guangyao was there when he was practically out of the door, since for some bizarre reason, Jin Guangyao has made the trek all the way over to Qinghe and didn’t even bother telling him.

When he reaches the other man, he flings his arms around his neck.

“Second Young M-ah, Nie Huaisang...”, says Jin Guangyao warningly, but his eyes are bright and laughing, and he doesn’t step away until Nie Huaisang releases him. His eyes are darting around the halls, but the halls are deserted. Nie Huaisang had made sure to intercept him in a quiet spot.

“Why don’t you just call me A-Sang,” Nie Huaisang says mischievously, “After all, we’re brothers now!”

Jin Guangyao gaze dims and he looks down. “I wouldn’t dare take the liberty, not in your brother’s home,” he murmurs, chin tucked in, eyes firmly planted on the floor. And now that won’t do one bit.

Nie Huaisang points at him with his fan, playfully. “Oh, Da-ge, he just shouts. If he gives you any trouble, just come to me! I’ll protect you,” he says, and grins, remembering the way that Meng Yao would scold him for missing practice and then say, well Young Master, I’ll protect you this time, but don’t do it again!, the both of them knowing that he would never listen unless it suited him.

Jin Guangyao is looking up again and grinning now, and he says, “And how does Nie Huaisang propose to protect me? With his saber?” He’s openly laughing at Nie Huaisang, and it fills Huaisang with a helpless, giddy fondness. Little Meng Yao, who flinches like a kicked dog at every low-level disciple, always with that polite strained smile, gets so vicious when he’s around Nie Huaisang. He’s like a bird with a broken wing. Nie Huaisang wants to tape him up and let him fly.

But the trick with trapping a wild animal is that you can’t let them know that you see them, or it gives the game away. “I was thinking I’d cry until he forgave us, actually” he says, and does a massively fake pout for emphasis. “Now that I’m your little brother, you’ll have to get wise to all my tricks.”

Jin Guangyao smiles, a quick little glimmer like a fish gleaming brightly from deep within murky water. Jin Guangyao has a whole repertoire of smiles, smiles of appeasement and anger and reproach, but this to gain this one is a particular treasure, and Nie Huaisang will say a staggering amount of nonsense if he can see it again. “Not much of a trick, if you announce that it’s one when you’re doing it.”

Nie Huaisang looks at him, and pitches his voice as serious as Lan Qiren 2,000 rules deep into a lecture at the Cloud Recesses, “Ah, you see, my devoted pupil, the real trick is to lull your target into a false sense of security. Then they’ll never see your real schemes coming.” He taps his finger on the side of his nose, like his friend Wei Wuxian constantly does, and hopes that it reads the same on his delicate features as it does on Wei Wuxian’s handsome ones.

It must work well enough, because Jin Guangyao’s quick-fish smile is back, and his posture is relaxed enough for Nie Huaisang to drag him through the halls with only cursory protests about how he really must be going back to Lanling, he has important work to do, his father would never-

“Ugh, your father,” Nie Huaisang says, carelessly, and feels Jin Guangyao stiffen under his arms.

Before Jin Guangyao can say anything to ruin the pleasantness of the moment, Nie Huaisang says quickly, “Ugh, sorry, I’m stupid! You know I wasn’t old enough to really know my father until his last days, and by then he was, well, unwell,” he finishes delicately. Nie Mingjue probably wouldn’t like him using his father’s last moments like this, as a bait, but Nie Huaisang kicks the brief stab of guilt merrily to the side. Frankly, this is the least that his father could do for him, he feels. The last three months of his life really were not ideal. (Hiding in his locked room, Mingjue’s hand briefly clasping his before he leaves the room to face him, the noise of someone screaming - well. All in the past now.)

As he suspected, Jin Guangyao has softened at the mention of Nie Huaisang’s Tragic Past, which is exactly as he had wanted it to go. “You’re not stupid, young master, family is sometimes difficult,” he says politely. There’s an opening there, if he wants to push it- with the way that Madam Jin and Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao all deliberately look past each other when they’re trapped in a room together, it’s truly stupid how the larger cultivator world can’t seem to see that there’s something fishy going on there - Nie Huaisang thinks, and then lets it go.

“Ah,” he says, and schools his features to look carefully brave for a second, “but let’s talk about happier things! I’ve done some remodelling on the aviary, you should come and see the new birds.” It’s also usually deserted and with clear sight-lines in all directions, which are two things which automatically relax Jin Guangyao.

The truly nice thing about Jin Guangyao is that Nie Huaisang can manhandle him all that he likes, because if Jin Guangyao truly has better things to do, he’ll be all Yes, Nie-er-gongzi, and, you’re very wise, Nie-er-gongzi, and melt away the moment Nie Huaisang isn’t looking, so Nie Huaisang feels no compunction regarding linking their arms together and tugging him towards the aviary.

Nie Huaisang makes the trip up and down the aviary’s spiral staircase all the time, but if he still takes the opportunity to lean against Meng Yao when they reach the top, to place one hand on his forearm, huffing a little to show how laborious of a trip it was, well, who’s hurt by it? It’s good to make a show of uselessness sometimes. Meng Yao certainly doesn’t say anything. He’s wearing golden silk robes with squares of bright, shining gold inlaid in the fabric, and the smooth portions are an interesting textural contrast to the rougher raw silk. Nie Huaisang pets it gently, to feel the texture shift under his palms, smooth, rough, rough, smooth. His mind feels pleasantly empty, narrowed down to just the sensation of cloth and the harsh rustle of fabric.

Meng Yao’s mouth is smiling, which doesn’t mean anything, but his eyes are wide and confused. His gaze is fixed on Nie Huaisang’s hands, where their two sleeves are twined together like grafted tree roots. A long moment passes before Meng Yao pulls away, and carefully smooths out the creases that Nie Huaisang has made in the fabric. He doesn’t say anything at all.

For no reason, Nie Huaisang feels his cheeks heating up, feels like blurting out an apology, and he rushes into the aviary ahead of him, speaking a little too fast and loud.

He darts among his birds, showing him which ones have laid new eggs and which ones he’s bought recently, and all the new plants that he’s brought in to simulate Gusu’s mountainous environment for his new black bulbul. Nie Huaisang doubts that Jin Guangyao spends more than a quarter shichen thinking about birds when he’s away from the Unclean Realm, and that probably on what to serve at a feast, but he still remembers exactly how it was the last time he came, and comments cleverly on the new arrangements. Sometimes Nie Huaisang misses Meng Yao so abruptly he can’t breathe, misses that serious, attentive face, the way that he took him not too seriously, but just seriously enough.

He has a fantasy where Meng Yao just told him about the guard that had treated him so badly that it had led to his banishment. Would have Huaisang killed the man for him? Well, probably not. But there are ways to disgrace a man, banish him without lifting a finger. Huaisang lies in bed at night and thinks about all those ways. Although it doesn’t matter anyway, clever Meng Yao has landed on his feet, hasn’t he?

When he thinks that, he’s filled with a sense of disquiet. Meng Yao was Nie first - well, Nie before Jin, at least, and he hopes that he hasn’t forgotten that.  “Come, braid my hair,” he says suddenly, plopping down on a chair, and Meng Yao doesn’t raise an eye at the sudden change of topic. “I can’t reach the back properly and nobody does it as well as you.” By nobody, he’s means Da-ge, and they both know it, but he won’t breach their fragile bubble of happiness by mentioning him if Meng Yao won’t.

“Nie Huaisang, you’re too hard on yourself,” Meng Yao says, smiling and patient, “you braid beautifully,” but he’s already reaching for the comb that Huaisang is handing to him, lining behind Nie Huaisang. The gesture is familiar, the room is familiar, the murmurations of the birds through the trees are familiar. Nie Huaisang’s skin tingles in anticipation. He can feel the phantom weight of fingertips scratching along his scalp, teasing into straightness every errant whorl of hair. The way that his unbound hair would hang along his waist, the looseness and lightness of it.

Meng Yao, standing behind him, drags a thumb around the circlet holding his hair up, in between the heavy loops of braids and the hair underneath. The sensation is too dull, fleeting. “Your hair looks fine, Huaisang,” Meng Yao says quietly, his cool breath tickling Huaisang’s ear.

Huaisang twists around quickly so they’re facing each other, and it’s ungraceful. Nie Huaisang remembers - in the past - when he’d turn to talk to Meng Yao, it was like Meng Yao had somehow created a Huaisang shaped bubble that he could just slot into. Something has changed, in the last two years, and the shape of space between them is all wrong. Jin Guangyao’s eyes are pointed in the wrong direction, and Nie Huaisang’s face is too close.

He shuffles backwards a little, angles his face a little, and it’s still not the same, but now he can breathe. His usual tricks won’t work. Jin Guangyao won’t believe that he’s bad at it, and he can no longer threaten him with Da-ge. Well, there’s another tactic he hasn’t tried.

“Please, Jin-er-gongzi?” He says, looking down. It feels strange to address him so formally, to someone who’s worn the Nie family braids and who wears Huaisang’s hairpiece in his hair, but it also feels right. Smart, elegant, deadly - Mingjue may have always seen him as a delicate servant boy, but Nie Huaisang always saw him as a prince.

Eyes still focused on the floor, he chances a quick glance upwards. Jin Guangyao’s smile has frozen. He doesn’t know what game they’re playing.

He straightens. “I’ll start calling you that more,” he says decisively, scheme forgotten, “It’ll be helpful to you. I’ll get Da-ge on board too.”

Meng Yao gapes at him for a moment before he smooths it over, glint of a fish in the river before its lost again to the murky depths, and Nie Huaisang hadn’t known he could make that expression at all. “Jin-er-gongzi,” he says experimentally, to see if he can draw it out again, but Jin Guangyao has his smiling face firmly in place again.

“It’ll take more than that to earn my place,” Jin Guangyao says, and underneath his pleasant tone it sounds bitter, like the taste of ink under Nie Huaisang’s tongue. It sounds real.

Nie Huaisang drops his closed fan, and when he catches it by the head, it’s open in his hand. He flutters it, and opens his mouth to see what would come out. “A marriage would help with that, surely,” he says.

“I will have faith in what the elders decide, when that time comes, which of course would be after my elder brother weds,” Jin Guangyao says demurely, which they both know is a crock of shit; the elders all defer to Jin Guangshan, and what that man knows about marriage or women - and it would have to be a woman, with Jin Guangshan - in general could fit on the back of a talisman paper, if the paper was very small and the handwriting very large.

“Hm, yes, Da-ge is never interested in marriage, which is great! Because then nobody ever bothers me about it,” Huaisang says instead, and doesn’t add that it’s likely because the prospect of him creating more little Nie Huaisang’s is most likely terrifying to all involved.

Nie Huaisang has always seen the workings of his mind like a vast and subtle river, which overflows its banks and deposits thoughts to him, not fully under his own control. So he’s not fully sure what motivates him to continue, “And you know Da-ge’s so protective, I’d need someone who would protect me, just like you used to do.”

“You have to learn to stand up for yourself, Nie Huaisang,” Meng Yao says, and his large eyes are softly distant, like he’s listening to a thought, “there won’t always be someone to rescue you.”

I miss you- Come home, Nie Huaisang thinks, and the thought is sharp enough to feel like pain. “I’ll try, Jin-gongzi,” he says instead politely, “although you know about my weak cultivation.”

Another nice thing about Meng Yao is, when Nie Huaisang complains about his weakness, Meng Yao never argues against him or says that he would magically get better if he tried a little harder, worked a little more, he points out Nie Huaisang’s skill at art and astrology and Taoist magic. His tone is indulgent, parental. “In that sort of conflict, it’s not always your cultivation skill that counts,” he says, low and warm, like he’s imparting a lesson.

“I know, I know” says Nie Huaisang, who does know, who has been watching Meng Yao stammer and apologize and look deeply horrified at small misdeeds since before he realized what that sort of coquettishness implied. Whenever Nie Huaisang tries to imitate it, it comes out a child’s whine. Not a princess in need of rescuing, but a small dog that can be indulged or kicked aside.

“I must be going,” Meng Yao says, finally. “I am needed back at Lanling.” There’s a tone of finality in his voice.

Nie Huaisang is filled with a sudden, ridiculous desire, but he’s found that the consequences of indulging them have never been terrible. Not for him. He leans forward into the space between the two of them.

When he thumbs off Jin Guangyao’s ridiculous hat, there’s a circlet of Nie braids coiled like a serpent on the top of his head.

Nie Huaisang smiles. “I’ll see you soon.” he says.

[tearsofsyrup]

quits

— Wonwoo was not aware that a way to counteract his perpetual insomnia was for the heating in his neighbor’s apartment to malfunction.

pairing. jeon wonwoo / reader

genre. fluff, (angst), neighbors au

word count. 3.6k

warnings. profanity

notes. i’m not sure where this came from. i like it, though. hopefully you do, too. if so, please let me know!

-

Wonwoo is sure he could map the cracks littering his ceiling from memory by now.

His limbs ache against his sheets from having been inactive for too long, lips drying and ears ringing beneath still silence. Dark quiet swallows the occasional shudder of his window under heavy winds, thick snowflakes turning the midnight’s sky a blurry gray. Wonwoo stays unmoving, eyelids heavy but remaining open, scrutinizing the aged white paint hovering a short ways above him.

It is cold, too. He would be more peeved with his apartment complex’s stinginess concerning temperature control if he were not sheltered from the consequences beneath his fat duvet, more or less his only escape from shivering in his own home in the winter.

A big toe twitches, a car is heard driving by along the street outside, someone drops something on the floor in the apartment overhead.

Wonwoo has a semi-important meeting tomorrow. Turning his head, he is met with red, angular numbers informing him that the supposed witching hour is fast approaching. An exasperated sigh breaks the silence. His eyelids force themselves shut.

He knows it will not work. No matter how slowly he makes himself breathe, no matter how many sheep he counts, no matter how still he lies. It does not work.

Eyes snap open after an unmeasured amount of time, familiar cracks above always too happy to meet them.

“Fuck it,” he tells himself before sitting up, bare feet flinching at first when they touch the cold wood covering his floors. His alarm clock is left to its own lonesome on his nightstand when the round glasses previously accompanying it find their rightful place on the bridge of Wonwoo’s nose.

Light taps sound throughout his apartment as he guides himself to the kitchen, momentarily swaying due to the fatigue clouding his consciousness. Wonwoo shakes his head subtly before pouring himself a cup of water, all five of his drinking glasses standing uncleaned in his sink. Chilly water slips between his lips.

The soothing effect of rehydrating himself has faded with the years, Wonwoo is poignantly reminded. It no longer compared once he found a better way to fight his insomnia and it never will again. Not even when the better way is no longer available to him. At least his tongue feels less dry now.

He sobers a little when there is a sudden knock against his door.

It takes Wonwoo a few seconds to glance at his clock, just a minute or two having passed since it struck three. He wonders if he should grab his utility knife, just in case but is already walking toward the noise’s source before he can be bothered to entertain the idea.

In his all but intoxicated weariness, he forgets to exploit his peephole before his fingers have already undone the lock and he pulls the door open.

He sobers even a little more when his squinting eyes find you staring up at him with your wide ones, easily recognized surprise arching your brows. Wonwoo probably looks something similar, he would guess.

Your name falls from his stiff lips in the form of a question.

“Oh,” you sound and Wonwoo duly notices how somehow blue and shaky your lips are. And how a thick jacket is hanging over your shoulders. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

Wonwoo remembers how gentle the knock had been and how it under no circumstances could have woken anyone up. It was probably purposeful.

“You didn’t,” he reassures and watches you fidget under his stare.

This is awkward, he realizes. The two of you do not speak often, the typical encounter being a hushed greeting as you pass each other in the stairwell, or merely a polite smile. Of course, there was that one time when Wonwoo was justly wasted and his friends -- well, Junhui -- locked him out of his own apartment as a prank. Miraculously, you were coming home as this happened and let him into your place for a while. He remembers drinking a lot of water, giggling too much and watching you laugh at him. He also remembers thinking your laugh was kind of cute. And how embarrassed he was when he woke up hungover the next day.

Yes, this is awkward, especially at three in the morning but Wonwoo finds himself unaffected. You are nervous, though. You always are around him, always have been. He wonders if you know he has noticed.

A halfway emptied cup of water is still balanced between Wonwoo’s fingers, he suddenly realizes.

“So,” you start with an obvious distress altering your usually soft voice, seemingly tense hands gripping the sleeves of your jacket. “Hate to disturb you but-” You hesitate, finding difficulty in meeting Wonwoo’s stare. He patiently lets you collect your thoughts, hoping that the heavy bags adorning his eyes are not too discouraging. “The heating in my apartment shut off some time earlier today and well... It’s really cold.”

You do not need to elaborate for Wonwoo to understand. If his apartment is as cold as it is with the heating on, he can only imagine what type of a freezer your place must have turned into with these subzero temperatures outside.

“Oh, shit,” he comments.

“Uh, yeah, so...” You purse your lips for a moment and Wonwoo’s feet feel cold beneath him. “I- I tried to sleep but, I really can’t. I’m supposed to help my friend move tomorrow and need to get up kind of early and I just-...”

Wonwoo, despite how unthinkably tired he is, quickly connects the dots and understands what question you are working your way up to asking. He still wants to let you ask it though, in the slim chance that he is wrong. Which he is often not.

A shaky hand pokes out from your thick sleeve and you scratch your scalp in the silence. Wonwoo finds himself hoping you speak soon again, the lack of any noise too loud and too common in his ears. A sip of water slides smoothly down his throat.

“I just- I’m really sorry but, just know that I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t-...” You stop and inhale, feet fidgeting atop the floor. Wonwoo thinks he might be smiling a little, he is not sure. “Is it- Can I sleep here tonight? Just on the couch or- or floor or whatever you are most okay with. I’ll leave early in the morning, I just really need someplace.. warmer to rest for a few hours.”

It is an odd request. And somehow, Wonwoo does not like that you are asking it. You do not know him well enough to justifiably feel comfortable sleeping in his apartment. As far as you know, Wonwoo could be some creep that collects his own nail clippings.

He does not really like the obvious crush you have on him either. You started liking him too easily, he thinks. How could you think it appropriate to develop such a fast crush on him when the most you know about him is his name and that he has friends that like pulling pranks on him?

A part of Wonwoo wants to deny you for these reasons. He probably would, under more conscious circumstances. But he quickly remembers your desperate situation and how unthinkably cold your apartment must be and that it is something past three in the morning. You are lucky that he is not some creep that collects his own nail clippings. And that the blush that is slowly coloring your cheeks is kind of endearing.

He empties his cup down his throat, finally and opens his door further.

“Sure,” he accepts and takes a step sideways. “Come in.”

You look sheepish and mildly shocked as you carefully enter his home and it only then strikes Wonwoo that he is actually letting all but a stranger into his own apartment for the night. He really needs to sleep. Ha.

Worry is not a prominent emotion that he feels then, however, as you could not look any more harmless with your wide eyes scanning his dimly lit living room shyly. Maybe he did a good thing for someone, for once.

“You can sleep on the couch right there,” he gestures to said piece of furniture and your head bobs in a nod. “And use as many blankets as you need.” 

Windows shake and cut through an approaching silence beneath the storm on the other side.

Wonwoo is oddly comfortable in this setting. He is too tired. Lifting his cup to his lips again, he is promptly reminded that it is empty. It would not work anyway, he scoffs.

You turn to him, fingers clutching the clothing covering your chest. “Thank you so much. Really. I seriously owe you now. It was goddamn freezing in there. Just-... Thank you.”

The sides of Wonwoo’s lips curl just a bit before he can prevent it as he waves a dismissive hand your way. “Don’t worry about it. We can be quits now, after... that time I was really drunk.”

He thinks your lips purse to suppress a smile. Wonwoo’s ears feel warmer.

“No, no, seriously,” you say. “If you ever need a favor after this, knock on my door.”

Wonwoo nods, folding under your seemingly decided offer and you quietly stalk toward his couch. He leaves his empty cup in the kitchen and tells you to make yourself at home which earns him yet another thank you before he is sneaking back into his bedroom and closing the door after him.

And he is back to tracing the cracks decorating his ceiling with heavy-lidded eyes and darkening circles below them to match.

Fists tighten around the sheets he rests upon, the insides of his cheeks falling victim to restless teeth. He only wants to sleep, if just for an hour. An hour, he fantasizes, would be enough. Would save him from having to get high on caffeine to stay awake at work tomorrow. Or only half an hour, he is not greedy. Anything.

He thinks of a warm embrace and his heart launches upward and gets stuck in his throat. Slow fingers combing through his unkempt hair, heartbeat grounding and relaxing against his ear. Tender and reassuring hums that would lull him to sleep, decelerate his heart’s pumping and calm his breathing.

The muscle sheltered beneath his rib cage only raps at the thought, pounds in his ears worse than silence does, the memory of a certain voice anything but sedative in his ear.

He shoots upward quickly, chest all but heaving up and down under loud inhales and exhales as he sits and stares out his window, at the relentless snow descending from thick clouds blanketing the sky.

The better way to rebut his insomnia is gone, the memory of it tainted with bad lies and raised voices.

“Shit,” he sighs, face landing in the palms of his hands and he rubs and rubs and rubs-

Until his toilet flushes and he remembers that he has a guest, of sorts.

His eyes sneak a peek of his clock again and it tells him that it has been forty minutes or so since he crawled back beneath his duvet. And you are still awake.

Strong gusts of wind shake against Wonwoo’s window and he sits still, contemplating what to do. His muscles are sluggish, his eyes ache, his hairline is sticky. But he is not going to fall asleep anyway.

Wobbling a little, he opens his door again and proceeds with gentle steps into his living room. There you sit, on his couch with your phone in hand. Wood creaks beneath Wonwoo’s foot and his shoulders tense while his lips purse as your head whips around and your round eyes meet his soon apologetic ones.

A brief silence passes. That Wonwoo ends quickly.

“Can’t sleep?”

Your lips part, phone dismissed by your side. “Uh, no, I-... I have a hard time sleeping in new places sometimes,” you explain, hands squeezing at your arms as you hold yourself. “But I’m warmer now, at least, so...”

Wonwoo nods, watching your chin dip downward for a second before your voice interrupts the taut silence again. He is thankful.

“Sorry if I uh, woke you up when I-”

“No, no, you didn’t,” Wonwoo reassures, like how he did earlier in the night. He approaches you slowly and notices how your back straightens when he sits down beside you. “I’m a bit of an insomniac, actually.”

“Oh,” you react and Wonwoo is too fatigued to dislike the hint of pity in your eyes. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

A deep chuckle rumbles within Wonwoo’s chest. “It’s not your fault. Unless you’re a witch who put a curse on me, or something.”

You snicker at that and Wonwoo feels drunk again because it is a little cuter than it should be. His grin is too wide for this late hour. Early hour. Whatever.

“No, I wouldn’t. I’m just saying sorry on the universe’s behalf because, well, it won’t do it itself...”

Wonwoo’s head dips, a tight smile across his lips. There are many things he would like to hear the universe apologize for. But somehow, the notion feels like a sweet, deceptive lie.

He meets your open stare and shoots you a polite smile. And sighs. He really just wants to sleep. Just.

“Is-... Don’t you have like, some technique for falling asleep?” The question is innocent and reasonable enough, so Wonwoo tries to hide the way in which his eyebrows pinch when he averts his gaze. “Like, medicine or something?”

His fingers clench.

“Uh,” he starts, tongue loose after so many hours of sleeplessness. So many years. “I used to.”

You remain silent and Wonwoo hates it, has to keep talking.

“I was in a relationship. Whenever I slept with her, that’s when I could actually sleep for whole nights.” It has been so long, his squeezing heart recognizes. He tries not to think about it.

He notices how you shift awkwardly in his peripherals, suddenly reminded of your crush on him. Guilt, he feels a bit of that.

“Oh,” you say again and he is pleasantly surprised when the sound is not accompanied by another apology.

You are staring at your fingers when he looks over at you, your profile contorting with faint sheepishness. The large sweater you wear kind of swallows you, socks big and fuzzy over your feet that are criss-crossed in front of you. A sight that revives his smile more easily than he would like.

His smile that dies quite rapidly once more when he notices that you are still shivering.

The heavy duvet laid out across his sheets comes to mind, the warmth and comfort it provides. Wonwoo’s teeth begin chewing at his lip as he stares at you.

He is not sure for how long the silence has stretched before you turn to meet his eye with a mildly questioning expression. His thoughts were too loud that he did not realize the lack of any conversing.

“You’re still cold,” is all he can think to say.

Quickly, you grip one hand with the other, probably as to hide your shaking. Wonwoo frowns.

“I’m really fine,” you insist. “Compared to my place, this is so much better. I- I just need a moment to... warm up.”

Wonwoo really is much too tired, as ridiculous ideas swim in his head and do not sound as ridiculous as he knows them to be. Sleep, he needs to sleep.

He thinks he sees your jaw quivering a bit, teeth probably hacking. His lungs tighten.

“You could- ahh...” Wonwoo’s eyes fall closed, mind whirring with a restless delusion.

He is not in his right mind, he should not make this offer. It is weird. It is creepier than collecting your own nail clippings, he is sure. Sleep, he just needs some sleep.

The clock hanging on the wall ticks and tocks and Wonwoo’s toes curl.

You look puzzled when his eyes reopen.

“I have a big bed.” He internally curses the opening sentence, cheeks heating and distracting him. “Uh, and a warm duvet. It’s- It’s really the only warm place in here and- ugh, I sound like a freak, don’t I?”

A small smile grows across your lips and Wonwoo cannot decide whether it relieves him or bothers him.

“I guess it’s a bit weird but-... This whole situation is kind of... weird, too.”

Wonwoo nods, hairline still sticky as his fingers slide along it. Or sticky again. “Yeah, so, I just-...Two people can fit in there pretty well. I mean- You might get a cold if you... stay here and-... I don’t know.”

“I mean,” Your fingers pick at each other over your lap as you watch them.

Wonwoo remembers your crush again and knows that if he were in his right mind, he would not entertain your liking toward him so easily. Hell, he would not offer sharing his bed with anyone he barely knows, no matter who the anyone was. He really, really needs to sleep.

“I guess,” you continue and Wonwoo feels somehow relieved that you seem somewhat reluctant. “Okay.”

A stillness encases the two of you then and no one moves for a long moment. Until the rate at which Wonwoo’s heart beats begins picking up, just a bit.

The short trip to Wonwoo’s bed feels long and slow and he presses himself as close to the wall as he can muster when he crawls onto his mattress for the third time that night. He notices that you also lie as far from him as the bed allows and only hopes that you will not fall over the edge.

“Thank you,” you whisper, duvet quickly pulled up to your chin.

“No problem,” he replies and snow still falls to cover the roads and pavements.

Those words were your respective wishes for a good night. Or morning, rather.

But Wonwoo can tell with the time that passes and passes, that you are both still awake. He hears it in your controlled breathing, back turned to you as he stares into his wall. A wall whose marks he is familiar with in the same fashion he is with the ones on his ceiling. His ears ring again, always. It is too quiet still.

Having another body near him proves to not be enough, his tired eyes tell him. A sigh is suppressed within his lungs, as to not alarm you. His fist tightens beside his face.

Surprise alerts him when you are the one to break the silence.

“You still awake?” you ask quietly, though it is loud while vibrating against the shells of Wonwoo’s ears. He likes it, it unwinds his fist.

A second or a couple pass before he answers.

“Yeah.”

He feels the mattress move beneath him as you presumably shift, stiffening in his position. Anticipation widens his eyes as he awaits your next move.

“Do you-” You cut yourself off and Wonwoo can hear his heartbeat. He wonders briefly if you can, too. “I can hold you i-if you, want.”

That catches the man off guard and he needs a moment to register your proposal. You can hold him. If he wants.

The thought causes something to bloom and spread inside his chest, something he cannot quite pinpoint, something he has not felt in too long. It is almost uncomfortable.

Wonwoo turns clumsily atop his sheets, springs whimpering within the mattress, until he is met with your wide-eyed stare. He imagines your cheeks to be stained a rosy kind of color but it is too dark to confirm.

You wait patiently for his reply, seemingly readying yourself for rejection and the following embarrassment by troubling your lip.

He wants to save you from feeling that. He wants to sleep.

“You sure?” he questions.

He notices how you inhale deeply, eyelids blinking at him for a while.

“Yes, of course,” you assure, exhaling and Wonwoo feels your breath tickling his nose. You like him too easily. He accepts too easily.

“Okay.”

Neither of you move at first, waiting for the other to do so, before your lips curl and the both of you cannot help but let hushed laughter slip and mingle in the air still separating you.

You scoot forward slightly and Wonwoo quickly follows suit, until his head is suddenly tucked beneath your chin and his cheek is pressed against your chest. It is an effortless fit. Or Wonwoo is just too tired.

This is weird, he knows. But it does not feel weird. He really needs to fucking sleep.

It takes a moment, his eyes wide and his heart jumping against his ribs. He hears that yours sounds similar, Wonwoo’s ear warm while pressed to your shirt. And dread almost starts to boil in the pit of his stomach as he slowly begins feeling like this will not work. That this was a horribly awkward mistake and that he will never be able to meet your eye again.

But your palm resting on his back distracts him from the potential panic, other hand eventually rising to hold the side of his head, near his temple. Your heartbeat slows beneath your sweater, chest rising and falling and demanding Wonwoo’s attention.

It is warm, it is no longer too silent and Wonwoo places a careful arm across your waist. His weight sinks into the mattress below, limbs heavy alike his eyelids that he soon realizes have fallen shut. You smell kind of sweet beneath Wonwoo’s deep breaths, his lips parting when his jaw slackens.

He wonders who will be indebted to who when the sun soon rises. And that becomes his last thought of the night.

[khazadspoon]

ok @bifca this could have gone several angsty ways so i chose this one. 

NieYao

15.  “I miss you every second of every day.”

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

Many things in life seemed to be a discordant mess at times. His sect had recovered from its losses during the Sunshot Campaign but there were still damages to repair. Huaisang worried about him constantly, flitting about him like a nervous insect or one of his precious birds, his presence both a balm and a frustration. And to add to all of his usual worries was the upcoming ceremony.

Nie Mingjue hissed to himself and clenched his fists, closed his eyes as dull pain ached deep in his chest and behind his eyes. He had only said yes because it was Xichen who asked. If there was a chance he was right, if they could somehow steer ‘Jin Guangyao’ back to a more noble course-

It was a long shot, but how could he not try?

The dull ache always came when he thought of the man who had been Meng Yao. Sometimes the thoughts were fleeting, petals on the wind as he trained in the courtyard, ripples in a cup, the scratch of pencil on paper, the subtle shift of soft fabric as it moved over softer skin… The moments always passed, and for that Mingjue was thankful. There were, however, times when the moment would not pass.

In those moments Mingjue would sit with his memories, his regrets, his love and hatred. In those moments he would either fight or write. It was far past sundown, the Unclean Real sleeping as peacefully as it knew how, so Mingjue chose the latter to soothe his aching heart.

He plucked a sheaf of paper, ground ink with methodical and practiced movements, and set his brush to work. Sometimes the words came easily. He was no poet, no great orator or well-spoken gentlemen like his childhood friend or the man the letter was written for, but he did well enough. The words served their purpose.

He plucked a sheaf of paper, ground ink with methodical and practiced movements, and set his brush to work. Sometimes the words came easily. He was no poet, no great orator or well-spoken gentlemen like his childhood friend or the man the letter was written for, but he did well enough. The words served their purpose.

You hurt me. You betrayed my trust, you were false in your loyalty and you lied in every word. I trusted you at my side and offered you everything within my power. Was it not enough?

Was I not enough?

Qinghe could have been your home if you had let it. Gold doesn’t suit you. That damned hat doesn’t suit you. I wanted to suit you.

Sometimes when I see you I want to carve my heart from my chest and throw it at your feet. Sometimes I want to fall to my knees and beg to understand. Sometimes I want to scream, sometimes I want to kiss you. It hurts.

I miss you. Do you miss me?

I miss you every second of every day.

I still love you. Do you still love me? Did you ever love me?

Come home.

He set the brush down and wiped ink from his fingers with a cloth held in shaking hands. His penmanship was dire but it didn’t matter – no one would see it. Perhaps one day, if things could be mended between them, he would write Jin Guangyao a letter meant to be read.

Mingjue let the ink dry and placed the letter into a box. The part of him that loved so much, so deeply, wouldn’t let him burn the wretched things, so it joined the countless others he had written and prayed they would never see the light of day. He slept fitfully until dawn, slipped into clean clothes, and practiced his saber forms until his body ached and his mind was empty. 

It was all he could do. 

Years later, after deaths had been avenged, Huaisang burned them with a bitter smile and acrid tears. No one would know this part of his brother - there was no one who deserved to.

[seokiloquy]

The Language of Flowers Pt 1 -Tsukishima Kei

AU: Gang

Requested 

FEM! Reader 

Word Count: 3.7k +

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3

The attacks on the Miyagi Prefecture gave Tsukishima a headache. How come the people who wanted the Karasuno gang group gone couldn’t have gone straight for the leader — Tsukishima himself— and get it over with? Instead, they decided to make life difficult and do it slowly, set fire to public centres to send a message and rob unsuspecting businesses while people slept. The worst of it began within the past weeks. Pedestrians were being attacked by unidentifiable people all over the prefecture, ranging from scratches from defending off the attacker to stab and mild gunshot wounds. 

Tsukishima spent hours upon hours trying to figure out who they were and where they came from. Once he became the leader of Karasuno, he promised protection to everyone in the prefecture and it took a long time to gain that type of trust. He wasn’t going to lose it all now because someone didn’t know it was wrong to stab others. 

The sky turned dark as he walked along the storefronts of near-empty streets. Danger always lurked around the corner, so he was advised by the Karasuno members to stay within the walls of the Headquarters to prevent any attempts at his life. But he believed that if they wanted him dead they would have killed him already. The attacks on the prefecture were a part of something else, something he couldn’t see yet. Living in fear on his own streets wasn’t something he planned to do. Not to mention, killing Tsukishima would only start another war, not end the one they were currently in. 

He needed to clear his mind and walking around made him see all the reasons he needed to put an end to this person or group. Karasuno had been his family for a while now. He grew bonds and attachments with the people he was technically the boss of and never regretted a minute of it; however, a feeling of loneliness always followed him around. 

Tsukishima saw the relationships between all of the Karasuno members, how everyone was connected and what they were fighting for. That’s when he realized that they were all fighting for someone instead of the attachments he fought for: the streets, parks, buildings, and the people...that he didn’t know well enough and who barely knew him. Mostly, he was fighting for himself.

Hinata joined to keep his little sister safe. Nishinoya joined to keep his grandparents safe during their retirement. Azumane wanted to protect his parents, which brought along Sugawara who joined with Azumane (probably to keep him safe in this line of business) and then Sawamura joined after for the same reasons that Sugawara did. 

But Tsukishima? He didn’t have anyone to fight for, someone he wanted to make feel secure and safe.  

A scream brought him out of his thoughts. 

He rushed towards the sound. Underneath the light of a street lamp, he saw a girl holding her hands up in a defensive position, blood ran down her arm starting at the palm of her hand. A masked man stood over her, a knife in one hand and the other tightly pressed to his nose. He stood shaky and hesitant a little away from her, as if he was afraid of what he’d just done. 

Tsukishima came up behind the man, roughly grabbed his wrist, that held the knife, and yanked him backwards. The man flinched at the contact and stumbled back, landing on his butt. Blood dripped from the lower face of his mask and on to the ground. 

Tsukishima glared at him, but his gaze softened ever so slightly when he met the man’s— more like boy’s — watery eyes. The boy must have been younger than him. He didn’t have the age of time around that plagued most experienced killers. It even haunted Tsukishima when he took lives, their ghosts followed him around. The boy’s eyes were laced with fear. He looked like a kicked puppy who already spent the night in the dog house. 

The boy scrambled back at the sight of Tsukishima, his hands scraped against the concrete floor leaving a trail of blood. He knew who Tsukishima was and was clearly scared of that. He stumbled on to his feet and bolted down the street, forgetting the attack entirely.

Tsukishima hesitated. It wouldn’t take him long to catch up to the boy. He could finally put an end to the streams of attacks in the prefecture, but there were more important things to think about, like the person behind him that just got cut with a knife. There was no doubt in his mind that he would find the attacker again. 

With a shake of his hand, Tsukishima turned to the person behind him. She was standing under the street light, leaning against its pole. She was cradling her hand that had been cut, drops of blood fell from it and landed the pavement. The sleeves of her arm were coloured a dark red as well. 

“Take off your scarf,” he said, taking long strides to reach her. “I’ll wrap it around your hand to stop the bleeding.  

“Thanks,” she whispered as she unwrapped the scarf from her neck. 

He gave her a small smile, the best one that he could muster at the moment. He was trying to get into the habit of smiling, especially to innocent people who he didn’t know and didn’t know him. Besides, he needed Hinata to stop telling him to smile more because he looked ‘scary’ and ‘unwelcoming’ when he didn’t. 

Tsukishima nodded and gestured to her hand. “May I?” 

She placed her hand palm up in his and handed him her scarf. Tsukishima uncurled her finger to get a better look. “Sorry,” he said when he saw her flinch at the movement. 

The cut wasn’t deep, but it was long, so it would need stitches and it had tiny pieces of debris from the uncleaned street. He looked up and immediately looked back down when he saw that her eyes were already on him. Tsukishima released her hand and tightly wrapped her hand in the scarf, apologizing every time he saw her flinch in pain.

He cleared his throat and took a step away from her. “Good news, it looks like you’ll live.” 

She laughed and broke into a nervous smile. “Thanks.” 

“But there are some tiny rocks and stuff from the sidewalk in and around it that could lead to an infection,” he said. “You’ll probably need stitches.” 

The girl froze. 

Tsukishima furrowed his eyebrows. “Is there something wrong?” 

“I just...I don’t like hospitals,” she murmured, scrunching her nose. 

His mind blanked. “I, uhh, I know someone who can do it… If you want I can call them and they can do it for you. If you have disinfectant and gauze somewhere you're comfortable then we can do it there.” 

She was silent for a moment, tugging lightly on her ear with her other hand. He could see the redness of her knuckles under the streetlight, confirming his suspicion that she punched the attacker. “Are you sure? It’s late and I don’t want to disturb anyone…,” she said. 

“It’s fine. They don’t sleep early.” 

“Can they do it? Like, do they have a medical license?” 

He nodded. “He does.” He raised a hand to his head and pushed back the hair covering his left forehead. A faint scar trailed along the bottom of his hairline. He’d gotten it at a meeting that went badly and ended with punches being thrown. “He gave me a couple of stitches last year.” 

She thought for another moment and let out a breath of air. “Then yes, please. Thank you again…” 

She paused for another second. He glanced up and saw the expectancy in her eyes. She was fishing for his name. Names were tricky. Names had power, one he didn’t like to place in just anyone’s hands. If the wrong person had your name, it was as good as a death sentence. But she didn’t seem threatening in the way that could harm Karasuno. 

He found that most members of gang groups had a specific look in their eyes: hunger. The hunger of the fight. Every member had it, and if they didn’t, then they developed it. He got really good at seeing it; the distinct look that haunted him in the mirror every day.  

In her eyes, he read nothing but kindness. But he’d been wrong before.  

He must have taken too long to answer because the girl spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m (Y/N), but you don’t have to tell me your name if you don’t want to. It’s okay.” 

The invisible tension in Tsukishima’s shoulders vanished. It wasn’t like he was a phantom in the prefecture, some people did know his name and what he looked like, so why could he just say it? He ignored the pang of disappointment and idiocy he felt in himself missing the chance. 

“I can’t really complain,” she continued. “I don’t really know what would’ve happened if you didn’t show up…” 

He shrugged. “It looked like you were doing okay...you punched him in the nose didn’t you?” 

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? How did you know?” 

“Do you live far?” he asked, ignoring her question for now. He didn’t like how long the two of you were standing out in the open, especially with the opened cut on her hand. “I could walk you home if you want.” 

She picked up her fallen bag that was on the floor and did a quick check to see if anything was missing. Random robber? Tsukishima thought. Or a part of the string of attacks? “Two blocks from here,” she said. “And I would like that.” 

“What’s your address? I’ll text it to my friend so that he could meet us there.”

Tsukishima followed her lead as they took off up the street. He shot a quick text to Sugawara — who was, thankfully, still awake and answered almost immediately— and rattled off (Y/N)’s address, not forgetting to mention bringing the stitches supply from Headquarters. He kept his eyes open in case the boy decided to stupidly try again, but something told him that the attacker wouldn’t. “His eyes were watery.” 

“What?” 

“That’s how I knew,” he justified and cleared his throat, “that you punched him. The person’s eyes were watery and his mask was bloody.” 

“Oh,” (Y/N) said. She raised the uncut hand. The moonlight wasn’t the best, but from what he saw from under the streetlight and his first-hand knowledge of punching someone in the face, he assumed that new bruises were forming along her knuckles. “Recommendations?” 

Tsukishima wanted to reach out for her hand again but decided against it. “Ice. And your wrist is probably going to hurt for a bit.” 

She lowered her hand. “Okay.” 

The rest of the short walk was spent in silence. He paused when they stopped at the storefront of a flower shop. “Do you live here?” 

(Y/N) tentatively searched for keys in her bag and nodded. “Above it. I run the shop too.” 

“So, you like flowers?” 

She laughed and turned the key in the lock. “I wouldn’t run the store if I didn’t like them.” 

He pushed up his glasses and said, “Right.” 

She let him enter first. He stepped into the shop and the smell of flowers and dirt surrounded him before his eyes could match the sight. The warmth in the air made him feel at ease and welcomed like he had all the time in the world and he wanted to spend it here. 

When the light turned on, he suppressed a smile at the sight of them. The flowers came in every shape and size and every colour he could think of and more. They lined the walls on shelves and sat on tables that took up the main floor. All of them were laid out specifically for browsing and hand name tags in front of them. 

Tsukishima had never been one for flowers, but he could get used to them.  

Turning his head, Tsukishima saw (Y/N) emerge from the back room. Clutched in between her elbow and chest was a first aid box. She set it down on the table and waved him over. 

“Hey, do you think you could help me clean it before your friend gets here? I don’t want to hold up too much of their time.” She raised up her cut hand. (Y/N) had taken the scarf off of it. “It’s my dominant hand and I don’t really trust my other one to not injure me further.”  

He nodded, sat down across from her, opened the first aid box, and grabbed the tweezers. (Y/N) held out her hand again, spreading the palm wide and winced in the process. Cautiously, Tsukishima took out all of the tiny pieces of gravel and twigs that he could see. 

“Go, umm, get a washcloth and soak it underwater with some soap and clean around the cut. You should wash the extra blood off your arm too,” he said, putting down the tweezers and reached for the gauze and alcohol to lay them out for Sugawara. “Don’t get any soap in the cut.” 

(Y/N) sprang up from her chair, “Okay,” she said, and headed off somewhere in the back. 

He could easily do it himself but he needed a moment. As he heard the water running, Tsukishima closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. 

What the fuck am I doing?  

He needed to go back to Karasuno headquarters and ask someone to shoot him. Maybe the pain will help him reset his mind. 

“Are you a doctor?” (Y/N) asked. Sitting back down on her chair. The sight of her arm and hand without blood on it lifted a weight off of his chest. Real blood washes off, unlike the invisible blood that permanently stained his hands. He was suddenly ashamed of it and didn’t want (Y/N) to know. 

She literally creates life. How would she react to someone who takes them? 

“What?” 

“Your friend has a medical license,” she said, putting her palm face-up on the table. “You clearly know about how to treat cuts, so are you doctors or something?” 

Tsukishima choked down a laugh. They were definitely not doctors. He played it off with a smile and a shake of his head. “I’m not, but my friend kind of is? He has his license, did all the school, but he mostly does… private work.” 

There was a knock on the glass door. The familiar grey head of hair stood on the other side of the door, a curious look on his face. Tsukishima had no doubt that Sugawara was going to tell everyone what happened tonight as soon as they returned to Headquarters and went their separate ways; Tsukishima to his office and Sugawara to the common room. He held an all too familiar box that housed their medical supplies in his other hand. 

“Is that your friend?” (Y/N) asked. 

“Yes.” 

She waved him in. 

Sugawara opened the door and walked over to them, placing the box on the table they sat at. He nodded once at Tsukishima and smiled at (Y/N). “Hello! So, who’s injured?” 

Tsukishima knew that he was just asking for courtesy. They both knew that if Tsukishima was hurt he would’ve been with other Karasuno members or followed the protocols set in place.  

Tsukishima pointed to (Y/N). “Her hand.” 

Holding out her hand to Sugawara, (Y/N) said, “Thank you for coming. I hope I didn’t bother your night.” 

Sugawara smiled. “Not at all! Now, let’s see that hand.” He took her hand in his and brought it closer to him. “Did you clean it?” 

(Y/N) nodded. “Only a little,” she said and then jutted her head towards Tsukishima. “He took out the pieces of debris and I washed off the blood, but we haven’t disinfected it yet.” 

Sugawara smirked and opened the bottle of alcohol. “Did he now?” 

Tsukishima glared at him. 

“Hopefully he did a good job,” she replied, oblivious to the silent mocking from Sugawara. 

His smirk grew bigger. “It looks good.” He splashed some of the alcohol onto a clean piece of gauze and took her hand again. “This is going to hurt, but the stitches will hurt less.” 

(Y/N) shut her eyes tightly as Sugawara began to clean the wound. The cleaning was always the most painful part. It burned like hell. 

Once the worst of it was over, she turned her attention back on Tsukishima. “So what do you do?” 

He blanched. “For a living?” 

Sugawara snickered as he finished cleaning the wound. He discarded the bloody piece of cloth and picked up a needle and thread a string through it. 

“Is it embarrassing?” (Y/N) asked, noting Sugawara’s sudden amusement. 

“I work in...finance,” Tsukishima said hastily. “And private security.” 

“Sure you do,” Sugawara mumbled. 

“What was that?” she asked. 

“Nothing,” Sugawara said. “Let’s get started.” 

(Y/N) opened and closed her hand slowly, taking in the full effect of the stitches in her palm. She secured a piece of gauze and shivered. “They look creepy.” 

“Sorry,” Sugawara replied, packing up the supplies. “I can’t do much about that. Your hand might be out of commission for a little bit. And you work with flowers, right? Keep the gauze on and change it at least daily. If it gets dirty or you need to wash your hands or something, clean it and then put another gauze on. Take some pain killers too if you need them. I’ll come back in a week-ish to take them out. Oh! And ice your other hand.” 

Nodding, (Y/N) stood up and switched her gaze between the two boys. “Thank you so much. Is there anything I can do to say thank you more?” 

Tsukishima tucked his hand into his jacket pocket. “Try not to get hurt again.” 

The corners of (Y/N)’s lips curled upwards. “I’ll do my best.” 

Sugawara looked between the two, blinking in confusion. He nudged Tsukishima in the stomach. “Ride home?” he asked and gestured to the door. 

Tsukishima nodded and turned to the door. He only got a few steps in when he was pulled back by a tug on his sleeve and a slight murmur saying, “Wait a second”. He fought the urge to pull back and prepare for a fight. Many people knew not to grab gang leaders suddenly or you’ll end up in pain. Unless it was on purpose, then that would open an entirely new kind of stupid. But he knew that there were only two people near him and neither would do anything like that. 

At least he hoped so. But (Y/N) could just be a nice person. The world was short on them and Tsukishima hasn’t met many. 

Sugawara was already at the door and waved at (Y/N). “I’ll be in the car. It’s just outside.” 

“Thank you again!” (Y/N) shouted. 

“Did you need something?” he asked, turning back to her.

“Wait right here,” she said, holding out her hand in front of her to reinforce her message. A small smile played on her lips and her eyes lit up. “Don’t move.” 

She rushed into the back room and came out a few moments later with her hands behind her back. 

“I’m not going to close my eyes,” Tsukishima said quickly. 

(Y/N) frowned. “You’re no fun.” 

Tsukishima shrugged, a light smile forming on his own lips. He hasn’t smiled this much since he was just a kid, innocent and naive. “I think I have a free pass today.” 

She rolled her eyes but grinned back at him. (Y/N) held out her bruised hand. The stem of a light coloured rose twisted between her fingertips. It reminded him of a sunset, the light orange of the sky painted the center of the flower. The colour grew lighter and lighter, almost white, as it spread to the edges of the flower petals. 

Swallowing, he reached out for the flower. A tiny flush made its way up to his cheeks when her fingers lightly brushed against his own as he took the stem. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, holding the flower delicately in his hands. 

(Y/N) laughed. “It’s a peach rose. It means sincerity and gratitude. Or, in other words, thank you,” 

“Kei!” he blurted. 

(Y/N) cocked her head to the side. “Excuse me?”

“My name,” he said, lowering his voice as his cheeks burned. “My name is Tsukishima Kei.” 

The smile on (Y/N) face grew. “Well, Tsukishima Kei, thank you for helping me tonight.” Her voice faltered. “Are you going to come back? I’ll show you how to arrange flowers.” 

Tsukishima would need someone to stop him from coming back. 

Silence plagued the roads. The only sound came from  Sugawara’s car as he pulled up to the sidewalk underneath a street lamp, the spot of tonight’s events. Tsukishima let himself out of the car. He was relieved when Sugawara didn’t ask any questions once he got into the car with a flower in his hand, but the smirk on his face made Tsukishima wish he walked home. 

Tsukishima was going to tell everyone all they needed to know eventually. He just wanted some time to figure out things for himself first. 

He stood where the attacker once did. 

From here, he could see (Y/N)’s blood clearly under the light of the lamp. That reminded him to get someone to wash that away before the sun rose, but that wasn’t the reason he came back. Under his feet, the blood of the boy stained the pavement as well. 

Tsukishima took out a napkin from his pants pocket and picked up a small rock that was coated with dry blood. His other hand still held the new rose he received. 

He slipped the rock covered napkin back into his pocket. 

It was going to be a long night. 

I really enjoyed writing this one! Hopefully you liked it too. There will be another part! I just don’t know when...Bacon and I are swimming in requests, but I think it’ll be soon. 

Sorry that it’s late… 

On a different note, I’ve been reading a lot! I finished the Six of Crows duology and I loved it so much. 

Thank you for Reading! - Kiwi

Posted: 23/08/2020

[i-like-plan-m]

shades of grey, pt 3

[part 1] [part 2] [Ao3]

Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang crept along the wall in the luminous moonlight, keeping carefully to the shadows. They had yet to see Nie Mingjue, too busy wrestling with whatever the hell they had tucked inside their robes. 

Nie Mingjue crossed his arms and wondered what heinous act he’d committed in a past life to deserve this. At his side, Nie Zonghui chuckled as the boys whispered back and forth to each other, Nie Huaisang trotting desperately after Wei Wuxian on his short legs. 

“Wait for meee!” Nie Huaisang whined, stumbling over his robes.

“Shh!” Wei Wuxian hissed. He waved Nie Huaisang on, skirting the edges of the training grounds. 

“It’s always some scheme or another,” Nie Mingjue said, shaking his head. “If I’d known the havoc Wei Wuxian would bring…” 

“You still would have brought him back,” his friend said with amusement and a knowing look. “He has a good heart. His mischief is never cruel or harmful.” 

“Except when he flings himself off of things and breaks all his bones.” 

“Just the two, so far,” Nie Zonghui said mildly. “Besides, Nie Huaisang enjoys his company.” 

Of course he did, Nie Mingjue thought, rolling his eyes. Wei Wuxian enabled all his brother’s half-brained plots to avoid training and paint all day and chase birds all across the mountain. If it sounded like fun and something the adults wouldn’t approve of, Wei Wuxian was bound to be an enthusiastic participant. 

But-- he had to admit, Wei Wuxian’s arrival had brought some of the light back into Nie Huaisang’s eyes, light that had faded upon their father’s violent accident and slow, agonizing death. His mother’s death not months later had turned Nie Huaisang into a shell, a feeble little waif who cried constantly and spent entire days curled up in his bed. 

Now, Nie Mingjue had to chase them both around at all hours of the day so the little idiots didn’t get themselves killed. But his brother was smiling again, laughing even, so Nie Mingjue could hold no real grudge against either of them. 

He watched as the boys darted past a disciple on watch, around the corner, up the stairs- only to skid to a halt, triumphant faces falling at the sight of Nie Mingjue’s unimpressed stare. 

“What are you doing?” Nie Mingjue asked suspiciously. 

“Nothing, da-ge!” Nie Huaisang chirped, inching sideways like he was planning to make a run for it. Nie Mingjue narrowed his eyes.

“Just playing!” Wei Wuxian agreed. The lump under his robes squirmed, and he clamped his arms over it with an innocent expression that only ever meant trouble. 

“Do you want to run laps all night?” Nie Mingjue asked severely. 

They wilted. “No,” they chorused. 

“Hand it over, then,” Nie Mingjue ordered, holding out a hand. Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian traded looks, hesitant, before Nie Huaisang reluctantly pulled the lump out of his robes and placed it in Nie Mingjue’s palm. 

The tiny rabbit blinked up at him. Nie Mingjue blinked back, equally surprised. 

The bunny trembled, presumably in shock from being unceremoniously kidnapped and smuggled into the Unclean Realm. 

“Not this again,” he sighed. How many times were they going to try this? 

“I told you he was still mad about the snake!” Nie Huaisang hissed, elbowing Wei Wuxian. Nie Mingjue took a slow breath, temper rising at the reminder, and felt Nie Zonghui’s shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter beside him, the bastard. 

“Give me the rest,” he said once he’d shoved away the memory of walking into his brother’s rooms one night and accidentally picking up a snake that he’d thought was a pile of ribbons thrown haphazardly on the floor. He’d nearly qi deviated on the spot.

“A-all of them?” Nie Huaisang asked, squirming guiltily. Wei Wuxian was looking carefully away from everyone, still clutching his own unknown number of bunnies.

“Yes, all of them, why would I only want-- Wait. Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said with dawning dread. “How many rabbits have you already brought back?” 

“Um,” Nie Huaisang hedged. “Maybe… maybe three?” 

“Maybe three?” 

“Or four!” Nie Huaisang cried. “I don’t know!” 

Nie Mingjue closed his eyes and resigned himself to chasing stupid rabbits around for the rest of the night. Heavens only knew the chaos if they were left free to roam and reproduce.

“A hawk ate their mom! We saw!” Wei Wuxian piped up, eyes wide and earnest. “It was so gross! Huaisang cried.” 

“So did you!” Nie Huaisang accused. He looked up at Nie Mingjue, lower lip wobbling. “Da-ge, it tried to eat the babies, too.” 

“We couldn’t leave the rest, so we brought them here,” Wei Wuxian said. His rabbit was steadily making its way towards his sleeve, seeking escape from the boy’s black robes. He did not appear to notice. 

“Do I look like I’m running a menagerie here?” Nie Mingjue demanded, sweeping a hand out at the stark ground of the Unclean Realm. Too late, he realized he’d gestured with the hand holding the baby rabbit, which did not contribute to the severity of his appearance. Nie Zonghui was valiantly choking back laughter.

“Da-ge!” Nie Huaisang stamped his foot. “We saved them! They were gonna die!” 

Nie Huaisang scowled up at him. Nie Mingjue copied it instinctively, though he was quietly relieved to see his brother’s spark return. Even if he was being a brat. 

“If you set them loose in the Unclean Realm, the rabbits will outnumber the humans within a month,” Nie Mingjue growled. “Go get the rest.” 

He followed them to ensure they obeyed and didn’t try to stuff any stray rabbits somewhere in their rooms, looming over them while they slid open the door to Wei Wuxian’s room and looked around uncertainly. 

“Well?” He demanded. Nie Zonghui leaned against the wall and petted the rabbit he’d liberated from Wei Wuxian’s robes, clearly enjoying himself. 

Wei Wuxian scratched at his head. “I don’t know where they went, Chifeng-Zun.” 

“Uh oh,” Nie Huaisang said before Nie Mingjue could speak. Everyone turned to where Huaisang crouched in the corner of the room. He stuck his little fingers through a hole in the delicate divider between the boys’ rooms and wiggled them. “Da-ge, I think they’re in my room now.” 

Nie Zonghui cleared his throat. “Nie Huaisang, did you leave your door open again?” 

A beat of silence, and then- “Oops.” 

Nie Mingjue briefly fantasized throttling them both. “Tell the servants to look for them. They can hand them off to the kitchen once they’re caught.” 

There was an immediate barrage of noise, so loud the bunny in his hand squeaked and cowered behind the cage of his fingers. 

“What! Chifeng-Zun, you can’t!”

“But da-ge, we saved them!” Huaisang wailed. 

“Huaisang and I will catch them, I promise!” Wei Wuxian said anxiously. 

“I can’t believe you,” Huaisang howled, flinging himself bodily into Nie Mingjue’s side.

His family used to be butchers, Nie Mingjue thought despondently, faced with the threat of tears over the fate of a handful of bunnies. They were respected and feared, both then and now. Where did he go wrong?

“Fine, just go catch them!” He snapped, swatting half-heartedly at the hands tugging on his robes. They brightened so fast that he suspected he’d been played, but they were out the door before he could say anything else. 

Nie Zonghui continued to stroke his bunny, now tucked in the crook of his arm and dozing peacefully. “So,” he said, positively brimming with laughter. 

“Not a word,” Nie Mingjue warned, shoving his own rabbit into his hands and stalking out the door. 

Much later that night, closer to dawn than dusk and only two more rabbits captured, Nie Mingjue dropped into his bed with an exhausted sigh. 

Seconds later, a soft noise in his room had him jerking up, Baxia rattling in response as he propped himself up on an elbow and squinted warily into the darkness- 

And stared in disbelief at the bunny in the center of his room, twitching its nose at him. They watched each other for a long moment, neither moving, and then Nie Mingjue rolled over with a sound of disgust and went to sleep.

[ibijau]

Jin Rusong Lives / On AO3

An unpleasant but much needed conversation is had

Jin Yixin arrived to the Unclean Realm a few days after Lan Xichen did. Although Jin Rulan had written that she was an old woman in her seventies, she looked hardly a day over nineteen and behaved with timeless politeness. If Nie Huaisang had not been warned in advance, he might have mistaken her for a junior disciple of Lanling Jin, or at best for someone of his own age, and chatted with her as such. 

In fact a few Nie juniors made that very mistake in the early days, apparently thinking that Lanling Jin had sent a nurse rather than a teacher. They tried to befriend Jin Yixin with a complete lack of care for her seniority, thinking she was of their generation. She did not scold them for their familiarity, instead explaining the true situation before sending them on their way. A few of the juniors still expressed interest in her company, impressed by her high cultivation and interested in anything that had to do with their sect leader’s ward, but Jin Yixin turned down any offers for tours of Qinghe or Night Hunts. She was here to teach Jin Rusong only, and had little interest in mingling, preferring to dedicate her free time to her own improvement.

At some other time, Nie Huaisang might have attempted to make her join at least some part of his sect’s life. If she was to stay for a long while, it seemed to him she should become part of the family, so to speak. But although her refusal to so much as eat with Nie disciples made him feel like a bad host, it was also a relief of sorts when so much of his energy was already spent worrying about Lan Xichen.

Not that Lan Xichen was purposefully causing problems, of course. In fact, for the first week or two of his presence in the Unclean Realm, he remained mostly confined to his room, to his bed even. Nie Zhilan, in her daily reports, said that he slept a lot. He only became active at night when Jin Rusong came to have dinner with him, and often begged to be allowed to sleep with his uncle Lan. That request was granted to him each time, which in turn meant that someone had to go to Lan Xichen’s quarters in the morning to help Jin Rusong get ready for his day. 

Nie Huaisang missed sharing those moments with the little boy, whom he saw little of now. It upset him more than he would have cared to admit that their routine had been disrupted this way, but if it was to make Jin Rusong happy, he could deal with it. And of course Nie Huaisang could have been the one to go help Jin Rusong in the morning, if he’d wanted, but he thought he would spare Lan Xichen the displeasure of his company.

It was better if they weren’t around each other too much, Nie Huaisang had decided. Lan Xichen was there only because of Jin Rusong. Upon arriving in the Unclean Realm he had been too unwell to resent Nie Huaisang for everything that had happened, but that was sure to change as his health improved, and Nie Huaisang had no wish to bear witness to the other man’s hatred. That night at the temple had been enough.

It became harder to avoid Lan Xichen when Nie Zhilan decided that he had rested enough and was now in need of exercise and company. Jin Rusong was of course happy to provide both, having obtained permission to make his Uncle Lan visit the Unclean Realm to show him his favourite places. The two became an accepted sight in late afternoons, holding hands and walking together, usually discreetly trailed by a Nie disciple ready to intervene should Lan Xichen start feeling unwell.

It made Nie Huaisang happy that these two could enjoy their time together.

It would have made him happier if Jin Ruson’s favourite places had not also been the ones where he was mostly likely to spend time when he had a little freedom.

At first, Nie Huaisang managed to spot them coming his way and to escape unseen. Or else he would notice them when he was the one going somewhere they already were, and changed his plans quickly. It was unpleasant, and a little taxing, but he refused to impose his presence to Lan Xichen who would surely find it distasteful.

Of course Nie Huaisang’s luck had to run out sooner or later. After over a week of playing hide and seek, one afternoon Nie Huaisang found himself cornered in his aviary when Jin Rusong and Lan Xichen came to have a look at the birds. The two men stared at each other with uneasy expressions, Lan Xichen clearly unsure how to behave around Nie Huaisang now that he wasn’t exhausted to the point of sickness. Even Jin Rusong seemed to notice the tension between the adults and silently waited for one of them to speak.

It did something to Nie Huaisang’s heart to see Jin Rusong holding Lan Xichen’s hand, how that impossibly tall man effortlessly leaned toward the child to make it easier on him. Lan Xichen could have made a wonderful father. He would someday. Maybe without any previous hopes left to distract him, Lan Xichen would finally get married and have a family.

He deserved that happiness, even if it would break whatever was left of Nie Huaisang’s heart.

The silence between them lasted a while, until Lan Xichen, always polite to a fault, remembered his manners and decided to be the one to break it.

“I hope we’re not disturbing Nie zongzhu,” he said. “We were just…”

“Pretty! Pretty!” A shrill voice exclaimed behind Nie Huaisang, making all three of them jump.

As soon as he realised where the voice came from, Jin Rusong shrieked in delight. He let go of Lan Xichen's hand and ran to the mynah’s cage, startling the bird which turned silent again.

“It really can talk! Can it learn my name?”

The mynah hopped away from him, still wary of that little stranger, but came back closer when Lan Xichen too approached the cage.

“Hello little friend,” he said with a gentle smile and a gentler voice. “It had been a while. Have you been well?”

“Pretty! Pretty! What a pretty bird! Pretty!”

Lan Xichen laughed softly, and passed one finger through the bars of the cage to scratch the bird, which allowed it easily.

“Yes, you’re still the prettiest bird around,” Lan Xichen said. “The vainest too. I wonder if your master would let me feed you a treat?”

“Pretty bird, treat for the pretty bird!”

Nie Huaisang made a face, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. When Lan Xichen turned to look at him, silently asking if he could be allowed a treat for the mynah, Nie Huaisang hurriedly looked away to hide his emotion and went to pick some pieces of dried fruit he kept around. He gave a slice of apple to Lan Xichen, and another to Jin Rusong who was now frowning at the bird.

“Something wrong, SongSong?”

“It’s still not talking to me,” Jin Rusong sighed. “It was speaking to uncle Lan, not me. It hates me.”

“Of course it doesn’t hate you,” Nie Huaisang protested. “I’ve told you before, that bird just finds it a little hard to trust anyone. It will come, though. Before today, it wouldn’t even speak in front of you, right? So be patient.”

“But it talks to uncle Lan!” Jin Rusong complained, tears of frustration forming at the corner of his eyes.

Lan Xichen removed his finger from the cage and knelt down next to the child, apparently not caring that his robes would get dirty.

“A-Song, that bird has known me for a very long time,” he patiently explained. “That’s why it knows me and talks to me. With a little time…”

“But uncle Nie said it only talks to him and his friend who’s never coming back!” Jin Rusong exclaimed, before wiping a tear. “And now it also talks to you and it’s not fair!”

Nie Huaisang froze when Lan Xichen shot him a surprise look. 

They both knew that his mynah had always refused to speak to anyone but the two of them. It wouldn’t even say a word in front of other people most of the time. They used to laugh about that with Jin Guangyao, who had been as frustrated as his son by the bird’s silence, and sometimes jokingly accused them of pulling his leg when they mentioned how well it spoke. It had felt like a secret between the two of them, something only they shared.

This was one more thing to add to the list of everything Nie Huaisang didn’t want to talk about, least of all near Jin Rusong.

“I think somebody is getting quite tired,” Nie Huaisang announced, forcing himself to smile and to sound as jovial as he could. “And I think this time, it’s not uncle Lan. SongSong, let’s get you some dinner and then you’re off to bed. You’ve had a long day, I think.”

Without surprise, the little boy loudly protested that he wasn’t tired at all. He tried to resist when Nie Huaisang picked him up, but by the time they’d reached Lan Xichen's door in the guest quarters, Jin Rusong was asleep in Nie Huaisang’s arms.

“Do you want me to take him to his bedroom for tonight?” Nie Huaisang asked Lan Xichen, selfishly hoping to have a morning with the child again after this long.

“No, it’s fine. Do you want me to hold him? He must be quite heavy.”

“Lan zongzhu, I’m not that weak,” Nie Huaisang protested, tightening his grasp on the child. “And Nie Zhilan is going to murder me if I let you do anything tiring without her permission. I’ll just drop him inside and have dinner sent your way. It’ll be…”

“You could dine with me,” Lan Xichen offered, having the gall to sound hopeful. “I’ve been here nearly a month, and I don’t think we’ve shared a single meal except for that first breakfast.”

Nie Huaisang looked away, pretending to adjust the way he held Jin Rusong.

“I assumed you would rather not see me more than strictly necessary, Lan zongzhu.”

“I wish you’d have asked then,” Lan Xichen gently scolded, “so I could have told you earlier that your assumption was wrong. I would be grateful for a chance to spend time together again. Unless you do not wish for my company?” he added with clear worry. “I realise that you might feel you’ve had little choice in this matter. Considering everything that has happened, if being in my presence has become unbearable to you, I will not insist of course. But, Huaisang…”

At hearing his name again instead of his title, Nie Huaisang’s heart started beating so hard that he half feared it might wake Jin Rusong.

“I’ve missed you,” Lan Xichen admitted. “I know things cannot go back to what they were, but I’m hoping it doesn’t have to be over for us.”

“After all this?” Nie Huaisang gasped, fighting against tears. “Er-ge, that’s…”

“Don’t call me that,” Lan Xichen immediately cut him, something changing in his expression. “If I never hear that again, it’ll be too soon.”

The demand, made in such a serious tone, shocked Nie Huaisang out of his tears. It made his chest clench painfully, so much that it was difficult to still hold Jin Rusong.

“Of course, you’re right. Lan zongzhu, then?”

“If you must,” Lan Xichen conceded. “But you used to call me by my name once, and I’ve never minded that. In fact, I’ve missed that too.”

Nie Huaisang couldn’t help a small grimace, his cheeks heating up at the memory of the last time he’d taken that liberty.

“Things were different then,” he whispered. “I think it would be unwise to start using your name again, lest I forget where we stand now.”

“I won’t force you, Huaisang,” Lan Xichen sighed. “I can’t say I know where we stand anyway. But I know what I used to want, and I miss that as well. Call me a fool for it if you like. But I’m convinced things would have been different if we had both allowed ourselves to be a little more foolish back then. Maybe then you would have known you could trust me.”

Hearing that hurt more than the request not to call him ‘Er-ge’. It was a fair accusation to make, a logical conclusion to have come to. Nie Huaisang didn’t feel like defending himself at the moment. He never might feel like it. He’d made the choice he had made, there was little point in talking about that. The past couldn’t be changed, the harm he’d done to Lan Xichen couldn’t be undone.

Besides, Nie Huaisang knew himself. There were few things he’d do differently if given another chance. He’d care a little more about keeping Qin Su alive, so Jin Rusong wouldn’t lose his entire family at once, but nothing else.

The rest he couldn’t quite regret, even when he knew he probably should. Everything had worked out too well.

“Zewu-Jun, I don’t think this is a matter worth discussing,” Nie Huaisang announced. It came out sounding more like a warning than he intended. “All I will say is that I’ve never stopped seeing you as my friend, even if my actions have not always been friendly. That’s where I stand on this matter.”

Lan Xichen sighed, but nodded.

“I can work with that for now. But I hope you understand there are many things we’ll have to talk about sooner or later.”

“We really don’t have to.”

“We do,” Lan Xichen insisted. “I’ve learned from my mistakes, Huaisang, and I won’t content myself with assumptions about people’s intentions and actions, not anymore. Not after what happened.”

“Zewu-Jun, please…”

“Not tonight,” Lan Xichen agreed, opening his door and motioning for Nie Huaisang to come inside. “But I’ve been lied to by a lot of people, on many subjects, and I’m tired of that. I think I’m owed the truth about why you chose to keep me in the dark, at least.”

Nie Huaisang tensed, annoyed to be cornered that way. He went inside with a huff.

“Even if I told you, would you believe me anyway?” he snapped, looking around for a place to put down Jin Rusong.

It would have been too forward to go into Lan Xichen’s room, but he wasn’t sure it would be wise to just drop the child on the sofa, in case this conversation blew into an argument.

“So far I’ve always trusted you too much rather than too little,” Lan Xichen coldly noted, confirming Nie Huaisang’s fear about the direction they were headed. "I'm not the one who brought distrust into our friendship." 

Propriety be damned, Nie Huaisang strode toward the bedroom and put Jin Rusong down on the bed. The child sleepily complained, and struggled a little when his shoes were removed, but thankfully did not actually wake up. Nie Huaisang quickly wrapped him in a blanket before returning to the main room, carefully closing the door.

Lan Xichen gave him a long look. So much for respecting his refusal to speak about this, Nie Huaisang bitterly thought. At the same time, perhaps it was best to get this over with. Then Lan Xichen would know exactly where they stood, and realise that he didn’t want to maintain their friendship after all. Nie Huaisang would finally be able to stomp out the last embers of hope he hadn’t yet managed to kill, and Lan Xichen wouldn't seek his company again, making this easier for both of them. 

“Fine, you want to know why I never told you what Jin Guangyao did to Da-ge?” Nie Huaisang snapped, to which Lan Xichen nodded. “Fine. Fine, right. The truth is… I wanted to protect you.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes opened wide.

“What?”

Clenching his fists, Nie Huaisang looked away.

“He’d killed Da-ge!” he exclaimed, the pain of it still fresh after all these years. “My Da-ge, who had survived everything else! And I couldn’t prove it at that time, but the fact that Jin Guangshan had died so suddenly, and… and Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun too, who were the two next in line to inherit? Zewu-Jun, I was terrified ! It felt like there was nothing he couldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t dare attempt, to get what he wanted! I knew he’d kill me,” Nie Huaisang noted with a grim huff of laughter, “and I was terrified that if you confronted him he might have killed you too. And you would have confronted him, of course. You’re so good. How could you not have?”

His voice rose a little too high, an old panic seizing him at the idea of what might have happened if he had made different choices. Even after so long, even after it was all over, that old fear still made Nie Huaisang sick to his core.

“It’s not just that he would have murdered you,” he added, closing his eyes to fight tears. “He made the world believe that Da-ge was blood-thirsty and unstable. He made sure everyone would remember Jin Guangshan as the man who loved sex so much he died in the middle of an orgy. If Jin Guangyao had turned against you, then for sure he’d have stained your legacy in some way to justify it, and I couldn’t bear it! It… it was better to keep you ignorant, to keep you safe. And I did, right?” Nie Huaisang insisted, a nearly manic smile on his face as he finally dared to look again at Lan Xichen. “He never turned against you, never hurt your reputation or your person! I kept you safe from him, until almost the end! Until…”

“Until that,” Lan Xichen mumbled, stunned by that revelation.

Nie Huaisang quickly nodded.

“I really thought he had moved. Once he was wounded and dying, I knew he would have hurt you if he could, just so you wouldn’t get out of this either. I thought… but I was very scared and so much kept happening. I really can’t be sure what I saw but… but I’m sure I don’t regret that he died.”

Pale as a sheet, Lan Xichen stumbled onto the sofa, pressing a hand against his mouth.

“I thought you didn’t trust me,” he whispered.

“Of course I trusted you,” Nie Huaisang protested, taking a step toward the other man before he could stop himself. He dared not come closer than that though. Not when Lan Xichen seemed to be having such a hard time with that revelation. “I knew you would take action if you were presented with reasonable accusations. That’s exactly what you did when Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian told you what they had found out. And even then, it nearly failed!" Nie Huaisang cried out. "Even then, he nearly managed to get Wei Wuxian killed again! I cannot imagine what would have happened if you had gone there alone, if you’d tried to do this the honourable way… He was a dishonourable man, Xichen, and so it had to be someone as despicable as him taking him down.”

“You should still have told me,” Lan Xichen retorted, glaring at him. “If you trusted me to believe you, you should have trusted me to hear your worries as well.”

"Maybe. Maybe not. I was terrified, and I couldn't risk losing you as well. I had to keep you safe." 

Lan Xichen scoffed, hiding his face in his hands. 

“I wonder how fragile I must appear that everyone wants to keep hard truths from me," he muttered.  "First you about Da-ge, then Wangji and uncle about Jin Rusong… Am I really so pathetic?" 

"You're looking at it the wrong way," Nie Huaisang replied, taking a step closer. 

He clenched his hands into fists again and his them behind his back. His fingers were aching with a need to touch Lan Xichen, to comfort him somehow, but then more than ever, he doubted such a thing would be welcome. 

"Zewu-Jun, you have done so much for me, and for your brother," Nie Huaisang argued quietly. "And if anyone is pathetic here, it must be me and Hanguang-Jun. We jumped at a chance to protect you, and only ended up harming you more. How foolish of us. How selfish too. We've both relied on your protection, more than once. We should have realised you never needed ours."

Lan Xichen stared at him, stunned once more. And once more, Nie Huaisang felt compelled to look away. He had promised himself he wouldn't regret not involving Lan Xichen in his scheme. It was the one thing he'd been sure he had done right, he couldn't bear having that certainty taken from him. 

He couldn't have risked Lan Xichen. It was better to be in his current situation, hated and lonely, than to have given Jin Guangyao a chance to take from him the last person he cared about. 

Nie Huaisang didn't need Lan Xichen to like him. He just needed him to be alive. 

As an awkward silence fell between them, Nie Huaisang decided it would be better for him to go. Clearly, after this, Lan Xichen's invitation to have dinner together no longer stood. Before he could say anything about that, a small voice rang from the other room, calling out for him. 

Without thinking, Nie Huaisang rushed back into the bedroom where he found Jin Rusong sitting on the bed, looking a little disoriented. Upon seeing him, the child smiled, and opened his arms to silently demand a hug. Nie Huaisang immediately complied, going to sit on the bed with him and pulling him on his lap. 

"Hey SongSong. Hungry maybe?" 

Nie Huaisang felt a nod against his chest, and sighed. 

"Well, it's dinner time. I'll go call for someone to bring food to you and uncle Lan." 

Another nod, and Jin Rusong clung tight to Nie Huaisang’s shoulders. 

"Uncle Nie, are you going to eat with us?" 

"Well, I'm not sure…" 

"He will," said Lan Xichen, having dragged himself to the door of the bedroom, leaning hard against the frame. He seemed exhausted once more, but his smile carried unexpected warmth as he looked at them. "Your uncle Nie has already agreed to dine here. It would be very rude of him to change his mind now." 

Nie Huaisang shot him a surprised look, which Lan Xichen pretended not to notice. 

"A-Song, come sit with me on the sofa while uncle Nie gets food sent here,” Lan Xichen asked. “Then when he's back you can tell him about your lessons with Jin Yixin. I'm sure he'd love to hear about that." 

"Yes!" Jin Rusong exclaimed, looking up at Nie Huaisang with an excited grin. "I have learned so, so many things ! Today I've done…" 

As the little boy impatiently started chatting about the things he'd done with his teacher, Nie Huaisang just gathered him in his arms and stood up while carrying him. When he dared a glance at Lan Xichen, the other man's smile was still as warm, as if the conversation they'd just had was forgotten already. 

In the end, they spent a pleasant evening together, the three of them. Nie Huaisang had missed having Jin Rusong with him like this, and it seemed the child must have missed him as well, staying on his lap the whole dinner, eventually falling asleep there when exhaustion overcame him again. When that happened, Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang started chatting together about the little boy's growth, and how well he seemed to be doing since coming to the Unclean Realm. 

It was nice to be talking like that again, after so long. 

If Nie Huaisang hadn't been so self aware, he might have been tempted to pretend they were happy together, almost like a family.