#like the sense of warm togetherness and well wishes in the face of implied difficult times

[jerreeeeeee]

hm. struck all of a sudden with the urge to write a candlenights fic. i don’t think i really have the time for that but its. really strong.

[xreaderbooks]

Two sides (2)

Pair: ACOTAR Azriel x reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Language, implied smut

Summary: Y/N has been in love with Cassian for centuries now, Just how Azriel has been with Mor. Both heartbroken by their unrequited love they fall into a routine of 'one-night stands', Not realizing their each others mate.

Masterlist - Part 1

A/N: So I dont know how accurate the mate information is, like I said before I haven’t read the ACOTAR series since 2019 so I probably got a couple things wrong or didn’t write the characters the way you would expect them to act. I chose to make them more how they would be in head canons if you get what I mean. Either way I really hope you enjoyed the 2nd and final part to Two sides :) Feel free to send requests for Azriel or any other Acotar characters. Thank you all for the support <3

"We need to talk."

"Okay," Azriel says skeptically, he walks over to sit on the chair across from you.

"I wanted to apologize for the other night," You shifted in your seat as you spoke, you were noticeably uncomfortable. That bothered Azriel, he wanted you to feel natural not forced, he didn't know where that desire came from but it was true. Even if this conversation was a bit awkward. "I never meant to make you feel used, I guess, I just needed a distraction."

"From seeing Cassian and Nesta together?" He asked. You bit your lip and nodded. "Y/N, I didn't feel used." He let out a small chuckle. "I enjoyed it, actually. And a bit flattered that you chose to-" He coughed awkwardly, "share that part of yourself with me." You grinned. You eased up a bit after knowing that Azriel didn't feel bad about what happened the other night, and even enjoyed it. It also warmed your heart at the fact that this was one of the rare moments that he felt comfortable enough to talk about how he was feeling. Despite it probably being out of sympathy or to defuse the tension.

"Oh," You chirped "well good. The last thing I wanted to do was fuck up our friendship."

He shook his head, "Y/N you've done a lot in the past few centuries that could've fucked up this friendship and we're still okay, better than okay considering. Besides Mor and I are still friends even after..." He tensed up, you went over to him and hesitantly put your hand on top of his.

"I know." You gave him a small smile. "I have an idea, I'll admit it's not my brightest but it will benefit the both of us."

His eyebrow quirked, "Your ideas are never the brightest, that's why you're just my second."

"Okay, wow." You blinked, removing your hand, and started pacing around the room. "First Rhys made me your second because I'm good at my job and you're just better cause of your shadows." He glared at you when you made the comment about his shadows. "Two, I've had a couple of good ideas in the past you just never go through with them."

"Maybe it's because all your ideas are reckless and we'd get caught if we did our job by using your so-called good ideas." He got up to meet you when you turned around to face the other way, you were met by his chest in your way.

You huffed when you looked up at him. "Whatever, I'm pretty sure you were going to like this one." He gave a nod to continue. "I- you know what I think it's better if I just show you."

He cocked his head to the side. You took this as an opportunity to grab him by the back of his neck and slammed your lips onto his. Immediately after he put his hands on your waist, pulling you closer. He started walking backward, leading you towards one of the bedrooms. Your foreheads pressed together but you paused from kissing him, catching your breath. You knew he could hear your heartbeat, beating quicker by the second, his heart was beating faster too. It gave you all the encouragement you needed to start taking off your clothes.

"So this was your bright idea," Azriel asked, while also hurriedly taking off his clothes.

"Mhm." Was your response before nodding and relocating your lips onto his.

The intensity of it made your heart stutter. You wanted him and at that moment he wanted you. He truly wanted you, you both felt it and took that feeling, using it to fuel the passion in that kiss. He moved down to your neck, nipping and biting at it. You moved your hand to slowly graze his wings, which made him freeze. Azriel gave you a look that made your body go on overdrive.

He picked you up, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he continued to "eat your neck" as Cassian had said all those days before. You rolled your eyes at the thought, but then they rolled back as Azriel bit at a sensitive area that intensified that already intoxicating feeling you got when you were with him.

And you wished it never ended.

~~~

"How do you feel about this?" You asked, hoping he'd be okay with it. So far he hadn't opposed.

"I don't want to hurt you." He confessed. You knew he meant physically, he could be a little rough sometimes. You were okay with that though, You rolled your eyes at his comment.

"I'm serious Y/N." He looked you in the eye. You were back at the training grounds of the Illyrian camp. You didn't specify any details, so you both didn't care about speaking in public.

"I'm a big girl, I think I can handle it." You began to walk ahead of him, He grabbed your forearm and pulled you back to face him, a hint of a smile on your face. "Only if you're sure."

Your smile faded once you saw that he was genuinely concerned. "Az, you wouldn't hurt me. I trust you."

He froze and let you go. He had a hard time letting people see how he was feeling but you could tell he was struggling with letting you in and his self-deprecation.

~~~

You had kept your secret "relationship" hidden from everyone else, as much as you could. It didn't take long. They were extremely nosy and it was difficult with Mor being your best friend. She always knew when you were lying and had insisted you were acting differently. You would always blow it off and say you had a good day, telling a random story you just thought of on the spot.

Cassian had continued to tease you about your secret lover-- which only intrigued Mor even further-- you avoided the truth most of the time. You and Azriel would be extra careful when doing what you did. Sometimes even going to Inns and you would both winnow to the location.

Going through all that trouble only for Amren to find out and threaten to tell the others. She tried to blackmail you into buying her a pure diamond bracelet. As if she couldn't afford it yourself. You talked to Azriel about it and you both decided you didn't care if anyone else knew, it's only a matter of time before they found out anyway. Plus you could use the money to buy a house somewhere private in Velaris. You enjoyed the privacy and lack of teasing for as long as it lasted.

Amren didn't tell but as you predicted, everyone did find out. Some already had suspicions like Mor, Rhys, and Feyre. Amren wouldn't have known if she hadn't caught you both and Cassian never would have thought. You'd be lying if you said you weren't disappointed at him not showing any sign of jealousy. You knew he wouldn't be, being caught up with Nesta and all but you still held hope. You considered yourself a fool and would try to fuck the feelings out of you with Azriel. And most of the time it worked.

~~~

Months went by as sleeping with your best friend became your new normal. You never would have thought that you'd be one of those mysterious girls that Azriel hooked up with, ever since that night, you were the only girl. You had to admit, you liked the idea; being Azriel's only girl. But you knew that although you would be the only girl in his bed, Mor will always be on his mind. Not that you blamed him, you were still somewhat hung up on Cassian. After you can't get rid of 500+ years of feelings.

As you laid next to Azriel, who now stayed nights instead of leaving right after, You admired his tattoos, the intricate designs, you fought the urge to trace them. You did anyways but only a centimeter away from his chest so you wouldn't wake him. In the morning light that slipped through a slight gap in your curtains, It shone right on him. He looked ethereal.

You always knew he was attractive most Illyrian men were, at least if they weren't assholes most of the time. You had time now, to actually take in his beauty. You could never understand how someone so beautiful and kind could be so broken. You guessed that's why you chose him to spend your nights with, instead of some random guy. You could help him and heal him and get him to appreciate himself more.

The shadows around him became more active, it made him tense up. He was awake. You lifted your hand up to up to move the stray hair that fell onto his face. At that moment, you felt your world shift an overwhelming sensation of love and adoration consumed your body and you snatched your hand away from him. You were in pure shock.

'Holy fuck' Was the only thing going through your head.

"What's wrong?"He questioned as if he could sense your distress. His voice hoarse from just waking up.

"Nothing." You said, immediately getting up and getting dressed in whatever you had closest to you. "You should, um, You should get going. I have a lot of reports to do, I've been holding them off but Rhys has been asking me for them for the longest so I should get on it."

Azriel sat up, the bed sheet covering one leg and another part. His perfectly sculpted body in your bed, the lighting, half of his leg uncovered by the blanket. You tried to compose yourself to figure out what you would do. Hoping that he didn't pick up on how different you were acting. It was no use he probably already expected something was up.

To try to ease the tension you sat next to him, brushing the hair out of his face, dragging your fingertips down to the side of his face, and kissed his cheek. You ignored the tingles you felt as his face nuzzled into your hand. Hesitantly, you remove your hand and got up from the bed, and sat at the desk you had in your room. You pretended to read through old letters from officials.

Azriel took that as his cue to leave. He got dressed and pressed a kiss to the back of your head before he left.

He definitely knew something, that's not how your mornings usually go. You would at least spend an hour or two together either talking or enjoying each other's presence before sending each other off to your respective duties. However due to your new discovery of Azriel being your mate. You panicked. What would you do now?

~~~

Hours had passed and you hadn't left your room, choosing to focus on the reports that you did in fact, have to do. Rhys just wasn't expecting them for another week or so. Mor then busted into your room. "Knock, knock bitch."

"Uh, hello gorgeous, didn't expect a lovely visit from you today." You said sarcastically, turning your chair to face her. She dropped the shopping bags onto your floor. You lifted a brow in question.

"We're going on a trip!"

"I'm busy." You turned back around to focus on what you were writing.

"It's a fun work one." You twisted your chair around again.

"How do you mean?"

"Day court gala, bonding with people, gaining trust, and all that." She waved it off as if you didn't need to know actual information. You decided you'd ask for details from Rhysand later.

"And you went shopping." You gestured to all of the bags. "like you don't have tons of outfits you could take."

"Well of course I do. These are for you." She grinned.

"W-what?"

"Just because you're supposed to be invisible and all that, doesn't mean you have to be like that all the time." She referred to your job description, being another spy for Rhysand, relying on you being a woman to get information from people Azriel couldn't. Kind of ridiculous considering Azriel's shadows allowed him to get all the information needed but it was an easy enough job. Unlike Az, you didn't have shadows to command so you stuck to your black outfits tunics, and suits that would help you move easily. You never really dressed up, unless it was for an occasion, but you enjoyed doing it when you could. Most of the time you would be on duty or something like it so you couldn't.

This Gala gave you the perfect excuse too. You were thankful to Mor for having bought you these dresses and accessories. You were pretty sure you had worn all the dresses you had in your closet already.

"Yeah, you're right." You gave her a half-smile. Part of you wondered what Azriel's reaction would be to you in one of these revealing dresses. You shook the thought from your head. You would dress for yourself not for some male, even if that male is your mate.

You debated whether to tell Mor or not. She might be able to help you with your internal battle. Part of you was hurt about Cassian not being your mate. Another part always knew that he wasn't, and another part of you wondered how Azriel would react. Did he feel the bond snap into place? Or was it a Feyre-Rhysand situation where the bond would snap into place at another moment? Would he reject you cause you weren't Mor?

You opted to tell Mor at the day court where you would have more space and privacy from the others.

~~~

Helion's words about uniting and bonding were very heartwarming and kind, but you couldn't get past the thoughts that swarmed your mind. You took advantage of this time with everyone listening to Helions welcoming speech and sneakily made your way over to where Mor was standing. You pretended to greet her with a kiss and whispered in her ear to meet you in the room you were staying at.

"Thank the cauldron you came along, Helion was droning on and was about to make me fall asleep." She joked as she sauntered into your room. She paused her amused tone as soon as she saw your face. "You were fine like two minutes ago."

"Glad to know, I'm good at hiding it." You forced a smile. She tilted her head as if to ask you 'what's wrong', so you told her. You told her that Azriel was your mate and how it happened. You told her of your fears of rejection and confusion with your love for Cassian. It was a different love now, you felt it. There was a shift in what you felt towards Cassian and more intense feelings for Azriel. You suspected the bond but you didn't mind it. You then opened up about your insecurity about him rejecting you for her. Which she shut down, though she knew what you meant.

"Mor, Azriel loves you, like I loved Cassian. What if his love for you is stronger and he refuses to let go. We all know the only reason he never went for you is his trouble with his self-worth." Those were harsh words, but they were true. "He could easily reject me for you, knowing you don't love him in that way."

"You don't know that Y/N. And you loved Cassian, probably as much as Azriel loved me. After all this time you spent together, you truly don't think he would have changed the way he feels for me?" She grabbed your hand in hers. "You and Azriel are like two sides of the same coin, he's all dark and brooding and you, well you're the same in some ways. But you bring out the light and you can cast out all of his darkness with a simple smile."

"I don't know." You whispered. You were scared. Your feelings for Azriel already began to grow, without the bond, with it in place now it was strengthened. Your feelings for Cassian was a background noise that would soon grow into a more familial type of love.

"What should I do Mor?" You whimpered, you put your face in your hands. "I feel like a girl with a crush. This is ridiculous."

She laughed and nodded. "Yes, yes it is. On the bright side, if he doesn't know about you being mates, you could still have fun with other people."

You gave her a look. "You forget that he's my designated person to 'have fun' with."

"I didn't know you had a conversation on exclusivity." She shrugged and walked over to the cart that had alcoholic drinks, at the corner of the room.

"Technically we did when we agreed to sleep with each other when we felt like it." You reasoned.

"Hm." She mused, sipping on her drink. "I still say enjoy tonight, dance with a few males, or females, and if you two end up having sex with him again just enjoy the time you have with him."

"Thanks for the talk, Mor."

"Of course darling, by the way, I highly doubt he'll reject you. If he does he's an idiot and I'll kill him." She sent a wink your way and left you in your room to think.

~~~

Azriel watched as you swayed your hips to the beat of the music. A man who he didn't know came up from behind you, keeping up with you. That was the first of many. He felt a twinge of jealousy in his gut. He attempted to force that emotion down. He couldn't understand where that was coming from.

He was keeping watch, even though he always made sure to keep a lookout for danger to his court. Mor and Cassian tried to get him to ease up, he didn't budge. Who would pry Cassian from more liquor when he's had enough to drink if Azriel wasn't sober? He used the excuse of being the only responsible one to keep an eye on her. Y/n, Azriel thought he knew what it was to love someone because of Mor but what Azriel felt for Y/N was different. It felt raw and real and whatever it was, was growing fast. She was easy to talk to, not that he did much of that but she listened, actually listened when he did, and she didn't pry or hover as much as the others. They tend to beat around the bush when wanting to know about what was going on with him. Unlike Y/N who would take her time to make sure he felt comfortable and if, he wasn't, she would change the topic and act normal.

Y/N was a calming presence that allowed him to just be. She brought out another side of him that he thought he could never be.

That's why when he felt a change in the way he saw her dancing with a new guy than the one she was with earlier, it all made sense. She was his mate. He saw red as he practically flew to where they were. The fae males' hands that were roaming your bonds were ripped away from you and he dragged him away. Azriel pinned the man against the wall. People began to stare and talk in hushed whispers, appalled at the sight.

"Never touch my mate, again." He growled. He dug his fingers into the guy's neck.

"I-I didn't know." The man choked out.

"Well, now you do." He muttered, letting the man slump to the ground. He went over to where you were standing, eyes wide. His eyes softened while looking at you. He slowed as he got to you. "Can we talk?"

You nodded your head and began to walk toward an empty hall.

"I'm sorry if I scared you." He kept his voice low but soft. He was afraid, you would want to run away.

"You didn't." You stood there staring at him. You tried to figure him out, to no avail. His face was always stoic. "I- I thought you'd reject me and now I don't know what to do." You confessed.

"You knew?" He tried to recall if you had acted any differently. His shadows had felt the change in your demeanor and set out in whispers when you were rushing him out. He brushed it off, he should've looked more into it. The last thing he wanted to do was to make you feel unwanted or rejected.

"Since yesterday morning." You confirmed. Your anxiety consumed you, you heard of the pain that came along with being rejected by your mate. Some have died from it. Little did you know Azriel was worrying about the same exact thing. Not thinking himself worthy enough of your affection. He allowed himself the pleasure of being in bed with you, assuming it was nothing more and he couldn't get hurt you or be hurt that way. It was a release from another pain you both had the displeasure of feeling.

"I want you to know it is an honor to have you as my mate." He took a step closer.

"Really? Honestly, I thought..." You shook your head. "Nevermind."

He looked confused but let it go, if you wanted to tell him you would. "Guess this means I have to go cook you something." You let out a laugh. He smiled an actual wide beautiful smile. Azriel grabbed your face and kissed you.

It was soon interrupted by a very drunk Mor who shouted, "Finally!"

Cassian was right behind her, "Mor! I forgot where the bathroom was, can y-" He paused looking between you and Azriel. "Oooh getting freaky in the hall, that's new. Hey Y/N if he isn't hitting it right, you know where to find me." He winked at you. Azriel gave him a murderous look, putting his arm in front of you. 'So he's gonna be one of those', you thought.

You couldn't wait till the second part of the mating process.

Tags: @wildchild2707​ ,@theworthlessqueen​ ,@ciciakai​ ,@rockinginneverland​

[rainbowbutterfrosting]

If My Kingdom Falls, I’ll Lose it All

A birthday gift to the lovely @aidensm8. Ty so much @dramaticsnakes for beta-reading <33333

Cws: minor angst, feeling of not being good enough, implied overworking, neglecting self-care

Summary: "A good king takes care of himself."

"I'm not a king yet."

---

Roman was a prince. A prince who would soon become a king. There were too many things to do and the golden-eyed guard kept on getting in his way.

AO3

The Sanders Kingdom received the provocative letter that detailed the new laws set for their neighboring kingdoms that would soon fit their own as well. The King had discussed the arrangement, focusing on the inflation or artisan goods and rations provided to the people. The meetings took place over several months with no changes made in favor of the Sanders Kingdom. The nation soon declared war, providing that regulations were detrimental to-

“-no no, you should have seen him last night. He was a complete mess.”

Roman let out an exhale. The guards were socializing by his door again. When would they learn that they were getting paid to stand there and not go around pretending the castle was the local pub? He harshly stood up from his chair, not minding how it made a semi-loud sound as it moved across the floor. He made a few quick steps to open the door, glaring with the first guard he saw. 

A walking stereotype. Muscles, dark hair, and a straightened-up posture once he saw Roman’s presence. Roman took in a small breath. Kings were polite with their people. He had to be kind and civil. He slipped a small smile on his face, making the edges of his eyes crinkle slightly, “Gentlemen.”

The guard looked at Roman’s eyes for a moment, but the eye contact seemed uncomfortable for the man. The guard slipped on a smile but it was filled with apprehension and hesitation.  “Prince- Prince Roman. I hope we didn’t disturb you.”

Well, you did, he bitterly thought. He let a small chuckle escape him, one that wasn’t out of personal enjoyment but to rather relieve the tension. “You didn’t, but could you two tell the guards by hallway C to rotate their positions with you?” He didn’t know which guards he was swapping out, but they must have been better than these two. 

He looked over at the other guard, almost forgetting he existed. His eyes were slightly narrowed as a tight smile rested on his face. His eyes were peculiar. Roman barely had time to dissect the distaste painted over the man’s face as he noticed a golden eye staring back at him. It seemed to stare through his soul and assert that he was the royal one there. 

Roman swallowed the feeling down his throat as the original guard spoke, “As you wish, Prince Roman.” The guard made a few steps away from the door, the armor clinking quietly around him. He took a look back, noticing that the guard positioned next to him hadn’t moved. 

“Sir Deceit?” The guard with the golden eye- who was apparently Sir Deceit- looked away from Roman and to the other guard. 

He took a quiet exhale as he nodded at Roman. “As you wish, Prince Roman.” There might have been another moment where Sir Deceit lingered there for a second longer than he should have, but the time flew by Roman as the guard soon walked away. 

Deceit. It was an odd name for a guard. A guard that’s supposed to be honest and truthful to his kingdom was going by Deceit. Roman momentarily wondered what Sir Deceit’s real name was before he shook his head to himself and retreated back into his room. Names were kept secret out of safety. Something about how it lowered assassination attempts or perhaps just general threats.

A part of his mind kept returning back to the guard as he sat down and tried to continue reading about their foreign affairs. He shouldn’t care about the guard, he just had a weird eye and name and that was the end of it. He had a kingdom that would fall into his hands within a matter of months. He didn’t have time to focus on the insignificant details of his workers.

---

Roman moved his hands around as the book suggested. One around an imaginary waist and the other holding an invisible hand. He slowly stepped forward while holding the pose, then moving to the right as he turned around to end up in the starting position. He took a small breath as he proceeded to widen his stance. The book reminded him how important it was, but he kept on forgetting.

A warm voice called out from behind him. “Prince Roman, permission to speak freely?”

Roman turned around. He was about to decline the permission to the guard when he noticed his eyes. Golden-eyed boy was guarding him again. He wished the guard’s name didn’t feel familiar on his mind. “Permission granted.”

“You’re doing horribly.”

Roman felt his body become tense as he forced his posture to vaguely loosen up, but the confusion on his face was evidence of his initial reaction. Rule one- a guard should never insult royalty. Roman felt any confidence he could’ve had leave him as he turned away from him. “I’m still learning, Sir Deceit.”

Footsteps made their way behind him as warm hands gently fell onto his body. Sir Deceit’s chest was pressed against his back as he slowly pushed Roman’s arms to be more curved and open. He whispered into his ear, “You can’t learn such a fluid dance from a book. The pages are so rigid, it’s practically incorrect to learn that way.”

Before Roman could’ve made any comment, Sir Deceit walked around him, interlocking their fingers in his left hand and placing Roman’s other hand onto his waist. Roman looked Sir Deceit up and down. The guard seemed to know what he was doing with how calmly he looked up at Roman. Warmness was present on him, gently reminding him that he needed to do something. “S- Sir Deceit, this is quite unprofessional of you. I’ll have to ask you to remove your hands from me.”

Roman almost wished that they stayed together a bit longer, but they were separated as soon as they were joined. “As you wish, my prince.”

He could feel the phantom warmth on his skin. He looked away from Sir Deceit and to the book. “You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.”

Sir Deceit let out a small hum. It was one of approval, but it was so… wrong. There wasn’t a witty remark that Roman knew was in the back of his mind or a protest to stay. There wasn’t even a statement of agreement. Just a small noise.

But what was Roman doing? His coronation was coming close and he had to know the kingdom’s traditional dances by heart to not look a fool. Yet, he somehow felt like one already. With warmness tingling on his waist and hand, he repositioned his body into the starting position.

---

Roman faced the mirror, critically eyeing the man he saw in it. While it was him in the mirror, it wasn’t him. He wore a newer outfit, but it was still in the same style as his wardrobe. He carefully moved a few hairs to lay slightly on his face. Enough to look casual, but not enough to look messy. 

He tensed at the muffled snicker behind him. He turned around, almost expecting his brother there but he only saw a gua- Sir Deceit. The man held a hand to his mouth, but Roman could still see how his eyes crinkled. Roman raised an eyebrow, “Is something funny?”

Sir Deceit shook his head before he dropped his hand to reveal the smile on his face, “Prince Roman, permission to speak freely?”

Roman let out a short breath as he held a tensed smile. The words were too light-hearted. As if he wasn’t a guard who worked for him and instead as if they were friends for many years. “Permission granted.”

Sir Deceit took a few small steps towards him. Roman found himself looking away and towards the mirror, but even that still held his the guard’s reflection. He could luckily see that the man’s eyes lingered on his outfit instead of him. “It’s ridiculous,” Sir Deceit quietly said, almost as if it was to himself. “You spend so much time on everything that’s already perfect that you fail to acknowledge what actually needs to be fixed.”

Roman scoffed, “If you’re so fashionably gifted then please let me know what needs to be ‘fixed.’” The last word was sarcastic as Roman resisted rolling his eyes.

“Your collar,” Sir Deceit responded without hesitation. “It’s a bit crooked.”

Roman looked into the mirror. His collar seemed normal to him- perfect even. Perhaps Sir Deceit was just a liar trying to get a rise out of Roman to finally prove that he shouldn’t be king. Maybe even point out that learning what kings should know shouldn’t be so difficult for him. “My collar is fine.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Roman took his gaze away from his collar and towards Sir Deceit. “You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.”

Sir Deceit stood there for a moment before he took the smallest step towards Roman. He gently grabbed Roman’s collar, making a few tugs that Roman caught in the mirror before the guard pulled away. “I didn’t hear you, what did you say?” There was a hidden smugness behind the words that made Roman smile.

“My collar was fine, but-” thank you. He shouldn’t thank a guard, he was simply doing his job. Guards didn't get thanked for the bare minimum, only if they saved a life or did something else heroic. “You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.”

Janus nodded once, apparently pleased with Roman’s response. “As you wish, my prince.”

---

Roman let out a long breath as he tried to read over the words again. They only seemed blurrier as more tears filled his vision. It was simple, he shouldn’t be acting so stupid about it. Although the laws contradicted each other, he was sure they made sense. He just wasn’t trying hard enough. 

He let out a slow, shaky breath, as he leaned back in his chair. He gently blinked the tears out, willing himself not to sob in the library. He carefully wiped the shed tears away, making sure not to rub them so his face wouldn’t be splotchy. A good king didn't cry over something so easy.

A moment too long passed with only more emotion brewing inside him. He looked down at his book again, his gaze momentarily catching a guard’s, but he quickly focused his mind on the book. 

The words were still blurry, but he tried to make himself focus on the content. Perhaps he wasn’t even reading the words anymore, only scanning the page in case it would randomly start to make sense. Somewhere between seconds and minutes, he felt a warm presence on his shoulder that made him want to curl up in hopes that it surrounded him. Through a quick glance, he spotted a gloved hand resting there. “Prince Roman, permission to speak freely?”

It was Sir Deceit. He didn’t remember that the man wore gloves. Roman nodded to the guard’s question, not trusting his voice with a confident answer.

“You should rest, my prince.” The sympathetic voice dripped into Roman’s ears, filling them with pity and kind-hearted melancholy.

Roman weakly shook his head. He didn’t need a break. He needed to understand. He blinked as a tear slid down his face and silently fell onto the page. He shouldn’t be this pathetic, it was simple. All the other kings understood it with ease- perhaps he didn’t deserve the role so graciously given to him.

Sir Deceit gave a gentle squeeze to Roman’s shoulder. The direct action made him wilt, any confidence he held fading away. When the book was removed from him, he followed it with his vision. He saw gloves holding it, dabbing the part of the page wetted by Roman’s tear.

Roman let out a quiet sigh as Sir Deceit closed the book. “You won’t get anywhere tonight and it’ll be here tomorrow.” The words were too gentle to reject, turning painfully in Roman’s chest. He stood up, but the feeling still lingered when he turned away. He took a step away from Sir Deceit, feeling the hand slowly slip off him. 

“You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.” He couldn’t find himself to care that his voice broke or how he felt a sob breaking through him that he managed to quiet at the last moment. There was something hesitant said to him. Perhaps a farewell, goodbye, or another phrase for departure.

Or perhaps it was confirmation that he shouldn’t be king.

---

Roman stood in the mirror as he adjusted his collar. He cringed at the sight of himself as he tried to focus on anything else, but it all seemed so wrong. Flat hair accompanied with too-pale skin didn’t compliment the slight frown on his face. He tried to flash himself a smile, but it seemed far too flimsy. A small breath left him. He didn’t have anything to do, so he might just keep himself in the library. 

Not for long of course. Only an hour or two to refresh his mind. The steps there were easy after all. Sir Deceit trailed close behind. Roman would’ve complained about his constant presence, but a small part of him liked the familiarity of the golden eye accompanied by a warm voice. There was nothing personal about the attachment. The traits would have been nice on anyone.

The library brought a vague feeling of dread that he pushed down as he inhaled the calm scent of books. He walked to a table and sat down. A pile of books rested next to the chair. He quietly picked one up as he opened it to where he last was. 

The pages seemed kinder to him today. There was still minor frustration embedded into the words, but he still turned the page after a minute or two of processing what he read. He sat straight up, leaning to the side as he heard a few cracks from his back as he stretched. After a moment of letting his body move, he refocused his eyes onto the book. 

A warm voice welcomed him away from the text, “Prince Roman, permission to speak freely?”

Roman looked up from the book and to Sir Deceit. “Of course.” A soft smile found a way onto his face, but it felt the slightest bit strained. 

“Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

Roman frowned as he noticed an appetite that had appeared at random. He shook his head.

Sir Deceit continued where he didn’t, “Do you plan to eat soon?”

Roman shrugged. “I’m not sure how you view ‘soon,’ but I’ll eat eventually.”

The conversation quieted in a way Roman found himself comfortable with. He settled back into his book, only making it a few pages before Sir Deceit spoke again, “I can bring you something from the kitchen.” The words dipped into a concern that made Roman shift slightly in his chair. 

“Food isn’t allowed into the library.” It was odd that Sir Deceit apparently seemed to not know the rules of the castle, speaking so casually and making improper requests. 

“There’s more than rules in life, my prince.”

Roman tensed as he looked away from his book and up at Sir Deceit. He didn’t spend months if not years learning what the rules were for himself and the kingdom just for a guard to say that they weren’t important. “Rules define who a person is, Sir Deceit.” His voice was laced with bitterness he didn’t have the patience to apologize for.

Yet, Sir Deceit seemed oblivious to it as he shook his head. “They might define social norms and common courtesy, but they don’t do much more than that.”

Roman looked down at his book. He didn’t have time for this. Janus quietly sighed. “Would you like me to bring you something from the kitchen, Prince Roman?”

Roman didn’t bother to look up at the guard. “You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.”

---

The uprising was ineluctable yet unscrupulous. Their power contended the sovereignty of their time with the insistence of their previous-

The sound of the plate in front of him brought him out of the pages and into the library. He blinked up at the food as his stomach let out a quiet growl. “I’m-” fine. His sentence was cut off by the sight of a yellow glove gently hanging at the side of the plate. He looked up, spotting Sir Deceit himself standing there. “I didn’t request this.”

Sir Deceit nodded once, the action too quick and smug for any possible hesitance to slip through. “I’m aware of that, Prince Roman.”

Roman let his shoulders drop slightly as he fiddled with one of the pages. “You can take that back to the kitchen,” he said through an exhale.

“A good king takes care of himself.”

Then I won’t be a good king. “I’m not king yet.”

“You’re practicing to become one, no?” Roman rolled his eyes. Even through his practices, most of the time he failed at the simplest traditions and memorization. “Roman, you have to take care of yourself. Even if you’re excited about your new position, you’re still… human.”

“I’m not excited about any of this,” the words were his own, but they left him without permission, only weighing heavily as he continued to talk, “I never asked to be a prince. I- I know I should be grateful, but…” He let his voice drift off with a long exhale picking up its place. His eyes drifted back to the book.

“Stand up.”

Roman chuckled as he looked up at Sir Deceit. “You’re a guard, you’re in no position to command a prince.”

Sir Deceit rolled his eyes with a faux smile on his face. “I would like to request you to stand up, my prince.” He held out a gloved hand out to Roman. Hesitation shined from the interaction, but Roman gently held Sir Deceit’s hand as he stood up.

Sir Deceit began walking as Roman followed along. They wandered through the old library, the silence stretching between them finding a comfortable place through their echoing footsteps. The guard turned around corners and hallways Roman had never seen, leading him to a wooden door that Sir Deceit opened with ease. 

Roman quietly gasped at the cold air that hit him. It was a door that led outside. Sir Deceit gently tugged for him to go further, but Roman stood where he was. “I’m not allowed to go outside after dark.” He looked through the door with admiration. The sky was dark as he saw glimpses of tall spruce trees and small specks of stars. 

Sir Deceit turned to him, a gentle smile on his face. Not one tinted with compassion, but one of adventure. “There’s more to life than social boundaries.”

And with a tug of his hand, Roman started slowly walking outside with his guard. The grass moved underneath his shoes. It would have done that in the day too, but it seemed so different with the quiet secretiveness.

It only took a few steps for Roman to stare at the stars. He saw them in old books and paintings hung across the walls, but he never saw them before. “What would have happened if I never brought you out here?” The question was quiet in a way that seemed rhetorical but it didn’t stop Roman from wondering. 

He looked down from the stars and into Sir Deceit’s eyes. The golden one seemed to oddly glow. “I would’ve stayed in the library.”

“No, I mean long-term.” Roman found himself taking glances away from Sir Deceit’s eyes and towards the stars behind him. “You would’ve missed this.”

Roman shook his head. “I would’ve eventually seen them.”

Sir Deceit shrugged. “I’ve looked through the rules. You’re only allowed out this late a few times a year.”

“So you do know what the rules are.”

Sir Deceit shook his head slightly, a silent laugh of sorts. “I’m well aware of what they are. I just know they aren’t worth paying attention to. Especially compared to moments like this.”

Roman found himself nodding to the words as he looked at his fingers interlocked with Sir Deceit’s. He tested the waters, giving the hand a small squeeze. He received one in return without a response.

He barely thought before he pressed his lips onto Sir Deceit’s. His eyes closed, but he could still feel the stars. He took his free hand to cup Sir Deceit’s cheek, keeping him close into the kiss. A slow moment passed before he pulled away with a smile. “You’re something different, Sir Deceit.”

“It’s Janus.”

Roman’s smile faltered for a brief moment. “You aren’t supposed to say your real name. You could be permanently dismissed- if not exiled for such a thing.” Something set uncomfortably in his chest at the idea of not seeing Sir Dec- Janus’ golden eye again. Or to hear how a question dripped in sarcasm and politeness at the same time.

Janus pressed a quick kiss onto Roman’s lips. “Maybe I don’t care anymore, prince Roman.”

“Just Roman.”

A small smile fell onto Janus. “Your name reveal was a little less dramatic.”

Roman let a chuckle escape him. “It’s not my fault I wasn’t given a secret name.”

Janus gave Roman’s hand a light squeeze. “You don’t need one, I’ll just call you mine.”

[ruby-whistler]

maybe sometimes, i should opt for not having thoughts.

have a heavy angst rivalsduo one-shot! i enjoyed writing this, and it came out pretty good, so let's hope i can instil the same feeling of dread i had in you as well :]

tws // death, injury, implied past torture, trauma

Dream’s sight traces over the edges of the looming monster; its dark silhouette casts a long shadow, but he doesn’t mind. The sun hasn’t reached his eyes in a long time, and he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to see it, just breathing, surviving, remaining in his place.

The look on his face is blank, and he stares in the eye of a storm with sirens as an eternal thunder echoing through the world, shrieking tones softened by the blowing grass.

“I got you out,” Techno speaks, voice curt and as empty as the other’s glare; too much has happened to recount in anything but silence, and in a sense, they both understand. “I said I would help you escape, and I did.”

Dream hums quietly in response, bloodied bandages untied and flailing with the wind. He’s weak, despite the gapples Techno has given him. Some damage is too difficult to repair, too complicated, in the worst sense possible, to forgive the sting of its cruelty.

Techno trails the scar drawing under his hair, feels his skull shattered and sewn back together, because one time was not enough, and the world is still delivering the bitterness of his mistakes with a dizzying headache when the light hit his eyes too loud, when the world spins in all its colors and the birds sing a song that only makes the chanting more unbearable.

True misery, a sign something might be beyond repair, Techno thinks, is when what was once light and sweet and beautiful, ends up nothing but an agonising cacophony.

The symphony is quiet.

The sun doesn’t set, yet, because the day is too long to be over - because the story isn’t done yet. His hands feel like they only move on strings, and he ponders; if not this - and this doesn’t feel like it, it feels like they’ve never been further away from it - what is freedom?

Dream wouldn’t know, but Techno thinks back to the world he had built, now compromised by the man in front of him, and he, guilt caught like a rock in his throat; feels regret.

For once in his life, everything was working. His family was safe, there were people he could trust that found a home under the Syndicate’s wings, waiting for him back in the arctic.

Dream, even if simply imagined, sticks out of place like a sore thumb. He is the opposite of safety, the opposite of home. He has nothing, he is lost, and the world will do anything to stop him from finding himself.

Anything, including destroying the smallest of possibilities.

A heavy feeling sets in Techno’s chest as he meets the other’s eye, and perhaps he’s going crazy, but in the silence, he realizes Dream is thinking the same.

It’s not a look of relief; grief is plastered over the man’s scarred features, drowned in hair the color of hazel wood. He had never seen him this pale before; everything about him was faded. Perhaps that was one of the things one can never get back, or perhaps the sun would find him pitiful enough at last to make him brighter; but in the arctic, the sun was cold.

Techno takes a deep breath, and it feels like he’s breathing something else than the warm air radiating off of smouldering lava for the first time in his life.

“Let’s get you home, Dream.”

He turns around, hesitantly urgent to be breaking the still air, and pulls Dream by the sleeve as he does; he wonders how long the fragile prisoner will last before he has to carry him the rest of the way to a place that had once been Techno’s, now a sanctuary for what is broken.

“No.”

Techno pauses, and another voice - not the ones that scream for blood, it’s clearer and singular, says - this is your fault. Guilting him for feeling, for thinking, because surely he wished Dream’s resistance into reality, because why else would he refuse?

The irrational thought is blown over by a wave of cold that rushes through his mind as he lets go of the torn linen.

“You can’t take me back to your place. Quackity has already tried to kill you twice, I won’t let myself be responsible for you losing a life after everything you’ve done for me.”

Dream looks up at him, and his voice is strained, every word forced out with power neither of them knew he had. It glints in his eyes like a diamond sword in the chest of a man destroyed by what he created, like a glass shard tearing through the heart of a fallen dictator.

Shaking but determined, holding back a scream behind his clenched teeth while the wind blows through his loose clothing, he continues. “I’m not going with you, I’ll find... somewhere else.”

Techno looks down at him, and for a second, he wonders if he’s ever seen Dream so small.

“And then what?”

Dream is quiet, and Techno thinks can see the look in his eyes; the fear, the resolve, and the unspoken promise of returning, because he knows there is no way to escape fate, not this time.

Dream doesn’t answer him, and Techno glances down at his hands; they’re trembling, like they’re holding back an avalanche. He steps closer, and the man doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away.

“You’re not the only one who’s lost everything,” Techno says, “don’t you think I know what it’s like to be alone?”

“You have a family,” Dream says, “you have a home.”

Techno breathes, realization sharper than his axe’s blade cutting through his brain.

Dream is the first to look away.

The two of them are both shaking, but it’s only the same thing different ways, and Techno thinks can hear Dream’s heart beating, stuttering through the howls of piercing gale.

He turns away, and he doesn’t look back.

“Take care.”

He doesn’t hear steps as he leaves, but it cannot make him more worried than he already is; Dream only needs time.

A traitorous thing called hope says, he’ll come back to you. He’ll return when he’s ready.

The windows on his house are open when he comes back empty-handed, and Techno doesn’t think he’s ever been more cold than that day. He closes the door, closes the windows, and starts a fire.

All his movements are robotic, mechanical.

Philza comes home to find him sitting deathly still on the floor, half-asleep, leaning into Steve’s alabaster fur, the warmth from the fireplace surrounding the two. His eyes flutter open; he shouldn’t be this exhausted, he shouldn’t be freezing when the air he's breathing feels suffocatingly hot.

“How did it go,” and then, “where’s Dream?”

Technoblade nearly speaks up before it catches up to him that he doesn’t know.

He pushes down the guilt, because this is what he wanted; this is what they both wanted. Dream wouldn’t have split off if he didn’t know he could make it.

He thinks back to the shaking figure without enough strength in his legs to run before stumbling over himself, and doesn’t challenge it when the voice calls him a liar.

He doesn’t respond to Philza, either. He stares at the flames for a long time.

He still doesn’t sleep.

Techno is awake because he cannot sleep.

Quackity is not here, and he knows Dream cannot fight like he once did - Dream was weak when he left.

He does not want to think about it.

Dream is gone. It’s in the past.

He takes a deep breath, and his chest expands with the smell of burning logs, eyes flickering with the lights of the fire. Sentimentality he oh so despised fills his lungs, and the swallow’s tune whispers poisonously;

Dream will come back. His smile echoes in pale images of the future.

He nearly faces the darkness for once in a long time, when his communicator buzzes in his pocket.

His stomach sinks, and he shuts it off, but it is too late to unsee.

[ Dream was slain by Sapnap using [Regret] ]

There it is; the choir flares up though his brain in a dissonant requiem.

You left him, and you didn’t even say goodbye.

[hualianff]

《I》

Hearing this, XL pulls back to look at HC. He wipes at his tear-stained face, briefly thinking he must look a pathetic sight. 

“You- you haven’t?” XL timidly asks. HC shakes his head, lips pursed as if he wants to say something but isn’t sure how.

An icky feeling of satisfaction bubbles in XL’s tummy. Before HC can respond, XL immediately straightens up as a realization hits him. A fresh wave of tears floods down his cheeks. 

“I-I’m sorry, San Lang. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on you earlier…” XL mutters shamefully, his voice cracking a little. He shifts his gaze downward, unable to meet HC’s eye. “I know your love life is none of my business.” 

HC sharply inhales at that. XL feels even guiltier knowing he’s offended HC.

“That’s not- wait-” HC begins.

XL makes a move to leave HC’s lap, except a pair of strong arms anchor him down. HC hugs him close, making it clear he’s not letting XL go. XL obediently melts into HC’s body. He’s always been weak for HC’s hugs. They make him feel unbelievably warm and safe.

“Oh, Gege, you really have no idea, do you?” HC whispers sadly. He lifts a hand to cup XL’s cheek, tilting the other’s head up to look at him properly. XL’s face scrunches up as he begins to cry again, soft sobs escaping his quivering lips.

“I’m sorry…”

“Hey, look at me,” HC demands, firmly but not unkindly. He almost regrets his choice of words when XL complies, looking at him with teary eyes that resemble a kicked puppy. HC carefully thumbs away his tears. “Gege shouldn’t cry over things that don’t deserve his time. Even if it’s me.”

XL sobs so hard he hiccups.

“I-I’m s-sorry-“

“A-lian. No more. No more apologizing,” HC pleads, pressing a kiss to XL’s nose. “It’s you, my love. It’s always been you.”

XL makes a confused noise. He must have heard wrong because HC certainly couldn’t be implying that XL is the one he loves.

“W-what?”

HC smiles comfortingly, one eye shining with unyielding affection. He wraps his arm around XL’s shoulder, pressing their bodies impossibly close, providing XL the physical contact he desperately needs.

“I’ve loved you for so long. I don’t even remember what it’s like to not be in love with you,” HC murmurs, voice laced with restrained emotion. XL gasps at the confession–a confession meant for him. Has he been the one this entire time?

Somehow, in the back of XL’s mind, it makes sense.

“You- you love me?” XL chokes out, wondering if he heard correctly. He unconsciously grips a section of HC’s shirt, wanting to keep as little space between them as possible. 

“Hn.”

“For years?”

“Hn.”

XL nuzzles against HC’s neck, breathing in his minty scent. His sobs have reduced to shuddery breaths, now struggling to breathe for a whole different reason.

“…you called me A-Lian,” XL grumbles out half-heartedly. 

Without missing a beat, HC asks, “Hmm, do you not like it?”

“I love it,” XL answers, the rush of euphoria seeping into his veins. It must be because he’s coddled right up to HC. After all, HC is the one who makes him the happiest. “And…I love you. It’s been a long time for me too.”

HC smiles against XL’s temple. 

“I’m glad Gege feels the same. As you heard earlier, I had my doubts. You’re so good, A-lian. Don’t you know? You’re like a precious ray of sunshine that everybody naturally gravitates to and you connect with them. You treat them with compassion. You uplift them. You fight for them and protect them.”

XL’s eyes widen at the sheer passion of HC’s words. He wonders if HC is using the word “them” to refer to HC himself.

“Your impact on people’s lives is invaluable. You are simply amazing. Anybody would be lucky to have you by their side,” HC continues.

“San Lang…” XL says though he’s at a total loss for words.

“I always selfishly wished for you to love me the same way I loved you. But I was afraid your affections towards someone like me were merely platonic. He Xuan told me to suck it up though, said it would make your birthday if I confessed,” HC says. He runs his fingers through XL’s hair again, pushing away the strands that stick to his damp face.

HC frowns.

“But I made you cry instead,” he says regretfully.

“I thought…” XL starts but cuts himself off. It’s a little embarrassing to admit how worked up–how jealous–he got over the possibility of HC loving another. 

“You thought I would confess my feelings to someone else on your birthday? At your birthday party?” HC finishes XL’s thought, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

“Kind of.”

HC scoffs.

“Maybe.”

“Gege.”

“Well, yes-“

HC grasps the sides of XL’s face in his hands, connecting their foreheads as he speaks with disdain.

“If I had done that, you’d have every right to beat my ass and sever all contact with me. You hear me? That’s an asshole move and completely unacceptable.”

An hour ago, this scenario made XL’s stomach churn in a nasty way almost to the point of puking. He doesn’t know what he would have done if HC had slipped through his fingers. Even if this had occurred on his birthday, XL doesn’t think he could have cut HC out of his life. XL can live without HC’s love, but not without HC himself.

But now, with the confirmation that HC actually reciprocates his feelings, XL feels as light as a feather, his heart no longer clouded by the fear of rejection. 

“I know. But I can never stay mad at you. You always treat me well. Even when I am upset, you make everything better. Just by being you. You're my favorite person to be around and...I’m just so glad you love me,” XL says, his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“What, like it’s difficult?” HC laughs, rubbing their noses together. “Loving you is as easy as breathing. Loving you itself is like a breath of fresh air. I live to love you, gege. Best decision of my life.”

For the third time that day, XL’s eyes tear up, his heart overjoyed. A few memories flit through his head: him and HC going out for coffee, going on road trips together, taking long walks in this very park. Mundane memories where they did so little, yet HC made him feel so much. 

“All this time?” XL whispers. 

“Yes,” HC whispers back. “All this time and forever on, I am yours.”

As XL leans forward to peck his beloved’s cheek (“Gege, you missed.”), he internally muses that his birthday wish came true. 

Three years later, HC makes XL cry on his birthday again–this time by getting down on one knee with a ring pledging their eternity.

[electricbarnes]

time is not on our side 

steve rogers x reader 

summary: ever since steve went against the sokovia accords, he’s been on the run. but he still takes time to see you, even if it’s only for a night. 

↳ songs i listened to for inspiration

wc: 2.8k | warnings: pretty fluffy i would say, but its got a little angst, implied smut 

note: it’s missing steve hrs

Nat: Don’t be gone too long.

Steve reads the text on the small screen of his flip phone, but he doesn’t bother to reply back. He shoves the phone back into his pocket as he turns into a dark alleyway. He glances behind him, making sure no one is watching him. The streets are fairly empty considering the late hour.

Steve carefully climbs his way up one of the fire escapes. The creaking of the old metal echoes through the empty alley. He goes up to the third floor and slides open an unlocked window. Steve ducks inside the dark apartment that’s only dimly lit by the street lights outside. His eyes do a quick scan of the room, looking for any possible dangers.  

He closes the window and flips the latch, making sure it’s locked this time. Just as he turns around, the hallway light turns on, revealing your silhouette. You clearly just woke up, judging by the flyaways of your hair and the old tee shirt you usually wear to bed. You squint your eyes into the darkness and they widen at the sight of the man standing in your living room.

“Steve?”

A gasp escapes your lips and you practically throw yourself on him, but Steve easily catches you. Your arms wrap around his neck while his automatically circles around your waist, pulling you in close. He ignores the pain from the bruise on his ribs, focusing on the feeling of having you in his arms again instead. The tension leaves his body as he melts into your embrace. His senses filled with the familiar sweet scent of your lotion.

Your soft clean skin contrasts the dirt and grime that covers him and his tattered suit. Though, you don’t seem to mind. He knows he should’ve cleaned up before he got here, but his time is limited and he wanted as much time with you as possible.

You pull back from him after a moment to get a good look at his face. Steve sees your smile morph into a frown and your eyebrows scrunch together. Your hand goes to his forehead, fingers carefully tracing the cut above his eyebrow. He forgot about the small injury.

Though he hates seeing you upset, Steve can’t help the small smile that appears on his face. He leans in, placing a kiss between your furrowed brows. He whispers an “I’m okay,” to ease your worries. It seems to work because your adoring smile returns.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you say quietly, as if this were a dream that would end at any moment. It makes him wonder if you have dreams about him like he has of you. He knows all too well that feeling of disappointment when he wakes up alone, wishing the dream had lasted a little longer.

“I’m here,” he affirms, squeezing your hips as a confirmation that this was real. He seals it with a kiss that you immediately fall into. Your hand combs through his, now longer, hair as the kiss deepens. Before it could go any further, you pull away from him. Steve chases your lips for one more kiss, earning a giggle from you. He’s missed that adorable laugh of yours.

Your hand brushes over his beard. He had forgotten about that too. His look has changed a lot since the last time he’s seen you. Being a wanted criminal meant that he could skip the shaving in order to hide his face more. He’s far from the golden boy image that he was before.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you say, as you take his hand into yours and lead him to the bathroom.

Steve sits patiently while you clean the cut on his face. You’re standing in between his legs and his hands rest on the curve of your hips, just wanting to keep you close. He watches your concentrated expression, thinking it’s cute. He loves how much you care for even the smallest of cuts. He’s pretty sure if he got a papercut, you’d treat it the same.

“It’ll be healed by tomorrow, you know?” he tells you.

“I know,” you say as you toss away the cotton you were using to clean his cut. You shrug, placing both of your hands on his shoulders, “I just wanna take care of you.”

Steve’s heart warms at your words. He looks up at you in disbelief. How did he get so lucky to have you? Even after months apart with radio silence, you still welcome him with open arms. You still care for him. He worries about the day when you’ll get tired of the distance. When it’ll become too much and you’ll give up on this barely there relationship. He knows it isn’t fair to you and you deserve far more than he can give. And yet... you’re still here.

Your hands move up to his cheeks, pulling him in for a quick kiss before leaving his side to turn on the shower.

“Alright, you take a shower and I’ll get you some clothes,” you tell him.

“Care to join me?” Steve asks with a smirk. He walks over to you, his hands wandering to the band of your sleep shorts.

You match his smile but shake your head, “Nuh uh, I don’t think you need any distractions.” You remove his hands from your waist and step back from him, “Now take off your suit.”

“Sweetheart, you can’t just say that and leave me by myself,” he groans, throwing his head back.

“I think you’ll be fine,” you say with a laugh and he can’t help but laugh too. Though he’s slightly disappointed in your rejection, he knows it's probably for the best.  

Once he’s out of his suit, you take his gear from him and leave to give him some privacy. Steve steps into the shower and involuntarily lets out a sigh of relief as the hot water instantly relaxes his muscles. He hasn’t had a good shower in far too long. The grueling weeks of underground missions and uncomfortable nights in the quinjet washes off of him. For a moment, Steve wonders if this is how it could always be. Feeling at peace, not having to be so guarded all the time. Just being here with you in your home makes him forget about the dark life he’s been leading for nearly a year now. Here, he feels like he can finally catch his breath.

Though he wants to stay longer under the hot water, he washes up quickly because he doesn’t want to waste anymore time without you. He gets dressed in the white tee shirt and grey sweats you left for him on the counter. Thankfully, you always keep spare clothes for him.

Just as Steve walks out of the bathroom, you walk into the room holding two mugs.

“I made some tea,” you say, handing him a blue mug with his iconic shield printed on the side. It made him chuckle. He secretly loved how you would keep these little reminders of him.

“And I cleaned your suit as best as I could. The star’s a little loose though,” you tell him.  

“Dont worry about it,” Steve takes the mug and pulls you in with his free hand, giving you a kiss on your forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Soon enough, half filled cups of tea are forgotten on the nightstand. Clothing thrown around the room without care. Steve couldn’t help himself after craving your touch for so long. He’s sure you’ve felt the same, your breathy “please” told him so. Though he didn’t give in so quick, never missing a chance to tease you. Steve took his time rediscovering your taste. Remembering all the ways he drew out those little gasps. He’s dreamt about the way you wrap around him, but that could never compare to the real thing. He missed the way your body felt pressed against his. He missed the sounds of your moans in his ear and the sweet relief that comes after you both meet your ends.

For the rest of the night, the two of you laid in bed, legs twisted together and comfortably wrapped up in each other’s arms. Despite the late hour, you stayed up just talking.

Steve asked about what you have been up to since he’s been gone. You told him about how it’s been at work and the times you’d meet up with your friends over the weekend. You told him about the week you spent with your parents, wishing he could’ve been there. And you talked about the shows you’ve been watching, promising that you’d watch it with him one day.

Your lives were so different now. He wishes he could go back to the days when things weren’t so difficult. He wants that normalcy again, or at least what was normal for an Avenger. He thought he gave up on the idea of wanting a domestic life, forfeited to being a hero instead. But things have changed. Ever since he’s met you, you’ve unknowingly changed his mind.

Maybe it’s the time apart that’s making these moments with you that much more valuable, but it’s all he wants now. It always seems like a fleeting dream. This kind of domestic life isn’t in the cards for him. But the nights he gets to have with you give him hope that it could be possible. He knows he could never completely give up his heroic lifestyle. People need him and he is never one to turn a blind eye. He just hopes that one day he can find a compromise.

Maybe someday he can show up at your office and steal you away for lunch. Or he can join you on those nights out with your friends and get to know them. He would finally meet your family, saving you from them trying to set you up on a date. He’d finally introduce you to the team, the people he considers family. Bucky already knows about you. Steve couldn’t hide someone so important from his best friend. He's pretty sure that Sam and Natasha know where he runs off to every now and then. They even subtly remind him of how risky it is to sneak away. But after the fighting for so long, being with you is just what he needs, even if only for a night.

You were curious, of course, of what Steve has been up to in the time he was gone and where in the world he’s been. Steve avoided any details of the missions he’s gone on. He didn’t want to make you worry, though he’s sure you do anyways. He only tells you the good parts.

“Bucky has goats now,” he says with a smile, recalling the sight of Bucky helping the Wakandans on their farms.

“Really?” you raise your head from his chest, a look of surprise on your features.

“Yeah,” he says with a breathy laugh. “One of them even tried to eat Sam’s pants.”

“Oh my god,” both of your laughters break the quiet of the room.

There’s a lull in the conversation, but it’s a comfortable silence. Steve just enjoys the comforting weight of your body on top of his as he soothingly rubs his hand up and down your arm. For a second, he thinks you’ve fallen asleep but you turn your head to look up at him. He can see how sleepy you are, eyelids half closed. You stare for a moment with a small content smile. Your hand reaches for his face, delicate fingers stroking his beard.

“I like this,” you mutter.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmmm,” you affirm. “Didn’t think you could get any sexier but wow” your eyes widen, emphasizing the last part.

Steve throws his head back, laughing at your comment. You giggle along with him, tucking yourself back closer into his side.

“Guess I’ll keep it then,” he muses.

Silence takes over again. Your fingers draw random shapes across his chest, careful of the bruise on his side. Gradually, your movements get slower until your hand rests above his heart.  

“You should get some sleep sweetheart,” Steve says, kissing the top of your head. He knows he should probably sleep too, but he doesn’t want to. He just wants to enjoy having you in his arms while he can.

“Noooooo,” you let out an adorable whine.  

Steve turns to his side, both of you now face to face. Looking into your eyes, he knows this is exactly where he wants to be. His hand tucks a stray hair behind your ear, thumb caressing your face.

“Wanna stay up with you,” you say, the sleepiness evident in your voice.

Steve glances towards the window, noticing the subtle change of the sky. The dark night beginning to fade away to early morning blues.

His throat feels dry when he looks back at you and says “I have to go soon.”

The pout on your face returns and he wishes he could take it back. You let out a sigh.

“What if you just stayed, right here in this bed and we just never leave?” you asked with a teasing smile.

Steve smirks at the thought, “very tempting.”

“Or,” you begin to suggest, “what if I just went with you?”

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t given it a thought. He knows how much you want to see the world, but it shouldn’t be because you’re following a fugitive. He’s thought about asking the king for another favor, letting just one more person stay in Wakanda, so he can safely visit you more often. But you had your friends and family. He couldn’t be selfish and take you away from your life here. Above all else, he wanted to keep you safe. It was the reason for keeping your relationship a secret in the first place. He didn’t want you being associated with him in fear that you’d be used against him. He’s glad he kept you a secret, especially now that he became a part of the nation’s most wanted.

“I can’t ask that of you,” he says regretfully.

You look at him with sincerity, “I’d go anywhere with you, Steve.”

“I know,” he sighs, “but it’s too dangerous.”

You look at him sadly, before shying away from his stare. “I know.”

“Hey,” he coos softly. His finger bringing up your chin, getting you to look back at him. “Things will get better for us, I promise.”

You nod subtly, and he hopes you believe his words.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” you say, voice breaking toward the end. He can see the emotions swimming in your eyes.

“I wish I didn’t either.”

He leans in to meet your lips, hoping it’ll alleviate the pain in your heart. It damn near breaks him seeing you like this. He hates the torment he’s putting you through, but he was too selfish to actually let you go. He needed the hope you gave him. He needed you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, wiping away a stray tear.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he reassures you. “Being away from you is hard for me too. Trust me sweetheart, there’s no place I’d rather be than here with you.”

“I know,” you say with a sad smile.

“I love you,” he states firmly, needing you to know that he means it more than anything.

“I love you too,” you respond with a small smile.

He bumps his nose against yours, before giving you another chaste kiss.

The morning light starts to fill the bedroom, signaling his time was almost up. He looks back at you, “Go to sleep, doll.”

You don’t protest this time. Instead, you pull yourself closer, tucking yourself into his embrace. He lays back, swallowing down the sudden emotion he feels. His hand comfortingly strokes down your back, lulling you to sleep. Steve waits for your breathing to even out, making sure you were sleeping before reluctantly leaving your grip.

He quietly gets dressed in his now clean suit that was left hanging on your desk chair. He’s in no rush to leave, taking his time putting his gear back on. He looks over at you and sees you clutching your pillow in place of him. Part of him wonders what the consequences would be if he just stayed.

As he pulls on his suit, Steve notices the off-white star slightly bent off the center of his chest. He rips the whole thing off and walks over to your desk, finding a sticky note and a pen. He writes a reminder of his love for you and a promise that he’ll come back soon. He leaves the note and star on your nightstand for you to find when you wake up.

Just before he leaves, he goes to you and leans down to place a lingering kiss on your forehead, careful not to wake you up. 

He leaves your apartment the same way he came in. The air is much colder. He can hear sounds of the early risers and the birds chirping as he makes his way back down the fire escape. Steve glances one last time at your apartment window. He regretfully leaves the comfort and safety of home, back to his reality of life in the shadows.

thank you for reading! hope you liked it 🤍 as always, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated !!

[creativia10]

I would Duel for you

Virgil has fantasies about how the final battle with his brother could have gone differently to satisfy his thirst for revenge, and wish to physically make up for what his brother put Roman through. At least one of these can become a reality.

Pairing: Virgil x Roman

Wordcount: 2528

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, implies past abusive relationship, mentions past unsympathetic Deceit

Notes: This is a coda/fanfic of @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors 's Love ad Other Fairytales series. This is set some time after the main story, during the first year after. I am also posting this on my ao3, where I will have a longer AN and tags. Also note, I put this as M on my ao3. This is my first time writing a fic like this. I hope I am tagging this right.

Virgil wouldn’t change how they saved everyone from his brother. He was proud that Roman was able to be the hero he had always wanted to. So proud of his brave knight to have been able to get the ring from his brother, knowing how difficult that must have been. However, the more romantic, possessive, and fae parts of him would imagine things going differently. More specifically, the primal urge that came to the front when he thought about what his brother did with Roman. It was bad enough knowing his brother was had been with Roman first, but Roman had found Virgil first. Stupid curse.

So, ever since Roman first told them about his deal with the Serpent King, many images came to his mind on how he wanted to fix it.

Going back and forth between, murder the snake, he is mine, how dare that snake take another of mine, how dare he hurt someone as amazing and lovely as him.

In a way, he did get what he wanted. The Serpent King was killed. Greta was most justified to do the job than any of them. Yet, there were times he wished he could have dealt with the situation more personally. Maybe some sort of snarling speech, that was a bit of an embarrassing wish though. He did not like talking in front of crowds, which sucked when you ruled the entire magical forest.

It would go something like this,

His brother had just manhandled Roman onto his spot on the armrest of the throne. His hand going to that possessive grip on the back of Roman’s neck.

A guttural growl came from Virgil.

“ Get. Your. F***ing hands. Off of Him!”

His brother would just give him a smug look.

“I don’t think you’re in a place to be making demands right now. You can’t even get to him.”

Virgil didn’t always picture the details of how he made it over there, just that he did.

Then, Virgil and his brother were squaring up on the battlefield, Roman kept behind the snake.

A grand magical duel would take place,

or sometimes a bloody vicious battle, depending on how homicidal of a mood Virgil was in when he pictured it. The point was, he usually fought his brother directly, for Roman. Sometimes he demanded Roman be released to him first. Sometimes, Virgil immediately went for the kill, unforgiving of his brother for what he did to his love.

Virgil would go over to Roman immediately after. Usually he would just hold him tightly and warmly. Roman would say something. It wasn’t always the same. Usually of gratitude. Most of the time, Virgil spoke first, as Roman was speechless, having trouble comprehending that he truly was free. Virgil always would, and he still did, have the urge to do whatever he could to just make it better. There was usually a kiss. One with a lot of gentle caressing. The kiss was usually passionate. Sometimes interspersed with sweet continuous expressions of, “I love you’s”. Sometimes Virgil muttered more heated and possessive things, that were still warm. Sometimes they were on the seductive side, of asking how he could physically erase his brother’s horrid touch, wanting to bring Roman so much pleasure he couldn’t think about whatever the stupid snake had done first. Because Virgil loved him, and intimacy would always be better when there was real love.

Sometimes, in a moment of passion, Virgil would dive in for a passionate kiss first, but usually something would be said, and some loving touching would take place before the kissing. Sometimes he would keep going where the kissing escalated to them getting frisky against a tree, but usually Virgil would try to keep his mind from going that far.

The main thing, was Virgil would mutter promises that Roman would never have to deal with his brother’s cruel hand again. Virgil was pretty sure Roman knew that though.

“Virgil?” Virgil blinked from his reverie as he turned to the speaker.

He always wished he could do more. He knew that recovering from stuff was something he couldn’t just fight away. But gosh did he wish he could. He wanted to make up for every moment that bastard took from them.

Part of him felt guilty about some of his daydreams, as he knew Roman was not ready for the more physical parts of a relationship. Virgil would never want him to feel pressure or rushed though, not after what his brother did to his beloved.

“Virgil are you ok?”

Virgil smiled a little at Patton, uncertain how he could respond, because he didn’t know.

“I was just thinking,” He said. Patton frowned at the non-answer, but nodded hesitantly.

“Okaay…well good luck on your checkup!”

“Pat…” Logan said with an exasperated look. “That makes it sound like he’s going to a doctor.”

“Well, I mean he is checking up on his mom though! So I technically wasn’t wrong.”

Logan rolled his eyes and held Patton’s hand.

“See you later.”

Since Roman had insisted on joining Virgil as he checked on the status of the forest, Patton and Logan had decided to make a date out of it. They all waved bye, and Virgil turned to face the forest. He couldn’t seem to help thinking of his imagines upon realizing this would be his first time alone with Roman since the defeat of the Serpent King, and since the four’s relationship came to be.

Roman stood up beside him, with a smile.

“Ready?” He was dressed in what Virgil believed used to be his ‘hunting’ getup, an iron blade in its sheath. Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Yes. Remember to stick close to me.”

Roman huffed, but surprisingly didn’t protest as they started off. Virgil was finding himself…distracted. In many ways though. They were here to check on the forest, but Virgil’s focus kept going to Roman. His wonderful knight. Actually there with him, while they were both awake. How wonderful he was. Then frustration that by thinking about that, he was distracted from being in the moment with Roman, along with other ‘new relationship’ anxieties. Also, as his thoughts often led back to, just how much he had lost with Roman because of his stupid brother. Being alone with Roman brought some of these urges to his forefront even more.

He could see them on the battlefield. Somehow, the serpent was frozen in place, he hadn’t put thought into how, daydreams didn’t always make sense. He was kissing Roman passionately and possessively, to show that fiend did not have him anymore, that-

“V?”

Virgil blinked, and turned to Roman, who was giving him a concerned look.

“Are you alright? You seemed a bit spacey there.”

Virgil looked away again, thinking of what he could say.

“…I have stated that my communing with my mother does not look the same to onlookers.”

“…okay, I know avoiding an answer when I hear one, V.”

He slipped his hand into Virgil’s and interlaced their fingers. His hand was so warm. It felt so nice. Another thing he absolutely adored about his love. He just wanted to caress it, and maybe pull him into a passionate embrace where he could-

Virgil took in a sharp inhale, trying not to squeeze Roman’s hand too hard. The last thing he wanted was to hurt or scare him. Roman was still looking at him, brows furrowed.

“Hey. What is it?” He stopped.

“We probably shouldn’t just stop here in the middle of the forest.”

Roman half smiled and walked closer to him, holding Virgil’s other hand as well.

“I am here, with the prince of the forest. I am sure we’re okay.”

Damn right, he thought in response to that.

Virgil smiled at him, sure the awe was clear on his face. Virgil brought their hands up so he could gently cup Roman’s face, and pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes. He let out a relieved sigh at feeling his love’s touch.

“It might seem silly,” he finally admitted.

Roman laughed a little at that, then Virgil felt him nuzzle their noses together.

“I am sure I won’t mind, my spidery princeling. Especially when you are acting so vulnerable about it.” He leaned forward quickly to peck Virgil then back. Virgil almost followed his lips then stopped himself. He wanted to at least let Roman know what had been playing through his mind before he found himself go any further. He was still hesitant though.

“…also might reference a topic you may not want to talk about.” He heard a sharp inhale from Roman, so he started to pull away and opened his eyes. Roman squeezed Virgil’s hands before he could let go.

“How about you start…and I’ll let you know if I can’t right now, okay?”

Virgil hesitated but nodded.

“Okay, so” He took a breath. “Since…the Serpent King’s defeat-“

Virgil didn’t miss Roman’s wince at the mention, but he didn’t protest,

“Or, well really since you first mentioned the deal he wrapped you up in, I have been…sort of fantasizing about ways I could fix it.” Roman gave him a confused look. Virgil sighed.

“I find myself…picturing I got to deal with him personally…and then doing my best to erase whatever way he might have touched you…by compensating with my own touch,” Virgil looked back up at him, not wanting to scare him, but unable to help the intensity of his stare. Even mentioning the fantasies out loud, had Virgil having to restrain a growl. Roman inhaled, but he didn’t seem scared.

“O-oh?” Roman asked. Virgil nodded.

“I am sure you have caught on to how fae can be possessive. And I would never force you into anything of course, unlike my brother. Him being the one to do what he did to you, made it more personal for me.” With as much restraint as he could, Virgil shakily put a hand up to cup Roman’s face again.

“I had been waiting for you,” He sounded a little watery as he spoke, but he kept going, “You are the main one who kept me from being lonely during my slumber. If I could do anything I could to erase any pain you may have gone through…know that I would.”

Roman took a shaky breath, his eyes starting to look a little shiny.

“Okay.” Roman simply said. He brought their hands to his lips and gently kissed them.

He looked back up at Virgil and smiled a little shakily.

“I gotta say…I love hearing how much you want to be with me, my love.” He dropped their hands and looked back at him.

“Can I ask…how would you make it up to me? What are you wanting to do?”

Virgil’s eyes widened at that, unable to restrain his growl that time.

“Are you wanting me to show you?”

Roman smiled a little, blushing, and then nodded.

“You know how I love to be pampered,” He said.

Virgil smirked, and then slowly started to back Roman until he was against a tree.

“Remember, tell me at any time if there is anything you don’t want, okay?”

Roman nodded, biting his lip a little. Virgil’s eyes zeroed in on that. He moved his hands to grip Roman’s waist, and leaned in.

“Where?” He asked, figuring Roman knew what he was asking, but hoping it wouldn’t be too much.

Roman thought for a moment, then lifted a wrist up to Virgil. Virgil grasped his hand, and leaned his hips forward so Roman was still pinned to the tree, getting a gasp out of Roman, and looked over the wrist. Then he leaned forward and kissed the wrist, looking at Roman as he did so.

He flicked his tongue against it, mouthed at the spot, and gently grazed his teeth against it. Another breathy sound from Roman. Virgil smiled at him, glad to see the lack of fear from Roman’s face, exactly what he was going for. He asked him again with his eyes. Roman slowly nodded and then tilted his head. Immediately, Virgil sprung forward and attached his lips to that spot on the junction of Roman’s neck. It was a good spot. Virgil got a lovely moan from that one. His hands, back on Roman’s hips, was brushing his thumb back and forth, alternating with how he would squeeze them. Then both pressed against each other, trying to feel as much of the other as they could.

Roman ran his hands up and down Virgil’s sides, and twirled them in his hair some.

Virgil enthusiastically kissed up Roman’s neck, until their lips were a mere breath apart, and he didn’t know who pushed forward first, but then they were kissing. It got passionate immediately, alternating from loving touches to erotic ones. He wanted to feel him as much as he possibly could.

He put a lot of force into his kiss, but made sure to keep the pace of the kiss with how Roman was pushing forward, not wanting to get too rough. Lips gripped. Virgil bit Roman’s lips getting a particularly loud moan out of him, which made Virgil shiver. He absolutely loved being able to get Roman like this. This was how it was supposed to be for him. He was the one to get him to feel like this. Virgil licked over Roman’s lips and then flicked his tongue into Roman’s mouth, as they toyed with each other. It was wonderful, and Virgil felt some tension he had been feeling get released.

Virgil thinks he may have been muttering I love yous in between.

He pulled away barely, just to kiss all around Roman’s face, who was breathing very heavily, already slumping against the tree.

Virgil pulled away to look at him, his blood thrumming.

“I cannot wait for the day we can physically become one,” He said, as he pushed a lock of hair behind Roman’s head. Roman was still panting but he smiled up at him.

“Me too.”

Virgil helped him up and strung his arm around the back of his shoulders to keep him upright.

“Perhaps we should continue the forest checking when I am a bit more focused.” Virgil said.

Roman snorted at that, and leaned his head against Virgil’s.

“Yeah, probably would be best. Cuddles?”

“Of course my love,” and he kissed the top of Roman’s head before they headed back, Roman a little shaky on his feet.

“Should I carry you back?”

Roman blushed and didn’t say anything.

“Is that a yes?”

Roman sighed, “I am just thinking about whatever comments Mamaw may give.”

Virgil shrugged, and quickly lifted him into a bridal carry, causing Roman to yelp and blush more.

“I can always put you down before we get to the house?”

Roman didn’t respond. Virgil smiled and started walking back.

“…do you seriously intend to carry me like this the entire time?”

“It’s not taxing for me. Let me feel like I rescue the dame in distress for once.”

“What do you mean for once? Virgiil~.”

Virgil laughed as they made their way back. Maybe some good did come out of his daydreams after all.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Lips of an Angel (Modern!AU)

My Masterlist  

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Ivar/Freydis, Reader/OC

Summary: “Well, I had this idea of Ivar x reader based off the song Lips of an Angel. (If you feel like a Modern AU works best that's fine) Where Ivar is with Freydis, but Ivar never let go of his feelings for the reader and she never let go of hers, and you can decide how you want it to end.”

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Angst, lost love, implied/mentioned sex/cheating, teeny tiny mentions of sub!Ivar (couldn’t help myself, sorry)

A/N: So here’s the modern version of this request, bc I’m a mess and couldn’t decide. I hope I did okay, and that the lovely anon that requested this is happy with how it turned out. Thank you so much!

You can find the Viking Era version of this request right here

“He asked me to marry him.”

Your words drop on Ivar’s chest with such weight he almost gasps, and parted lips try bringing air to lungs that cannot function, that remain paralyzed.

You’re marrying someone else.

He tells you to wait, or he thinks he does, hopes he does. All he can think of is getting out of this fucking bed and being able to talk to you, to…to make sense of the world again.

You haven’t called him in…Gods, in so long. All he has had of you for almost two years is the polite smiles and the civil conversations to be held when your family and his get together.

But now, now you call him in the middle of the night, saying his name like you used to, and telling him…telling him…

You’re marrying someone else.

Getting onto his chair has never proven so difficult, with shaking hands and panicked breaths. He moves towards the leaving room, leaving behind a bedroom of two people that have seen someone else when they whisper their I love you’s for months now, that have pretended not to hear names not their own when they lose themselves in each other since the beginning.

“Talk to me, princess.” Ivar asks once he gets to the living room, free hand tapping anxiously at the wheel of his chair as he hears you take a few deep breaths.

“Emil asked me to marry him.”

He grits his teeth, “I got that part.”

“I…I don’t know why I called, I just…” “I should have said yes. He’s…he’s a sweet guy, and my dad loves him, and…”

Ivar refuses to sit there like an idiot and hear you sing praises to the man you’re dating, and it is with a bubble of anger and resentment that he calls out your name, stopping you.

You sigh, and it feels so familiar his chest pulls tight, “It’s been so long since you’ve said my name.”

His eyes fall closed, and he drags a hand over his face, trying to find some sort of stability in this madness. He hates how you still have this hold over him, how with only a few words you turn him inside out, leave him raw and vulnerable.

“Wh-Why do you tell me this?” He asks, tilting his head back and resting his head on the backrest of the chair, looking up at a darkened ceiling. “To torture me? To play some kind of-…”

“Because I couldn’t say yes,” You whisper, and at the way you seem to be so close to crying his own chest hurts. “Ivar, I…I…”

“What, princess?” He presses, because he cannot hold his breath any longer, because you pulled him under with the sweet sound of his name on your lips and he hasn’t been able to breathe properly since you called.

“I shouldn’t have called,” You mutter, almost to yourself, “You’re with someone else, I-…”

“She isn’t you.” Ivar tells you, too-late regretting being so honest, sounding so pathetically desperate.

You remain silent for so long he almost wants to hang up, to end this whirlwind that has made his world be upside down, to save himself the humiliation of a rejection.

“I never moved on, Ivar,” You confess, and in a sigh that he can close his eyes and feel by his ear as if you were there, you seem to find your strength. Because after a moment, you clear your throat and sentence, “But I have to.”

He’s left alone with silence on the other line.

He’s angry and drunk and he feels broken, and you have to answer for what you’ve done to him His fingers are tapping on the call button before he can think twice about it, but all that meets him is silence.

And sitting alone in a darkened living room of a place he doesn’t know, because he had to leave his last apartment haunted by the ghost of you; he finds himself alone and heartbroken.

You’re marrying someone else.

Someone that isn’t him.

You’re loving someone else.

Someone that isn’t him.

He feels the prick of tears in his eyes, the tightening of his throat, the restless energy to do something, stop this…this chaos you put inside of him, this mess you’ve made of his heart or whatever is left of it.

You always did breeze -barrel- into his life and turn everything upside down, made him lose control over his heart, his mind, his everything. Since the beginning.

And now you call him to…to what? To tell him the woman he loves is getting engaged to some fucking guy that doesn’t deserve her, that could never love her the way he could? To let him know you’ve moved on and are going to marry this fucker and have his children and all that while still holding Ivar’s heart with an iron grip?

No, no, he won’t be played with, he won’t be humiliated like this.

Ivar pulls out his phone with shaking hands, jaw set so tight he fears his teeth will break.

Two can play that game. Two can ‘move on’. Two can inflict pain.

He’s searching for an engagement ring before he can think twice about it. Scrolls down countless diamond rings, trying to find the most expensive-looking one.

Freydis will agree, she is as lost as he is, she will agree. He can convince her if she has doubts, he is sure of it.

Imagining putting a ring on her finger feels wrong, so fucking wrong when he still holds on to the one he won for you at that stupid fair you forced him to go to.

You extend your left hand excitedly, almost bouncing on your feet, and for a moment Ivar can pretend it isn’t a plastic ring what he’s putting on your finger. You bring his lips to yours and seal a smile against his lips, “This one will do till you give me the real one, Lothbrok.”

The night everything fell to pieces you gave him back that plastic ring, like it meant something, like he’d meant something. And he still has it, he still keeps it safe next to the arm ring his father gifted him.

That last night -it wasn’t the last time he ever saw you, he has seen you afterwards many times, but it was the last night of the two of you, of what had been and what could be- still replays in his head in his worst times. And his best too. Ivar cannot let go of the could have been’s, cannot move on from you, not when his legs are worse than usual and he feels alone and cursed, not when his father praises his work in the family business and he feels like he’s on top of the world.

And that night that repeats in his head taunts him with the last -not the last, but in a way they were- words you said to him, “I wish we could be strangers again.”

It is with an angry twist of his lips, with a frustrated growl that is kept at bay by gritted teeth that Ivar stops searching for the engagement ring to give Freydis.

What will change, if he makes her his fiancée? You will still be with someone else, marrying someone else, loving someone else.

Before he closes the browser where some expensive and pretentious-looking store offers him rings to cover up regret, his eye catches on one of the diamond pieces. It is strikingly similar to the one he gifted you as a joke that ended up being so much more, and when he taps to see the name, Ivar’s breath catches.

Angel.

Your eyes are adorably focused on the red marks on his chest, a small frown between your brows.

It is almost without thinking, almost startling him, that you lean closer and press the softest of kisses over one of the marks, making Ivar feel so unbearably warm.

He finds himself smiling, like the lovesick idiot he is. And for the brief moment where your lips are pressed against his skin and your warmth is enveloping him and he is still riding that high of feeling utterly yours¸ he finds that he doesn’t care if he is playing the part of the enthralled fool chasing after a girl that is so out of his reach. Because in these small instants where it is just him and just you, he feels loved.

“Are you trying to heal me with kisses, princess?”

“Maybe,” You mumble, before offering him a smile that is almost blinding. “I’m good with kisses.”

“Mhm, you are,” For good measure Ivar puts his hand at the back of your head and brings your lips to his own. After a few breaths, he continues, “You got the lips of an angel.”

He manages to make you snort with a roll of your eyes, clearly flustered even if you try to write it off as cheesiness.

“That’s a song, and you know it.”

He moves closer to you, pressing a kiss right over the dip of your collarbones, “Is it?”

Your answering laugh sounds breathy and soft by his ear.

He doesn’t give himself time to think it through before he’s given his credit card number and made the necessary arrangements.

He is calling you before he can think about it and back out too.

“I b-bought plane tickets, and booked a hotel. Vestfold.”

“Vestfold? The same h-…”

“Yes,” He interrupts, although some of his anxiety recedes at the fact that you don’t immediately laugh and hung up. “A week. Will you be there?”

“Ivar…”

This is madness, he is being crazy and impulsive and desperate, but he finds he doesn’t care.

“You aren’t sure, you wouldn’t have called me if you were sure and happy with him,” He presses, hand tightening over the phone, “One week, princess.”

The silence that follows his words is deafening, and Ivar feels like he is dangling over the edge of a cliff, needing but one word to either fall or return to safety.

You sigh, and it sounds tremulous, “What time does the plane take off?”

____

He knows it is not rational, he knows it is stupid and crazy. But Ivar finds himself trying to convince you to stay with him with sex.

Whoever this other man is can probably give you more stability than Ivar ever did, with his anger and his pain and his jealousy. He can probably give you a normal life where the name Lothbrok doesn’t hang over your head with the promises of unfaithfulness and broken marriages. He can probably give you much more than he can.

But he can’t make you feel like Ivar can.

He can’t make your lips -hypnotizing, dangerous, lips- part in ecstasy like Ivar can, he can’t make you moan and whimper and say his name in that sweet way of yours, he can’t make you shed that pretend softness and let you draw pleasure and pain and blood and pleas from his lips, he can’t make you come like he can.

And in the week he gets to have you, both of you pretending there’s nothing wrong with this, both of you satiating more than a year’s worth of hunger on each other’s skin; Ivar does try his best to show you this.

To show you that if nothing else, he can make sure your body will never forget him.

That for all the thing a life with him would take from you, it would give you this, whatever it is worth. His body, his heart, him.

He isn’t a sucker for punishment, or…not that kind of punishment, so of course he doesn’t say anything. He pretends, alongside you, that there’s not a world past this, that there isn’t a choice to make at the end of this brief paradise.

And it is easy, to forget, to pretend.

Waking up every day to the sight of the snow covering the small hotel in the middle of nowhere, with you pressed against him in some way or another; getting to wake you up by making you moan his name, getting to play idly with your fingers as you both look out the window and watch the sun rise; it lets him keep this fantasy alive.

Spending the day and night lost in you, in your scent and your touch and your lips, it lets him pretend the last year never happened, it lets him pretend this is his life. What it always has been, what it always should be.

And Ivar dares think it is the same for you, because your left hand holds no ring and your eyes are loving and warm as you look at him, because your smiles are easy and your kisses are as if the time apart never happened.

For the first time in a long time, Ivar feels happy, Ivar feels -naively, wretchedly maybe- loved.

But, all good things end, especially for him.

And soon it has been a week since you agreed to meet him here.

You wake him up with the delicate and warm caress of your fingers up and down his back, and all Ivar can offer in response to your good morning is a hum as he sinks further into the pillows.

After a moment, he lifts a heavy hand and lets it find a home on your thigh, moving up and down and delighting himself in the way you fidget whenever he creeps too high up.

But because one of you has to say it, Ivar turns his head on the pillow so he can see you where you sit cross-legged at his side, and whispers, “Time’s up, isn’t it?”

“Mhm,” You tell him with a nod. After a few moments of silence, you sigh, “I should have known…earlier. I should have been strong enough to face the truth.”

He swallows down the apprehension, the knot of tension in his stomach, “Which is?”

“I could have never accepted that ring,” You sentence, and with almost as man words as that night a week ago when you called and dropped the weight of the world on Ivar’s chest, now you free him of it. You shake your head at yourself, “I feel like a monster. He went down on one knee, gave me some speech about how he loved me, and how…how he wanted to deserve me; and I couldn’t answer him.

Ivar sits up when he hears the bitter laugh that leaves your lips.

“My boyfriend proposed to me, and the first thing I did wasn’t call my mom or my sister to tell them the news, or…or take a picture of the ring and post an announcement, or…I don’t know, fucking my fiancé!” Your words end with a shout, and you drop your head to your hands, “No, the first thing I did was call you. Because…Gods, Ivar, despite everything, I don’t see the rest of my life with anyone but you.”

Nothing could stop him then from leaning close to you, from having his hand find yours and your fingers intertwine. He lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to your fingers.

“Do you think it is any different for me, hm?”

This time you do smile, and it looks freer than earlier, and you still look at him with the same softness and the same warmth even if the fantasy is over.

“We are hopeless, aren’t we?”

“You told me once that you wished we could be strangers again, start over,” Looking into your eyes he lowers his voice and promises, “We can do that.”

“We’ve spent the last week in a hotel room together. That isn’t something strangers do.”

He shrugs, a downward curve of his mouth, “Could be. When our children ask, we’ll say we met on some bar while on holiday, and spent the best week of our lives so far fucking each other in some hotel in Vestfold.”

His heart beats fast in his chest because Gods, he is getting ahead of himself, he is being reckless and crazy and…

“That’s not something you can tell the children, Ivar.”

He laughs with you, not so much at the levity of the situation, but at the weight you lift from his heart with the curve of your smile.

When the moment passes, the smile you offer him is the same one he remembers, the excited and scared and loving curve of your lips -tempting, perfect, lips- of that day when he offered you a plastic ring and a promise.

“I didn’t call too late, did I?”

And he gets to kiss you again, this time not in borrowed time, not in fantasy, not in fear of what is to come.

____ ____ ____

I hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss  @peachyboneless​ @encounterthepast​ @maggiescarborough​ @chibisgotovalhalla​​ @fae-sedai​

[cantteachanoldguardnewquotes]

A "Scandal."

Read on AO3

Summary: A lady accuses Nicky of cheating on Joe and Joe thinks they're an idiot.

"Oh, hello." 

Joe grit his teeth just for a moment before turning around with a pleasant smile. "Hi there, Nora." 

"I didn't think you would still be here. Waiting for me?" She winked at him. 

"The boss just wanted me to finish filling out these papers for him, that's all."

"Hmmm, pity." She said trying to be coy.  "It's so late, let me get some dinner for us and we can finish our paper work together." 

It took a lot for Joe not to make a face. "That's alright. Nicky will have food warming for me when I get home." He emphasized the words Nicky and home just a bit. 

"Oh come on, it's my treat." 

He shrugged an apology. "Maybe another time." 

"Well, I hope your leftovers are... Satisfying." She turned on her heel and walked away quickly. 

Joe waited until she was gone and then turned around with an exaggerated eye roll that no one could see. This job had been going on for way to long, and he was sick of it. He went back to his "paperwork" that the boss had definitely not told him to do and continued scanning the files for anything incriminating. They had it on good authority that the head of this company had kidnapped a girl but they still couldn't prove it. He had broken into the bosses office cause he didn't think anyone was still here and brought the papers back to his cubicle. Of course Nora would still be here, she probably sensed his presence and came running. This job wouldn't be nearly as irksome if it wasn't for her. 

He finished looking through the files and then very carefully replaced them in his bosses office. They hadn't been any help but it was worth a shot. 

He texted Nicky he was on his way home, drove to the the little apartment they were renting, and trudged inside. 

Just like he knew he would, Nicky, had dinner warm and waiting, the predictability of it made Joe smile and instead of sitting at the table like Nicky directed him too, he made a bee line for Nicky. 

Nicky laughed at the bear hug Joe gave him, squeezing Joe just as tight as Joe was holding him.

"What's got you in such a clingy mood, hmm?" Nicky teased when Joe didn't let go of him when he usually would have. 

"You're cooking is so much better than takeout." 

Nicky pulled back enough to look at Joe in confusion. "Thank you?" 

"And I knew you would have something waiting for me." 

"Of course, I told you this morning I would make dinner and keep it warm for you." Nicky said still confused. 

"Thank you, my love. I really couldn't ask for more." He kissed Nicky, gently, moving his hands to cradle his neck. "I love you." He said when he pulled back.

"I love you too." Nicky said as he ran his hand through Joe's curls. "But you must be starving. Sit and we can eat." 

Joe glanced at the clock. "You haven't eaten? You didn't have to wait for me, it's late." 

Nicky smiled. "I wanted to." 

Nicky had made a chicken and rice dish and it smelled heavenly. It tasted just as heavenly Joe thought after taking his first bite. 

"What's on your mind?" Nicky asked after they had eaten in silence for a while. 

"That woman, Nora, asked me to eat with her after work again. I swear she has a sixth sense for when I'm by myself, she finds me every time. I don't think I've ever had to turn someone down this many times." 

Nicky smirked. "You're to charming for your own good." 

Joe absently rubbed his ring with his thumb. "I told her you would have food at home for me and she implied it would be terrible leftovers." 

Nicky chuckled "So, the first thing you did when you walked in was compliment it even before you ate any of it." 

"Your cooking is always good." Joe took a large bite, almost like he was trying to prove his words, making Nicky laugh.

"She's bothering you that much?" Nicky said his smile replaced with a look of concern. 

"She's just annoying. The first job in forever where I get to tell people I'm a married man and somehow I'm stuck with the most persistent suiter in years." 

None of this would bother Joe nearly as much if she hadn't met Nicky and still made advances. Joe couldn't decide if he was more insulted that she deemed Nicky an unfit partner or if she thought they weren't going to last. 

"I'm sure we'll be finished soon." Nicky said sympathetically, he'd had his own run ins with this woman since he and Joe were working in the same place. She had taken an instant disliking to him even before she knew they were together. It was certainly making everything harder but she was one of the higher ups and they both needed to be nice to her. 

Joe sighed. "You're right, of course, but it's frustrating." 

"Maybe this will help cheer you up." Nicky stood up and opened the freezer, pulling out Joe's favorite flavor of gelato. 

Joe's eyes lit up and he grinned ear to ear.

Nicky was predictable but he knew how to make a small surprise count. 

******

Joe was taking his lunch break outside on the grass, tucked behind some bushes so it would be difficult to spot him from the parking lot or main entrance. If he had to suffer another lunch break where Nora ate with him, saying anything to drag conversation out of him, he was going to lose it. He was very happily reading on his phone, when he heard someone approaching. 

"It's such a beautiful day I thought I'd eat outside too. I guess great minds think alike." Nora smiled down at him. She didn't even ask just sat down and made herself comfortable. 

"Hello, Nora." Joe said, trying to decide if he should just keep reading and ignore her or not. Ultimately politeness won and he put away his phone, but he started eating a little faster. 

"Why were you eating all alone? If you had asked I would have joined you sooner."

"I like the quiet sometimes." Joe said.

She pursed her lips. "How dreadfully boring." She tilted her head to the side just a bit. "Why doesn't that Nicky fellow ever eat with you? You said the two of you know each other didn't you? Why don't I ever see you together?"

Joe bristled at her tone, like she was dismissing Nicky, like he wasn't the most important person in Joe's world. "My husband." He emphasized the word just a bit. "Works in the warehouse part of the company and takes his lunches earlier because he gets here earlier."

"Oh you did say you two were married didn't you? Silly me, must have slipped my mind." She shook her head in an 'I'm such an airhead' kind of way. "How long have you been together?"

"Almost a millennia." Joe deadpans sarcastically.

She rolls her eyes. "Oh come on. I bet you can't even remember how long you two have been together. Guys never can."

If only she knew. "We've been married twelve years."

"You've been tied down for that long? What a tragedy to get married so young." 

Before Joe can respond she leans in far closer than Joe is comfortable with and places her hand on his knee. "If you ever want to have a little fun just let me know." She slowly walked her hand up his thigh. "Surely, you must want to change things up sometimes." 

Joe ground his teeth together, knocked her hand off of him, and stood quickly. "I would never be unfaithful to my husband." He started gathering up his things. "And I would ask you to not forget that." He quickly walked back into the building trying to hide his anger from the people he passed, wishing for the millionth time he could end this job and put the whole thing behind him.

******

A few days passed and it was Nicky who found the evidence they needed to incriminate the boss. He had broken into the guys house and was able to send Copley some files he'd had saved on his home computer. 

They were waiting for Copley to get back with them, keeping their covers and going about their lives like everything was normal, waiting for the all clear to pull out. 

"Joe, I need you to come with me to my office." Nora said, he hadn't heard her approach and her voice startled him a little. 

As he followed her there, he worried she might have discovered what he and Nicky were really there for, but knew it was more likely she's just using whatever she wants to tell him as an excuse to get them alone. 

Once inside Nora closed the door to her office and gestured for him to sit. Instead of sitting in her chair behind the desk she took the one next to him. 

Joe frowned ever so slightly. This wasn't going to be about work he found himself thinking. 

"Joe I... I hate to be the one to tell you this but... "She stammered out the words like she was about to tell him someone had died. "But I believe Nicky is having an affair."

Her eyes were filled with pity, as she said this, but Joe couldn't help but compare it to a child trying to get another kid in trouble. There was nothing sincere about the look, despite her best efforts to make him believe otherwise.

Joe didn't bother hiding the fact he didn't believe the nonsense she was saying. He crossed his arms and looked at her in an 'oh really' kind of way.

She raised her chin a little, indignant at his response. "I have proof." 

Joe had to swallow a laugh, but he couldn't quite keep all the amusement off his face. Whatever "proof" she had was gonna be good.

She pulled out her phone and brought up a picture for him to look at. 

He took the phone to get a better look.

When he saw who was in the picture, Joe really couldn't hold back and he barked out a laugh. It was a picture of Nicky, and he was giving Nile a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "That's your proof?" 

Andy and Nile had been working on locating the girl and they all had decided to keep their distance from each other for a while. They had located the girl and had gotten her out safely just a day before this was taken. Nicky had mentioned running into Nile yesterday and he couldn't resist a quick hello since they had pretty much everything they needed.

"I wouldn't know what else to call it." She told him, miffed at his response. 

Joe laughed again. "Nora, that's his sister. His adopted younger sister. He told me he ran into her yesterday and they talked for a while." 

Nora's face went red. "Well, then, I'm glad you have nothing to worry about." 

"No, I don't, not with Nicky, but what I am concerned about is, were you following my husband? Or did you hire someone to do it for you?" He quickly deleted the picture and swiped left and right to make sure there weren't more.

"I... of course not! I was just passing through when I saw the two of them and thought you'd want to know. Guess it's the last time I do you any favors." She looked angry and Joe knew she was mad he had turned the question of who was in the wrong on her so fast.

"Yeah ok. I think we're done here." He stood up to go, and he felt his phone buzz. He had a feeling he knew who it was and paused to check.

It was Nicky. All clear we're leaving now. Copley has everything he needed. The text said.

Joe paused his hand resting on the door knob. "You can consider this mine and Nicky's resignation. We won't be back tomorrow or any other day."

"You can't do that you didn't give the company a two weeks notice!" Nora spluttered in disbelief. "You wouldn't quit just because I tried to help you out would you?"

"I would and I am." He opened the door and started walking.

"Thanks for the terrible experience. It's been a displeasure." He said over his shoulder.

Joe walked out of there as fast as he could and didn't bother collecting his things, it wasn't anything important.

He texted back ok, where are we meeting? Once outside.

Nicky called him immediately.

"How far are you from fifth and elm?" Nicky asked.

"About a fifteen minute walk. I'm just leaving the office."

"Ok, Andy has a car. We'll pick you up at the corner of third and elm."

"Great see you soon."

He climbed into the backseat where Nicky was sitting and squeezed in close to him.

Nile was in the front and Andy was driving.

Joe busted out laughing once they were driving and settled. "Nile I'd appreciate it if you would stop flirting with my husband in public." He said, his voice light and teasing.

Nile looked back at him and couldn't help but return his smile even though she had no idea what he was talking about. "What?"

"This lady accused Nicky of having an affair and she showed me a picture of the two of you together, hugging and kissing." He laughed again at how ridiculous the whole thing was.

"Wait what? Nora was following me?" Nicky asked, surprised, he knew immediately that Joe couldn't be talking about anyone else.

"I think it was mostly coincidence. It doesn't matter she won't be bothering us again."

"Wow, Nicky, the two of us will have to be more careful in the future if we want to make this relationship work." Nile teased.

"Yeah, I didn't realize Joe has eyes and ears everywhere on me." Nicky gently tugged on one of Joe's curls.

"Oh, you know I'm always watching you babe." Joe leaned in and kissed him, his heart soared as Nicky tangled his hand in Joe's hair holding him close.

Andy gasped in fake shock. "Right in front of you Nile? How could he!" She said highly amused by the whole situation.

"You wound me Nicky." Nile put the back of her hand on her forehead and fell back in her seat, pretending to faint.

Nicky tisked his tongue at her. "So dramatic."

They all laughed and Nicky and Nile's "affair" became a new running joke between them.

[astarryon]

Promise Me

You’ll Always Have Me

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

Chapter Summary: Spencer’s not one for unsolicited physical contact — except, of course, when it comes from you.

A/N: This is a gift more one of my best friends, @johnmulaneyslut​! Congratulations girl, by turning me into a Reid stan you’ve officially guaranteed yourself a whole lot of fluff in the near future, and THAT’S on the season 9 haircut.

Masterlist

Spencer doesn’t like the way lies taste in his mouth.

He knows there’s no logical reason for it. Lies are only constructs of the human understanding of deception, after all. They aren’t tangible, they aren’t edible, and they certainly aren’t accompanied by the acidic tang characteristic of citrus, yet even still he’s never been able to tell one without the bitter taste of lemon blooming across the tip of his tongue.

So he tries not to tell them very often. Not to unsubs, though it had been unavoidable during this last case and the mental gymnastics he’d had to perform to keep the guy from unloading a gun full of bullets into a slew of innocent bystanders — including one of his fellow agents. Not to Hotch, or Morgan, or any of the rest of the team, not since he’d gotten clean and stayed that way. And not to you, despite the fact that he’d wanted to tell you he wasn’t even a little bit tired when you’d sat next to him on the jet and encouraged him to try and get some sleep.

He’s still getting used to having you around — or, more accurately, you’re still acclimating to being around him. You haven’t rolled your eyes in irritation at his rambling yet, or poked fun at his habit of volunteering fun facts that may or may not be only somewhat related to the original topic of conversation. It’s hard to wrap his mind around, especially when you respond to his tangents with wide, curious eyes and genuine smiles, or even the occasional enthusiastic chime of your voice when you have something to add yourself. You haven’t yet fixed him with a pointed look implying that you wished he would learn to take a hint and stop talking.

Most notable, Spencer thinks, is that you haven’t made him feel other. He’s been waiting for it to happen. It always does with new agents, like Prentiss, before they’d gotten to know each other very well, and then Seaver, who he never quite figured out how to talk to. But things are different with you. Easier. Which is why falling asleep sitting next to you on the jet came natural as breathing, even though he knew he’d catch flack from Morgan about it once you weren’t around to hear the teasing.

It’s your voice that brings him to, your soft, honeyed tones a gentle encouragement toward consciousness. You’re humming some achingly sweet melody beneath your breath, and the way the notes carry through the silence of the cabin, underscored by Morgan’s light snores nearby, tells him that everyone else is fast asleep. It nearly breaks his heart when you fall silent at his sudden stirring.

“Spence?” you murmur, prodding at his shoulder with your palm. He doesn’t remember falling asleep laying in your lap — he’s never done it before, or asked to, or been invited to — but the way your voice hits his ears and your words fan his cheek mean he must have. “Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t know what makes him stay silent. The warmth of your palm leeching through his shirt, maybe, or the way that the scent of your perfume lulls his breaths into a slow, deep rhythm to catch more and more of it. It might have something to do with the way his name floats off your tongue, making him feel those things in his stomach that are way too intense for anyone who claims to be a casual friend. Spencer can’t really say one way or the other. All he knows is that he’s... not quite ready to break the moment.

So he doesn’t.

“You look so calm when you sleep,” he hears you breathe, an odd note of fondness he’s never noticed before lining the edges of your words. He’s so distracted trying to figure out the reasoning for its sudden appearance that his body almost forgets to process the feeling of your warm fingers carding through his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp. “What’s going on in that head of yours right now?”

Symphonies. Nonstop bursts of fireworks, so loud and jarring he can barely make out your words over the cacophony drumming through his skull. His own heartbeat magnified twenty times louder than is normal, harmonizing with the beat of yours, which he can hear from where his ear presses against the lower edge of your sternum. Maybe that’s why he can’t taste the lie of pretending to be asleep — his senses are already too overloaded to register much of anything else.

“You’re really pretty, you know,” you laugh quietly as the pads of your fingers gently skim across his forehead. He wants to open his mouth to repay the compliment — it’s only right, he thinks, especially considering you’re much prettier than he could ever be (not that you would ever let him tell you that) — but doing that would mean sacrificing the feeling of your hands in his hair, and he’s not really sure when he’ll ever get the chance to feel that again. “But I’m sure all the girls tell you that.”

They don’t, actually. The only person who tells him he’s pretty on a regular basis is Morgan, and even then, Spencer’s pretty sure it’s just to get under his skin in the teasing fashion of an older brother. His mother’s called him handsome before — or, rather, she’s mentioned how handsome he would be if he’d ever get a proper haircut. But no one’s ever just... meant it. Not the way it seems like you do right now, with your hands rhythmically running through his curls, nails dancing lightly at the nape of his neck. He can’t pay too much attention to the way it makes his stomach flip — he’ll shiver if he’s not careful, and then the ruse will be up — but he files it away to pore over in his privacy later on in the night, just like he files away the curiosity that comes when he thinks about why you’re whispering to him while under the impression that he isn’t awake to know the difference.

“I know you’ve been going through a tough time lately,” you tell him. It’s ridiculous that he’s entranced, captivated, hanging on your every word, but he is. He is. And laying here, with his head in your lap, he’s not particularly sure he minds. “But you know I’m here for you, don’t you? You’ll always have me. If you need someone to talk to, or someone to distract you, or... I don’t even know, if you just want someone to sit next to in complete silence. I’ll be that person for you.”

He can’t understand why you’re saying this to him now, while you think he’s unconscious and dreaming. He admits he’s been touchy lately. It’s getting close to the anniversary of everything that happened with Maeve, and though it’s been two years now, he still has issues coping with those events, or even talking about how they’d made him feel in the aftermath. It’s hard. He doesn’t want to forget her — even if he did, he knows he’d never be able to figure out how — but he also knows he can’t always become a haunted shell of himself for four to six weeks every year. It’s not conducive to productivity, and it’s certainly not conducive to keeping his coworkers from worrying after him.

On the other hand… there’s no way that the thoughts you inspire are especially conducive to productivity, either. He’s caught himself staring across desks in the bullpen much too long for subtlety, offering little waves and funny faces every time you catch him, each one in the hopes of making you smile. His face betrays his eagerness each time Hotch pairs the two of you together on cases, which, lately, seems to be more often than not. He’s started bringing you coffee most mornings, except for those ones where you text him hours before he even wakes up — he can’t tell whether you’re an early riser or a chronic insomniac — with a Morning, Sunshine! Sweet treats on me ;) and Spencer doesn’t know what it is about the winky face, but it’s stuck around in his mind for weeks now and it doesn’t appear to be in danger of going anywhere any time soon. It’s all of these things and so many more that have his mind racing, swirling with thoughts of you and whether what he ponders while he lies awake at night is in breach of the sweet little slow dance the two of you have been doing since you joined the team after Emily left.

Something warm and soft presses to his forehead, then. The sensation is so foreign that it actually takes a full five seconds before he realizes that the only possible explanation is that you’ve just kissed him.

“I love you, Spencer,” you whisper gently against his skin. “I just… I hope you know I love you.”

You go back to carding your fingers through his hair, then, without so much as another word. Resisting the urge to protest is difficult — your voice has fast become Spencer’s favorite sound and you’ve spoiled him to the point of entitlement in the last five minutes. He wants to hear you say his name again, if only to play it on a loop in his mind until the next occurrence. He isn’t above making the request, either, but that requires revealing that he’s been listening to your heartfelt prattling and he doesn’t want you to think he’s the type to eavesdrop, despite the fact you’d been speaking to him in the first place. But then you start humming again, some cordial tune he can’t put his finger on, and Spencer is mercifully spared from having to decide whether or not he should betray himself.

And as he lets himself drift back into sleep, the feel of your hands in his hair and the warm, quiet tones of your voice lulling him peacefully along… Spencer realizes.

—

Chapter Two: Red is a Wondrous Color

[yan-twst]

♡ mod’s yandere prompt writing list ♡

♡ these are yan-twst’s mod’s personal yandere prompt list! i wrote them to use here on my blog, but anyone else can reblog them and use them if they want!

“ah, look... there’s blood all over me.”

“don’t you see? it’s your fault- you made me like this.”

“in the end... you’re only good for being with me. you’re useless at anything else, aren’t you?”

“i’m sorry for stealing your personal belongings... now that you’re here forever, i can return them!”

“nothing. without you- i’m... nothing.”

“you have no idea... the things i’ve done while thinking of you, darling...”

“i don’t care if you think i’m a monster; i’ve decided you’re mine.”

“it’s cute how you think you have a choice!”

“well, maybe if you’d accepted my confession, all these people wouldn’t have had to die...”

“if you think of leaving, i’ll make death seem like a blessing to you.”

“aah, forgive me for what i must do... i just can’t live on without you...!”

“feeling dizzy? well, it’s too late to realize: you already ingested what i slipped in your drink.”

“sure, i’ll let you run away. but if i catch you... then it’s fair game for me to do what i want.”

“the more you squirm, the more excited i’ll get, silly.”

“if you keep screaming, you could damage your vocal cords- go ahead, i don’t mind.”

“anyone who could rescue you is already dead. give up.”

“you don’t know how much i hate being this way- but i can’t change.”

“i tried my best to be a normal lover... but it simply won’t work. you understand, right?”

“want to escape? tell me, what other person would ever love someone like you?”

“the outside is so dangerous, don’t you see? if i wasn’t here to protect you, who knows what would happen to you...”

“i’m trying really hard to be nice to you here, but you’re making it real hard.”

“apologize? why would i? i haven’t done anything i didn’t have the right to.”

“you’re so sweet... i’m addicted to your presence.”

“i don’t care if it’s the drugs making you speak; say you love me, again.”

“don’t look at me like that... you know i do everything i do because i love you.”

“those bruises... did i do that...?”

“if you keep me happy, your life will be good, don’t you understand?”

“you just aren’t fit to be on the outside world. stay here with me- i’ll take care of you.”

“don’t you get it? i’m in charge here- you’re basically a glorified servant.”

“if i was you, i wouldn’t bother trying to escape. you’re too weak.”

“why are you so ungrateful? there’s nobody else other than me who could ever love such a miserable creature like you.”

“i ordered you to stay quiet. stop crying.”

“i didn’t mean to- no, god, i love you so much...! how could i have done this?”

“that’s right, just accept me... you’ll be so happy with me...”

“i’ve tried to be tolerant, but your disobedience has reached a limit i cannot ignore.”

“i wish i could love you the normal way.”

"your fear is so delicious to me"

"you look beautiful when you sleep... i'd know- i watched you, after all"

"it's ok if you don't love me, i'll still do whatever i want"

"don't you dare think of anyone other than me"

"i wish i didn't need to make you drink love potions for you to act caring, darling"

"from now on, you're my pet- go on, keep me entertained"

"this is your last warning. either you're obedient, or i'll make you obedient"

"all i ever asked was for you to love me back... are you so selfish you won't even give me that?"

"are you so desperate for human contact you'll come to me? good, that was the point"

"well, you can sleep here with me, or i could chain you up and make you sleep on the ground. it's your choice"

"say you love me, or else i might do something we both won't like"

"did you think you could escape me...? don't you know we're meant for each other? you're destined to return to me"

"i never claimed to be a good person. if you didn't want this to happen, you shouldn't have made me fall in love with you"

"i'll use you to my heart's content. don't you dare complain- it's what you deserve"

"if you're smart, you're going to stop struggling and kiss me back right now"

“apologize? why would i? you know very well you brought the punishment upon yourself.”

“stop crying- you made me mad. tears aren’t getting you out of this one.”

“i’ll count to three, and you better say you love me, or else i’ll do something neither of us will like.”

“if you behave, we’re all going to be happy here, so why do you keep acting out?”

“i’m starting to think you’re a bit of a masochist. i mean, why else would you keep angering me over and over again?”

“you bruise too easily- i haven’t even roughed you up yet...”

“cry, scream, i don’t care. you can’t do anything against me.”

“don’t you get it? i could kill you if i wanted to, but i won’t- because i love you.”

“i hurt your friends? no, you did that- by disobeying me and talking to them.”

“don’t make me lose my temper again. i love you and you’re making it too tempting to punish you.”“cry, cry some more, please... it looks good on you.”

“it’s ok if you hate me- i’ll still be able to do as i please with your pretty face.”

“aw, did you flinch? i was just reaching over for my phone- what did you think would happen?”

“tears suit you better than any makeup. i could watch you cry all day.”

“there’s some pleasure to be found in pain, they say. maybe you’ll learn to enjoy punishment at one time, too.”

“i like having power over you, don’t you get it? there’s no way to get out of this.”

“run, cry, scream; you’re still just dancing in the palm of my hand.”

“it’s ok to give up. in fact, i encourage it- just let the future i’ve chosen for you run its course.”

"you know i hate to hurt you... so please, don’t make me do it.”“i would never lie to you, darling, so i mean it when i say you shouldn’t be talking to others.”

“oh, nasty rumours about you are being spread...? my, i wonder who could’ve done such a thing...”

“i’ve done so much for you, the least you can do is love me back.”

“you’re to naive. if i don’t protect you from danger, who will?”

“that’s right, just let me control your life. there’s no way someone like you could even live alone.”

"you’re crying... ah, it’s because you love me, right?”“i don’t understand why you’re getting away from me... we’re a couple!”

“i’ve already told your parents you’d spend the holidays at my place, so stop crying. lovers do this all the time, so why aren’t you understanding this?”

“we’ll be together, forever and ever... forever...!”

“i cooked us a romantic dinner! so stay still while i detach the chains form you so we can go sit down, ok?”

“shh, please don’t cry... all relationships have their ups and downs, and i’m sure you’ll get used to being locked inside soon!”

"all the blood i’ve ever spilled was because of you.”“you don’t need anyone other than me. i’ll be your everything.”

“what did you think would happen? i told you i was an intense lover, didn’t i?”

“love hurts, get used to it.”

“say you love me again. say it so much i get drunk off it- i don’t care if you mean it or not, i just need to hear it.”

“don’t complain to me. you’re the one who tempted me, i just did as my instincts said.”

“your phone number, your favorite color, the brand of your clothes... i’ve memorized it all, see?”

“sure, you can turn me down. but i don’t think you’d want me to publish all these photos i’ve taken while you weren’t looking, would you?”

“oh... well, you found the photo of you i keep in my pillow, huh? ... well, what do you think of that? should i just keep the real thing instead of a pic?”

“now, stop drooling- we don’t need everyone to know you’re under a love potion, love.”

“oh, you aren’t that drunk, don’t worry. i just drugged you.”

“yes, i’ll admit i broke into your room to watch you sleep, but what can you do about it?”

“if you ever escape, i’ll track you down, no matter where. it’s useless to even try.”

“how can i get to your heart? should i try with money? or should i go straight for love potions?”

“i keep pencils you’ve chewed on, pictures i’ve printed of you, clothes i’ve stolen from your room... you think i’m a creep, don’t you?”

“you better learn to love me back. you know why? because nobody else will ever love you- so you’re stuck with me.”

“i’m sorry it had to be this way. i tried so hard to be a normal lover, but... it was always going to end up like this.”

“i feel like i’ll die if you don’t love me. would you truly hurt me like this?”

“what is it you don’t understand? nobody is ever going to love you like i do. nobody will ever understand how i feel about you.”

“your family, your friends... they’ve forgotten about you by now, i’m sure. but i’m still here- i’m the only one who loves you.”

“look at me in the eye when i speak. it’s rude not to do so, don’t you know?”

“if i tell you to jump, you should just ask how high. obedience should be your first nature.”

“i want to pamper you- i want to keep you safe and warm... like a pet.”

“don’t stress too much over what i slipped in your drink- i just want you to relax with me, for once... i don’t want you to be so tense; here, i’ll even undo your chain for a while.”

“you’re lucky to have someone who loves you this much. don’t you know how lonely it is to have nobody who loves you...?”

“you take, take, and take- my love, my protection, my affection... you should show me some of that back; don’t be so ungrateful.”

“you want to run away? sure, go as far as you can. catching a difficult prey is the most satisfying hunt.”

“i was normal, you know? you awoke something inside of me- you fucked me up.”

“i hunger for you, darling. your beauty, your presence; i need them like i need air.”

“perhaps you’re right in that i don’t love you, at least in the traditional sense. i’m obsessed with you- i need you, more strongly than the word love can imply.”

“you belong to me. i own you, body and soul.”

“... it hurts me to hear you say you hate me. i’ve gone so far for you- how can you do this to me?”

“aw, i know people warned you about me, baby. you ignored them- and look where you are now, huh?”

“shut up and do as i say. i don’t care how scared you are- feel free to blame it on my hormones or instincts, or whatever helps you feel less guilty.”

“i’ve been watching you for a while. i know your routine, your habits; i fell in love with how you act when you think nobody is looking.”

“i need to know if the love potion worked; say you love me, kiss me, show me affection.”

“hate me, fear me, think whatever you please. it doesn’t matter to me; you’ll do your thing and i’ll do what i want.”

“stop crying so much. it hurts me to see you sad, don’t you know?”

“oh, you’ve stopped fighting...? has the day come when you’ve finally understood how much i love you?”

“ah, it’s ok to be angry at me... kick me, yell at me...! i don’t care what you do, just being near you is heaven!”

“i’d do anything for you. and i mean it; the law means nothing if it’s something you ask of me.”

“ah... you punched me- that’s ok, too. i hope it bruises; i want a mark to remind me your lovely hands were on my skin.”

“did i get the potion dose wrong...? you’re slurring your words and you look hazed, but... well, the love potion is still working, i suppose.”

“i’ll be the only one you speak to and see. you’ll become hopelessly addicted to me, as i am with you.”

“i threw away all my morals for you; i don’t care if what i do is wrong anymore.”

“toxic relationship...? my, i think you’re a bit confused- i’m simply taking care of you, don’t you know?”

“don’t talk back to me like that- in fact, don’t talk at all unless i tell you to.”

“bow to me, love me, please- make me feel something, or i’ll make you suffer.”

[yououui]

angst? I love angst and specially Yama angst... maybe they get closer during that time (to survive) and Fay for the first time maybe starts opening up to Kuro even without words, but then they reunite with Sakura and Syaoran and Fay shuts Kuro out again and pretends nothing ever happened between them

He hadn’t meant for this to happen. Of course he hadn’t. Of all of the mistakes he could have made, this was one he’d wanted to avoid more than the others. No, actually, this was one he never even considered. Not until he saw the man he’d be traveling with, saw how handsome he was and felt that searing gaze fall on him for the first time. 

Not until he was left alone with the man he was supposed to kill for six months with no way out and not even a single common word to speak.

He should be used to being alone. He’d been alone for more years than most people even were alive. He should be used to it. He should get over it.

But when Kurogane gives him a questioning look, eyes dark and strange but also soft and comforting, it’s so easy to make the mistake. No words can be shared, no secrets spilled, and it feels like a protection when they are left with so few methods of communication.

It starts with small touches. A graze against the back of his hand, maybe a touch on his shoulder, a grasp around his narrow wrist. All of the touches come from Kurogane, checking to make sure Fai is okay. All Fai can do is smile and nod, or frown and shake his head.

If he does the latter, Kurogane sits him down and they share some wine. Fai is grateful for that.

Soon, though, it’s Fai reaching out. After a particularly difficult battle, Fai grabs the back of Kurogane’s shirt to keep him close by. Kurogane obliges.

Fai sits closer to Kurogane than usual, so their sides are pressed together, a line of heat between them. Kurogane doesn’t complain.

And then, when Kurogane is scolding Fai after a battle, yelling about how Fai should be more careful (or Fai assumes, seeing as he can’t understand a word), Kurogane groans in frustration at his words not making it through to Fai. And then he grabs skinny arms, pulls Fai close, and kisses him.

He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He should pull back.

Instead, he kisses back.

Instead, he sinks his fingers into coarse, black hair. 

Instead, he gasps into that warm mouth and allows calloused hands to touch him all over. 

Instead, he falls head first into the worst mistake of his life.

Sometimes Kurogane whispers secrets to him in the dead of night, when the universe seems condensed down to only the two of them, tangled together on a shared futon. Fai can’t understand the meaning of the words, but he understands the feeling behind them.

“You shouldn’t be telling me this,” He whispers back. “You should be afraid of me.”

Kurogane doesn’t understand and kisses Fai again, their simplest way to communicate.

Again and again and again. Night after night, day after day. Fai’s happiest moments are the ones shared with Kurogane. It’s odd, he thinks, how they can simultaneously fill him with immeasurable guilt.

And then reality slaps him in the face. He thinks that it’s a nightmare but no, this was the dream. This world, these last six months. This was the escape from real life. Now, he’s been woken up.

“Kuro-sama,” He whispers one night as they return to their tent after dinner to rest before the battle the following evening.

Kurogane glances at him as he searches for a bottle of wine in their stash, their usual nightly routine. “What is it?” Kurogane asks, and understanding him for the first time in six months has Fai choking on his own breath.

Fai searches for the words to say after so long of having none. Finally, he gives a wavering smile and quietly says, “I think we’ll be leaving soon.”

Kurogane almost drops the bottle of wine in surprise. “...They finally made it,” He says in disbelief.

Fai nods. “Yes, it would appear so.”

But neither of them look very happy about it. Kurogane clears his throat and opens the bottle of wine. “And that’s a good thing,” He says, almost like he needs to convince himself.

“Of course,” Fai replies, ignoring the way his voice cracks over the words.

Kurogane nods and sits down to enjoy the wine. Fai takes his usual spot beside him, but there is a noticeable amount of distance between them this time. Kurogane doesn’t comment on it. In fact, despite being able to understand each other for the first time, neither of them say much of anything that night.

The touches are now habit, though, and Fai needs to remind himself to pull away. Thanks to Kurogane’s scheme, they can’t leave immediately, which only makes the situation all the more difficult. Fai pretends he doesn’t notice Kurogane’s offended expressions when he pulls away, when he leaves space between them. Kurogane, as well, stops sharing whatever secrets he did and their nights are now strangely silent.

One habit that they keep until the end is sharing the futon. It’s cold in Yama, it only makes sense to share their body heat. Or so Fai tells himself. He’s not sure what justification Kurogane has.

But Fai finallt forces himself to make the clean break when they make it to the next world. Their time in Yama, while sweet, was only pretend. It was time to leave the fantasy behind.

Too bad Kurogane is a very stubborn man.

“Oi. We need to talk,” Kurogane says as he traps Fai in his room after the kids have gone to bed.

“Shouldn’t you be going to bed, Kuro-pon?” Fai asks. In your own room? His unspoken words imply.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Kurogane asks, ignoring the question.

“Avoiding you?” Fai smiles brightly at him and tilts his head. “Kuro-sama, I do believe we spent all day together!”

“You know what I mean,” Kurogane snarls lowly. “Ever since we left Yama, you’ll only be near me if the kids are around. You practically jumped to the other side of the room when I touched you earlier.”

“It just startled me, is all,” Fai tries to say flippantly.

A strong hand grasps his wrist, the same wordless language as before. Now, it feels more like a cage. “Don’t play dumb,” Kurogane says, voice low and quiet as he leans close into Fai’s space. “You’re just going to pretend that nothing in the last six months happened?”

“I,” Fai begins, his voice quivering pathetically. “That was different.”

“Really,” Kurogane says flatly. “How so?”

“Well, what do you expect to happen when two grown men are left alone for so long?” Fai asks him, trying to sound as unattached as he possibly can. Kurogane doesn’t look convinced. He needs to dig deeper. Strike harder. “And besides, Kuro-sama, you aren’t going to tell me that any of that felt real to you?”

Kurogane’s jaw tightens as he glares down at Fai. “So what, it was all pretend to you?” He asks, slow and steady.

“What else would it be?” Fai asks, quieter now.

His voice jumps in surprise when warm, familiar lips press against his own, the hand around his wrist releasing him to instead cup behind his jaw, strong fingers sinking into his hair as his head his tilted to a better position. Fai puts his hands against Kurogane’s chest, all intention to push the man away, but he falls as easily as he did before. With a sigh into that glorious mouth that kisses him so well, his fingers instead grip the front of Kurogane’s shirt, keeping him close.

Kurogane pulls back and Fai looks up at him, lost in those deep red eyes that he missed so much. They stay like that for a long moment, tangled together, so close that Fai is certain Kurogane will kiss him again. He longs for that to happen.

Instead, Kurogane whispers against his lips, “That’s what I thought.”

He pulls himself fully from Fai and Fai takes one large step back, feeling much like a mouse caught in a trap. Kurogane proved him wrong and Fai fell for it and what can be done now? Try as he might to cut Kurogane off, his cold words mean nothing if his actions betray him every time Kurogane simply looks at him a certain way.

But Kurogane doesn’t try to catch Fai again. Instead, he takes a step back as well, the distance between them feeling as wide as it ever has. “Whatever,” Kurogane says. “Do whatever you want. Not like I can force you to change your mind.”

And with that, he turns around and leaves the room. Fai takes two steps towards him, an involuntary response to keep him close, but stops himself as the door clicks shut.

This is good, Fai reminds himself. Kurogane will understand why this is for the best in due time. And then, maybe he will wish that he had been the one to reject Fai first.

[spencers-renaissance]

Start With This

Summary: Luke accidentally hurts Spencer because they are both hopelessly stupid, but when Spencer's faced with a dangerous situation there's nothing he wants more than Luke. Calling him turns out to be a very good decision.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Making Up, Getting Together

Pairing: Luke x Spencer

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: implied/mentioned sexual assault, more detailed cw on the end notes of the AO3 post <3

Read on AO3

Luke knows he’s getting obvious. His subtlety has completely thrown itself out the window, his dignity’s in the wind, and he’s so, so painfully aware of it all. 

He was probably in love with Spencer before he even met the man: his reputation had preceded him -- as he’d told him that first day in the briefing room -- and the way his friends talked about him, the gentleness he seemed to possess along with the dynamite intelligence of a 187 IQ had his stomach fluttering as he walked in to meet him for the first time. And hadn’t that just sealed the deal. 

Spencer’s face as he walked into the room feels like it’s been permanently burned into the back of his eyelids ever since. He’s not sure what he’d been expecting but it certainly wasn’t someone so adorable. He’d been so open and welcoming and they’d hit it off straight away, every look shared between them, every joint task on the case in Arizona had him buzzing with excitement. If he could spend every waking moment with Spencer, he would. 

And he’s been so good at keeping it under wraps, but lately the looks the girls and Rossi have been sending his way are a bit too… knowing. Like they see right through him. It’s terrifying, really. He’s never had a bad coming out story, mostly because he didn’t until his late twenties when it was much less taboo to be gay and he was surrounded by people who cared far too much about him as a person to care about who he fucked. But he’s also never had a crush on a coworker before, not even a friend, so to be under so much scrutiny in a situation that feels so out of his depths is overwhelming to say the least.

The next case they take on, then, he takes extra caution to be subtle. He volunteers to pair up with others before Emily can assign him something with Spencer; he ignores the looks he directs his way and leaves him behind to room with JJ while he pairs up with Steven. Maybe it’s even more obvious, maybe the looks he’s getting now are far harder to deal with than the ones before but he’s made his bed. Now he’ll lie in it.

And he’ll pointedly refuse to acknowledge the hurt looks Spencer is shooting his way. It’s better to ruffle a few feathers now and get over his crush than ruin such a good friendship and drive a wedge through the team, even if his gut twists and his heart protests as Spencer furrows his brow and looks at his feet.

★

Spencer is fully aware that his chances with Luke are slim to none -- he’s not delusional -- but boy does it hurt being avoided like the plague. It takes him back to school, when he was either politely ignored, mocked from a distance or straight up bullied, when nobody could associate themselves with him without risking a beating of their own. 

As soon as the case is over, he declines Emily’s invitation to go for a drink at her place with the rest of the team, instead opting to go out by himself. There’s a small, hole-in-the-wall joint a few blocks from his apartment that he’s been to a few times; it’s low-key and reasonably quiet, and the food is nice, too. It’ll do him good, he thinks, to get out of his head a bit with a few drinks and a book or three. He’s met the guy who owns the place a few times, and no-one pays enough attention to care that he’s reading a book at a bar instead of solemnly staring into a pint or gyrating on the dance floor, neither of which especially appeal to him.

As predicted, the bar is quiet, so he orders a drink and some nachos and heads to a table in the back. He used to hate bars; so full of people and germs he tended to avoid them at all costs. Now though, he finds the background noise soothing, the chatter and music a comforting backdrop to his own isolation. And on days like today, after difficult cases and tricky emotional minefields to navigate, it’s the perfect setting to sit quietly and read, far more preferable than the deafening silence of his apartment. 

For some reason, though, he simply cannot get his mind off Luke. He was so hopelessly gone for him and it was making everyday tasks that much harder. Even psyching himself up to get out of bed and go to work was proving more and more difficult: knowing he would have to face the man he loved so much who clearly did not love him back was bordering on psychological torture at this point. 

His one saving grace, though, was that he’d always been able to take refuge in the fact that they were friends. That even if he could never have Luke kiss him or take him on a date or sleep in his bed, he could have his friendship. He’d have the warm smiles and hugs and inside jokes and that would be enough. But now even that was seeming like a farflung pipe dream. Had he figured him out? Did he realise Spencer’s feelings for him and feel disgusted? Violated even? 

It’s only after Spencer’s been reading the same page over and over for nearly 10 minutes that he gives up and orders another drink. If he can’t distract himself, he may as well drown his sorrows now he’s here. 

And drown them he does. He finally stumbles onto the pavement outside the bar in the small hours of the morning feeling a little dazed and confused, and he squints his eyes as he tries to get his bearings. He lives round here, he knows that much, but where? He’s looking around for a taxi when a man he’d seen sitting not far from him in the bar approaches him. 

“Hey, baby,” he grins, checking Spencer out as obviously as he’d been doing inside.

It takes Spencer’s mind only a few seconds to recognise that he’s in a potentially vulnerable or dangerous situation but he can’t for the life of him sort through his muddled brain fast enough to figure out the correct response, here. Instead he stares dumbly at the man in front of him, trying to not look as scared as he feels. 

“You looking for a good time?” the man asks, reaching a hand forward to pet crudely at his face. Spencer wishes his flinch wasn’t so obviously borne from terror, but he’s sad and drunk and confused so all he can do is shake his head aggressively and back away. “Aww, come on. I’m a catch, I promise.”

Spencer jumps back further, his back hitting a brick wall as he finally finds his voice. “No, leave me alone, thank you,” he says, trying to sound firm but only sounding scared shitless. The man is huge, Spencer is not, and the street is quiet. Spencer does not like any of these variables, let alone a cocktail made from them. 

The man laughs cruelly, but before he gets a chance to respond another beefy guy he recognises from inside the bar comes over, cigarette in his hand, and clocks the situation. “Oi,” he shouts aggressively, approaching the two of them. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Dude said no.”

“Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?”

Before Spencer can blink, the beefy guy punches his assailant square in the eye, causing him to cuss them both out before telling Spencer he isn’t even worth the trouble and leaving to lick his wounds. “Hey, you okay?” the beefy dude asks, voice much softer when talking to Spencer. “You need me to call someone?”

At this moment, the only person Spencer wants is Luke. He’s shaken up and so sad, and even if Luke is sort of the reason for that, he has to try, right? Maybe… maybe he just was having a bad day and it isn’t Spencer at all. He could call JJ but even her cuddles wouldn’t scratch the itch that’s burning away at his skin, so he finally shakes his head at the guy looking at him with concern. “No, no it’s okay,” he says slowly, voice catching a little. “I know who to call.”

★

Luke also says no to Emily’s invitation, instead heading back to his own place and cracking open a bottle of wine before plonking himself in front of the team and appreciating the cuddles Roxy chooses to bestow on him. He throws in an oven pizza sometime around 11pm and eats it, laughing humourlessly at the scene for a moment. God, if his colleagues could see just how pathetic he is Emily would have to boot him off the team. 

The wine and the warm temperature of the room have him dozing off on the sofa by midnight but he’s woken up abruptly by his phone ringing not long after. The clock on the wall says 1.50am so this is either a case or an emergency; blearily he picks it up to see Spencer’s name on the screen and he can’t slide his finger to answer it fast enough. 

“Spencer?” he asks, voice full of concern. 

The only reply is a choked off sob, making Luke sit up on high alert. “Spence, what’s wrong?” his voice is gentle but determined, he wants to know what’s wrong so he can fix it damnit.

“Can you-- Can you come and get me?” Spencer asks tearfully. He sounds hesitant like he thinks Luke might say no or be angry with him which doesn’t make any sense. He’d never feel like that, not for anything Spencer needs from him. 

“Of course,” he reassures him, gently, still a little bewildered by the absurdity of it all. He springs into action and leaps off the sofa, slipping into some trainers and grabbing his keys. “Where are you, Spence? I’m on my way to the car.”

Spencer rattles off an address before he says, “Wait, don’t go, can you stay on the phone with me?”

Luke’s heart damn near melts at that but he obeys and stays on the phone with him, mumbling platitudes and promising he’s on his way the whole five minute drive until he pulls up in front of the address Spencer gave him, immediately spotting the younger man hunched down against a wall. He parks the car quickly and rushes over, crouching down in front of Spencer and gently pulling his head away from his knees so he can look into his eyes. He immediately recognises he’s drunk and sighs internally, hoping this won’t be too impossible. 

“Hey, Spence, what’s going on?” he asks earnestly, holding onto the man’s forearms partially to help steady himself and partially to offer a noninvasive point of contact for Spencer. 

“Sad,” Spencer says, looking into Luke’s eyes with wide, honest eyes. “You’re angry at me.”

“What?” Luke asks incredulously. “I’m not angry at you, Spencer.”

“Yes,” Spencer nods enthusiastically. “You wanted to work with other people on the case today. You were ignoring me.”

He’s not quite slurring his words but it’s close, and if Luke wasn’t so concerned about the situation at hand he’d find it adorable. “Oh, Spencer, no,” he protests, a sinking feeling in his chest. His own insecurities and fears had got the better of him and he’d managed to make Spencer feel bad about himself. “That was unrelated and not your fault at all, okay? It’s complicated and definitely not a conversation to have on the ground outside a bar at 2am, but we can talk about it somewhere else if you’d like. Do you want me to take you back to your place?”

Spencer looks back at him. “No, don’t want to be alone, please don’t leave me on my own, Luke,” he says, eyes wide in fear this time, not honesty. 

“Okay, okay,” he placates him. “Would you like to come back to mine?”

Spencer launches forward to hug Luke, burying his face into his neck and Luke takes the opportunity to relish the feeling of Spencer’s lithe body against his own, the intimacy he craves so deeply finally being awarded in a small way. “Should I take that as a yes?” he chuckles.

As soon as they get into Luke’s apartment, he gets to sobering Spencer up. He’d managed to pry the number of drinks he’d had out of him in the car, and as soon as they get back he butters him some toast and gives him a glass of water to drink on the sofa while he fills up another glass and grabs some advil. 

“How’s that, Spence, are you okay?” he asks softly as he joins him on the sofa where Spencer is dutifully munching down the toast while late-night TV plays in the background. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, smiling up at Luke, already looking more lucid than he did on the street, though he suspects part of the reason was he was scared and a bit disoriented then and now feels safe. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Spencer,” he smiles back, patting his knee affectionately as he pours him another glass of water. “Have your toast and another glass of water and then you can have a shower, if you like. It’ll help ground you and warm you up a bit.”

Spencer’s compliant through it all, which is obviously desirable, but he’s also quiet. He takes the hoodie Luke chucks his way without comment and slips it on -- Luke very pointedly does not think about how good he looks -- before looking to him for his next direction. 

His eyes are much clearer now and he seems far more sad than drunk, so Luke steers him back to the sofa and hands him a blanket. “Hey, Spencer,” he says, waiting for him to look up before continuing. “What’s going on? Why did you need me to pick you up?”

Spencer fidgets with the blanket as he answers. “Well, I went to the bar to stop thinking, like distract myself, but it didn’t really work so I just decided to have some wine instead, which was really nice and I liked the fuzziness, but then when I left there was this man. He came up to me and was trying to… like he was trying to ask me to sleep with him,” he risks a quick look up to check if Luke is listening to him but averts his eyes from the intense stare when he realises he is. “But I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to do and I panicked but then this man came out of the bar and he punched the other guy and helped me but then I called you so he didn’t have to do anything else.” His voice is nervous as he talks, clearly unsure of himself from the way he darts around from point to point, his typical eloquence evading him. 

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” Luke says, earnestly. “I’m sorry that happened to you but I’m even more sorry that you were sad enough to drown your sorrowsbecause of me. Tomorrow, I promise we can talk about this and I’ll explain everything, but right now I think you should sleep. You can take my bed or the sofa tonight, whichever one makes you feel more comfortable, and then I’ll make you whatever you want for breakfast in the morning and we can chat. How does that sound?”

Spencer looks satisfied for now, cocking his head to the side. “Hm, can I have pancakes?” he asks.

Luke laughs fondly at that, leaning forward to ruffle Spencer’s hair lightly as he tries not to read into it when Spencer leans into his touch. “Are you kidding?” he teases. “You’re looking at the pancake maker extraordinaire right here.” He relishes Spencer’s giggle at that, pleased at how relaxed he looks now he knows Luke isn’t angry at him. “Pancakes in the morning. For now, where would you like to sleep?”

“The sofa’s fine,” Spencer says softly, a small smile playing over his face as he follows Luke with his eyes as he stands up to collect some blankets and pillows. “Thank you, Luke.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he smiles back, and hands him the extra blankets and cushions. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

★

Spencer wakes up to the sound of dog paws on wooden floors and is momentarily confused -- he does not have a dog nor wooden floors -- before the events of last night flood into his head with a crashing wave of humiliation. He sits up abruptly, blinking his eyes against the soft grey light of the gloomy day, and looks around until he meets Luke’s eyes where he’s sat drinking a cup of coffee at the dining table. 

He knows he’s flushing an embarrassing shade of red but he can’t help it, this whole situation is so bizarre. “Good morning,” he finally says.

“Morning Spencer,” Luke says, hiding his far-too-wide smile behind his coffee mug. “Did you sleep okay?”

He just nods and hums in response, before excusing himself and rushing to the bathroom for a small semblance of privacy. Looking in the mirror, he splashes his face with some cold water and fiddles with his hair until it’s sat the way he wants it to before taking some deep breaths in a vain attempt at composure. He’s sort of in love with Luke, being in his apartment like this is mildly intoxicating. 

Eventually, he surfaces back in the main living area where Luke’s already started on the pancakes. “Hey, you good?” he calls over his shoulder as he flips the pan, a delish smell intoxicating the kitchen.

“I’m good,” Spencer confirms, joining him in the kitchen for a front row seat of Luke cooking. Chatting menially together as the pancake stash slowly builds, Spencer gathers all the toppings at Luke’s direction before they move to sit at the table and start tucking in, both trying to ignore the rising tension at what they both know is coming.

“You’re being so nice to me now but all throughout the case you barely looked at me, I mean you couldn’t even share a room with me in the hotel,” Spencer says after a few moments of silent apprehension as they have their first bites. “Is it… is it because I’m gay?” His voice drops to a whisper, face contorting from confusion to apprehension, feeling a little nervous that Luke might get angry now he’s reminded him of it.

“What, no, Spencer, of course not,” Luke says defensively. “God, I’m not a homophobe. The exact opposite, actually. I’m gay, too.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” Luke puts his knife and fork down and runs a hand over his face as he psychs himself up. “That’s the problem. The truth is, I’m into you, Spencer, very much so. And I’m fully aware that you’re my best friend and you won’t feel the same way, so… that’s a problem. The others were starting to realise so I distanced myself, but it has nothing to do with you, it’s all me so please don’t blame yourself, alright?”

“Oh.” Spencer’s brain is short-circuiting.

“I’m sorry, I just needed to explain why I acted like that.” Luke apologises, sitting forward again. “I know this is probably making you uncomfortable, I can drop you back or call you a cab or something--”

“No,” Spencer says suddenly, snapping back into action as the information finally processes. Leaving right now is the last thing he wants. “No, I’m fine. Sorry, I’m just caught off guard. You… like me?”

“Well, yeah,” Luke smiles, a little awkwardly. “If you want to put it like that.”

“Oh.” He pauses for a moment as everything finally clicks into place. “We are both very stupid.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because the primary reason I was sad and drinking at a bar alone last night was because I am very much in love with you and feared you were pushing me away. That I’d lost my chance forever,” Spencer explains. “I don’t have much experience with relationships, so I didn’t know how to deal with it and when you started acting distant I did the same and… ran away, I guess.”

Luke’s glad that Spencer’s eyes are clear this morning and his eloquence is back or he’d fear he’s still somehow drunk out of his mind still and has no idea what he’s saying. “Oh.” It’s his turn to blank on a response. 

“To be honest, Luke, I don’t know where to go from here,” Spencer laughs, a little awkwardly.

“Let’s start with this,” Luke says, getting up from his seat across the table and sliding into the chair next to Spencer, bridging the gap between the two before he kisses him gently. Spencer’s hand reaches forward to grip the front of his shirt, kissing back with just as much trusting desire as he feels Luke smile against his lips. They part at the kiss’ natural conclusion, pulling back to look at each other, tense awkwardness replaced with a new understanding of one another. 

“Yeah,” Spencer smiles. “That feels like a good start.”

It’s a good start, but it’s by no means the end. The heaviness that had weighed between them for so long finally lifts and the lightness that replaces it means they both breathe easier, finishing their pancakes in between shy, cautious looks and shameless giggles. “Do you have anything you need to do today?” Luke asks as he washes their plates up, Spencer perched on the kitchen counter next to him. 

“Nope,” Spencer says, smiling at the implication of such an answer. 

“Well, what do you feel like doing?” he asks, wearing far too cheeky of a grin for Spencer to avoid leaning down and planting a kiss on his lips. 

“Hm,” Spencer ponders, looking out the window at the rainy day. “I think movies and snacks would be perfect if I have you as company.”

“You smooth little thing,” Luke teases, poking Spencer’s side with a wet finger and delighting in the giggle that escaped his lips. “That sounds perfect to me.” He washes the frying pan last and quickly wipes down the kitchen before they head to the sofa, arms piled high with all the crisps, chocolate and cookies they can find in his cupboards. Spencer also digs about in the freezer and finds a pint of ice cream to share, which they feed each other bites of later in a sickeningly sweet, cliched moment of tenderness.

Luke chooses the first movie, picking out a Marvel film that Spencer ends up actually enjoying, though Luke can’t exactly say the same about Spencer’s choice, an obscure period piece from the 1960s. Still, he cuddles him close and pays attention to every minute. If it matters to Spencer, it matters to him. 

And if wasting the day away with movies, snacks, and heart to hearts turns out to be exhausting enough that Spencer just has to stay the night again, this time sharing Luke’s bed with him and Roxy, then they’ll just have to make the absolute most out of such a terribly inconvenient situation. And they’ll deal with how to hide a 2 night love-fest from a team of profilers in the morning, because they’re far too oblivious to realise they already know.

Tags: @johanna-swann @pretty-b0yy 

[1-800-imagine]

autumn’s song

sero x reader

✎ genre: angst, pro hero au? 

✎ warnings: angst, major and implied death

✎ word count: 2.5k

✎ inside scoop: this fic is inspired by autumn’s song by stephen day for more than obvious reasons, and i personally recommend you listen along as you read (you can click here for that). of course you don’t have to if you don’t want to -- whatever optimizes your reading experience. 

on a separate note, i’ll probably get some more time to finish up some pieces this weekend that’s honestly debatable but we’ll see. so if you’d like, you can go ahead and request something. 

✎ synopsis: fall had always been a tough time for sero, seeing that it had always reminded him of you.

the last thing sero ever wanted to do was get so hung up on the past -- it was the last thing you ever wished for him. though it’s tough when everything seems to bring back so many memories. 

even the entire season of fall brought him back to times when you were around. afterall autumn was just filled with so many great memories of your relationship. 

swinging through the awfully familiar city of musutafu, sero can feel the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes -- threatening to roll down his cheeks at any given minute.

the tape hero stops at the next post available. he lifts off his helmet in order to take in some of the fresh air. that cold, crisp atmosphere hits sero’s tear-stained cheeks, along with reels of unwanted memories.

he does his best to suppress those reminders of what once was -- at the very least keeping them tucked in the farthest part of his mind so that he can finish up his patrol. 

“great,” he utters. just as sero thought he could escape his little swamp of thoughts, he realizes his surroundings -- far too familiar for his own comfort. he looks down, only to see your favorite, seasonal spot, surprised that it was still running its usual business after all this time. 

right as the hero boarded up those old memories, the floodgates seem open right back up. this time hitting him harder than the bullet trains running all through japan. 

sero felt the wind cascade through his long hair, tickling the back of his neck. he felt your hand in his own -- fingers intertwined. the sound of leaves crunching filled his ears with every step along this newer, unknown path. 

your destination, to you, was a mystery -- a surprise actually. sero had always seemed to cross paths with this little cafe on his way to pick you up from your hero work. he was actually quite alarmed, when you said you hadn't heard of it since you passed by almost everyday. 

well, sero gave you the benefit of the doubt considering it was a small place -- family-owned he assumed. a quaint little shop, lodged between two much taller, corporate buildings. in short: it was very easy to skip past the place. 

when the two of you had stepped inside, you were greeted with a sense of shelter from the cold, bitter outside. that smell of sweet pastries filled your numbed noses. the space was a lot smaller than it appeared to be.

it was empty too, the only other people inside were an older couple, but they didn’t seem much older than the two of you. 

the older man wore a mossy green cap, despite there being no sun needed to be shielded from. a narrow, grey streak weaved through the woman’s hair, contrasting its natural, dark tones. it was pretty, representing the wisdom she gained in her years of living. 

“ah welcome,” a voice called out. it was the older woman’s voice -- smooth and sweet like honey. “what a lovely young couple,” she mentioned, “you two must’ve been dating for quite a while, yeah?”  her question earned a rosy shade from sero’s cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears; and a nervous chuckle was all you could seem to muster up. 

“you don’t have to answer her,” the older man, who was presumed to be the woman’s husband, interrupted. just by listening to the tone in his voice alone, sero could tell the man was clearly displeased with the woman’s antics. 

the older woman gestured for the two of you to come inside. “we don’t get too many people coming by,” she spoke. “i think that’s obvious,” her husband interjected. 

the wife gestured to you two to come in, she made the both of you feel very welcomed -- like a part of their little family. “we’re glad you chose to stay” the husband observed, “we’re the kokawa’s by the way.”

the lady maneuvered around the tables, claiming that the one directly in the center was the most perfect. she handed you two some paper menus as you sat down and got yourselves comfortable. “thank you kokawa-sama” sero thanked, scanning over some of his options. 

“please, call me chiyoko,” the older woman requested, “and that is isamu.” she was very casual, inviting you to use both her and her husband’s first names. in return, you had offered your names to the couple, “i’m (y/n), and that’s hanta.” sero felt so giddy inside when you pronounced his name, like a little kid on the swing set. it was just that he always loved how his name rolled off your tongue. 

chiyoko shared some of the couple’s favorite items with the two of you, “i recommend the yuzu honey, it can be served hot or cold,” she explained, “the hojicha is a favorite of isamu’s; though, i would only indulge after a big meal.”

your eyes seemed to have lit up at something chiyoko recommended, and sero knew exactly what it was. given the two of you had been dating for a year or so, he was able to read you like the back of his hand. 

“i think the yuzu honey sounds great,” you ordered -- just as sero predicted, a silly, little smirk gracing his lips. he knew how much you loved that sweet, citrus tea rain or shine. “and what about you?” chiyoko had seemed to catch sero off guard. “i, uh, yuzu honey as well please,” he uttered. 

“so the two yuzu honey? that’s all?” chiyoko affirms. you respond with a small nod. 

the older woman takes the menus and walks to the back, leaving the two of you alone for a moment. “thank you hanta,” you expressed. “what for?” the male asks, hints of confusion littered in his voice. “this,” you answered, “we haven’t spent quality time like this in a while.” 

there was a pause in your words, and you reached out for sero’s hand across the table. “i’m sorry,” you muttered. when you looked up, your boyfriend noticed the glassiness layered over top your eyes. 

“don’t be,” he assures, “we’ve been really busy lately, you know, saving the city.” his signature proud, triangular smile lit up the room. “but i’m glad we can spend some time together every now and then,” sero adds, giving your hand a tight squeeze. 

you found so much comfort in his words -- it was like he knew exactly what to say. 

“ahem,” isamu grunted. he was holding a small tray with two cups of tea balanced on top. from the background you could hear chiyoko scolding her husband, “isamu, quit being so impatient. can’t you see they’re having such a sweet moment.” you watched as she discarded a lonesome tear. 

isamu took the cups from the little tray and gently placed them on the table. “don’t worry about it,” sero assured, followed with a light-hearted chuckle; your lips shifted into a simple little smirk. 

you took a small little sip of the tea from the cup, your expression perking up almost immediately -- like a small dog wagging their little tail. the steam from the cup warmed up your face as well. sero took a swig of his tea, and he tasted the bright flavors of the yuzu, which contrasted the duller shades of autumn. 

“enjoy?” the older woman asked. your small, little smirk spread into a smile. “very much,” you responded. 

while you continued to sip on your drinks, chiyoko even brought out albums of countless, old photos of the life her and isamu had shared. it was a life sero only wished he’d be able to share with you. 

but things aren’t always so simple -- they always say all good things must come to an end, right?

it was the first day of fall following summer -- the weather was much cooler than the previous days. some people even claimed it to be an ominous sign. the wind threatened to pull trees from their roots, the fog made it difficult to see nearly five feet ahead.

but sero continued to fight the both wind and the fog. he rushed through the city, because he knew what was at stake. cellophane had been called onto the scene to support a mission gone awry -- your mission that had gone awry. 

the closer sero got, the more he could see how disastrous the mission had gone. what was once a tall standing building, now turned to nothing but rubble. heroes from all over the board came to offer any sort of assistance.

though he could barely recognize them, but sero even saw some of his old high school classmates coming to the rescue. 

he watched as the tentacle hero, tentacole, brought the leftover civilians to safety, being sure to shield them from any of ground zero and gale force’s uncontrollable blasts of power. uravity, sugar rush, and battle fist had been maneuvering larger masses in order to find anyone hidden in the debris, while alien queen melted away the concrete and steel. 

even sero’s former teacher, eraserhead, worked with the underground hero, mind jack, to round up the last of the villains. 

as soon as the tape hero swung onto the scene, he found the nearest person he could ask for help. he figured top hero creati was sure to know where you could be. “mo-creati,” cellophane announced, granting him the creation hero’s attention. “have you seen them?” he questioned.

the least she gave him was a shake of her head. “i’m sorry,” the creation hero began, “we don’t know of their whereabouts as of right now.” though she made it seem that she was composed under the frantic situation, creati was just as scared as cellophane. 

from then sero did one of the most unprofessional, irrational things a hero could do and run straight into the chaos without any other instruction. it was against protocol -- it was against his own rules, but he was desperate to know if you were safe.  

“cellophane!” another hero called out. it was red riot, a former classmate and a close friend. the bmi hero, fat gum, followed close behind. 

sero gripped both of his red-haired pal’s sturdy shoulders. “please,” the hero’s voice began to grow desperate, “please tell me you’ve seen them.”

“no,” the red-head answered. sero began to drown himself in his own thoughts. where on earth could you be? were you even alright? you had to be. he thought. “but the last anyone has heard or seen from them was over that away,” red riot pointed out.

cellophane gave his buddy a simple nod as a sign of appreciation, before proceeding down the path he had pointed out. 

as he continued in that direction, the tape hero stumbled across a body, which laid dormant and defeated in front of him. he recognized the definable features to be yours, eyes growing wide at the sight. despair washed over sero at his discovery. 

‘no it isn’t,’ he thought, ‘it can’t possibly be them. is it?’ sero knew there was only one possible way to answer that question -- a question he wished he would never have to answer. 

it was almost like his legs took root in the ground below, his knees pulled him to the ground like heavy rocks. sero felt himself sinking into the ground. 

“(y/n)?” he whispered. the warmth of his arms contrasted that of the body held between them. 

a silent bubble formed around the two of you, but all sero wished for was to hear your voice. he wanted that voice to tell him that everything would all be okay. that things would soon go back to normal -- though he knew they wouldn’t. 

“hanta, say something. please,” you begged, your words filling that silence, “let me hear your voice once more.”

nothing. unlike the countless times before, sero didn’t know what to say. he simply just didn’t have the right words. 

you had brought your hand up to hold onto sero’s cheek, and he felt the warmth begin to fade. “hanta,” you spoke out, barely even whispering. every breath containing less and less life in it. 

“(y/n). . .” he whimpered, but it was too late. your hand dropped due to the lack of life in it. “(y/n)” he continued, “(y/n), please, (y/n)!” the tears finally began to fall, with no sign of stopping anytime soon. 

“don’t leave me,” he pleaded, “don’t leave me without saying goodbye.” 

there was no response. 

“you promised,” the words echoed through the open space, “you promised.”

that day japan lost a strong hero, and sero lost an even stronger love. 

just about two autumns have passed since your incident, and there isn’t a day that goes by where sero doesn’t think about how things might’ve been if you were still around. 

he wonders if you would still have been the same person you were back then. he wonders what would have changed. what would have stayed the same?

but sero knows he can’t get so hung up on the what if’s, because they aren’t the reality -- a reality without you around anymore. 

the wind hits the back of sero’s neck, and it brings him back to that first time he walked down this once familiar path. however, this time he can only wish that you were still by his side, accompanying him. 

when the male stepps inside, he’s hit with that same warmth once more. just this time he can tell that something was the slightest bit off. 

a voice calls out -- isamu, “long time no see.” a long time it indeed had been -- just about two years to be exact.

since the tragedy had struck, sero hadn’t come back to the little cafe; however, the male figured he’d stop by while he was already in the area. at least to say his hello’s to the couple if nothing else.

the older woman, chiyoko, emerges from the back room, a tray in her hands. her eyes grow wide, like she some sort of apparition stood in front of her. “welcome back,” chiyoko greets. a relieving smile shifts onto her face. it makes sero feel at home -- the most at home he’s felt in a little while. “please come sit,” isamu insists. 

sero does as he’s told, walking toward the center of the cafe -- the best seat in the house. it reminds him of that first time he visited with you. 

chiyoko comes by the table with a small cup in hand. “yuzu honey?” she offers, “it’s on the house.” sero gives the woman a simple little nod, taking the offering from her. as he sips on what once was your favorite beverage, he tastes that bright, citrus flavor. that flavor you had fallen in love with all that time ago. 

“how’s (y/n) doing?” chiyoko questions. she was always a very curious woman and probably couldn’t help but ask. sero could hear isamu grunting from behind, attempting to signal to chiyoko that she may have overstepped her boundaries. 

“it’s alright,” sero utters, “they-” 

he can’t even give the older couple a proper answer. so instead, sero put on that signature, triangular smile -- like a mask, covering the deep, twisted despair inside. he took a deep inhale and lied.  

“they’ve been doing well,” he wished.

[let-it-show]

You’ll Love Me At Once

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam Once Upon a Dream from Sleeping Beauty "Oooh I've got to sleep, I've got to sleeep. But...there's one more chapter. Just one more and I'll be done." Anna mumbled the words to herself, pushing herself to keep going. She sat on Elsa's bed, on top of the covers as her sister lay sleeping beside her. She'd been out for over an hour, every now and then letting out an extremely soft snore that made Anna smile softly. Anna had made a habit of climbing into her bed every evening. It used to be she left when Elsa fell asleep, but after she herself knocked out in the big cozy bed, she decided there was no point in leaving every night. The bed was big and Elsa had space and Anna was able to not accidentally kick her. 

Often she and Elsa each read a book together, finishing and trading so they could talk about the stories. Anna loved that; she loved any little action that connected her with her once mysterious sister. Even if Elsa fell asleep with the book on her stomach, Anna was pleased to continue with her own in some low candle light, wrapped in a blue and purple blanket while wearing her green nightgown.

She was turning the page when she felt a sudden chill and saw something from the corner of her eye. It was something white and sparkly and...

Icy.

Anna turned her head to look past Elsa, toward the other side of the room where a figure was forming. It was certainly Elsa's powers at work, but what were they doing? Anna tilted her head and watched intensely.

"Woah," she breathed out when the final, iced and glimmering figure was revealed. It was....Elsa. It was Elsa in her coronation dress with her hair worn in that braid she'd become so fond of. She looked incredible, beautiful, and Anna swallowed.

There was no way she could miss the figure of her sister, the curves of the cold ice forming her hips and the shining of her breasts as she walked away from the wall. Anna's cheeks colored as she thought about it, and how badly she wanted to touch even if the cold might hurt her palms.

A quick glance reassured her that her sister was still asleep, eyes shut and breathing steady. Anna didn't know what she was nervous about. If Elsa woke up to see her admiring icy curves she would probably be more amused than anything. She knew how much Anna loved everything she made of ice, and a version of herself was no different...right?

The ice-Elsa's glowed a soft blue, but not at all in an eerie sense. It was calming. There was a confident gleam in those eyes and Anna enjoyed it as the figure circled the bed and...and held out her hand.

Anna's eyes went wide in confusion and she finally put down her book, pointing at herself. "Me?" she squeaked out, surprised that she was being...invited? She wasn't sure.

"Dance with me."

Anna startled and looked back at her sister, who had sleepily muttered the words though her eyes were shut. She was talking in her sleep! And...manifesting! "But it's me-it's Anna." Surely in her dream Elsa was dancing with a charming suitor from a far-off land.

"Anna, dance with me, please?"

Slowly Anna dragged her gaze back to the form offering a hand. Then...she took it, and slid from her blanket, leaving the bed. "Oh!" she yelped when one hand landed on her hip and chilled her through the thin gown. She shivered, both from the cold and how much she liked the touch.

Then she had to bite back another sound when a frozen hand palmed her cheek and her gaze met the blue glow. Her face was so very cold...but she didn't mind too much. Because where it connected with her skin she felt warmth as well, different than any she knew.

"Anna.." Elsa's voice behind her, but Anna didn't turn. She let ice-Elsa slide an arm around her waist and take her other hand. She stepped back, leading Anna away from the bed and to a more open space where she whirled her around in a great circle. She drew Anna closer to take her in proper, graceful steps as Anna tried not to trip over her own feet.

And it was - it was difficult. "Okay, I got this...there! ...Oh, oh Elsa I'm sorry I stepped on your-that didn't even phase you, its ice...oh I think I got it..!" Eventually, she did. It may have only been a minute as they danced to music only the sleeping Elsa could hear, but it felt like it took forever for her to grasp it.

Anna was thankful that the ice-Elsa didn't notice her missteps, had no reaction to the way Anna clung to her with a slippery death grip and kept bumping her shoes. All in all, it was a very awkward dance - but the way ice-Elsa smiled and kept going as the real Elsa sighed happily made it all worth it.

How long they actually danced Anna wasn't sure. She gradually got better. Her footing became more sure and she managed to support herself with Elsa's arms even if they were slippery too. She wished there was real music playing but she did well enough with the tune she hummed in her head. They twirled around the room, Elsa giggling in her sleep while Anna held back snorts of amusement.

Then they stopped with ice-Elsa's face close to Anna's, closer than it had ever been. "Come to my room," Elsa said softly and Anna's eyes went wide as dinner plates.

"W-what? What...how do you..." The way she asked did not feel normal. It was almost - it implied something. It was suggestive as the ice hands ran down her sides, pausing on her hips. Elsa pulled Anna's body in closer and as Anna breathed she could see fog forming on Elsa's cheeks.

"My room...my room...mmm.." Elsa continued and Anna heard rustling. She turned her head quickly and saw Elsa rolling on her side with a sigh, evidently still asleep and dreaming, if that's what that was. It had to be.

The cold began to fade from Anna's overheated body and when she looked, ice-Elsa had developed scattered areas that erupted in bright glows. Then her body began to slowly fade into glittering snowflakes, her back going first and eventually from her hair down to her shoes. It was beautiful but Anna felt...

She felt sad. It was like seeing her dear sister fade away, watching her disappear, and she didn't like that. It made her heart hurt.

Anna bit her lip and stepped back, before whirling around and climbing back onto the bed as fast as she could. With the feeling of the dance still holding to her along with the sight of Elsa becoming nothing but flurries, she had to get close to her sister.

After blowing out her candle she slipped under the covers as efficiently as she could, not wishing to wake Elsa. It appeared she hadn't as Elsa didn't move at all, her breathing not changing. She seemed comfortable, content. Maybe she didn't even know she'd had a dream. Anna didn't know if she wanted her to remember or not.

What she did know was how she wanted to hold Elsa's real, warm body against her own. Whatever had just happened was magical and amazing, and she never wanted to let it go.

[qobiin]

those bluest skies above me

pairings: lan wangji & everyone (lwj&lxc, lwj&nhs, lwj&lqr, lwj&nmj), background nielan

genre: angst, fluff | dragon lan wangji au, pre-canon

warnings: implied/referenced non-con (concerning madam lan), canonical character death, injury, mild blood, shifting, scenting, lan sect being not so good

a/n #1: written for the MDZS Big Bang 2020! the title is taken from steven universe's "that distant shore" bc i feel it bodies lwj's thoughts about wwx perfectly. thinking of the dragon dynamics similar to how abo works will help you with understanding them, but to be clear: there is nothing sexual going on in this fic. madam lan's story has so many gaps that bother me a lot bc when i look at the gaps i see a backstory like the one i gave her here since it's just what makes sense when you really think about it. the non-con is only talked about somewhat in-depth in one scene and mentioned briefly across other scenes afterward. if you want to skip the heavier bit of it, stop reading at "Then why, Lan Zhan asks with his eyes." and pick back up after the art that minzi made to accompany this <3 hope you enjoy! 

words: 25291

summary: Lan Zhan’s memories begin from the moment he hatches out of his shell and meets his mother’s golden gaze.

part one of gentleness of light, escaping 

Lan Zhan’s memories begin from the moment he hatches out of his shell and meets his mother’s golden gaze.

He only has to take one look at her to know that she is the one who laid his egg. She is the one who made his comfortable nest, who sat with him every day until he was ready to hatch.

Even for a dragon, Lan Zhan is certain that she is the most beautiful woman in the world. Her scales glimmer under the candlelight. Dark blue, green, and brown surround him as her golden eyes glow.

A young boy sits on the edges of Lan Zhan’s nest but still within Mother’s embrace. He looks almost as beautiful as their mother, even if he isn’t in dragon form himself. There is an ornament tied above his eyebrows that gleams when he moves and matches the liquid silver of his eyes.

There is no mistaking that this small boy is his brother. He can smell his mother on the boy’s skin and in the air displaced when his dark hair moves. He can see their mother in the curve of his brother’s smile and the awe in his gaze as Lan Zhan finishes slithering out of the broken remnants of his shell.

Lan Zhan stares at them both, transfixed and loving every image his eyes relay back to him. He makes a rumbling sound in the back of his throat, feeling content and loving his mother and brother more than he could ever hope to describe. His mother mirrors his rumble and his brother’s brows furrow before his expression clears as he smiles again.

His thoughts at that time are fleeting and underdeveloped, his memories are crystal clear but hold no further insight. This is something that an older version of him will miss when his memories are only plagued by questions and doubts. For now, however, his mother helps him clean his scales then scents him thoroughly.

Her whiskers brush against his snout only once and when Lan Zhan sneezes, his brother laughs. His laughter is soft and tinkles wondrously in the air around them. As the sound begins to fade, Lan Zhan decides he will do whatever he needs to do so he can hear his brother’s laugh again. Mother wordlessly guides Brother through appropriately scenting him as well and Lan Zhan shivers under the soft human hands his older brother is trailing over his face and neck.

His sire is nowhere to be seen.

(Later, Lan Zhan will be grateful for this. For the moment, however, he focuses on spreading his scent all over his weyr in return.)

Gold and silver quickly become a favorite of Lan Zhan’s.

For the first two years of his life, Lan Zhan always remains at his mother’s side.

He sees his brother only once a month and decides very quickly that he dislikes how little time they get to spend together. Brother smiles and laughs often when he is with them but Lan Zhan gets the sense that this is the only time his brother smiles and laughs so easily.

Lan Zhan dislikes that too.

His mother is beautiful and warm despite the cold river that runs through all three of their veins. She is gentle when needed and appropriately harsh in her reprimands. Lan Zhan has much he wishes to learn and he does not begrudge the discipline she hands out to him when he does something unbecoming.

He is much stronger than humans. His brother, though as much as their mother’s son as Lan Zhan, only has one form which just so happens to not be a dragon. Lan Zhan has to be aware of his strength at all times lest he hurt Brother or any other human who does not deserve it.

Even if his instincts are not as strong as Mother’s, partly in thanks to his sire’s human blood diluting most of the traits she passed down, Lan Zhan strives to practice caution at all times. His inherited instincts also do not excuse him the few times he allows them to override his thoughts and Mother, though loving, does not hesitate to put him in his place by pinning him and growling until he submits.

In their weyr, Lan Zhan is not the Head. Lan Zhan is a Claw, and maybe when he is much older, he will become the Head of his very own weyr but that is not the case now. Neither Lan Zhan nor his Head is a fucanglong who takes their hoard and hides it from the world like a jealous lover, but Brother is the only Treasure in their weyr. It is expected of Lan Zhan to guard him as well as he can even if he is the younger sibling.

Lan Zhan pushes himself to absorb as much information as he can the first year after his birth. Many of the things he learns make him angry, others are simple facts he memorizes quickly to keep everyone around him safe. He practices his strength, practices not calling upon elements to do his bidding when his emotions threaten his control. He practices remaining calm, staying alert, and always being conscious of how much damage he could carry out if he were to ever lose himself.

Control is difficult, but Mother knows enough about his nature to direct his instincts and impulses where they are needed in order to keep him present and non-threatening. In both her first and second forms, Mother shines as bright as moonlight and Lan Zhan loves her as much as he loves Brother.

That is why it is easy for Lan Zhan to shift into his second form once a year has passed since he first hatched. For his weyr, Lan Zhan finds himself able to do anything as long as it benefits them.

He is much smaller than he is accustomed to in this new form of his, but when he sees the joy and relief in Brother’s eyes the next time he visits, Lan Zhan finds this development welcome. Brother can pick him up easily in his new form and he still kisses Lan Zhan on the forehead as often as he did before, rubbing a hand over his hair where his horns would usually be.

The gentleness that now accompanies his brother’s movements soothes the urge Lan Zhan has to bury so he does not suddenly shift back into his first form. If he were to shift too quickly, he could harm his brother and that is one thing Lan Zhan never wants to do.

Lan Zhan can walk without much difficulty in his second form but speech is harder for him. He sticks to monosyllables and pointing, for the time being, brightening each time Mother and Brother interpret him correctly. Even if his ability to speak is worse than most human children his age, Lan Zhan is content with being understood by his weyr.

His thoughts come slower to him as a human and he at first feels like he is going to burst back into his dragon form at any moment. It is difficult to remain in his second form, but after a fashion, Lan Zhan is easily able to consciously shift between both his forms. Mother’s golden eyes gleam with pride and happiness as Lan Zhan’s growth continues. Even when sadness begins to lie in the shadows of her gaze and scent, her pride and love for him envelop him in their midsts gently.

He does not understand why Mother grows sadder with each passing day until two years have passed since Lan Zhan first hatched. Brother visits them that day as he normally does but he arrives accompanied by a man who introduces himself as their uncle. Uncle explains that he will now be taking care of Lan Zhan and his brother full time instead of Mother and Lan Zhan is no longer allowed to stay with her in seclusion. The Clan Elders believe that Lan Zhan has learned most of what he requires to live a peaceful life without his draconic tendencies interfering and he shall now be brought into the Gusu Lan Sect good and proper to be raised alongside his older brother.

His instincts do not want to be far from the Head of their weyr. Lan Zhan himself does not want to be taken from Mother, but she is his Head and Brother is their only Treasure. He must protect him in their mother’s stead and if that means he is only allowed to see Mother once a month from now on, then so be it.

It doesn’t shock him that Brother does not look happy after hearing this news. Still, there is a sharp line of resignation in his shoulders that tells Lan Zhan all he needs to know.

If it were up to Brother, neither of them would ever be kept from Mother. Mother would be living with them wherever they wished to go just as long as they were together. Unfortunately, this matter is not being left to Brother so they will have to make do with what they can since it does not seem like the Head of their weyr will do something to keep them with her either.

Brother hands a box to Mother who opens it, angling it so Lan Zhan is also able to see the white ribbon identical to his brother’s own lying within. Lan Zhan kneels before her, both of them in their second forms as she ties the ribbon around Lan Zhan’s forehead. She fixes his hair and presses a kiss to the ribbon once she is done, the slant of her mouth loving and unhappy at the same time.

Lan Zhan pokes at the familiar clouds adorning his ribbon and nods, showing his acceptance of these turns of events.

He still cries that very night in his new shared quarters with Brother. He does not make a sound as he weeps, more than sure of the fact that he will be punished if anyone that is not his brother catches him at this moment. Just because he accepted being taken away from Mother does not mean he enjoys this. His acceptance does not change the fact that he is only two-years-old and is being kept from his mother.

Brother wakes only to slide into his new bed beside him and scent him until they both fall asleep with a shared longing for their mother inside their hearts.

Uncle does his best, Lan Zhan knows.

It does not change the fact that his instincts wail and weep to see the Head of his weyr every day. That one day a month is not enough to satiate the ache and longing within his four-year-old body to see Mother. That Lan Zhan is a Claw and is not ready to become a Head in his mother’s place just yet. That Lan Zhan still does not know everything he should to steadily curb his instincts until he has found a way to balance both sides of his blood.

Brother’s instincts are weaker than Lan Zhan’s own but he knows his brother still feels them within his darkest depths.

Lan Zhan is only allowed to shift back into his first form twice a week and he always makes certain that he is allowed to shift in the presence of his Head. He frequently finds himself schooling his expression so no one except Brother and Mother may know what he is feeling. He might not be as tall or as imposing in his second form as he is in his first, but that doesn’t mean he will make it easy for others to take advantage of him.

Many of the children close to his age tend to avoid him in the children’s hall because of his supposed lack of feeling. Lan Zhan doesn’t mind. He likes the distance kept between them, especially since he still has not tamped down the urge to shift into his first form when he is drastically startled. Knowing that the fragile, weak human children around him aren’t staying too close is comforting in case his grip on control ever slips. Nevertheless, Lan Zhan finds this unlikely to happen since he guards himself against his baser instincts with a viciousness that surprises his own mother.

It shouldn’t surprise her though. Not when considering the whispers trailing after him that the Clan Elders think he cannot hear. Lan Zhan has excellent senses, only further improved in his first form. Even when he accompanies Brother and Uncle to the cold springs far away from the areas most of the residents of Cloud Recesses pass through, he can hear the poison dripping from their mouths.

They want to show him off to the cultivation world. They want to use him as a threat against the other Great Sects. They want him to lose control so they can punish him and make an example out of him. They want to say, Look at what we did to this dragon and her offspring. Look at what we have the power to do to everyone with these dragons under our thumbs.

Lan Zhan is young. He is much too small in his second form when considering the way he feels. He improves in controlling what expressions flit across his face. He gradually enhances his ability to tamp down on his feelings instinctively calling out to the elements around him when he is overwhelmed. He is polite and cordial to Brother and Uncle in public, but as affectionate as he can be when they are in private quarters with no risk of being interrupted. He learns to meditate, learns about the reassuring joy of music, and picks up the guqin. Due to his golden core forming while he is still so young, Lan Zhan is now considered a prodigy in his own right.

Lan Zhan is many things, but he is not ignorant. He can always smell the terror that shadows every interaction people have with him and how they recoil whenever he moves too quickly or gives off an aura much too powerful for a newly turned five-year-old child. He is never able to disappear from other people's awareness no matter how much he wishes it. Because of this, he never once presents himself as anything less than the perfect Lan every disciple in his sect strives to be. Especially not where others are able to see and somehow use it against him in the future. His status as a prodigy only further alienates him from the rest of his sect members and as a result, loneliness is something he has quickly grown used to.

The three thousand rules that the Gusu Lan Sect is infamous for become his word of law, his guide in this dangerous territory. By all rights, Cloud Recesses is Lan Zhan's. He is the first dragon to be born here on this mountain, up high in the sky. By the rights bestowed upon him through his mother's blood, this makes the area his. Makes the people who live here fall under his jurisdiction and protection alike. Cloud Recesses should be his, but it is not.

The Clan Elders are the ones with the power here and Lan Zhan is not going to give them a reason to put him down.

When he explains this to Mother on his next monthly visit, she cries. She weeps and sobs and pulls him into her frail arms. He wants to remind her about the rule concerning excessive sadness but decides to bite his tongue. Now wouldn’t be the time for that.

So he lays his head against his mother’s shoulder and wraps his arms as far as they can go around her, holding her as tightly as she is holding him. The Head of his weyr crying brings him no joy or comfort, but Lan Zhan is at least glad that Brother fell ill yesterday so he would not be subjected to their mother's tears along with him.

"A-Zhan, my poor A-Zhan," she murmurs into his hair.

Lan Zhan understands that Mother is sadder than most, that her dragon spirit is slowly dying with each passing day she spends away from the earth and rivers that bore and nurtured her. It is why he learns as much as he can from her.

Mother tells him about the different kinds of dragons. Tells him that no matter what their different aspects may be, every dragon has a bit of fucanglong in them. She tells him Grandfather's name and that since he was a fucanglong, Lan Zhan will have more of that in him than others of their kind would. That she has much of her father in her no matter that she was born the same as her mother since she hatched in the roaring rapids of a river. That Lan Zhan is a shenlong made for the rain and clouds that frequent Gusu Lan, even if Mother herself is a dilong who misses the earth and her river and is not meant for the skies like him.

"You hatched on this high mountain and in these clouds. That is why you are a shenlong, A-Zhan. A dragon's being is determined by the nature they hatch in, not the nature they inherit from their parents," Mother says, her voice soft and clear despite her tears. "But never forget that you will also have a bit of me and your grandfather as well. You enjoy visiting the cold springs often, correct?"

"Mn."

"The cold springs settle the urges I passed down to you when there was nothing more than a delicate shell separating you from this world," Mother explains. "Water does my bidding, but both water and wind will do yours. A-Zhan, it may one day be the reason you fly. Not all shenlong do, not even most, but I have a feeling you are capable of it."

Lan Zhan nods, understanding this as fact. He knew most of this already and guessed the rest but hearing it relayed back to him from his Mother settles the feelings within him.

Mother smiles and presses a hand to his face, cupping his cheek tenderly. Lan Zhan blinks and suddenly feels the urge to cry as he realizes that while he may be able to indulge his safer and more basic urges, the Head of his weyr cannot. Mother is confined to this house hidden within the back slopes of this mountain with no river or large body of water nearby. The sitting room is only big enough to accommodate her first form if she coils up around the table they sit at for tea.

Why is she here in this house hidden high within the clouds?

"What's wrong, A-Zhan?"

Lan Zhan blinks rapidly up at his mother, opening his mouth to speak before he loses his nerve. "Why are you here?"

His Head sighs, her fingers now carding through Lan Zhan’s hair. “I am meant for the earth, for the firm press of dirt, the freshly tilled soil, and the winding rivers that always lead back to the sea. Not the sky. Not the clouds, winds, and rain that you are meant for, A-Zhan.”

“But⎼” Lan Zhan begins to say, not liking the implications of his mother’s words one bit.

“Let me finish, A-Zhan. This is not something I ever planned to tell you at your age but we are different from regular people. You are already beginning to understand your place in this world, and it would not be fair of me to never share with you how the circumstances of your birth came to be,” Mother speaks right over him, smiling when Lan Zhan meets her golden gaze with furrowed brows, both of them thinking of the rule forbidding one to interrupt others.

Lan Zhan huffs out a breath he will deny is a sigh and nods his head once more, eyes still locked onto his mother’s own. “Mn.”

And so she tells him. Tells him of how when she was still a whelp, Grandmother was captured by the Jin Sect and killed for her beautiful scales. That Grandfather was, understandably, furious about this but she was only sad and confused. That she never understood how humans could ever trap a being as powerful as Grandmother. That she did not think that could ever happen to her, especially not after Grandfather hid her with his other Treasures.

By this point in her story, her gaze is wistful and far-off. “Baba took us underground and hid us from the rest of the world for our own safety, but I was unhappy. I was still young and I ached for the rivers that ran above our heads. I wanted to explore and see this world for myself. I could not survive under Baba’s rules forever, so I waited. Baba left to hunt one day and I took that as my chance to escape. I had always planned to return, but now I will die without ever having Baba’s scent on me again.”

“Mother,” Lan Zhan rasps, his eyes already itching.

Mother continues, acting as if Lan Zhan has not spoken. She tells him of posing as a rogue cultivator for some time after first joining the cultivator world. How she used the money she received from the night hunts she completed to buy herself a sword. Forming a golden core wasn’t a task too difficult for her, just as it was not difficult for Lan Zhan either. Those like them are very intelligent and have always had enough patience to test even the Great Immortals the cultivation world attempts in vain to become.

Here Mother bends and presses an absent-minded kiss to his forehead ribbon, quickly resuming from where she left off in her story. “I was in Caiyi Town when I met your father, A-Zhan. He was young and handsome, but he smelled all wrong to me. He claimed he fell in love with me from the moment our eyes met, yet I have never loved him.”

Then why, Lan Zhan asks with his eyes. His Head sniffs, her eyes watering again.

She explains that not too long after meeting his father, she decided to try alcohol for the first time before she left Caiyi Town and moved on to the next night hunt that was calling her name. The inn she was staying in claimed their brew was the best in all the Great Sects. She believed it would be acceptable for her first try, so she ordered a jar with her usual dinner in the inn’s public dining area. One of the Clan Elders was there as well, sitting a table away from hers, drinking tea and doing nothing else. Mother says that she did not think anything of it at the time. She was more preoccupied with the alcohol being stronger than she had first been led to believe. Soon enough, she was intoxicated and stumbling around, trying her utmost best to return to her room by herself.

The innkeeper had offered to help her up to her room once it was quite clear that she was inebriated, but the Clan Elder insisted that he would do it instead. Mother only agreed because she knew she needed help and he had seemed friendly enough to her. But once they reached her room, he did not drop her off at her door like she thought he would. He refused to leave as she struggled to shift into her first form to defend herself from his attack. The alcohol had made it difficult to focus and she had been attempting to shift ever since she first realized the Clan Elder was not going to leave her alone as she had hoped. She knew there was a way to use her golden core to burn the alcohol out of her system, except the enormity of her emotions did not allow her to think clearly.

“I have never been able to forget that man’s face,” Mother says, her eyes wide and blown with the depths of her pain. “I planned to leave Caiyi Town not long after that until I found out I was with child. There was no doubt in my mind that man was the father.”

Lan Zhan does not know what to say. Since the moment he hatched, he believed he and Brother to be the results of his Mother’s strained marriage. Now he finds that to be false. Brother and he do not share the same, exact blood.

Knowing this somehow sparks a wave of insurmountable anger within him. The depth of the anger he can feel burning in his chest both terrifies and reassures Lan Zhan. He has never been angry before, not like this. Not to the point where it feels like his rage could swallow him whole and churn him back out completely changed. This type of response is unexpected, of course, but he finds it valid nonetheless. His mother was hurt, and his brother was a product of that hurt meaning, in a way, Brother was also hurt by this.

“Brother is not…” Lan Zhan decides to ask before he trails off as he realizes he is unwilling to finish his question.

“A-Huan is your brother,” Mother says without hesitation, her voice firm and leaving no room for doubt. “His father may have hurt me, but I love him as I love you. He is not your half anything, A-Zhan. A-Huan is your brother because you are both my sons. He inherited many of my physical traits in this form, so much so that no one would ever suspect you two of having different fathers. That is what your uncle said to me before he took A-Huan away.”

Knowing all of this somehow makes the angry, vicious pit in Lan Zhan’s chest feel all that much worse. He has always known that Mother’s seclusion had been forced upon her as a form of punishment. The full implications of this had never quite registered until now though. Lan Zhan could never pinpoint what rule she had broken that was severe enough to warrant her level of punishment. Rule-breaking and Mother had never gone hand-in-hand to him, not when both she and Uncle had been the ones to instill such deep respect for the three thousand Lan Sect rules within him.

Something was missing from the picture before and now that a part of it has been given to him, Lan Zhan almost wishes he had never paid attention in the first place.

“The Clan Elder…” Lan Zhan trails off again, unsure of what he means to say exactly.

Mother understands though. His Head has always understood him when his words tended to fail him. “I killed him for what he had done to me. It was mercy in my eyes. Baba would have done so much worse if he had ever found out. Others saw differently, however.”

She stops there for a moment, her gaze uncertain. Lan Zhan nods, determined to hear this through until the end. Even though he does not know what the Clan Elder did to his mother exactly, he wants to know if that man’s death is the reason Mother is imprisoned here. Mother takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, tears tracing down her cheeks silently.

“Your father was already the Sect Leader by that point. He convinced me to marry him. He said he would protect me and your brother. I agreed even though I feared he might do to me what one his sect’s elders had done, but your brother was already one of my Treasures by then, A-Zhan, and a Head keeps their Treasures safe,” she sighs, gently wiping Lan Zhan’s tears away with her thumbs. “I never understood the position Baba was in until I felt your brother’s heart beating within me. I knew he was not going to be enough like me to keep himself safe. He would be born mostly human and I did not dare shift into my first form lest it harmed him in any way. I had to keep him safe and no one believed me when I told the other Clan Elders why I killed one of their own.”

Mother is crying again, her words trembling as she rambles. “No one but your father and uncle accepted my words as the truth. Your father put me here and then secluded himself due to guilt and grief alike. I had killed one of his sect after all. No matter how awful that man had turned out to be, he had influenced your father and uncle a lot as they were growing up themselves.”

“Mother,” Lan Zhan whispers. “You need not continue.”

But his mother only shakes her head, pressing onward. “I had A-Huan here and only got to hold him for a few moments before he was taken from me. His monthly visits began at the same age yours did. He had never seen me before but he knew who I was from the moment our eyes met again.”

Her breathing is even when she says, “I decided to give your father a child some time after that. I am his wife in nothing but name, A-Zhan. It troubled me that this man who claimed to love me but I did not love in return would endure so much trouble and pain for my sake. I felt guilty, so I disrupted his seclusion in the middle of the night and made my intentions clear. He was unwilling at first but eventually agreed.”

Lan Zhan almost smiles when his Head’s nose wrinkles, a tiny scowl marring her tear swollen face. Her tears have stopped for the moment, but Lan Zhan is certain they may return soon enough when Mother says that his sire still smelled all wrong to her. She did not love him, no matter how much he loved her but there was something there within him that reminded her of the earth and rivers she had been kept from for so long.

She left before his sire woke up the next morning and later felt the urge to shift for the first time since Brother’s conception that very same night. She was hesitant at first, unsure of what could have been making her feel that way. Eventually, she gave in sometime after the curfew bells rang, still uncertain about what exactly was compelling her to do so.

“And what do you know?” Mother laughs then, the sound tired and small but still there. “An egg was trying to pop out of me! I was laying your egg, A-Zhan.”

Later she learned that his sire and Uncle had a small portion of dragon blood in them that could be traced all the way back to Lan An, Gusu Lan’s founder. For the first time in years, however, Mother was in her first form, making a nest for her egg after curfew.

Mother smiles then, something soft and loving in the curve of her lips. Lan Zhan cannot help but smile in return, reaching up to wipe his Head’s tears. She tilts her head down in his direction, golden eyes glowing with the warmth of her unabashed affection.

“Oh, you were so tiny in the beginning, A-Zhan. Your shell was so fragile that I worried myself sick those first few months thinking you would not make it, but here you are,” Mother says, cupping Lan Zhan’s face in between her palms as if she almost cannot believe it herself. “Here you are, my little dragon. My Claw and other Treasure.”

Soon though, her smile and the warmth in her eyes begin to wither. "I would have liked to tell you this when you were older. You are still much too young and I know this information will only burden and harm you in the long run, but I do not know how much time I have left and you deserve to know so you can keep our weyr safe. After I am gone, you will be Head, A-Zhan. You must keep your brother safe when I no longer can.”

She speaks up again before Lan Zhan can, looking straight into his eyes when she says, “I wish that I could have brought you into this world under better circumstances, that I could have brought your brother into this world the same way I did you. But I do not regret it. I do not regret having you two and loving you both as much as I do, A-Zhan. You and your brother are not only my Treasures but two halves of my Heart as well. Do you understand?"

Lan Zhan feels his breath catch. Does he understand? Yes, of course, he does. How could he not when being a Head’s Heart is so much more valuable than being their Treasure? Being Treasure means being well-protected, well-loved, and well-nurtured. Being a Head’s Heart means being a part of his Head’s very being. It means being loved down to the bare bones of his core with no exceptions.

It means being half the reason Mother’s heart could physically break.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Lan Zhan shifts into his first form and wraps himself around his Head. He purrs when she follows suit not too long afterward and they scent each other. Despite the new knowledge spinning in his head, Lan Zhan is happy to be here. Happy to be alive with the Head of his weyr, with the mother who loves him and his brother enough to do whatever she can for them.

Still, there is also the sadness and anger in him that he cannot shake. That clings to every breath he takes and lies in the shadows of his thoughts. He feels loved and guilty all at the same time and he isn’t quite sure how this can be.

What Lan Zhan does know without a doubt is that he is a Claw, Treasure, and half of a Heart. Brother is Treasure, the other half of their mother’s Heart, and from now on, Lan Zhan will protect him from this truth for as long as he can.

This would destroy his gentle brother and Lan Zhan is not about to let that happen.

Lan Zhan takes to the sky five years after his birth.

He has no wings, but it does not stop him from gliding in the air, skirting through the clouds he was born for. Sunshine kisses his scales as the wind blows through his mane, whiskers twitching as he loops around the mountain again.

It is peaceful up here in the sky with only the warm sun and biting wind to keep him company.

Down below, the Lan Sect members are bright dots clustered all over Cloud Recesses. The bravest of them wave their arms at him, but most turn tail to disappear indoors once they catch sight of him. Lan Zhan ignores them, eyes latching onto two bright dots standing near where he is certain he left his robes before shifting forms.

The thought has barely crossed his mind before his body angles downward and the air shifts until it is pressing him down gently. His claws skim the treetops briefly when he dips down low to land in the cold springs.

Despite their name, Lan Zhan has never quite felt the cold bite of these waters like his fellow sect members have. He lands gracefully on his first try in one of the larger pools with only a small splash and many ripples signaling his landing. Lan Zhan moves forward, using his legs to propel him to one of the shallower pools of water. Once there, he shifts into his second form and accepts the robes Brother hands him.

“How was it, A-Zhan?” Brother asks, the longing in his voice unmistakable.

Lan Zhan only pauses for a moment as he finishes getting his inner robes on before saying, “I will take you soon, Brother.”

Brother smiles, holding the first layer of his outer robes up. “Not until you’ve had more practice. It would be unfortunate if you were to tire yourself out halfway through our intended flight.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan acquiesces.

“Wangji,” Uncle cuts in then, drawing both his nephew’s attention as Lan Zhan finishes getting dressed. “How are you feeling?”

Lan Zhan mentally takes stock of his energy levels and the soreness located in his lower back. “Tired, but well, Uncle.”

Uncle frowns and beckons him forward. “Let me check. You have only just recovered and I know your arm has continued to bother you.”

Lan Zhan goes willingly. Uncle is strict and appears to be fussy all the time, but Lan Zhan is aware that is how Uncle shows affection. Of course, Uncle is not perfect but his faults are not enough to make Lan Zhan or his brother love him any less.

Uncle presses two fingers to Lan Zhan’s wrist, his other hand gripping Lan Zhan’s shoulder firmly to keep him in place. Lan Zhan leans into Uncle’s touch readily, head tipped back to study the look of concentration on his face.

It is unsurprising that Uncle is worried. After all, it was only a month before when the training accident took place.

(Lan Zhan is of the mind that it was not much of an accident at all actually, but the Clan Elders would hear nothing of it.)

Brother had been sparring with two older disciples in the sword training area while Lan Zhan spotted. Lan Zhan had not been worried at the time, Brother is very skilled in the six arts of cultivation but especially in swordsmanship. Sparring against older disciples is a habit of his brother’s, one that he indulged frequently. It was also somewhat of an unspoken rule in Cloud Recesses that if Lan Xichen draws his sword, then Lan Wangji will be found nearby ready to intervene at a moment’s notice.

Lan Zhan takes his position as a Claw very seriously. Brother knows this and huffs a bit when Lan Zhan stations himself nearby during sword practice but says nothing to discourage him from it. In a weyr, Treasures need to be protected at all times, no matter the cost, so it was not unusual for Lan Zhan to be present at that time.

Brother had been doing well against his mock-opponents. Too well if the frustrated looks on the older disciples’ faces were anything to go off of. Of course, Lan Zhan was also privy to the anger slowly building up in one of the older disciple’s scents.

As soon as he had caught a whiff of it, Lan Zhan’s hair felt like it stood on end. Something ancient struggled to spring to life in his chest, his senses focusing only on the spar in front of him. He had exhaled heavily, hoping to calm himself but left himself shocked instead as his breath turned to mist in front of him. Lan Zhan was unsure how that had come to happen but before he could think about it too much, the flash of a sword glare stole his attention.

From one moment to the next, Lan Zhan was standing in front of Brother, his unsheathed practice sword held out in front of him and his body caught between his two forms. His scales were all too clear around his neck and jaw, but none were found where the older disciple’s sword had just sliced through his arm. Lan Zhan had barely glanced at the blood seeping through his robes before he made a rumbling sound that lodged itself in the back of his throat and the disciples dropped their swords, scuttling backward in fear.

Even in his second form, Lan Zhan’s skin is tough and sturdy enough to not sustain most of the usual injuries normal children his age would receive. Brother, too, has this kind of protection and Lan Zhan is more than aware of that. It does not mean that they are invulnerable, but it does mean they are less likely to break when compared to others.

It still did not stop Lan Zhan from taking the blow that was meant for one of his Treasures.

If either of them were normal, that sword would have cut Lan Zhan deep enough to render his arm useless. If he had not stepped in, that sword would have run Brother clean through.

But Lan Zhan had. He had moved as quickly as the wind and put himself between his brother and the oncoming danger. He had stood there silently, uncaring of the blood dripping down onto his hand and staining his robes. He was in-between forms, but he had made no threatening moves in these boys’ direction, had not even unsheathed his practice sword. One of these boys had tried to draw his Treasure’s blood right in front of Lan Zhan’s very own eyes and he still did not lose control.

If Mother had been there, had witnessed one half of her Heart being attacked, there is no telling what would have happened. Lan Zhan, of course, still isn’t very sure he would not hurt those boys if he caught sight of them anywhere near Brother or Uncle again. There is a likely chance Mother would kill them if they approached Brother, but there is no chance that she would do so if they came near Uncle. Uncle is one of Lan Zhan’s Treasures, after all, not Mother’s.

(Brother told him that she, of course, approved of Lan Zhan’s actions and Lan Zhan’s claim to Uncle as Treasure, but her anger about the “accident” was not light.)

At that moment, however, Lan Zhan only pulled his arms back to his sides when Uncle arrived and placed a hand over his brother’s own on Lan Zhan’s shoulder. Before that, Lan Zhan had been contemplating whether it was worth it to break so many of the rules and hurt these disciples no matter what punishment awaited him.

Violence is not something Lan Zhan has ever taken joy in. He knows his instincts are capable of drawing bloodlust out of him and he also knows that his strength would be enough to harm anyone he wanted without trying. If he was that careless, however, he would be losing face for both his family and his sect alike. Mother and Uncle have not raised him to give in to his instincts so easily at the first sign of a threat targeting his brother. His self-restraint and control are stronger than that.

So Lan Zhan had exhaled and calmed himself as he allowed Brother to escort him to the healer’s hall while Uncle berated the older disciples for their recklessness. Uncle had gotten their side of the story, nose wrinkling when they claimed it was an accident and Lan Zhan was merely overreacting. Lan Zhan had heard all of that and had almost spoken aloud to mention the rule prohibiting dishonesty that they were breaking, but Brother had gripped onto his shoulder that much harder and practically dragged him away before more blood could possibly be shed.

Lan Zhan’s arm was cleaned and bandaged minutes after they arrived in the healer’s hall. The cut was shallow enough that it would be healed by the next day. Brother had still winced when Lan Zhan’s robes were peeled away to expose the wound though.

By the time the healers had proclaimed him healthy enough to leave, Uncle had come through the door in a flurry of robes and angry fussing. Lan Zhan had sat there with Brother as they explained what had happened and if Lan Zhan had felt something cold get stuck in his throat as he spoke, then that was neither here nor there.

Uncle had taken the issue to the Clan Elders and they had, unsurprisingly, sided with the older disciples instead of the Sect Heir. Lan Zhan felt sick just thinking of how far the Clan Elders were willing to go to punish their secluded Sect Leader’s wife, no matter if it affected their own Sect Heir and future or not.

The older disciples are now in seclusion for the time being. Both as punishment and protection.

Lan Zhan was not punished severely for his behavior, but he was still assigned to copy the rules ten times after his injury had healed. He had quietly and gracefully accepted his punishment, making sure each brushstroke was careful and precise before he submitted his copies of the rules to Uncle when he was done. He was also barred from seeing Mother and when Brother left to see her for their next monthly visit, Lan Zhan played all of Mother’s personal favorites on the guqin.

Sometimes when Lan Zhan found himself passing a Clan Elder in the halls, he would clench his hands into fists at his side until his fingernails had left crescent marks on his palms. He would also unknowingly grit his teeth as he thought of how close someone had gotten to harming one of his Treasures. Uncle had caught him doing so only one time and now believed that he was experiencing phantom pains in his arm when really, Lan Zhan was remembering the cold, hard fury that had rushed through him at that moment.

“Uncle, I am well,” Lan Zhan says as Uncle finally releases his hold on him and steps back.

Uncle’s mustache bristles with the force of his frown but nods. “There is no harm in making sure, Wangji.”

Brother chuckles beside them and Lan Zhan feels his lips twitch at the sound before his expression clears again.

Out here in the cold springs where only a select number of people would run into them, Lan Zhan is still careful to not allow his emotions to show. Not when their peaceful bubble could be disrupted by anyone in this very public space.

Even if Lan Zhan is not open with the full force of his emotions, this is good too.

When he is six, Lan Zhan lies coiled before the door bordered by gentians and waits.

And waits.

And waits even more.

He lies there with tears in his eyes, his lungs squeezing as grief chokes him. He will not move until the curfew bells ring when he must slither back to the room he no longer shares with Brother. Brother has not been able to build the courage to visit the Jingshi, but even if he can no longer see his Head, Lan Zhan refuses to leave.

That morning, he had woken up thinking today and had been so overcome with tears that a strong gust of wind blew open the door to his quarters. Lan Zhan had been quick to fight down the urge to fly into the sky and never return. Even if he no longer has a Head to depend on, he still has a weyr of his own depending on him now.

But the Head of his weyr is dead. Has been dead long enough for Lan Zhan to not bear thinking about it.

Lan Zhan is too young to become the Head of a weyr, especially the one he has just inherited. He wants Mother back, wants her to open the door, and let him back inside. Wants her to kiss his forehead ribbon and tell him more about Grandfather. Wants his Head to tease him until she has managed to coax a barely-there smile out of him. Wants Mother to cup his face as her golden eyes glow with the depths of her love, but now he will never be graced with the sight of her smile or the sound of her laughter ever again.

Mother’s scent still lingers here and there around the Jingshi, her scent the most saturated in certain points. When the wind blows, he can almost convince himself that the small gurgling stream nearby sounds like her laughter. The gentians she adored continue to bud even as the weather grows cold and Lan Zhan wonders for a moment if they will always be what surrounds his mother’s tomb.

He focuses on the remnants of her smell and waits. He will wait as long as he needs to, so long as Lan Zhan can cling to his last memories of her.

Mother dies and a piece of Lan Zhan dies with her.

He remains in his first form for a full month after her passing. In his second form, it is too difficult to catch the echoes of her presence at the Jingshi. In his first, he can still smell her, can hear her in the gurgling streams, and can feel her where his heart should be.

Brother does not speak much to him that month. Instead, he sits beside Lan Zhan in what was once their room and practices his music cultivation when the quiet becomes too much. He moved into a room of his own not too long before Mother left them, old enough at nine for the Clan Elders to approve the arrangement. Brother had been excused from his usual lessons after Mother’s death but had shown up for morning meditation early the following week, his signature smile fixed in place only dimmer than usual.

Sometimes Lan Zhan feels sick looking at the forced, gentle happiness his brother is displaying for the world to see. Other times, Lan Zhan is happy that Brother drops his mask when they are alone.

Lan Zhan ignores the meals Brother brings along with him. He can go a long while without eating in this form, does not even need to drink water as often as is required in his second form as well. He is aware that Brother and Uncle are worried, but he remains in his room and breathes every painful breath knowing that Mother is gone.

Excessive grief is against the rules, Lan Zhan knows, but he is not breaking the rules by doing this. To him, this is not excessive. This is justified.

How can it be considered excessive when he is six-years-old and just lost the mother who he had been forcibly kept from for most of his short life?

Mother had given up both her freedom and life just to make sure Brother would remain safe. Mother had gone to Lan Zhan’s father and made him within a night, had put together a nest, and taught him all he needed to know to also remain safe.

She had known what would happen when she agreed to marry the leader of the Lan Sect. She would be kept from the earth and rivers that were her lifeline and would die so her Heart would remain safe.

How is Lan Zhan’s behavior excessive? Her punishment was not considered excessive. Her treatment was not considered excessive.

No one has the right to claim his grief as excessive.

For once, Lan Zhan is glad of the distance that separates him from others in the sect. He revels in the fact that many members of the sect are terrified of him. It makes leaving him alone that first month easy.

After all, no one wants to risk the wrath of a grieving dragon.

Many of his fellow sect members believe it to be a fact that Lan Zhan’s instincts could take control of him and force him to harm them if they happened to reprimand him during this time. They remember that sunny afternoon in the sword training area when Lan Zhan took a blade for his older brother and had shown his scales to the two older disciples who had “accidentally” aimed too close for comfort during a practice spar. They are convinced that they know what Lan Zhan is capable of, especially in his first form.

Lan Zhan, of course, knows this to be false. He has spent years tempering his self-control, reigning in most of his urges, and perfecting his ever-present blank facial expression. These people do not know him and Lan Zhan is glad because of that.

By the end of that month, however, Brother leads him to Mother’s abandoned house. It is close to curfew, the sun already having fallen for the moon to take its place. Lan Zhan is uncertain of where Brother is taking them at first until he realizes they are following an all too familiar path Lan Zhan would be able to follow blindfolded if need be.

He walks in the halls but as soon as they have stepped onto the dirt path leading further up the mountain, Lan Zhan allows the wind to carry him where they are going. Brother keeps a hand on his head to keep him steady by his side, silent as they trek towards the one place Lan Zhan was certain Brother would never visit again.

As they come around the last bend in the path, they find a man standing in front of the Jingshi. Lan Zhan believes it to be Uncle until he catches a whiff of the man and realizes that it smells all wrong.

It is Qingheng-Jun.

Lan Zhan does not want to be here anymore. He wants to leave and return when this man is no longer standing in front of the place he imprisoned the Head of Lan Zhan’s weyr. The Jingshi was always going to be Mother’s tomb and he had to have known that when he secluded her here.

Brother feels him tense under his hand, but he only grabs onto one of Lan Zhan’s antlers and nudges him forward. Lan Zhan goes, unwillingly, but he still goes anyway.

“Father,” Brother calls out after they have come to a stop a few paces in front of the Lan Sect Leader.

When Qingheng-Jun turns to face them, two things happen. One, Brother bows. Two, Lan Zhan gets a clearer sense of his sire’s scent and growls in response.

Qingheng-Jun reeks of blood. Every inhale that brings his scent to Lan Zhan makes his stomach roll and his mind rear back. Lan Zhan wants nothing more than to pick Brother up and retreat, to curl away from the darker instincts that are begging him to get rid of the source of this smell. Instead, he bares his teeth and holds still, waiting.

He is aware that Brother freezes beside him, still caught in a low bow. Qingheng-Jun only blinks at him before he smiles and a low chuckle escapes him.

“That was your mother’s exact reaction the first time she met me,” Qingheng-Jun manages to say after he has cleared his throat and before he turns to Brother and places a hand over Brother’s clasped ones. “Ah, and no need to be so formal, Xichen.”

Brother straightens from his bow woodenly, eyes on Lan Zhan when he responds. “Father, I brought A-Zhan as requested.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze snaps to his older brother, betrayal the only thing on his mind. Brother winces and shrugs subtly, a tight smile on his face as he meets Lan Zhan’s eyes.

“Thank you, Xichen. I must speak with you both. Wangji,” Qingheng-Jun says, staring pointedly at Lan Zhan’s form. “Will you be joining the conversation?”

He stares pointedly back, waiting to see what Qingheng-Jun will say or do once he realizes that Lan Zhan does not, in fact, plan to join the conversation. If his Sect Leader orders it, then yes, he will shift into his second form. Nudity notwithstanding, Lan Zhan will not disobey a direct order from the official Lan Sect Leader even if he is Sect Leader in name only.

(Although, Lan Zhan isn’t technically bothered by the nudity aspect either. He can smell his robes hidden in the qiankun pouch Brother is keeping up his sleeve. Brother knew what Lan Zhan would decide before he even brought him here, yet he is prepared for any outcome nonetheless.)

But if his sire is asking, then Lan Zhan will remain as he is. He knows filial duty is another rule he is meant to follow, but after breaking one, what is another? He does not want whatever this man is attempting to offer now that it is too late. Maybe if this man had ever visited him, had ever cared for him. Maybe if this man had never left the responsibilities of a father and Sect Leader on Uncle’s shoulders, had ever checked in with them once to see how they fared. Maybe if he had ever left his seclusion while Mother was alive, Lan Zhan would have given him a chance, but the Head of his weyr is dead and Qingheng-Jun has never been a part of their weyr and he will never be who Lan Zhan calls father.

When Lan Zhan was much younger, he struggled with these feelings. When Mother told him about how her marriage came to be, Lan Zhan realized he did not consider Qingheng-Jun as a part of his family. Yes, his mother’s imprisonment may have spared her life when the Lan Sect Leader first decreed it, but it only delayed the inevitable in the end. Lan Zhan can appreciate that he was given life half in due part to Qingheng-Jun, but a person does not become a parent simply for making a child. Caring for a child and nurturing their mind is what makes someone a parent.

That is why, so long as Uncle lives and breathes, Lan Zhan will never consider another man as his father.

Qingheng-Jun must realize this because he sighs and continues as if Lan Zhan’s stubbornness is of little to no surprise. Lan Zhan allows himself a brief second to feel smug about this before his attention returns to the conversation at hand.

“Father, why did you decide to come out of seclusion now?” Brother asks, his voice sounding no different than usual except for the slight tremor of uncertainty Lan Zhan knows Qingheng-Jun is not picking up.

“You misunderstand. I have merely taken a brief break from seclusion to see you both. I will be returning after this,” Qingheng-Jun explains. “I wanted to speak to you two about your mother.”

Lan Zhan rumbles out a displeased sound, unsure of what to classify it as. Brother stiffens beside him again, his smile strained. Their Sect Leader smiles once more, his scent smelling something like nervousness as he hesitates.

“What about our Head?” Brother rasps.

Before Lan Zhan can think better of it, he is pushing his antler more firmly into Brother’s hand. His goal is to distract him, to get rid of the pain and sadness in his scent that he rarely ever allows to show clearly on his face. Maybe Lan Zhan never smiles or expresses much of anything with his own face, but Brother’s ever-present smile is a mask all on its own as well.

Qingheng-Jun raises a brow in question. “Your head?”

A low growl escapes Lan Zhan once he registers the way Qingheng-Jun mispronounces their mother’s title. The syllables sound distorted coming from his mouth, the weight of them all wrong in the air between them.

“Head,” Brother corrects him, a wrinkle between his brows. At least Lan Zhan was not the only one who disliked his words. “Mother was the Head of our weyr. Now… A-Zhan is the Head.”

“Do you use their terms because you also feel those urges?” Qingheng-Jun asks then, his silver eyes glinting for a moment as he tilts his head to the side.

Lan Zhan does not like the edges their Sect Leader’s question is trying to hide. They feel too sharp, too loaded with an assumption he finds himself bristling at. Brother runs a hand down his snout, wordlessly asking him to calm down. Lan Zhan listens. His Treasure is asking something of him and Lan Zhan answers, pushing down the indignation he can feel building up from the tips of his claws. His emotions are easier to read in his first form since he has more practice concealing them in his second. He needs to improve on that soon.

Brother’s smile is tight again, his silver eyes heavily guarded. “I use these terms because I am a part of this weyr, Father. I was Mother’s Treasure. A-Zhan was our Claw. Now he is our Head and I am still Treasure. Uncle, too, is another Treasure.”

You are not a part of our weyr, is what goes unspoken.

Lan Zhan could cry from the happiness springing to life in his chest. He had always known that they shared some of the same instincts, but to hear Brother explain this so simply and succinctly to an outsider ⎼ because that is what Qingheng-Jun is. That is what he will always be while Lan Zhan is Head ⎼ soothes him down to his core.

No matter what, Brother is on his side. Even if he tricked him into meeting their Sect Leader out here after curfew, Brother is still on Lan Zhan’s side.

“I apologize,” Qingheng-Jun says when the echoes of Brother’s words have faded in the darkness around them. “I did not mean to offend either of you or the memory of your mother. I loved her, after all.”

It takes Lan Zhan a moment to realize he is not the one who growled in response to Father’s apology.

Brother’s teeth are bared, his silver eyes flashing in the moonlight. Rage, hurt, and sadness rolls off Brother’s skin in waves, but Lan Zhan does nothing to stop him. Brother has never been able to shift between forms but here under the light of the full moon with his Sect Leader and the Head of his weyr as the only witnesses, Lan Zhan thinks Brother may be able to reach the in-between point of his forms one day.

“How can you still claim that?” Brother manages to say, his voice unsteady, but Lan Zhan is more than able to hear what Brother is not saying, You secluded her here knowing she would die. You removed yourself from our lives entirely just so you would not have to see her wither slowly away and still claim that you loved her?

In the recesses of his mind, Lan Zhan is shocked that Brother would ever say anything meant to be contrary against their Sect Leader. He has always thought of his brother as more forgiving than him. When Qingheng-Jun has been mentioned in the past, Brother would visibly perk up with interest, soaking up any information he could about their absent Sect Leader. Lan Zhan was careful to remain indifferent. After all, why should news of a man he has never met matter to him?

Now though, with his brother truly angry and close to confronting their Sect Leader, all Lan Zhan feels is pride.

“Xichen, do you know why your mother was in seclusion?” Qingheng-Jun asks, his voice so terribly light that Lan Zhan feels the vicious urge to bite him.

Brother shakes his head, now trembling with the force of his anger. Lan Zhan nudges his snout into his side, scenting him in the hopes that it will help him settle. Qingheng-Jun only sighs, folding his arm behind his back as he begins to speak.

He tells Brother everything. Everything Mother had glossed over and implied to Lan Zhan a year ago is laid down at his and his brother’s feet.

Lan Zhan knows the moment Brother has come to the same conclusion Lan Zhan did about their different parentage when he abruptly pulls away from Lan Zhan’s touch. His hands curl into fists at his sides, his trembling now doubled.

The pain and horror in his brother’s scent punch the very air out of Lan Zhan’s lungs. Saltwater joins the mix of smells hanging in the air soon enough and Lan Zhan aches with the need to comfort his Treasure.

Qingheng-Jun finishes shortly after that, staring at them both as he waits. What for? Lan Zhan has no idea but he must realize he will not receive whatever it is because soon enough Qingheng-Jun is stepping away with a pained look in his eyes.

“This old one apologizes, but you both deserve to know,” their Sect Leader says before he nods in Lan Zhan’s direction and turns to disappear further up the dirt path.

Lan Zhan watches him leave, eyes on his back as the darkness swallows him whole. Brother’s shaking begins to subside as Qingheng-Jun goes, his body loosening of its own accord slowly.

Brother falls to his knees once Qingheng-Jun is no longer in sight. Lan Zhan finds himself shifting into his second form to kneel beside him without thinking. Even if it is unseemly to kneel when naked, Brother is in pain and it is Lan Zhan’s job to protect him. He was never supposed to learn about this, not this way.

It does nothing to change the fact that his brother is hurt now.

“You knew,” Brother chokes out. “You knew.”

Lan Zhan nods, opening his mouth to speak before Brother rushes to speak first. “Why did you let me believe that lie, Wangji?”

The use of his courtesy name is what finally cuts Lan Zhan. Brother has been calling him A-Zhan since he hatched and has never cared for whose company they may be in when using the endearment. Lan Zhan was a Claw and Brother a Treasure, but that did nothing to change the fact that Lan Zhan is his little brother.

“You are my brother,” Lan Zhan says without hesitation. His voice is raspy and hoarse from disuse, but his words are sure and steady. “You are my brother.”

“Half,” Brother murmurs, “Half-brother.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head furiously, reaching out to grab Brother’s shoulders. Relief floods through him when Brother does not pull immediately away.

Mother’s words go through his head at that moment and for lack of a better thing to say, Lan Zhan echoes them, “You are not my half anything. We are both our mother’s sons.”

Brother leans into his touch then, tears still streaming down his face. “That is not how the rest of the world will see it.”

“I am not the world,” Lan Zhan responds. “You are my brother.”

“You’re going to be stubborn about this, aren’t you?” Brother asks after the silence between them has become too much.

Lan Zhan nods.

Brother stares at him for a moment, his tears crystalline under the moon as they cling to his lashes. Eventually, he reaches into his sleeve and pulls out his qiankun pouch. Lan Zhan stands and allows Brother to dress him, twisting and turning where he needs to so his robes lie against his skin perfectly. Brother fixes his hair and guides Lan Zhan’s hands through tying his ribbon.

He is not Lan Zhan’s parent, spouse, or child but he is Lan Zhan’s brother. They are not allowed to touch each other’s forehead ribbons, but they can put their hands over the other’s and move them where they need to go so their ribbons lie straight. It is a system they developed soon after Lan Zhan was taken from Mother and the fact that Brother is still willing to treat him the same as he did before means more than words could ever say.

“When did Mother tell you?” Brother asks, eyes elsewhere as Lan Zhan brushes his robes down.

“Last year,” Lan Zhan says, glancing up when Brother inhales sharply at his response.

Brother grips his shoulders and meets his gaze, tears springing to his silver eyes once more. “She should not have done so, Wangji. We are children who should not know of this until we are older. You especially should not have been told this before I was.”

Lan Zhan blinks in confusion, not understanding. “Mother did not tell me everything, but I knew we did not have the same fathers. Besides, I was a Claw and now I am the Head. I am supposed to protect you.”

Brother shakes his head and pulls him into a hug, clinging to him with all his strength as tears overcome him again. Lan Zhan holds on, hands no doubt wrinkling Brother’s robes but uncaring of that as his Treasure’s scent sours with sadness again. It is clear that Brother is willing to work his way back to how they used to be, but this revelation is too new and unsettling for either of them to act as they normally would.

Even though Lan Zhan is certain that they will get through this, Brother stops calling him A-Zhan for some time after that.

Now that Lan Zhan is back in his second form, the Clan Elders decide to keep him under close observation.

When Lan Zhan first returns to his regular classes, he is surprised to note the seven Clan Elders standing in the back of the classroom. As far as he had been aware, the Clan Elders were much too busy to bother with the education of the junior disciples. In fact, Lan Zhan would go as far as saying the Clan Elders do not care about any of the disciples unless they have broken an important rule or disgraced the Gusu Lan Sect in a very public manner.

So to see them sitting in on his classes immediately puts Lan Zhan on edge. He can barely pay proper attention to the lesson one of Uncle’s favorite assistants is lecturing them about, not when he can feel more than just the Clan Elders’ eyes on him.

For once, Lan Zhan finds himself despising his usual seat in the front of the classroom.

It takes Lan Zhan longer than usual to realize he has been called on and he feels his ears grow hot as he both dully recites the proper answer and tries his best to ignore one of the Elders huffing loudly in displeasure. None of the other junior disciples make a sound but Lan Zhan can smell the amusement in their scents well enough to feel embarrassed.

He maintains his perfectly proper posture anyway and forces himself to pay better attention to the lecture. During the noon meal hour, he will find Brother and confer with him about this. See if the Clan Elders have been dropping in other classes as well or if this is targeted at Lan Zhan alone. A way for them to say that they have noticed his recent behavior and now that it is safer for them to confront him, they will if need be.

Lan Zhan is nothing more than a child, but he has always known the Clan Elders are cowards. Only cowards would demonize a woman killing the man who violated her. Only cowards would give that woman a death sentence of her own, claiming it to be the just thing to do when it is anything but. Only cowards would confront a six-year-old child when they believe they have the advantage.

Perhaps they do have the power and the right to put him down but Lan Zhan is not his mother. Mother made certain that Lan Zhan would have many more advantages than she ever did, advantages he and Brother would both have even after she was no longer in this world.

The Clan Elders may have imprisoned her, but they did not strip Mother of all the political power she gained by marrying their Sect Leader and providing him with two Sect Heirs. They would need a powerful and unshakeable reason to strike one of their own Sect Heirs down, a reason the entire cultivation world would not fault them for.

At least, that is how Brother explains it to him later as they are leaving the central mess hall to attend their afternoon classes.

"Do not give them a reason, Wangji," Brother admonishes him when they come to a stop before they go their separate ways for class. "Embody the perfect disciple they desire so much. Get them to grudgingly accept your position here by whatever means necessary. They will never be fair when it comes to you or me, but that does not mean we have to make it easy for them either."

"Mn," Lan Zhan nods, bowing to his brother before he turns on his heel and leaves.

At the sword training area, four Clan Elders stand on the sidelines, safely out of any unpredictable young child's sword swing. Lan Zhan barely spares them a glance as he gets into position and waits patiently for class to begin.

For the better part of a month, Lan Zhan's classes are shadowed by a handful of Clan Elders. None of them speak a word to anyone present, but they make their disapproval known through loud sighs and disparaging grunts.

Lan Zhan learns their scents well and avoids them in the hallways whenever he happens to come across their trails. The few times he catches their scents too late, he shoulders their thinly-veiled complaints on the "ghastly sight" of his scales and the "childish behavior" he is much too old for now.

None of them will ever say it outright but Lan Zhan knows they wish to punish him for his so-called excessive grief which is why they are now hovering over his shoulder, watching his every move in the hopes that he will crack under pressure. Lan Zhan is made of sterner stuff than that though.

He is a dragon. He was born for the sky and clouds that blanket their mountain. Water and wind do his bidding alike. His Treasures accept him as the Head of their weyr without complaints.

He is his mother's son and his grandfather's grandson, Lan Zhan will not break under the weight of the Clan Elders' scrutiny.

This becomes more than clear the longer Lan Zhan is kept under their watchful eyes. He takes Brother's advice to heart and becomes even more of the perfect disciple he had always strived to be, first for his Mother's state of mind and now because he refuses to allow his feelings to be used against him.

Dragons and the Lan are alike in the way that they show their true feelings through everything except their words. Lan Zhan is both, so whether big or small, his actions are twice as potent. His emotion-fueled behavior will not be what takes him from his Treasures.

Brother lost one Head already, Lan Zhan refuses to let him lose two.

(Two weeks later, Lan Zhan wakes thinking today before he remembers. He spends the remainder of the day with a fierce ache burning through him as he kneels in front of a familiar door.)

Lan Zhan takes one glance at Nie Mingjue and thinks, Claw.

Nie Mingjue is a stranger to him in all rights. Brother has talked about him constantly when he began attending the guest discipline lectures, always with a softer version of his usual smile on his face. He tells Lan Zhan everything he learns about Nie Mingjue, never leaving any details out. Brother's scent tends to swell and ripen with the force of his fondness and admiration for the older boy but Lan Zhan says nothing.

Talking is not one of Lan Zhan's particular skills. Others may regard him as eloquent, but that is solely due to the fact that Lan Zhan only speaks up when he is certain of the words on the tip of his tongue.

So it is unsurprising that even though he says nothing about the thought that crosses his mind when he finally meets his brother's friend, Brother notices anyway.

Maybe it is because of how intensely Lan Zhan studies him when the older boy isn't looking. How he sniffs the air as he analyzes the way Brother and Nie Mingjue's scents are complementary to one another. Or perhaps how Lan Zhan not-so-subtly reaches out and grips Nie Mingjue's nape to scent him into the weyr.

Honestly, Lan Zhan has no idea how Brother figures it out so quickly but he accepts that Brother will always be one step ahead of him regardless and leaves it at that.

Nie Mingjue takes his strange behavior in stride, stiffening for only a moment when Lan Zhan first comes into direct skin-to-skin contact with him. Lan Zhan waits until the older boy has relaxed under his grip before reaching out and taking his left hand. Slowly, he pulls it towards his face and presses his cheek against Nie Mingjue's palm briefly then steps back and puts the appropriate amount of distance between them again.

Brother is smiling, amusement twinkling in his eyes as he steps forward and smooths a stray lock of Nie Mingjue's hair back into place behind his ear. "Wangji has decided that you are a part of our weyr now, Nie-gongzi. Welcome."

"I don't know anything about dragons, Lan-gongzi," Nie Mingjue admits, his face wrinkled with confusion. "I would not wish to offend you."

Lan Zhan squeezes Brother's elbow, silently urging him to talk in his place. If Nie Mingjue truly wants no part in their weyr, Lan Zhan will accept that without complaints. He will not hold the boy to something he can not personally be a part of.

But if the only problem here is a lack of knowledge, then Brother can be depended on to remedy that quite successfully.

(Lan Zhan personally wants Nie Mingjue to accept his role as a Claw in their weyr because he can already tell that there will never be another person better at protecting Brother than him.)

"I can teach you all you need to know and anything else you wish to learn about us," Brother assures Nie Mingjue.

Nie Mingjue raises both his brows in surprise. "Us?"

Brother's smile does not falter but Lan Zhan can tell without looking that it is dimmer than before from the tone of his voice alone. "I may only have access to this form I am currently in now, Nie-gongzi, but I am my mother's son just as much as my brother is. We share her blood and a few of the same urges she passed down. On top of that, Wangji considers me as one of his Treasures and he wants you to be our Claw."

"And what is a claw exactly?"

Lan Zhan and his brother wince in unison at the older boy's pronunciation. They both relax as Nie Mingjue chuckles at their reactions, his face softer and looking less severe than it has during this conversation so far.

"Claw," Brother corrects him, emphasizing where it is needed so Nie Mingjue can understand. "A Claw is a protector of the weyr. They keep Treasures safe, act as enforcers when our Head demands it of them. Wangji is the Head of our weyr and Grandmaster Lan is another Treasure."

Brother pauses there for a moment, turning his head to meet Lan Zhan's gaze. The corner of his mouth twitches, his right eyebrow slightly elevated as he tips his head ever so slightly to the side. Lan Zhan allows his stony expression to soften as he nods, humming his verbal agreement to leave Brother with no doubts about his decision. Brother's smile wobbles before it evens out again, blushing a very soft pink that Lan Zhan is certain no normal human would ever be able to notice.

"In other words," Brother turns to Nie Mingjue with a firmer grasp on his emotions. "My brother wants you to protect his Treasures."

Nie Mingjue blinks at them both, his scent spiking with embarrassment and pleasure all at once. Lan Zhan watches him closely, meeting his eye when the older boy's gaze lands on him. He knows this is very sudden and a lot to ask of someone he has only officially met today, but Nie Mingjue is Brother's closest friend and Lan Zhan's brother does not have very many friends.

What Lan Zhan knows of Nie Mingjue he has learned from Brother or through his reactions in this encounter alone. For normal human beings, this is not enough to entrust someone else with what they value above all else, but it is more than enough for Lan Zhan.

Besides, it is more than obvious that Brother intends to court Nie Mingjue in due time. Perhaps when they are both a few years older than they are now Brother will begin the courtship through subtle maneuvers before presenting Nie Mingjue with a jewel that is worth just as much as the bond between them. It is the ways of old, ways Mother never got the chance to experience herself, and ways Lan Zhan will make certain Brother experiences when he considers himself ready for them.

"Then it seems that I was already unofficially a Claw before your brother offered the position to me, Lan-gongzi," Nie Mingjue breaks the silence with, his pronunciation still off but better than before.

Brother lets out a startled laugh in response, his blush darkening further as he grows flustered. Lan Zhan feels his lips twitch with the urge to smile as admiration and amusement bubble up within him.

Nie Mingjue smiles then, his scent twisting until it is less surprised and more confident. "I would still appreciate being taught anything you wish to teach me before I accept. I would not wish to offend either of you after you have already trusted me with so much."

"Mn," Lan Zhan hums, stepping forward with his hand outstretched.

He finds himself smiling when Nie Mingjue ducks enough to press the crown of his head into Lan Zhan's palm. Not a smile like Brother or others generally wear on their faces, but a smile nonetheless.

Nie Mingjue is not a part of their weyr, but he will be soon.

While Nie Mingjue is in Cloud Recesses, Lan Zhan learns how to ride a sword.

He absolutely despises it.

Having to fly by way of his sword instead of controlling the winds in his first form frustrates him. His instincts do not agree in the least with having to step on a thin sheet of metal and using his golden core to keep him in the air.

Almost as if Bichen knows how Lan Zhan feels about flying on it, he often falls from his sword. Many of the junior disciples he regularly trains with have either already mastered flight by sword or are close to it.

Lan Zhan is the only nine-year-old who cannot remain stable on his sword. The Clan Elders do not let him forget it.

As soon as word had spread that the sole dragon of Cloud Recesses was struggling to fly on his sword, the Clan Elders descended on Lan Zhan quickly. They linger in the back of his lessons again, beady eyes glued to Lan Zhan.

Nie Mingjue finds him on an afternoon the disciples have been given free time to do as they please. Lan Zhan is once again attempting to ride his sword, his jaw tight as his teeth refuse to unclench. Brother is not with him, something that Lan Zhan finds strange as he registers his Claw’s scent approaching but does not acknowledge until Nie Mingjue is standing on the sidelines of the sword training area.

“My Head, what are you doing?” Nie Mingjue asks after they have bowed in greeting to one another.

Lan Zhan keeps his gaze on Bichen, embarrassed that his Claw will be witness to one of his weaknesses. It has not been long since Nie Mingjue accepted Lan Zhan’s offer of being a Claw. Less than a month has passed since then and now Nie Mingjue will learn of how childish Lan Zhan really is and will be ashamed of being in his weyr. He will want to leave their weyr because Heads are meant to be strong and in control, but Lan Zhan can’t remain on his own sword for more than an incense stick’s worth of time before falling off.

Among the other disciples and his teachers, Lan Zhan is labeled a prodigy. Many praise him for his ability to do anything that is taught to him. He masters techniques children his age are not introduced to until they participate in Uncle’s year-long lectures. His golden core is powerful and he has been able to fly without a sword’s assistance for almost four years now. Riding his sword should not be as difficult as it is making itself to be.

Nie Mingjue waits patiently for an answer, brows pulled together in confusion as Lan Zhan holds his unsheathed sword up. He sighs quietly, resigning himself to the shame he will undoubtedly feel in full effect after Nie Mingjue has left him alone again.

“Flying,” Lan Zhan supplies. “I keep falling.”

Understanding dawns across his Claw’s face, his expression clearing quickly. “I see. What seems to be the problem then?”

“I dislike it,” Lan Zhan says, studying Bichen intently as if he has never seen his own sword before then. “I despise it,” he clarifies when Nie Mingjue’s confusion returns.

“Because you can fly on your own without your sword, correct?” Nie Mingjue asks, head tilted to the side in thought.

Lan Zhan nods, still refusing to meet Nie Mingjue’s gaze lest his shame be too great.

Nie Mingjue’s laugh startles him into looking up, blinking furiously as their eyes meet. Lan Zhan can see and smell the amusement Nie Mingjue is sporting at the moment, but he can also make out the fondness in his Claw’s scent as well.

“Well, it seems the only way to fix this is to continue practicing,” Nie Mingjue states as he claps his hands together once then steps down into the sword training area. “I will catch you if you fall, but do not allow your frustration to be your downfall. I struggled with learning how to fly my saber as well.”

At fourteen, Nie Mingjue seems much too wise and intelligent for his age but considering what Lan Zhan is, he has no room to talk. Instead, he hums his agreement and clambers onto Bichen again and again. And again and again, Lan Zhan’s Claw catches him every time he falls off without fail.

They do not stop until Lan Zhan is able to ride his sword longer than two incense stick’s worth of time without falling while Nie Mingjue smiles at him from below.

That is how Brother finds them, pausing as he watches Nie Mingjue lead Lan Zhan through his wobbly landing.

As Lan Zhan’s feet plant themselves firmly on the ground once more, he happens to look up in time to catch a glimpse of one of Brother’s rarer smiles. The type of smile Brother only shares privately, the genuine one that Lan Zhan would not hesitate to go to war for.

His Brother’s happiness means more to him than life itself and as the Head in their weyr, there is nothing Lan Zhan would not do for his first Treasure.

“Wangji, Nie-gongzi,” Brother calls out to them.

Lan Zhan does not miss the flush that rises to Nie Mingjue’s nape as he turns to face Brother, stumbling into a hasty bow as he greets him. Brother’s smile turns softer at the sight, amusement and fondness glimmering within the depth of his silver eyes. Lan Zhan watches them interact for an incense stick’s worth of time before he speaks up to excuse himself.

He reaches out to them both to scent them as he passes by, something bright and airy filling his chest up to the brim as they scent him in return.

Lan Zhan cannot be the terrible Head he believes himself to be if his weyr is happy. They are all young, after all, and they all have the opportunity to grow.

They will be fine.

When Lan Zhan is eleven, Uncle gives permission for Brother to embark on his first night hunt.

Brother is almost fifteen and very strong, but Lan Zhan worries for his Treasure every moment that he is gone. Lan Zhan had petitioned Uncle so he could accompany his older brother. Uncle had only shot him down easily.

The Clan Elders would never have allowed it, after all, and Lan Zhan does not want them to keep him from his first Treasure.

It soothes him when he learns Nie Mingjue will also be on the night hunt. His Claw will protect his Treasure. Nie Mingjue would never allow harm to befall Brother. Lan Zhan can breathe easier knowing his weyr will remain safe, but he finds himself growing restless as the days drag along.

Lan Zhan studies and trains diligently, keeping to himself as much as he always has before. Uncle sits with him for dinner every night but during the day, Lan Zhan is alone. The disciples still keep their distance from him, still tend to watch him from the corner of their eyes when he is anywhere nearby. They duck under awnings or doorways when he takes to the sky and they give him a wide berth of space if their paths ever intercross in the halls.

On the fourth morning Lan Zhan wakes after his brother's departure, he makes a point of not running to Uncle's room once he realizes that Brother's scent on him is beginning to fade. He stops in front of Brother's door on the way there, inhaling his Treasure's scent deeply before moving on again. It is still early but not early enough for the halls to be devoid of others and Lan Zhan does not wish for whispers of his odd behavior to reach the Clan Elders' ears.

Uncle is still in the process of getting ready for the day when Lan Zhan knocks on his door, so Lan Zhan kneels by the entrance and waits patiently. His posture is as perfect as it always is and his expression appears calm but his heart is thudding painfully away in his chest with each moment that passes.

"Wangji," Uncle calls from behind his changing screen. "Would you like some tea?"

Lan Zhan finds himself nodding before he remembers that his uncle cannot see him. "Yes, Uncle."

Uncle makes a noncommittal sound and emerges from behind the screen soon after, looking as polished and pristine as he always does. Lan Zhan drinks in the tranquil image of his uncle, fists clenched over his knees as he continues to kneel.

Lan Zhan watches as Uncle sends for a tea set and goes about preparing their usual blend of tea leaves when a disciple sets down a tray on the only table in Uncle's sitting area. Uncle beckons him forward, motioning to the empty space across the table from him and Lan Zhan keeps his movements measured and serene as he sits.

When the tea is done and Lan Zhan has finished pouring it into their cups for them, Uncle reaches across the table and cups Lan Zhan's cheek gently. "Deep breaths, Wangji."

He follows his Treasure's reassuring words and exhales heavily, inhaling deeply after a moment's pause. Uncle's eyes remain on him as he gradually calms, Lan Zhan's face still cradled within his palm.

There is an ache Lan Zhan has not been able to fully ignore since Brother left, one that demands his Treasures to be near at all times. But under Uncle's steady gaze and his familiar scent surrounding him, Lan Zhan pushes that ache to the side and focuses on the here and now.

"Brother's scent," Lan Zhan murmurs before an incense stick's worth of time has passed, eyes kept closed as he leans into Uncle's touch.

Uncle hums with understanding and allows his fingertips to brush the area behind Lan Zhan's ear, ensuring that his own scent will linger on Lan Zhan's skin throughout the day. "You may enter Xichen's room to take something with his scent on it, but do not linger. It is impolite to enter someone's dwelling without their knowledge."

Lan Zhan moves his head in a motion that could be considered a nod.

"Xichen will return in two day's time, Wangji. Be patient," Uncle admonishes, gripping Lan Zhan's shoulder with his free hand before pulling away and motioning towards their untouched tea. "Let us enjoy our tea and share our breakfast before we depart for the day."

"Mn," Lan Zhan hums.

They drink their tea and eat their breakfast quietly. Lan Zhan remains calm for the rest of the morning but when he ducks into Brother's room and tucks a pair of his more favored robes into his qiankun pouch, the itchy feeling from before has returned. He has no time to reacquaint himself with Brother's scent before morning meditation begins and struggles to reach that zen state in between full awareness and unconsciousness Lan Zhan adopts for these sessions.

He skips the noon meal to return to his room and unceremoniously shove his face into Brother's stolen robe.

Brother's scent is a balm, easing him back into the serenity Uncle was able to draw out of him that morning. Lan Zhan refolds Brother's robe when the noon meal is almost done and settles it carefully on top of his bed then leaves. He manages to reach the central mess hall and quickly gulps down a bowl of rice before he’s off to his afternoon lectures.

Uncle scents him again at dinner and Lan Zhan sleeps easier that night.

Two days later, Brother returns just as Uncle said he would. They call him Zewu-Jun now and every member of the Lan Sect bows deeply before him as he passes. Brother has been raised since birth to fulfill his role as the Sect Heir, yet it is only now that Lan Zhan looks upon him and sees the bright future Gusu Lan has to look forward to.

Brother comes back with a title he feels he does not fully deserve and the cultivation world's eyes set on him. He looks tired with light purple shadows under his eyes that Lan Zhan mentally frowns at until they finally have a chance to be alone. Lan Zhan welcomes his Treasure back, returning the robe he took in exchange for Brother's natural scent now that he is by his side once more.

"When it is your turn to debut," Brother tells him later that night, a hand running through the ends of Lan Zhan's hair. "I will be by your side, A-Zhan."

Instantly, Lan Zhan feels his heart constrict in his chest and his eyes prick with the telltale sign of his tears. Brother has not called him “A-Zhan” for five years now. Five years too many if Lan Zhan were to ever be asked about it, but he has not so he kept his silence. Until now.

He turns and surges forward to wrap his arms around Brother's shoulders. He holds onto him tight, burying his face into his older brother's hair. Lan Zhan inhales deeply, uncaring of the tears now spilling down his cheeks as Brother's familiar smell of ink and wet stones surrounds him.

"A-Zhan," Brother sighs against the top of his head before he too is holding onto Lan Zhan with what feels like the majority of his strength. "A-Zhan."

"Mn," Lan Zhan hums in response and closes his eyes, feeling warm with the force of his brother's love and his own love for his brother.

When saltwater mixes into his brother's scent, Lan Zhan only holds onto him tighter and says nothing. Words are not his specialty and never will be. They do not come as easily to him as they do his brother, but that is fine.

Lan Zhan does not require the uncertainty of words for Brother to understand what this moment means to him.

Each year Lan Zhan spends without Mother is another year his love for Brother grows tenfold.

When he wakes up on a certain day every month thinking today, he kneels in front of the Jingshi door until Brother comes to collect him at nightfall.

Each time Lan Zhan sees Brother smile, he thanks his mother for bearing and loving them to the full extent that she was able to.

When Lan Zhan thinks of Mother, he remembers her with the pain of his grief lessening ever so slightly until it no longer festers like an untreated wound.

Some days, Lan Zhan does not think of her even once. Other days, all Lan Zhan wants is to be able to see his mother again. He no longer dreams of her, but he smiles to himself even as his heart twists when he plays her favorites on Wangji.

He has forgotten what her laughter sounds like, has forgotten how rich and full her scent was when it lied on his skin, but he will never forget that he was half of her Heart and she loved her Heart until her dying breath.

Lan Zhan is almost thirteen when he meets Nie Huaisang.

Earlier in the month, Lan Zhan was surprised when Uncle informed him he would be joining the party departing for this year’s Discussion Conference held in Qinghe Nie. He had not argued, had simply hummed to show that he was aware of Uncle’s order and packed accordingly.

The journey had not taken long, but Brother remained steadfast by his side. The usual easy smile he always wore when Nie Mingjue was involved was gone, his form rigid and stiff beside Lan Zhan.

A few months before, Nie Mingjue had become the Nie Sect Leader after his father died. Lan Zhan had been able to glean enough details to know the former Nie Sect Leader’s death was no accident. Lan Zhan was also quick to put the rest of the pieces together, now fully understanding why Uncle ordered him to come along.

Lan Zhan knows without a doubt that if it were up to Uncle, Lan Zhan would have been freed from the Gusu Lan Sect shortly after being born. Even though he did not care for Mother, Uncle would have found a way to get them both out if he could. The Clan Elders still regard Brother with subtle distaste, but Lan Zhan's existence remains to be a well of bitterness and greed for them. As much as they despise him, they are none too keen on removing him from the sect.

Now that the Wen Sect has proven they are unafraid to strike down a Sect Leader, the Clan Elders intend to use Lan Zhan’s presence at this Discussion Conference as a show of power. They want the Great Sects to look at the delegation from Gusu Lan and see the beast that is always lurking in the depths of Lan Zhan's being.

The death of Nie Mingjue’s father not only preys upon the Clan Elders’ desperation but upon Brother’s betrothal proposal to Nie Mingjue as well. When they were both nothing more than Sect Heirs, Nie Mingjue could have possibly married into the Lan Sect and have his younger brother take over in his stead. Now that Nie Mingjue is Sect Leader and Brother is close to taking the title himself, the chances of a marriage between them being approved by either of their sects are low.

That will not stop Lan Zhan from trying.

When they arrive in Qinghe, Nie Mingjue is there to welcome them. His eyes never leave Brother’s face and Lan Zhan grits his teeth when his Claw’s scent becomes riddled with the same longing and sadness that shadows Brother's every step.

Brother does not spare Nie Mingjue more than what is polite greetings and small talk as Uncle directs the flow of the short conversation, quickly leading their delegation to their rooms. Lan Zhan can smell the sadness surrounding Brother all too clearly and wants nothing more than to scent him as a distraction, but they are in public and it would not do well to draw attention to the Gusu Lan Sect before the official proceedings have begun.

Lan Zhan plays all of Brother’s favorites on Wangji, glancing up from time to time to take stock of Brother’s expression. He smiles at first, his attention focused on Lan Zhan’s playing, but he is overcome with sadness again by the second song.

Three songs later and Lan Zhan can no longer be so far from his first Treasure when Brother is like this.

��Brother,” Lan Zhan says, “If possible, I would take on your responsibilities.”

“The Clan Elders would kill you first before they allowed you to be Sect Leader, A-Zhan,” Brother replies, spikes of anger now curdling in both his expression and scent. Lan Zhan knows his older brother well enough to recognize the anger is being directed at the thought of any harm befalling him and not at Lan Zhan himself. “They would make it look like an accident so none of them would have to admit to breaking the rules and submit themselves for punishment, but we both know this to be true. I cannot give you a death sentence for my own selfish reasons.”

Lan Zhan cups his older brother’s cheek, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. “Love is not selfish.”

Brother mirrors him, his palm large and calloused from swordplay but still remaining one of the softest things Lan Zhan has ever felt. “A-Zhan, love itself is not selfish, you are correct. But tell me how could I ever live without you? How could I leave the sect and you for dead all for the sake of love that I feel for someone who is not of my blood?”

The frown on Lan Zhan’s face is small but clear enough to show his displeasure with Brother’s words. “He is a part of our weyr. He is your mate. I am willing to shoulder your responsibilities to the sect, Brother.”

“I am not,” is all Brother says before he refuses to speak any longer on the matter.

The next day Lan Zhan is determined to say something more, to add to the subject, and change his brother’s mind. He wakes at five and washes up quickly, dressing in the traditional five layers of robes every Lan is expected to wear. He had long since turned his nose up at any fabric that was not silk or lace a long time ago, greatly disliking the way other fabrics tend to irritate his skin.

Mother had smiled the first time he admitted his discomfort towards the robes Brother used to help him put on when he was younger. She shared the same sentiment, stating that she had allowed only the softest of blankets and fabrics in Lan Zhan's nest and on her person. Brother too usually wore clothes that were on the softer side, but the texture of the fabrics did not affect him as considerably as they affected Lan Zhan and their mother.

Lan Zhan stops his thoughts in their tracks there. It has been many years but Mother's death still hangs over him like a dark cloud, bringing both sorrow and metaphorical rain to him. He directs his attention towards getting ready for the day, ignoring the grief he can feel in the depths of his heart.

After dressing, Lan Zhan does his hair, fixes his forehead ribbon so it lies straight, and goes to find breakfast. The meal is not the same as the one he is used to in Cloud Recesses, but it is acceptable and filling nonetheless. After that, he trails behind Brother, intent on convincing him to ask for Nie Mingjue’s hand in marriage, yet Brother knows him all too well. He avoids speaking with Lan Zhan at every opportunity, keeping his gaze away from both him and Nie Mingjue. Uncle is Acting Sect Leader, but Brother is the Sect Heir, and where Uncle goes, Brother is not far behind him.

Lan Zhan is not old enough to participate in any of the competitions being held, but Brother always manages to place first or second in all of them. He watches the competitions by Uncle’s side, aware of the many eyes on him from Sect Leaders and regular everyday servants alike. He fights to show no reaction the first time he catches Wen Ruohan's scent, choking down the bitterness of it all. Uncle makes sure to always keep himself between Lan Zhan and the probing gaze of Wen Ruohan.

Every time the jewel on Wen Ruohan's forehead makes a sound, Lan Zhan grips his robes even tighter to restrain himself from standing up and walking away. Not only would it be rude, but it would make the Great Sects doubt how much control the Lan Sect has over him. Wen Ruohan is not worth a moment of lapse in Lan Zhan's ever-present self-control.

When the noon meal hour has almost finished, Brother approaches him with a respite in the form of a smaller boy clad in Nie gray. His features are delicate and Lan Zhan can immediately tell the boy is nervous by how tightly he is clenching the fan in his hand. Even before Brother introduces them and sweeps away soon after to avoid Lan Zhan’s impending attempts at persuasion, Lan Zhan knows the boy is Nie Mingjue’s younger brother, Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang is a few months younger than Lan Zhan and set to attend Uncle’s guest disciple lectures the following year. The anxiety thrumming through Nie Huaisang puts Lan Zhan on edge, always feeling like he is one wrong word away from reaching out and soothing this frazzled boy himself. Scenting the Nie Sect Heir would be inappropriate, however. Nie Mingjue would excuse it, but the other Sect Leaders would only take this as proof of the fact that Lan Zhan is less than human.

Lan Zhan keeps his hands to himself as Nie Huaisang mumbles through many of his sentences, growing more and more discouraged after each of Lan Zhan’s terse responses. Many may say Lan Zhan is cold and unfeeling, but he is not blind to the way Nie Mingjue views his younger brother as something precious and worth protecting from the world at large. Nie Huaisang is Nie Mingjue’s Treasure and Lan Zhan wants to appear more welcoming and inviting, wants Nie Huaisang to feel comfortable around him, but he is unsure of how to do that.

The Jin Sect is the only other sect to have brought their young heir, but Jin Zixuan is not someone Lan Zhan would ever want to wish upon Nie Huaisang. Even if their time together is awkward, at least it will hopefully not leave Nie Huaisang in tears by the end.

“What are your interests, Lan-gongzi?” Nie Huaisang asks timidly, a flush high on his cheeks.

Lan Zhan hums, “Reading. The guqin.”

Nie Huaisang nods as his face turns a startling shade of pink. He continues to ask Lan Zhan questions no other person has ever bothered to ask him before and Lan Zhan continues to answer simply. He is sure that he is not making any progress in befriending Nie Mingjue’s younger brother, but he cannot deny that the curiosity in Nie Huaisang’s scent is distracting him.

Eventually, Lan Zhan is able to convince Nie Huaisang to play weiqi with him, watching and analyzing his every move. Nie Huaisang had mentioned how he and Nie Mingjue sometimes play together and Lan Zhan had turned to him very suddenly to challenge him to a game. He has played weiqi with Nie Mingjue only a handful of times himself, but the experiences alone were enough to tell Lan Zhan all he needed to know about Nie Mingjue’s character.

Nie Huaisang comes alive as they play. He appears timid and makes moves Lan Zhan would have generally classified as simple, but the longer they play, the longer Lan Zhan realizes that is not the case at all. Lan Zhan can practically taste the anticipation building up within Nie Huaisang as they move across the board, conceding defeat when Nie Huaisang’s plan is finally revealed to him.

They set the board for another round, Lan Zhan’s interest in the inner workings of Nie Huaisang's mind practically begging him to continue playing. Nie Huaisang’s plan is not the same as before but it is just as discrete and Lan Zhan cannot see it coming until Nie Huaisang has him exactly where he wants him.

It is all too clear to him that Nie Huaisang is intelligent and has an exceptional knack for strategy but he hides it behind his faked ignorance and paper fans.

Lan Zhan does not agree to another game, already aware that he will lose once more. Nie Huaisang deflates but then Lan Zhan haltingly asks him about his own interest in the arts and Nie Huaisang comes back to life. He can practically hear Nie Huaisang's mind at work as they spend the next shichen discussing music or reading excerpts from Nie Huaisang’s extensive collection of stories and poems together.

As the day fades away, Lan Zhan loosens ever so slightly around Nie Huaisang. He is not usually a fan of new acquaintances, but he finds himself enjoying Nie Huaisang’s company.

By the time dinner is approaching, Lan Zhan is reaching out to grip Nie Huaisang’s nape much the same way he did to Nie Mingjue all those years ago.

“Lan-gongzi?” Nie Huaisang asks, frozen in Lan Zhan’s grasp.

Lan Zhan rubs his thumb across the back of Nie Huaisang’s neck and releases him soon after. “You will be my Tail.”

Confusion flits across his face before Nie Huaisang understands. “Da-ge won’t be happy with that.”

It is good to see that Lan Zhan was not wrong about Nie Huaisang having knowledge of this already. To Lan Zhan, it made perfect sense for Nie Huaisang to learn everything he could about dragons if his older brother had been taken into the folds of a weyr, after all.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums. “Not for him to decide.”

Nie Huaisang blinks and stares at him, eyes gone wide as the realization sinks in. “Me?”

Lan Zhan nods. Nie Huaisang blinks again as his eyes begin to water, tears a very real thing that may happen in the next moment or so. Lan Zhan blinks back, confused over why this would garner such a response but decides to look into it later. Nie Huaisang apologized to him multiple times when he was in the middle of excitedly explaining something from one of his books or a poem he liked in particular and that was all Lan Zhan needed to know that when Nie Huaisang talks, others rarely listen.

That will never be the case in their weyr.

Nie Huaisang is correct that Nie Mingjue does not approve of Lan Zhan’s claim on him, but considering the fact that Nie Huaisang being added to their weyr is also what is necessary for Brother to finally talk to him, Lan Zhan does not have to listen to the Nie Sect Leader’s protests for very long. Brother’s explanation of weyr positions and Nie Huaisang’s role as a Tail is perfect, simple, and enough for Nie Mingjue to turn to his younger brother and see him in a different light.

After all, even when you focus on a dragon’s claws or teeth, you should never forget about its tail. Making such a mistake could be deadly.

Soon after they have returned from the Discussion Conference, Lan Zhan is given permission to venture into Caiyi Town unsupervised.

At first, he does not wish to go. He was granted this privilege through the Clan Elders, as all the other junior disciples had been as well. This is meant to be a group excursion with only those who had recently broken a rule not being allowed to go. Lan Zhan is the perfect disciple and therefore, the Clan Elders had no way of denying him this without raising many questions within the sect itself.

Lan Zhan, of course, could not care either way if he is allowed to go or not. He has no money of his own to spend in town nor friends to spend time with while there. Brother will be busy in Cloud Recesses with his own studies and may not accompany him. Asking Uncle would prove fruitless as well.

He ponders over whether Brother would believe him if he claimed to fall ill the morning of the excursion and decides that Brother would have already prepared for that kind of scenario. Instead, Lan Zhan grudgingly accepts the qiankun pouch full of money that Uncle pushes into his hands and ignores the teasing slant of Brother’s smile as he descends down the mountain with the other junior disciples.

The journey down is quick enough for Lan Zhan and as quiet as he expected it to be with no company. He is the first to step into Caiyi Town, most of the junior disciples still working their way down all those steps.

Caiyi Town smells of the lakewater that surrounds it and the street food that vaguely calls to Lan Zhan. In Cloud Recesses, their food is unseasoned and bland but filling nonetheless. Mother gave him sweets once as a child, something he found was not much to his liking. The smell of sugar lies heavily in the air and Lan Zhan decides to follow it to its source.

The marketplace is lively, not as loud as Lan Zhan expected it to be but disarming nevertheless. The stall selling candy is surrounded by children, some enjoying their sweets and others looking on with unabashed longing.

Before Lan Zhan recognizes what he is doing, he has already swept forward and bought each child in the vicinity a sweet. The vendor thanks him profusely, accepting the large sum of money Lan Zhan has offered him to pay. In truth, the amount is enough to buy out all the sweets but Lan Zhan only takes one for himself and asks the vendor to give the rest away to any child that wouldn’t normally be able to buy it for themselves.

He sweeps away, eyes roaming the marketplace as children cheer behind him. Their cries are not exceptionally loud, something about Caiyi Town as a whole keeping itself reserved. Lan Zhan doesn’t mind it though. He pops the sweet into his mouth and forces himself to get past the overbearing taste of sugar as he moves farther and farther away from the center of the marketplace. Here and there he can see the telling robes of his fellow junior disciples but walks past them without a second glance.

Even though his control is unshakable, for the most part, Lan Zhan keeps his distance from others out of habit. He passes one of the livelier inns and turns sharply away from the scent of what he can only assume is alcohol. The smell is bitter and sets his teeth on edge as he thinks of Mother before he viciously pushes the thought away.

Muscles he had not been aware of beforehand loosen as he moves forward, merely trailing around the marketplace in search of nothing in particular. Many vendors eye the cut of his robes and the clouds on his forehead ribbon, the only markings Lan Zhan carries of his position in the Lan Sect. They call out to him as he passes but Lan Zhan only nods to them in acknowledgment, silently apologizing as he continues to walk.

He stops at a quiet inn around noon and eats a simple meal, tipping generously once he has finished. He takes note of the inn’s name for future reference and decides it would be best to return back to Cloud Recesses for the remainder of the day.

He pauses as he steps out of the inn, ears immediately catching onto the words, “This came from a real dragon!”

Lan Zhan’s eyes trace the sound back to a vendor down the road with a small stall decorated in necklaces of all sorts. From this distance, Lan Zhan can make out the indistinct shape of teeth and glass jars hanging from the chords that cover the vendor’s stall. He is talking animatedly to a young man who peers down at the necklace being proffered to him before scoffing and walking away, muttering under his breath about knowing a scam when he sees one.

Despite himself, Lan Zhan is curious about what exactly this vendor is claiming is from a real dragon. He approaches calmly, inwardly delighted when the vendor brightens as he catches sight of him. The residents of Caiyi Town are aware of the dragon in the Gusu Lan Sect. None have seen him before today, but Lan Zhan is certain that they recognized who he was as soon as they saw the clouds on his ribbon. This vendor proves to be no different, even as his scent grows nervous, his expression and body language remain excited when Lan Zhan comes to a stop in front of his stall.

This close Lan Zhan can tell that none of this vendor’s merchandise came from an actual dragon. The teeth are too small, the water and wind caught in the glass jars too artificial, and the scales are nothing more than painted sheets of metal. The fans look to be made from high-quality material, at least, but Lan Zhan does not mention this to the vendor. He is more than aware of the fact that the vendor already knows and is hoping Lan Zhan won’t run him out of business by disputing his goods.

Lan Zhan reaches out for four of the tooth-bearing necklaces and pays the vendor more than they are worth before he turns on his heel and leaves. His lips twitch when the vendor thanks him profusely for his business, loudly drawing the attention of everyone milling about on the road.

It takes only one glimpse of his clouds for everyone to recognize him as he walks away and before he knows it, the stall is being flooded with customers.

Back in Cloud Recesses, Lan Zhan presents the necklaces to Brother and Uncle. Lans do not wear jewelry, not the type most can see anyway. He bought these on a whim, but he is glad when they silently wrap the chords around their wrists before hiding their hands within their draping sleeves once more.

As for the last two necklaces, Lan Zhan sends those to the Nie brothers. He enlists Brother’s help to get them delivered and is satisfied when Nie Huaisang sends him a thank you letter in return. Or as satisfied as he can be when only a week later, he receives another letter from his Tail informing him that he has somehow misplaced the gift Lan Zhan gave him. Lan Zhan takes that to mean Nie Huaisang did not particularly like the necklace he was given and is asking for something else instead as politely as he can.

(Years later, however, Nie Huaisang will tell him that he gave the necklace to a boy from the Jiang Sect with startling silver eyes who was in awe of the fact that a dragon had given him his own teeth as a gift. Nie Huaisang did not have the heart to tell the boy that the teeth were fake and instead allowed him to keep the necklace as a token of their new friendship. Lan Zhan finds that he cannot fault his Tail for this when he meets the silver-eyed boy for himself.)

Lan Zhan returns to the same vendor as before on his next allowed excursion into Caiyi Town and grabs the fan with a detailed drawing of a dilong on it, ignoring how much it resembles his mother.

Nie Huaisang shoots him a smile behind that same fan the next time they meet and that becomes the end of that.

On one autumn day when Lan Zhan is thirteen, he experiences the effects of his first growth spurt.

In his usual bleariness of the early morning, he mistakes the pain in his lower back as an ache from not sleeping in the traditionally accepted Lan sleeping position. Even though he falls asleep while laying on his back, he always wakes in the morning to find that he has moved in the middle of the night.

That morning he happens to wake up curled up on his side, his hair a tangled mess beneath his shoulder. He sits up carefully, distantly aware of the twinge near his spine as he moves. Gently, he turns at the waist and sighs as the twinge disappears almost immediately.

By then, Lan Zhan has decided this is a matter of little importance and begins preparing for the day. He forgets about the discomfort from the morning until the noon meal has passed and his back begins to ache again.

He is in the middle of sword practice when he parries a blow from his sparring partner and feels his shoulder twinge with mild pain. Lan Zhan ignores it, for the time being, and finishes the spar quicker than usual. His sparring partner bows to him after she has risen from the ground, her white robes dusted with dirt. He barely remembers to bow back before he turns on his heel and finds a spot on the sidelines to watch the rest of the spars.

Lan Zhan slowly rotates his arm, feeling his brows come together for a split second before his face smooths itself of all expression again. A slow and steady heat is spreading from his shoulder blades down to his waist, an unusual urge to scratch the knobs of his spine valiantly attempting to push through to the forefront of his thoughts. He ignores that as well, sitting out for the rest of the sword practice and excusing himself when the itching becomes too distracting.

The master swordsman in charge of their class waves him away, asking only once if Lan Zhan is feeling alright before he is dismissed. Lan Zhan is intent on seeing a healer but halfway to the healer’s hall, his feet start to lead him towards Brother instead. His back now feels like it is burning but Lan Zhan continues to calmly follow his brother's scent past the bustling main halls and into the back slopes of Cloud Recesses.

He finds Brother sitting on a dry rock by the cold springs, staring pensively into the waters.

"Brother," Lan Zhan speaks, surprised by how strained he sounds. He reaches up to grasp his shoulder before he can stop himself, the burning feeling only increasing with each moment that passes. "Brother," he repeats.

Brother startles as he turns to face him, confusion and concern blanketing his face. "A-Zhan? Are you unwell? What's wrong?"

Lan Zhan shakes his head, his grip on his shoulder tightening even further. "Brother."

"A-Zhan," Brother breathes, standing up quickly and rushing to Lan Zhan's side. "What’s wrong? Tell me."

Lan Zhan shakes his head, his tongue suddenly feeling too heavy. He feels too big for this form, his clothes constricting instead of comforting him with their familiar sensation and weight. "Brother," is all he can manage to say before he tugs on his sash to begin removing his robes.

Brother seems to understand because, in the next moment, his hands have replaced Lan Zhan's trembling ones as they methodically remove his three outer robes and hesitate before pulling Lan Zhan's two inner robes off as well. Lan Zhan only notices enough to nod, too used to nudity around his older brother to care about it now.

(Brother did mind for a while, but only because he thought Lan Zhan would feel different now that his second form was changing with age. Lan Zhan didn't and so their typical camaraderie had, thankfully, returned.)

Lan Zhan sinks into the cold springs after he tugs his boots off and leaves them by the bundle of his robes that Brother is slowly folding. The water calms him briefly before the burning on his back returns, and Lan Zhan submerges himself completely underwater. He wrenches his eyes shut and clenches his hands into fists by his side, taking stock of the pain.

It is different than it was in the morning, even different than it was not that long ago at sword practice as well. Before it was just a twinge or an ache he could ignore and push to the side to deal with later. Now it is like an invisible fire has sprung into existence on his back, taking shelter in his spine as his body screams to be released from this form.

In the next moment, Lan Zhan relaxes and feels the familiar shift in his bones take hold. His transition is swift and clean, his first form tuning into the rhythm of his Treasure's heartbeat. He moves with the change in forms, his head breaking the water's surface and inhaling the fresh afternoon air. His limbs stay underwater, but bits and pieces of his back are exposed to the sky above him. The fire is gone now, everything as it should be.

When Lan Zhan opens his eyes, he finds Brother gaping at him in shock.

Lan Zhan leans forward to brush his whiskers against the top of Brother's hair, chuffing as Brother lets out an inelegant snort he would never allow anyone else to hear in public. Anyone except for Uncle and Nie Mingjue, but they are not exactly anyone so Lan Zhan does not point out this exception. After all, their weyr has extended from three Lans to include two Nies as well.

Brother reaches out to press the flat of his palm against Lan Zhan's muzzle, moving upwards to scent him in return. Since his birth, Lan Zhan has almost always had Brother's scent on his skin. When he was with Mother for those first two years, his brother was not always available to scent him as often as Lan Zhan wanted to but since Mother died, Lan Zhan has made a point of scenting Brother daily. Brother did not do the same in return at first, but now he reaches out for Lan Zhan in either form without nary a thought.

"A-Zhan," Brother breathes into the air between them, one hand pressed to his own chest as his heartbeat quickens and his scent morphs from concern to awe. "You've grown."

He can already guess what will greet him, but Lan Zhan turns enough to glance behind him anyway. He freezes as soon as his eyes catch sight of his tail, much longer and thicker than it was the last time he went flying. His second form is changing by the day though, maturing and growing. Maybe it stands to reason that Lan Zhan's first form would also change to accommodate the progress of his second form.

Still, Lan Zhan almost cannot believe it.

While Lan Zhan's body continues to grow, his mind races ahead in leaps and bounds.

Brother is close to adulthood but not quite there yet. He no longer hopes for an official marriage with Nie Mingjue, but their sworn brotherhood is no secret. Uncle had approved and arranged for the ceremony to take place shortly before the Discussion Conference held in Qinghe came to an end. Still, whenever Nie Mingjue is mentioned, Brother’s scent goes sour with the force of his sadness.

Lan Zhan doesn’t understand why until Nie Huaisang sheds light on the situation for him.

Nie Huaisang is in Cloud Recesses for the year-long lectures Uncle holds for the guest disciples every other year. Three days earlier, Lan Zhan had spent the better part of the morning waiting at the entrance to welcome the Nie Sect Heir then show him to the guest disciple dormitories.

When he first caught sight of him, Nie Huaisang had smiled so brightly that Lan Zhan felt the ridiculous urge to glance behind him to check if there was someone else Nie Huaisang was so happy to see. His surprise must have shown because Nie Huaisang had laughed quietly enough for only Lan Zhan to hear after they bowed to each other and gave the customary greetings expected of them. Lan Zhan was certain that Nie Huaisang was going to walk close enough by his side to be considered improper, but his Tail had kept a respectable amount of distance between them and barely fidgeted with his fan as they walked further into Cloud Recesses.

Only once they were safely behind closed doors did Nie Huaisang sit beside him and press their upper arms together as they drank tea. Lan Zhan had calmed at the familiar position, envisioning both of their older brothers sitting across from them like they usually did when they all had tea together. While Nie Huaisang was in the process of reciting his newest collection of poetry to him, Lan Zhan had reached out and gripped the back of his neck. His Tail had gone limp in his hold, giving in without a fight to show Lan Zhan how much he had missed their scenting sessions.

It had not occurred to Lan Zhan that Nie Huaisang might be lacking in receiving physical contact until he came to Cloud Recesses without his brother accompanying him. At that moment, however, it became startling clear and Lan Zhan has made it a point to scent Nie Huaisang every day since then.

Brother has been unhappy all day, the sour scent of it cloying. Lan Zhan scented him before breakfast in an attempt to distract him but instead, he has Brother's sadness lingering on his skin, the weight of it dragging on Lan Zhan all day. It has had him on edge and when Lan Zhan feels like crawling out of his skin but is unable to shift, he plays music.

That is why when he sits down to practice his guqin after classes have ended and Nie Huaisang leans against his back, Lan Zhan remains stiff and upright. He plays all of Brother's favorites first before the notes blend into a song Nie Huaisang shared with him during his last visit with his brother.

When the song ends, Nie Huaisang reaches out and grips Lan Zhan's wrist to stop him from plucking the strings again. "Lan-xiong."

Lan Zhan inclines his head in Nie Huaisang's direction to show that he is listening. He does not miss the way his Tail's face softens, nor can he mistake the dull sprigs of surprise buried within his scent. His chest tightens, an unfamiliar feeling gripping him whole as he thinks of how often Nie Huaisang must be brushed aside and not taken as seriously as his brother to be caught off-guard when he immediately receives the full force of someone's attention on him.

He knows Nie Mingjue listens to every word Nie Huaisang says, knows that his Claw cherishes his younger brother more than anything in this world. Lan Zhan knows that Nie Huaisang's hidden reaction is not a result of his brother's actions, but the reaction itself still bothers him. No one in his weyr should ever expect their words to be ignored, especially not Nie Huaisang.

"Do you wish to speak about what is bothering you?" Nie Huaisang's steady voice draws Lan Zhan out of his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. "You are troubled, my Head."

Words are not Lan Zhan's greatest strength. It takes only an incense stick's worth of time in his company to know this fact. Many think him aloof and reserved, always intimately aware of his ire but never of the other multiple emotions filling him to the brim. That Nie Huaisang can tell he is upset does not surprise Lan Zhan. Nie Huaisang asking if he would like to air his grievances does.

Lan Zhan wanting to share his troubles with the newest member of his weyr surprises him even more.

He nods, placing his free hand over Nie Huaisang's on his wrist. Nie Huaisang starts to apologize for interrupting him in such a manner, but Lan Zhan brushes it aside and grips onto Nie Huaisang's hand tighter.

"Brother is upset," Lan Zhan finally manages to say, eyes downcast and glued to their joined hands.

Nie Huaisang sighs, sagging beside him. "Yes, I have noticed Zewu-jun's mood has not been as bright as it should be these past few days."

Lan Zhan nods again, leaning into Nie Huaisang's warmth without much thought. "Do you..." He trails off, suddenly unsure of what exactly he wants to ask.

"Da-ge told me that there has been a sudden influx of marriage proposals for him recently. Our Clan Elders wish for him to marry sooner rather than later," Nie Huaisang speaks into the silence between them. “They want the line of succession to remain clear.”

Lan Zhan stiffens, fury and indignation rolling up from the depths of his very being. He knew Brother's future relationship with Nie Mingjue would not come without complications, but to know that others are willing to force his Treasure’s mate into a loveless marriage leaves him feeling like he is lost at sea. Unmoored from the stability and control he has taught himself from the moment he took his very first breath.

"Sect Leader Nie will⎼" Lan Zhan begins to say, his words resembling a long and drawn-out hiss he is more familiar with in his first form than in this one.

Nie Huaisang does not let go of his hand, does not flinch or pull away when faced with Lan Zhan's anger and in the recesses of Lan Zhan's thoughts, he feels awful for subjecting a member of his weyr to this. It is not any fault of Nie Huaisang's that their brothers will not have the chance to be together. It is not Lan Zhan's fault either but he cannot abate the rage building up within him that easily.

"I am more than willing to produce an heir for the Nie Sect, Lan-xiong. I told Da-ge that he does not have to marry out of duty, no matter what the Clan Elders say," Nie Huaisang states, not half as calmly as he is hoping to appear but enough to confront Lan Zhan's baser instincts head-on.

Despite his sudden anger, Lan Zhan inhales deeply and closes his eyes. He focuses on keeping his breathing normal, on finding his way back to the pier he has always kept his control tied to. Nie Huaisang waits patiently at his side, the last vestiges of fear fading away from his Tail's scent as Lan Zhan calms.

He opens his eyes when he is more than sure of his temperament and bows in apology, eyes downcast. Nie Huaisang flushes through his acceptance and then changes the subject, prattling on about how difficult his studies are. Lan Zhan hums where appropriate, mentally far away from this moment and glad of the fact that his Tail has not taken offense.

Later, Lan Zhan finds Uncle in his room before dinner.

"Wangji, did you wish to join me for dinner?" Uncle asks after Lan Zhan has given the proper greetings.

Lan Zhan shakes his head, holding his hand out in a silent question. Uncle meets his gaze as he nods, stepping forward so Lan Zhan can easily reach out and scent him.

"Sect Leader Nie is being pressured into marriage," Lan Zhan begins with, brushing his thumb behind Uncle's ear and wondering if Uncle will consider what he says next as gossiping. "The Elders will not allow this one to produce an heir. Now or in the future."

Uncle sighs, aging before his very eyes. "Yes, Wangji. They have come to accept Xichen as heir thanks to his sworn brotherhood with Sect Leader Nie and the political ties it will give the Lan Sect. They expect him to marry within due time and produce an heir for the sect so you never will."

"Brother knows?" Lan Zhan asks, raising his other hand so Uncle's face is cupped between his palms.

"No, but Xichen will have guessed already."

Lan Zhan hums, dropping his hands so they lie at his sides once more. Uncle sighs, a sound Lan Zhan is not used to but does not mind. This is not a conversation Uncle expected to have with his almost fourteen-year-old nephew, after all. Neither of them is at fault for the situation at hand but they both cannot help but feel guilty for the apparent outcome regardless.

Uncle reaches out and smooths Lan Zhan’s hair down, his scent curdling with sadness and guilt. "This old one apologizes, Wangji. I can do no more than I already have."

"Mn," Lan Zhan responds, not out of agreement but to show Uncle that he has heard him. "Uncle has done his best. Wangji is grateful."

Uncle cups his cheek for a brief moment before he steps back and dismisses Lan Zhan, urging him to join his older brother for dinner. Lan Zhan agrees, not bothering to point out that was his initial plan.

Though every meal is marked with silence, the one Lan Zhan shares with Brother that night is edged with something else. Something that has Lan Zhan itching to play more music in an attempt to curb the unfamiliar feeling.

"Brother," Lan Zhan says once they have cleared the empty bowls and dishes away. "Second Young Master Nie has informed me of his plans to give his sect an heir."

Brother's silver gaze burns against him but Lan Zhan remains steady. He has his brother's sole attention now, the full force of his focus that others tend to wither under. Lan Zhan reaches out and takes hold of his brother's hands in his, not allowing their eyes to stray from one another.

"I will not be allowed to produce an heir," Lan Zhan admits, feeling his heartbeat increase when Brother's gaze only intensifies.

"The Elders will not allow Mother's blood to linger in the Lan Clan through you," Brother says so softly that Lan Zhan has to strain to hear him. "If your future spouse is not a man, they will destroy your chances at marriage."

Lan Zhan hums in agreement, still gripping onto his brother's hands. "Brother."

Brother leans forward until their foreheads are close to touching, both of them bowed over their joined hands. "A-Zhan, let us find happiness where we can."

"Mn."

Lan Zhan's debut makes a monumental splash across the waters of the cultivation world.

The night hunt he accompanied Brother, Nie Huaisang, and a handful of other junior disciples on was simple. They had resolved the issue within two nights and returned to Cloud Recesses three days before the graduation ceremony for the guest disciples would take place.

Nie Huaisang had failed his exams, excited for his plans to return again in a year's time when Lan Zhan will be able to join the lessons. Nie Mingjue had plenty to say when he had found out but Brother had distracted him before he could cause a scene when he came to accompany Nie Huaisang home.

(Lan Zhan, for his own part, had asked his Tail if he had failed on purpose and sat silently through the adamant denial Nie Huaisang offered in a teasing voice.)

Since his debut, Lan Zhan and his brother have been regaled as the Twin Jade Dragons of Gusu Lan. Lan Zhan himself did not gain an official title like Brother had, but he is both pleased and discomfited with the unofficial one they have come to share between them.

After the guest disciple lessons are officially over, the Twin Jade Dragons see the small party from the Nie Sect off, wishing for their safety on their trek back home. Brother and Nie Mingjue bow to each other as is becoming of a Sect Leader and a Sect Heir, but Nie Huaisang's bow to Lan Zhan is much less formal than is expected.

Lan Zhan returns it despite all the eyes he can feel on him and hums in agreement when Nie Huaisang asks him to continue to keep in contact. He can already guess what Nie Huaisang's incoming letter will center around and mentally catalogs all the possible responses he can present in turn.

Months after Lan Zhan's debut, the Clan Elders invite him to a discussion Brother was unaware of until Lan Zhan mentions it to him.

Uncle and Brother both escort him to the meeting, standing firm by his side even when the Elders make their distaste over their uninvited appearance clear. Lan Zhan stays silent throughout the entire thing. His input isn't welcome here anyway.

By the end of it, Uncle and Brother have agreed for Lan Zhan to enter seclusion until the lessons for next year's guest disciples begin. The Elders had said they were concerned that all the new scents and people Lan Zhan will be joining in a classroom setting would upset his instincts and put everyone at risk. They want him to seclude himself and strengthen his control until there is no chance of him ever losing it.

Lan Zhan knows the extent of his control. He is well aware of this being another manner in which the Clan Elders want to exert their own control over him. Lan Zhan has never been bothered by new people and all their different mannerisms so he knows the Clan Elders’ reasoning to be flighty at best. New scents only take up enough of Lan Zhan's attention for him to recognize them as unfamiliar before moving on.

It has been too long since the Clan Elders have made their presence known in his life. Something like this has been long overdue.

Lan Zhan remains silent on their trek back to his room, musing over how to word his proposal.

"Wangji," Uncle begins with once they have entered Lan Zhan's room. "There is nothing Xichen and I can do that would change the Elders' minds."

"Mn. Wangji understands," Lan Zhan replies, meeting his uncle's gaze easily. "Brother, Uncle. Wangji wishes to make a request."

Brother nods. "If it is within our power to do so, we will listen and grant it."

Lan Zhan bows, keeping his eyes on his feet. "Wangji wishes to seclude in the Jingshi."

Silence befalls them, the shock and surprise in their scents filling the air between them. Lan Zhan remains bowing, keeping his posture perfect and proper as he waits.

"A-Zhan," Brother whispers, reaching out to grip Lan Zhan's elbow and pull him out of his bow. "Your seclusion will not be like Mother's punishment."

"Wangji understands," Lan Zhan responds, eyes still on his own two feet. "Wangji still wishes to seclude in the Jingshi."

Uncle grips his other elbow, pulling him a step closer until Lan Zhan is forced to look up so he can see the expressions on their faces. "You may move into the Jingshi. This would please the Elders, but your seclusion will end before the guest disciple lessons begin, Wangji. You have broken no rules. You are the model disciple that the Lan Sect is fortunate enough to have. Your seclusion is not a punishment."

Lan Zhan is surprised by the vehemence of his uncle's words for only a moment.

Uncle is steadfast in his stance and respectable. He is stubborn and holds the Lan Sect rules in high regard. Lan Zhan knows that Uncle was greatly affected by Mother’s punishment and his sire’s seclusion. As a result, Uncle has done his best to raise him and Brother to always respect those rules. Uncle was never fond of Mother, but he was still one of the only two people who believed her when she presented her case to the Clan Elders all those years ago.

Uncle is the one who recited the rules to Lan Zhan as a toddler and Uncle is the one who first placed a brush into Lan Zhan's tiny hand before guiding him through writing his own name. Uncle is the one who gave Lan Zhan his first guqin, who arranged for both Lan Zhan's and his brother's swords to be made, and who indulged Lan Zhan's scenting until Uncle grew used to daily physical contact. Uncle was the one who nursed Brother when he was sick as a child, who hurried to Lan Zhan's side the only time he found himself injured, and Uncle was the one who helped Lan Zhan practice keeping his expression blank even when overwhelmed with the sheer breadth of his feelings. Uncle was the one who gave him and Brother their courtesy names, the one who took them to see Mother every month, and the one who told them when she was no longer in this world.

Of course, Brother would not be the only one wary of a dragon secluding in the Jingshi again. Lan Zhan must strive to remember that his second Treasure cherishes him just as much as Lan Zhan does him.

"Wangji understands," Lan Zhan repeats, allowing himself to be pulled forward into the group hug Brother initiates.

Lan Zhan is fifteen when he emerges from seclusion.

During those isolated months, Lan Zhan was grateful that Brother came to visit him every day. They would share a quiet dinner and scent each other afterward before Brother would take his leave. Sometimes Brother would stay longer to hear Lan Zhan play on Wangji, but it happened rarely enough that Lan Zhan tended to savor his brother's praise on his playing. Uncle, too, would visit, only dropping in once a week to make sure that Lan Zhan was remaining relatively healthy and continued to have everything he needed.

Visits during seclusion are not expressly forbidden, but Lan Zhan knew if the Clan Elders had ever caught on, it would have soon been added to the wall.

Now Lan Zhan is once again allowed to be out and about. Uncle's year-long lessons begin tomorrow, the last of the guest disciples having arrived earlier today. Nie Huaisang arrived four days earlier and has come to visit Lan Zhan twice since then, tagging along with Brother to join them for dinner.

Lan Zhan no longer has his Tail's scent on his skin but he is looking forward to another year of Nie Huaisang's company.

Seclusion has left Lan Zhan feeling cemented in the Lan Sect's rules. He studied them countless times, pouring over every character with the utmost attention. He'd been too lax before, he is well aware of that now. The Clan Elders could have accused him of breaking a handful of rules and it would have easily turned his seclusion into the punishment he knows they still wish to hand out to him.

In appearance, he was the perfect disciple that the Clan Elders could no longer do anything except wait for him to misstep and lose control. In his heart, Lan Zhan knows he will never allow that to happen.

Uncle has given him the title of Discipline Master as a way to welcome him back into the folds of the sect. Lan Zhan now has the power to dole out punishment to his age-mates and those younger than him who happen to break a rule. As Discipline Master, he must aid in the curfew rounds, making sure that everyone is in bed by nine. Considering that there are now guest disciples staying with them, Lan Zhan is not expecting his first night to be quiet.

The light of the full moon gives Lan Zhan all the light he needs to prowl the corridors, his senses on the alert for any curfew breakers. Cloud Recesses is filled with new scents and sounds, but its appearance has not changed.

It is still the mountain high in the clouds that he was raised in. It is still where the rivers and streams that follow his command reside. It is still home, even despite the animosity he faces on its slopes.

Near the outer wall, Lan Zhan hears scuffling and quiet cursing on the other side. He pauses, gripping Bichen tightly as the scuffling starts to climb up the wall until it is located above his head.

A moment later, a hand holding two jars throws itself over the wall, the rest of the guest disciple's body following soon after to sprawl across the roof.

Lan Zhan looks up at the guest disciple, taking in his unruly, black hair and the white of his disciple robes embroidered with purple lotus flowers that mark him as a disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. "Step back."

The Jiang disciple stumbles, gripping onto the roof to keep his balance. "Ah! You startled me. How am I meant to step back now?"

Annoyance begins to build up within Lan Zhan at the Jiang disciple’s volume. He sniffs the air subtly, easily recognizing the bitter tang of alcohol surrounding the jars in the Jiang disciple's hand. Lan Zhan jumps onto the roof, eyes finding the Jiang disciple's own. They are silver, a shade darker than Brother's but similar enough in color. Lan Zhan feels unsettled for just a moment as he marvels at the resemblance between real silver and this Jiang disciple's eyes.

"What are you holding in your hand?" Lan Zhan demands, already knowing the answer but wanting to see if the Jiang disciple will admit to his rule-breaking or not.

The Jiang disciple looks from his hand and back to Lan Zhan, amusement swimming richly in the air. "It’s Emperor’s Smile! If I share a jar with you, can you pretend that you never saw me?"

Lan Zhan almost cannot believe the audacity of this Jiang disciple trying to bribe him. "Alcohol is forbidden in Cloud Recesses."

"Why don’t you tell me what exactly is not forbidden in your sect?" The Jiang disciple asks, his nose scrunched up in a manner that Lan Zhan finds he cannot look away from.

His annoyance has now evolved into irritation, none of it showing on his face but clear enough in his tone of voice. "Our rules are on the wall by the entrance. You should have read them when you arrived."

"Who has the time to read all those rules?" The Jiang disciple asks as he gets to his feet and smiles, the sight of it alone punching the air out of Lan Zhan's lungs. "Alright, if alcohol is prohibited in Cloud Recesses, then I won’t go in. I’ll drink it standing back here. That wouldn’t count as violating the rules, would it?"

Lan Zhan has only just regained his senses when the Jiang disciple gulps down an entire jar of Emperor's Smile, standing on the other side of the roof. A clear, small stream of alcohol trickles down his throat and glistens under the moonlight. A gust of wind passes them by as Lan Zhan’s agitation grows and Lan Zhan freezes. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, something deep within him unfurling and awakening as Lan Zhan catches the full force of this Jiang disciple's scent in the air.

He smells of lotus flowers and chili peppers, of something sweet like sugar and tart like berries. The Jiang disciple’s scent is both an unusual combination and exhilarating all at once. Lan Zhan's heartbeat increases, his breaths deviating from their normal pattern as the Jiang disciple finishes drinking from the dark jar in his hand. He watches him sigh, content, even as he blatantly disregards the rule Lan Zhan has so plainly explained to him.

There is a series of words on the tip of Lan Zhan's tongue, sweeping through his mind, and upturning his senses. He does not know what those words are until he has broken the second jar of Emperor's Smile after drawing his sword on this beautiful, brash Jiang disciple and fights him across the rooftop of the outer wall under the light of the full moon.

Silver. Shiny. Treasure, his instincts whisper to him.

"Treasure," Lan Zhan says under his breath as the Jiang disciple loudly mourns the loss of his alcohol. "...Mate."

a/n #2: please note those lines at the end that were lifted from the novel bc they are definitely not mine and i thought them fitting to include. i took bits and pieces of info about oriental dragons and mashed it with stuff about european dragons to create all this too.

thank you for reading my heart and joy! i spent months on this and hope to get part 2 out soon so we can all swoon over wangxian and their courting. but please be patient with me in case it doesn't come out very soon after all.

a huge thank you to eri for cleaning up the bulk of my rambling mess while still being super supportive. you're wonderful and i owe you one of my kidneys at this point. you can cash that in whenever you want, homie. and minzi did such an amazing job on the art and you should all shower minzi in love and adoration for it bc i know that i definitely will :((( <3