Intoxicating.

intoxicating.

premise. your boyfriend dumps you and says he doesn't love you anymore. of course, being the petty bitch that you are, you have to prove that you don't need him in your life either. and of course, intense emotions often lead to rash decisions, so you go to a bar in hopes of finding a new man.

somehow, even when all you've managed to do is scowl at anyone who approaches you and mope at the bar counter, you still manage to get one.

Wriothesley has dealt with his fair share of unruly drunks before, but they were something more along the lines of aggressive and sloppy, not depressed and sappy.

He finds that he'd rather manhandle angry alcoholics than a person who makes a slobbering mess all over his shirt, clinging to his arm and sobbing to his sleeve. Your body starts to sway even when he supports your weight, your footsteps unstable as your attempt to walk in a straight line fails entirely.

Okay, so maybe you are sloppy after all.

Wriothesley sighs and tightens his grip on your shoulders. There's no point in losing his patience with a drunk person. He didn't even mean to pick you up, it's just that as a police officer, his sense of responsibility makes him want to fix a troublesome situation whenever he sees one. Even when he isn't on duty, he often leads disruptive drunks out of bars and restaurants, forces them out when he has to, and is always on the receiving end of owners' gratitude.

However, he has no experience dealing with drunks that just got dumped by their boyfriend and chugged away the sorrow with alcohol. You know, like the one dragging their feet as he drags their inebriated body away.

At first, he thought you were hitting on him when he felt your head lean on his shoulder in the bar. It's a common strategy, one that he's dealt with enough times to know when someone is just pretending to be drunk and trying to get his attention. He was still thinking of what to say when tears actually rolled down your cheeks and you started retelling your life story that he never asked to hear about.

Wriothesley isn't actually trying to listen, but he still gets the gist of it. It would be hard not to when you're still prattling on about it beside his ear as we speak.

“He said...” You hiccup, warm liquid seeping into his shirt as you sob into his arm. He hopes that's from your tears and not your snot. “He said he doesn't feel anything for me anymore...”

So you glammed up for tonight and tried to have fun at a bar so you could prove to yourself you didn't need him in the same way he didn't need you. He can already recite the story perfectly from the amount of times you told him. Your plan is irrational at best, and he doesn't see himself doing the same if he were ever to be in the same situation, but he can't berate you for it. Not when you looked so miserable and hopeless to the extent he didn't think it would be safe to leave you alone back at the bar.

“You can't force yourself to be happy,” Wriothesley grumbles, finally giving up on carrying you by the shoulder and instead hoists you up on his back to give you a piggyback ride. Your shoes slip off your feet, so he sighs as he crouches down to pick them up. “At times like this, you should find other ways to feel better.”

Your body jolts against him as you hiccup once again. “Like what?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs, and he can feel you gradually getting used to being carried. It takes only a bit more for you to melt against his body, your chin snugly tucked in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. “Watch movies at home in your pajamas, I guess. Treat yourself to good food. Go on a trip. You look like the type to enjoy that. Much safer than getting involved with guys when you're still emotionally unavailable.”

You sniffle. “Romance movies only remind me of him. Eating at restaurants will make me remember the dates we've gone to. And going on trips will make me wish he's there with me.”

Why do they have an argument for each point I make? And I never said anything about the movie having to be romance. “Well, you still have to go through that,” he gives up on making you think otherwise. “But one day, you'll feel a little better about it. Maybe you'll want to start dating again when you watch that romance movie, or you'll want someone else to eat with on that restaurant you once went to. And when you're on a trip, maybe you'll even think you want somebody special to go with you.”

You go quiet. For a moment, he thinks you've fallen asleep. But then your head slowly rises from his shoulder, dazed eyes peeking at him unsurely. “You really think so?”

“It won't be easy,” Wriothesley says, because nothing ever is. “But you want to say you don't love him anymore, right?” He glances at you, at the dry tear streaks on your cheeks, at what glitter remains around your eyes from all the times you've rubbed away your tears.

For the first time that night, he sees you smile. “Yeah... I want to say it without feeling hurt anymore.”

He turns away, and he feels himself smiling without meaning to. “That's good.”

“...So do you like watching romance movies? Or eating [hometown] cuisine?”

“...No?”

“Then I'll settle for a movie you like. And I can make good food from anywhere.”

“...Are you hitting on me? Using my advice?”

“Is it working?”

Wriothesley laughs, looking at the person he's carrying on his back, who he is escorting to his apartment because you lost your keys and your roommate won't be back until tomorrow, whom he wrapped his leather jacket around because he felt you shivering against him, and who caught his eye the very moment he entered the bar.

“That's not a no.” He knows you're pouting even when he isn't looking anymore.

“Yeah,” he agrees with you, almost indulgently. “It isn't.”

When you wake up in an unfamiliar bedroom, dressed down to your undergarments and a t-shirt you definitely do not own, and with hardly any recollection of events from the past night, you think you've made a terrible, terrible mistake.

But then you spot the hangover medicine on the bedside table, your alcohol-spilled clothes drying in the laundry room, and possibly the most gorgeous man you've ever seen cooking breakfast in the kitchen, so whatever you did last night couldn't really be that bad.

“Oh, you're awake,” he says once he notices you standing in the middle of the room, completely awestruck. You don't even know what you should be staring at; his chiseled face, his strong arms, his tight tank top that faintly traces his muscled torso, the gray sweatpants that-

Okay. You are not going to look anywhere below his waist.

“Yeah,” is all you can manage, simply glad you didn't fuck up that one syllable. You feel like you're on the verge of either saying something really stupid or making really weird strangled noises. You prefer the former, if you can help it.

“Sit.” He pulls one chair from the dining table, gesturing for you to take it. You meekly take your seat, eyes shifting everywhere but his face. “You're rather quiet today,” he muses, taking one glance at your reddening face as he fixes the plates of pancakes in front and across you.

“...How was I yesterday, then?” You ask, though you don't actually want to hear the answer.

The man hums in thought, taking his sweet time while pouring coffee over two mugs. “Troublesome,” he decides to say. “You nearly puked over my rug, after all.”

You sputter, making all kinds of apologies and promises of compensation when all of a sudden, he laughs. “Nah, I'm kidding. But this means you don't remember anything at all, right?” He sits across from you, sliding the mug to your hand.

“No...” You take a sip, but you barely register how it tastes. “I remember ordering a lot of drinks, but that's pretty much it.”

“That's a shame.” He sighs, leaning back on his chair as he sips coffee. “I suppose that means our dinner plans are void, then.”

“Absolutely not!” The words come out of your lips before your brain-to-mouth filter processes it fully, your hand slamming down the mug on the table in protest. “Uh... that is... if you're available whenever...” You get a hold of yourself and feel your cheeks burning in shame.

He doesn't try to hide the amused smirk on his face. “Sure. I'll be looking forward to your hometown cooking, then.”

Just what on earth did you do last night...?

???

IMPRINT | dan heng x gn!reader

They say that moles are spots where your lover liked to kiss you in your past life. As Dan Heng is your lover in your current life, you can't help but suggest that the previous Yinyue Jun might be responsible for the mole on your inner thigh. (Or: You learn that Dan Heng hates the idea that he might have known you in his past life.)

3k words of fluff, comedy, some nsft. features an established relationship and imbibitor lunae cuddles. past renfeng is mentioned (dh is not a fan of df's choice in spouses). cultural/TL/lore notes at the end. nsft tags: monsterfucking (mostly offscreen), afab reader, onscreen explicit foreplay. dividers by @/cafekitsune. thank you to yyj anon for the hilarious idea!

Dan Heng has, in his true form, a small beauty mark on his throat.

You can see it now, pressed up against him in bed—your head resting on his shoulder, your bare legs tangled up with his, your whole body wrapped up in the furnace-like heat of his form. Azure scales glide along your skin as his tail curls around your waist, settling lazily against your thigh. You can feel a strange vibration coming from his vocal chords, from his chest—quiet, rhythmic, a sign of his complete ease. Whenever you reach over and run your fingers through his hair, he closes his eyes and the thrum from his throat grows stronger.

(Yes—it turns out that the great Imbibitor Lunae can purr. Dan Heng was mortified when the two of you first discovered this fact, but you've since reassured him that it is objectively the best part of his transformation.)

Ordinarily, Dan Heng isn't so clingy. It's only when he decides to couple with you in this form—something he generally avoids, given the… complications relating to his anatomy and stamina—that he ends up entwining himself with you afterwards. His expression always remains as neutral and unbothered as ever, so you think it must not be a conscious behaviour. (In fact, Dan Heng's face is so thin that he'd probably disintegrate if he ever noticed himself doing this.) Possibly it's an instinct that comes with his draconic features, just like his habit of nipping at your throat during intimate moments, or flicking his tail when agitated.

Normally, you'd be happy to bask quietly in his affections, but you're too distracted today. You keep staring at that tiny mole on the smooth, white-jade slope of his neck. It's placed right on the spot where you most like to kiss him, impossible to miss.

It isn't there when he wears his human disguise. You're very sure of this fact, because you're an avid fan of leaving marks on his neck, no matter which form he's in. (This behaviour is much to his chagrin. It's not like anyone will notice, you always need to reassure him. You always wear turtlenecks or high collars. Be careful about that chest window, though…) It's only natural that you'd notice such a detail.

You reason to yourself that there's no significance to this beauty mark. Plenty of Dan Heng's features arbitrarily change between forms—including his height, and even his makeup—but it gets you thinking about what it could mean. Particularly, you keep thinking about that myth claiming that moles mark the spots where your lovers kissed you in your past life.

You wonder about who'd have been kissing him, in his past life as Dan Feng—or who'd have been kissing you, whoever you were in your past life.

Of course, you were probably a total random in your previous lives. You definitely weren't getting kissed up on by any High Elders of the Luofu, nor were you leaving any hickies on their necks—or at least, you weren't doing that to Dan Feng, given that the intergalactic criminal trying to kill your boyfriend is actually the ex-husband of the previous Yinyue Jun. (Ever since this revelation, you have promised Dan Heng that you will never attempt to murder him, no matter how badly your relationship might someday implode.) But you'll take any opportunity to tease Dan Heng, and the perfect opportunity is before you now.

"Gege," you say, trying and failing to hide the mischief in your voice. He opens his eyes. His expression is still calm, but the slight arch to his brow betrays his wariness.

"Hm?"

"I'm curious about something."

"I can tell," he says. "What are you thinking about?"

You hum in a pondering tone. "Well, I know you don't like to think about your past," you begin, and you can feel his tail curling, "but I wonder if we knew each other at all in your previous life?"

Dan Heng studies you carefully. "I don't know. I try not to remember too much of Dan Feng's life, and it's hard to understand what I do recall. But you already know that." He tilts his head. "You've never asked about him before. Why are you suddenly so curious?"

"Well… you know what they say about moles?"

He gives you a blank stare. "That you should monitor them carefully for changes, in case of skin cancer?"

You snort. "No, not that! Or, I mean, that's true, and I hope you're doing that—but it's not what I'm thinking of!"

The corner of his mouth lifts very, very subtly. "Then what are you thinking of?"

"How they say that moles exist wherever your lover kissed you most in your past life. You've heard that, right?"

"Yes—it's an old wives' tale," he dismisses. "My species would have noticed it if there were any truth to that myth."

You frown. "You sure? Because"—you pull back just so you can tap gently at the mark on his neck—"you've got a mole right here when you're in this form. And I love to kiss your neck, Heng'er."

"I've noticed," he says dryly, with a distinctly long-suffering tone, making you grin.

"Then don't you think I could have given this to you?" you try again, but he shakes his head.

"It's not uncommon for Vidyadharas to mate across lifetimes, and in those cases, it's not unusual to record details about their lovers' various incarnations," he explains evenly. "Someone would have noticed it if this saying about moles were true. So I can guarantee that this was not left by any of Dan Feng's lovers."

A sour expression flits across Dan Heng's face. You recognize it as the exact look he wore when he pelted his jade belt piece into the vacuum of space—something he'd done as soon as he realised its origins. (Would you keep a wedding band from a divorced spouse? he'd asked flatly, when you bemoaned its loss. No? Well, it's the same idea with the jade token. If you also happen to have an ex-husband trying to kill you, please be sure to get rid of your ring as well—you are not allowed to wear it.)

Trying not to laugh, you sit up and kiss his temple in an attempt to distract him.

"Okay," you concede. "So the beauty mark thing doesn't apply to Vidyadharas. But what about humans?"

Dan Heng falters. "...I don't know. There's no way for us to tell. Humans on the Luofu far outlive the length of the average Vidyadhara's rebirth cycle. And it is very difficult to identify a human's reincarnation, as your species will change faces and birthplaces between lifetimes." He gives you a long look, strangely unreadable. "...why do you ask?"

"Well," you say smartly, "if you wouldn't recognize me across lifetimes anyway—isn't it true that I could have been one of your past lovers?"

"...the chances are slim, but"—his tail flicks—"yes, I suppose you could have been one of Dan Feng's lovers. In theory."

You pull away from him, careful to let him get a good look at your body laid out on the bed. You catch Dan Heng's eyes wandering, his gaze all over your bare skin. Maybe studying the moles scattered across your body, or maybe he's focusing on the ones on your chest, or maybe he's thinking about the one on your inner thigh.

You point at the one that rests right above your heart.

"Then—if it's possible that I was one of Dan Feng's lovers, and if it's possible that the beauty mark thing is true for humans—isn't it also possible that Dan Feng gave some of these to me?"

"..."

Dan Heng studies you with a complicated expression. You can hear his jaw click before he points out, "That's a lot of ifs."

"I'd believe it," you say. "I mean—you've seen the one on my thigh, right? It makes sense that you'd have given that to me. I'm sure that Gege loved eating pussy in every single li—mmph!"

Dan Heng's thrown his hand over your mouth. 'Tired' doesn't even begin to describe his expression.

"I do not want to think about what Dan Feng's preferences were in bed."

You wrestle his hand away from your face for the express purpose of saying, "Why not? Aren't you curious? Like, do you think Yinyue Jun got as nasty as you do when you're in this form? What do you think he liked to do with his second—"

You lose your speaking privileges again.

Dan Heng ignores your muffled whining as he rolls his eyes. You don't even know why he's so bothered by this joke—he's the one who spent the entire day fucking you in ways you simply didn't even think were possible before you met him! (All thanks to the unique anatomy and stamina of his original form, for which you'll always be grateful to Aeon Long.) You try to convey all this through an indignant stare, but he doesn't relent. Eventually, you give up on struggling.

Curiously, Dan Heng takes this opportunity (i.e., a moment in which you are finally quiet) to study you. His hair curtains around your face as he leans over you, his gleaming eyes heavy with contemplation. Noticing the intensity of his gaze, you give him a questioning look.

When he finally pulls his hand away, you ask, "Is something wrong, Heng'er?"

"Not exactly." He's still watching you. "I only realised—I don't think we knew each other.

You stare blankly. "What?"

"I don't think we knew each other in our past lives."

You raise a brow, giving him a funny look.

"So unromantic," you complain. "What, Gege—you don't think our love is fated?"

Another eyeroll. But this time, rather than putting a palm over your mouth, Dan Heng rests his hand against your cheek instead. You blink at the feeling of his thumb running over your cheekbone.

"It's not that," he says. His voice is gentler now. "I just don't think Dan Feng would have had such a sad ending to his life, had you been in it."

"...oh." You open your mouth, but for once, you have no witty remark. Your face feels a little warm when you ask, "Really?"

"Yes, really." You think you catch a hint of fondness in his otherwise plain, unaffected voice. "And anyway—fate has nothing to do with my feelings for you. I chose you in this lifetime of my own accord, and I will spend this lifetime with you of my own accord. Destiny will never have any bearing on the path I wish to walk with you."

You swallow, staring at his eyes. They're painfully earnest. It's making it hard for you to think, though you can't bring yourself to look away.

"...how can you be so sure?" is all you can ask.

"Because my life until now has been controlled by Dan Feng's sins," he says simply, "but I refuse to let the stain of his karma touch my future with you."

You go quiet at that.

Dan Heng is never one to talk about his own suffering. Even when describing the cruelest of punishments he'd inherited from the former Yinyue Jun, he uses unfeeling terms, not ones of complaint. Control, stain, touch—you've never heard such painful language before.

You wonder, for a second, if you went a little too far with your teasing about his past incarnation, for him to speak in such a way. But by the time you've found the words to apologise, Dan Heng's expression has become wry.

"So please," he adds dryly, "don't make me think of what Dan Feng could or couldn't have been doing in bed with you. I already resent him enough."

"...wait," you realise, "are you jealous when you think about me having sex with Dan Feng?"

He clears his throat, looking away. "Not exactly jealous"—he's definitely jealous—"but I personally feel that he would not have deserved to kiss any part of your body, let alone leave his mark on it." He frowns. "And in any case, I just don't like the idea that he has anything to do with our relationship."

"But…" Your mouth opens and closes. "But why? He was technically just you."

"In theory, perhaps. But in practice, we are still different people." His tail settles down again, wrapping around your thigh. "I intend to be born into my next life holding a jade token I chose with you. Not one chosen by Dan Feng."

You are rendered speechless.

Your reserved boyfriend, who can't even hold your hand in public without feeling embarrassed, is casually professing his intent to love you across lifetimes with lines that sound plagiarized from a Xianzhou period drama. You don't know what to say, and you don't know what to do. Maybe you want to scream. Maybe you want to kiss him. Definitely you want to blow all your credits on a pair of luxury jade tokens tomorrow morning, one for each of you. You'll vow to never throw yours out, even if for some reason his next incarnation should try to murder you. You'll make it work somehow.

But—you also find it insanely funny that he can't stand the idea of Dan Feng fucking you. You definitely want to tease him a little more before running out to get any jewellery for him.

"That's very sweet, Heng'er," you start, "but has it occurred to you that if Dan Feng didn't kiss me in these places, then someone else did?"

Dan Heng freezes.

"Someone else would have kissed me here"—you tap the mole over your heart again—"and also here"—closer to the peak of your breast, now—"and here"—further down, on your waist—"and also…"

Before you can spread your thighs and brush your fingers against the mark there, Dan Heng grabs your wrist. His slit pupils are dilated, his tail is flicking, and his purrs have turned into a sharp huff—one accompanied by an expression of deep annoyance.

"I guess you don't like thinking about that either?" you ask, smiling, and Dan Heng chooses not to respond. He simply narrows his eyes—and lowers his head.

You smile when you feel his fangs on your neck. Too easy, you think. He lingers on your pulse, lips brushing it as much as his teeth are, before moving further down.

He places a kiss over your heart, first. Then a trail of them, his breath tickling the skin of your chest. You blink when you feel his hands running along your sides and lingering on your curves, making you acutely aware of his intentions.

"Wait—are we starting another round because of what I said?" you ask, trying not to laugh. "I had no idea you had such a jealous streak in you, Heng'er."

Dan Heng still doesn't reply. He merely replaces his lips with his tongue—and then your smile fades.

The heat of his mouth on you is distracting. Makes your brows knot as his tongue swirls around a nipple, as his breath fans across it. His teeth graze it, too—teasing and a little mean, with how he doesn't give you a break. You're squirming beneath him soon, tugging at his hair, grasping his horns—Wait, wait, I'm too sensitive—but from the way he inhales sharply at your touch, you know you're only encouraging him.

He moves down to your navel. Presses his lips to your skin—peppers your waist with butterfly kisses. His hands slip to your thighs as his mouth trails its way down, parting your legs as he settles between them. Your breath hitches as his fingers touch your entrance, spreading you open. You're still sensitive from all the things he did to you earlier—from how he had you stretched out and panting underneath him, stuffed so full that you could hardly think as you came. From how he fucked you like that again, and again, and again, until you were on the verge of tears from how many times you'd cum—because Dan Heng finds it impossible to stop whenever he's in this form.

But even as sore as you are, you can feel yourself clenching around nothing right now, eager to have him inside you again. You shiver as his breath blows over your aching clit.

"Don't tease me," you whine.

"After all the teasing you put me through?" He sounds unimpressed. "No, I think I'll take my time. It's only fair."

"Gege, I was only joking. You said it yourself: it's only an old wives' tale! I'm sure no one was kissing me on the—ah…"

Your voice clips off into a whimper. Dan Heng is running a finger along your slit, and you feel yourself his spend from earlier leaking out from you. It's hot and it's thick, a mess running all the way down to the sheets beneath you, and there's so much of it. He just spent the whole day filling you up, after all—and you have no doubt that he wants to spend his night the same way.

(Really, you owe so much to the Aeon of Permanence. You'd worship Long if he were still around—may he rest in peace.)

You watch as he studies you, his eyes keen and pupils blown. His gaze lingers on a particular spot on your thigh—and it suddenly occurs to you that he's been kissing all your moles.

"Dan Heng," you breathe, halfway to a laugh, "what exactly are you trying to do?"

He glances up at you, arching a brow.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm making sure that any marks you have in the future will be from no one but me."

Dan Heng's gleaming eyes are set on your beauty mark. He places a soft kiss on it, and he almost sounds amused when he speaks again:

"I'll especially like looking at this one again in your next life."

END

lost my mind from stress this week so I cranked this out rip I hope you all enjoyed!! please leave a note if you did!!

some notes about lore details:

not sure if everyone is caught up to 1.2 content (I'm not lol), so I'll note here that the "jade tokens" being mentioned = Vidyadhara practice of taking matching jade tokens into their hatching rebirth, so they can find each other in their next lives

the relic lore for the passerby of wandering cloud bracer in chinese heavily implies that yingxing and dan feng were either engaged or married. it makes sense when you consider that dan heng and blade wear matching jade buckles. people theorize that these are jade tokens from their lifetime as lovers – hence that whole bit in this fic about dan heng throwing out his jade token 😭

cultural/TL notes:

gege is a term meaning "older brother", though it is often used for non-familial relationships that are very close; it can come off as either flirty or childish. heng'er is a diminutive of dan heng's name.

chinese language has a few different concepts/words for the idea of fate/destiny. the one that dh and mc discuss in this fic is the notion that your relationship with someone in this lifetime will go on to determine the nature of your relationship with them in the next one (缘分, this idea applies to all relationships but includes romantic ones). I tried my best to convey this idea in the dialogue for those reading without that cultural context, but quite honestly I feel like I failed LMAO and thus... you are getting this note.

I also want to clarify that 缘分 is not affected by karma in the Buddhist sense, even though I used the term "karma" within the discussion about fate/destiny; 缘分 is not a Buddhist concept. (the reason that I had dan heng refer to dan feng's "karma" is simply a play on the chinese term for "sins" used to describe dan feng's crimes, 罪业，which can have Buddhist connotations.)

other notes:

while I left the reader's backstory vague (so that you may interpret them however you want), I wrote this with tanghulu mc in mind, because that's who the original anon ask discussed!

yyj peg anon if you are reading this: I apologize for how deeply I botched your idea LMAOAOA this got heavily derailed from the basic prompt of teasing dan heng 😭 what 1.2 will do to a mf…

thank you to the 80% of people who agreed that danheng IL should purr in this fic. i truly do not think that he would exhibit particularly animalistic behaviours in his original form, but, listen........ I wasn't writing this with my brain.

I'm sorry that there was no tonal cohesion in this fic. we really went from dragon cuddles to bullying danheng to existential discussions of fate to monsterfucking foreplay. as I said above........ I wasn't writing this with my brain

He Who Hides Behind a Mask.

Scaramouche x F!Reader.

Warnings: Scaramouche is a mess, Reader is honestly a mess too, implied not SFW.  Word count: 6k. 

Note: originally, this story was going to be lot darker (haha), but after the 3.1 cutscene… i decided mr. mouche can have a break just this once. as a treat. please handle him with care. he really needs all of it he can get. anyway here’s my love letter to my fav genshin character. 

i.

You are, without a doubt, the worst human in the world.

If Scaramouche was labeled an eccentric by his peers throughout the centuries, he wonders what that would make you. Whatever conventions you abide by are a complete mystery to him. Perhaps you damaged your head at some point in your life and are now living with the consequences. Or, your head has made it out mostly unscathed, and you really are just this foolish for no good reason. That miserable doctor might say there’s an explanation behind every phenomenon, but the charlatan surely would change his tune if he met you.  

What else could possibly explain why you have the audacity to waltz into his office, entirely unannounced, scuttling about like you owned the place?

… And if that isn’t worse enough, why does he let you?

Keep reading

random yan chrollo blurb because i can't stop thinking about him even if i try . 🙏

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“… Are you still sure?”

“I’m still sure.”

“Swear to me.” 

“I swear.”

“That wasn’t sincere enough… swear… swear on the Troupe. In the name of their, uh, honor, or whatever.”

“Honor?” The word sounds humorous coming from Chrollo’s lips. “Very well. I swear on the honor of the Phantom Troupe that I won’t go back on my word.” 

You sit across from a formidable opponent. Fate has decreed this your lot, so you’ve taken what has been forcibly thrust upon you and sworn to crush it. However, at this stage, you’ve modified your parameters to be more realistic. The new, somewhat more obtainable goal is to leave a dent. Or a scratch, perhaps. 

For this dream to be realized, risks must be taken. The risk in this case is a willingness to interact with a man named Chrollo Lucilfer. His is a species defined by its tenacity. Through trial and error, you’ve concluded that typical avenues of escape aren’t in the cards. Nothing concerning the life you lead now is ordinary, so creativity and a solid vision are paramount. 

Your adversary sits leaning forward, his elbow on the table, forearm extending upward, and palm open. He observes you with the degree of amusement he always does, content in waiting for you to make the first move. 

You take a deep breath. Oxygen floods your being and blood circulates in full force. Every system in your body is primed and ready, there’ll be no better window, so you take it, springing into action. 

Contact is made with his outstretched palm. You steady your footwork for better balance, then pull, demanding everything your muscles can deliver and then some. This immense exertion of force is the culmination of your efforts. Hours of scheming by the window, exercising self-control not to pour salt on his strawberries so he’d be more affable to your requests, running mental calculations and simulations… 

… Alas, it’s not enough. 

You pitched a pseudo arm wrestling competition where you could use any means necessary to make him budge. You didn’t dare stipulate that you successfully pull his arm down, your hubris doesn’t extend that far; but the slightest movement on his part would spell your victory. A victory that’d have him fulfill any request your overactive imagination could conjure up. These terms and conditions were smoothed out in a verbal binding contract. 

His countenance is the same as it would be if he were flipping through a book or pulling his phone from his pocket — entirely casual. He isn’t even straining himself to maintain this stalemate. It’s possible that his physical strength is simply beyond your understanding, as is that parapsychological phenomena he refers to as Nen. 

“What,” you heave, disbelief coloring your tone, “Is your body made out of?” 

“Oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen—” 

“It was rhetorical, Mr. Alchemist,” you cut him off. 

He simply shrugs and smiles. Somehow, his arm still hasn’t moved an inch throughout that exchange. The thought of this metric gives you pause. An idea is sown and imbued with life in the span of a few seconds. 

“Ah, that’s the expression you get before you say something endearing,” he comments, almost dreamily. 

You ignore him and straighten up, ready to argue over technicalities like your life depends on it. Seeing that you’ve abandoned your previous scheme, he relaxes back into the chair. 

“I have a case. How do we know your arm didn’t move… an atom to the side?” 

Chrollo tilts his head. “An atom?” 

“Yes. If an inch is a unit of measurement, there has to be something smaller. So maybe your arm didn’t move an inch, but it moved the width of an atom. Are you following me?” 

“...” 

You barely comprehend it. 

One second, you’re standing, the next, you’re sitting, with arms and a familiar cologne engulfing you. You can feel the low rumbling of his chest. He chuckles into your ear and secures you tighter against him upon sensing your instinct to struggle. Scowling, you cross your arms while he regains his composure. 

“Don’t be cross with me, dear,” he smooths out your shirt, as if it’d exonerate him of his transgressions. “I’m not laughing at you. You’re just… everything. Everything I need. I’m sorry. Please finish your point.” 

“Court’s adjourned.” 

“That’s a shame. When might it reopen?”

“Never, you’re sentenced to death. No appeals.”  

“I thought you opposed capital punishment?” 

“Each second that has passed since this conversation began has regressed my views by a decade each.” 

"I'll just have to hold onto you for the time being then."

All you can muster the strength to do is sigh.

ART OF THE BEDCHAMBER | part 1

"Dual cultivation with you wouldn't be very useful. You might have extraordinary qi as a Vidyadhara, but it's sealed when you're in your human form."  Dan Heng stares at your fingers, deliberates as you trace the invisible paths of his meridians.  "Then," he says, "what about my dragon form?"  (Or: Dan Heng dreads the thought of outliving you and will do anything to help you achieve immortality. If that means fucking you in his dragon form, then so be it.)

6.5k words. smut, fluff, established relationship, xianxia elements. semi-explicit sexual content (only with dan heng in his human form in this chapter, sorry). reader is gender neutral, afab — they have breasts and bomb pussy game. cultural notes: "yinyue jun" is the chinese equivalent for "imbibitor lunae". please see the end notes for information on cultivation. other notes: this is set pre-1.2. 风月 was based on this fic so some things may feel very familiar! network: @trailblazernet. MDNI.

When Dan Heng—in a rather unexpected move—fell in love with you, he didn’t foresee all the agony that would come with it.

Shockingly, you aren’t the direct cause of this agony: a remarkable fact, given your routine of pestering him for as many hours as the day will allow. Dan Heng often complains about your many inconvenient behaviours (e.g., trying to cuddle with him in the archives, trying to kiss him in the archives, trying to have sex with him in the archives), but to the amazement of his fellow trailblazers, he never actually does anything about it. After getting over his initial embarrassment at such public displays of affection (this took quite some time), he’s come to tolerate it.

You often like to tease him for his leniency, all playful smiles and lilting tones: You don’t have to act so shy, Dan Heng—I know you enjoy the attention. My Heng'er likes to be spoiled, huh?

He always rolls his eyes in response. Consider it a miracle that I haven’t kicked you out yet, he’ll usually say, flicking you on the forehead. He never tells you if he means kicking you out of the archives or if he means throwing you out of the Astral Express itself, right into the vacuum of space. (Most bystanders are astonished that the latter hasn’t happened yet. So are you.)

He also doesn’t tell you how wrong it feels when he isn’t listening to the background noise of your shameless flirting. Or how wrong it feels when he doesn’t get to humour you with a kiss every once in a while.

Which brings him to the root of the problem: the wrongness that he’s feeling right now. The emptiness of the archives without your laughter, the tasteless quality of his food when you’re not there to dine with him, the restlessness of trying to sleep without you—it’s all wrong, wrong, wrong. Wrong enough for it to be a little agonizing, now that he’s nearing one hundred and twenty days of this.

You often have to leave the Express for many months in a row, so Dan Heng is no stranger to these unsettling feelings. Neither are you. If I could spend more time with you, I would, you’d said before leaving last time—and the time before that, and the time before that, and the time before that. But I can’t avoid going into seclusion. It’s part of the whole Cultivator gig, y'know—gotta go to a mountain somewhere and meditate for a few months. That’s just the price of immortality if you’re a measly human. Then you’d given him a little smile, pecked him on the lips. Most people do it for years at a time, but I wouldn’t be able to leave you alone for so long.

The first time you’d pointed this out, Dan Heng was startled by the relief that flooded him. Vidyadharas have an intuitively different sense of time compared to human beings, and two or three years should feel like nothing to him: relative to the centuries he’d lived as his previous incarnation—or the decades as his current one—it would be only a fleeting moment.

But in your absence, it would feel like an eternity.

It surprises him how much he hates the crawl of time without you. Dan Heng had never before been a needy person: solitude and isolation had always been the norm for him, in a lifetime absent of human touch—first imprisoned from birth, then exiled from the first moment he got to see the sun. Even after leaving the Alliance, he hadn’t allowed himself to become particularly close with anyone: it would have been too complicated because of the sensitive matter of his past, and he simply didn’t feel deserving of it anyway. Nor was he in need of it.

Then he met you.

Then he met you, and he became accustomed to the sound of your laughter, and then your offhanded, warm touches, and then your smile as you sat in the blue glow of the archive floor and poured baijiu into everyone’s cups. (Scalding, bitter; you had laughed as he made a face and warmed up huangjiu specifically for him next time, and it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.) And then he became accustomed to talking to you—to letting you unearth things he’d buried for decades, to revealing his suffering and receiving your compassion, to the gentle feeling of your hand on his shoulder. Then the tender, nervous look in your eyes, then the silky press of your lips, then the closeness of your unclothed body, and then the breathless warble of your voice—Dan Heng, I’m close, I’m so close, please—and then the euphoria of having you arch and fall apart so beautifully in his arms.

And then the afterglow. He hadn’t only grown used to that: he’d become addicted to it. Warmer and headier than huangjiu, something that he’d have never been able to imagine while growing up in the night-dark prison of his childhood.

Even the memory of his first taste of sunlight aboard the Luofu pales in comparison to the feeling of having you in his arms. The first time he’d had the privilege of holding you, he caught himself thinking: If paradise is but a dream, then I wish to sleep forever.

And now, each time he lies awake on his futon, alone except for the glow of artificial stars, Dan Heng becomes acutely aware of the emptiness left by your missing form.

He isn’t exactly deserving of your companionship. He knows that.

But he is in need of it.

After one hundred and twenty one days of seclusion, you are ready to return to the Astral Express.

Time moves differently when you cultivate behind closed doors. The act of such intense meditation and training distorts the flow of the world for you, makes entire months feel like days. Emerging from seclusion always comes with a certain anxiety: Are your friends well? Have they forgotten you? Has the Express continued its journey across the galactic railroad, or has some terrible event happened to your home—a supernova, a meteor shower, the destructive force of a stellaron?

And, most importantly: Did anyone murder your boyfriend while you were away?

There is at least one intergalactically wanted criminal who's tried to kill Dan Heng a number of times, and an entire alliance consisting solely of his haters. Half the reason you take your cultivation so seriously is to prepare for the inevitable day that someone is going to seriously attempt to murder him in front of you (probably the aforementioned criminal). You want to be strong enough to one-hit KO Arbiter-General Jing Yuan himself, if it ever comes down to it.

Of course, the downside is that the murder attempt might happen while you're off training, but you're hoping that March 7th and Caelus can cover for you in that case.

Still—while you have nothing in confidence in Caelus’ abilities (you adore March, but will not comment on hers), you sigh in relief when your phone begins to buzz.

> Are you out yet? We're on our way. > Get something to eat if you haven't yet. I'll make sure something is ready for you on the Express too. > I know you can practice inedia, but you're still a human at the end of the day. Please get something to eat as soon as possible.

No hello, no I missed yous, just plain, practical concern—as always.

You are not a practical person.

> GEGE! > GEGE GEGE GEGE > DAN HENG GEGE > come fast i want to kiss u > i'll die if u don't kiss me soon > i missed you!!!!!! > did you miss me??????

You can more or less imagine the expression on your (hopefully unharmed) boyfriend's face: deadpan exasperation. The first time you came out of seclusion during your relationship, you texted him no less than twenty times in a row from a new number, and he reflexively flagged it all as spam. He's since told you to tone down the double texting (and triple texting, and quintuple texting, and dectuple texting…), but always replies anyway.

> The Express is about to warp. We'll be there soon. > I'll do whatever you like, please just eat.

You watch as an ellipsis appears at the bottom of your chat window, then disappears, then appears again. When he finally sends his text, a smile stretches wide across your face.

> And yes, I thought of you the whole time you were gone.

With your return to the Express, you make Dan Heng engage in all your usual couple activities. Which is to say: you act disgustingly sweet with him and the other passengers experience varying degrees of shock and entertainment at his complacent behaviour.

You surprise him as he works in the archives, looping your arms around his waist and pressing against his back so you can whisper things into his ear: Gege, pay attention to me! or Dan Heng, can't you take a break now? or Heng'er, are you really going to ignore your lover like this? So cruel!

Dan Heng doesn't react during these moments, but he also doesn't push you away. Sometimes he'll shove a stack of books into your hands and say, If you have time to mess around like this, then you can work on digitizing these for me. You always agree, but wheedle a kiss out of him in exchange for your hard labour.

(Welt Yang walks in on one such kiss, coughs loudly, and walks back out. Dan Heng pulls away from your lips to stare at the door in abject horror.)

You give Dan Heng a number of books and films from your travels, and keep him company as he dives into them. He always gravitates toward the latest Xianzhou novels first, especially the ones that give mention to everyday life on the Luofu. You suppose that he's never been able to rid himself of his curiosity about the life that he'd been denied, enthralled by visions of night markets and starskiffs, teahouses and cross-talkers. You can see his longing in the crease of his brow, the softening of his eyes as he reads.

Seeing his wistful expressions, it is impossible to stop yourself from keeping him company. You press into his side, resting your head on his shoulder—something that will comfort him, you hope—and read alongside him. Sometimes the two of you fall asleep like that, wrapped up in each other on the archive floor.

(March 7th stumbles into one of these moments and can't help but snap a picture of the two of you. Dan Heng later pales when he sees your lock screen, where your slumbering, entwined forms are clearly visible.)

You often convince Dan Heng to have a proper, sit-down dinner with you in the dining car. He won't ever do it for food from the kitchens, preferring to eat in the archives instead, but he'll do it for food you cook together. The two of you enjoy your meals while watching the interstellar scenery roll by outside, stargazing at distant galaxies. Sometimes you savour the tangy-sweetness of tomato-egg stir fry (your handiwork); sometimes you enjoy the rich broth of delicately steamed xiaolongbao (your boyfriend's handiwork); sometimes the both of you sweat over the punishing numbing-spice of malaxiangguo (a combined effort and favoured couple's activity—right up there with building furniture).

The other passengers wave whenever they see you, impressed that Dan Heng has emerged from the archives. They joke as they greet you: I guess you're the only one that can pull him out of his cave!

(The older ones—Himeko especially—laugh and talk fondly about young love when they spot you. Dan Heng's expression stays as stoic as ever, but the tips of his ears go red and he accidentally burns his tongue trying to eat his own bao.)

You address Dan Heng with an astonishing number of pet names at an alarming frequency; your excuse is that you need to make up for the four months you couldn't call him anything. Mostly you call him 'Gege' in public, which he usually doesn't mind as it saves him considerable face relative to all the alternatives, but this changes when Caelus starts teasing him about it.

Morning, Gege, he starts saying at breakfast, drawing a long stare from Dan Heng. Gege, can you help me with finding these records? he asks whenever he strolls into the archives. Before expeditions, he starts turning to Dan Heng and using his most sugary voice: You'll protect me, right, Gege? And Dan Heng turns to Himeko to flatly state, I will not be held responsible if he dies.

Eventually, Caelus grows bold enough to join you both for dinner: Gege, he asks, do you want me to hand-feed you these noodles too?

Dan Heng replies by rising from his seat and walking straight out of the dining car.

(Your long-suffering boyfriend eventually says, during one of your reading sessions, that Caelus is quickly becoming unbearable with this new habit of his.

Well, you muse, since he’s just teasing you about the way I talk to you, I could stop calling you ‘Gege’.

Dan Heng stops. He looks almost hesitant, like he wants to protest, but his expression flattens into a deadpan when you continue: I could always call you 'baobei' instead. What, you don't like that? But Heng'er, you're my baobei, my xingan baobei, my little little apple and beloved husb—whoa!

You laugh hysterically as you dodge the book he chucks at you.)

Sometimes you do get him to reciprocate your actions. Shockingly—despite his reserved and conscientious disposition—you have the greatest success with this whenever you tease him while he's working. You find it works best to crawl into his lap and kiss at his jawline, whispering into his ear while he tries to focus on his screen.

I’m so pent up, Gege, you often start with. I've been trying to take care of myself, but my fingers aren't enough. You like to straddle his hips as you talk, grind a little if you think you can get away with it. You whine if you do, pressing your face into his neck—right beneath his clenched jaw. Won't you give me some attention? Just ten minutes on this desk is all we need.

Dan Heng can only ever endure about fifteen minutes of this before throwing you over his shoulder. You inevitably find yourself being flipped over in a fireman's carry, being lectured in a flat tone. I don't know where you get off lying like that, he usually comments as he makes his way to your room, ignoring your yelping and kicking. 'Ten minutes'? Every time you act like this, you end up taking up my whole evening.

(He does, in fact, spend the rest of his night in bed with you, making it clear that there is no need for you to ‘take care of yourself’ so long as he’s around.)

But despite all the grief you give Dan Heng with your public, grand displays of affection, your favourite moments with him are the private ones. The ones where you sit next to him on his futon, sharing a pair of earbuds and listening to the latest hits from the various worlds to which you’ve travelled. The ones where you make dumpling skins together during the quiet hours of the kitchen, flour dusting your fingers as you roll out the dough that Dan Heng has kneaded. The ones where you spend lazy mornings in bed together, Dan Heng holding you as you talk at length about nothing at all.

The ones where you pause in your long-winded ramble to find him staring at you, his gaze fond and fully attentive. Met with such tenderness, you have no choice but to lean in and kiss him, long and deep and smiling—and in the privacy of your room, your boyfriend is more than happy to return it.

Some weeks after you return to the Express, Dan Heng gives you a long look after one such moment and says, "You should spend more time with me."

You raise a brow. "Eh? I already spend plenty of time with you, Heng'er. I've been bothering you 24/7 now that I'm back on the Express… It's a wonder you aren't sick of me yet."

"Of course I'm not sick of you," he replies plainly. "I could never be."

The admission makes you blink. Heat prickles the back of your neck. It's not often that Dan Heng is so straightforward with his feelings.

"And I mean"—he looks away, the red paint along his waterline hidden by his lashes—"that it'd be nice if you didn't have to leave the Express so often. If you could stay here all year round."

You can't stop yourself from frowning. "You know I don't like leaving you, but I really don't want to compromise my training." Your fingers sweep gently at his brow, brushing away his hair. "I wanna be strong enough to protect you, Gege. After I get to that level, I promise I'll be around more often." Then you smile a little. "And if I'm lucky, I might even get a long life out of it!"

Dan Heng's brow dips. "A 'long life'? The whole point of cultivation is to achieve immortality, isn't it?"

"Sure, in theory. In practice, almost no human ever becomes immortal by these means. If cultivation were so easy, then people wouldn't turn to shortcuts like magical elixirs or blessings from Aeon Yaoshi." You purse your lips, voice starting to colour with derision. "Not that I'd ever be shortsighted enough to chase either of those things, mind you. I'd rather work hard, have a long and healthy life, and die and reincarnate properly if it comes to that. Immortality isn't worth the strife caused by any other method."

Dan Heng studies you closely, his eyes steadfast on yours. "Then… what do you consider a 'long life'?"

You hum, thinking. "If I don't slack off with my training, I have maybe eighty to a hundred years of youth before I kick the bucket."

"Eighty years?" Dan Heng's eyes go a little wide. You aren't used to seeing it.

"Yes?" You shift, fidgeting. "But that's only if I'm lucky. Pushing for anything more would be tough. I could undergo a qi deviation and die… or I might just not be talented enough to reach that stage of cultivation and pass away from natural causes… someone could also just kill me at any time, given my lifestyle. I've got a lot of options for dying, you know."

Dan Heng doesn't reply, nor does he look at you. It occurs to you that this whole conversation might be unsettling for him, given everything that's happened with the Xianzhou Alliance, with the matter of his past life and that vengeful monster he seems unable to kill. The mere thought of immortality must be painful for Dan Heng.

"I'm sorry, Gege," you say. "It's insensitive of me to talk about these things with you. Anyway—I'm not seriously trying to become an immortal, so you don't have to worry about me. I'm not looking to break any taboos."

Your lover gives you a long, unreadable stare before replying, "Right. Of course. Nothing good can come from the pursuit of immortality." Cinnabar paint flickers as he looks away. "Human life should be as morning dew—fleeting and ephemeral."

Dan Heng starts to behave strangely, after that. Quieter and withdrawn. Not just subdued in his affection, but absent in it.

When you bother him in the archives, he no longer scolds you or distracts you with any work—merely continuing with his tasks, completely immersed in them. When March 7th and Caelus tease him about his many pet names, he doesn't get flustered—only rolls his eyes and ignores them. When the other passengers catch sight of the two of you dining together and fondly comment on your relationship, he hardly reacts. He only continues eating, staring absently at his dish—usually something you've made, because he seems uninterested in eating anything else these days.

(Are you sure you don't want actual food from the kitchens instead? you ask once, studying what's supposed to be dough for fried breakfast buns. For whatever reason, you can't get the consistency right. The Express chefs are way better than me, you know.

No, he insists. You made it, so I want to eat it.

You don't need to be so polite!

I'm not being polite. He looks down at your fingers, dusted snow-white with flour. It's just what I want.)

You wrongly assume, for a little bit, that he's somehow lost interest in everything but your cooking. It only feels like the logical conclusion, especially when Dan Heng gets into the habit of ignoring you for most of the day despite your use of every trick in your arsenal—from kissing him to teasing him to begging him for sex. He simply tells you that he'll entertain you later, and is otherwise too deeply absorbed in his work to pay attention to you.

"Is something wrong, Dan Heng?" you eventually ask, voice small. "Is it that you don't feel the same way about me anymore? Do you want to break up?"

Dan Heng goes stock still when he hears this. Without saying a word, he puts down his tablet, locks the door, and kisses you long and hard. And then—for the first time in your relationship—he proceeds to actually fuck you in the archives. He rails you next to the terminal for the better part of an hour, forces an earth-shattering orgasm out of you that ruins the carbon-fibre surface you're laid out on, and then he fills you up to the point that his spend starts trickling down your thigh.

Hazy and fucked out, you wonder idly if it's dripping down onto the phosphorescent tiles below. Dan Heng will probably make a fuss about it, especially since this is technically a public space, and the terminal is its most high-traffic area. He'd have a stroke if anyone ever saw this mess.

When he stands up, you assume that he's getting right to cleaning, like usual. The guy can hardly ever relax.

You don't expect it when he gets onto his knees and puts his head between your thighs.

"Gege?" you say, solidly confused, but before you can ask him what he's doing, you feel the press of his tongue against your dripping entrance and then all you can do is moan.

By the time Dan Heng is done with you, the two of you are messy and breathless, collapsed and tangled up in each other on his makeshift bed.

You stare at the ceiling, mind whirring even in your exhaustion. It had been hard to process the situation while your boyfriend was railing every thought imaginable out of you—but now that he’s finally done, the shock is settling in.

Holy shit, you think, Dan Heng never gets this nasty. Something really is wrong!

You think of broaching the matter, but Dan Heng beats you to it. He turns to you, says, "I don't want to break up," and then gets back on top of you for another round.

You decide to put your foot down.

The next night, you invite Dan Heng into your bedroom. You're all business this time. There's no whining, no teasing, no Heng'er, you don't want to touch me? There are no desperate and indirect plays to get his attention while you simmer in anxiety about what he's hiding from you. (This change is not because of your own strength of mind—of which you have none, when it comes to your boyfriend—but because you're now sure you won't break up, whatever happens.) Instead, you seat him at your table and regard him with a firm expression.

You're careful to keep your voice gentle, but you still don't hesitate: "I know something's been bothering you, Dan Heng. Can we please talk about it?"

Dan Heng is prepared for the question. "I'm sorry I've been neglecting you," he says instantly. "It won't happen anymore. I'm very serious about our relationship, and I have no wish for it to end."

You know he's being earnest. After spending the rest of his night fucking you—slow and sweet in your bed, rather than the desperate way he'd done it in the archives—he'd woken up this morning and gone back to normal. Paid attention to you, paid attention to others, humoured your public displays of affection and initiated his own in private. Acted like the past two weeks never happened, and that nothing’s been weighing on his mind.

Were he anyone else, you'd assume that you're simply being strung along for sex, or perhaps being distracted by it. But Dan Heng isn't anyone else: he has absolutely no interest in physical intimacy without the emotional kind. He'd slept with you as an affirmation of his feelings for you. (He probably also did it because you kept begging to be fucked, but that's neither here nor there.)

Still, as much as you liked having your back blown out in the archives, semi-public sex isn't exactly a healthy way to deal with relationship problems.

"I know you'll be more mindful of my feelings now," you reply, "but I'd still like you to tell me what's been bothering you. I won't force it out of you, but if you did tell me, we could maybe fix it?"

"It is unfixable," he replies, "and not a problem to begin with. Simply the nature of things that I must accept."

His tone is neutral. Factual. Certain of the insignificance of whatever the issue is, even though you know that he's not the type to be bothered by insignificant things.

You frown, confused. "If it's the nature of things, then it won't hurt for me to know."

Dan Heng isn't looking at you anymore, instead fixated on the view beyond your window. Peering at the many moons of this galaxy, he finally relents: "'The night-blooming cereus flowers only once.' This is how Vidyadharas describe human life."

You consider his words, contemplating the bittersweet air of the idiom.

"Because human life feels ephemeral to you?" you discern.

"Yes. The lifespan of a human is but a fraction of ours. It's never bothered me before, but"—he's finally looking at you now, and his expression guts you—"four months without you feels unbearable. I can't imagine four centuries."

You go quiet.

Dan Heng is right: this is the nature of things. Skilled as you might be, you aren't likely to be one of those rare few humans who can ascend to immortality without Yaoshi's fruit. He’ll likely need to spend the better part of his life without you, and then every lifetime thereafter. Such is the reality for a Vidyadhara choosing to love a short-life species.

“...I’m sorry, Dan Heng,” is all you can bring yourself to say, but he shakes his head.

“There is no need for you to apologize," he says plainly. "I should have prepared myself for this eventuality when I chose to commit myself to you. It cannot be helped."

Dan Heng loves this phrase, you think to yourself. It cannot be helped that I had to live alone for so many years. It cannot be helped that I was exiled from my home. It cannot be helped that I was punished for the sins of Yinyue Jun.

It cannot be helped that you will someday leave me.

A splinter digs into your heart. You reach out, squeeze his hand, and wish that you could do more.

"It cannot be helped," you agree, "but that doesn't make it any less painful."

Dan Heng does not speak, but the way that he closes his eyes is enough of a reply. No matter how unfeeling he makes his voice, his pain is evident.

You wait for him to collect himself. Listen to his breaths—deeper than usual, meditative, reflective. There is hesitation in his eyes when he finally looks at you. A weakness that he only ever shows at night, after waking from a terrible dream.

"...I know it's a cruel thing to ask of you," Dan Heng eventually says, and the bitter edge to his words surprises you, "and perhaps a sign that this soul of mine will never change in its sins, no matter how many times it is reborn—but is there no way for us to spend a life together?"

You forget how to breathe.

What he's asking you is not just heretical for him—it's traumatic. An echo of the crime he'd committed in his past life, the tragedy that marked him for suffering in this one. He must be desperate for an answer if he's voicing the question at all.

You struggle as you think through your options.

"Seeking out the Peaches of Immortality is out of the question," you start. "And Sanctus Medicus is just a bunch of nutjobs—no way could they make me immortal. Demonic cultivation is another Path, but I don't think you'd like the thing I'd become by the end of it."

A brilliant river of stars streams past the window, like the one in that ancient folktale about the bridge of magpies. You can see the reflection of your lover's face in the window: muted, sorrowful, already mourning you. And of course he's mourning you long before your death, with how much he'd lost long before his birth.

Oh, Heng'er, you think, even if I drank from Meng Po's bowl and lost every memory of you, I'd still find my way back to you in my next life.

It would be too cruel to say aloud, so you remain quiet—merely staring at the galaxy before you, hoping quietly to see some kind of bridge.

Then a nearby sun flickers, and you remember something.

"...I guess there is another option," you say slowly, "but I can't imagine you being happy with it."

He straightens up. "What is it?"

"Well…" You take a deep breath. "Sometimes people practice dual cultivation as a way to extend their life. It's quite safe, but would be difficult given our relationship."

Dan Heng stares. "What exactly does it entail?"

"Well… it's basically cultivating by having sex. If I slept regularly with an immortal being with highly refined qi, I could probably exchange energy with them and achieve longevity that way." You make a face at the thought. "But it's not exactly easy to find an immortal who'd want a lifelong friend with benefits… and I'd really rather not have sex with anyone other than you, anyway."

It would probably make him miserable.

You're surprised when Dan Heng looks thoughtful, rather than disturbed. He studies you for a long moment, considering.

"Vidyadharas are immortal," he says, "and the qi of a High Elder is much more powerful than that of any other species. Is it not helping that we're already coupling so often?"

"Not really." You reach out across the table, hold out your palm, and he knows to give you his hand. You turn it over, tracing a finger along the length of his wrist. "Dual cultivation with you wouldn't be very useful. You might have extraordinary qi as a Vidyadhara, but it's sealed when you're in your human form."

You feel for the warm glow of his meridians, even though you already know what you'll find—an ordinary, unremarkable life force coursing through his body.

Dan Heng doesn't seem discouraged, though, when you look back up at him. Only curious.

"Then," he says, "what about my dragon form?"

It doesn't end up being very straightforward.

For a full ninety minutes, Dan Heng sits in your room and listens to you discuss the mechanics of dual cultivation, also known traditionally as the 'art of the bedchamber'. As its name would suggest, there are quite a few nuances and technical considerations involved: different positions enhance your qi in different ways; certain acts are more useful than others; mutual pleasure must be attained for the greatest possible benefit.

It isn't just a lecture that you give him. You take out one of your cultivation manuals and show him various diagrams and poses. You whip out your tablet and visit "questionable websites" for "video demonstrations". You quiz him intensively at the end of each unit.

At around the seventy-minute mark, you catalogue Dan Heng's expression—thousand yard stare, stiff posture, red ears—and decide that you're overwhelming him. So you tell him the most important takeaway, which is that one thing he must absolutely do is—

"—finish inside you?"

"Mhm." You sound completely unbothered. "As much as possible. And as many times as possible."

He gives you a long, blank stare, and then crosses his arms. "...all of this is just a ploy to get me to do one of your favourite things in bed, isn't it."

"What? No! I wouldn't lie to you about something like this, Gege!" You're being truthful. Though your sex drive can sometimes drive you to try insane things, it never drives you to be cruel. "I'm being dead serious right now. This really will extend my life. Those cultivation manuals were proof!"

Dan Heng considers you. "You're right. You wouldn't lie about something like this."

"Thank you."

"You're already so shameless about begging for it—I don't think you'd see the need to come up with an excuse."

Wow.

"...okay, yes, but you're also pretty shameless about giving in."

Dan Heng clears his throat, and you try not to laugh. "Well, I've never had a reason not to, since we don't need to worry about pregnancy…" He tries very, very hard to assume some semblance of dignity as he deflects: "Anyway. I think I understand the gist of it. You more or less want me to do the usual things."

"Yes—but while you're in your original form, of course."

"Right." His eyes narrow, and his expression becomes uncertain: something you've only seen a handful of times. "...I do need you to know that taking that shape… complicates things. There is a reason why my powers are usually sealed."

You nod. You've known for a while now that Dan Heng hates invoking his Vidyadhara powers—he considers it as taboo as much as a Xianzhou native would. Truthfully, it did occur to you some time ago that exchanging qi with a dragon would make your cultivation progress leaps and bounds, but after learning about how much he despises that form of his, you'd scrapped the whole idea and put it out of mind.

You're surprised that he's even consenting to this, all things considered.

Noticing the tension in his body, you leave your teaching set-up (tablet, an annotated cultivation manual, and smartboard with various stick figures you've drawn) to rest a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know if we have to worry about that. The Alliance only sealed Vidyadhara powers due to historical reasons relating to the Sedition, right?" you try to console him. "Rather than anything to do with your nature in this lifetime, I mean. You aren't inherently dangerous."

You can see the conflict in his eyes; your words run exactly counter to everything he must have heard while imprisoned on the Luofu.

"I don't know," Dan Heng finally says, "but for better or worse, things are still different when I take my true shape. I'm no longer used to it." He frowns a little. "The amount of power feels overwhelming to me now. It's fine in normal circumstances, but—" He struggles for a moment. "...I don't know how I'll behave in… these circumstances with you."

"Ah, I see. You're worried that you won't be able to control yourself while fucking you're me, huh?"

He gives you a disgruntled look. "Do you have to use such crass language?"

"Sorry, Gege. I'll try to speak eloquently like you: Yinyue Jun may fall to his base instincts once he's crossed the threshold of the chrysanthemum gate, right?"

His expression turns from disgruntled to disdainful. Evidently, he's not a fan of your erotica novel slang.

"Please be serious for once. We need to be careful if we do this. I might behave impulsively—do something rash. Accidentally hurt you."

You hum, considering his words. "That's surprising. I thought dragons were generally supposed to be pretty calm and wise…" Then you think about how you couldn't walk this morning. "Though I guess you weren't particularly calm yesterday."

He snorts. "Well, I usually am. Unfortunately, I find it exceptionally hard to control myself around you, with how much you like to provoke me," he says plainly. "It'll just get worse if I switch forms."

You try not to stare at him, shocked at how unbothered he is by these admissions. You suppose that multiple rounds of semi-public sex might have forced him to cross an event horizon of shame, and now his face is finally getting thicker.

"It isn't just my behaviour I'm worried about," he continues. His arms cross again, and his brow furrows. "You might find my form… unattractive. You probably won't like it."

You frown. "I can't imagine that. I bet the real Cold Dragon Young is super handsome."

It's a testament to his anxiety that he hardly reacts to your stupid comment. He just studies you carefully, uncertain. Apprehensive.

"I guess we'll find out."

END PART 1

notes: for those unfamiliar, this fic is set in the same universe as fengyue. fengyue was actually based on this fic, but due to my inability to manage deadlines, it came out way ahead of this LOL

i'm sorry there was no dragonfucking in this part when i have been promising dragonfucking for ages on this blog. but i am 12.5k words into part 2 and i can assure you that there is an excessive amount of incredibly nasty dragonfucking in it, so please look forward to that

this was written way before 1.2 came out (and in fact, before I had even caught up to 1.1 content). hopefully the characterization still holds up ok!

big, big thank you to @petrichorium for helping me navigate canon lore and riffing w me on this piece. please go check out their works, they have banger star rail content!

cultural notes:

cultivation is the practice of using martial and spiritual arts to cultivate one’s qi, gain spiritual powers, and attain immortality

dual cultivation is the act of refining your qi through having sex

I will be honest. I cannot remember the other cultural refs I dropped because I just kind of blindly write them in so please let me know if you have any questions about things LOL

translation notes:

gege is a term meaning "older brother", though it is often used for non-familial relationships that are very close; it can come off as either flirty or childish. heng'er is a diminutive of dan heng's name.

“If paradise is but a dream, then I wish to sleep forever” - this was a reference to the chinese version of dan heng’s ult line. in english, he says “this sanctuary is but a vision”. however, in chinese, he says “洞天幻化，长梦一觉” which is closer to something like “paradise is an illusion, reveals itself to be a long dream”

"The night-blooming cereus flowers only once" - this is how I rendered the idiom "曇花一現", which describes thing that are short-lived

"Human life should be as morning dew" - this is how I rendered the idiom "人生如朝露", which describes the ephemeral nature of human life

yes I really made dan-gege break out the chengyu and poetic speech... I'm not sure how he sounds in english but my man has his super literary moments in chinese haha

HII I SAW UR REQUESTS WERE OPEN!!! your writing is so amazing i couldn’t resist sending one in after i had binged everything…

may i request headcanons for a totally whipped al-haitham with the childhood friends to lovers trope throughout the years? as in how he was to reader in elementary, middle school, etc. but if not that’s fine!!! your fic with him liking reader since middle school was so 😭😭😭❤️ reader teasing him was so funny and i can’t scream about it hard enough 🥹

i hope you have an amazing day!!! keep up the good work!

thank you smm that rlly means a lot! im so glad you enjoyed my writing ❤️❤️ i love the friends to lovers trope sm writing this involved a lot of giggling and kicking my feet, whipped Alhaitham is just so cute. Anyway I hope you like this I had so much fun with it too 😋😋

༊*·˚ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

Pairing: Alhaitham x F!reader

Content: fluff, modern AU, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, (very) whipped Alhaitham

ELEMENTARY SCHOOL

You’d first met Alhaitham when you were in elementary. He, being slightly younger, was in preschool. Unlike the other kids, he kept to himself, mainly studying a picture book in a secluded corner. Your play areas were separated by a low fence, one which you often loved to climb over.

“Haitham!” You almost fell onto the grass after scaling this fence once again in the break time, peeking over the smaller boy’s shoulder.

“Is that a kangaroo?” You pointed at the picture book enthusiastically. Alhaitham only looked up at you, blinking a few times with his wide green-orange eyes.

“No, it’s a pademelon.” He spoke surprisingly eloquently, tongue only slightly lisping over the syllables.

“You’re no fun.” You sighed, plopping down next to your self-proclaimed friend and beginning to draw flowers on paper with your new crayons. Upon seeing the curious look on Alhaitham’s face, you handed him the green crayon.

“You can draw flowers with me if you want.” You shifted closer. The boy said nothing, only holding the crayon tightly as he watched you happily scribbling.

Once you’d befriended Alhaitham, there was no turning back. He was shy and quiet, but utterly attached to you. You nodded excitedly whenever he babbled on about a new topic, although you never really understood what he was talking about, and played imaginary games with him in the playhouses. He never really understood the imaginative concept, but you would lead the way as he followed along with whatever you said.

“I am the princess, and I am going to become the queen! Bow before me!” You manoeuvred a figurine across the miniature castle.

“No, the crown prince’s wife will become queen when he ascends to the throne.”

“Oh, okay. You’re so cool, Haitham.”

Alhaitham only smiled at you. The truth was, he thought you were the coolest person in the world. He might know all the logistical facts, but he could never weave a story as you did.

“Huh? Haitham, you’re the knight. You need to go to battle!”

Alhaitham was shaken out of his daze when he realised he’d only been staring at you in awe, quickly grabbing the knight figure to move it. Beneath his long lashes, he’d constantly sneak glances at you - looking for your approval that he was doing the right thing.

Whenever you were absent, Alhaitham would ask everyone else where you’d gone. After verifying that - unfortunately - you really weren’t coming to school and shocking his peers with his sudden friendliness, he’d retreat to the outskirts of the play area. He would collect flowers and rocks, gathering them in his small arms - still a little chubby with baby fat - determined to find the best things to gift to you.

When you came back the next day, Alhaitham would shyly press the gifts he’d collected into your hands, eagerly watching your expression. If you smiled, he would too. Truly, although he was too young to know, you were his first love and the centre of his universe.

MIDDLE SCHOOL

During middle school, you and Alhaitham were in the same class. Due to his intellect, he’d been bumped up by a grade - much to his joy. The truth was, he’d been offered to move higher by two grades, but opted to only move one so he could be with you. Not that he’d ever admit that to you, of course.

Middle school Alhaitham would be better at hiding his feelings. He’d no longer be the the eager boy who openly chased your attention, although he still wanted it just as much. Rather, he’d deploy more subtle tactics, despite them rarely ever working.

It was undeniable that you were quite popular. Given your outgoing, virtuosic personality, you were constantly surrounded by friends. It hurt Alhaitham slightly, knowing that you were his favourite but he wasn’t yours. Despite this, he never changed his aloof demeanour - acting coldly to others, and less coldly to you. It was clear through his gestures that he had a soft spot for you, whether it consisted of paying for your lunch or bringing you snacks.

“Oh, we were supposed to bring a protractor to the test?” You hissed in the silence of the classroom, broken only by the whisper of pencils on paper. The teacher shot you a glare, motioning for you to be quiet.

“Here, I have a spare.” You felt a light tap on your shoulder, and spun around to see Alhaitham holding his hand out. His eyes hesitated before locking into contact with yours, the glasses making them look larger than they were.

“Thank you. You’re so cute, Haitham.” You whispered, shooting him a wry smile before resuming your position hunched over the test paper. You didn’t lie - he really did look adorable, those large eyes and small frame lending him to having a rather endearing disposition.

Alhaitham flushed red, his hands fumbling to close the zipper on his pencil case. He pushed his completed test paper to the side and placed his head on the desk, the hard surface cold on his burning skin. He mentally praised himself for always bringing a spare of every stationery item, just in case you needed it.

Whilst Alhaitham swatted away anyone else who dared ask him for academic help, he’d be almost eager to give you any form of assistance. If you were paying attention, you’d see the way his cheeks flushed when you leaned in to copy his homework, or the slight tremor in his voice when he explained a concept to you. Middle school Alhaitham - now hyper aware of his feelings for you - would be a stuttering mess at times, although that would soon change in his high school years.

“So, after completing the square… this equation can translate to- hey, why are you staring at me?” Alhaitham stopped upon noticing your gaze.

“Haitham, you can be so pretty if you tried a little more. I’m so jealous, you have such nice eyes.” You commented, running your fingers through his soft hair.

“… Why would I seek the superficial approval of others?” Alhaitham huffed, crossing his arms. Secretly however, your words spiralled in his head. Perhaps, if he did as you said, you’d like him too…?

He realised your hand was still on his head, and moved back. You whined in exasperation, flopping onto the desk.

“Your hair’s so soft though…” You mumbled, reaching out again.

“We’re here to study.” Alhaitham snapped, busying himself in flipping through the textbook to hide his red face. He found the content mundane, but teaching it to you made his heart flutter in knowing that he could be of use to you.

HIGH SCHOOL

Alhaitham in high school was drastically different from his middle school self, to say the least. He’d risen greatly in popularity for being the mysteriously smart and handsome student that barely paid anyone any mind. Much to your surprise, he’d grown even taller than you - making it a lot harder to ruffle his hair. It was rumoured that he’d brutally rejected confessions from many others, and had even made a teacher cry - but the shy boy you knew would never do that, right?

“Where are you headed?” You felt a large hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks.

“I’m… going to study!” You stammered, finally looking behind you to meet a piercing amber gaze.

“Studying? On your way to the bus stop that leads only to the mall?” Alhaitham raised an eyebrow.

“Um, yes, a new cafe opened there and I wanted to study in it.”

“Hey, what’s taking you so long? We’re going to miss the movie at this rate!” You internally cursed as the loud voice of your friends interrupted your conversation.

“Studying, huh… Well, have fun. Don’t expect me to help you this time.” Alhaitham scoffed, releasing his grip on your shoulder.

He sent you his notes later that night regardless.

It was well known around your school that you were friends with Alhaitham, although you vehemently denied any romantic feelings between the two of you - much to his dismay. Because of this, you often had students approaching you and asking to be set up with Alhaitham. Of course, being the epitome of moral excellency, you only agreed if they paid you.

"You know, this girl in my class is pretty cute..." You showed Alhaitham a picture on your phone.

"You like her?" Alhaitham asked, not even sparing a glance to the picture.

"No, I..."

"How much did they pay you this time?"

"What! I would do no such thing-"

"You know, if you just asked me, I could give you way more than whatever they're giving you. Stop trying to auction me off, I have no interest in such things." Alhaitham snapped his book shut. You frowned, tugging on his arm.

"Please? Just one date with her, I'll do anything."

"Anything?"

"Kiss me."

"Why?"

"Wouldn't it be awkward if I were on a date with this girl, and I didn't even know how to kiss her?"

"Oh, true." Alhaitham internally winced at how you didn't give it a second thought, only leaning in to seal your lips together. Although he'd mastered the art of maintaining a cool facade, if you'd opened your eyes in that moment, you'd see the flush in his face. He reminded himself to close his eyes, recalling the countless books he'd read about the topic. It definitely wasn't how he'd imagined his first kiss with you to be, but he'd take anything you gave him.

"Now, you're going on that date right? Here's her number." You winked, pulling away. Alhaitham furiously tugged his headphones onto his ears to hide how red they were, shooing you away.

"I'll text you her number then, Haitham!"

You ignored the confusing twist in your chest, attributing it to the kiss. After all, sharing a kiss with anyone would make you flustered - surely, it was nothing special.

Regardless of your efforts to make whatever dates you sent Alhaitham on successful, it never seemed to work. In truth, you had no idea how Alhaitham knew you'd been spying on those dates - after all, you were so inconspicuous, posing as a mere passerby. But he'd grown used to your exact demeanour, and no matter how hard you tried to be nondescript, his eyes were inevitably drawn to you. Unbeknownst to you, your eyes were drawn to him too - perhaps that was why you felt a slight twinge in your heart.

"Which popcorn do you like?" The girl next to Alhaitham giggled nervously.

"Salted caramel." Alhaitham responded cooly. Your jaw hung open from where you sat hidden behind a poster wall. Whenever you got salted caramel popcorn - your absolute favourite - he'd raise an eyebrow and inform you of your poor decision making, muttering something about the awful taste. You closed your mouth to smile to yourself. Perhaps he was trying to impress his date with his (superior) choice of popcorn. Your smile faltered when you realised how close they were standing to each other, before you mentally cursed yourself. What were you thinking? Surely you didn’t… have feelings for the very guy you were setting up with another girl…?

You followed the pair into the cinema, sitting a row behind them. They'd chosen a horror movie, which you absolutely hated, but you bore with it.

A few minutes into the film, you felt a tap on your knee. Alhaitham held out a fistful of popcorn to you from where he sat in front, his arm outstretched behind him. You scowled. He'd shown no prior indication that he'd noticed you - did he have eyes in the back of his head? You took the popcorn anyway, frowning at how Alhaitham played it off by lowering his arm around the girl's shoulders.

As the movie continued, Alhaitham wished it was you seated next to him. He hated the popcorn, but he'd gotten it just for you, anyway. His heart beat a little louder every time you reluctantly accepted his offering, although he had to glare at the girl who'd stolen your spot every few minutes to make sure she didn't think he was blushing for her. How troublesome this ordeal was. From an objective perspective however, this was fair exchange. If it made you happy, then he was happy too.

Alhaitham wasn't particularly athletically inclined, although his scholarship demanded participation in extracurricular sports. Hence, he found himself in the odorous male changing rooms for the second time that week. It would've been a mundane practice session (with him showing off a little if you happened to be watching), until he overheard a teammate's plans to ask you out.

"You should do it, I'm pretty sure she's single." Another teammate encouraged the first, the echo of a slap on the back reverberating through the room.

Alhaitham frowned. He'd planned to play the long game, although this was an unexpected interruption to his plans. Of course, there were other people to factor in. How could he have been so foolish as to exclude that from the equation?

"Yeah, I've had my eye on her for a while." The first guy spoke again.

"She's taken." Alhaitham blurted. Blurted, as in - his mind didn't fully weigh the decision before it left his mouth in a measured tone.

"Oh, sorry man. Are you two...?"

"Yes, we are." Alhaitham lied smoothly. He'd figure out how to deal with the repercussions later, but for now, he had to prevent anyone else from asking you out.

"That's great. Wish the best for you two." With a friendly (although slightly forceful) pat on the shoulder, the teammate left Alhaitham to head outside.

Alhaitham’s confession to you was ultimately very enigmatic and confusing, just as he was. Although he’d more or less practiced what he would say, when it came to you, he was always at a loss. You were a contradiction, a threat - both to his plans and his sanity. Somehow, that was what made him love you so much.

“I’ve heard a rumour that you and I were dating, Haitham. How come I never knew about this?” You tutted.

“Ah, they’re just saying mindless things. We’re just friends, after all.” That was what Alhaitham meant to say. Instead, what came out was;

“So what if we are?”

“We’re dating?” You cocked an eyebrow, failing to hide your flushed cheeks. Alhaitham noted this detail, trying his best to control the situation. What on earth had he just said?

“Yes, we are. Since we both like each other.” Alhaitham explained, internally cursing himself for his straightforward delivery. The situation was so outlandish - he’d just made an assertion, then supported it to somehow (very obviously) gaslight you into being his lover.

“You like me?” You spluttered. Alhaitham smiled. You hadn’t denied that you yourself liked him.

“Yes, because we’re dating.”

“No we’re not.”

“We are now.”

You stared at him in stunned silence, shocked by his audacity. But you couldn’t exactly deny his claims.

“Okay, I guess we are then.” Your mind still spun. Had he just… declared your relationship status?

“… Thank you.” Alhaitham murmured. You fidgeted on the spot uncertainly, before finally mustering the courage to peck his lips. Before you could scurry off however, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back.

“What are you-”

“I’ve waited years for this. God, you’re so stupid for not realising this earlier.” Alhaitham brought your lips to his, fiercely bringing you in to a passionate kiss.

You closed your eyes, melting into his touch as his hands deftly pulled you flush against him by your waist. Unsure of where to put your hands, you placed them on his chest - feeling it heave with every breath he took. His heartbeat thudded under your touch.

It was strange. Most people thought of him as being cold, almost robotic. And yet, he was so human now, from the light sheen of sweat on the column of his neck, to the flex of his jaw as it worked against yours. The slight tremble of his hand as it rose to rest on your nape, almost as though he too couldn’t believe what was happening.

The two of you pulled away after a while, panting heavily.

“I’ve… got to go.” Alhaitham muttered, walking off hurriedly before he could embarrass himself further. Nevertheless, it was alright for him to be selfish for once, right? It had seemed to work out in his favour.

Despite however much he tried to soothe himself, Alhaitham’s face was red, and a giddiness bloomed in his heart. Any other student would’ve been shocked to see the tender smile spread across his face, breaking that infuriatingly stoic expression. His childhood friend - and his first love - was now finally his.