come to conceal the confusion we feel

Fandom: The Untamed Pairing: Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen/Xue Yang Rating: Explicit Words: 7,173

Read it here.

This fic has been haunting me for nearly a year, and now it is finally released into the wild in a form you can all read it in. This one is really an exemplar of the different standards that apply to different ships: for some ships, “dance teacher seduces his partner and their student into an unnegotiated threesome on the studio floor” is absolutely a bad vibes scenario, but for Songxuexiao? Downright wholesome honestly. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

•••

Back when they first opened the studio, Xingchen had suggested that they keep a couple evening blocks open for the possibility of private lessons. Song Lan had agreed to it readily. They’d needed the money—frankly, they still do—and in his experience the kind of person willing to pay for private ballroom dance classes was usually the no expense spared type. It’d be a bit risky at first while they were still building up their client base, but they’re good dancers. They won the championship last year. Song Lan had been confident that they’d be able to draw in enough big spenders to make private lessons worthwhile.

And besides: he’d also had the sneaking suspicion, with how Xingchen was packing his own schedule—with the way he was throwing himself into it with every overwhelming ounce of passion in his beautiful body—that agreeing to a couple of open nights a week was the only way he’d be able to get his boyfriend to take a break.

He had been right about that. He had also been right about the kind of people who would start negotiating for private lessons, once word got out that they were available. Song Lan had been feeling cautiously optimistic about the studio’s future. Xingchen, of course, was brimming with joy.

And then they had met Xue Yang.

Song Lan does not understand why Xue Yang is taking their classes. He has dance experience—quite a lot of dance experience, actually—but none of it in ballroom. He doesn’t have a partner who has dragged him out to learn how to dance with them. He’s not interested in competition, and he doesn’t care about the kind of social culture where it matters if you know how to waltz. He’d claimed he was just expanding his range—but he’d said it with such a salacious tone, as he dragged his eyes over Xingchen’s hips, that Song Lan didn’t buy it for a moment.

Of course, Xingchen had laughed. Xingchen thinks Xue Yang is funny.

Song Lan does know why Xue Yang is paying them for private lessons, though. That part of the equation had been abundantly clear from the beginning.

“We shouldn’t take him on,” Song Lan had said, when Xingchen told him Xue Yang had approached him after class to ask about extra lessons. “He’s just going to use them to hit on you.”

“If he wants to pay that much money to hit on me, I don’t see why I shouldn’t indulge him,” Xingchen had said peaceably, filling in a column of their account books.

Song Lan had just made an exasperated noise. “Xingchen.”

“Zichen,” Xingchen had returned, raising his eyes seriously to Song Lan’s. “Are we really doing so well that we can afford not to take the opportunity?”

Song Lan had not been able to say that they were.

“Exactly,” Xingchen had said. “I’m putting him down for the Thursday slot. It’ll be fine, you’ll see. He’s really not as bad as you think.” He had paused then, tapping his pen against his mouth contemplatively. “If you’re worried about it, you should join us. It might be good to have a second instructor.”

Which is how Song Lan finds himself, for the third Thursday in a row, sitting in the otherwise empty studio as the summer sunset paints the skyline orange, eating a belated dinner of takeout pad thai and waiting for Xue Yang to arrive for his eight o’clock lesson.

Read the rest on AO3!

Ten Lines

I am simply not going to tag anyone, but since people (okay, just @ripeteeth​—thanks, friend!) have been tagging me in these memes lately, I might as well start responding to some of them. If you want to do it, this is an open invitation to steal it and say I tagged you. I am tagging you all in my heart.

to swallow me, 490 words

“Open up for me, sweetheart,” Xingchen murmurs.

exactly where i want me (underneath your body), 4.6k

Xiao Xingchen has been expecting it for nearly a month by the time Zichen finally brings it up.

tender, 3.9k

The only reason Xue Yang ends up at Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen’s is because it’s closer than his own.

loving you’s a loaded gun, 26k

Xiao Xingchen is stacking dishes in the dishwasher when he hears the motorcycle pull up outside.

trickle down my spine, 1.9k

The first time it happens, it comes out of nowhere.

midnight, your eyes, bitter wine, 4k

“Keep still,” Song Lan snaps.

lights out, follow the noise, 15k

The third time Xue Yang comes over to Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan’s place, Xiao Xingchen brings out a collar.

‘cause your touch still gets me stupid high, 3.5k

Song Lan is changing after work when he spots the collar sitting out on his dresser. It’s one of the plainer ones: black leather, a little stiff and lightly suede-textured on the inside, with sturdy silver hardware and a mid-sized O-ring on the front. Nothing especially distinctive, but Song Lan is intimately familiar with this one; he recognizes it right away.

grey stars on the rise, 3.4k

Xue Yang stares at the sheaf of paper in front of him, unblinking. He’s been up all night getting this right, and now the sunrise is creeping like a thief across the coffin house floor. There’s sweat dripping into his eyes; he dashes it impatiently away. “It’ll work this time,” he says. “It’ll work. It has to.”

call me pretty (call me yours), 3k

“That Jiang Sect disciple was hanging around again,” Zichen says.

to swallow me

Fandom: The Untamed Pairing: Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen/Xue Yang Rating: Mature Words: 490

Read it here.

I have once again taken a tiny prompt from a friend, written it into a card, and mailed it out of the country to them. This one was for @bitterchord. Since they’ve got it now, the rest of you can see it too. Hope you like romantic cannibalism.

•••

“Open up for me, sweetheart,” Xingchen murmurs.

It’s funny how sexual it sounds, Xue Yang thinks fuzzily. With those words, in that tone, he ought to be talking about something else. His mouth. His hole. Not—this.

Xue Yang’s thoracic cavity is split open under Xingchen’s hands, the glistening red flesh parted from his ribs, his insides exposed and on display. He can feel his heart beating against the open air, a nauseating, wrong-feeling pulse. This ought to hurt. He ought to be screaming in pain. Instead he cannot take his eyes from the delicate spots of blood smeared across Xingchen’s fingertips.

Song Lan is kneeling behind him, Xue Yang’s head pillowed on his lap. Xue Yang tilts his face up to look at him, and finds Song Lan looking back: quiet and serene and so intent on him that his deep brown eyes almost burn. His hands, cradling Xue Yang’s cheeks, are gentle.

Read the rest on AO3!

exactly where i want me (underneath your body)

Fandom: The Untamed Pairing: Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen/Xue Yang Rating: Explicit Words: 4,593

Read it here.

Part five! A pivotal moment for this series!! Also a belated birthday gift for my beloved co-conspirator @vultjag! I hope you all enjoy this new instalment in boyfriending your feral hookup. Nothing will ever be the same after this.

•••

Xiao Xingchen has been expecting it for nearly a month by the time Zichen finally brings it up.

It’s a quiet February evening, cold enough that he’s turned his space heater on; outside their bedroom window, the snow is drifting down in enormous fluffy flakes. It isn’t all that late, but they’ve been curled up in bed already for over an hour. It’s just that sort of night.

Zichen puts his hand down into the space between them, covering Xiao Xingchen’s fingers with his own. “Can we talk?” he says.

“You’ve been staring at that book without turning the page for at least ten minutes,” Xiao Xingchen says, and sets his kobo face down on his lap. He flips his hand over, threading his fingers with Zichen’s, and smiles. “What’s on your mind, love?”

Zichen makes a quietly amused noise in the back of his throat. He squeezes Xiao Xingchen’s hand, opens his mouth, frowns, casts his eyes down. “It’s—I mean—we’ve been having a good time. With Xue Yang,” he says finally. “Right?”

“I have,” Xiao Xingchen says. “I think you have too.”

“Yeah,” Zichen says, just a little breathy, his eyes darting up to Xiao Xingchen’s neck. Smiling, Xiao Xingchen tips his head to expose the line of bruises Xue Yang left below his ear.

“I like him a lot,” he says. There’s a warmth sitting low in his gut, a fluttery sensation somewhere in the vicinity of his lungs. “I’d like to keep seeing him. Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“I—sort of,” Zichen says, and takes a slow breath in. “I think I—I want him to touch me.”

And, there: the words Xiao Xingchen has been waiting to hear for weeks now. He lets them sink into his skin, cupping them close to his heart, allowing the joy to ripple through him in little waves. “I’m surprised it took you this long to bring it up,” he says. “You really seem to like him.”

It’s been six months already since the first time they brought Xue Yang home; four months since he first stayed the night; three months since it started becoming a regular event. He’s not the first hookup they’ve had to stick around for this long, or the first Zichen has come to trust enough to relax his boundaries for. His aversion to touch is less absolute than strangers often assume: with most people Zichen is comfortable only with contact he controls; but with those few he counts among his friends, he enjoys some casual touch, as long as it’s nothing too lingering, or intimate, or constricting. Most of their longterm hookups have eventually been allowed to lay their hands on him; a few have even been permitted to put their mouths to his skin.

That Xue Yang would be invited into that set—yes, Xiao Xingchen thinks with palpable satisfaction: it’s about time.

Read the rest on AO3!

tender

Fandom: The Untamed Pairing: Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen/Xue Yang Rating: Teen Words: 3,913

Read it here.

A second @sxx-exchange work, this one a pinch hit for @veliseraptor. My first real foray into hurt/comfort, and one I was quite pleased with the results of. If you would like to experience Xue Yang dealing with a pain curse in his own classic Xue Yang-ish way: you have come to the right place.

•••

The only reason Xue Yang ends up at Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen’s is because it’s closer than his own.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, when Xiao Xingchen opens the door. “Come here often?” He leans his shoulder against the doorframe, folding his arms and cocking one hip; it’s only, like, forty percent because he thinks he might fall over if he doesn’t.

“Oh my god,” Xiao Xingchen says. “Xue Yang, you—what happened?”

“Night-hunt,” Xue Yang says, and allows Xiao Xingchen to catch his hand. He pulls him hurriedly into the house, shutting the door behind him before any of the neighbours have the chance to get nosy about the latest little cultivator drama unfolding on their doorstep, which is probably fair. There’s going to be a bloodstain on the doorframe. “I’m fine,” Xue Yang says, as Xiao Xingchen nudges him out of his boots and down the hallway toward the bathroom. “Seriously, it’s not—don’t freak out.”

“You’re bleeding,” Xiao Xingchen says. His hands are fluttering, refusing to settle. Xue Yang can’t blame him: there’s a hell of a lot of gore on his clothes. “You should—Zichen!” he calls. “I need your help, please!”

“Mostly not my blood,” Xue Yang mutters, as Song Lan appears at the top of the staircase, his eyes widening in dramatic surprise.

“What the hell did you do?” he demands. His tone is considerably more pissy than Xiao Xingchen’s had been, which: rude.

“Gutted a yaoguai,” Xue Yang says. “It was trying to eat the tourists in the Arboretum, I was—not the point. I’m fine. I mean, I’ve got a few cuts, but…” He waves a hand vaguely at himself; on balance, he’s not entirely sure what he’s trying to convey. The injuries aren’t his actual problem, but it’s not like they need to know that. “I just needed to—I can’t get the fucking bus like this. Your place was closer.”

Xiao Xingchen purses his lips and looks at Song Lan. Some kind of silent communication passes between them, which Xue Yang can’t decipher at all. Fuck, he hates it when they do that.

“Can you bring us the first aid kit?” Xiao Xingchen says finally. The request makes Song Lan look vaguely unhappy—which is weird, because normally Song Lan loves doing whatever Xiao Xingchen tells him to—but he doesn’t argue, just nods his head and disappears back onto the second floor.

Read the rest on AO3!

loving you’s a loaded gun

Fandom: The Untamed Pairing: Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen/Xue Yang Rating: Explicit Words: 26,015

Read it here.

“I am going to write something shorter for @sxx-exchange this year,” I said. “Like, ten thousand words. Maybe fifteen. That seems like a safe range to aim for.” Famous last words, those were.

This was a gift for my beloved @bitterchord, based on their prompt for party games and crunchy relationship dynamics and dumb boys in love. It has closet makeouts! Light somnophilia! Trans Xue Yang! Half a dozen background ships that Xingchen does not even slightly notice happening because he’s too busy making bad romantic decisions! Just, like, so much miscommunication, guys, you would not even believe. Anyway, I hope you like it, I had a hell of a lot of fun.

•••

Xiao Xingchen is stacking dishes in the dishwasher when he hears the motorcycle pull up outside.

“Were we expecting anyone else?” he says, straightening up to peer out the window. It does him no good: it’s well past sunset, and in any case the driveway is mostly out of view of the kitchen. He can just see the back of Wen Qing’s stylish little sedan—she and her brother had been the last to arrive, pulling up to the lake house right before dinner—but the rest of their cars are hidden behind the side of the house. All he can see of the motorcycle is the reflected glow of its taillight, until that too disappears.

Nie Huaisang is standing at the counter, an assortment of glasses and cocktail ingredients arrayed before him. “Oh, yes,” he says, fluttering his hand in idle dismissal. “I think he’s some friend of san-ge’s. He said he’d be arriving late—I guess he had work? I really don’t know, san-ge never tells me anything.”

Xingchen doesn’t buy it for a second: the only time Nie Huaisang has ever not known about anything is when he has decided, on purpose, not to know about it—and he’s the one who planned this whole party. Nominally it was Lan Xichen—the lake house they’re borrowing for the weekend belongs to his family—but Xingchen’s understanding is that this is more a polite fiction they’re maintaining for the sake of Lan Qiren’s scruples. In reality, Lan Xichen had handed off the reins to Nie Huaisang and Meng Yao the moment he secured his uncle’s permission to host a party. There’s no way Nie Huaisang wouldn’t know the guest list, and pretending not to know Meng Yao’s friend is likely just another inscrutable manifestation of his constant back-and-forth power plays with with his brother’s second boyfriend.

That’s fine. Xingchen is pretty sure he knows who it is anyway.

He finishes loading the dishwasher, then plucks a glass out of Nie Huaisang’s forest of glassware to pour himself some chilled white wine. The nearest door to the driveway is in the sunroom off the kitchen, and he drifts in there now. Nie Mingjue is there already, setting up a table for beer pong with assistance from a teenager who had earlier been introduced to Xingchen as Mo Xuanyu; on the other side of the room, Jiang Yanli and Wen Ning are working companionably at a puzzle. Their late arrival is present as well, still brushing the snow off his boots. He’s set his helmet on a nearby shelf, but he’s still wearing his bike leathers. He looks as stunning in them as he always does.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Xingchen says, his voice warm with welcome.

Read the rest on AO3!

trickle down my spine

Fandom: The Untamed Pairing: Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen/Xue Yang Rating: Mature Words: 1,941

Read it here.

Surprise! I’m back with another fic. This was written for Mary last year as a threadfic on twitter, and has now been cleaned up and posted to AO3 in the proper sequence for the series. Hope you like it!

•••

The first time it happens, it comes out of nowhere.

Xue Yang is staying over at Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan’s. He’s started doing that more often—mostly because, over the course of the last three months, their games have escalated by degrees to the point where now he often can’t fucking think by the time the night is over, let alone walk straight.

It’s easier, when that happens, to just crash. Easier to let them fuss over him a little, to allow them to tuck him up somewhere warm, even though it still makes him itch in the aftermath as he gradually regains awareness of how thoroughly they wrecked him. It’s fine, anyway, it’s just… convenient. Plus, their place is a lot closer to his work than his own apartment, so if he sometimes brings a change of clothes and stays over on purpose when he’s got a shift the next morning—whatever. It’s not like it matters.

They haven’t gotten sick of him yet, so it’s fine.

He doesn’t have the excuse of a morning shift this time, but that doesn’t matter either. They always seem… satisfied, somehow, when he sticks around, like he’s done something right. And when he’s been fucked and beaten and teased and broken open so thoroughly that he’s forgotten how to speak, there’s something about their approval that just—

No. Fuck that. He definitely doesn’t want to think about that.

The point is: he’s staying over. Or, more accurately, he has stayed over—had his brains fucked out, crashed, roused himself at Song Lan’s urging to stagger into the shower, collapsed onto the bed mussed and vaguely damp, and passed out again before his head hit the pillow. And now he’s waking up—easing slowly from sleep in the nest of blankets at the centre of Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan’s enormous stupid bed—to chilly autumn sunlight and the smell of coffee and the distant murmur of familiar voices a room and a half away.

His eyes are still only partway open by the time he makes it into the kitchen. He’s stolen one of Xiao Xingchen’s ridiculous oversized pyjama shirts—he knows better than to take anything of Song Lan’s, no matter how much he wants to drown in the too-big grey cotton of his sweatpants—and his hair is a disaster. He looks like he just fell out of bed and stumbled into their kitchen, because that’s exactly what he did.

He slumps into a chair, and Xiao Xingchen pushes a mug of coffee across the table towards him. “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Mgh,” Xue Yang says, and sticks his face into the mug.

Read the rest on AO3!

midnight, your eyes, bitter wine

Fandom: The Untamed Pairing: Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen/Xue Yang Rating: Explicit Words: 3,996

Read it here.

I’ve been blocked on a different fic for ages, so I took a break to write this one and immediately proceeded to write four thousand words in under two days. Go figure. Please enjoy this final instalment of Xue Yang vs. safewords (though nowhere close to the final instalment of this series)!

•••

“Keep still,” Song Lan snaps.

Xue Yang shows his teeth, twisting around in Song Lan’s grasp. “Why the fuck would I want to do that?” he says. They’re face to face—nearly nose to nose—and Song Lan has his hand clamped on Xue Yang’s wrists, pinning his arms behind him. His other hand is digging bruises into Xue Yang’s bare hip. He’s stiff with tension, the heat of his body pressed in a line all down Xue Yang’s front; it’s utterly intoxicating.

“That’s funny,” Song Lan says, voice rough. “I was under the impression you were here because you wanted to get fucked.”

Because he wants to get wrecked, more like. Xue Yang has tried fucking other people, once or twice, since he started hooking up with Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan. It was useless: he’d been bored within fifteen minutes. But Song Lan, with his big hands and ready grip—Xiao Xingchen, with his sweet words and tender cruelty—

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy on you,” Xue Yang says, and means, I want you to make me. He flexes his hands, jerking at Song Lan’s hold on his wrists, testing how far he can push before he gets thrown down and forced to take it. He’s so fucking hard already. With the way their hips are crushed together, he knows Song Lan can feel it.

“You’re very hostile tonight,” Xiao Xingchen says, settling behind Xue Yang and sliding his hands around his waist. He doesn’t sound displeased at all; his voice is warm, soft, rich with promise. “I’m half tempted to cuff you to the bed and leave you there until you’ve worked yourself out.”

Xue Yang all but snarls, thrashing in Song Lan’s arms. “Don’t you fucking dare, Xiao Xingchen—”

“Mmm,” Xiao Xingchen says, and bites down hard on Xue Yang’s trapezius. “Sweetheart, you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Read the rest on AO3!

lights out, follow the noise

Fandom: The Untamed Pairing: Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen/Xue Yang Rating: Explicit Words: 14,947

Read it here.

Here it is: exactly one year after I posted the heat and the thrill, I have finally finished the sequel. My deepest love and thanks, once again, to Blythe and Eli, without whom this fic and indeed this entire AU would not exist. I hope you like it, friends. I’ve been working on it for a very long time.

•••

The third time Xue Yang comes over to Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan’s place, Xiao Xingchen brings out a collar.

“What the fuck,” Xue Yang says. He can’t tear his eyes from it. In Xiao Xingchen’s elegant hands the soft black leather looks entirely innocuous; there’s no reason it should be sucking in all his attention like a void sucks in oxygen. There’s no fucking reason he should be able to feel his heartbeat pounding in his throat already.

“You don’t have to say yes,” Xiao Xingchen says. His voice is perfectly even; he doesn’t bat an eye. “But we wanted to offer. You liked it, didn’t you? When Zichen was throwing you around?”

Xue Yang did like it. He liked it so fucking much that he still doesn’t know what to do with himself, can’t even let himself think about how they made him beg. “What, so—you think that means you get to own me or something? Like I’m some kind of pet?” he spits, because that’s easier than finding a way to say yes, I liked it, I want you to do it again—

“It’s just a toy,” Song Lan cuts in with solid finality. “A play collar. No one is trying to own you.”

Xue Yang’s stomach drops with a sickening lurch. Out of nowhere he is seized with the urge to punch Song Lan in the face. Resolutely he clenches his fists at his sides and refuses to look at him: that would definitely get him thrown out, even not accounting for the whole thing where he’s not allowed to touch Song Lan.

Xiao Xingchen’s voice is low, careful, soothing, and Xue Yang wants to punch him too. “We just thought,” he says, “with the way you kept trying to goad Zichen into choking you—this might be something you’d like, that’s all.”

And—when he puts it like that, it’s—that’s—

Well, shit.

The heat of anger in Xue Yang’s gut twists sideways, tumbles into arousal. His lungs feel suddenly too tight. Does it show on his face? He has no idea. And how the fuck does Xiao Xingchen keep doing this, anyway, knocking his feet out from under him and leaving him a starving, horny mess with nothing more than a few words?

“Or you could just fucking choke me,” he says, because the alternative is getting dragged back under again, is just letting himself be overwhelmed, and they’ve barely even touched him at all yet, haven’t even taken his clothes off, and there is no fucking reason he should be so—

“No,” Xiao Xingchen says peaceably. “Maybe someday, but not tonight. Do you want to try the collar, Xue Yang? Yes or no.”

Read the rest on AO3!

‘cause your touch still gets me stupid high

Fandom: The Untamed Pairing: Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen/Xue Yang Rating: Explicit Words: 3,518

Read it here.

A gift for a friend who had to cancel her birthday plans due to quarantining. I asked her what she might like in a smut fic and she suggested “collars,” “begging,” and “sexy teasing while someone is trying to complete a task,” and I said “yes please, I’ll take all of those.” This was a lot of fun to write. Enjoy!

•••

Song Lan is changing after work when he spots the collar sitting out on his dresser. It’s one of the plainer ones: black leather, a little stiff and lightly suede-textured on the inside, with sturdy silver hardware and a mid-sized O-ring on the front. Nothing especially distinctive, but Song Lan is intimately familiar with this one; he recognizes it right away.

They have several collars in their toy case. Some of them are shared, just for play; others belong to Xue Yang or Song Lan alone. There’s one Xingchen likes to put on Xue Yang when he wants him to fight them, and another for when he wants him to behave. There’s even one Xingchen will wear every so often himself, on the rare occasion that he wants to get beaten up and thrown around a bit. But this one—

This one is Song Lan’s, and no one else’s. And it means, if he puts it on, that he’s agreed to offer himself up freely: not just to Xingchen, but to Xue Yang as well. Short of him using his safeword, they can do anything they want with him.

The collar being laid out like this is an offer, not a demand: if he walks back out into the kitchen with his neck bare, Xingchen won’t be upset with him. He’s refused it before; he could refuse it today. More than any other kind of play they do, wearing this collar can be intense for him.

But, Song Lan thinks, as he picks it up—as he feels the familiar texture of it catch against his fingertips, as his pulse kicks up a notch in his throat—sometimes intensity is exactly what he needs. Even when he didn’t expect it. Especially when he thinks it’s not what he wants.

Xingchen catches Song Lan in the hallway as he’s on his way out of the bedroom, in sweatpants and a soft black t-shirt with the collar buckled around his neck. He doesn’t say anything: just smiles his most devastating smile and hooks two fingers over the band, tugging Song Lan down into a kiss. Song Lan loses himself in it for a very long moment, his hands settling in a frame at Xingchen’s tiny waist. He can feel the world going soft around the edges, just a bit; he’s already starting to sink.

Xingchen is still smiling when he pulls away. He doesn’t unhook his fingers from the collar; only lifts his other hand to thumb over Song Lan’s cheekbone. “Beautiful,” he sighs. “You always look so lovely in this one.”

Song Lan swallows, his eyes fluttering briefly closed. Xingchen’s fingers are like a brand against his throat. “Did you have something in mind for the evening?” he says. His voice is a little rough.

“Mmm. Yes,” Xingchen says, and doesn’t elaborate. “You were going to make dinner, right?”

Xingchen knows very well that Song Lan was planning to make dinner tonight, which means he’s asking for a reason. “Yeah,” Song Lan says. “Dumplings.”

Xingchen just smiles again, flashing his dimples, and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’d better get started,” he says. “Xue Yang will be home soon.”

Finally Xingchen lets him go; it takes everything Song Lan has not to chase after the tug of his hand on the collar. Xingchen just watches him knowingly, but doesn’t comment, doesn’t reach out again, doesn’t do anything at all but look. Song Lan flushes hot under his eyes and can’t entirely say why. He swallows again and tries to gather up his scattered thoughts.

Dinner. Right. He was going to make dinner. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll—do that.”

Read the rest on AO3!

grey stars on the rise

Fandom: The Untamed Pairing: Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen/Xue Yang Rating: Mature Words: 4,375

Read it here.

A neat little style experiment, which didn’t exactly work out the way I intended, but did allow me to produce this interesting, fragmentary little thing, and I do rather like how it turned out! Hope you enjoy this messed up fierce corpse fuckery.

•••

Xue Yang stares at the sheaf of paper in front of him, unblinking. He’s been up all night getting this right, and now the sunrise is creeping like a thief across the coffin house floor. There’s sweat dripping into his eyes; he dashes it impatiently away. “It’ll work this time,” he says. “It’ll work. It has to.”

He’s not sure who he’s talking to. It’s not like the walking corpse in the corner is going to answer him.

Xue Yang picks up a fresh stick of cinnabar and starts sketching out the array on the floor around Xiao Xingchen’s body. He works as quickly as he can without sacrificing detail; his hands are trembling by the time he’s done. He can feel the weight of Song Lan’s attention, focused even through the nails Xue Yang drove into the back of his head, black-eyed and heavy and utterly, furiously still.

“It’s going to work,” he says insistently, and knows he’s just trying to convince himself.

Carefully he starts feeding resentful energy into the array. He can feel the way it flows along the strokes of the characters, twining and whispering and looping back in on itself, building its power in erratic leaps, and he’s felt it before, exactly like this, and it has never, ever worked, and he would hardly dare to get his hopes up, except—except—

Something is different this time. Something is catching on the broken edges of the tattered little soul in the spirit-trapping pouch; something is pulling, tugging, tearing, jagged and fragile and fluttering in Xue Yang’s hands; something is ripping into him, making him bleed from the nose and his ears and the back of his throat, and it hurts so fucking much but he can’t look away, he can’t, he can’t—

As the morning sun touches his perfect lips, Xiao Xingchen starts to move.

Read the rest on AO3!

call me pretty (call me yours)

Fandom: The Untamed Pairing: Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen/Xue Yang Rating: Mature Words: 2,976

Read it here.

And my third and final @sxx-exchange fic, featuring a serious canon divergence, Jiang Sect disciple Xue Yang, and a one-night stand (or is it!!). Another pinch hit I did last minute, and one I had so much fun with. Hope you like it!

•••

“That Jiang Sect disciple was hanging around again,” Zichen says.

“Again?” Xiao Xingchen says. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” He’s been polishing out a nick in Shuanghua’s edge, received during the night-hunt two days past; now he glances up to Zichen, who is standing at the window that overlooks the courtyard garden. “I thought we’d made it clear that we’re not joining any sect.”

Zichen shrugs, meeting his eyes with a moment of weary resignation. “Since when do the great sects take no for an answer?”

Xiao Xingchen makes an exasperated noise. It’s considerably ruder than he would ever be in public, but with only Zichen here to see him he doesn’t mind making his feelings known. His patience has been steadily eroding for quite some time: they’ve been guests at Jinlintai for five days now, and as far as Xiao Xingchen is concerned that’s at least five days too many.

“We should stop accepting invitations to these banquets,” he mutters.

Zichen turns fully back into the room. To anyone else his expression would look as stoic as it ever does, but Xiao Xingchen can read the flicker of dry amusement around his mouth. “I didn’t want to come to this banquet,” he says.

Xiao Xingchen loves him so much. “Yes, alright,” he says, and sheathes his sword. “You were right. Still. We’re going to need money if we ever want to start our own sect, and the Jin have plenty to spare.” The prize purses for their competition night-hunts are always very generous, and Xiao Xingchen—once again—has one of them tucked safely away in the qiankun bag in his sleeve.

Upon reflection, that may have something to do with why the great sects won’t leave him alone.

In fairness, the Jiang disciple who’s been dogging their steps this time has been less obnoxious than many of the others who have been sent to harangue them. He just keeps turning up: chatting casually with Xiao Xingchen in the gardens; trying very hard to engage Zichen in discussion over meals; offering to spar with one or the other of them and looking disappointed when they politely turn him down; watching them from the sidelines during the competitive events, whispering with one of his sect brothers, who Xiao Xingchen thinks is the Yunmeng Jiang first disciple. At dinner the night before he had even somehow managed to wrangle a seat beside the table they were sharing. Xiao Xingchen had spent the whole meal in dread of the request he was sure was coming, but instead the man had just kept offering to pour their drinks. At least he was nice to look at.

And thinking of dinner—

Xiao Xingchen gets to his feet, settling Shuanghua’s sheath on his back. “Come on,” he says, “they’ll be expecting us at the banquet. If that Jiang disciple comes back again, I’ll just have to tell him we’re not interested.”

Read the rest on AO3!