Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Biologically Determined Dom/sub Roles, BDSM, Bad BDSM etiquette, Sadism, Masochism, Past Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Self-Harm, BDSM as a Form of Self-Harm, Minor Character Death(s), Arson, Shades of Black Widow Wei Wuxian, Extremely Dubious Consent, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Normalized Homosexuality and Bisexuality, Normalized Polyamory, Nonsexual BDSM, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Pining Wei Wuxian, Jealous Wei Wuxian, Touch-Starved Wei Wuxian, Professional Dominant Wei Wuxian, Sex Worker Wei Wuxian, Gentle Dom Lan Wangji, Mean Dom Lan Wangji, Oblivious Lan Wangji, Past Wen Chao/Wei Wuxian, Minor Jin Guangyao/Wei Wuxian, Mentioned Wei Wuxian/Others, Emotional Infidelity, Angst with a Happy Ending, Endgame Wangxian, Mo Xuanyu Also Gets a Happy Ending, the tags are scary but i promise there's some lightheartedness too, wangxian love one another so much, wei wuxian is healed by the power of nonsexual bdsm and friendship, and then gets bdsm'd quite sexually and happily by the love of his life, Additional Warnings In Author's Note
- non-explicit mentions of non-consensual public sex and abuse between unnamed Wen and unnamed submissives
- Wen Chao imperils Wei Wuxian when demanding that he kneel
- brief episode of choking
- Wen Ruohan is a creep, but all touching is shoulder level or above and not overtly sexual beyond the obvious dynamics at play
Seven Years Ago, Inferno Palace
In the years since Wei Wuxian was brought to Nightless City, he’s never been brought to Wen Ruohan before. And perhaps for good reason. Even without Wen Ruohan’s attention bearing down on him directly, Wei Wuxian feels weak to the Dominance he exerts. It rolls off of the man in thick, noxious waves and threatens to take Wei Wuxian’s knees with it. Many of his submissives—or maybe they belong to others from the Wen family, who is Wei Wuxian to say—have already been contorted into various humiliating positions and deposited across the black, shiny floor, made to writhe and scream by the other Dominants in the room.
If he’s not careful, that might be his fate.
Wei Wuxian notices only two don’t participate. One is a well-dressed woman in red who wears a subtly gleaming gold collar, neat and unobtrusive. The other stands next to her, fidgeting fussily, as though to stop himself from interfering with what’s happening in the room. The woman leans in and says something into his ear that seems to calm him. Then, she strides toward the closest Dominant—one who has already opened one wound in some poor submissive’s face—and speaks to him, her face contorted in rage. Wen Chao hasn’t spoken at length about his family to Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian has heard about his killjoy cousin, Wen Qing, and her useless waste of a Dominant brother, Wen Ning.
He’s a fucking bleeding heart, Wen Chao has said, and that bitch will do anything to make him happy. And heavens fucking forbid anyone try to marry either of them off. They’re lucky my father indulges them. When I’m in charge, they won’t have it so easy.
This must be them.
In the center of the room, a long table stands, mostly empty except for Wen Ruohan himself on the far end and one individual in the seat opposite Wen Ruohan’s. From this side of the tall, ornate chair the stranger is sitting in, Wei Wuxian can’t yet tell who they are except to say they have a crown of short, black hair.
It doesn’t exactly narrow things down, that observation.
Wen Chao orders him to kneel, but he can’t. He is physically incapable. The very thought of kneeling when he has not been given permission by a power greater than Wen Chao, it’s impossible to countenance, let alone perform. Wen Chao is still too weak.
Though Wen Chao’s never been smart, he must have realized this would be a possibility, because the cane he thought to bring at the last minute strikes the back of his knees. The skirt does nothing to ease the blow. Though he knows by now how disgusting it feels to react to the sharp bloom of pain, he does react, and it’ll be obvious to anyone who thinks to look.
“Useless,” Wen Chao mutters.
He does not fall neatly or gracefully. His knees strike the void-black marble first, deliciously painful. Without the use of his hands, he can’t balance himself and falls forward. He’ll surely hit his chin against the marble floor or worse. He’ll—
Wen Chao catches the back of his collar, choking him. This pain, he likes less, too chaotic, too likely to do actual harm. The sound draws Wen Ruohan’s attention. Wei Wuxian’s mind hazes at the sudden loss of oxygen. In his surprise, he bites his tongue, flooding his mouth with blood.
“Ah, the guest of honor,” Wen Ruohan says, voice warm with malice. “Come, child.” Though Wei Wuxian’s knees hurt from the fall, he’s compelled forward, all the way into Wen Ruohan’s palm, chin coming to rest in the soft, warm cup of it. “I hear you’ve caused my son no end of trouble these last few years.”
Wei Wuxian lowers his gaze further, as far as he dares without tipping his head down. He knows little of Wen Ruohan that doesn’t come attached to harsh tall tales, but he suspects more about those heinous stories are true than he wants to believe.
Wen Chao’s gaze burns into him, jealous and lust-filled and ashamed. Wei Wuxian cannot fully ignore it, though he tries.
“He knows little of how to properly train his submissives,” Wen Ruohan continues. “I apologize on his behalf. Perhaps I might rectify this situation.” The false humility grinds against Wei Wuxian’s sensibilities. No Dominant would apologize like this, not even as a game. He grips Wei Wuxian’s chin a little harder, just enough to show Wei Wuxian what he’s capable of, and manipulates him until his head is turned to take in the figure sitting in the opposite chair. “Perhaps you’d like to say hello to your younger brother first, hmm?”
As soon as Wei Wuxian registers these words, registers Jiang Cheng’s appearance, his body breaks out in a cold sweat, soon broken by the anger he has stifled for so many years now. Every instinct tells him to turn on Wen Ruohan and tear him to pieces, tear everyone in this building to pieces, raze Nightless City to the ground, piece by fucking piece.
This, he thinks, is what Wen Chao meant. All this time, he has left Wei Wuxian alone just to drop this on him the moment he begins to settle into this wasted life of his.
He forgot how fluent Wen Chao is in the language of brutish, inelegant, crass cruelty.
The years have changed Jiang Cheng, honed him into a knife. His cheeks are as sharp as the edge of a blade. His hair is cut so severely that Wei Wuxian didn’t have a chance in hell of recognizing him from the back. His eyes, equally difficult to recognize as his, are hard and glinting and cold. His gaze sweeps disdainfully toward Wei Wuxian and lands on his mortifyingly exposed body before flicking away again.
His lip curls into a cruel, ugly sneer.
In the past, Wei Wuxian would have been able to see through this veneer that second mother had trained into him.
Today, he cannot tell the difference between Jiang Cheng and any dismissive Dominant who might find himself disgusted by what Wei Wuxian has become.
A seed of doubt begins germinating within him. Is it an act, or does he truly feel such revulsion? Could Wei Wuxian blame him if it’s the latter?
Shame and confusion drills through his sternum at seeing Jiang Cheng like this. It feeds the inferno caged in his heart. It goes well beyond unseemly and unacceptable and only gets worse as soon as Wen Ruohan pats the top of Wei Wuxian’s head. “Heel, A-Ying. Your brother and I have much to discuss.”
Wei Wuxian rails against this order even as he succumbs to it, pressing closer to Wen Ruohan’s chair. His blunt fingers card through Wei Wuxian’s hair and trail down his nape. Blinking back tears of humiliation, Wei Wuxian does everything he can to ignore Jiang Cheng’s presence here. It’s the only way he’ll make it through this.
“My condolences to you and your sister on the loss of your parents.” Wen Ruohan’s fingers clamp tightly to the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck as he speaks, like he knows exactly how and when and why Wei Wuxian is going to react. “That must have been difficult for you. I apologize that I wasn’t able to speak with you at the funeral. I hope this evening will begin to rectify that oversight.”
Jiang Cheng’s features remain startlingly, terrifyingly blank. His mother and father are dead, but not a single thing shows on his face, not even the twitch of a single eyelash.
Wei Wuxian strains to feel something other than incredulous at the news. There should be a void in his heart the same shape and size of the one where his own parents should be, but he feels…
He only feels grief for Jiang Cheng, for jiejie. For himself, he feels nothing. A numbed knot sits in his chest where they belong, cold and inhuman.
“Quiet, A-Ying,” Wen Ruohan says sharply. His nails, filed to points, sink into his skin. Warm liquid trickles down his shoulder blade. Wei Wuxian didn’t even realize he’d made a noise. “You should know better by now.”
Wei Wuxian looks at Jiang Cheng, who is no longer willing to look at him, not even with disdain, and lowers his gaze yet again. His mind races, breaking the worst of Wen Ruohan’s hold on him. His Dominance remains oppressive, but not overwhelmingly so.
“You wish to sue for A-Ying’s release,” Wen Ruohan says. “I hope you can see why that won’t be possible.” He laughs lightly. “I wish to honor the contract your late mother made between us. She secured a lucrative future for our families without fear of malfeasance on either side. A-Ying is the bridge between us. Don’t you agree?”
Wei Wuxian silently begs Jiang Cheng to keep quiet. It will be like walking into quicksand if he opens his mouth.
“My sister is ill with worry,” Jiang Cheng answers. “She wants Wei Wuxian to return home. Whatever repercussions—”
Wei Wuxian shakes his head, makes a muddied noise of dissent around the gag. The sound is out of his mouth before he’s even thought it through, a mistake, a second mistake, a pile of mistakes building around them both. He can’t see jiejie, not like this. He wouldn’t even choose to see Jiang Cheng if he had any choice in the matter. If this is why Jiang Cheng allowed himself to come, he wasted a trip.
“You would not survive the repercussions, A-Cheng.”
Jiang Cheng goes still at the address, at how mocking it is, how disrespectful to a Dominant it would be. There is nothing loving, sweet, close, or playful in it. Wei Wuxian goes equally still.
Wen Ruohan about Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows. He knows, and he’s going to make Jiang Cheng pay. He’ll make all of them pay, the two of them frozen uselessly, unable to do anything other than bleed out under the weight of this truth.
Wen Ruohan’s hand blazes with heat as he pats Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and leans down to breathe directly into his ear. “It’s alright, A-Ying. Don’t do anything you’ll regret, hmm?” Resuming a lazy sprawl, he turns his attention to Jiang Cheng. “You have been insolent beyond what I thought possible for a submissive. The only thing saving you from a life by your brother’s side is that contract. Do you really want to press me?”
Jiang Cheng says nothing, does nothing. Can’t do anything. Can’t say anything. He is useless here. Even if he were stronger, he wouldn’t stand a chance, not when Wei Wuxian is so easily suppressed.
He shouldn’t have come, not for jiejie and not for Wei Wuxian. He’s exposed his underbelly. He’ll never be safe, even if jiejie might be, as long as Jin Zixuan sees fit to protect her.
“It’s convenient for me to keep you in the position you currently occupy, so I plan to ignore this… aberrant behavior you’ve seen fit to engage in. But Wei Wuxian will remain here. If you behave perfectly, I’ll have no reason not to return him to you at the end of his contract. By then, your holdings will be as secured to mine as I need them to be.”
What bullshit. It’s beyond obvious that Wen Ruohan will destroy them well before that point.
Because Jiang Cheng can’t do anything, Wei Wuxian will have to do something.
His mind overflows with static, too loud to think and plan properly. Thoughts of second mother and father intrude. Questions arise within him: how did it happen, and why? Most selfishly: is he the one responsible? Did his behavior here result in their demise? Did they even get the chance to fight?
“Your mother did her best to protect you,” Wen Ruohan says. “She got as many concessions out of me as anyone could have in her position. She was not an easy woman. A shame your father wasn’t able to help more.”
Jiang Cheng’s face reddens. His eyes water. Though he blinks furiously, there’s no hiding the truth of the matter. He came here pointlessly, brave though it was, and solved nothing in the process, lost everything, in fact.
“As long as you behave yourself, I’m willing to respect the contract she built. If you try to parlay with me again, I’m not sure that I can be so magnanimous in the future. Do you understand?”
Go, Wei Wuxian thinks, only one of the thousands of thoughts that flash through his mind in an instant. Just go. There’s nothing you can do. I don’t blame you. Don’t blame me. I’m sorry.
Jiang Cheng doesn’t go. In fact, his gaze clears. His jaw firms. In the years since he last saw Jiang Cheng, Jiang Cheng has changed, stepped into himself enough to glare at Wen Ruohan after he has just been threatened. He’ll die for that stubbornness. Or suffer worse, if he’s not careful. And when has Jiang Cheng ever been careful, really?
Within the span of a few seconds, Wei Wuxian’s path forward is clear.
Wen Ruohan must die. Soon. Before Jiang Cheng has time to do something stupid on Wei Wuxian’s behalf and his own.
*
Wei Wuxian’s head is stuffed with cotton when he wakes, never a good sign, and his back aches from the beating he took, the beating Lan Zhan gave to him, the beating he wanted, in precisely the way he wanted it, with the person he wanted it from. “Lan Zhan,” he says, hoarse. Though he struggles upright, he feels leaden, grounded, nailed down to this bed.
This bed that isn’t a bed, this bed that is, in fact, Lan Zhan’s body that he is pressing into the bed instead. And it’s late enough at night that only moonlight filters through the window, too bright to hide anything, but not bright enough to make this feel anything other than illicit.
He tries again. This time, he is pinned in place with a hand pressed to his neck and one pressed to his lower back. Lan Zhan holds him in a powerful embrace. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan answers, so low Wei Wuxian hears it more as a rumble in his chest than as words spoken aloud. Lan Zhan sighs, his fingers tightening against his skin. “Wei Ying,” he says again, as though it’s the only thing he knows how to say.
Is this what being pushed under feels like, elation, release, relief, followed by a slow, sluggish, weighted, unwelcome, painful return to reality?
“It worked, didn’t it?” His recollection is more visceral than factual. He can perfectly describe what it felt like under Lan Zhan’s hands, knows exactly what Lan Zhan did to make it happen, but it goes hazy through the middle, all blurry, lovely pain, and then sharpens again right at the end. “Fuck.”
Fuck, of course it was too good to be true. Of course he couldn’t have this without yet another imposition upon Lan Zhan’s kindness, another debt accrued in his heart where it can’t be repayed. Of course—
“Don’t struggle.” Lan Zhan’s order presses against him, but it can’t find a hook inside of Wei Wuxian. He is untethered from the need for such things now. His body is as much his own as it’s ever been. Perhaps this is why Wen Chao wouldn’t let him have it. He might have lost what little hold on Wei Wuxian he thought he had, even if only temporarily. “Wei Ying, it is alright.”
“Is it?” In quick, pathetic flashes, he sees the way he clung to Lan Zhan, both in the playroom and when he guided Wei Wuxian back to his room. Lan Zhan had cleaned the tears from Wei Wuxian’s face, the sweat from his body. He left the stain spreading across Wei Wuxian’s lounge pants alone, though Wei Wuxian begged him to do something about that, too, and let himself be manhandled onto the bed because Wei Wuxian hurt more when Lan Zhan wasn’t embracing him, and he was so tired of hurting, and he said as much to Lan Zhan and more besides.
I want to be with him. How could he say such a thing to Lan Zhan? How did he go so far into himself that he didn’t recognize who he was speaking to?
With no small amount of effort, he twists off of Lan Zhan’s body and lands on his back. It doesn’t hurt precisely, not enough to fix the worst of what has always ailed him, but it drags him to full awareness, a curse and a blessing both: at least he’s too aware to say anything revealing now.
“Wei Ying, be calm. You did nothing wrong.”
He’s done many things in his life that are wrong and never felt bad about it, but he very much regrets this whether it’s wrong or not.
“Don’t patronize me,” Wei Wuxian says, disgusted. “I—”
Lan Zhan grabs him by the shoulders, holds him in place, looms over him. “Wei Ying, listen to me. You have not upset me with your feelings. I simply cannot…” He lets go of Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, presses one hand to Wei Wuxian’s cheek. “I reconciled myself to a life spent wanting. And Mo Xuanyu… he did carve a place in that life. We chose to make a new one together.”
It doesn’t hurt to hear these things, not as much as it could, as it should. After all, he knew going into it what they are to one another, what he and Lan Wangji himself can be. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I do.” His thumb sweeps over Wei Wuxian’s cheek, blessedly sweet. He looks away, looks back again. “I didn’t believe it was possible to pursue you back then. Despite what I knew I felt when you stayed in Cloud Recesses, I didn’t even know I wanted to, not until after you’d gone home. When I realized it, I knew you were already lost to me after how I’d treated you. Then you disappeared entirely. Nobody would explain what happened to you or where you ended up.”
“Lan Zhan—” He cuts himself off, realizing he has no idea what he can say. What is there to say to this, thirteen years too late for it to matter?
For a long time, Lan Zhan doesn’t speak. When he does, Wei Ying wishes he would stop. He says things nobody needs to hear. The words are superfluous, pointless. They do not solve anything, because this isn’t a problem that can be solved. “I don’t know how to reconcile what I feel for him with what I have always felt for you.”
“Then don’t. Let them be what they are and stay where they were.” Wrapping his hand around Lan Zhan’s wrist, he pulls it away from his face. “Even if what you have now isn’t perfect, you’ve built it to last. You can’t just toss that aside. Why torture yourself? You don’t owe me anything.”
“I owed you the loyalty of my feelings. Wei Ying—”
“Wrong place, wrong time. Happens to the best of us.” With his throat so clogged with emotion, he is surprised he manages to sound remotely casual. If he’d known he stood a proper chance back then, could he have agreed so easily to second mother’s demands? Would he even have survived? Who can say, except for him, deep in his heart: if Lan Zhan loved him back then, he wouldn’t be in this mess now. He would have stood up for himself, found another way.
“I’m sorry for allowing things to get muddled between us.” Lan Zhan looks so lost, so young, sweet and soft and confused as he issues an apology that Wei Wuxian will never require from him. Wei Wuxian can’t stand being the one who caused this vulnerability in him, let alone the vulnerability Lan Zhan has opened up in him. Better to part ways now before he says something else that will cause pain.
“Lan Zhan, I’d like to be alone now.”
Lan Zhan is kind enough not to argue. Once he’s gone, Wei Wuxian curls under the sheets, inhales the scent of Lan Zhan’s body. He is mortified to find he hasn’t yet been wrung dry of tears.
*
He doesn’t expect that he’ll sleep, mind churning through Lan Zhan’s admission, but he’s left tired enough by what happened that he eventually falls into slumber that could almost be called restful.
When he wakes up again, his face feels tight and bloated. His eyes are gritty. He’s not sure how long he has been asleep. Until daylight at least, which slants through a crack in the drapes and falls across the bed, a bright slash that bisects his body.
After washing up on autopilot, he steps into the hallway, takes one step toward the kitchen, and stills. He’s already opened his mouth to call for Lan Zhan when he sees the cracked open doorway to the playroom and the movement taking place inside. He is frozen, unable to move forward or step back. Even knowing it’s wrong to eavesdrop, he cannot will himself into behaving better.
He has already squandered what remains of his willpower.
“You’re agitated today,” Mo Xuanyu says quietly. So little of the room is visible, but neither of them seem to have disrobed fully, at least from what Wei Wuxian can tell. “Did everything go okay with Wuxian-ge?”
“I would prefer to focus on what we are doing here,” Lan Zhan says.
The creak of rope being pulled, the sound of weight being lifted, a small huff of air, they are louder to Wei Wuxian’s ears than the ought to be. The graceful motion as Mo Xuanyu’s body sways is more moving. From what Wei Wuxian can see—which admittedly isn’t very much with how small the crack is, like it was merely an accident of circumstance that it wasn’t sealed perfectly—Lan Zhan has trussed him in a particularly complicated tie. “Wangji, there’s obviously something wrong. You can tell me.”
“I’m not interested in speaking on the matter,” Lan Zhan says, frustration quickening his words, so out of the ordinary that Wei Wuxian wants to go to him and be the one to smooth away his anxiety. “There’s nothing to speak about. Can I not simply grasp control of something as simple as this moment?”
Still exhausted despite all the sleep he got, Wei Wuxian lets himself lean against the wall outside the playroom, eyes closing. To rest, he tells himself, just for a moment before he goes.
“Wangji…”
“Please, Xuanyu,” he says, voice broken. “I’ve had enough of being fought at every turn.”
Wei Wuxian forces himself to breathe through the ache in his chest. The only one who has fought him here is Wei Wuxian. Of course he’s tired of it. Wei Wuxian is tired of it, too.
He peeks again, cannot stop himself from doing it.
“I’m not trying to fight you,” Mo Xuanyu says, calm and collected. If he hadn’t heard it from Lan Zhan and Mo Xuanyu himself, he wouldn’t have guessed Mo Xuanyu had been troubled as a youth. Lan Zhan knots a rope around his thigh and loops it over one of the ropes he’s already tied, elegantly leveraging Mo Xuanyu’s leg higher, the pose beautiful and compelling. He turns Mo Xuanyu until they’re face to face and grabs Mo Xuanyu’s hair, pulling it back, knotting it up with a shorter length of rope. “Will you kiss me at least?”
Lan Zhan touches his cheek, presses his lips to Mo Xuanyu’s forehead, then his lips. The kiss is short, but torments Wei Wuxian all the same. It makes him feel like an ungrateful wretch, that he can’t stomach what he has interjected himself into.
Though Wei Wuxian looks away one final time, he continues to lean against the wall, just listening. The conversation turns to Mo Xuanyu’s time with Nie Mingjue, how enthused he was to be with all of them. Mo Xuanyu tells Lan Zhan about how they’re planning to marry. “He’ll be up to four spouses,” Mo Xuanyu says happily, “and a few casual lovers. Can you imagine? It must be so lively all the time.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees. “How are you feeling now?”
“It’s good, Wangji. You’re always so good to me.”
Mo Xuanyu quiets for a time, long enough at least that Wei Wuxian begins to calm, lulled on his own by the gentle sound of Lan Zhan’s steps on the floor, the occasional brush of rope against rope. It’s only when Lan Zhan begins to pull Mo Xuanyu down that Mo Xuanyu asks the obvious question, the one that sends a bolt of fear through Wei Wuxian, the one Wei Wuxian has already asked himself: “I know how you feel about bringing others in, but would it be so bad to have Wuxian-ge join us?”
Wei Wuxian’s breath catches in the back of his throat and tangles unpleasantly with the thick need that threatens to suffocate him. He returns to his room before Lan Zhan can answer, slips between the sheets, and turns away from the door. He stares at the light filtering in through the window, estimating how much time has passed by the slowly shifting angle of it across the floor. After an hour or so, Mo Xuanyu knocks lightly at the door, slides it open, whispers, “Are you awake?”
He should have sneaked outside. At least then he wouldn’t be so easily found.
Though he gives himself time to answer, he finds the words can’t form on his tongue. His body won’t turn toward Mo Xuanyu. He cannot face Mo Xuanyu nor this question yet, nor the one he shouldn’t have heard at all, a private question between established partners.
If Wei Wuxian could share, becoming a part of the dyad they have formed could be a happy occasion. If Lan Zhan’s heart could beat for so many people, they could be happy with one another, he’s certain of it. If things were, in point of fact, they way they ought to have been, Mo Xuanyu could have had this. But the two of them, broken in similar ways by inclination and circumstance, have caught themselves and Mo Xuanyu in a bind that they cannot reconcile.
They are not like Mo Xuanyu; they cannot simply ask for what they want, open and brave. Even Mo Xuanyu, young and fucked up though he was, pursued what he wanted. Wei Wuxian can’t imagine it. Even at his most carefree, he bowed to pressure from second mother. He can’t imagine Mo Xuanyu bowing to anything, wisp of a man though he might appear on the outside, the perfect submissive.
“I’ll come back later,” Mo Xuanyu whispers, though whether the words are for Wei Wuxian or Lan Zhan, who murmurs something Wei Wuxian can’t hear over the rush of blood through his temples, he’ll never be able to guess. “Why don’t we make some lunch? Even Mingjue can’t match your skill in the kitchen.”
Their footsteps fade from the hallway. The last thing he hears is Mo Xuanyu asking Lan Zhan if he knows Wei Wuxian’s favorite dishes and whether they could make them for him.