Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s remarkable, Lan Wangji always thinks, that she gets to have this.

Sometimes it seems too good to be true. Because Lan Wangji is not nice; she’s known for her fatal precision with a sword, and the cold detachment in her face when she cuts down enemies on the battlefield. She is respected and simultaneously looked at upon with slight unease by those who fought with her; their trust slightly blunted by the kind of fear that only those who witnessed the war could understand.

Truthfully, she finds that acceptable. She’s Lan Wangji, bestowed the title of Hanguang-jun by those she aided; a renowned war hero who notoriously doesn’t care for false pleasantries. What use can niceness have when it’s so often used to hide political ploys, harbouring manipulation for personal gain? Fruitless.

So, no, Hanguang-jun is not nice. Instead, she’s been called kind before; morally righteous at her core, and steadily uninterested in the pursuit of power.

But, unlike the gentle women that men would wish to mould her into, she’s not nice. Could not, and never will be. She’s feared as much as respected.

She really does accept that. And, yet…

All of these points are also exactly why Lan Wangji cannot understand how she's allowed to love without restraint. Because, despite all of the discomfort that ghosts after her, and the long scrubbed off blood still staining her hands, Wei Ying has stayed. And not only does she stay, she wholly gives. Wei Ying is here, and somehow still a beautifully eager thing that desires Lan Wangji; who wants to be fucked and owned, whimpering to please.

And whenever Lan Wangji holds her down below, her own vicious hunger eating, rolling off her skin and surely, enough to frighten her away for good, this time—

Wei Ying yields.

There's never mistrust in her eyes. She simply accepts the greedy possession of Lan Wangji's bruising hands without a word of complaint, happy and with an ease that’s as simple as breathing.

A miracle.

It would be so easy to forget, like this, that Wei Ying is not submissive by nature. Not at all. If Lan Wangji didn’t know her so well and wasn’t such a terribly jealous woman, it might easily slip her mind that there’s nobody else who gets to see Wei Ying this way. Lan Wangji is her first, her only.

Wei Ying is pleading, her chest a damp pink and her small, soft breasts swaying. She lays splayed across Lan Wangji’s sheets like a blushing and tanned bruise; and she takes to it so well. With grasping palms, Lan Wangji spreads her legs wide and drinks in how her brown eyes water in the dim light. Wei Ying keeps one hand clasped over her sweet mouth to muffle her soft noises, pliant as if self-conscious, uncertain.

But nothing about her willingness here is actually unsure. It never has been. Wei Ying is so talented at taunting Lan Wangji into taking her, you could easily believe that she’s had masses of experience laying with others.

Yet, Lan Wangji is more than aware that such a thing isn’t the case. And it’s not because she is undesired, or has a lack of those lusting after her, no:

It’s because only she is allowed to have her.

Lan Wangji exhales unsteadily. One of Wei Ying’s breasts falls slightly to the side as she squirms, her nipple brown and peaked. When she sets her palm upon the other, it fits perfectly inside Lan Wangji’s hand, as if it's meant to be.

For all purposes looking embarrassed by the attention, Wei Ying throws a hand up to cover her eyes when Lan Wangji bows down to admire her closer, deeply drinking in the sight.

In every aspect, Wei Ying is sharply intelligent and awe-inspiringly confident in her abilities. But there are moments, sometimes, under Lan Wangji’s touch, where the shape of her shifts into someone almost fragile, vulnerably edged. When Wei Ying's hand drops and her slack face is revealed again, she can see how the trusting innocence in her eyes glimmers, tender. Lan Wangji is helpless not to reach out and carefully cup her cheek.

Immediately, Wei Ying leans sweetly into the touch and it makes her breath catch in her throat. A small smile softens her mauled lips as she peers up, naked and vulnerable in Lan Wangji’s bed.

She is..

Too beautiful. And it's incredibly difficult for Lan Wangji to not doubt that she's allowed to have this, despite how much she's assured otherwise.

In what world is she deserving Wei Ying? Can she even be worthy of this?

The question stings, guts, rears up like a spooked horse on a battlefield. It's exactly too much to think about, especially when she doesn't have to. And right now, Wei Ying is here, willing and wet beneath her. It’s no hardship at all for Lan Wangji to surge down and kiss her feverishly instead, perfectly silencing the anxiety rearing in her mind. So she does, naturally.

It's still surreal. Impossible not to consider, even against her best efforts. These hands of hers, the ones which Wei Ying taunts and lures her into harshly pinning her down with, are more acquainted with the rush of battle and wielding a sharpened sword than any soft care. Marked with rough callouses and a few scattered white scars, they’re most familiar with burying the dead and feeding the damp ground with blood.

On the other hand, Wei Ying is everything she’s not.

Gentle, energetic, easily loved by everyone. Impossibly good and strong minded, her brilliance chaotic. By itself, the faint pink flush bestowed high upon her cheeks would be more than enough to wage wars over. 

Just to keep this, Lan Wangji would willingly fall from grace. Without regret, she would draw her blade upon anybody who dared undermine her declaration of protection. By now, everyone knows that to lay a hand on general Hanguang-Jun’s handmaiden is to declare yourself a willing, dead man.

Alone, that becomes an act of death. You won’t survive it.

Panting harshly, Wei Ying tries to turn her head when Lan Wangji allows her to momentarily break away for needed breath; a thin string of saliva between their mouths breaks as she twists off, squirming. Something burns inside of Lan Wangji’s chest, like roaring flames searing against her ribs: a brand and a devotion. A hunger.

How lovely that, of all things Lan Wangji had never dreamed up or expected her to be, Wei Ying is particularly shy like this.

It had been a genuine shock the first time Lan Wangji took her. The circumstances then were far from ideal, and they hadn't had a wealth of hours to fill like she wished they did; but they managed to make joy and pleasure with what little of the hour they had. It was a desperate clash of teeth and frantic hands before Lan Wangji had been summoned to leave for the final battle. Wei Ying had threatened Lan Wangji as she sunk her long fingers deep inside for the first time; she'd sobbed with anger and panicked fierce helplessness as Lan Wangji's hand began to spread her slick and open, eyes bloodshot. Seeing the shameless and brazen Wei Wuxian trembling due to matters of the flesh, rendered beyond speech, was almost too much for Lan Wangji to handle. 

She promised Wei Ying that she would return, and didn't bother to consider any other result. 

To Lan Wangji's surprise, she'd tried to cover herself with the sharp and dainty points of her elbows once her clothes fell to the ground, using the span of her delicate fingers to hide her chest. It would’ve been humorous if not for the way in which nothing about a naked and needy Wei Ying could ever be funny.

And then she'd blushed in embarrassment when Lan Wangji saw the dark smattering of hair peaking from her underwear. “Ah, Lan Zhan,” her face shuttered slightly, as if she’d somehow anticipated judgement, “I— sorry, about that, I didn’t think—"

But Lan Wangji was breaking apart.

She didn’t — couldn’t — hear it. To allow any apologies to fall from Wei Ying’s kiss-wet lips might have been too much to bear. She’d been faced with something ugly, something crawling free around in her tight chest, that could swallow her whole.

A want so big it may kill her, if tonight did not.

Despite feeling too big for her limbs, her hands remained steady when she took Wei Ying’s knees in her grasp, regardless. She’d swallowed hard as the pads of her thumbs settled into a knobbly little divot, flesh pinkening slightly beneath her firm touch. Wei Ying bit tentatively on her lower lip as she watched, glassy eyes wide; obviously unsure if this could be okay, but trusting her above all else, like she always did. So, so very good for Lan Wangji.

Bowed between Wei Ying’s thighs, she nuzzled at one slightly fraying underwear seam, tears prickling at behind her eyes. A deep tone of musk, and something lightly floral, purely skin.

She breathed Wei Ying's scent deeply in, then exhaled in something not unlike prayer.

A pivotal moment. She was the King’s most trusted general, a stoic face that inspired morale and strength and which might finally win them all peace after a brutal war. A long, long ago, she’d pledged her very life to the kingdom she guarded, believing it would always be the thing most important. Yet, with her nose ghosting against Wei Ying’s pubic hair, her heart pounding faster than it had been even during the most tense of battles, she wondered...

What could possibly be more important than this?

How could anything be more imperative than being able to take her Wei Ying apart, piece by delicate piece, and keep her safe and well?

Lan Wangji would do everything to ensure her happiness. She would commit any act of treason if she must; would lay her sword down without hesitation. Let them kill her if it came to that.

There weren't words for it. Wei Ying's core is the ultimate blessing.

Musk, salt, and the proof of living, all so eagerly present in her tongue. Not once did she dare to believe she could have this before, too afraid of losing herself in the declaration. It had been almost terrifying to taste inside of Wei Ying's slick heat for the first time, tongue dipping ever-so tentatively.

But then Wei Ying had moaned, high and reedy, and Lan Wangji was unbearably reckless to hear that sound again. And she felt she might lose her mind if she couldn’t. So how could she ever stop, after that?

Working the honest heat of her open and loose, Lan Wangji’s mouth had been both desperate and urgent. She herself soon became slick between her own thighs, burning hot and feverish when those beloved hands began to tug weakly at her hair, drawing her deeper in, in, in.

She lapped up and suckled around Wei Ying’s swollen clit, on the verge of falling apart. Wei Ying's grip on her hair had been rough and pinching.

It was a kind hurt, she’d thought, with a sweetness there that assured her reality wasn’t slipping from her grasp. It reassured her that she wasn’t about to open her eyes from a cruel dream that would haunt her for years, an empty lifetime.

Sure enough, it had been over too soon. It could only ever be too little, too fast, for her. Never enough.

When Wei Ying came, it was with a beautifully choked cry. Broken and then pulled together, the most devastating sound Lan Wangji had ever heard; one that even her most shameless, erotic dreams had never thought to imagine.

It was cataclysmic. Dangerous, and Lan Wangji knew she would never be the same again. Not when she finally knew how Wei Ying tasted; not when she knew how Wei Ying then looked as she cried out and shook from the incessant work of Lan Wangji’s tongue and lips. Teary and lightly bruised like something innocent, sweet and beautiful as she fell into pieces.

Nobody else can have her.

Startled, Lan Wangji had realised that she would struggle not to kill them if they tried.

The very moment she caught her breath, Wei Ying had insistently yanked her up with shaky fingers and crashed their mouths together with a half-sob wet in the hollow of her throat. Just that one look at Wei Ying’s wild face, a revelation in itself, was all Lan Wangji needed to know they weren’t done there.

Then, it was easy. Wei Ying needed more, and Lan Wangji would give it to her.

Slipping her fingers inside felt both monumental and completely natural. Wei Ying’s body writhed below her, reddened lips gasping a litany of curses and begs, punctured by pretty little sobs. How unbelievable it was, she mused, that fucking Wei Ying felt as easy and natural as sleeping and eating — perhaps more so than even breathing.

Lan Wangji knew then that she wasn’t made to hold a sword. She was made for this: made for fucking Wei Ying.

Soon, she had Wei Ying dripping slick and opening up pliantly for her, her breasts heaving as she exclaimed airy, whiny little breaths. Wei Ying squirmed as if unable to be still for even a second, heady and overwhelmed and delighted. Her nipples were dusky and peaked, calling for Lan Wangji’s attention, and she couldn’t resist having a taste.

Lan Wangji’s head ducked down without a moments hesitation, and she feasted.

Immediately, Wei Ying keened as if she’d been struck, her sweat-shining chest arched up as if to encourage Lan Wangji’s mouth closer, clenching tightly around her crooked fingers.

“Oh,” she looked and felt awed, firmly holding Lan Wangji’s down by the crown of her head, nails biting. “Sweetheart, you good girl, always so good to your Wei Ying, yes, just like that—ah! Fuck, oh, so hot, your mouth is so, it’s—!"

Encouraged that far, Lan Wangji couldn’t stop herself. She bit down intentionally hard enough to bruise, digging her teeth into the lower curve of Wei Ying’s breast desperately. A pleased sob echoed between them, filling the room.

Wei Ying was really crying then, messy and staining her flushed face. “Mean, Hanguang-jun, so mean,” as Lan Wangji licked over the mottled purple skin, kitten-like and apologetic. “Really, everyone says you’re so stoic, but they have—o-ah—they have no fucking clue, they really don’t—oh god, like that,  yes— oh god oh god—"

Lan Wangji’s third finger slipped in with ease, and Wei Ying tossed her neck back violently with a shrill moan; her slick cunt fluttering tightly around the base of her broad knuckles.

To be allowed to do such a thing rattled something inside Lan Wangji’s chest, reinventing the force of her hunger entirely. The rolling desire in Lan Wangji’s blood fixed even sharper, nearing unbearably possessive.

“Wei Ying likes it,” she hardly recognised the tenor of her own voice, hoarse, desperate. “She would let me do anything to her, would she not?”

She had punctuated her words with a sharp pinch of her thumb and forefinger around Wei Ying’s fleshy hip, meaningfully biting down. Wei Ying jolted with a choked-out gasp.

“Fuck, do you think you can, can do anything to—ah-h—to me?” she moaned, petulant and taunting, despite how she then spread her legs further apart, hooking up one knee over Lan Wangji’s broad shoulder — her flushed cunt spread and obscenely presented to Lan Wangji’s predatory gaze.

And splayed atop Wei Ying’s belly, the firm hand that Lan Wangji kept her in place with trembled slightly. She'd rasped in warning, “Wei Ying.”

Undeterred, Wei Ying simply eyed her with fiery arousal, a challenge dripping from her lips.

“Well?” she murmured, pink tongue darting out to lick away a drop of sweat atop her cupid’s bow. Something seeking flashed in her blown eyes. “Do you, Hanguang-jun?”

Hearing her title spoken in such a provocative way wrenched a groan from Lan Wangji’s mouth, all air punched free from her lungs. She felt herself teeter along the verge of insanity, head spinning as she set the flat of her thumb atop Wei Ying’s swollen clit and pressed down until Wei Ying began to writhe and whimper, one hand flying up to cover her babbling face.

It was useless for Wei Ying to try and hide herself, but she still tried to. Lan Wangji knew her mouth was red and bitten ripe beneath her palm, rendered lewd and spit-shiny with a sheen of damp beading at her brow.

There was nothing of the other woman that she didn’t want to see. To earn, in simpler ways, but also to covet and hoard inside fantasies both wild and gentle.

Lan Wangji is not nice, and sometimes she even fails at being kind.

But her Wei Ying was so dear to her. Beyond beautiful and boiling hot inside, squeezing tightly around four of her stretched out fingers. And sometimes even Hanguang-jun is helpless to not give her love the gentleness she doesn’t actually crave, especially when she knew she may not return. To have and hold Wei Ying again, to survive the day, was without guarantee.

So, for just for a second, she allowed Wei Ying her moment of shyness. It would pass soon enough.