destined death;

your love, my life's punishment.

[yingren]

.ᐟ.ᐟ   ⸺     # 𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐍   is  a  private blog  scripted  by  east.  orbiting  a   canon  divergent  &  headcanon  based  𝐑𝐄𝐍  /  𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐗𝐈𝐍𝐆  from  honkai  star  rail.  unaffiliated with the fandom. do not follow first. 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐃 for tags etc.

                            carrd。        prompts。        headcanons。       sideblog。

[yingren]

happy renluo day it's been a whole year for them

[ryeonsui]

oh... ,,o-o,,

[yingren]

i forgot this website existed

[hxkerwxlf]

"Awww see. You want me round to annoy you more. Get ready for a Roblox marathon of Dress to Impress, or as I play my illegal copy of Legends Z-A. We're not sleeping, and Ren is gonna have to stay up all night with me."

@yingren

[lovebaits-deactivated20260420]

from here. luoren my babies / @yingren

“mm. i have heard of crimson hot springs, but i’m afraid the water was transparent before you soaked in.” ren’s nonchalance towards his own predicament was expected, and luocha knows so, but it always managed to bring a mix of mirth and a tinge of melancholia to his lips. he would have acted no different were him inside that bathtub, untouched and unfazed by the harming of the flesh, of the body. the regenerative process was ever unpleasant, he knows this well, though ren’s differed from his in considerable aspects. appearance-wise, it looked ghastly and painful, and he was certain that it was not reserved to the looks of it only. 

while there was little he could do to remedy the agony without resorting to the abundance’s blessing, he attempted to at least bring a sort of distraction from it—with his remarks, and the tenderness of his touches when he patiently brushed away some dry splotches of blood that clung to the skin of his cheek with the pad of a thumb. “oh? you believe i do not?” jade irises lift to meet scarlet eyes through golden lashes, the beguiling grasp of ren’s digits around his chin bringing his face closer to his with little effort. “faith has little to do with it, but i’ll keep your advice close to my heart,” oh, but the ginger and subtle smile widens on his lips ever so slightly, his gaze still admiring ren’s countenance with quiet adoration.

“mmhm,” the hum that parts from luocha mingles with the pleased airy sound of a sigh when the familiar sensation of ren’s lips press onto a spot of his cheek. basking in his affections was an indulgence luocha allowed himself to partake freely, one to which he would be genuinely unable to prevent himself from succumbing regardless of time and place. it was no secret of how much power the hunter possessed over him; not when his heart had willingly been placed at the top of his skillful, scared and tender hand. “of course. he cannot leave his rebellious patient unattended and alone. that would be negligent on his part.”

the compliment ren offers so earnestly and easily humbles luocha as it often did, his visage assuming an almost abashed demeanor as his words of praise replay themselves in his mind. as much as the thought of having his martial prowess recognized never truly mattered to the luocha in the past, to have it nonetheless acknowledged by someone dear to him as ren inevitably was, was what in fact made it so flattering, so sweet and disarming to hear. and before he realized it, he found himself basking in the warmth of that sentence whenever ren would voice it, with the tone and meaning sounding ever familiar and affectionate to his ears.

“you owe me nothing. i would loathe that you’d think my actions would leave you indebted to me,” his own response is spoken with equal tenderness as he bends forward to part from ren with another kiss on his cheek, making this linger for a tad longer than the last. he then props himself up on his feet, holding the towel open for ren until he steps out from the tub and claims it from his grasp. “but i have no objections to your desire to express your gratitude. it would be selfish of me otherwise, and i do happen to be fond of your methods of choice more often than not,” he glances up at him with a subtle but telling smile, with green orbs glinting faintly beneath the dim yellow from the paper lantern that hangs closest to the entrance of the bathroom. 

lowering himself to pluck the remaining of ren’s cigarette from the ceramic flooring to discard it properly in the trash bin nearby, he takes the opportunity to wash his hands by the sink and then to reach for the face towel that hangs with another pair after drying his previously blood-stained hands, bringing it to tenderly dry the back of ren’s medium dark locks. he knows ren hardly needs further aid, but his gestures never really did come out of necessity—only out of want. he squeezes the water out gently, being mindful not to dishevel his hair in excess so it doesn’t form knots or tangles by the length. 

“i’ll go order our dinner. let me know if you require any help to get dressed or to tie your obi.” he says softly from behind once he is satisfied with the aspect of ren’s locks, lips leaving a chaste kiss on his lover’s nude shoulder blade. he hangs the damp towel by the edge of the sink before he leaves towards the bedroom itself, pleased not to have had any difficulty getting a hold of the old lady who owns the inn they’re staying in. the meal itself doesn’t delay to arrive, possessing a much more generous amount of food than luocha would have anticipated. and albeit he himself did not possess a big appetite, he knew ren would be more than glad to take care of his share as long as he was hungry enough for it.

“oh, the vegetarian options are quite good,” he remarks idly after savoring a dumpling, accommodating himself better atop of ren’s lap and against the comfort of the strong expanse of his chest. with his wounds now healed, luocha didn’t deprive himself from claiming his favorite spot, finding himself more than merely pleased sitting sideways above ren’s thighs and with his head nestled under his chin. plucking a vegetarian spring roll from the low table just in front of him, he carefully tilts his head to the side not to risk bumping on ren’s jaw as he looks up at him, chopstick holding the piece of food as he brings it up and close to ren’s lips, free hand resting below in case the roll slips from his grasp. “do you want to try it? they’re not spicy, but they’re remarkably well-seasoned,” he suggests with a curious little smile and an additional, ginger move of his head in tender curiosity as he sneakily leaves a chaste kiss over the line of his jaw. “i think you’ll like it.” 

[yingren]

there is always a kind of lightness that luocha brings, one that ren finds himself incapable of turning away from. the way he speaks, the manner in which he carries himself, these things belong to him alone. as with so many other qualities, ren would never dare to call luocha anything but singular, entirely his own person, so different from anything ren has ever known. precious, distinct, and far too kind luocha — with his humor laced in intriguing sarcasm, his tone laced in mirth and his smiles edged with playfulness, always finds a way to slip beneath ren’s skin and settle there.

by now they are nearly inseparable, difficult to tell where ren ends and where luocha begins, as though closeness had always been their natural state. closer than ren ever thought possible with anyone, bound together in a way he struggles to put into words. everything feels simple when it comes to luocha, as if the walls ren usually carries fall away without effort. admitting pain, confessing regrets, recalling missteps on missions, or even sharing joy — none of it feels burdensome in luocha’s company. and how he laughs with him. head thrown back, eyes crinkling at the corners, lips pulled into a crooked grin that feels far too genuine to be accidental. that, perhaps, is the strangest part of it all, the joy and the laughter. the uninvited warmth that fills him whenever luocha is near. even in moments like these, when luocha teases about the bathwater tinted red with ren’s blood, there is no bitterness in his words, no sting in ren’s response. only the same warmth, steady and awfully persistent.

as though luocha needed any more qualities to pull ren in, he is also remarkably selfless. so much so that he insists, time and again, that ren owes him nothing, that his help is never given with the expectation of anything in return. yet it doesn’t stop ren from feeling indebted, if not for the effort then at least for the time luocha spends on him. in hindsight, it has even made ren rein himself in during missions, tempering that streak of recklessness which would otherwise leave luocha with ten times the burden in the aftermath. ren cannot explain why, at least, not in any way that makes sense. this strange compulsion to try a little harder, to act with just an ounce more care. it isn’t that he suddenly fears for his life, such a thought has never truly taken hold of him and likely never will. but what weighs on him now is the realization that he no longer bears the aftermath alone. whatever harm he inflicts on himself, whatever scars or injuries he carries away, they will not just be his to face. luocha will see them too, luocha will take responsibility for them too, oh how ren dreads to disappoint him.

so, of course, there is little room for protest when luocha insists that ren owes him nothing. both of them know well enough that ren will never let the matter rest, that he will find some way, in his own stubborn manner, to repay him one way or another. and besides, luocha leaves him with more than words, a kiss still warm on his lips, the memory of careful hands drying his hair with patient tenderness, and the rather tempting promise of food waiting to come.

ren seems to have taken just the right amount of time getting dressed, because when he returns to the main room and drops into a seat beside luocha, the food is already laid out on the small table. and, in true ren fashion, he hadn’t asked luocha for help with his clothes, nor had he bothered to tie them properly. fabric hangs loosely against his frame, patches of skin still damp, a smaller towel draped around his shoulders. he tugs at it absently, brushing moisture from the back of his neck before letting it slip to the floor, forgotten. what matters more is the moment luocha settles into his lap, an embrace quickly closing around him. by now, this too has become a habit they both share without thought.

❝ does it taste bitter like kale ? i don’t like kale. ❞ a wrinkle forms on ren’s nose as he talks, but it doesn’t stop him from leaning in, lips parting to accept the bite of food luocha offers. naturally, no spring roll should ever contain kale, at least not by ren’s standards. he’s long claimed that most vegetarian dishes are little more than attempted murder, stuffed with ill-suited ingredients and stripped of flavor. unless, of course, luocha is the one cooking. with his seal of approval, there’s no chance ren would refuse. still chewing, he reaches for a dumpling and, unlike luocha who uses chopsticks with proper restraint, ren simply pinches it between two fingers before extending it toward him.

❝ you’re right, it is good. ❞ but that comes as no surprise. the last of his bite goes down with a gulp of cold water, the glass half full and nearly slammed back onto the table once he’s finished. ❝ still not better than yours. i miss your cooking and it's been ... mmh, two days ? ❞

ren leans back, one hand raking through unruly raven strands while the other stays firmly at luocha’s waist, holding him in place. close as always, of course. if it isn’t here, then it’s out on other missions in whatever inn room they can share, or on the stellaron hunter ship, tucked away in an alcove carved out just for them. still, nothing quite compares to being far from it all, far from everyone else, in a quiet room on the outskirts of a city where no one knows their names, where they can almost pass as ordinary. ren doesn’t dwell on it, though. his hand slips down to rest just above luocha’s knee, fingers idly drumming against the inside of his thigh.

❝ how was the dumpling ? ❞ ren’s fingers wander higher, grazing closer to luocha’s thigh as they trail across the fabric before shifting upward, his hand eventually rising to gently cradle the side of luocha’s face. ❝ it looked good. ❞ the pad of his thumb strokes along his cheek in a careful caress as ren leans in, close enough to catch the sound of his breathing. ❝ won't you share a taste ? ❞ a grin already tugs at his lips, yet he doesn’t hesitate to press them briefly to luocha’s in a chaste kiss, fleeting and barely a second, just a second before pulling back so lightly their mouths still brush together. ❝ mmh, i've had better. ❞ his teeth catch at luocha’s bottom lip, a soft bite followed by a scattering of quicker kisses, small and insistent, until one lingers longer than the rest. with lips parted into the next clash of lips and his hand sliding from luocha’s cheek to rest at the nape of his neck, ren continues leaning into it until the need for a pause to catch his breath. ❝ see ? that was much better. ❞

[yingren]

a real phainon fan never talks ill about cyrene just like a real dan heng fan never talks shit about march

[yingren]

the water that swirls in the wooden tub has its transparency donning warm tones of pink and red, with the latter darkening in nearly burgundy colors the more luocha brings the movable shower faucet to rinse the crimson blood that pours out from a gash that crosses ren chest on a diagonal slice, one which stretches from his left hipbone to almost the extremity of his right shoulder. it would have been a fatal wound for most individuals, but, why, not for him.

the temperature of the water was lukewarm, and the bath had been infused with herbs for the scent alone. the ghastly sight had startled many on the way to the inn they found themselves in, rushing through the smaller streets of the outskirts of edo which highly contrasted with its technologically developed center, with the surrounding areas displaying a far more traditional and ancient architecture and lifestyle. the buzz of the town wasn’t disagreeable per se, but for the mission assigned to them by elio, to stay at a distance to better plot a course of action felt more logical than remaining in the thick of it. 

and yet, the injury ren suffered had hardly been given by those involved in their task. no, it had been a parting gift from a most curious third party luocha did not expect to see in a place like that—disciples of sanctus medicus. like a plague, they had found their way throughout the cosmos to manifest the will and desire of yaoshi, which was admittedly nothing new. but what truly puzzled him was their current way of acting, with a brazenness he seldom recalls even witnessing at the luofu where they habited in grand majority. now? they attacked the two of them unprompted, even if luocha intended to do so one way or the other, undoubtedly sensing they had been blessed by yaoshi themselves. in the past, luocha recalls being able to mingle unbothered, to ambush the disciples for being mistakenly recognized and praised as a chosen amongst them. it did not seem to be the case here. 

their motives nonetheless weigh on his mind more than they should, the lack of logic in their behavior making it all the more bizarre. he did possess contacts that could offer him some degree of intel, though never without a price. but that remained something that he, nonetheless, would rather investigate on his own. but not that evening. whatever the reason behind yaoshi’s followers odd comportment was, his current concern was far simpler, yet never less distressing: to wash off the blood of ren’s wounds and wait for them to stitch themselves back together, seamlessly like they were never there. there’s a tinge of nostalgia in moments like this, when there is only the two of them in some remote village and cramped room—though the current is more comfortable than many they’ve shared before—with luocha’s bare fingers tending diligently to ren’s horrid injuries with utmost care and tenderness. that thought is indeed one more pleasant than his guesswork in regards to the disciples’ schemes, and it suffices to bring a subtle smile to his lips.

“smoking and drinking while bleeding out? my, what an unruly patient i have,” his soft voice breaks the silence that floats in the bathroom along with the warm steam that hovers among them. on his knees by the outside of the round bathtub, luocha’s jade green kimono has its sleeves pulled all the way up to his elbows, tucked and held by a piece of fabric while his haori jacket was left by the bedroom area. his long, golden tresses were tied behind his back in a high ponytail, with some loose strands of gold tickling the side of his slightly pink tinted cheek thanks to the warm moisture that seeps in, doing the same to the tip of his nose and the plush of his lips. 

habit did not necessarily make it any easier to bear the sight of ren coming to harm in such a way, though luocha did take solace in revenge twice as much when given by his own hand. and tonight, with that being done, was enough to satisfy him and soothe his concerns in regards to his lover’s well-being. he knew that this, the blood, the pain and the wounds were much more consequent to himself than to ren, being now more than familiar with his stance on the subject. and so he does his part to make it more supportable, both to ren and to himself. 

“are you hungry?” the cadence of his voice is tender and quiet, such as the gentle smile that adorns his lips before it disappears against the side of ren’s jaw as he leans forward to press a kiss against his skin, leaving the faucet of the shower back in its resting place. “i’ve heard that the food they serve here is quite varied and rather well reputed.”

@1fff000 / luosing my mind

ren had always believed people were made of habits. from the smallest ones like the order of an ordinary morning routine, to the deeper, more intricate patterns shaped by tradition and culture. to truly know someone, he thought, was to study those habits in detail. with luocha, however, he hadn’t felt that spark of curiosity at first, not enough to want to unravel the contradictions and routines that made him who he was. but that was how ren approached most new faces. the difference was that luocha, unlike the rest, didn’t stay a stranger for long. what had once been two separate sets of habits slowly fused into one. wherever luocha went, ren followed. like a shadow moving just a moment behind, naturally aligned with the rhythm of his steps and his quiet way of moving through life. the lonely showers that had once marked ren’s post-mission ritual, scalding scrubs that left his skin raw, the smell of blood drying into his hair — it had shifted. so had the long, sleepless nights when silence pressed too heavy against his thoughts. not that the bad days were gone. they still came. but with luocha there, they had become a little easier to bear.

the water around him is lukewarm at best, clouded with the dark crimson of his own blood, filthy rather than cleansing. ren doesn’t spare it more than a glance, his mind is elsewhere, anchored instead to the bitter drag of a cheap cigarette and the sharp taste of liquor burning across his tongue. it gives him something to hold onto, the sting of alcohol, the rising heat in his chest as smoke fills his lungs. another drag. another sip. another involuntary twitch as he flinches beneath the careful touch tending his wound. it’s a wound that feels too alive to be still. most people say the impact hurts the most, the slash, the bullet, the tearing strike — followed by the body’s shocked response, heart pumping out pools of red across whatever surface catches it. for ren, it’s the opposite. the blow itself barely registers, nor the immediate aftermath. it’s the healing he never forgets. flesh knitting together too fast, nerves sparking like fire, the deep sting of skin and bone fighting to become whole again. even now, with luocha’s steady hands working as they always do, ren can’t pretend the process is anything but agony.

at the very least, the pain gives him something else to focus on, something other than the questions of why and how. luocha’s thoughts might be circling the attackers, their reasons, the motive behind such a strange and sudden assault. ren, though, couldn’t care less. he’s too tired to even attempt making sense of what drove them to it, just relieved he didn’t have to face it alone. luocha,capable as always and quick to act, handled it instead. that ren ended up injured in the process isn’t something he feels ashamed of, nor anything he takes pride in. if anything, it feels like a waste of time. but he’d sooner rub salt into the wound than say that out loud in front of luocha.

❝ am i ? bleeding out ? ❞ ren tilts his head back, rolling it over his shoulders in a half-hearted attempt to crack his neck. the effort earns only a dull grunt and a second, equally fruitless try. ❝ i hadn’t noticed. ❞ with a flick, he douses the last glow of his cigarette in the water, the end discarded onto the floor, something to worry about later. for now, his attention shifts back to the present, back to luocha. his crimson gaze settles quickly on him, drawn to the quiet warmth in his expression, the faint flush coloring his nose and cheeks. he looks beautiful even like this, even on his knees beside yet another bath, hands stained from working on yet another wound. ❝ you should have more faith in the one acting as my aid, doctor. ❞ freeing one hand, ren reaches out, his thumb brushing along luocha’s chin as his fingers rest against his jaw. his features, soft yet defined, are gently cradled in ren’s touch, ever so careful as he always is when it comes to luocha.

❝ mmh, this unruly patient could use some food. ❞ ren's lips twitch into a small smile, following the tune of his recent display of rare playfulness. ❝ granted, his doctor better be joining him. ❞ raising a brow, ren leans over to close the gap between them with a kiss of his own, this one planted against luocha’s cheek. oh, he could continue across all of his face, scattering kisses along the soft and flushed skin, but he reluctantly pulls back for now lest he make both of them miss dinner. ❝ you did well today. ❞ a soft murmur, quieter than before.  ❝ a hearty meal will only suffice as the beginning of how i’ll express my gratitude. you will let me repay you, yes ? ❞

[cloudhymn]

@yingren ♡'d.

this was what companionship was. yes ? dan feng oversaw attempts at forging connections in something like a black and white filter. baiheng’s continuous instigations to include yingxing meant there was something worthwhile about the impudent human, no matter how brutish, or callous, or stupid he seemed. and as many times as the artisan got dan feng’s name wrong, he did trust in baiheng’s instincts. she very rarely steered him wrong, from food recommendations to how to better deal with one of the more volatile new alchemists, even if this seemed to be another challenge entirely.

he knew what he’d asked of yingxing was not an easy feat ; meteorite steel tempered and fused with dust of alacrity, a hilt imbued with stones of the hunt, decorative carvings of interwoven yunleiwen patterns surrounding the glowing green stones. elegant, but functional. a gift intended for another vidyadhara noble aboard the xianzhou fanghu. it wasn’t as if he’d given the artisan a time limit either, so the pointed stares he afforded dan feng between the monotonous clang of the hammer should not have been so daring ! surely. he had been such a polite guest, even offering the other a cup of his speciality brew from time to time.

the only stifling thing about the workshop had to be the continuous heat. workshops afforded to artisans that were notable but weren’t quite masters yet lacked the proper space and ventilation, more of which was required for the level of yingxing’s project calibre. so dan feng had taken it upon himself to introduce one of his gorgeous alchemical creations, the large flowering plant absorbing heat, leaving the air in a more temperate atmosphere. the high elder had just completed fluffing up the plant’s leaves when the craftsman’s voice interrupts the preening, a comment about dan feng becoming comfortable, and his almost pleasant expression was schooled into one of neutrality once more.

“ was that not the point ? ” he drawled, an effortless wave of cloudhymn misting the giant plant, it’s presence now a refreshing pop of colour amidst a workshop accented by little but the glow of the furnace. the vidyadhara glanced towards his designated corner, seatee and scroll rack next to a portable tea table, complete with cloudhymn propelled humidifyer just for the ambience alone. such a drab set up, and yet, still better than the days he could not escape from the droll yammerings of the preceptors. “ you will let me organise this shelf, next, yes ? would it not be more pleasing to have each of these bolts labelled ? ”

[yingren]

at first, unlike many who considered themselves fortunate to cross paths with dan feng, or even more so to be granted his personal presence, yingxing carried no dreamlike notions of what the high elder might be. with baiheng’s steady encouragement, and his own loyalty to her weighing heavily, their meeting became inevitable. that isn’t to say yingxing bore any particular dislike for the vidyadhara, only that he lacked the customary reverence that seemed second nature to everyone else. whether by design or sheer persistence, dan feng managed to settle into yingxing’s good graces by giving their prolonged encounters more weight. what began as idle lingering in his shop, an almost deliberate ignorance of hints that his presence was a distraction, and the occasional jest or probing remark that dan feng often seemed to miss entirely, gradually shifted into something more tangible. a purpose, at last. emerald stones and tempered steel forming not only a creation worth admiring, but also a bridge spanning the quiet, uneasy distance that had long stretched between them.

the artisan would never go so far as to call dan feng himself unsettling, though the way he treated a single cushion as an open invitation to settle into a dusty, overcrowded corner of the workshop certainly came close. to yingxing, it was almost comical. the high elder had brushed past every subtle hint meant to reclaim some peace, yet seemed to interpret that lone cushion as the clearest signal imaginable that he should practically move in. with him came a sprawling, very much alive plant, a tea table, scrolls, and a scattering of trinkets that obviously had no business here. more than once, yingxing had found himself grudgingly, always with a muttered complaint, planting his own body between the rising clouds of dust and the small space dan feng had claimed. not that he expected this oblivious lizard to notice, but he sure didn't do it because he derived enjoyment from inhaling more dust than necessary.

❝ the point is... ❞ at some point, caught somewhere between wanting to elaborate and not knowing where to even begin, yingxing lets the subject fall away entirely. weariness lingers in the motion as his lavender eyes lift from the glow of heated metal spread across the anvil, the light painting faint reflections in his irises. with a low exhale, his gloved hand pushes back the stubborn strands of black and white hair that have slipped into his face for what feels like the hundredth time in the past hour. ❝ i know where all my bolts are. ❞ without sparing said shelf a glance, yingxing nips the cleanest part of his glove in a bite between his teeth to pull it off his hand. ❝ i know what you’re thinking, it isn’t as much of a mess as you’d believe. trust me ! i know where everything is in case i should need it. ❞

yingxing’s attention drifts inevitably to the enormous plant, by far the most conspicuous of the items dan feng had carted in to transform that single corner of the workshop into something belonging to another room entirely. he doesn’t feel sorry for him, not in the least. there’s no pity for the so-called prestigious, elegant high elder who has apparently decided this cluttered space is where he can finally feel at ease. no, what yingxing sees is someone who, on certain days, looks almost lost. bored, even. and yet, still better off here than tethered to whatever rigid, suffocating schedule usually dictates his hours. still, damn if it doesn’t spark something warm in him. a flicker of pride, maybe. an ego boost, knowing that dan feng keeps showing up, that he might actually be making a new friend. so if it isn’t pity twisting something tight in his chest when he glances at those ridiculous, overflowing buckets of bolts stacked haphazardly on the shelves — then what is it?

❝ i wouldn’t mind if you labeled a thing or two though, i suppose. ❞ his gaze flickers from the bolts, to the untouched scrolls, to the breathing plant, back to dan feng. this time with his signature, far too confident, lopsided grin. ❝ unless, of course, you think it is too much of a challenge for you ? ❞

[lovebaits-deactivated20260420]

vulnerability among them has rarely been something that was given; more often than not it was stolen in moments, be it through violence or intimacy, amidst grunts of pain or sighs of pleasure. it was never easy, never clean. it came like a punch, like a bite. not like an embrace, or a caress. confessions, too, were offered with time—earned throughout the patching of scattered pieces of trust that were shattered by another, with an irrefutably maddening longing and yearning serving as the glue that would stick the cracks together. in the beginning, and dan heng remembers this clearly despite the flow of time, he hardly acknowledged such feelings as his own; how could they be? how could they belong to him, such cravings and affections towards someone who desired nothing but to be the architect of his demise? no. they had to be fragments of dan feng’s own sentiments, his passion for yingxing that resided somewhere far too well concealed for dan heng to be able to pluck it out. but ren wasn’t yingxing. and he was not dan feng.

this remains true, of course. but his understanding and conception of facts have changed. ren wasn’t yingxing, and he wasn’t dan heng. then the want that courses through his veins, the need, the particular warmth of fondness that spreads in his chest at the sight of him could only be his. the joy, the irritating and occasional bashfulness, even the occasional but genuine laugh, subtle and soft, that would escape his lips were indeed his own. a reaction to many of ren’s gestures and words, but ultimately his. such as his choices, the one that led him where he is now, before ren, with his warm, titillating breath tickling the skin of his throat. and the smile that curves over his mouth at the hunter’s voiced words, that he was still his, always his, ever in the clutch of his bandaged and scarred fingers. digits that dan heng recognizes on his body, as though ren’s touch was capable of leaving traces, prints that would answer only to him. owned by a hand that brought masterpieces to life, enemies to their deaths, lover to his knees. he cannot argue with ren on that, and had no desire to—he belonged to ren, yes. and the red string always went both ways. 

and so did their habits; but now it wasn’t an act of revenge, but of earnest desire, the reciprocity stemming from pleasure and want, of longing, of something so deep and intricate dan heng could not quite name. an excruciating need to be close, to yield to the moment, one which inevitably made its way in his mind through memories in lonesome nights. dan heng’s body is the first to surrender, answering to the demand of ren’s touches in a way the hunter knew it would, with subtle shudders and shaky gasps, those which only increase in intensity as his hips shift and move above ren’s length nestled in the heat amidst his thighs. it wasn’t as though he never took the imitative, but ren was often faster, unabashed in his eagerness, in his entitlement. after all the time apart, especially in dan heng’s predicament, his own actions do not feel rushed, but as if they were a long time coming, owed in their absence. restraint was something honed in discipline, but not tonight. amidst the heat and yearning that encircles them, there is no space or time for self-imposed reticence. there is only them.

as for ren’s retort, this once he has the right to call it unjust. dan heng knows so well, but balance between them has always been a frail thing, pending towards the lack of it more often than not. there was no giving without receiving, no act without consequence, no question without an answer unless silence sufficed. but his request is more helpless than it appears. it wasn’t meant to test, but to know—that this change, his change, has not changed ren’s intentions or whatever complicated feelings he possessed for him. and only when the confirmation comes does he feel like can yield, that he does not have to hold onto the façade of a crumbling wall doomed to crash down regardless. it’s not about submitting, but about giving in, unimpeded and unguarded.

and when ren withdraws his hand that had replaced his own amidst his legs, the sight of him tasting the moisture that clings on his fingers draws a stuttered sigh from him, one that dissipates swiftly in the heat. but it’s when he pulls his thigh up and hooks it around his waist that dan heng feels the last string of reason snapping completely, with his own digits clutching on the fabric of the hunter’s kimono as he slides himself in, stretching the walls in his path around his girth, making dan heng inhale in a sharp breath. he winces with the discomfort through slightly gritted teeth, fingernails digging through the clothing as he inadvertently brings ren closer still, his tail finding its purpose by snaking around ren’s leg—for contact and support, to keep him there as if there was any risk of him vanishing before his eyes.

but the hint of pain quickly entangles with the pleasure of ren’s movements, and soon the soft sounds of pleasure that spill from dan heng’s lips augment in volume and amount, echoing freely in that dimly lit chamber he claimed as his own. in the past, he would have easily resisted the hand that lies around his throat, but now it thrills him, it perks his curiosity, his interest, and his lust on top of it all. and if that was not enough, ren’s confession only doubles it along with the tender bewilderment that washes over him, making him quiver and clench around his cock, drawing out a stuttered moan from the comfort of his mouth.

“ren—” dan heng groans, one hand shifting to return its grasp to the back of ren’s neck, bringing his face closer to his. his lidded gaze meets scarlet irises with clear want before his mouth finds the curve of his jaw, the pierced lobe of his ear which he nibbles softly before his tongue soothes the sting. his back arches towards the wall behind, his own hips rolling to accompany the rhythm ren has chosen. “i want you,” he admits amidst soft and quivering sighs, muscles tensing as he holds onto him tighter, tauter. “i missed—” words begin faltering the more his mind gets muddled by pleasure and by the simple fact of how sinfully good ren feels inside him, how his body remembers the sensation, how it accommodates him perfectly tight and right. it is no surprise that he soaks him from the midst of his walls to the point of dripping over his length, even more so when it begins pounding against his most favored spot, making him shudder and clamp firmly around him in immediate reaction. “fuck—” cursing often feels foreign in his tongue, but this comes naturally as groans and gasps begin mingling together with an unceasing torrent of ‘there there there—’ that streams out from parted and moist lips in an uncontrollable chant. 

with arms tightening around ren’s shoulders now, dan heng’s breathlessly claims ren's mouth in an even messier kiss, wet and utterly needy, raw and hungry as his sounds are poorly muffled by ren’s tongue against his. “i missed this—,” his voice are almost devoured amidst their clash of lips, with the sigh carrying the intent more than the actual words offered. “you,” an entertained little scoff finds its way in between his moans before dissolving completely into more depraved sounds. “always you.”

[yingren]

it’s one thing to be wanted by dan heng, to matter to him, to be cared for in ways that grant ren a place in his life. affection has never been the easiest thing for him to accept, though he’s made many earnest attempts to meet it halfway. dan heng’s ways of showing care are often strange, even cryptic to anyone but ren — but there’s no true right or wrong in how it’s done. still, letting himself be cared for feels like a thorn lodged too deep beneath the skin, a quiet ache that burrows deeper the more he notices it, something invasive that ren only realized had taken root once it was already too late. every effort to play nice feels clumsy, almost too forced to pass as genuine.

but to be desired by dan heng. pure, unfiltered desire, is something else entirely. that’s easier. perhaps because wanting this requires fewer words and more action. ren has never been subtle in pursuing his own urges, his desires are too forceful to be ignored, and dan heng is always at the center of them. a hand slipping to the small of his back, fingers brushing his thigh, a kiss stolen in the middle of a quarrel, the haze of waking to find dan heng’s breath already caught in his throat — those are the moments where want comes alive. that kind of vulnerability, raw and wordless, has always been easier for ren to accept.

getting dan heng to yield is never an easy feat, sometimes it feels downright impossible. ren knows this well enough by now, no one rivals dan heng’s stubbornness. yet, paradoxically, no one awakens ren’s own stubborn streak quite like he does. their every encounter feels like a tug-of-war, both of them pulling until something finally gives. when dan heng does relent, ren doesn’t allow himself to gloat. it feels like a victory, yes, but not the kind marked by one winner and one loser. it’s something shared, though over what exactly, ren couldn’t say. pride, defiance, the ritual of resisting until the very last moment before admitting what they both truly want. dan heng is perhaps the only person in the universe who keeps ren so carefully balanced, always at the edge, wary of overstepping and making a fool of himself. and the truth is, ren doesn’t want dan heng to break or submit, doesn’t want him hollowed out of his sharp self-assurance. what he wants is the resistance itself, the way dan heng makes him work for every inch, never granting compliance as a gift but offering something better, the satisfaction of an agreement reached on equal terms.

❝ dan heng. ❞ ren isn’t entirely lost on the way that dan heng is clearly watching him, paying attention even if not confirming it audibly so. then there’s the way his leg tightens its grip around ren’s hip, how he accepts and leans into the motion. as if ren could not be pleased enough already, the sensation of dan heng’s tail coiling around his leg feels both grounding and encouraging, another attempt to pull ren closer to which he responds to in kind. when there is no space left to claim between them, and as dan heng slowly seems to begin to adapt, ren starts to move a little faster. 

the hand against dan heng’s throat doesn’t apply much pressure at all, more so there for the sensation of the grip itself, to feel dan heng’s pulse beneath his fingertips, to have something other than the clothes he’s wearing to hold onto. dan heng’s skin, although ren cannot properly feel how soft it is beneath calloused and numb fingertips, always have the same warmth that ren has memorized by now. always the same, steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the feeling of every breath he takes now pressing against ren’s palm, the threatless grip simply there to feel dan heng and nothing else. 

❝ there ? ❞ somewhere along dan heng voicing ren’s name and the kisses trailing the curve of his jaw, ren closes his eyes as his head tilts to the side to allow dan heng more access. it comes as naturally as it did in his dreams, in the many moments where he imagined them reunited or played with the idea of seeing dan heng again after so long. the same familiar movements, the sweet sounds reminiscent of when this was normality, when they met up more regularly, when there wasn’t so much space between them. ❝ fuck, you feel so good...❞

ren’s teeth sink into his own lip, a futile attempt to bite back the moan that rises from his chest. dan heng encourages him in multiple ways, chanting a hymn that captures ren’s full attention amidst the haze in his mind, clenching and tightening around him as he continues to roll his hips forward in a steady, but ever quickening, pace. the warmth that envelops his length, the wetness and the heat that builds on his own pleasure for each time his hips snap back to bury himself deeper. all of it combined is an irresistible beckoning that stimulates every nerve in his body, reacting solely to how dan heng touches him, how he feels around him, how he sounds so close to the shell of ren’s ear. 

the kiss they fall into break the next string of thoughts that swirl around ren’s mind, twisting anything coherent into a stirring pot of desire and want, each muffled sound reciprocated as ren moans against dan heng’s lips. his own lips part, mouth open, the tip of his tongue barely entertaining the idea of wrestling for control with dan heng’s before it mingles with it effortlessly. a messy, almost too eager kiss showcasing his impatience without any hesitation. ren’s hand moves from dan heng’s throat, abandoning the place it was resting against as it glides down his chest again, this time skimming over skin until fingertips brush over a sensitive nipple, pinching it between two fingers. even with dan heng pressed against the wall, pushed up against it each time ren thrusts into him, his tail in a spiral around ren’s own leg, ren cannot resist the urge to want to be closer. 

❝ you missed this, ❞ hands retract and even though dan heng’s tail is still around ren’s leg, he doesn’t hesitate to pick him up. making sure that dan heng has both legs around him, supported by ren’s hands holding him up, it takes only a few strides before they reach the bed in the room. ❝ me, you missed me. ❞ dan heng ends up with his back against the mattress, ren following closely to hover over him with one hand steadying himself right beside dan heng’s head. his free hand sits against dan heng’s leg, pushing his thighs apart to make more room for himself between them. when ren leans in again, the kiss that bridges the gap between them is delivered in a haste, a messy claim that barely hits its mark. ❝ you don't know how long i've been waiting to hear that. ❞ a lifetime or more? ren doesn't hesitate to begin rolling his hips again, this time in a much slower pace, shaky breath slowly exhaled as he feels dan heng's wetness completely embrace him once more. ❝ say it again. ❞ such a poorly disguised plea. ❝ dan heng, ❞ and the name, yet another hushed whisper from a strained raspy voice. ❝ i need you to say it again. ❞

[lovebaits-deactivated20260420]

dan heng couldn’t have known exactly what to expect. despite his logical assessments being often worthy of praise, ren’s reactions were ever a variable in his calculations. disputes, verbal and otherwise were not uncommon factors in such occurrences, and so a part of the archivist was often prepared for the worst case scenario; a fight, or an argument that would eventually lead into a brawl. it has happened more often than dan heng cared to admit, and although he took no pleasure in solving matters with the use of violence, if that was the currency of ren’s choosing, he would always respond in kind. 

that day, fortunately, the hunter had chosen differently. and the way he responds to the kiss dan heng had set in motion humbles him not only with undeniable pleasure, but also a sense of relief that stirs the heat which accumulates steadily at the end of his navel. the warmth of his mouth, the texture and flavor were all familiar, and yet carried a sense of novelty that could only be attributed to the time spent apart, where now memory attempted to put back together the recollection of sensations that were never forgotten, simply stored away in a most significant corner of his mind. but what guides dan heng now is not remembrance, but something far simpler, rawer and primitive; hunger, thirst. a millennium without the possibility of feeling ren’s presence, his scent, his touch, his warmth could’ve only left him deprived and starved, with a void carved deep within that could only be filled by the essence of his grasp, his gaze, his mouth, of him.

and perhaps that is why the grip of his nimble fingers on the fabric of ren’s kimono only tightens, bringing him closer albeit there is no remaining space for either body to occupy. the sound of ren’s voice against his lips and amidst their kiss which ren himself has claimed from dan heng only adds up to the heat that runs through his veins, the ardor flowing like a river of lava, golden and scorching, threatening to erupt beneath the ground the further the temperature goes up. and said fervor follows the path of ren’s palm, muscles shuddering in silent delight under the graze of a hand which his body recognizes without fail, responding eagerly to its commands in ways its owner could seldom prevent. sighs of craving form invisible clouds of steam around their figures, dan heng’s digits skimming down the area of ren’s toned torso to his back, hooking themselves on the waistband of his obi, closest to the knot that keeps his ensemble together.

oh, but ren’s remarks fade amidst their breathing, the graze of lips on his jawbone drawing more quiet breaths to fan against ren’s cheek. every press of lips feels like a crack in the wall of dan heng’s composure, one which admittedly has been close to crumbling since the moment ren had stepped into the room they now share. the affection, the devotion embedded in such touches is felt and acknowledged, and it threatens to unravel the vidyadhara completely as it comes, along with soft sounds of delight he cannot contain and actions he fails to control. his head tilts further to the opposite side, offering ren more space without request or demand, a gift handed by the untamable longing that guides his every move. 

ren is right—he has changed. and more than what the naked eye could assess on its own. the physical aspects were only the external manifestation of his maturity, of his growth. but at the very core, he was still him; he was still dan heng. with the same values, the same ideals. the same dreams, the same passions, the same desires. the same needs. akin to a sprout which turns into an imposing tree with sunlight, water and time, dan heng has honed himself to his prime, discarding only the shelf which did not serve him any longer. but his affections and yearning for ren, like all that which resided deep within him and were part of his very being, only increased in size and intensity, polished into a yearning, an urgency and care which he barely could give a name to.

“ren—” the hunter’s name once again comes out in a soft, quivery breath, the back of dan heng’s head leaning upward on the wall he’s pressed against. his free hand shifts to find support on the curve of ren’s neck, drifting towards the nape, anchoring him there, maintaining him close. he shudders softly upon the sensation of those familiar digits skimming their way down over more sensitive corners, a shaky gasp hitching in the crux of his throat. “i am still me,” dark brows furrow softly above clear eyes, more out of stubbornness and a hint of embarrassment than anything else. the cutting sharp edge of teeth sinking into skin draws a contained wince past dan heng’s lips, muffled by the bite he offers to his own bottom lip while with digits curling tighter around a handful of kimono fabric that drapes slightly loosen over ren’s frame. unkinder comments swirl in his mind at the brazenness behind ren’s gesture, but they fade as quick as they had sprouted when the hunter’s middle finger slips past the alcove of his thighs, grazing intently against the sensitive bud concealed between slick folds.

dan heng moans for it, quietly but audibly enough—after all, how can he not? after all this time in absence and desire, reminiscing such moments with yearning and guilt? how could he do anything else but yield and crumble, when not only his body waited for this, but his entire being responded to it with even eagerness and want? when the hand which lied hanging on the waistband of his obi shifts and slips past the gap of ren’s kimono, it’s both an unconscious and intentional gesture, automatic and instinctual in its urges. it reaches for ren’s shaft, tender and unashamed, with fingers wrapping around its width and quivering softly with how warm and throbbing it is, hardening further under the mere grasp of his hand. 

“say it first,” oh, but the sentence is disappears against ren’s lips once the vidyadhara claims them for himself a second time, clumsier and now with a heat that mingled both desire and a tinge of frustration, but one that is swift to melt into pleasure, into that unbearable craving that possessed ren’s name branded over its whole expanse. his slender fingers begin stroking ren’s cock steadily, tightening their hold only enough as he recalled to be his preference, teasing the head with the brush of a thumb. a sigh of contentment mixes with ren’s breathing as he eventually guides his girth to rub its length amidst his wet folds. it makes dan heng moan over ren’s lips, it makes him tremble against his frame, even more so when his hips begin moving, calmly so, while his digits keep adding faint pressure on the underside of ren’s cock, making the friction against his intimacy even firmer. and amidst gasps and stifled moans, dan heng kisses ren once, twice, thrice, breathing into his mouth, groaning against his exploring tongue. “tell me you want this. that you still want me.” 

‘that you missed me.’ 

[yingren]

everything feels new to him, as if he’s experiencing it for the very first time — the kiss, the taste of dan heng’s mouth, the warmth of his breath. yet at the same time, it carries an inexplicable familiarity, something that has always seemed to linger between them. that has always been the way with dan heng. a sense of closeness that seeps into every shared moment, even though they lack the history to justify it.

ren lets his hands wander while his lips continue their path down dan heng’s throat, leaving behind a trail of kisses that stoke the fire between them without disguise. intimacy with him has never been simple, ren has grown accustomed to the push and pull, the bickering, the subtle battle for control that always ends in surrender. whether to a kiss like this or to hands roaming recklessly over each other. and still, in the midst of it, ren can’t help but wonder if the thought ever crossed dan heng’s mind during their time apart. if, during his last trailblazing journey, there were nights when loneliness crept in and ren’s face surfaced unbidden. for ren, it had been inevitable. the first weeks apart were bearable, but as the months dragged on, the silence only widened the gulf between them. dan heng haunted the smallest of routines — coffee in the morning, quiet evenings with a book. he was always accompanied by the memory of what they once shared.

eventually, those memories blurred, slipping toward dreamlike unreality, swallowed by both his faltering memory and the constant sickness of his own mind. his thoughts betrayed him, whispering that none of it had been real, that dan heng had never cared as deeply as he had. and yet that was where ren broke, forced to admit the truth. he cares, and he always had, long before he found the courage to realize it.

❝ you are still you. ❞ dan heng, not imbibitor lunae or dan feng or anything else. just dan heng. ren recalls many times before when he would refuse to acknowledge this difference. the vast change between the many sides of dan heng that would eventually turn out to be one and the same person. the former high elder of the vidyadhara, whatever that entails now, but most importantly a whole new person. a new person with new priorities, new mindsets, new traits. and still, even though they rarely discuss it aloud because of the many consequences, so similar to his predecessor. but ren has come to care for who he is now, the archivist of the express, someone that can offer something that dan feng could never give yingxing. while it is still a topic too raw and sensitive to broach without reason, it remains like a tangible threat between them. a threat and a lifeline, something to cling and hold onto when they have nothing else to say. one thing does remain the same, and arrogance may influence this opinion as much as the next one but ren is proud to claim it nevertheless. ❝ you are still mine. ❞

perhaps it’s the way dan heng’s lips part to let out a moan, or the way it sounds just as ren remembers it, but something brings a warm feeling of satisfaction to settle over ren’s mind when he hears the sound slip from dan heng’s lips. there must have been countless nights where ren could only imagine it, where he had to dig deep into his memories to recall what the sound of dan heng’s voice sounded like, how vulnerable and sweet the melody of his pleasure played out while ren’s hands roamed his body freely. he could almost feel the cool scales beneath his fingertips, the long hair cascading down dan heng’s back, the breath of cloudhymn sticking to his skin after each bite or kiss left behind. 

❝ fuck. ❞ heat pools like a stirring potion sitting comfortably in the pit of his stomach by the time he feels dan heng’s slender fingers curl around the base of his length. it is as if they are back to an old routine, an old habit that continues to take shape despite the time and space that was carved out between them. it shouldn’t come as a surprise to the hunter, not considering his own eagerness to please and feel dan heng beneath his own fingertips, and yet he is almost too pleasantly surprised to see the initiative of dan heng’s desire drive him to reciprocate it. his head tilts to the side, away from dan heng’s neck, long breath exhaled in a tired sigh. eyes flutter shut for the time being, but ren does not need to see dan heng to know exactly where to move or how to do it. his hand presses closer if anything, all in response to the way that dan heng brazenly has reached out to return the favor, and two fingers slip between slick folds to press closer. 

❝ that’s unfair, ❞ his tone is slightly annoyed when he speaks, not properly agitated but certainly with more boldness and comfort than before, akin to the way they used to talk to each other, more like how things used to be. ❝ i asked you first. ❞ brows knit together as his face forms a small grimace, one that remains despite the kiss that dan heng steals from his lips. another shaky breath leaves ren once he feels dan heng’s hand beginning to move, robbing him of the next words sitting on the tip of his tongue by the time he’s drawn close enough for dan heng to guide him between his legs. ren’s hand pulls back in response, fingers quickly dipping in between his own lips for a taste, for a quick clean up, before the same hand settles against dan heng’s chest. the head of his cock presses against the slick heat between dan heng’s thighs, hips impatiently moving to grind into the heat, the sensation alone drawing a raspy groan from him. dan heng’s wet folds accommodates the length of his cock with ease, and the hand against the underside only adds to the pleasure, a sensation too intoxicating for ren to refuse as his hips press forward to pick up the pace.

❝ if you insist... ❞ these words are more like a defiant grumble, caught in between another few quickly stolen kisses, as ren swiftly reaches between them to replace dan heng’s hand with his own. ❝ i always want this. ❞ the shift is only to be able to angle himself correctly, to without hesitation align himself so the next thrust of his hips pushes his length inside, immediately enveloped by the warm and inviting heat of dan heng’s intimacy. his breath remains hitched in his throat as ren’s free hand searches for the back of one of dan heng’s thighs, lifting his leg up to allow for a much more comfortable angle, making sure the same leg wraps around his own hip for support. ❝ mmh, i missed this. ❞ the fingers splayed over dan heng’s chest work their way up, across the exposed skin and towards dan heng’s neck where his hand comes to rest against his throat. muscles tense when ren picks up a pace, slow at first with each roll of his hips intentionally pushing himself deeper. ❝ i missed you. ❞

[ssnapdragoon]

[yingren]

it’s complicated. dan heng says so, but when hasn’t it been, for the two of them? words often fall short, more often than not, if ren is being honest, yet sometimes their actions manage to fill the silence. ren’s own words especially betray him, turning into sharp, unwieldy things whenever he tries to speak to dan heng. they cut rather than comfort. kindness, after all, has never been his strong suit. not with dan heng, and not beyond this strange, undefined bond between them, a connection as unspoken as it is undeniable. ren has always struggled with words. with the stellaron hunters, that never mattered, they didn’t care about his past, or the curse that chains him here. they wanted only the ren he is now, the one shaped by centuries of suffering, the one kafka coaxed forward while sam carried him in cold metal arms. that version of him was enough for them. but what dan heng wants feels different — or so ren believes. dan heng, who looks at him as if he sees what ren has been allowed to shed, who sometimes seems on the verge of naming the elephant in the room. the crushing, lingering weight they both carry like a shared burden. so yes, it’s complicated. it always has been, and it always will be. for now, complicated is enough.

maybe it’s the way dan heng speaks his name that pulls ren back to the present, the way a single syllable rolls off his tongue, brushing past his cheek as if on its way to his ear. ren can’t remember it ever sounding like that before, not when dan heng said it — if he said it at all. yet now, there’s no mistaking it. dan heng responds with quiet warmth and in subtle reactions to the thumb at his lips, the hand steady against his chest, the ragged questions spilling from a weary mouth. it leaves no room to doubt, he is real. fingertips trace across ren’s cheek, featherlight and certain, as if they’ve always belonged there but only just found their way back. that touch, paired with unspoken reassurance, anchors him firmly in this moment. he is here. he has returned. he isn’t leaving. even the breath he lets out when ren’s hand presses closer against his chest feels real, sounds real even, and ren can’t bring himself to believe otherwise.

it takes ren another heartbeat, another suspended second, before his body finally moves. dan heng’s words reverberate inside his skull, circling endlessly, as though determined to carve themselves into him, etched deeper than bone, branding themselves at his very core. his hand, which had been wandering down toward the fabric of dan heng’s kimono, pauses mid-motion the moment dan heng’s lips meet his. the kiss isn’t graceful, isn’t rehearsed, it strikes with all the urgency of two people who have waited far too long, sudden and breathless, like a collision rather than a meeting. even if ren had wanted to pull away, some part of him hopes dan heng wouldn’t let him. the grip at his clothes is not violent, not forceful, but it carries a demand he recognizes all too well, the same restless hunger that has always lived inside him. it’s the kind of wanting that refuses patience, the kind that claims rather than asks, not after the weight of everything they’ve endured. heat courses through ren’s veins like molten metal, a rush of longing and desire he’s never managed to suppress whenever dan heng is near. the kiss is returned without hesitation, each second burning hotter, until dan heng finally pulls back just far enough to let a smile slip through, words hovering on his lips. ren, however, can’t bear the space between them, his own lips already chasing, desperate to close the gap again, unwilling to let the moment dissolve so soon.

❝ you’re warm. ❞ the first thing ren registers of dan heng is warmth, not the shallow heat of sun-warmed stone or the surface of soil, but something far deeper, closer to the molten heart of the earth itself. it is the kind of heat that could melt mountains if given enough time, steady and consuming, yet softened here into something more like a current — so gentle, enveloping, nothing like the fleeting sharpness of a cold breeze. in his haste to reach this place, ren had left so much behind. bandages, supplies, the ordinary armor he usually carried with him. what remains is his bare, unbound hand, exposed and eager as it travels freely across dan heng’s skin. his palm traces the soft  lines of his torso, skimming down from chest to stomach with unthinking intent, following muscle and form like a map rediscovered after years of absence. dan heng’s clothing, once neat, now hangs loose and almost entirely undone at the front, undone by the restless insistence of ren’s wandering touch, an idle hand that seems to know no patience, preoccupied only with unmaking the distance between them.

❝ you’ve changed. ❞ words dissolve against dan heng’s lips, lost in another stolen kiss before ren lets his mouth wander lower, tracing a careful path along the sharp line of his jaw. each press is careful, as if he fears that too much force might cause dan heng to splinter into pieces right there in his hands. there’s no reason, no logic ren can summon to explain the tenderness guiding him, only the truth of how gently his lips move, how reverent each touch feels. he dips beneath dan heng’s chin, mouth finding its way back to the curve of his jaw, quick but unyielding. from there, ren scatters kisses along the vulnerable stretch of his throat, slower now, messy and awfully unrestrained, open-mouthed and unashamedly hungry. each mark he leaves is threaded through with devotion, every touch a confession he cannot speak aloud. it’s need that drives him, need tangled with want, written not in words but in the heat and urgency of his mouth against dan heng’s skin.

❝ tell me you’re still the same. ❞ of course, ren does not stop there. the fingers tracing a path down dan heng’s chest eventually dip past his navel, past the waistband of underwear clinging to dan heng’s skin, fingers ghosting over places they have been enough times before to recognize with his eyes closed. ❝ tell me you want this. ❞ his words slip out in a sigh, a warm and heavy breath that fans over dan heng’s neck before wilting into the way teeth graze his skin. a possessive, sore red mark left in the wake of a bite. the crescent imprint of teeth will linger for days to come, but ren isn’t nearly satisfied by just that. dan heng’s entire body is mapped out in ren’s mind, thus making it easy for him to let his fingers press against the heat between his legs. any hesitance from before has been washed away by now as ren unabashedly allows his hand to explore, the soft pad of his middle finger briefly brushing over the sensitive bud between dan heng’s legs, back and forth in a circular motion diligently searching for any reaction dan heng might spare him. ❝ say you want me. ❞

cont. / @1fff000

[eliseliedl]

"I'd rather leave this world in a blaze than live until the end of time..." That's what I always firmly believed in the past. But I never truly felt like I was alive until I met all of you. Now I wish more than anything that I could just live a bit longer. No, pretend I didn't say that!

[yingren]

good to know xingyue is canon now when do i get to see luoren or sunyuan making out sloppy on my screen

[yingren]

rarepairs are fun until you wanna reblog a pic of them and there are literally none

[yingren]

a week in the archives fixated on organising a backlog of unlabelled files had left the archivist with still joints, a crick in his neck, and the insatiable need for them to be worked out of his body. cue ren, lured into this rooftop cityscape with the promise of black coffee and dan heng’s undivided attention. he was in a good mood, playful, wisps of cloudhymn twirling between his fingertips. as he walked along the edge of high rise building, his form seemed to shimmer in and out of existence, the vidyadhara’s image distorting with light refraction, hinting at just how difficult he intended to make this game.

“ catch me, and i’ll do one favour for you. anything at all. no gripes or complaining. ” under the light of the moon, the faint outline of dan heng’s horns and tail could be seen, going in and out of existence along with the refracting parts of the archivist. as he came back from the building’s edge there was a notable flick and sway of dan heng’s tail, a curl in his lips that betrayed a rare, giddy energy. but the way the tendrils of mist curled from his mouth, the way dan heng’s eyes dilated, looking up at ren through his lashes made the tension more palpable, the flirting all the more obvious.

“ are you up for the challenge ? ”

@cloudhymn / nine is trying to kill me !!!

coffee, attention, time well spent — things ren never imagined he’d cave for so easily, were it not for dan heng. somehow, his offers of such simple things always carry a sharper edge of allure, laced with something unnameable, something that makes ren want to give in. it isn’t as mysterious as he pretends, of course, the swordsman just does a careful job of dancing around it most of the time. but then there are moments, fleeting and raw, when everything else falls away. the view alone is worth savoring. the silence, the distant hum of a city blurred beneath them. yet all of it fades the moment ren looks at dan heng. he moves with a lightness that feels too natural, too graceful, more himself than ren has ever seen him. like a dream — not in the corny, movie-script sense, but in the way he flickers at the edges of sight, there one instant and gone the next. the shimmer of scales on his tail vanishes and reappears, as if built from countless shifting pixels, fragile and unreal yet impossible to look away from.

❝ anything at all. ❞ ren’s reply comes as a gravelly echo of dan heng’s own words, as though they hadn’t quite sunk in at first. then, almost seamlessly, his lips curve into a crooked grin. a challenge, now that’s better than coffee. at least this kind, the kind set before him by a dan heng in uncharacteristically good spirits.

heat and chill tangle inside him, confusion mixing with suspicion, a storm all at once. and when dan heng finally steps down from the ledge, one step away from disaster, one step closer to ren — the swordsman exhales the breath that had been locked tight in his chest.

moonlight spills across tired features, the faint crease at the corner of his eye, the weight in the furrow of his brow, crimson eyes locked with quiet devotion on every motion dan heng makes. ren hardly moves, content to bask in the rarity of whatever this is. his hands remain clasped behind his back instead of folded across his chest, his head tipped forward in curiosity rather than tilted in doubt. just the smallest shift in posture, almost imperceptible, yet enough to mark a difference.

at last, his gaze drifts from dan heng, sweeping across the stretch of rooftops unfolding in every direction, some taller and some lower the ledge where dan heng had so carelessly balanced as though it were nothing. and perhaps it really was nothing. of course he would be fine. he always was. the smile lingers a beat longer, softened without intent, as ren’s eyes catch once more on the flicker of dan heng’s tail. visible, then gone, here, then not.

a glance into those guarded seafoam eyes, and ren shuts his own with a low chuckle, half-scoff. his mouth still curved in a too-satisfied smile, one hand pressed against the small of his back, he extends the other in a gesture toward the rooftops ahead, the map sprawled out before them, the ledge serving as their very own makeshift starting line.

❝ watch your step, i won’t give you a headstart. ❞