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Jiang Cheng was curled in on himself, his outer robe already half-slicked from the mess between his thighs. The snow clung to his hair, his lashes, to the flushed line of his throat as he huddled tighter against the base of the tree. He didn’t even know how long he’d been out here. His thighs were parted slightly—shameless, despite the cold—because closing them only made the pressure worse. His cunt pulsed between them, wet and swollen, leaking steadily into the snow like some slow, humiliating surrender.
The heat had bloomed earlier than expected, a cruel twist of timing that struck him when he’d already been restless and irritable, the press of other students' scents in the guest quarters grating against his skin. He was only a few months into his term at Cloud Recesses, and already he'd lost count of how many times he'd had to breathe through the discomfort of being watched—closely, cautiously, curiously.
Winter had a way of making his body turn on itself. Heats hit harder. They dragged deeper. They bloomed like illness and then refused to break, leaving him flushed and empty, slick pooling beneath him, pulse hammering behind his navel as if his own womb was crying out for attention. His folds were swollen, slick coating them like honey, the kind that didn’t wash away easily. His inner muscles clenched again and again, trying to grip something that wasn’t there.
He let his head fall back against the bark, eyes fluttering shut, breath shallow. He pressed the heel of his palm between his legs, grinding into the pulse of his heat with a hiss. Jiang Cheng's body didn’t care that he was alone, that this was dangerous, that every inch of him was exposed to the elements. He bit down hard on his knuckle to muffle the next sound, his back arching despite himself, trying to ease that endless clenching ache that curled through his gut like a serpent. He couldn’t keep his hips still.
It had never gotten this bad before. Not like this. Not this fucking helpless. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear out his own goddamn glands and bleed in the snow like a warning to the gods. But all that came out was another soft, broken moan, high in his throat. His cunt clenched and spasmed uselessly with every wave, slick coating his folds, soaking the robe between his legs to transparency.
Jiang Cheng inhaled sharply and froze.
He didn’t know where Lan Wangji had come from. He only knew he was there.
“You are outside the permitted boundaries,” Lan Wangji said. “You are in heat.”
"I had no idea," Jiang Cheng muttered sarcastically.
“You should not be outside,” Lan Wangji said as if he hadn't spoken. His voice was always the same: flat, cold, clipped as if every word was scraped clean before it left his mouth. Only the way he raised his sleeve to cover the lower half of his face betrayed anything at all.
Jiang Cheng opened one eye and glanced at him sidelong, irritation flaring even through the haze. “What, worried I’ll get myself mounted in the woods?” He gritted his teeth. “Please. I’d take my chances with a wild dog before I’d let any of your sect near me.”
Lan Wangji pursed his lips together until they were a bloodless white line. His expression didn’t change, but his fingers twitched at his side.
“I will manage,” Jiang Cheng continued, forcing himself to straighten slightly, though the movement made his body shudder. “You may leave.”
Lan Wangji did not.
Instead, he stepped closer, the snow crunching softly beneath his boots, and Jiang Cheng felt the shift in the air immediately, something in his presence—his scent, maybe—brushed up against Jiang Cheng’s skin and made his body clench again, sharp and sudden.
Lan Wangji tilted his head once. “You are in our territory," said Lan Wangji. "You abide by our rules.”
“I’m not one of yours,” Jiang Cheng spat, eyes flashing. “Gusu Lan doesn’t own me.”
Appearing to have lost his patience, Lan Wangji grabbed Jiang Cheng by the upper arm and rose, pulling him up with him in one unrelenting motion. Jiang Cheng staggered, vision swimming, the blood rushing to his head and down, all at once. His cunt clenched, another gush of slick soaking his thighs.
Jiang Cheng yanked back. “Don't—!”
But Lan Wangji was already pulling, already dragging him bodily through the snow, ignoring every curse, every struggle, every humiliating tremor of slick that soaked through the fabric with each step. Jiang Cheng twisted in his grip, his scent spiking, sharp and sour with embarrassment.
“You’re enjoying this,” Jiang Cheng bit out, breath fogging. “You’ve been waiting for this to hold against me."
“I take no pleasure in cleaning another’s mess,” Lan Wangji said, without turning his head.
“Then leave me alone,” Jiang Cheng hissed.
“No."
“I don’t need help.”
Lan Wangji infuriatingly still did not look at him. “Then stop me.”
"What the fuck is your issue?" Jiang Cheng asked.
“Shut up,” Lan Wangji said coldly, hauling him through the snow.
They reached Jiang Cheng's quarters without encountering anyone, and the door slid open, then shut, hard enough to rattle the frame.
Jiang Cheng stumbled as Lan Wangji shoved him forward with enough force that his shoulder clipped the low table and sent a ceramic cup tumbling to the floor with a dull clatter. He caught himself on the edge, panting, trembling, and turned with a growl rising in his throat, only to find Lan Wangji hadn’t moved from the doorway.
But he was not looking at Jiang Cheng, he was observing his nest on the bed.
The sheets had been twisted into a tight circle, bolstered by folded blankets, half a pillow shoved under the center where Jiang Cheng had clearly curled himself just last night, panting into it while slick soaked between his thighs. The whole thing reeked of him—heat-heavy, spiced-sweet, soaked deep into the fabric. But what stopped Lan Wangji in his tracks was the crumpled bit of white silk at the heart of it. Jiang Cheng followed his gaze and his stomach dropped.
His inner robe.
The one he’d watched Lan Wangji give to a servant a week ago to be cleaned.
Now it sat, stained with omega scent, right in the middle of Jiang Cheng’s nest.
The air went dead still.
Lan Wangji walked in slowly. He reached down and picked the robe up between two fingers. Turned it. Inspected the collar. His expression didn’t change.
He brought it to his face, slow, and inhaled.
Jiang Cheng’s blood went cold.
“Why,” Lan Wangji said. Not a question, a demand.
“You—” Jiang Cheng started, then stopped. His throat tightened. “Give it back. It was lying around. I didn’t know it was yours.”
Lan Wangji dropped the robe back onto the bed, turned, and crossed the room in three steps.
Jiang Cheng took one step back and was caught.
Lan Wangji grabbed his wrist, twisted him halfway around, shoved him into the wall with a thud. His hand slid up, locked around the side of Jiang Cheng’s neck, just under the jaw—thumb pressed against his pulse, not choking.
Jiang Cheng snarled. “Get your fucking hands off—”
“Did you imagine me?” Lan Wangji asked, almost clinically.
Jiang Cheng slammed his head back. It hit Lan Wangji’s chin with a crack. He twisted free, shoving him off. “Fuck off!"
Lan Wangji’s lips were bloodied. His eyes didn’t flicker. He licked the blood from his own mouth and stepped in again. He caught Jiang Cheng's belt, ripped it open in one sharp tug. Jiang Cheng swung at him—fist aimed for his face—but Lan Wangji ducked it and tackled him straight down into the mattress, pinning him belly-down into his own crumpled mess of stolen scent and warmth.
He shoved a hand down, rough, over layers, right between Jiang Cheng’s thighs. Cupped him. Firm, shameless, fingers pressing hard enough to feel the soaked fabric beneath. Jiang Cheng’s cunt was exposed in seconds. His thighs fought to close but Lan Wangji slapped them apart.
He shoved him face-first into the mattress of his own fucking nest. Jiang Cheng kicked, snarled, every inch a wild animal, but his cunt drooled slick down his thighs, and Lan Wangji saw it, smelled it, pressed two fingers into it without mercy.
“Shit—Lan Wangji—”
He didn’t stop. Just pumped him open, rough and shallow, curling his fingers up until Jiang Cheng gasped and bucked, trying not to scream as he gripped the sheets so hard his knuckles went white.
Jiang Cheng’s cunt clenched around Lan Wangji's fingers, desperate, fluttering, trying to pull him deeper. Heat coiled tight in his belly, sharp and aching, building toward something Lan Wangji clearly had no intention of letting happen.
Unexpectedly, Lan Wangji’s fingers slowed.
Stopped.
Jiang Cheng gasped, body tensing, frustration tearing a low, furious sound out of his throat. “What?”
Lan Wangji leaned closer, breath warm against the back of his neck. He didn’t say anything. He simply started again: slower than before, dragging it out, stretching the ache until it bordered on pain.
He bit down on the sheet to keep from begging.
Lan Wangji noticed. His hand never faltered.
He edged Jiang Cheng right to the brink—again, and again, and again—then pulled back every time, leaving him shaking, breathless, ruined and still empty.
Lan Wangji’s fingers were soaked, knuckles glistening, his hand still planted firmly between Jiang Cheng’s trembling thighs. He pulled them free with a slick, wet sound—shhhk—and Jiang Cheng writhed, an angry sob caught in his throat, body throbbing from the denial. Every inch of him burned, twisted tight around the clenching need that screamed to be filled.
Lan Wangji held his fingers up, inspected the way Jiang Cheng’s slick clung to his skin in long, glistening threads. He smeared it along his palm deliberately, watching Jiang Cheng flinch at the sound. He undressed methodically, but paused between layers to smack Jiang Cheng's hand away when it tried to rub his clit.
He yanked Jiang Cheng up by the hips, planted him on hands and knees, and dragged the soaked fabric of his robes down to mid-thigh. Cold air hit wet skin. Jiang Cheng hissed through his teeth, body trembling, slick dripping in thick strings from his cunt to the ruined blankets beneath.
The first hot brush of skin—cock, heavy and flushed—made Jiang Cheng whimper. Lan Wangji didn’t guide himself in immediately. He pressed the head against swollen folds, grinding it in slow, maddening circles, smearing slick over the crown until Jiang Cheng was gasping into the nest. His thighs twitched and kicked.
Lan Wangji spat into his hand, fisted his cock, and pushed in.
Jiang Cheng arched like he’d been struck. His breath caught sharp in his chest. One hand scrabbled for the edge of the bed. The other clenched tight in the ruined robes.
Lan Wangji sank in slow. Not teasing. Not gentle. Just claiming every inch like it was owed to him. When his hips finally pressed flush against Jiang Cheng’s ass, he paused.
Jiang Cheng clenched his teeth and tried to twist out of it again, but the grip on his hips was unyielding. The scent of heat was everywhere, suffocating. Slick clung in sticky strings from his cunt down to the nest, down to the silken folds of his stolen inner robe beneath them. The moment dragged, stretched thin as a wire. Lan Wangji didn’t thrust. He just stayed there—buried to the hilt, heavy and thick inside him, cock pulsing where it was sheathed in desperate, clenching heat.
“Fucking—” he choked out, voice cracking. “Do something—”
Something snapped.
Lan Wangji pulled back and slammed back in—raw, brutal, a wet clap of skin and slick that knocked the air out of Jiang Cheng’s lungs. He gasped, head jerking forward with the force of it. His cunt, soaked and fluttering, clung around the thick intrusion, sucking it back in as Lan Wangji started to fuck him hard—no rhythm at first, just driving into him like a punishment, like he was trying to fuck the scent out of Jiang Cheng’s skin entirely.
The wet schlick of each thrust filled the room. Slick smeared down his thighs in sticky trails. His back arched sharply as Lan Wangji angled his hips, slamming in deeper, rougher, every thrust punching a sharp cry out of Jiang Cheng’s throat. He couldn’t muffle it anymore. The whimpers spilled out of him in helpless bursts.
Lan Wangji grabbed a fistful of his robes, yanked him back into each thrust, cock driving in so deep Jiang Cheng could feel it press against the cradle of his womb. His legs were giving out, trembling uncontrollably, hips jerking forward with each collision. His cunt spasmed again, hot and soaked, fluttering around the unrelenting cock inside him, trying to milk it.
He came without warning—biting down hard into his own wrist, a strangled, ugly sound dragged from deep in his chest. His cunt clamped down hard around Lan Wangji’s cock, convulsing, gushing slick that poured down his thighs like honey spilled over hot skin. His arms buckled. He collapsed to his elbows, ass still high, pinned down under Lan Wangji’s weight and the obscene, furious rhythm of his thrusts.
Lan Wangji didn’t pause. Not even for a second. Not even after Jiang Cheng came so hard it left his limbs twitching.
Lan Wangji grabbed him by the nape and bit. Hard. Not enough to break skin, but enough to snap Jiang Cheng’s body taut beneath him with a shocked cry. He shoved back harder, meeting each thrust, cunt drooling around Lan Wangji’s cock like it couldn’t stop.
He reached down, fingers rubbing furiously at Jiang Cheng’s clit, hard and fast, matching the pace of his thrusts. Jiang Cheng screamed. A loud, ragged sound that echoed off the walls.
His body collapsed again, shaking. He was drooling on the silk beneath him, slick leaking out of him with every rough thrust. Lan Wangji’s cock throbbed inside him, harder now, brutal with intent. The way his hands locked around Jiang Cheng’s hips, the way he drove in without hesitation—it was close.
Too close.
Jiang Cheng’s second orgasm hit like a fucking flood. He writhed, whimpering, came again with his whole body spasming, ass slamming back to meet Lan Wangji’s cock like a heat-starved animal. Slick squirted out around the thick intrusion, drenching the bed.
Lan Wangji’s breath was ragged now, chest rising and falling in sync with the vicious rhythm of his hips. Jiang Cheng’s cunt was a mess; his moans had fallen apart, punched out of him with every thrust.
His voice broke entirely when Lan Wangji shoved in and stayed, hips grinding tight against him, cock pulsing deep inside with a tension that felt like thunder about to crack the earth in two.
Jiang Cheng’s whole body jerked when he felt it: a thick swell dragging along his already-stretched rim as Lan Wangji slowly pulled back. Then again—slammed forward. That unmistakable pressure. Too wide. Too much. It made his cunt spasm violently, milking the invading length even as it pushed deeper.
Lan Wangji groaned low in his throat, almost inaudible, but Jiang Cheng felt it vibrate against his spine. Felt his cock starting to knot.
“Oh fuck,” Jiang Cheng gasped, hips kicking.
Lan Wangji gripped both his wrists, yanked them back, forced his chest flush to the ruined bedding, ass high, cunt stretched wide around the thick root of his cock. The knot pressed against his entrance again, bigger now, swollen and insistent.
Lan Wangji growled, a sound like the snap of a bowstring, and forced it in.
His cunt gave with a wet pop, swallowing the whole knot in one devastating shove. His belly clenched, muscles twitching as his body accepted it, locked down on it, refused to let it go.
Jiang Cheng couldn’t even breathe.
Lan Wangji was balls-deep, cock knotted hard inside him, and still grinding—slow, obscene circles that stirred the knot against his walls, pressing directly against the cradle of his womb.
Lan Wangji leaned down. He was still silent, but his mouth brushed Jiang Cheng’s nape, lips pressed to skin. His scent was everywhere—dense, concentrated, biting through the haze of heat like incense lit too close.
Then came the pulse.
Hot. Sharp. The unmistakable flood of release.
Jiang Cheng’s eyes flew open. His mouth dropped open in a voiceless cry as he felt it—Lan Wangji’s cock twitching, thick jets of come surging into him, pouring directly into his clenching, dripping heat. His cunt milked every pulse, greedy, spasming as if trying to wring him dry.
Lan Wangji’s grip on his wrists tightened. He kept him pinned while he emptied himself, breath harsh against Jiang Cheng’s ear. The knot throbbed with every spurt, locking everything inside, sealing his heat-slick womb with a fullness that felt obscene.
Jiang Cheng was panting, trembling, completely undone.
The knot inside him throbbed again, keeping every last drop buried deep, stretching him wide and unrelenting. Jiang Cheng could feel the wet mess inside sloshing faintly with every breath. His belly felt tight, full, heavy with the impossible warmth of it.
He tried to clench and shuddered. Tried to pull off and whined—a helpless, strangled little sound at the feel of that knot shifting. There was no escape. Not until Lan Wangji softened. Not until the tie broke.
And it wasn’t breaking.
His body was too far gone. His omega instincts were screaming satisfaction, satisfaction, satisfaction, even as his pride bled out into the tangled sheets.
And Lan Wangji?
Lan Wangji had the fucking audacity to nuzzle his neck.
Jiang Cheng snarled through grit teeth, voice wrecked. “You know this lines up?”
Lan Wangji didn’t answer. He licked the sweat from Jiang Cheng’s nape. Slow. Possessive.
Another thick drip of come leaked around the knot and ran down Jiang Cheng’s thigh.
“My cycle,” Jiang Cheng went on, voice flat, stripped of bravado. “I’m not just in heat. It’s the right window. You know that. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
Lan Wangji’s grip tightened for half a second, then loosened again. His forehead rested briefly against Jiang Cheng’s shoulder blade.
“I am aware,” he said.
Jiang Cheng laughed once, short and brittle. “Fantastic.”
The knot finally began to soften after a long while. When it did, Jiang Cheng felt it immediately, the pressure easing just enough to make him shudder. But Lan Wangji didn’t withdraw. He stayed there, still seated deep, as if moving too soon would make something worse.
Warmth shifted inside him. Gravity did its slow work. Jiang Cheng clenched on instinct, breath hitching as he felt slick and seed start to leak out in lazy, humiliating drips.
His hand slid to his stomach without thinking. Flat palm. Nothing to feel yet. Nothing to see.
Still.
“If this takes,” he said, voice low, “we're both screwed."
Lan Wangji’s hand covered his, grounding. “I know.”
Jiang Cheng closed his eyes.
He didn’t know whether he was furious, terrified, or exhausted enough not to fight it yet. All he knew was that his body had been very thoroughly convinced of something his mind hadn’t agreed to in time.
The risk sat between them, unspoken but massive. Not a promise. Not a certainty. Just a possibility.
And that, somehow, felt worse than either.
Lan Wangji didn’t leave. Not after he softened, not even when the tie broke, not when Jiang Cheng curled sideways onto his ruined bed, dragging a pillow over his face like it might smother the lingering tremor in his spine. He stayed exactly where he was—bare-chested, trousers hanging low on his hips, cock still glistening with the wet sheen of aftermath, the tip flushed and twitching.
Jiang Cheng could feel the slow drip between his thighs. He could feel the mess pooling under him—slick, seed, sweat—all soaking deeper into the stolen robe beneath him. Every breath dragged the scent in deeper, and his own body betrayed him for it. Heat didn’t break. It never broke with one knot. And the haze wasn’t fading.
“Stop looking at me,” he ground out, face still hidden.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Lan Wangji didn’t argue.
He was moving again. Jiang Cheng heard the shift of clothing, the creak of weight over the floor, and then—
The blunt press of a hand between his thighs.
Jiang Cheng flinched. "What the fuck?"
“You are still open.”
Lan Wangji’s fingers dragged through the slick there, gently this time, but with no less purpose. He dipped one in, testing, and Jiang Cheng hissed, whole body twitching from the overstimulation. But Lan Wangji didn’t pull away.
The fingers slid in deeper. Jiang Cheng jerked up onto an elbow, baring his teeth. “If you fucking knot me again...!”
“I did not say I would knot you again,” Lan Wangji said evenly. “I said you are still open.”
Then he leaned down and spit between Jiang Cheng’s thighs, pushed it in with two fingers, scissoring them without shame. Jiang Cheng gasped, choked, tried to push him off—but his thighs spread again on instinct, soaked and slick and needy.
The betrayal in his own body made his vision go red.
Lan Wangji shoved him down flat. “Be still.”
Jiang Cheng bucked under him, half a snarl in his throat, but Lan Wangji had him pinned again, this time by the small of his back. His hand didn’t stop. He curled his fingers forward, hooked just right, dragged over that swollen bundle of nerves buried deep inside, and Jiang Cheng’s breath shattered.
His hips rolled. He couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t keep still. The angle was brutal, pressure bearing down straight through the wall of his womb, and he sobbed when it hit again. The heel of Lan Wangji’s palm ground against his clit, and it was too much. He came again, harder than before, whole body thrashing against the mattress, voice gone hoarse from biting it back.
Lan Wangji didn’t let up. Even while Jiang Cheng’s cunt fluttered and squeezed, he kept working those fingers, fucking into the slick mess as if drawing something out.
And something was. A wet gush of slick and seed pushed out around his fingers, ran down the curve of Jiang Cheng’s ass in a hot spill. He didn’t think he’d ever been this full before. He didn’t think his body could leak like this, spill out like a broken cup.
He tried to crawl away.
Lan Wangji hauled him back by the hips.
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
The weight of his cock dragged between Jiang Cheng’s cheeks again. Half-hard, already swelling.
"Lan Wangji!"
He was flipped, fast. Flat on his back. His thighs were shoved up over Lan Wangji’s shoulders, knees bent nearly to his chest. His own belly pulsed where it pressed against them—rounder now, tight and heavy, like the knot had done more damage than he thought. Slick clung to his hole in wet strings, seed still oozing out around the stretched rim.
Lan Wangji lined up again.
Jiang Cheng’s hands slammed into his chest. “You’re not—I’m not getting knotted twice—”
“You will take it.”
“I’ll kill you!”
“You will take it,” Lan Wangji said again, quieter this time, and he didn’t push in.
He snapped forward.
The air punched out of Jiang Cheng’s lungs in one broken scream.
His cunt clenched around him violently. The stretch was worse this time—faster, harder, brutal from the first thrust. No rhythm. No mercy. Just the thick grind of cock hammering inside him, and the hot wet squelch of slick pushed out by every brutal inch.
The bed shook under them. The nest tore. Jiang Cheng’s nails left welts down Lan Wangji’s chest, but it didn’t stop him. If anything, it spurred him.
“You like it,” Lan Wangji said. It wasn’t a question.
“Shut—shut the fuck up—!”
The slap caught him across the mouth—crack—sharp enough to leave his head ringing. Jiang Cheng gasped, eyes wide, and Lan Wangji slammed into him again—again—again—until the slick noise of it echoed like something unholy off the walls. His hips were a blur, cock punching into him with such force it felt like bruises were blooming inside.
Jiang Cheng couldn’t fight anymore.
His thighs shook.
His stomach clenched.
And when the second knot began to swell, heavy and thick at the base, grinding hard against his stretched rim, he sobbed like something breaking open.
“Not again! Please—please—!”
“You will take it,” Lan Wangji repeated.
And he did.
Because there was no choice. Because his cunt wanted it.
Because it swallowed the knot with another humiliating pop, stretched wide and sealed again.
Lan Wangji groaned low in his throat, fingers digging into Jiang Cheng’s hips like iron. Then came the flood, a molten, scalding rush of come that filled every aching inch, poured into him, stuffed him to the point of bursting.
He screamed through clenched teeth.
He came.
Hard.
Harder than before.
Harder than he ever had in his life.
And he didn’t stop shaking for a long, long time.