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lorelune · 1 month ago

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O4O: part iii // PART 2

|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || omega4omega w/ milfy jing yuan || wc: 19.7k of 37.3k || ao3 ||

Your heat, and the sickness that comes with it, has set in fully. Jing Yuan contends with the type of closeness he craves with you.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

💦🎀 this piece is apart of SPRING FEVER: an omegaverse collab! 🎀💦

✨ O4O masterlist ✨ // part i — part ii — part iii -> PART 1 & PART 2

🩷 extended author's note

❣️ please note! part iii of o4o is separated into two posts here on tumblr. part 1 can be found linked above and at the end of this post as well. part iii is up as a single chapter on ao3 additionally! ❣️

notes: part 2!!! my god we MADE IT!!! my friends!! please enjoy. milfy jing yuan actualized. for new readers, please see above for links and such. enjoy dears 💗

CW: omegaverse, omega reader, omega jing yuan, top jing yuan (in this part) milfy jing yuan, mommy kink (both explicit and implicit), cry baby reader, fisting, knotting toys, biting, faux nursing, hurt/comfort, sickfic, past dan feng/jing yuan/yingxing, author-created omegaverse lore

Your pre-heat ends slowly. It festers hour by hour over the course of two days.

During that time, you’re achy and tired more than anything else. You spend most of your time laying on top of or next to Jing Yuan, tucked near his neck to breathe, open-mouthed, near his scent glands. You doze through most of your pre-heat. When you are awake enough for conversation, it’s mostly sensical. Needy and whiny in the most endearing way, but still intelligible.

He manages to feed you throughout your pre-heat. You’re not very hungry, but Jing Yuan convinces you to eat a few morsels every few hours. The prepped fruits, rice, and granola mixes get you through the worst of it.

On the second day of your pre-heat, you are properly miserable. You shiver with your heightening fever and your teeth slam together with the accompanying chills. You’ve changed your soft, lounge clothes at least half a dozen times in the last day. Your preferred position is your face smushed into his chest, forcing out labored breath after breath.

It is not easy to watch.

Discomfort is one thing, but you are clearly in pain. A fair amount of it. He knew you would be, but that doesn’t make seeing you in this state any easier. There is only so much he can do at this stage to ease you. Forcing you to take little bites of snacks and sips of electrolyte water is better than nothing. Massaging your now less-tender scent glands helps the most. You enjoy it, and you tell him so with your words and in the way you keen with his touch and roll to leave your most sensitive spots more open for him to touch.

It’s still only taking the edge off.

“It won’t be much longer,” he tells you. Filtered starlight beams down from the Luofu’s sky, leaking in from the edges of your blackout curtains. He tugs one a little to the side, back to darkness, jostling you in the process. “How are you feeling?”

You grumble, “L-like shit. I need to peel my s-skin off.”

“Too warm?” He asks.

“N-no too— cold. And itchy. And wrong.” You nestle closer to him, heading your cheek against his collarbone. “I w-want it to stop.”

“I know,” he says gently. “I know it isn’t comfortable.”

“It i-isn’t. A-Are you sure that I h-have to go through with this?”

“I’m sure.”

He’s certain.

At this point, you’re fully titrated off your suppressants. The only medicinal intervention that you’ve been prescribed to safely take at this point is tinctures for nausea and headaches if needed as well as an anti-inflammatory oil to use on any sore muscles or joints for once your heat begins and you inevitably put yourself and get put in various uncomfortable positions.

(There is, technically, another medication you’ve been prescribed as well. A chalky powder that can be broken off and ground down between Jing Yuan’s fingers and then rubbed on your gums and under your tongue. Per Lei Huiling’s firm instructions, this remedy is only to be used under the worst, heat-sick-induced circumstances.)

At present, and per Jing Yuan’s predictions, you will simply need to tough out your heat.

He’s there though.

Jing Yuan reminds you of this with a kiss, tilting your head up by the jaw and capturing your lips with his own. You kiss him back, eager and clumsy. Still trembling, but it doesn’t stop you from returning the gesture just as sweetly as he gives it to you.

“You’re doing well.” He speaks against your lips.

You whine, squirming, “You need to be careful, saying such sweet things to me.”

He chuckles, “Why is that?”

“Because.”

“‘Because’?”

“You know why!” Because it flusters you, clearly. Your palms cup his cheeks and you struggle to meet his gaze. It’s cute that you try.

“Could you enlighten me?”

“You’re teasing me now!” Your words carry no bite as you nip at one of his cheeks. “When you’re so nice, it makes it hard to think straight. Especially now.”

“And is there anything wrong with that?” He’s certain that you enjoy being teased, just as much as he enjoys teasing you.w

“... No. But, you’re weakening me. To your wiles. Sufficiently.”

“Am I now?”

“Yes!” You gasp as he noses below your ear. “Very much so!”

“Considering that you’re my omega,” he glances up at you, smug. “I would hope that my ‘wiles’ would be quite effective on you.”

You squeak, sputter, and nose into his hair to muffle the half-joking cry that you let loose. It’s clear that his intentional word choice, calling you his ‘omega’, is having its intended effect of turning you into a content, happy-scented puddle.

He preens.

It won’t be very long now.

...

Your heat properly erupts in the middle of the night, perhaps early morning.

Jing Yuan wakes up on his back, with you straddling his hips, grinding in tight, hard circles over his own sex. The straps of your bedclothes, indecently thin garments, slip down your shoulders. Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth and you brace yourself with your hands cupping over his breasts.

You’re leaking so much slick over him it feels immediately obscene.

“Baby—” His voice rumbles, gravely from sleep.

“—‘Started,” you tell him. “‘Started really bad, Jing Yuan. Hurts.”

You crumple at your middle, still grinding but ducking over him. Your mouth is on the scent gland in his neck instantly, lapping with flat-tongued strokes.

The scent of your heat engulfs him then. It’s— it’s strong. So strong, that a single meaningful lungful has him feeling light-headed. The pheromones you’re pouring out are heady and thick. Jing Yuan swears he can feel them in his throat. The usual warm scent and the acrid undertone that preheat had given you have been burned away. It’s still warm but it’s— spiced— Like dark tea brewed and served with a dollop of creamy honey. The lingering warmth of perfumed clothes just removed. A mouthful of a fresh, moist pastry—

Perhaps Jing Yuan isn’t thinking very clearly and he just wants you in his mouth.

He’s no alpha. He has no knot that begins to make itself known in response to the pheromonal firestorm that your heat has created. The white-iron hot desire that he feels in his gut is entirely something else. A delicacy he hasn’t had before, truthfully. Not like this. His cock is already hard and his cunt has been leaking between his legs as you’ve been clumsily taking your fill of him.

“When did it start, dear?” he asks.

You speak into his skin. “‘Don’t know. A few hours? In my sleep, I think.”

Your words are slurred and your sentences are already choppy. Jing Yuan mainly asked his previous question to gauge your sense of lucidity and your faculties. They’re fading already.

He takes a hold of your waist and pets down your back, gathering his bearings. You talked about this together; he knows how to proceed. Your desires have been voiced, and your trust has been entirely placed in him, no matter how nervous you have been.

Jing Yuan covets that trust.

He will take good care of you.

It takes essentially no effort to flip you gently, so you’re on your back within your nest. You blink at him, dazed.

“N-No—” You throw your head back against the mound of pillows with an angry huff. Your hips roll into the air, seeking friction that you’re not being given. “I—I need something, please, please—”

He shushes you, (“I know, I know.”) before wedging his soft, thick thigh between your own. The contact makes you cry out, clawing at Jing Yuan’s arms where he holds you. You— twitch with the contact, barely grinding before your hips stutter.

A choked noise works its way out of your throat. Jing Yuan’s heart aches.

“I’ve got you,” he assures. “Does this hurt, or feel good?”

“I—” You squeeze his shoulders and throw an arm over your arms. “G-Good? Maybe? ‘S lot.”

“We’ll go slow,” he promises, petting your sides, silky with the robe that barely remains on you.

Little trickles of slick have begun to seep from your cunt. It soaks through your thin panties, dampening his thigh. Jing Yuan purrs. Sweat soaks your robe as he carefully unties the loose knot at your waist, exposing your soft tummy and heaving chest. Before you can flinch from the exposure, Jing Yuan is petting you, hushing you.

Heats don’t demand slowness, usually. They demand haste. Excess. As much contact and pheromones other than one’s own as one can conceivably inhale. Most omegas demand near-constant fucking, or at least penetration, for the duration of their heat. There are salves and oils for abrasion and potential tears, some of which Jing Yuan has already stocked for you.

Slowness doesn’t necessitate them. Not right away anyway.

He smooths his hands up your ribs, stopping to cup your cheeks and rub below your eyes. “I’ve got you.”

You keen and arch into him. “‘So good to me—”

“As you deserve,” he chuckles. It’s easy to be good to you.

You kiss him. Your lips are chapped, just barely, and he feels the drag of the dry skin when he angles his head to better deepen the kiss. You’re sweet about this kind of contact. You surge forward, closer, seeking his touch, prodding his lips with your tongue until he parts them just enough for you to lick into his mouth.

The two of you moan when you do. Pheromones in spit— the mixing of yours is divine. It makes Jing Yuan’s eyes roll back in his head behind his closed eyelids. The taste of you melds with your scent. It’s an intoxicant, truly. He laps at your tongue and sucks it into his mouth until you’re making soft, needy noises against him.

You pull apart, just far enough away to breathe full breaths. You pet over his face, pupils blown so wide that only a thin ring of your iris remains. Your lips stay parted. Wet, with drool visibly pooling in your mouth.

Slick is beginning to soak your nest beneath you.

You notice this at the same time Jing Yuan does, and a twisted look appears on your face. It mars your expression for the briefest moment before you wipe the back of your hand over your lips with a huff.

Jing Yuan observes.

(He expected this much. For you to impede your own pleasure, to scorn your own desire.)

It will take some whittling, he has known this, but you will enjoy this. At least some of it, he will make sure of that. If nothing else, you will be sated and well taken care of.

His wide hands hike up your thighs on either side of him, braced on his own hips. He purrs your name with a tilt of his head, “Can you be good for me?”

“O-Of course— I can.”

“I mean it.” He speaks low, almost dark, nosing the sensitive shell of your ear. “I know you can be.”

His words make you whine. It’s a pathetic, whimpering sound that makes his cock twitch. It’s sweet and so cute. It makes his insides flutter and he kisses you with the feeling.

It’s an engulfing sort of thing, your heat. Jing Yuan still retains his level head but he can feel the different edge his arousal carries now. It’s not like his own heat. He has a blessed amount of clarity, but his gut is pierced by heat that is so searing, his cockhead is already purpling. Your slick is beginning to mix together.

You’re— losing yourself. He can see it as he breaks away to kiss down your neck. Your breaths are too fast, maybe a little too shallow. When you do inhale, there’s a little sound that cuts the air that concerns him. Your hands stay fisted in the sheets at your side, and you squeak as he nips at your collarbones.

“Baby—” The pet name rolls off his tongue without thinking. “I’ve got you, okay?”

You nod, jerkily. Uncomfortable, clearly. He rubs your sides with a frown.

“J-just—” You barely get the words out as you curse under your breath. “Hurts. I don’t— I don’t—”

“It’ll feel better if I touch you, don’t you think?”

With the suggestion, he cups over your chest, running a thumb over the tender flesh there. You jump with the sensation.

“I—I just—” Your voice breaks, and you manage to push yourself up. Shooing Jing Yuan off and a bit away, running a hand down your cheeks. You can’t manage eye contact, instead stare into the warm shadows of your bedroom. A scowl plays on your lips. “I—I don’t k-know, it feels bad. It hurts and it feels bad and I don’t know— I don’t—”

The panic in your voice is so clear. It makes his heart ache.

“Does it not feel good when I touch you?”

“Not— not not good. Just not... comfortable. I don’t—”

He says your name softly.

Your breath comes too fast, “Are you sure you w-want to be helping?”

He says your name again. You don’t seem to hear him.

“I mean— I’ll be fine. If you don’t want to, I can handle this on my own. All the help already has been r-really nice—”

He says your name firmly. You still don’t hear him.

“I—I just— I don’t deserve your kindness, y-you know? And it’s only going to g-get harder, you should just l-leave before it gets worse—”

(Leave? Leave? LEAVE you like this? For Jing Yuan to even fathom leaving you alone, suffering, heat-stricken, and alone in your nest, makes him ache in all new ways and it sends a sparking line of rage in him that demands attention.)

He says your name once more, hard enough in tone that you jump. Before you can protest more, and attempt to shutter yourself from support again— he places a hand over you both and levels his gaze with your own.

His voice comes out far more gently than he thought it would. “Please do not suggest that I would leave my omega alone while in the throes of heat sickness. I know you’re scared, and that it is difficult, but I’m here to take care of you, and I mean that, so truly.”

“But it’s a lot—”

“It’s really not.” Jing Yuan cuts you off. “It won’t ever be ‘a lot’ to be in your nest, with you. Pleasuring you and providing you comfort? They’re joys, not chores.”

“I—” You put a hand in your hair, gripping your hair at the root. “Even s-so, I— I don’t t-think, Jing Yuan, I don’t think I r-really deserve all of your kindness... do I?”

Your last words are quiet, so quiet that he hardly hears them. The moment they’re out of your mouth, you make a pained sound, your chest heaving, and you tug at your hair and—

Jing Yuan can’t have that. He can’t.

In a fluid motion, he has your bent in half.

Your feet dangle off his shoulders, your calves rounding his cheeks. Your own cheeks flush with the motion. Your thighs squish against the softness of your belly. Jing Yuan disentangles your hand from your hair with a gentle hum. You protest, just a little, squeezing your legs together the best you can.

He cows you down with ease. You settle for draping the damp bits of your robe over your core. The hint of modesty has you relax, just a little.

He laces both of your hands together and presses them into your nest on either side of your head.

“I won’t have you being cruel to yourself,” Jing Yuan says. His tone brokers no argument, and you don’t attempt to give him one regardless. “I won’t stand for you hurting any more than your body already is.”

You only look guilty and sad, barely managing eye contact. “O-Okay.”

“And—” Jing Yuan brushes his nose with yours, his hair falling like a veil around you both. “You deserve to feel good, don’t you think?”

“M-Maybe. It’s a lot—”

“It’s not a lot.”

“But it is.”

“It is to you, in your mind, perhaps.” He rationalizes. “But, it’s not a lot for me. And I’m the one with you now, aren’t I?”

You blink at him, chewing your lip.

“... You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t wanna be, huh?” Tears gather in your eyes.

“I wouldn’t. And, I very much want to be here.” With you, in your nest, bringing you pleasure and comfort. It’s all he wants, and he’s so close to being able to give it to you. “I know it is frightening to trust someone enough to give them yourself like this. But, I’ll take good care of you. I promise.”

“I know— but, it i-is scary.” You sniffle. “... Are you sure i-it’s okay?”

“Very sure.”

“O-Okay.”

You don’t look completely settled, there’s something deeper in you that’s showing itself now. It's an insecurity he’s seen glimpses of, but now that he’s between your legs, folding you at the waist, it shows itself more completely.

You swallow. “... You’ll tell me if it’s not okay?”

“Of course.” He kisses you again, reverent. “But that won’t happen.”

“You can’t be certain.”

“I can be.”

“But you— can’t—”

“I can be.” He repeats. “Please, trust me.”

That’s all this is, isn’t it? An exchange of trust. You wrestle with giving yours to him, more than him to you, and that’s okay. There are pieces of you he doesn’t know, and that’s alright. He has time to learn them at whatever pace is comfortable for you. He is a patient man, after all.

At this moment, there’s still worry. He is sure that there are wounded parts of you that are keeping you from (and have kept you from) luxuriating in the pleasure a heat can bring, or accepting the comfort you so desperately need now.

He’ll pick those apart later.

For now, he waits for you to process, to unfurl slowly with his plying and prying. He’s never been one to beg, but he thinks he would, for you.

You don’t make him.

“I trust you.” Your voice is the most solid it’s been in days.

He kisses you then. Once, twice, a third time. Until the haggard little breaths you were giving him turn to sweet, burgeoning moans that he drinks up greedily. Your core grinds against his own, slick with you, mixing with him. It’s not enough contact, not enough to be sating, but it’s a promise of something so, so deserved.

...

Your heat rages.

Jing Yuan has only his own heat as a point of reference— maybe the lingerings of Baiheng’s he witnessed in the past— regardless, by comparison, your heat is far more intense. If his heats are the singe of sitting a bit too close to an otherwise comfortable hearth, yours is much more like setting on fresh, live embers without the ability to move away from the burn of them.

He still attempts to take his time. He wants to do this right.

Jing Yuan grinds his cock against your core. You’ve soaked him; you’ve soaked your nest too. It’s an obscene amount of slick. He’s already had to pause a few times to get you to sip from one of your well-placed water bottles, despite your protests.

“Be good,” he reminds you. You are good, so you let him tip the bottle against your lips. Once the water hits your tongue, you drink greedily.

You’re becoming less lucid.

Jing Yuan still rests between your legs, on his haunches despite the ghosts of hip pain. He drags his lips over your ankles, leaving light, calming kisses. You whine with the contact, bucking your hips.

You want more, he knows this— he knows, but he wants to give you enough without overwhelming you. It’s a delicate balance that he is learning in real-time.

The head of his filled-out cock catches on your clit. Your back arches and your scent goes aflame.

It— it is a lot. Not too much, not unmanageable, but Jing Yuan would be lying if he said that being with you now wasn’t a lot.

Your scent is so potent, so mouthwatering, that Jing Yuan has found himself drooling. His mouth is full of spit when he kisses you, pushing you back into your nest (where you are warm and safe and tended to.) You’re so warm to the touch. Feverish, clearly.

(Despite the ramping contact, the looming presence of heat sickness remains.)

Your arousal is so apparent. You’re so sensitive, despite your neediness and needs.

(This is already so overwhelming for you.)

Jing Yuan pulls away from your lips. You both pant. The melding of your scents (in his fucking mouth) has him grinding against your core, holding your hips in a grip that is verging on bruising. You don’t seem to mind, you may even be enjoying it, based on the way your eyes are half-lidded.

He rolls you both into your side, resting with one arm under your head and his other meandering down your torso.

Playfully, Jing Yuan rubs the pad of his thumb over your nipple. He relishes the sound you make in response, something cracking and dry and so needy.

“Please—“

(He wants you to break; he wants to bring you there.)

He kisses the words from your mouth. Shameless. As he deserves to be.

You extend your neck for him, probably without meaning to. You bear your burning scent gland to him and give him a silent plea for relief, one that he answers without question.

It’s following an instinct, really. The urge to help, quell, to make better— it’s such an integral part of how he lives. It’s why he has been such a well-thought-of, reliable General. It’s why he has weathered quiet pains that others would run from in order to bring about something better.

On a personal level, the latent instinct to ‘care’ does not present itself that often. It does not have much opportunity to, especially these days. Perhaps when Yanqing was just a scrap of a cub, maybe, he was aware of the itch in his chest to ‘care’ with his own two hands for another.

Yingxing and Dan Feng didn’t care to indulge those feelings of Jing Yuan. Not with any frequency, anyways. They enjoyed crumbs of it but preferred to tend to Jing Yuan instead. He does enjoy receiving care, and they lavished him with it while skillfully avoiding the most intense of his own urges.

You, however, welcome them.

Part of it is that you… are a little pathetic. Especially now, wet-eyed and soft in your tummy, wordlessly begging for more of him and the relief he can so easily bring you.

He kisses down to your scent gland, gentle over the sensitive flesh before sucking at it. You warble out a cry, scrambling for purchase over his shoulders. He can feel the round gland under his tongue, softening minutely, but still firm and hot.

Your scent hits his tongue in the most raw way. It makes his eyes water and a pure purr rips from the base of his throat. He grips your hips, hard, to drag you closer. He has to as he sucks there and takes mouthfuls of your scent like a fine, effervescent spirit.

His hand slides over the expanse of your hips, hovering near your sex without broaching too close.

“Can I touch you here—?”

“Please!” You shove your face into the crook of his neck, throwing your leg over his hip, so your dripping core is exposed.

The cold air makes you jolt, whine, and shove closer to him. Desperate and burning. That’s all it takes for Jing Yuan to slip a hand between your legs, wide, and cover your cunt completely.

(He wants to feel you.)

The heat coming off you is obscene. Startling, even. You really are in heat and burning up. Your cunt radiates the heat of fever as he squeezes over it. Over you, and your most vulnerable core.

A watery, desperate sound is muffled into his neck.

He’s touched you before, during his own heat. Laying with you then was a pleasure, truly, but the memory of it is heat-blurred. He cherishes the flashes and afterimages he does have. Even from those fragments, he remembers you are sensitive. He knows now that he is the first one to ever touch you like, hold you like this, and be near you like this and—

(Well, it’s doing something to him on such a carnal level that he feels like he’s being slowly rewritten within your nest—)

He has been so careful with you. Chaste, before this too. Partially to not overwhelm you, and partially because he is, perhaps, being a bit covetous about this. Sharing a heat, sharing many of your firsts with you— he is grateful and possessive of these things in equal measure.

Jing Yuan gives you what you need, running a knuckle between the seam of your cunt. Your chest heaves against his own as he does so. He rubs against the bud of your clit, switching to the pad of his thumb to roll small circles over you.

You moan for him, dissolving into soft pants and desperate sounds.

It’s easy to pleasure you this way. You’re so sensitive; it doesn’t take much. He’s aided by the unconscious grind of your hips toward his hand. The pressure won’t be enough, but for now, you take it in kind.

Your slick coats his fingers, dripping obscenely onto your thigh, only to spill onto the bed below. He drags his fingers through it, relishing the slip of it.

“Inside?” he asks.

You nod, vigorous and eager.

And you’re so good for him. Taking what you are given, asking when you need more. You’re so sweet for him; he hopes you know. He’ll make sure to tell you. He’ll show you too.

He teases your hole only for a moment before gingerly pressing his index finger into your cunt.

You’re tight. He expected this, but you’re still tighter than he thought you’d be—

(He wonders, latently, if you ever touch yourself here, or if your discomfort with knots and nearly-new collection of toys is indicative of a preference against penetration under different circumstances.)

You gasp at the intrusion and wriggle. Aeons, you shudder with the contact and somehow tense even further. Something— something old and soft in him aches.

“It’s alright,” he assures. It’s all he can do. “I’ve got you, it’s alright.”

You whine, “I k-know.”

It’s the most lucid you’ve been since your heat has started.

Jing Yuan doesn’t move his finger; he focuses on petting down your side and lavishing your cheeks with kisses. You loosen up with his attention, enough for him to comfortably move inside you just the smallest bit. Slick wets his wrist.

“S-Sorry—” You twitch when he barely curls his finger. “‘M not good at this—”

“Hush,” Jing Yuan scolds, lightly, with a tender tone in his voice that he hardly recognizes. “You’re doing very well for me. All you need to do is feel good and remember that I have you, hm? Can you do that for me?”

It’s condescending to speak to you this way. It lights a fire in his own belly, all the same. You respond so well to it— nodding, sniffling, and readjusting your leg over his hip so that you’re even more open.

He rubs your clit with his thumb, adding another finger when he deems you ready, then another when your cunt is practically gushing. The scent is— intoxicating. Worryingly sweet, heat sickness creeping in despite everything, but Jing Yuan will do all he can—

In a flurry of motion, he kneels between your legs, pressing a hand over your navel with his thumb circling your clit faster. He pumps three fingers into you at a steady pace, deep and curling. He has been hitting your sweet spot, he knows. He can feel the way your cunt flutters around his fingers.

You’re debauched.

Every motion forces a little sound from you. Sweat pools in the valley of your chest. Your hair is mussed up from friction and static. You white-knuckle the sheets at your side.

You need more, but Jing Yuan can only give you so much in small doses for now.

When you come, it’s an intense thing. Your legs tighten around him, ankles locking against his lower back as your back arches off the bed. You throw a hand over your mouth, attempting to muffle the filthy moan that cracks from it—

He’s quick to bat it away— with his mouth. He— he needs to hear you, actually. In a decisive, quick move, he nips at your wrist while finger fucking you through your orgasm. Tears bead at the corners of your eyes

Your chest heaves as you come down from the high.

Jing Yuan’s cock is hard. It’s not much of a concern for him, not now— it’s better he put off coming until he actually fucks you. He’s pouring slick from his own cunt still, and it’s cooling against his thighs. He shivers.

“‘S’okay? You?” You slur, blinking rapidly. “C’mere please.”

You bundle up together in your nest.

In the afterburn of pleasure... you don’t seem sated. If anything, your scent is more tart than before. It’s worrisome. You mewl, something soft and sad and pathetic, squeezing your thighs together as they tangle with his own.

“Oh, dear,” he says. “I’ve got you. It’s alright.”

His reassurances will only go so far, he knows. Your omegan hindbrain has cravings that cannot be satisfied just by sweet words. There are other comforts you need, too. You wriggle next to him, seeking out the scent gland in his neck, and that feeling in his stomach presents itself and twists.

...

Jing Yuan is very glad that he massaged out your scent glands prior to your heat. If he hadn’t, it probably would have resulted in some sort of medical emergency truthfully.

Your heat rages, and quickly heat sickness sweeps you up.

He is good to you because he wants to be so badly, but it’s not enough.

After using his fingers, he uses one of your toys next. He lets you on top of him, chest-to-chest. You grind over his painfully stiff cock, while he fucks you with one of your dildos. It’s one with a fierce curve, scrapping over your sweet spot.

You cum twice more, in quick succession, gushing over top of his cock and lower belly. The release unfortunately does not do much of anything to soothe your ache. Your scent grows beyond acrid and bitter, suffocating the room. The intertwining pheromones of your mutual arousal are swallowed by it. Your scent grows more concerning with more stimulation. It’s— worrisome. Deeply troubling.

(You need knot. He knows you need it. You probably know it too, if only in the most carnal, base parts of your brain. You need to be fucked, filled and stuffed full before you’ll feel well again. Each touch he gives you that isn’t knot, no matter how pleasurable, is not enough. It can’t ever be enough.)

(Attempting to provide you relief with your assortment of toys without... pushing was wishful thinking. A valiant, worthwhile attempt, but nonetheless, insufficient.)

Jing Yuan, truthfully, expected this. He planned contingencies— he always does— they just... will be potentially unpleasant for you.

(Or, cleaving for the two of you, perhaps, if he is not careful. If he chooses one particularly daring path.)

Your nest is rumpled. You lay on your side, panting with an open mouth. Your eyes are bloodshot and half-lidded. Jing Yuan cups your cheeks and rubs over the burning flesh.

“I feel so bad,” You tell him, glancing up at him. There’s slick halfway down your thighs. “‘M gonna die?”

“No.” He corrects swiftly. He laps over your cheeks, following his own latent instincts. It feels right. “You’ll be alright dear, I promise—”

“You sure?”

“Certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

You don’t respond, just lean into him. Your lucidity is mostly gone with heat and fever.

“Baby?” He asks, the endearment slipping from his lips (almost out of his control—) “You trust me to take care of you, don’t you?”

“‘So much, Jing Yuan.”

“I’m glad.”

He kisses you on your lips, chapped and cracking as they are. You’re sweating and slicking out liquid faster than you can drink and stay hydrated.

It’s concerning, all of it is— but he has your express permission. Consent to push, in this instance. You need it, he knows this and he can see it. He mentally reminds himself where the most important of your medications are kept and where the spare packets of electrolyte drink powder have been stashed.

You lean into his touch, flame to flame.

...

Jing Yuan is putting off fucking you.

Because it is not what you need right now.

What you need is fullness, without knot, which Jing Yuan can provide you. Granted in a way that he’s only seen in pornographic immersia and read about in dirty online forums under a pseudonym, but he has a great deal of confidence in himself to deliver.

It is still somewhat daunting.

Especially considering that your state is continuing to worsen. Night falls more quickly than he would like. And, despite his own sore wrist and slick-stained chin, you’re worse for wear.

You’re tucked against him. You’ve been fervently seeking closeness from him in a grabby, cute way. You sit sideways in his lap with your cheek squished against his breast. A sheet has been thrown haphazardly over the two of you, less for modesty and its meager offering of heat, and instead for some amount of grounding. An additional tether, other than himself. You wear the scent-gland stimulating cuffs tight on your wrists.

You pant, whine, and shove your face into his chest.

”A-Awful—“ Your words slip and grit out from clenched teeth.

“I know.” Jing Yuan finds himself whispering, “I’m sorry.”

“I—“ You grind your teeth.

Jing Yuan grabs your lower jaw and squeezes, just enough so that you release the tension there.

“Be good.”

”I-I’m— I’m trying.”

You dissolve. A sob creeps from the back of your throat, onto your tongue before spilling from your lips. One after another, frantic sounds punctuated by ragged, high breaths.

It hurts to hear; it hurts to know you’ve fallen to this point while he is in your nest.

It’s for lack of trying, you both know that. (Or he hopes you do. He isn’t certain that you’re within yourself enough to make those types of assumptions.)

“It’s alright,” he tries to soothe, but you’re past that point. You hiccup around your breath and jolt against him.

(The sight of you so overtaken by tears does something to him. A simultaneous affection and urge to... coddle? Keep? Have? It’s hard to identify. It lingers in the aether of him and tangles with his instincts in such a way—)

Jing Yuan presses his fingers into your mouth.

You accept it, you always do, even if you fight with the digit for a moment. Your jaw tightens up and your lips purse like you’re ready to nip him. He probes around your mouth, and you relax almost instantly with the motion. He pets along your tongue and your gums— even pushes toward the back of your mouth, just shy of where your gag reflex will trigger. Your tension drips away as he explores.

You suck on his finger, dutifully, just as he intended.

He likes this— he has since the first time he deigned to follow this impulse. It seems to relax you as well. Settles you, even now, when you’re heat-flushed and so poorly. He pets along your cheeks too. Your tears don’t quite dry, but your breath evens out beautifully.

“It’s alright,” he coos, relieved. “So good for him.��

You preen with the praise, and rest against him, an everburning coal.

This is part of the indulgent thing that Jing Yuan struggles to acknowledge. It’s hard to get his teeth around, and even harder to word. He’s been gifted with an eloquent silver tongue since his youth; he’s never found it difficult to string together his thoughts into words. This feeling is an exception. There have been very few in his lifetime.

(You’re— his. You’re his. His. He has to take care of you. Make sure you’re well, even if it hurts to get there. He’ll take care of you, so well. You’ll let him because you’re good for him, and you listen so well and don’t fuss anymore than you need to.)

He swallows.

“Let’s take care of you now, hm?” He hums.

You’re agreeable when he slides you off his lap, and back into your rumpled nest. He takes time to re-fluff it around the two of you, letting you sink into the space further. You shove your face into one of the shirts he’d left with you that made its way into the core of your nest. You hold it to your chest and watch him.

He settles between your legs. Steadies himself and shifts his hair to one shoulder. You watch him with attention that must be hard to muster within your fever. The soft thing in him cracks further, yearns harder.

“Baby,” he says, soft and reverent. “Can I help you feel better?”

“Y-you have been—”

“Not like before,” he tells you. “I’m going to fill you up. It’ll make you feel better here.”

He presses his flat hand over your navel. Your hips jump sharply.

You eye him warily.

“… N-No knots?”

“No knots.” He assures you. “Just me. Is that alright?”

You nod immediately. Instantly. You trust him so deeply; it almost hurts to think about.

He kisses you. The finger that had been in your mouth probes downward, past your ribs and soft tummy, to your steadily leaking cunt. He drags the digit up and down there, pressing into your slow and steady. He refuses haste here. He wants to take his time.

His own arousal feels secondary, especially now. The plan he has crafted, the act that he is beginning, will be more than sating enough. He doesn’t even really feel the urge to be sated physically. It’s an act of giving in a way that makes something older in his hindbrain purr at the prospect of actualizing.

He adds a second finger into your hole, pumping them in and out, slowly.

You mewl under him, desperate and... small. Not actually, not really, but in the way that he is perceiving you. Like a kitten needing the tending of its...

(Mother.)

Oh.

There’s clarity in putting a word to the desires he feels. He... suspected something similar. But hadn’t come to him so bluntly before. It feels almost lewd in its nature, maybe fetishistic. He doesn’t particularly mind, truthfully. There’s a shuddering, warm kind of pleasure he takes in having a grip on this burgeoning type of desire. The shape of it is clearer.

“Jing Yuan?” You say, soft and wet. “‘S okay? You okay?”

“Mhm,” he hums, kissing you again. Stealing any potential doubts and worries you could have.

He slips a third finger into him, and he swallows the moan that tumbles from your lips against his own.

You’re loose from prior stimulation and the incessant slick. Three fingers is hardly a stretch, but four is. He rolls your clit while teasing his pinky finger at your entrance. Your cunt flexes around his fingers and you make a sound of vague confusion, pushing up to see better.

Moderately unnecessary.

Jing Yuan cajoles you a bit, keeping his fingers inside you as he does. He fixes the angle of you so you’re flat on your back with your leg raised up on either side of him. Folded in half. If he presses down on your legs, you’d be held down into a favored omega mating position. You must enjoy it, as a gush of slick streams from your hole. You pant and squirm.

He spits on his fingers, letting a ball of saliva drip to where he enters you.

His pinky finger bullies its way inside of you. It’s a slow affair, pressing in and a little deeper with each gentle thrust of his fingers. Enough to stretch, but barely ache. Your toes curl as he tends to you.

“One more,” he tells you.

“... ‘S more?”

He hums. You’re so feverish. You haven’t caught on, have you?

Jing Yuan shapes his hand just right, spitting again and scooping up excess slick on his thumb to smear over the rest of his hand that remains outside of you. He toys with your stretched opening, giving you a moment to put together his action.

(Such a sweet thing, needing this so badly from him.)

He pushes the last of his fingers inside you.

“O-Oh—” You watch as he does, jaw going slack and your legs falling limp at his sides.

This is a stretch. It’s too much, probably, but once the ache of all of his fingers carving your cunt open subsides, it will be so good for you. He’s confident.

Jing Yuan bites his own lip when you whimper, sweat beading on your neck. It’s unpleasant. It hurts you. He knows. He knows and he persists despite the resistance at your opening. He hopes— you don’t tear. You shouldn’t, you’re so slick and warm and wet that you should be just fine. The thought that you could still frightens him enough that he feels sick to his stomach—

(His baby— that can’t happen. If it does, he’ll lick you clean and well there until you’re all better.)

It’s a snug fit when he finally manages to wedge his thumb inside of you. His fist slips inside of you, and the opening of your cunt only has to stretch around his wrist— which still isn’t small. Neither is his hand. Neither of them line up with the anatomy of an alpha cock and knot, but it’s closer than anything else. It’ll sate the need you have for fullness.

His mouth waters at the sight of his hand in you. The bulge it makes in your belly. His gaze flickers back to your face and he—

His cock twitches, he nearly blacks out.

You’re a vision. It’s obscene. Your lips are bitten raw, bleeding at a corner. Drool slips down the side of your lips, and you’re struggling to keep your gaze focused, but it’s trained on him. Near him. Slipping down to where Jing Yuan has managed to work his entire fist into you. You fist one of the pillows under your head, and the other is wound up in the sheets at your side.

When he dares to move his fist in you, even a little, it shoots to grab his free wrist.

He hushes you, then. Your breath is too fast. Overstimulation just from insertion is to be expected, that’s what he had read. He kisses the crook of your knee with a hum.

“J-Jing Yuan—” Your voice clips, frantic. “Too much, too much—”

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s not a knot, dear. It’s just me, taking care of you. I can take it out at any time.”

“I— ��re s-sure?”

“Certain. But I think this will help you. Doesn’t it feel good to be full?”

“... Full.”

It’s what an omega craves so deeply. Full of knots, love, and care, that they can both give to others and receive in kind. They desire to be cherished, really. He wants to cherish you. This in itself is an act of complete adoration. Jing Yuan feels giddy with it.

He barely moves his hand, the motion can barely be called a thrust— but he presses against your womb all the same. All of your insides.

The stimulation is enough that you come, constricting over his hand with a gush of slick so obscene, Jing Yuan can’t help but dip his head down and lap up the spill that runs down his wrist. He gives your clit an errant kiss, and that had you crying out, squirming, and then freezing with the abrupt pressure.

You cry out his name, watery and endless.

It’s good, like this. His cock is so hard it hurts, and his cunt drips its own puddle into your nest. It’s easy to ignore, put aside, as you lay yourself bare for him. He’s as locked inside of you as he can possibly be without an alpha’s anatomy. The closeness of the act turns his own guts as he lavishes you with kisses.

You arch with each of his movements, jarring and overstimulated pleasantly. Little streams of pleas for more, for him, for his touch and presence dribble from your lips as he works his fist in little thrusts inside you. You cum, at least twice more, maybe three times. He loses count once you gush and squirm so much that it coats your navel and up to his forearm.

He’d like to make you do that out of heat when he’d be able to see your embarrassed expression and hear your bashful words.

Now, you glut yourself, begging with little grinds of your hips and pulling his hand to your lips to suck on his free fingers. It’s obscene, it’s perfect, and you’re full.

“So good for me,” he licks your cheek, his hair covering the two of you like a veil. “Do you know that, how good you are?”

You nod, drunk on pleasure, and relief, more than anything.

“Say it for me, baby.”

“‘M good,” you smile, toothy and pure, and throw your head back when he ducks down to lick at your scent gland.

“Once more, please?

“I’m good— f-for you—”

“For who?”

“... For— Jing Yuan?”

“Try again, dear.”

You make a helpless sound. “...G-General?”

“Once more. I know you can do it.”

Jing Yuan doesn't know— how to communicate this wordlessly. It will require words when you are more equipped to hear them. This is already pushing what you can handle in your overheated mind.

But he tries— because he trusts you just as much as you trust him.

He opens his mouth, jaw wide, and hovers his teeth over your scent gland. He doesn’t bite, he wouldn’t now, but he makes his teeth known with a brush of his sharp canines around the round, inset organ. He knows you feel them. You shudder. His fingers dip in your mouth again, just for a moment, to press down on your tongue and demand attention—

He withdraws them and your breath catches. Your scent blooms into cedar and cinnamon.

“Oh.” You go still. “... Mommy? Mama?”

Jing Yuan groans, something unadulterated and unfiltered. It’s a sound of his own relief, his own quenching and realizing coalescing. It’s punctuated by a sharp worry, that if this is misread and wrong, this tender thing that belongs to you just as much as it belongs to him will be rejected—

But the feeling is washed away easily when he gets a look at your face, awestruck. Open and soft. Yearning in a way that’s cracked open. You wouldn’t give this to anyone else, would you?

It calms him, instantly. You surge closer to kiss him, sobbing against his lips as the motion presses his knuckles into your sweet spot and your cervix makes you come again, easy for him, as you so deserve to be.

You melt then. Into him, into your nest, dissolving into a puddle of slick and soft-hearted tears. Jing Yuan catches you easily, as he has wanted to do for so, so long.

...

Having another omega as a heatmate is about comfort, ultimately.

It’s not the same as having an alpha in your nest. There’s no cloud of pheromones that urges one to fall to their knees and present prettily for a knot. The craving for fullness is there, but the parched feelings of desire are more lucid. One does not drown in desire, but rather swim and tread water.

Having another omega as a heatmate helps keep one floating.

After the discovery that Jing Yuan’s fist is a proper and satisfying alternative for a (comfortable) knot, your heat sickness begins to ebb off. It’s slow, but your fever reduces from sweltering down to toasty. Working his fist into you every eight hours or so keeps your symptoms manageable. Along with mini-massages to your scent glands, the edges of heat sickness have smoothed out, much to his relief.

There’s another aspect to your relief, of course. His own too. The fledgling dynamic that has been realized is... good. So good. Jing Yuan has felt it growing since his own heat. The need to care for you, to dote and coddle you as you need (maybe a little more than you need—), but he didn’t have the words to describe the urges. The relationship that he instinctively wanted to have with you— his omega.

It seems obvious in retrospect. From the first moment he took interest in you, you have scratched a particular part of his brain that he hadn’t isolated and examined thoroughly previously. Perhaps if he had, the expression of care that you’ve now put a name to would’ve been birthed far sooner.

Regardless, it’s good to have now. And to indulge it in the presence and explore it under these conditions where it is so, so needed.

Your mind is still foggy; it’s very evident. You’re snuggled up, between his thighs, rolling the pudge above his hips in your hands. You’re purring. It’s a uniquely omegan sound that he has been twinning with you often. Including now.

It sounds like a harmony, his own a few steps lower than yours.

You sink lower down his body, dragging your nose and lips over his thighs. Your gaze is clouded and your mouth is wet.

“‘Wanna take care of you—” you say, nuzzling into the juncture of his thigh and pelvis. You suck in a breath, tasting his musk on your tongue.

You shudder.

“If you’d like,” he replies, running a hand through your hair. “Take what you need.”

It’s his presence that you need, really. You need to be drenched in his scent, and there is no better way than being between his legs and mouthing at the head of his cock.

(He remembers this feeling during his own heat with you as well. Needing you to be inside him, to glut himself on you— his mouth was the best way to do it.)

He imagines you feel similarly as you stroke him, licking away a pearl of pre that appears at the tip. A shuddering breath leaves his lips.

It feels... good. Everything has felt good. The physicality, the intimacy, the literal closeness, the sexual contact you have shared— it’s been good. Pleasurable. Even if he hasn’t been on the receiving end for much of it, it has still been satisfying and filling in a way that gets him purring louder and rougher.

“‘Can I?” Your words slur and you drag the tip of your nose up the length of his cock. “Can I suck you off, mommy?”

Jing Yuan has to stifle the sound that catches in his throat. He nods; he doesn’t trust himself enough to speak. You sink your mouth down his cock with a moan, eyes shutting and you work your tongue against the underside of it. It’s sizable for an omega. It’s a perfect mouthful for you.

It feels good— so good. He’s sensitive; he doesn’t touch himself particularly often. It shows now as he inhales sharply, raking a hand through your hair to rest on your crown. He strokes his fingers there, shaking all over.

You lack technique, but your pure want makes up for it. Your mouth is wet and lush around him. So sweetly, you keep purring, the vibration of it curling around him in a way that threatens to make him go cross-eyed.

He is embarrassingly close embarrassingly quickly.

Jing Yuan manages to hold off with a measured sigh, attempting to unfurl some of the tension in his stomach. You suck at him with unrelenting vigor regardless.

Even more unfairly, one of your hands drifts lower, to the seam of his cunt. Your eyes crack open just enough to look at him, mirthful and mischievous as you pull off him. Strands of spit stretch from your lips to the rapidly purpling head of his cock.

“‘S good?” You ask with a tilt of your head.

”So good, b-baby.”

His voice trembles, he doesn’t mean it to. You sink a finger into him and curl without reverie. It scratches his sweet spot, pressing up against the most fragile parts of him.

He arches his back with a groan— it’s so much. The scent of him has drool dripping from your lips, down onto his cock while you thrust your fingers gingerly in and out. Even heat-brained, you are so thoughtful with him.

”I—“ Your voice breaks, dry. You swallow. “I want you to come in my m-mouth. Please?”

”Asking so sweetly,” he muses as you wrap your lip around his cock once more. “How could I not?”

You purr even louder, fucking him deeper and harder. Pleasure crackles up his spine. Your scent is sweet and warm in his mouth, like aromatic spices, warmed over a heart-bound stove. It’s creamy honey on his tongue. His cock twitches in your mouth and you moan with it, wanton.

It’s too good, really. It’s better he spills early, rather than later. Your stamina will surely outlast his own and he’d rather have some resilience left as your heat progresses.

He comes down your throat with a cracking moan.

It’s higher and softer than he’d used to. He’s not usually loud— not when he’s by himself, anyway. Yet he can’t restrain the way he falls apart under your touch, pouring cum down your throat in spurts, his slick drenching your hand.

You pull away with a kitten cough. Jing Yuan is breathless, floored, and hollowed out in some ways. Your overt desire is undoing to him. He wants you— in his mouth.

You lick the cum and spittle off our lips with a wry grin. You meet his gaze as you lap up his slick from your fingers. Your tongue lays flat and moves slowly. You sway between his legs, panting a little too quickly for his liking.

He feels himself growl, cowing.

He doesn’t mean to, but he does despite that.

“Be careful now, baby,” he reminds you.

He doesn’t mind the display of your confidence. You’re so rarely cocky. But it’s so satisfying to see how you crumble to this dynamic, the way you yearn for his hand and guidance.

”Why’s that?” You tilt your head cutely.

He hums, “I don’t want you getting ahead of yourself.”

”Oh.” You blink at him, nodding. It’s demure and sweet. “I understand. S-Sorry.”

”There’s nothing to be sorry about." He kisses you. Your mouth tastes like both of you. He licks against your teeth for the lingerings of his own spent. “It’s quite flattering, but I know best to take care of you, don’t I?”

This makes you pause.

There’s so much trust between the two of you; he knows this. He’s so intensely aware of it. None of this (your companionship, sharing your nest, both of your heats) could occur without it. Yet, he asks for more.

(He wants you to say it. That he can take care of you.)

”Y-Yeah,” you say and reach for his hand to squeeze it. “Y-You know best, mommy.”

You both shudder when you speak. He curses under his breath.

...

You need to be taken care of. Jing Yuan feels entirely confident in that fact as he lies with you.

You— deserve it. Maybe it is the pheromones affecting him, or maybe it’s just the way you’ve broken down and he can see how easily helpless you have become.

Desire looks good on you. Neediness, even better.

You squirm below him, pawing at him to come close. You can’t stand for him to be away from you too long. You had warned him about this, but truthfully he thought you were exaggerating in some sense. He knows now you absolutely were not, and his presence is required in his nest at nearly all times if you’re awake.

(When you’re sleeping, he manages to disentangle himself from you (however painful) to wash up and collect enough food and water from your little kitchen to last through the next romp.)

Jing Yuan holds a warm cloth in his hand, damp but not soaking. He rubs it over your inner thighs in smooth circles. There’s a caked layer of slick there, uncomfortably clinging to your skin. He’s certain that you don’t notice, but he feels better knowing he’s able to clean you up.

He peaks at your cunt while he does so.

You’re... warm. So warm between your legs, scalding, and still so wet. Puffy from all of the contact and friction, but he doesn’t note any immediately concerning abrasions. He’s been careful when using his fists. Your hole is stretched with heat and all of his tending.

He feels contented. Especially so considering you’ve settled and are close to dozing above him.

It’s a good feeling. He kisses over your navel.

...

When Jing Yuan fucks you for the first time, he lets himself be as reverent as he truly desires.

It’s only the two of you and the soft, lulling whir of your home’s scent locking system, several days into your heat. Nighttime stretches late with moonbeams that leak around your curtains. He doesn’t bother fully closing them now. He’s far too comfortable. You’re curled against his side, cheek laid against his breast. Your breath is smooth and slow with easy sleep. His own twins your pace.

The moon is good company for this particular type of peace.

It’s late enough that the orb of it is high, bathing the Luofu’s peaceful floral district in a downpour of silver. It looks nearly light out. It’s enchanting to see slivers of it, slicing into the stillness of your room in thin rays. One lays across your face, crossing the bridge of your nose.

(Jing Yuan would be lying if he said that it didn’t make him feel melancholic. The moon reminds him so easily of Dan Feng, the same way that the swathes of stars and inky cosmos remind him of Yingxing. He has no reason to mourn now, he has already done plenty, but he can’t help but feel the ache in the moon spray all the same.)

You stir. His scent must have changed.

“Jing Yuan,” you murmur, voice slurring and thick with sleep. “‘S okay— what’s wrong?”

You roll so you lay on top of him, propped up on your hands.

“Nothing important. You can sleep.” He tries to assure you, but the tone of his own voice is weaker than he means it to be. The lingering mourning creeps in.

You nudge your nose against his cheek.

“I don’t wanna,” you say the words into his skin with a kiss. “Not if you’re upset. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s alright, dear.” It really... is. He thinks so with some amount of confidence.

(Jing Yuan is so careful with his ghosts, so skillful in the way that he keeps them from those who cares for in the present. He doesn’t wish to share his grief anymore. The wounds have closed and all that remains is the occasional ache of scar tissue. That much he can manage on his own.)

“Nooo—” You whine with a nip. “You gotta tell me. Please?”

He concedes; you make it so tempting to.

“I’m only thinking about the past.” He sighs. The sound fills the room. “Nothing but bygone times, dear. There’s no reason to trouble yourself about it.

“... Are you thinking about your old mates?”

“Perhaps.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“The moon makes me fragile.” He admits.

You don’t respond. For a moment, he’s worried that you’ll be offended by his wandering thoughts. He is sharing your nest.

His worry is misplaced.

You straddle his hips and kiss him, soft and slow. Your thighs tighten around him as you urge him back into the sheets, drawing away only to press the kindest words into the cheeks.

“It’s alright to be fragile,” you tell him. An assurance of your own, given to him.

(Is it alright to be fragile? This thing with you, all of the newness of this dynamic and intimacy requires fragility to be shown. It’s vulnerable. Jing Yuan has been so, so careful with such things. To process his grief well and fully and still be a steadfast, unfailing leader. There’s a middle path he traverses well, but your new venture together is so different.)

He swallows. You kiss the swell of his throat with a hum.

Jing Yuan coaxes you into the sheets next to him, by his side. His hand slips between your legs. You gasp, so tender and sensitive after days of heat. You are fragile. In a similar way to him, but so different too. It makes something between his ribs shake. It’s wanting and craven in a way that feels foreign.

You cup his cheek then and kiss him. Your lips are so soft. The taste of you, the scent of you fills him as you lick into his mouth. Needy. You chase his cowardice away so easily. He breathes into your mouth with a happy sigh.

(There’s no alpha-driven drive for ownership in him. Just the need to have you be his because, you’re— you’re his baby. His soft, sweet thing that must never forget how cared for you are.)

You moan together.

Jing Yuan runs his finger up and down your sex. You’re soaked and sore, but wanting. So wanting, trembling next to him as you kiss him desperately. All little noises of desire, drenching him and the stillness of the room. The moon watches.

“Want you—” You say against his lips.

“How?” You may need his fist again. Or a toy. Or, something else.

“You,” you gasp, pulling away enough to cry out as he toys with your entrance. “You— you— you in me, please—”

You don’t need to beg, but it is cute that you do.

He shushes you with a kiss on your forehead.

“Me?” There’s a hint of mirth in his tone.

You huff and whine, “Y-Yes— I want— I want you inside me.”

“More than my hand.”

“You!”

“Use your words clearly, dear,” he brushes his nose with yours. “I’d hate to misunderstand what my baby needs.”

A shattered sound comes from your throat and you squirm.

“I—I—” You swallow. “C-Can you fuck me?”

Oh, he can.

“Of course,” he breathes the words over your lips. The ghost of the sound caught in the shaft of moonlight that paints your cheeks. “I’ll take good care of you.”

He will, he will, he will.

It’s not hard to coax you onto your back. Your thighs spread around his hips, leaving you open to his prodding. Omegas traditionally enjoy presenting on their knees for an alpha, but there are no pheromonal, instinctual urges here. Just the sticky kind of feeling that has you gasping as he presses two fingers into you.

There’s no need to stretch you; this is for pleasure. He curls his fingers for the sheer shake of carving out your insides with all of his desire. He rolls your clit with his thumb, practiced in the things you like, the things that have you rolling your hips and gasping for more.

His own cock is hard, stiff against his soft tummy. It leaks an excess of milky pre, dripping down his shaft. It’s obscene. He pulls away from your cunt only to pump his cock once, twice, smearing his fingers with pre. You make an aching, wanton sound as he pushes back into you. The mix of your drips down his wrist, down to your ass.

You moan his name and grab his wrist, “I’m ready— please—”

“Shhh,” he hushes. He kisses your protests away. “Mommy knows best, don’t you think?”

You nod, helpless to his influence. It’s cute. It’s molten in his hands and he wants it in his mouth.

He leans down to kiss your collarbones, then lower to your chest. Your nipples are peaked with your heat. He’s neglected them, truthfully. It’s an easy thing to rectify luckily. He kisses down until he has the right one in his mouth. He laps at the pearl of it, greedy. You cry out beneath him, wracked with pleasure, riding out what he gives you. You trust him so much.

Your hand winds into his hair and you pet him, as though he’s a big housecat. He can’t say that he minds.

He fucks you with his fingers as he switches to the other side of your chest. He sucks marks in his wake, to match all of the others he has left in various stages of healing.

By the time he pulls away, you’re panting, tears in your eyes, so close to coming it’s visible. Your core is tight, your jaw is slack and drool pools, wet, on your lips.

“My sweet thing,” he slips lower, licking down your stomach in a straight line. He rests his cheek on your inner thigh, breathing hotly over your cunt. The scent of you has him dizzy and pleased beyond belief. “I think you should come once I’m inside you, what do you think?”

Jing Yuan kisses your swollen clit with a teasing smile.

You make a helpless, confused sound as he draws away, deflating into the sheets. Fidgeting, you peer up at him as waits for your response.

“... If you think so, mommy.”

“Won’t it feel good?” He plies. “To come on my cock?”

“Uh-huh,” You nod.

Jing Yuan plucks a bottle of lube from within the folds of your nest. It’s unnecessary, but the effort matters. He slicks himself up, hissing through his teeth.

“I w-want,” you say, struggling to sit up with your shaking limbs. “I-I want you to c-come inside me— please?”

“Begging?” Jing Yuan can’t help the smile that grows over his features. His baby is so, so sweet. “For something I’ve already wanted to give you. So sweet, so good—”

You sob. It’s a helpless, fragile, sound. It sparks something in him, an urge that’s fast and immediate. You need tending, care— he kisses the sound from your lips with a quiet hush. A whispered ‘I have you, I have you, I have you’.

This position is vulnerable. Showing your stomach like this leaves you open. Unprotected. There are old wisdoms that say omegas present on all four to protect their most vulnerable parts— their primary scent glands and tummy. Despite the calm of the air, the softness of your nest, and the presence of a gentle, kind moon, you still look a little scared.

“I have you,” he reminds you, inches forward on his old knees. “You know that I do, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes, mama—” You shake as the head of his cock rubs your clit.

He stifles a groan, and you outright moan, reaching for his arm, wrist, hand— anything to ground you. It’s so easy to grab your hand in his own, press it into the sheets, and slide into you.

It’s your first time— you’ve taken toys, his fist— but this is different. It cores you; he can tell by the way your hips jolt and your mouth goes slack. An ‘oh—’ is punched from the center of your chest, and you squeeze his hand.

His cock isn’t a stretch for you, but merely being in you hollows you out and lets him fill you up all the same.

“‘S good,” your voice breaks from your throat. “So good—”

Jing Yuan steels himself with a thick breath, slowly, slowly, grinding into you a little more with each thrust. Until with one last roll, he’s buried to the hilt.

You’re hot. He’s never fucked someone in heat. Aeons, he hasn’t fucked anyone in centuries, and he had forgotten how overwhelming the sensation of being surrounded by wet, hot bliss could be. He hangs his head low and tries to collect himself.

It takes a moment, then two, then three—

“Mama?” You ask him, soft and sweet as you cup his cheek. “C-Can you move? Have I been g-good enough?”

He whines, he hears his own sounds, and kisses you hard on the mouth as draws his hips back in the same motion. He speaks against your lips, “You don’t need to be good for me to have this. You deserve it— sweet baby.”

It’s easy to fall into this role, so easy. Too easy, in a perverse, indulgent way that nearly has him cumming with his own words but he collects himself enough to fuck back into you.

He sets the pace, slow and as deep as he can go. Each thrust is a punch to your insides, the angle of your hips has the head of his cock rubbing against your sweet spot perfectly. Tears drip from your eyes, down into your hairline.

The sight of you, below him, chest heaving, soft, melted, has him stopping, half-in you to steady himself. He nearly has to withdraw from your cunt entirely to circle the base of his cock his fingers just to stave off orgasm.

“Baby,” his voice shakes more than he has heard it do so for half a millennium. “It’s hard to last when you feel so good.”

You try to get out some snarky remark, something too mouthy and wordy for his baby, so he cuts you off with a swift thrust back into you. You dissolve. Your eyes scrunch closed and your back bends beautifully off your nest. Your grip flails from the sheets to him, and then back to the sheets as you attempt to ground on something.

(Him— you need to ground on him. Jing Yuan will take such good care of you. He’s filling you up, keeping you warm and well-loved.)

He deftly pulls your hand from the sheet and intertwines your fingers with his own. He brings you palm-to-palm, before pressing them down into the mattress. You make a shattered sound, all for him.

Drool seeps out of his own mouth. He kisses you, then, mixes spit with your own to taste you just as much as he feels you.

It feels like gluttony. An indulgence, to have you like this. He isn’t one to deny himself simple pleasures but this feels beyond ‘simple’. It’s complicated. Layered, something he’ll need to decipher and chew on when he’s more within his own faculties. When you are too, so he can consult you as much as is appropriate. Part of him wants to bar you from it. You shouldn’t have to think so much about it, you’re his baby—

You grow tighter around him, wetter. The sounds coming from your cunt and his cock are obscene. He’s leaking along with you.

Jing Yuan lets go of your hand. You whine. Cry. Something sad and shaking. Your eyes are bloodshot and teary as you scramble for him. Jing Yuan coos, little sweet things that drip like confections from his lips. He slides his hands up the backs of your thighs, to the backs of your knees, and anchors himself there.

He bears his weight down and folds you in half.

Your panic stutters, then stalls. Your jaw falls open.

It’s an instinctual thing for an omega in heat. To be pressed open like this, fucked open by a loving mate.

Your head tilts to the side and bears your scent gland.

And—

(Jing Yuan will not bite you. He wants to. He wants to so badly. Once you understand what that means, to have your mama’s bite on you in that way, then he can. He thinks you’ll want it just as much as he does.)

“Oh, baby—” His own voice sinks into a low groan as he pushes back in. “So beautiful for me. You know just what to do, don’t you?”

You whine and tilt your head even farther to the side. It almost looks painful. “Please, m-mama—”

He kisses over the spot your sweet, little heat brain wants him to. His hip cant forward pressed to the hilt. It’s enough that you come with a sob, your legs quivering under him.

“S-Soon, baby,” Jing Yuan can barely keep it together. He licks his lips, the remnants of you and him there. “I’ll make you all mine— all mommy’s, hm?”

“P-Please!”

Your begging is its own declaration. Your desperation, your helplessness, and the ways in which you are cutely feeble really have done something to Jing Yuan that he could never have expected. He doesn’t dislike it. The way he wants to care for you, feels attracted to the idea, and intimacy of that feels blinding, even if he doesn’t know all of the intricacies of it yet. He’ll find them out, along with you, by his side— in his lap— maybe on your knees— against his chest and in his nest—

There’s such certainty in your mutual desires.

Jing Yuan can’t— he can’t bear it—

He comes. The sound that rips from his throat is between a moan and a whimper of his own. Cracked and wet all at once as he presses all of his weight into you. He fills you up the best he can’t— omega cum isn’t very thick, more watery— but considering his own restraint, it’s plentiful. It spills out as he fucks you through his orgasm and the last dredges of your own.

You grab at his shoulders, tucking your own face as close as you can.

Jing Yuan can barely hold himself up as he pants to catch his breath. His knees shake as he rights himself just enough to but without fully slipping out of you.

His vision blurs as your scent surrounds him. He can’t help the smile.

He pulls away just enough for his cockhead to pop from your cunt with a gush of cum, tangling and connecting to him in strands. It’s— erotic. An image branded on the inside of his brain.

A shattered noise comes from you— in heat— unfull—

As quickly as he can manage, he wiggles his fist inside you.

It sates you immediately. Jing Yuan can’t help but coo as you go limp and gooey into your nest with a soft cry. Your chest still heaves, tears streaming down your cheeks.

You’re a mess. Debauched in all ways. And Jing Yuan got you that way.

It makes him feel unjustifiably prideful. A bit smug, even, if he were to be so transparent about it.

The feeling settles down into something... warming. Contentment that scratches an urge that’s both buried in his hindbrain and stitched into his soul, perhaps. A high that continues even as he settles next to you, tugging you snuggly against him as you happily shake through your ‘knotting’.

It’s easy to rest then. To bask and enjoy the heat, the stillness of the evening, the companion in the moon, and your honey-sweet presence by his side.

“Mommy,” you whisper into his cheek with a kiss. “Jing Yuan— t-thank you.”

“O-Of course.” He whispers back like he’s exchanging a secret. “I have much more to give you if you’ll let me, sweetling.”

Your breathe catches, eyes wide.

“Mama is spoiling me.”

“Mommy is giving you what you rightfully deserve.”

Before you can counter, he kisses you. Dumb and sweet all at once. You smile against his lips with a giggle that he eats in the next moment.

A morsel, all his own.

...

As your heat abates, your sweet dynamic grows. It has time to breathe and be more than a desperate connection born from the discomfort of your heat and his own need to tend. Now there’s just the honeycomb richness of a new desire that you both indulge. Test.

Now, you’re in Jing Yuan’s lap while he rests against your headboard. You’ve just finished sharing a bowl of rice pudding and red bean jellies. Jing Yuan has spoonfed you, as he is finding he very much enjoys. Partially because it is such a transparent act of care and also because he finds your vague indignation and fidgeting to be quite cute.

You’re still fidgeting, now, in his lap. Your legs on either side of his thighs, tense. His cock is buried in you, warm and steadily hard.

Your cheek lays against his collarbone. You’re settled there, comfortable after some initial adjusting. It has been your sheepish request that initiated your current lap-sitting and cock warming, but Jing Yuan can hardly complain. He’s quite pleased. Your cheeks are hot against his skin, though flushed now with embarrassment more than heat.

You huff, “M-Mama— Jing Yuan— Do you have to read that?”

He hums, teasing. “Why? Do you not enjoy my choice of story?”

Jing Yuan holds a small book in one hand, thumb pressed into the inner spine of it. He’d plucked it from the bottom of your nightstand while you’d been dozing and found the story quite... interesting.

It’s one of the raunchy erotica fictions that gets sold out of little carts in Aurum Alley. The cover is plainly pink, aside from the title “The Lion-Strong Lieutenant and The Fox-Hearted Maiden”. Jing Yuan had paged through it with some amount of uncontained curiosity. The story follows a freshly deployed (vaguely familiar) Cloud Knight lieutenant and a foxian healer on the front lines of a Hunt on a distant planet. It’s filthy, really. There’s smut within the first few chapters that he skims through. Decently written too. He can see why you enjoy it and keep it by your bedside.

When you rouse enough to notice that he’s reading, and what he’s reading, you’re mortified. You’d attempted to snatch the book away from Jing Yuan, but unfortunately for you, he’s quite a bit taller and in better shape than you are. He simply holds it above his head rather pleased with himself.

How his cock ended up inside of you is rather lost on him. You really do enjoy your perch in his lap, and at this point in your heat, being filled by something of any girth is more pleasant than being entirely empty.

Reading the book aloud to you is more for himself. Because you’re very, very cute when you’re so embarrassed and a bit shameful.

You hide in his neck and whine.

“I don’t t-think this one is meant to be read out loud...” Your voice wobbles like you’re going to cry.

“Why’s that, dear?”

“It’s... u-um, too dirty?”

“Hm,” he clicks his tongue, coaxing your head up so he can meet your watery gaze. “That may be true. Why was my baby reading it then?”

A nervous chirp clicks from your throat and you shift in his lap. His cock jostles in your cunt.

“Because—!” You huff. “It’s f-fun to read when I’m alone.”

“‘Fun’?”

It’s hard to keep himself from teasing you.

You squeal and squirm more, before tucking yourself close. You grow quiet, brooding as much as Jing Yuan will allow before intervening. He chuckles as you do, petting down the back of your neck, over your soothed scent glands, and down your bare spine.

He relents and sets down the book.

“Would you prefer a different story, dear?”

“... Y-yes, please.”

“That can be done.”

He hums and pets you, enough that you calm down and sniffle through the beginning of your tears.

Jing Yuan should’ve known his baby needs a story that is easier to swallow. Something less dirty—

(As if his cock isn’t buried in you. As if your cunt is fluttering around him whenever his hips so much as twitch.)

“P-Please, mommy?”

(Ah, how simply and purely you affect him.)

“Of course, dear.”

You don’t need to beg for this. Jing Yuan adjusts enough that you’re able to slouch fully into his chest.

He pets you while he tells you a story about something simple. Something easy. About a traveling merchant who falls for a witch on a lush planet. It’s a fable plucked from an immersia that Jing Yuan vaguely remembers from when he was young. It’s a good bedtime story, much better than genuine pornography.

His voice carries in your room, growing rougher and lower as sleep tugs at his own eyelids. At some point in his tale-winding, you begin to drag your lips up and down his neck, mouthing at his scent glands. It’s a silent plea for him to rest, to relax, and to exchange scent. Jing Yuan can intuit it from you so easily.

He ends up dozing along with you, words fading as you drool over his collarbone.

The last thing he does before fading into sleep himself is commit the stillness and peace of this to memory.

...

You clearly thrive under the specific type of care that Jing Yuan gives you.

‘Mommy’ and ‘baby’ do something good to your brain. It makes you float, and exit the spaces and feelings that make you so anxious and off-kilter. He knows that on a day-to-day basis, you can be quite fractious and unsure of yourself. (Your tears were the first thing that endeared you to him, after all). He can already tell that this dynamic is allowing you a specific type of respite from these anxieties.

Not having to think too hard is good for you. Jing Yuan thinks it is a good thing in general, and especially now, during your heat, something you’ve been so worried about before and during. He thinks it’ll be good for you afterward as well... if it’s something you’d like to continue.

(Jing Yuan truly hopes you will. He wants to.)

It’s a reprieve for him too.

You’re a precious, little thing that needs care that he can provide. You’re the only thing he needs to worry about then, too. He’s always latently aware of his greater responsibilities, it feels impossible to not be, but they feel further away when you’re snuggled closer to him with hazy eyes and a soft smile meant only for him to see.

There are different layers to this that he’d like to explore. Little bits and actions that he can see the appeal of, perhaps that he even craves, but he knows that they must be treated gingerly. This is new for both of you. And there’s truly no need to rush.

(There is, however, one thing that sticks in his mind in an unignorable way—)

(A curious desire, one he wants quite badly.)

Jing Yuan is propped up by a mountain of pillows, snuggled deep in your nest with a pastel, knitted blanket tossed over his legs. You’re on his lap, rump over his thighs with your legs curled up to the side of him. You’ve slipped quite low like this, your cheek pillowed against his sternum. It’s one of your favorite spots, he’s learned.

Two of his fingers are in your mouth, resting on your tongue.

This is one of your favorite things, he thinks. He thinks that it is one of his own as well. It may have started as a teasing action at first, during his own heat, something to wordlessly test the waters of this dynamic when it first began to present itself, but now it feels like something more weighted.

It’s a precursor at the very least.

You suck on his fingers lightly; you’re half asleep as you do. Drool shines on the corners of your mouth in a cutely messy way. He wants to lick it off. One of his arms cradles you, around your back with a hand tucked firmly against your waist.

There’s a temptation to push things a little... further.

It’s not an entirely chaste thought, though it’s hardly burgeoning on sexual. Jing Yuan supposes that the nature of your whole dynamic, really. The line between the carnal and the pure has been so blurred, it might as well not be there. It’s safe and intimate— refreshingly so. There is nothing more than it needs other than that.

Jing Yuan swallows, his mouth feeling dry.

You make little sound, the beginnings of a purr as you rouse enough to blink up at him.

“Dear,” he asks. “May I try something? You can stop if you do not like it.”

You blink at him a few more times, before nodding, your top teeth bumping against his fingers in your mouth.

(How trusting, how sweet, how pliant and good for him you— is what he desires to do next, not just a manifestation of that?)

He slips you lower, so your cheek is smushed up against his chest instead.

The ample swell of his breast is never something he’s minded. He’s always been a bit fuller than his peers, perhaps a lot these days, considering all of the deskwork he does has resulted in some weight gain around his middle. It’s hardly noticeable under his official costume and regalia; it looks more like muscle then.

Now, bare with you and skin-to-skin, his chest is round with muscle and soft tissue. His stomach rolls over, pudge covering the muscle he has maintained. He’s sure you feel all of it. He hopes it makes you feel safer, knowing that your omega can look after you in those ways too.

And Jing Yuan has confidence that in those physical ways, he can. The tender way he wants to explore is more uncharted.

He withdraws his fingers from your mouth and coaxes you into turning your face against his breast fully. Your lips brush one of his dusty pink nipples and he twitches. You freeze, glancing up at him with wide eyes. There’s only trust there, thick and rich and all his. Your scent is so warm now, so warm. You look back to his chest, going a bit cross-eyed, then back up to him.

You nose around his nipple before taking it into your mouth. Fully.

He gasps as you do— he’s— he’s sensitive. It’s not a place he really touches himself. The contact makes him stiffen up; both his spine and his nipple that is under your tongue. You freeze as he jolts, pausing, but not drawing away.

Jing Yuan takes a moment to steady himself, before petting down the back of your head, a wordless sign to continue.

And you do, because you are so good and you trust him so much. You lap around his nipple and suck without question, easily sinking back into the headspace that you both enjoy so much. You’re dutiful, at first, enthusiastic, but the fervor of it fades after a minute or two.

Instead, you relax even further. Your legs splay, heels sliding along the bottom of your nest. Your thighs fall open and a burst of your scent, both calm and aroused, floods the room. You lean all of your weight into him, seeking more as your eyes slip fully closed.

It’s good. So good to see you relax, to feel your against his chest. Jing Yuan is both sated and aroused all at once, his own scent turning as you suck. It’s... creamier, milkier. You seem to enjoy it, making a high, happy noise against him.

“Oh, b-baby—” His own voice shakes, just enough to betray his overwhelm.

You calm him by shifting somehow closer, sucking deeper and harder on his nipple. There will surely be a mark there.

Jing Yuan’s cock is half hard as you suck, and he can see slick begin to leak out from your cunt, stickying your thighs. He— he wants to touch you. To satisfy you even more. He reaches between your thighs, cups your sex, and rolls your clit with the two fingers that had previously been in your mouth. You gasp against him, suck harder, and moan.

It’s— it’s all debauched. Sensual yet so comfortable, Jing Yuan can’t help but luxuriate. The pleasure you’re exchanging exists only for pleasure's sake; neither of you feels hastened toward completion. Instead, it’s just this— you nursing on his chest and him playing with you just enough that your hips tilt and grind for more, but never to glut.

(Jing Yuan— part of him— he’s not even sure which part, wishes he could give you more than nursing. He wishes he could give you milk too. If he can’t fill you up with a knot, why not fill your belly up with his milk? He would like that. You probably would too. Warm and full and content against his chest.)

He feels— a little out of his mind about it. In a good way. Perhaps, if this is something you’d like to indulge in again, something could be done to make that a reality. Jing Yuan is sure he can make a few anonymous accounts and poke around forums for an answers. Perhaps call in a few favors at the Alchemy Commission, if it comes to that.

The desire for this— this dynamic that’s gratifying dynamic that’s growing and fleshing itself out in real time— has him ready to go the distance without question. He’s excited to.

It’s easy to be excited, with you content and within pleasure so deeply against him.

He’s quite excited for whatever comes next.

...

Your heat ends after nine days.

The last days of it are slow. Exhaustion has settled into both of you, and the intimacy you share is unhurried and lazy. There’s no fever to it, only the want for closeness amidst your own fatigue.

As post-heat creeps in, there is somewhat of a chill that’s spread over your home as well.

It’s a quiet feeling, one that neither of you addresses at first. Jing Yuan can smell it on you, and on himself, before he identifies clearly that something isn’t quite right. You aren’t mad, there is no anger in your scent or the way you carry yourself. Your words are not cruel, nor is their tone. If anything, it’s the opposite. You cling to him harder, squeeze closer, and beg for more of him whenever you can. Not for sex. You just want to be near him.

You sit in the bath together quietly, watching the rainbow-slick bubbles in tandem.

Your bath isn’t quite big enough for the two of you. Jing Yuan’s knees stick up just out of the water. Your own are nestled beside his as you sit between his thighs. You’re wiping a warm, soapy washcloth over his offered arm in little circles, a soft frown on your face.

You’re both very aware that this— you— will end soon. This state will.

Jing Yuan has a ship to head. He has taken a great deal of (abnormal) time off to accommodate your heat, which he has no regrets about. However, he is all too aware of the mountain of paperwork he’ll have to complete and the amount of catching up he will need to do once he returns. He’s been assured by Qingzu and Fu Xuan over text that the Luofu’s various affairs are being handled well and accordingly, and he’s sure that they’re doing a fine job at managing things in his absence—

But, he must take up the helm once again. Along with the full brunt of its responsibilities. Having you as his own does not change that.

Jing Yuan has never cared much for his image, not beyond managing perceptions that may be genuinely damaging to the stability of the Luofu’s denizens. As much as he has a reputation for loafing and lounging about, he’s reliable. No other Arbiter General has held this title for as long as he has and kept their ship as hale as he has. As much as he’s known to be a ‘Bachelor Alpha’ — he’s fairly certain taking you publicly as his omega will not damage his reputation, not in any meaningful way.

He worries for you though. Your station is lower. For as much of an eye as Madame Yukong keeps on you, and as much power he can exert, you will more than likely face backlash. Beyond already-buzzing rumors, he is certain you’ll face some amount of questioning from those around you. Criticisms. Both of you will undoubtedly face judgments as well. Jing Yuan is certain he’ll hear at least from the other Generals, if not the Marshal herself.

(The Divine Foresight, an ‘Alpha’, taking a simple administrative staff as his mate— it could be quite the scandal. If mishandled.)

(One thing at a time—)

You break the stillness of your steam-filled bathroom with a low hum.

“How’s this gonna work?” You ask. “... Mommy?”

“That’s a good question.” He kisses the back of your head, over your wet hair. You smell like the herbal shampoo you favor. “How would you like it to?”

“Please don’t leave this all up to me.”

“I’m not.” He squeezed your middle, hiding his own face in your shoulder. “I’d appreciate your perspective.”

“I figured you would have put it together already.”

“Oh?”

“I know how your mind works.” You bump your head into his own. “Or, I think I do. I, at least, have an idea of it. You’re always a few steps ahead of me, you know?”

“And how do you think that is?”

“... You know me before I even know myself a lot of the time.”

You’re more keen than you give yourself credit for. He ought to help you work on your self-esteem.

“Even so. I would like to hear your own genuine thoughts from your mouth, rather than my inferences and deductions.”

“Only if you tell me what you want too. Just as genuine.”

He nods, conceding easily. “Of course.”

You grab his hand in your own. Your thumbs roll into his palms, the ghost of a massage. “I... I like being... your omega. Your b-baby too, even if I don’t, um, quite know all the details of how it all works. Or if you know, either. But you know lots, so maybe you do. I dunno— I— it’s just—”

“Take your time, dear.”

You sigh and run your fingers over the pulse in his wrist. “... I don’t want to lose this just because my heat’s all over. I— I want to keep being yours.”

Thank Lan.

“The feeling is mutual,” he admits, smothering yourself with the fragrance of your skin. There’s melancholy in his tone that twins your own. “Very much so.”

“I’m glad.” You nose into him harder, more insistent for closeness. “I’m glad we want b-both want that. I’d... prefer we be somewhat private about it. I know that people are already talking about, um, us. I’m sure Li Ming has already been texting me about it. And I don’t necessarily mind people knowing that we’re together. I think it’s unavoidable, really.”

“I would agree.”

“But, I’d like this... this...” You hold your hands together, and dip his fingertips shallowly into his mouth, before withdrawing. “To be just ours.”

“I feel similarly.”

There’s any number of commonplace, and less commonplace, dynamics that exist on the Luofu and across the Xianzhou. Your budding dynamic, truthfully, isn’t all that odd given this variety (Xianzhou natives have certainly had a long while to cultivate them—). Regardless of this, Jing Yuan would prefer to keep things private unless... certain circumstances arise. And those can be talked about—

(If specific types of encouragement or discipline in conjunction with care is something you desire and something he thinks would be beneficial for you, there may be a place for some public showing of dominance and submission. But, that’s not relevant now. Not yet. The details can wait.)

“And um— well, you—” You squirm to look at him. Almost pouting. “Y-You can bite me. I-I want you to. Claim me, if you want. I know it’s not really gonna do anything but—”

“You want my mark?”

Jing Yuan feels light-headed with the knowledge. He assumed as much but still—

“Y-Yeah, really bad. It took everything during my heat not to ask for it.”

Jing Yuan would’ve been able to hold back if you had. But— it would have been... more difficult, had you begged. He’s weak for it, weak for you.

“I would like to leave my claim on you as well.” He has to swallow, clear his throat. “Not now, or during this heat of yours. I’d like to wait until we have a better moment established for it.”

“Something a little more preplanned ... Make it meaningful, yeah?”

“Yes, I’d prefer it that way.”

“I-I like that idea. Besides, it would be unfair for you to mark me and take my virginity during a single heat.”

His cock twitches. You clearly feel it as you grin, smother him with a smattering of kisses to his cheeks.

For all the details, all the little things to sort, and preferences to wade through, this is easy. The exchange of physicality and comfort is good. Jing Yuan— well— it’s not something he’s had in a long time. It’s not something he’s really craved either. Now, he feels greedy for it as you press a kiss to the apple of his cheek. He can feel your smile there, content and happy.

“I’ll take good care of you,” he tells you. It’s a confession and an assurance all in one. “Do you trust me, dear?”

“More than anything,” you say simply like you aren’t bearing your soul to him. Like you don’t hold the most fragile part of him in your own hands as well.

“I’m glad.”

Jing Yuan covets the exchange. He cherishes you and this dynamic and this new thing that has opened up for him after he has been convinced for so long that he’d subsist on silicone toys and scraps until Mara ate him.

There’s a hope in his chest, tended by more than kindling. It’s warm and full of comfort, just as you are, purring and content against his front.

“... What do you want?” You ask, soft, a little more timid. “I know you said you feel similarly, but I want to hear your thoughts too.”

Jing Yuan collects him, and the slow accumulation of thoughts he’s had in the past few days crystallizes behind his eyes.

“I would prefer not to hide you.” He admits, barely masking the tremble in his voice. “The nature of our relationship may remain private, as I said I’d prefer it that way as well. However, I’ll ask you to forgive me for my selfishness— I would prefer not to hide my affections for you.”

He squeezes you.

It’s not easy to confess. But he—

(Jing Yuan recalls the rumors of him and the High Elder fraternizing. And of the short-life craftsman that stole his heart. He didn’t mind it back then. He didn’t. His ego was much larger and younger. But, stealing kisses in the shadow of Aurum Alley and in the deepest, darkest sections of Imbibtor Lunae’s delve make him sad to think about now.)

(Jing Yuan thinks he is too old to hide himself so much. As adept as he has become in his inscrutability if you would permit him to be selfish—)

“I can accept that,” you reply. “I... I get a little nervous about it. But... you’ll take care of me, won’t you?”

You parrot his own words back to him. He slips his fingers in your mouth, as you both so enjoy. A reward. A treat. He can feel you grin around the digits.

“Of course.” He can shield you from the worst of it. “I would also like if you would mark me as well.”

“‘Bite ‘yu?” Your words are garbled on his fingers as you whip around to look at him. There are practically stars in your eyes as the water of the bath sloshes, bubbles foaming up to your shoulders.

“A mutual claim.” He confirms. “A visible one.”

“You’re ‘slure?”

“Entirely ‘slure’.”

Jing Yuan has thought about... perhaps in excess while your heat has been pittering out. It’s not unheard, but not traditional either. He doesn’t particularly care. He just wants your mark on him too.

An excited, trilling purr rips from your throat as you smatter his face with even more kisses. Insistent ones, that douse him in your scent. He can feel the elation thrumming off of you, and he can’t help but be soothed by it.

(Mutual want after so long still feels so foreignly good after so long starved.)

Jing Yuan gathers your face in his hands and kisses you, open-mouthed and long. His grip slips down your thighs, ass, waist— wherever he can squeeze and feel you most. Your hands land on his chest, groping there (a new favorite activity of yours—)

You pull away, breathlessly. Your eyes crinkle at the corner. The water is cooling, but Jing Yuan finds himself not caring all that much. The heat of you is enough. The warmth between you is a rolling hearth that keeps him toasty, through and through.

“I like you a lot, Jing Yuan.” You confess, nosing into his cheek. You speak your next words so softly, he hardly catches them. “‘Like you lots, mama.”

“Oh, baby,” his voice slips, so transparently full of desire it almost shocks him. He’s okay with the surprise. He may even want more of it, if it’s from you, especially if it’s from this. “I like you very much as well.”

So, so much.

//💦🌺💦//

You and Jing Yuan were right about many things. One being that rumors explode once you and Jing Yuan make yourselves a public item.

They’re entertaining, if nothing else.

“The Divine Foresight — Shacked up in his tenure.”

“The Lazing Luofu General’s omega smells like orange blossom and sea salt: FACT OR FICTION!”

“Knot: CONFIRMED! Does General Jing Yuan’s battle prowess carry over into the bedroom?”

“WHO IS THE DIVINE FORESIGHT’S OMEGA?! The latest scoop from Little Gui!”

The tabloids across the Xianzhou Alliance had already been publishing half-baked stories about the Luofu’s General’s omega lover who he keeps sequestered in a lush garden with specific security clearance in order to access it. But, the details were paltry and the photos they’d somehow acquired from your visits to and from the Alchemy Commission were quite blurry.

Now, however— the Divine Foresight has a claiming bite on his neck. And the omega on his arm has one as well. And the pair of them where matching courting bracelets around their wrists.

The stories they print are... wild. And for the first while after the news breaks, you’re bombarded by reporters and internet personalities, wanting the freshest, juiciest scoop on your relationship with the General. You always politely declined to tell them any details, providing them the (prefabricated and rehearsed) direction to contact ‘the Divine Foresight’s publicist’ with a provided contact number.

(Jing Yuan only revealed to you later that this was The Master Diviner’s contact, and she chewed each and every shameless, drama-mongering reporter so intensely that they dared not to attempt to chase either of you down again.)

The fanfare of it all fades rather quickly. A new reality sets in and you quite like it.

As much as you favor Jing Yuan’s first garden, the one that the two of you shared so many lunches in, you’ve become quite partial to his home. The spacious courtyard and its two massive ponds are your favorite features. The inside of his estate being lavish and increasingly homey doesn’t hurt either. You’ve started to spend most of your time there, sharing his nest.

You like it very much.

Jing Yuan does too, you think. He never wears scent patches at home, these days, even if it makes Yanqing dramatically crinkle up his nose and leave the room half the time. Jing Yuan tells you that he’s ‘just at that age’. Jing Yuan also tells you that Yanqing presented young. And that there’s a spitfire alpha girl under the wing of the Zhuming’s Flaming Heart who Jing Yuan thinks would make a good match for him. ‘Strings are being pulled’, he says.

Jing Yuan is always pulling strings.

Not that you mind it. You notice it, but it doesn’t bother you. If anything, being more keenly aware of Jing Yuan’s inner workings makes observing the way he moves within the world and the machinations he employs allows you to make more sense of him as a person. He holds such a heavy burden. And as much as you’ve known this for the entire duration of your friendship, courtship, and subsequent mateship with him, you’ve grown to have a new perspective on it.

You can see that weight more easily.

It’s why the dynamic you have together works. Jing Yuan can still strategize and control as much as he pleases but on a smaller scale. You think it must be very... nice for him to have you, his very sweet omega who is much easier to please than the many denizens and political factions of the Xianzhou Alliance. The control is still there, but in a different dose, played with within a different frame.

It’s been good to explore.

You like it very much too. You like... being his baby. Not thinking so hard. Feeling secure enough and trusting him enough to not have to look over your shoulder so often. He does take care of you very well, and you feel so very fortunate to have him.

You rub over the scar of your claiming bite absent-mindedly.

The day is quite young, and Jing Yuan has taken you out to a small shop just outside of the Alchemy Commission. The walls are lined with shelves, packed with stacks of neatly folded fabrics. A well-dressed vidyadhara has you up on a little pedestal, diligently taking your measurements as Jing Yuan browses through their selection. A censer hangs in an open window, burning a cool-smelling incense that wafts over the space.

Jing Yuan wants matching pajamas.

(Or, rather, you raised the idea and Jing Yuan is humoring you with such a great deal of enthusiasm that one would think he raised this want, and not yourself.)

It’s very cute to see Jing Yuan be so excited.

The omega, in full regalia, looks quite at home throwing a few bolts of fabric over his arm as another worker advises him on the best fabrics for this type of garment. He listens intently, despite probably already knowing a great deal of what the worker is telling him. It’s very sweet of him; at least you think so. The ribbon he wears in his hair bobs as he nods along.

You smile to yourself.

“What are your thoughts on a looser fit?” The vidyadhara asks from behind you. “I would recommend it, given the styles the two of you selected.”

“I would agree.” Jing Yuan says from across the shop.

The question wasn’t directed at him, but he answers for you regardless. This isn’t that odd for an ‘alpha’, perhaps some omegas would be a bit chuffed about it. But you like it. Especially like this. When you know Jing Yuan is spoiling you with a day out full of treats and presents and companionship and an evening that will certainly devolve into you, in his lap, with your mouth on his tits—

Jing Yuan hums from behind you, his voice breaking you from your very lovely fantasy. Your scent must’ve changed, however minutely. Your arousal is something for Jing Yuan’s nose only.

(You still don’t wear scent blockers. Lei Huiling heavily suggested that you keep it that way, in addition to the low-dose suppressants that you’ve been taking.)

“I-I like loose,” you say. “Loose is good. Can we get new robes too?”

“Of course. Perhaps a few sets of day clothes as well?” Jing Yuan has a new appreciation for loungewear. It’s a good use of the insane amount of capital he’s accrued over the years as General. Not to mention he deserves the comfiest and nicest garments for loafing about.

“Let me fetch a few catalogs,” the vidyadhara excuses themselves to the back of the shop, bustling about.

You stay atop the little podium as Jing Yuan comes around you, looking you up and down. He looks content as a cat splayed out in a sunbeam. He lifts your arm, inspecting it like he intends to measure you himself, despite having no sewer tape himself. He rubs his hands over your arms in circles, trailing upwards. Despite his wrists being covered by his vambraces, and below that scent-blocking patches, he still attempts to scent you.

(Such a possessive creature, really.)

“I’ve been considering,” he begins, “Commissioning a set of lingerie, perhaps. From a shop with a bit more discretion.”

“F-For me, or for you?”

“Either, or. Which would you prefer?”

You think about Jing Yuan in— in stockings, a well-fitted bra, and garters and your scent must change because he’s giving you a rich, full-bodied laugh a moment later and rubbing over your cheeks with your thumbs.

He teases, “How brazen.”

“You—!” You feel indignant and embarrassed all at once. A part of you slips lower, and you trust Jing Yuan to catch you. “You s-started this!”

“So I did,” he hums. “With an honest question. What do you think, dear?”

“U-Um—” You struggle to find your words. Acutely aware of the environment you’re in and distracted by the thought of perching in his lap in a skimpy robe and your own set of lace, it makes you feel dumb and wanting. “... B-Both?”

“I would concur.” He hums, pleased with himself. “I’ll do some research into it, hm? What do you think?”

“T-That sounds good to m-me.”

“Does it now?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, grabbing his hands in your own, squeezing. A sunbeam warms your back and Jing Yuan warms you from the front. “It sounds very good.”

“And so it will be done.”

...

You and Jing Yuan giggle behind closed doors about the general public’s perception that he is an alpha.

Jing Yuan certainly has become good at acting like one. He has the posture and way of speech down. He’s larger and broader than most would think an omega to be, even if a decent amount of that is soft fat that you like putting in your mouth. He fights like an alpha too, but that’s from fighting plenty of alphas while training in his youth.

(His Master was an alpha, he tells you. She let him be an omega in private luckily. Jing Yuan speaks of it fondly, if not a bit wistful.)

When it’s just the two of you, he gets to act more like an omega.

Like you’re omegas.

It’s all the affection and stickiness you could want.

You’ve never had care like Jing Yuangives you— not from your alpha mother or your beta father. Not from the gaggle of friends you made while traveling through the Alliance, long before you settled on the Luofu. Not from the few alphas who attempted to court you, and the omegas you twirled with at the little clubs you enjoyed during your time on the Zhuming.

It’s different than everything you’ve had before.

You’ve had bits of it before, morsels that you could hold in your hands or on your tongue... but it never felt right. It never satisfied enough, or felt safe enough to indulge to the point of being satisfying. Flings at clubs were fun, but you never did anymore than kiss in dark corners. Your brief stint with your traveling friends were a handful of betas and a few alphas who treated you like something to be held like a trophy and paraded around, as much as a friend. Your mother— your father—

(They did not know what to do with a soft-hearted omega child. You think that they tried your best, but you know your mother resented— resents your presentation, even now. She tries in the ways that she knows how. There’s always a chunk of money in your account that shouldn’t be there at the end of the year. She made sure you had the best scent locking system available.)

(Empathetically, you can tell that she cares, and this is her way of showing it.)

(Yet, it doesn’t change the callous off-hand comments. You can’t find it in yourself to fully forgive her for trying to marry your off for two decades straight. Or, the way that she had last looked at you with your neck bare. Or, the comment that follows.)

(“Shouldn’t you be more careful? Alphas will think you’re a slut if you don’t mask that scent of yours. Why aren’t you using that body wash I sent you?)

(You haven’t seen your mother in years now. It’s for the best.)

Jing Yuan treats you well and cares for you in a way that you hadn’t fully known you’d craved. You are very thankful for him.

It’s a more comfortable type of care. Maybe, because it came about slowly. You had been dining with Jing Yuan over lunch for... several years, probably, before you shared a heat with him. Even if you thought he was an alpha, he has always been a safe alpha. His presence, even before all this, made you braver. So has Madame Yukong’s guidance and Li Ming’s friendship. You like being an omega. You like being an omega with another omega.

...

Nights with Jing Yuan are your favorite.

Jing Yuan has you underneath him, rolling his hips against yours. His cock is soaked, wet, and slippery as he grinds over your clit. His cunt pours slick onto your own as you match his pace, his rhythm the best you can. His weight is braced on his arms, folded on either side of your head.

He licks into your mouth as he kisses you stupid. Truly dumb, because you’re just his baby at this moment, and you don’t need to think too hard or do anything other than be a helpless thing in need of coddling. Jing Yuan gorges himself on you in these instances. He fucks his tongue into your mouth as he keeps you closed.

There’s no haste to this. Neither of you have the desire to be filled. You could— Jing Yuan will probably fuck you later, or he’ll put a harness and strap on you and ride you himself. But you don’t have to have that type of play for this to be enjoyable.

You just need him.

The taste on your tongue is just him. There are no alpha pheromones, just the sweet, sunshiney, milky scent of Jing Yuan that you’ve come to crave, and clamor for when you don’t have it for too long. It’s so good, you don’t mind suffocating on it. You want to.

“So good, baby,” he says into your mouth, pulling away just enough to press his fingers into your mouth.

He pushes them deeper than he does so casually. They stretch to the back of your tongue, nudging the back of your throat. You startle, just enough to whine, before he gives you a little ‘shhh, shhh, shhh—’. The broad plane of his free palm cup the case of your skull as he fucks your mouth.

The silver of his hair falls like a veil of moonlight around his cheeks. The gold of his eyes has been almost eaten by desire, pupils dilated so wide. Desire looks good on him. Want makes Jing Yuan bloom, and it makes you feel that much more content. It’s easy to go lax under his hands and let him fuck your mouth and pet over your tongue as he sees fit.

You like this so much. Being a cherished, sweet thing that’s both used and (loved) in equal measure. It’s safe. It’s good. He’s good, for all of the details and roles he must juggle, you know Jing Yuan is good.

Later, when you’re held against Jing Yuan’s chest, lazily sucking at his breast while he plays with your hair, you bask in the goodness of it. You giggle and laugh when Jing Yuan teases you, and huff when he presses you just enough. It’s reciprocal. A wordless, ever-moving exchange. Safety for safety, (love) for (love), even if neither of you has said the words yet.

That night, wrapped in the sheets, rising from your pleasant stupor, you study Jing Yuan.

You like him like this. His face is slack and relaxed. The painted purple circles under his eyes don’t seem quite as dark. The slope of his nose is gentler, and the pudge of his cheeks is more pronounced.

You soften for him. How can you not?

A honey eye cracks half-open and you squeak. You’ve been caught.

“Dear,” Jing Yuan’s voice crackles with sleep. He brings you closer with a thick bicep around your waist. “Should you not be sleeping?”

“Mommy,” you whine, smothered against his chest. “You look too pretty to sleep. ‘M just admiring.”

“Flattery won’t make up for a lack of rest.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

He laughs above you. It’s a rough sound, good-natured, and all for you. You preen and nose into his jaw. You lap at the claiming bite you left on him, feel the divots of the scar beneath your tongue.

“Being so sweet to me,” he croons. “Is there something else you’d like?”

If you wanted more, you could have it. There’s part of you that itches to be warmed on his cock. Or warm his cock with your mouth. Or kiss until you quite literally can’t stay awake any longer. There’s a central idea to each idea that comes to mind.

“Just you.” You tell him.

You hear his breath catch. The thump of his heartbeat, fast, loud, and strong.

“That’s all?”

“Mhm,” you settle closer, into the safe heat of him. You let it envelop you. “I just want you.”

He squeezes around your waist, tethering you. It feels like a strong enough grip to weather most anything, from the roughest of your heats to the worst storms. You lean into it. Bask.

“My baby is so kind.”

“Just for you.”

“Just for me?”

“Just for you.” You repeat, and kiss him, soaked in moonlight and your woven scents.

part 1 link if you need 💕

thank you for reading 🩷

#lore writes #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr x reader #Y'ALL WE DID IT!!!#WE DID IT!!!#AAAAAH!!!#please please please enjoy #thank y'all readers for all of the asks and messages as i worked through this beast of a piece 🥹 sending FOREHEAD KITH!!!#now im running off to do chores :3c #MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

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deadgirlsnoring · 3 months ago

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Sub!whiny Danny Cooper

Overstimulation, pegging, degradation, corruption kink(??) pet names(mommy, baby, bunny..)

“Can I-I move now mommy… I’m so full.” He mewled, pouting while pressing his hand to his lower stomach.

“Awe,” You smiled, “Aren’t you just the cutest? Hm, say it.” He gasped loudly and held his hands firmly on each side of your thighs when you shifted your hips and the strap pressed right against his spot, you were always such a tease.

“Mm—Mommy! F.. Fuck, pleaseplease. I need to moveee.”

You were both sitting on the couch, your thighs spread a little farther apart than Danny, while he was bottomed out on your lap, sitting down completely.

He wanted to move, he could if he really wanted to but he wouldn’t disobey you like that. You’d hurt him, no doubt. Your freshly manicured French tips were digging into his hips, stopping his movements completely.

You’d penetrated him atleast 10 minutes ago, his whines and pleads of release and touch were annoyed, but so cute to hear.

“I love it when you beg,” One of your hands left his waist to massage his scalp, scratching every once in a while, “Beg some more for mommy, will you? Then we’ll see, okay?”

The feeling of being filled to the brim then left to sit with that, made his eyes feel like tearing up. “Mhm, okay… Can I pleaseee get fucked mommy? You know I need it s’bad,” You dropped your hand from his hair to caress his thigh, but he slowly repositioned your hand to make its way to his needy, dripping cock.

“Touch me, fuck. Hurts like hell, I’m sooo hot you know? Just for you,” While guiding your hand to rub his neglected cock, you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

In a swift movement, your other hand was back on his hip, rubbing them in slow circles, “You wanna get fucked?” You asked, leading to a very excited head nod followed by a broken pleasee.

He hadn’t moved in 15 minutes, a sob escaping his lips when you had decided to help him get a move on, “Mmhmm, yesss yes, fuck! Ca.. can I h-helpmmf—oh god, please?”

Landing a smack on his ass you leaned back against the couch, your hands laying still on his hips. “Go on, make me proud bunny.”

Since this was all about little Danny, you let him chase his own pleasure. Finding your own in watching him do so. He moved back and forth, the large strap stretching him in ways he couldn’t get on his own.

“Mmm, ah, ah, ah! Fuck I’m so hard f-for you,” You couldn’t help but scratch his pale skin, loving when it turned red afterwards, “Go faster, you can take it.”

He whimpered, faster was just something he couldn’t do, but he just couldn’t get away with that. You wouldn’t let him.

The boy shook his head, words cut off from his throat with a loud broken moan, “It’s s’much, I can’t, please!”

You didn’t care, he knew you didn’t care. You moved him for yourself, if he wasn’t gonna do what you asked you were gonna take it from him, “This feel good baby? It’s hitting just the right spot, hm? Tell me.”

Your movements were up and down, directly hitting his prostate, pleasuring him every time he rode you.

He was soo vulnerable in this state and you just loved taking advantage of it. Poor Danny couldn’t get enough of it, you’re all he ever wanted.

“Uh, uh, ah—mm shit mommy! it’s too fast, s-slow downnn, ple—uhnn..fuck mhmm.” Dan was going dumb, the cutest version of him.

All fucked out and quiet, god he was such a talker.

He stopped adding his own movements and that’s when you knew he was too stupid to do his own work.

“You wanna cum?” A low mm was heard, “get up.”

He was confused, turning to look at you with a pout plastered on his face, “Don’t look so sad now, up.”

Danny had to take a deep breath, slowly lifting himself off the 7inch strap, letting out a guttural groan, “All fours bunny, and arch it too.”

Your hands smoothed over his ass as he got into position, he was just so pretty, “Thank you mommy,” He mumbled, a touch of nervousness to his voice.

Squirting more lube on your cock you put a dollop on his needy pink hole, rubbing it in circles.

While pressing his back deeper into the couch, you went in inch by inch for atleast 3 inches before he got bored.

“More.. please? I w-want more.” You scoffed, he was always wanting more than what he got. Such a selfish boy.

If he wanted it, he was gonna get it.

You inserted yourself in one small motion, earning a raspy gasp from your Danny.

“Oh? Is it good bunny? You want more, huh?” Your thrusts weren’t forgiving, giving him time to slightly adjust to it outside of him only to deeply press it back, your tip hitting that perfect place.

“OoOh! Mmmm pleaseee, fuckk mommy it hurttsss!!! God, I’m gonna cum..mmpf!” You gripped his hair, pressing his face deep into the couch, “Shut the fuck up.”

“You like my cock don’t you? It’s so fucking good, I can feel how much you need me, god it’s pathetic.”

As your hips moved against his backside with each thrust, it was more and more harder for you to move back in, your boy was gonna cum.

“I know you’re gonna cum, poor you. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop Danny baby, okay? You better fucking take it.”

You let up with your hand on his hair, finally making eye contact with him.

He looked fucked, hair disheveled and lips pink and juicy; from biting, “Aww, cutie.” His cheeks were tainted with pink as well, looking at you with a cloudy look in his eyes.

Danny laid his head down on the couch while moans flooded out of his pretty mouth, his cock pressing and rubbing against the material of the surface.

He couldn’t speak, he would tell you if he could, all he could do was press his ass closer to you to tell you he needed it bad.

“Fuck! Righ—fuc—mmpleaseee, cummm Im gonna cum, shittt m-mommyyy.”

“Oh, I know.” Is all you said, and kept your relentless pace. You were fucking his inside up, a knot was forming he was not in control of.

A god forsaken, almost pornographic moan left his lips. This wasn’t new, he was such a cutie when it came to his mouth. Cum was spurting out onto the couch, he was making such a mess for you.

“My good boy, so good taking all of me, hm?”

His body grew stiff, eyes rolling back as he clenched around you, making it harder and harder to hit that deep spot in him.

“Mmommuh! uhhh, uh!” It hurt, going this rough after he came, but he loved the pain so much even though he was begging for you to slow down.

“Mommmyyy, it hurtsss. S-slow, please!” He sobbed, pouting.

“I told you I don’t wanna stop, let me hear that safe word or shut that pretty mouth up.”

“Color?”

You rubbed circles into his back, awaiting his answer, slowing down just a bit.

Danny hiccuped, sniffling, “Fuck, m’so green, please.”

Xoxo,

#black!fem!reader #dom reader #dom!reader #sub character #black fem reader #black!reader #blackfem!reader #black!femreader #black reader #pain kink #sub!danny cooper #sub!danny #sub!rory culkin #sub!rory #sub!dannycooper #danny cooper #sub!character #femdxm

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kafkasmeow · 8 months ago

Text

1 ꗃ A FAMILIAR TUNE

imagine! 7.2k words worth of slow-burn ─ dan heng x reader ─ second pov fem! reader ─ angst and fluff ─ father! jing yuan (strictly platonic) ─ i treated the reader more as an oc, i do apologise for that.

summery ─ leaving home was one of the hardest choices you’ve ever had to make, yet how could you stay when the life you lived could only ever bring you sadness and superficiality?

aka dan heng x reader with mommy and daddy issues

disclaimer ─ this story may hold sensitive subjects such as mentioned death, neglect and the baggage that comes with it, mental illness, violence, harassment and talks of infertility. it has a very long introduction (my bad lol), a rather steamy end and takes inspiration from the original story line so be careful of spoilers and it was inspired by head-canons written here by @lyomeii , please go show some love. remember that this is a work of fiction and any names and characters written are my imagination alone. enjoy <3

taglist ─ @can-i-go-to-sleep-please ─ @can-i-stay-awake

There was a time when things felt easier, when the sun seemed to shine brighter despite the overwhelming shadow that was always cast on your family. You used to love the deep smell of green tea that enveloped the parlour each time the two of you took residence in it, and the wind that would swirl it around the whole of the office all while you laughed without a single care at the way it tugged your translucent shawl and hair.

Jing Yuan adored that sound more than anything, it filled his heart with the warmest of contents yet the cruelest of longings. He would sip quietly on the tea you’d brewed for him and pretend to enjoy the frivolous moment with his eyes closed, but you both knew that when you looked away, another story would be told completely.

Perhaps in reality, the sun never shined brighter than it seemed to and it was never easier to stomach. You were just too naive, too young to notice the thin cords bringing you and your father closer, and too ignorant to see the way they were slowly beginning to rip under the pressure.

To the public eye, your father loved you more than anything in the world, that was no news to anyone atop the Xianzhou Luofu. You’ve always worn the most expensive silks to have ever been created, with the richest of accessories and jewels. Whenever a new Hanfu dress would reach your hands, he would parade you on the busiest streets himself, making sure everyone and their mothers would talk about it by noon the next day.

He made sure you always had the most able and knowledgeable professors at your call, and if you ever needed anything, all you’d have to do is ask to whomever was closest to you at the very moment, and it would be fulfilled within seconds. Sometimes you didn’t know if the servants did it out of admiration for your father or obligation.

Jing Yuan made sure you never needed or wanted for more. Materially, that is.

And things were bound to change as you grew, especially as he cruelly presented you to the scrutiny of high society.

You quickly grew to understand that it was his way of apologising, like a crow that would chip away at your skin then bring you trinkets of appreciation. When you sat and listened to some woman criticise that your dress was too frivolous for the event, too out of fashion for society and that none of your jewels matched, he did not do much but smile and pat your shoulder.

“Little [Y/n] will learn from your kind advice.” He assured her, but you barely held in a snort of frustration. When the other women joined in, when they begun pulling at your hair to adjust it, when they hit your hands with their fans as you purred tea for not angling your elbows right, when they shamed you as the hall hollered with laughter, he watched and smiled, so you took a deep breath and smiled back to everyone around you too.

Later that very evening he found you with tears running on your cheeks, a box of red and gold velvet in his hands. Your father did not speak, nor did he show much emotion on his face and it angered you. You wished to yell, to protest for the fact that he had not jumped to your defence, but as you opened the box, all protests died on your lips and the tears stilled, hands shaking at the most beautiful jade hair pin you’ve ever seen.

But his gifts stopped making up for his emotional absence around the third time it happened.

And you knew they all watched you like a hawk. Every move you’d make before the higher ups would be analysed on a scale of “good enough” or “weak” by none other than your father’s so called friends, while every single gesture before the public was like pulling needles off your skin. Yesterday you wore your Hanfu scandalously low on your cleavage, today you didn’t say thank you when the guard accompanying you opened up your parasol, tomorrow you won’t hold your tea cup quite right and so on.

Usually it was easy to ignore.

But that was before the daughters of the noblest of houses would begin to alienate you for shallow reasons, and before the sons of each commissioner would size you up as nothing but easy stock to win over, an easy marriage in the pocket, or so they thought.

It was easy for them to have the audacity to criticise you to your face or try to win you over, after all, you were nothing but a spoiled brat who’s never heard no for as long as she’s lived. Surely, you’ve never faced a single hardship, so the public felt righteous enough to scold you into it while for those within you were noting but a charity case.

So you tried to learn all you could, so you’d never feel as less in front of others ever again. Since the very evening of your debut, you insisted on having a book under your arm, a needle in your hand, a sword at your hip, or a qin in your lap while tea cups simmered on a table. It felt easier to overlook the loneliness when you did. You found that after a certain age, it felt comforting even to worry about making it in time to granny Hua’s qin lessons while leaving the swordplay hall behind, rather than sit pretty in a room and wait all day for your father to finish his duties as a general. There was no more room at social events for rude interventions, and no more room in your mid for uncomfortable questions to ask while doing so, really.

But you couldn’t avoid them for an eternity, that was for sure. And neither could Jing Yuan, for even in tranquil moments when peace had the taste of green tea and the smell of fresh air after rain, your twinkling eyes were still a carbon copy of how hers were.

In the better of these days, your father would pretend to laugh at a joke you made, while you pretended to be satisfied with his reaction. You’d move a piece on the xiangqi board with elegant hands and chatted about the latest passage you read in a philosophy book, and he hummed in agreement while placing his own piece down. A cleverly crafted strategy to his own defeat, one that you felt content with following despite the fragile shame that came with it.

It was a play you both excelled at most, after all.

At the worst of it all, you can’t understand his harsh voice as he yells “That is enough, [Y/n]!” while slamming his tea cup on the table. The whole room would shake at his warning, but your hunger for answers was much stronger than any fear, so you really can’t understand his fury when you yell back “Father! It is not!” He look at you with sorrow in his heart and his eyes were twisted by a pain you’d never understand, as he could only see her in you.

“I will not have this conversation with you!” He’d warn again, but you took it as an invitation to push even further. “I don’t know the first thing about my mother, Jing Yuan! Her name? Never heard of it. Her face? Never seen it. Do you not think it is cruel, father?” Hot tears streamed on your perfect porcelain cheeks, smearing the red eyeliner you had painted on. “No one ever speaks about her to me, everyone refuses to. But they all look at me like I’m some kind of…” Your voice trailed off with hard puffs and sobs. “Like I’m some kind of…”

His own chest puffed and the sight of you felt like a stab to his heart. You couldn’t get your words out, you didn’t need to really. People constantly looked at you in one of two ways, no matter how perfectly you’ve learned to craft your smiles, or how good your tea brewing had became, you were either a charity case they’d pity, or a spoiled brat that knew none of what the real world would offer.

But despite all of his anger, he was still your father, and as much as he loved to punish himself trough you, he still held back the need of snapping the heads off all of their shoulders. He would reach for the back of your neck with his hand, bringing you into his chest in a half hug. “You are enough. Never forget that.” He’d kiss the crown of your head and inhale the floral smell of your hair. It grounded him, even as you screamed into his chest and pushed him away, his grip stayed firm until you’d shed your last tear and you cried your last sob.

Because despite of how much you hated to admit it, you were living and breathing for his approval, which you seemed to never ever gain.

Unbeknownst to you, everything about you was just like her. Your face, your hair, even the way you wore your Hanfu a little out of place with the shawl falling all over the floor when you walked, or your mannerism as you spoke with a tiny accent on your tongue, it was all her and nothing of his except the mole under your left eye. You’ve never met her, he tried to reason. You’ve never seen her or heard of her deeds. Your mother has been an enigma to you ever since you could remember things, and yet the world punished him with her perfect copy in you when he tried to push her memory away the most.

It felt bittersweet. To the outside eye, general Jing Yuan adored his daughter more than anything else in the world. But underneath the jewellery, there were unaddressed feelings, each pearl you wore for people on the Central Starskiff Heaven to see was a tear unshed, each new dress was a silent apology they’d never hear, each loving promenade you’d have with your father was there to hide for the public a question you asked when the cord was too tensed. One of these days it would snap in half, you were sure of it.

So who could blame you when it all overflowed? When you could no longer smile in the face of those who envied you and when your father’s emotional absence felt like a hallow painting of what should have really been? When the dresses and the jewels weren’t smothering the pain any longer?

You felt it daily, building up, pressing down, tugging at your smiles until they became frowns and empty stares, and your ever growing depression was evident for anyone that roamed the gardens outside your window at night, as your qin carried into the world the saddest tune your heart feared to voice. And this time, not even a Hanfu made out of golden thread would ease your pain.

“So, say you, general,”

Your father hummed back to the woman before him as he placed his piece down on the board. Another noble nodded in agreement with his choice behind him. You saw them all from where you were sitting, fingers strumming the qin in a delicate tune for the whole room to enjoy, while gin purred from flasks and laughter echoed somewhere in the back. It wasn’t like you to agree partaking in parties like these, but how could you turn Jing Yuan down when he asked you to serenade him at the event?

“I would say you’d want to keep your daughter closest to you, am I not right?” The wicked tone in the noble’s voice made you shiver underneath the silver shawl that draped off your shoulders. “Quite so I fear, why is that?”

“Well, I hoped to reach you when I first heard the news, but I was quite busy, yous see?” The woman, an esteemed elder of the Artisanship Commission, hid her face behind what was possibly the most obnoxious fan you’ve ever seen, and your fingers became stiff on the metal strings of your trusted instrument. “Pardon me?” The general stilled his movements on the xiangqi pieces while the chattering went quiet. Nothing but your trembling notes filled the air.

“You know, I wished to give you my deepest condolences the moment I heard. For your daughter’s… unfortunate situation, that is.” Confused, Jing Yuan tilts his head to where you stood, only to be met with the same questions on your face that you desperately tried to drown as you played your melody. He chuckled awkwardly, then, and returned his attention on the game. “I fear I don’t know what you’re going on about, ma’am.”

“Ah… You know, the fact that your daughter is unable to bear children has quite saddened us all. I was looking forward to sending my son as a potential suitor!”

If eyes could kill, you would be sure that the place where the woman stood would have become scorched dust. An involuntary scoff left your lips loud enough to draw attention, but you pretended to be engrossed with tuning your qin before beginning to play another piece for the hall.

“And where have you heard such news, I wonder?” But she held no fear in her eyes.

“Well, for one, everyone in high society talks about it! You see, your daughter is already past the age of accepting suitors yet has never even been seen with a man, so people assume. That being said I personally was told so by a doctor that works under you, your grace.”

‘Lies’, you told yourself, but it was not enough to cool the blush you had on your cheeks from embarrassment, no matter how much you have been shamed by the public eye, nothing could compare to this very moment now.

“Is that so,” Your father trailed off, then placed his piece on the xiangqi board. “Well, from what I know, your son is welcome to send in his suitor application, for my daughter is more than healthy and cared for. In fact, now that I think about it,” But you didn’t wish to hear any more.

With a sudden move, you jumped from your seat to your feet and rushed to gather the qin underneath its silk cloth. The commotion drew attention to you, and so murmurs begun filling your ears which only fed your ever growing shame. “Please excuse me.” You voiced as you bowed deeply to the room of lords and nobles, then picked up your instrument and hurried to the exit with a strained “Please enjoy the rest of your evening.”

And you hoped that would be the last you’ve heard of it all, but as fate wanted it, that was far from how things would play.

“Father! This is ridiculous!” You protested. For all reason and purposes, it really was.

Not even a full day after what happened, he invited you to serve tea with him in the parlour. You found it odd, as he never requested your presence on Tuesday afternoons, but did not complain as you stepped into the room with haste.

He took his time finding the courage to face you, and when he understood he would not be able to deliver the news to you with a straight face, he pushed a stack of paper to you without even meeting your eyes. There, in red ink, was your fate sealed by a simple signature. An agreement that had been made without your knowledge or permission, and a wound that would become the reason for the demise of cord that held your family together.

Marriage certificate.

No one knows what was truly discussed that night in the evening, but what was known was that you’ve fled with tears in your eyes and anger on your face. And for better or for worse, that would become the last time anyone on the Xianzhou Luofu had seen you under the identity of the general’s daughter, for you found no more room in your heart for the pain that followed with it.

“You know, when you put it like that, I do think that green works best with coral!” March eagerly nodded her head, while Dan Heng took his time analysing Himeko’s theory. You and welt only listened to the conversation with one ear, while the other was being filled with questions over questions from Stelle.

“I don’t believe that’s a wise move.” You chirped as Welt placed the piece down, and you followed with a quick movement that gained you his general. He groaned and pushed his glasses up away while massaging the bridge of his nose. Stelle wowed and wood at your victory, and March leaned from her seat across the express’ parlour with a “really?” look in her eyes.

“You lost again, M. Yang?”

“I swear I’m good at this game.” And you chuckled while placing the pieces back into their pouch. “Used is a keyword.” March continued to tease while everyone watched your movements, which, weirdly, felt more calming than before your time on the express. In truth, it was because they never snickered underneath their palms and never cherry picked your posture until you’d get it wrong.

That being said, you could only care for one person’s eyes alone, and his stare felt like electricity on the back of your neck.

“How did you learn to play like this, anyways? You’re like a mad genius at these.” Stelle intervened, and you couldn’t help but shiver as your father’s knowing eyes came into your mind. “Ah…” was all that escaped your lips, before you cured your pained expression in a calm and lovely smile. “My father taught me how to play. He always made it so I would win, though. Therefore, for the longest time I believed I was quite bad at it too.”

Your voice felt like crystal in the quiet room, so quiet and soft to the ear that it was more akin to a melody than a spoken sentence. You never truly talked about your home, never about your family of your past, which is exactly why your friends turned to you with a cocktail of shocked expressions. Despite how polite and proper you always were, whenever someone asked about it, you would have the coldest glare thrown their way, sure, involuntarily, but scary nonetheless, and with time the crew learned to not ask about a past you so much wished to hide.

Despite that, they never judged you for any of it, not even when your friendship has been tried over and over by your cold heart. You were never outright rude per se, but distant hit the nail in the head best. When Himeko would extend an invitation to a “coffee party” for the crew as an example, you refused with a polite smile that felt ripped out of etiquette teaching picture books, saying you prefer tea instead.

She feared you’d be left out, you feared being the centre of attention.

“I believe I’ll head in for the day.” You spoke after finishing to arrange the xiangqi pieces on the board. March left out an “Oh…” and you could hear the sad face in her voice. Amongst the others, she was the saddest when you chose to sit the Xianzhou Luofu out, as ever since your addition to the crew, you never turned down an adventure. You explained that your bones hurt from the cold of Jarilo-VI and that you needed a rest, and with Stelle at their side, you were sure they would have no problems getting trough this one trail-blazing adventure. Sure, it was a bit of a shock for Himeko and Welt, but to March? It was a tragedy. Her new bestie leaving her behind? She swore the world would end.

“Please, have a safe journey and a swift return.”

You nodded your head their way before picking up the xiangqi game and reaching for the door. Your fingers grazed the digital pad just in time to hear Dan Heng’s voice behind you. “I will do the same, didn’t quite finish storing the data bank after Jarilo-VI.”

And so you ended up side by side, walking trough the corridors of the Express. However, as you stepped past his make-shift room, you found his steps synced with yours still and, confused, you turned to face him and painted one of your signature smiles. Fake but pretty all the same.

“Can I help you, Dan Heng?”

It was exactly that cold yet perfect, more-like-a-painting-than-an-actual-human attitude that made Dan Heng distrust you from the moment you stepped on the Express. You left everything to speculation in a way in which even your clothes were a mass of black and colourless, without any culture behind or any story at all to tell. Always in a bland attire with no accessories at all. March made fun of you for being so tasteless, but he saw past the appearance. He saw past the way you acted and into the way you wilded your swords like cranes flying in the wind, the way you prepared and steeped tea, and the way you handled xiangqi and go pieces like a native only could.

He peered into your eyes in a way that made you unravel before him without a single word, and he knew it was to hide a side of you that you’ve hidden deeply to the rest. But not quite to him.

And while he was trying to get over a sense of danger in you, fed by your secrecy, you found peace in his presence. Unbeknownst to him, he was the one thing that reminded you of home and the good in it despite it all. If your memories were filled with torment and loneliness, he was the smell of freshly baked red bean sticky rice cakes in the market, or the sound of wind chimes in the summer rain. He was all of the little things you wanted to push away but found comfort in, and you didn’t know if you loved it or hated him for it.

“Yes, actually.” He nodded. “I find I can’t sleep as of late and I wanted to try one of your calming brews.” You frowned at his words but gave in without asking much, which he greatly appreciated. “Very well, please join me for some tea tonight, then.” And silence settled between you two as you lead him to your cabin with unease rolling off your shoulders.

Your room was much like your clothes. Simple and colourless besides the coffer next to your bed, which was unmistakably made with the mastery of a Xianzhou artisanship. But if he noticed it, he didn’t speak on it at all, nor about the low table in the middle of the room that was in the same style, or… well really about anything. You appreciated that most. Even when you settled on the table a traditional set of cups, a clear tea spreading the most enchanting and calming aroma from them, he did not speak a single word.

As he drank, his eyes rested on your covered qin that sat atop your bed, and he did not need to speak for you to understand his intentions. You sat down quietly on the covers, revealing the simple instrument like a truth you’d usually hide from. And he couldn’t help but watch you with sadness in his heart as you tuned the strings with shaky hands ‘till crystal clear notes echoed trough the room.

You took a heavy inhale and looked upon the dark ebony wood as if greeting an old friend before propping it on your lap, but couldn’t handle to meet Dan Heng’s eyes. At least not when he stared at you as if he knew every single secret you feared to tell.

As you raised your hands in the air, getting ready to pull at the string, his own palm engulfed your exposed skin in an unspoken plea, and you couldn’t help but give into his warmth. He pulled gently until your face was buried into his shoulder and his other arm was in your hair, and you didn’t even notice it when silent tears begun to stain the fabric of his coat. He didn’t protest nor ever addressed it, and you preferred the feeling of his body against yours to the coldness of his eyes on a normal day.

As such, you spent the evening together afterwords. Him silently sipping on the calming tea as the sorrowful yet comforting sound of the qin filled your bedroom, until there were no more tears to shed and the pot on the table had gone cold.

No one wanted to admit it, but it had to be said. Something changed between you and Dan Heng from then on and the first one to notice it was none other than March.

They were getting ready to leave the express when she stated it for the whole crew to hear.

“Is it me or are the two of you like, in love or something now?” She arched one of her eyebrows while her lips rested in a scowl. Now, don’t get her wrong she was more than happy for you two if it was the case, but what she could not stand for was the two of you ditching the adventure to enjoy a date over tea and qin music again.

“March, what kind of nonsense are you onto again?” You huffed with cherry red ears, while Dan Heng choked on the water he was previously drinking. All she could do was wave her hand while saying “yeah yeah,” over and over with a bored face before they set out on their way, but not before Welt pinned the two of you down with a knowing look.

The express stilled with their absence, reinforced by Pom-Pom who claimed to have some cleaning to do somewhere in the Express and Himeko who had some paperwork to finish. The parlour felt almost empty, despite Dan Heng’s presence right next to you. He still held his fist over his mouth as if preparing to cough, cheeks dusted pink and eyes on the starry sky before you, but he didn’t say a word about what happened. And something in you told you to follow his lead.

You ate quietly at the sticky rice cake you tried your hand baking, and although the taste was very different from what you remembered, it was still as good as ever. With a tissue all crumpled up in your hand, you resulted to watching the sky along side your new friend, eyeing the stars one by one as they passed by. Yet you found your eyes sliding lower and lower from the window to the man before you, who you found already watching you with wide eyes. As if caught in headlights, he stammered out an incoherent string of words but did not move his gaze, not even as his body leaned to yours until his hand grazed your chin.

You shuddered at his icy touch, but did not dare to move, not even as his fingertips reached for your lips. He gently wiped your lips then brought his thumb to his own mouth, licking off the excess red bean cream from the cake, and you were absolutely sure your face would explode from how hot it get in that very moment. “You had a bit,” He started, but his mouth closed shut when he noticed the dazed stare in your eyes. “Oh aeons, I didn’t make you uncomfortable, did I?” His voice shook and his own ears turned scarlet red, only now realising what he has done. You shook your head, head turning so you could focus on the floor as if the tiles below your feet were now the best sight you have ever seen. “Ah, not at all! I was just surprised, ‘tis all.” Your sweaty palm gripped the tissue tighter. “Would you like some?” And Dan Heng looked at the half eaten cake you extended to him with an expression you’ve ever seen him give March or Stelle. He stared at the cake in his hands with a wholehearted fondness. “Yeah.” Was all he could manage to whisper back.

And somewhere in the back, you swore you heard Himeko giggle to herself.

The same evening, you would hear three soft knocks on your door in the dead of night. There, in the hallway, with a sweat filled forehead and uneasy complexion, stood Dan Heng, and you would be a fool not to extend a hand to him when he begged for help with his tired eyes.

“Quit hiding!” The criminal’s voice rang trough your head like a broken mantra. “Your true form… reveal it!” Dan Heng did his best to dodge the maniac attacks, all while you and Yanqing stood in an awkward stalemate in the middle of the platform.

Your blade screeched against Yanqing’s, but it was like fighting fire with fire, simply useless. No matter how lowkey you’ve been upon reaching the Xianzhou, he needed one singular look to know exactly who you were, even underneath the mask that covered the lower half of your face.

“You, little..” You trailed off with effort. Despite his usual sense of justice, that you’ve always commanded, his attacks felt awfully biased as he strikes your blade repeatedly with his icy ones. His technique felt as familiar as home did, her teaching seeping in his bones trough and trough, but so did your father’s into yours, which you’ve had much more time to perfect than the little lapdog did.

“Move, you idiot!” And with one harsh push of your blade, the young boy was off his feet, giving you enough time to reach Blade before he could get any damage done on Dan Heng. You yelled with each strike you struggled to par, until his crazy red eyes widened in glee and his sword flew from his hands and right by your chin. The sound of your friend’s cry in agony and the blade tearing trough skin and bone made you pause, and horror struck you as you refused to turn around and to even acknowledge what had happened. “You!” Was all you could let out, sword still pointed straight to Blade’s neck.

“I have news for you.” He laughed, and you took a step back. You would lie if you said your insides didn’t churn with fear, even as he was left completely disarmed before you.

“Behind you… Is none other,” The sound of water engulfed your ears as your head snapped back. “Than the traitor of the Xianzhou. A criminal, forever banished!” Your eyes widened as the barrier around Dan Heng rippled, leaving a water-made dragon to escape with rage all over its face. It roared and turned in the air, coiling until it fell right back to where it came from, and when light and wind filled the platform, you couldn’t help but shield your form with your arms.

“The High Elder of the Vidyadhara… Imbibitor Lunae.”

The hold on your sword weakened. You shuddered as the man you grew so attached to revealed himself before you in a form you’ve recognised from your father’s tales. Long silky hair and cold green eyes, horns and tail and lotus flowers and everything that made the Vidyadhara so revered. You could hardly believe your eyes. With a weak step forward, you pulled at the mask to reveal your strained expression, sword falling to your side numbly.

“You really believed that the Stellaron Hunters were the only ones to infiltrate the Xianzhou?”

Cold air begun pulling at your hair, and you shook off your stupor when Yanqing begun summoning his ice swords. Your body acted before your mind did at the new threat and your sword was back up within seconds, posture ready for a clash.

“A wanted criminal, a banished person and a deserter. In this case, I will bring all three of you to justice!”

The fight ended before it could even begin properly. Yanqing was strong, but Jingliu’s teaching could only get him so far against the three of you. Blade begun striking without mercy, taunting you and Dan Heng for holding back. “What’s wrong, your grace? Scared to harm the boy?” The criminal laughed as you sent only one out of the spirit swords you summoned towards Yanqing. Flashes of electricity begun shining trough your hair with anger, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do more. Not even when Dan Heng delivered the final strike with a silent apology.

Yanqing’s knees begun to buckle just as Kafka yelled “All of you, listen to me - stop!”

You couldn’t help but stumble back, swords falling out of existence as Dan Heng’s feet stepped back on the floor and Blade’s weapon vanished before your eyes. “Well, Bladie? Are you satisfied?” She mused and he only hummed in response.

“…What did you do?” Dan Heng called after a moment of silence. “Just clearing the stage for the grand entrance. Can’t have the four of you misbehaving in front of the Luofu’s hotshot general.” Your shoulders stiffened as a familiar laughter filled the platform. All heads turned towards the sight, yet you stayed rooted on your feet, back turned and head shaking in denial. “No, not like this.” You whispered.

“Jing Yuan,” Blade huffed. “General!” Yanqing followed.

The man stared at the sighed before him with a knowing smile just as you got the courage to turn and face him. If he felt anything upon the sight of you, he did not show it. “Many years have passed since the three of you have departed the Xianzhou, and yet the circumstances of your return appear to be equally unhappy. If you still thought of me as a friend,” His eyes went straight to yours, unspoken words weighting you down as you found it harder and harder to breathe. ‘As family’ was what he wished to say, yet he held back. “You should’ve forewarned me.”

“My task is complete.” Was all the blade said. “Mhm. That it is.” Your father laughed in return. “Thank you for assisting the Xianzhou in this small matter. Take this person away, I will pretend I didn’t see anything this time.” He stated harshly despite Yanqing’s protest. Jing Yuan then stared at Dan Heng as the two Stellaron Hunters made their way to the boat at the edge of the platform. “It has been a long time, old friend.” But your friend answered harshly. “I’m not him.”

“Mh. I’m sorry. You cannot leave yet, however. Your astral express friends are still waiting for you in Scalegorge Waterscape. Shall we go and see them together? And you…” The moment you have been trying to prepare yourself for most had arrived, and your father’s smile died on his lips as his eyes analysed your face.

“I missed you terribly, my sweet flower.” Dan Heng stiffened next to you, but his hand fingertips grazed yours in protectiveness, to which you could only respond by accepting his palm into yours. The familiar nickname brought tears into your eyes, and despite the coldness of his face, your father’s voice felt like a familiar little tune you new by heart. Like a warm hug when you needed it most. How you wished you could’ve just forgotten it all and jumped into his chest, just like how you did when you were nothing but a sprout on two legs.

“That being said, we will continue this conversation later. I’m afraid your friends might be in trouble, you see.”

You didn’t know how time had passed so fast, more like a blur than anything, truthfully. Your eyes were opened wide on the platform between the Xianzhou and Scalegorge Waterscape, blade in hand and senses aware as you parred each of the attacks your way. Then you blinked, and when you reopened them, a familiar sight greeted you.

Three cups of steaming green tea on a low rise table, a board of xiangqi and pieces of go scattered all over the table. A sacred silence engulfed the room, besides the occasional sound of the chess pieces falling into place, and none of you could bring yourselves to shatter it just yet.

Dan Heng watched you play with patience while occasionally bringing the cup to his lips, now back into the form you grew so familiar with. You hated to admit it, but his presence comforted you. It gave you the strength to hold yourself together in a situation in which you would have certainly shattered if alone, and your father’s keen eye did not glass over that fact.

You sighed peacefully when your chariot was finally occupied in the middle of the palace, on your father’s side, in a perfect centroid checkmate. The man before you leaned back and sighed, a puzzled expression on his face. “You just had to go and get better than me at this game, did you not?” But you didn’t answer. You still didn’t know what to say, really. Were you feeling guilty for deserting your spot as a cloud knight? For leaving your father behind? Or for bailing on your responsibilities as his daughter? Well, no not quite, so apologising for it felt…strained and forced. But one thing felt real as your eyes met his and Dan Heng’s hand reached for yours across the table. You missed him terribly just as much.

“Every single day that passes shapes you more and more like her.” He added. “I wish you could’ve been by my side for them all.”

“Jing Yuan…” You whispered back, but he didn’t let you finish. “If your mother was here with us today, I assure you, my sweet flower, that things would have been so different.” For a moment, you could hear nothing but your heart beating against your chest.

“You are just like her. And I truly mean it. Your face, your personality, darn it all even the way you speak. And, as your father, I wish I could’ve offered you a better life.”

“You did all you could.” Funny how even now, you were the one to reach with a warm heart, how you were the one to comfort and forgive, even when his heart couldn’t yield.

“Not quite. I was foolish and believed that a firm hand would prepare you for the cruelty of the world. I failed to see, no. I failed to change when I saw that it was harming you more than anything.” You let out a sigh you’ve held in for a very long time and closed your eyes, a last attempt at holding in the tears you wished so disparately to shed.

“I love you, father. Nothing will ever change that. However,” Despite how your hand shook in Dan Heng’s, your voice stood firm, and as you opened your eyes, both men shivered at their determination. “An apology, no matter how needed, will never make up for what has been. If this is your way of asking me to stay, I fear I’ve made my choice.”

But his ever knowing smile was back on his lips, and his laughter caught you off guard. Your fingers tightened on Dan Heng’s fingertips, who had stayed quiet as you and your father voiced what both of you ever feared to before.

“You see, that was not my intention. That being said, if you ever did wish to return, there will always be room for you into my arms, my darling flower.” And you only nodded back, lips slightly parted in surprise.

“We should head out.” Dan Heng whispered to you after the tea had been finished and the conversation ended. He tapped the skin of your palm with gentle fingers, a quiet way of asking for your attention. His eyes were stricken with tiredness, and you doubted that yours were any better, excusing the puffiness brought by your tears.

“Ah yes, I forgot!” The general mused. “There is no need to return to that hotel for the night. I asked for your room to be prepared, for you and your lover here. So you could rest comfortably before leaving.” The moment could be best described by a broken record being pulled abruptly from its recorder and screeching in your head. You eyed Dan Heng who refused to meet your gaze and who’s ears became scarlet red once more. “Father!” You protested. “He- He’s not-”

“Save it, [Y/n]. At least invite me if you do ever get married.”

“Dad!” Shame engulfed you as you pushed Dan Heng out of the room all while the sound of Jing Yuan’s laughter taunted you from behind the doors of the seat of Devine Foresight. You couldn’t help but whisper muffled apologies into your hand that tried to shield your burning face from anyone that would watch, which in truth was as effective as searching for a needle in a haystack.

What you didn’t expect was for Dan Heng’s hand to find yours and move it away, revealing cherry red cheeks that matched his own. He cleared his voice before leaning in just enough for his breath to fan over your ear as your back met the closed doors behind you. “I would not mind if I was.” He whispered before his velvet soft lips rested against the exposed skin of the back of your palm. You were sure your knees would’ve given in if it wasn’t for his arm that hooked around your waist, bringing you so close to him you shuddered.

“I really would not mind it.”

Later that evening, as his teeth grazed your exposed skin before kissing it with sweet words of praise, as your hands intertwined and your bodies became one under the silk sheets of your bed, you could tell that your heart began singing a familiar tune. With each kiss from Dan Heng’s, a new feeling invaded your senses. You were home. Here with him, in this very moment. You were home in his arms.

And you wouldn’t changed it for anything else.

Yes, not even as March yells “I fucking knew it!” the next morning, for the whole of Xianzhou Luofu to hear, upon seeing your neck caked in love marks you had no means of hiding and your hand held tightly by Dan Heng, who only smiled back to everyone as you buried your face into his chest with shame.

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dapg-otmebytheballs · 8 months ago

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When I had just entered college and was newly discovering queer people and communities around me, I had a senior whom I got close with who sort of acted as my guide in the whole process, helping me figure out the dynamics, the communities, the different scenes in town, all that stuff. I and some of my other friends called her mother, not in a "mom friend" way, not in a "mommy" way (though we did also date a while), but in the sense of what we came to understand as our 'queer mother' - the slightly older and more experienced queer person who takes you under their wing and helps you find your identity and your larger community around town. We're very close friends and I still call her mother every so often to this day.

Some years later when I was the one heading the queer collective I had the opportunity of being a similar guiding figure for other new friends who were either new to the scenes in the city, and they ended up calling me 'mum' too, in that same friendly warm way, and there was always so much of that dynamic and queer joy filled in that endearment.

Anyway, you know how Dan sometimes randomly calls Phil "Dad"–

#dnp #dan and phil #phan #this post has been sort of a long time coming but i kept getting scared of writing it out XD

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lexsssu · 7 months ago

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Pls give us more headcannons of dan heng and his family im so soft for them🥹🥹🥹

TAGS: Dan Heng/Dragoness!Reader, domestic fluff, hijinks & shenanigans, dragon babies, headcanons

You can't tell me that the noodles didn't think Pompom was a toy during their first meeting and immediately tried to chew on him--

Pictures and vids of the incident circulated in every group chat for weeks as people cooed and awwwed at the sight of two hatchlings gnawing on one ear each as Pompom panicked

TB & March immediately take out their phones to record, whereas mommy & daddy are too busy acting lovey-dovey now that they're alone again to notice the commotion

The vid got so popular that it even made its way out of the station and reached the intergalactic web and reached places far and wide

When they visit the Luofu again and with the noodles, the amount of ppl asking to take pics with the dragonfam has the rest of the crew making them get into an orderly line so they can all get a turn

Usually their first stop is the other Vidyadharas, but the length of the line has them occupied for a good chunk of time

Halfway through the long line, Dan Heng could only furrow his brows at the familiar sight of the elders with their respective phones in their hands

Dan Heng's twin noodles have become galactic internet celebrities practically overnight, which also meant good PR for their race

Perhaps it could also attract powerful individuals like his wife who had the ability to procreate with those of their race despite their curse--

#lexsssu writes #honkai star rail #hsr #dan heng x reader #imbibitor lunae x reader #dan heng x y/n #dan heng x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #reader insert #honkai star rail x reader #imbibitor lunae x you #imbibitor lunae x y/n

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its-all-stardust · 8 months ago

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Sugar || 8

Masterlist || Part Seven || Part Nine

Steven Grant/Sugar Mommy!Reader

Word count: 4.6k

Series Summary: You meet Steven in a museum gift shop and feel an instant connection. Before you walk out the door you decide, perhaps against your better judgment, that you need him to be your sugar baby. Now you just need him to let you treat him right.

“What’s that look for?” Steven asks when he walks into your apartment.

You greet him with a grin, almost bouncing on the balls of your feet. You couldn’t wait for him to get here.

Your hands are on his chest, his on your waist, and you’re leaning into him before the door is even closed. “How do you feel about getting dressed up and being my date in two weeks?”

Steven seems to catch on to your excitement, realizing something is up. “This isn’t a regular date, is it?”

You shake your head. “Charity auction. I just got word today that I have an opening for my plus one, and I want you to come with me.”

He frowns, his hands twitching against you. “You had another date?”

“Just Dan. He had to cancel. He’s having a surprise party for his son that day.”

Somehow, Steven’s frown manages to deepen. “Who’s Dan?”

You feel him start to pull away, but you slide your hands up and lock them behind his neck, preventing his escape. There’s an elated tingling in your chest, and you soften your expression.

“Dan is my CFO. He always goes with me to these things to handle all the schmoozing because I don’t like talking to people.” Steven’s shoulders relax under your arms, the lines easing from his face. You press a reassuring kiss on his cheek. “Is that an acceptable answer?” you tease.

Steven sputters, though his hands are pressed more firmly against your waist, pulling you closer.

“If you wanted to be with other men, who am I to stop you?” he says. Though you can hear the relief in his voice, you also detect a lingering nervousness.

Your lips move to his jaw. “Too bad I don’t want to be with other men.”

Steven’s breath hitches. “No?”

You shake your head, inadvertently yet wonderfully nuzzling into him. “I only want you.”

A bold statement to say to a baby, but that’s how you’ve been lately. It started before your vacation just two short weeks ago, but it’s grown since then, and so far, you haven’t had reason to stop.

You only want Steven, which may be more than a little dangerous for you. You have sugar babies because they’re not like traditional relationships. They’re easier for a number of reasons, and generally, you don’t develop…certain feelings for your babies. They dutifully fulfill their role as companions, and you’ve always been fine with that.

But Steven has become more than just another baby to you. If you’re not careful, you could end up hurt.

“Oh,” Steven breathes, apparently all he can say. He’s practically vibrating against you, though, telling you all you need to know about how your words affected him.

Then, he says, “Good,” and kisses you. Steven is holding onto you like he can’t bear to let you go, and you return the intensity in kind. Your hands are in his hair, nails scraping along his skin.

He nips at your lips, drawing a gasp from you.

He’s been getting bolder, too.

When you finally part, Steven’s pupils are blown wide, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so… possessive.

“I should make you jealous more often,” you tease, trying to hide your elation that Steven seems to only want you, too. You’re not the best at reading people, but unlike some, Steven has never tried to hide how he’s feeling.

“No,” Steven says softly before burying his face in your neck, his hands roaming along your back. “I don’t want to hear about you with other people.”

Your heart is beating so fast; it’s a wonder it’s still in your chest.

Maybe, with Steven...

You didn’t pick this dress for Steven. That’s what you tell yourself anyway. You liked it because the fabric isn’t itchy, and the fit isn’t too tight. Nor did you pick it because you know it gets you lingering stares.

No, you chose it because you thought it was pretty. That was all.

The lie only worked until Steven saw you coming down the stairs.

His eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open. You saw him nervously playing with the cuffs of his jacket, endlessly twitching, until he spotted you.

The dress isn’t flashy—this is a classy fundraising event, after all, not a film premiere—but it exudes a quiet power.

It’s floor-length and midnight blue, with a shallow v-cut neckline that provides only a hint of cleavage. The sleeves are long, trailing a mere inch above the hem of the skirt, your heels saving them from touching the floor, and split just above the elbow for ease of use of your arms.

The finishing touches are the silver jeweled appliques on your shoulders in the shape of starbursts. They square out your shoulders, giving the illusion of perfect posture and fierce demeanor.

Not wanting to do the work yourself, you visited a salon earlier in the day to get your hair and makeup done. Steven saw that before the completed look, and even then, he was stunned by you. Your hair is pulled into an elegant bun to show off your neck, not a single strand out of place. Even the pins are carefully hidden, making your hair appear magically held in place. Your makeup isn’t heavy except for your eyes. Dark lashes and liner pulled into sharp angles, softened only by silver shadow across the lid. A deep wine-red lipstick completes the look.

Your only accessories are silver earrings to match the appliques and a clutch made to perfectly match the fabric of your dress. That way, you can carry it as your side without drawing the eye too low.

The only flaw with the whole ensemble is that you can’t wear the bracelet Steven gifted you. The gold makes it clash with the silver on the dress. You probably wear the bracelet too much, anyway; pearls are too soft to be worn every day, but you can’t bear to part with it. It was a struggle not to pick another dress entirely to match the bracelet or even take the dress in to have the appliques replaced with gold versions.

You’re afraid that would have been too much, though, and decided against it.

Even without the bracelet, Steven is still in awe of you, and that’s all that matters.

“I think I forgot how to breathe,” he says when you reach him.

Heat builds in your face as you say, “I could say the same about you.” You can’t help but reach out and smooth a hand across his right shoulder and down his chest.

Steven’s suit is black with the bowtie, of course, custom-made to match your dress. It is, admittedly, a little uninspired in terms of men’s fashion, but the norm for events like this. But even still, the suit is cut to Steven’s body perfectly, showing off his figure in the way only fine tailoring can do. His look is complete with artfully slicked-back hair, a style typically reserved for special occasions, leaving him looking a little less like your Steven. The Steven you’re used to.

After your many dates, you already know he cleans up nicely, but it’s still a sight to see every time.

“Only the best for you, love,” Steven says with a simple, offering his arm.

Though any event attended by the wealthy is used as an informal business opportunity, they are also for showing off. The nouveau riche tends to do so by wearing fancy clothes and jewelry. They make a show of how much money they have, bragging about mansions and vacation homes in foreign countries.

Old money falls into quieter luxury. The things they show off aren’t objects but rather something intangible. They talk of things such as new business dealings or proudly state that a spouse or child has a new position within a corporation or even the government, displaying not just their wealth but their power.

You, though, do neither of those things, not now that you have others to do the talking for you. Now that Dan isn’t here, you don’t have to listen to yet another round of your accomplishments being listed to potentially interested parties who could be convinced to invest or point your company toward more lucrative dealings.

You already did your time playing the rich man’s game at previous functions over the years, learning and avoiding all the faux pas typically done by those who haven’t learned to act like they were born to this. Some of the others forget your money is just as new as the overly flashy crowd. You know how to blend in; you’ve had to do it all your life. Things aren’t much different now, even though the crowd has changed.

And even though you tend to dislike these functions for the most part, you still have your own showing off that you want to do. There’s a reason you can fit in around here, after all.

You want everyone to see Steven on your arm.

Some, if not all, of your peers may suspect what he is to you. You don’t care, and chances are they won’t either. Some of them will likely have their own sugar babies in attendance with them. But you want to show them that none compare to your Steven.

None of them are as free or as open as he is. He doesn’t have to pretend to be air-headed to keep your interest, and as handsome as you think he is, he’s more than just a pretty face who fawns all over you.

You don’t plan on staying for long. A brief appearance usually appeases the more judgmental crowd. You’re not so renowned that you can decline all invitations with a small six-figure apology for your absence. It isn’t so bad, though. You do like dressing up on occasion, and it’s the perfect excuse to get Steve dressed up, too. You’re always looking for an excuse to make him into a model for your personal photoshoots, pictures tucked away in a folder on your phone.

After a flute or two of champagne, a respectable bid on something that isn’t terribly ugly, and enough people seeing—and admiring—Steven at your side, you’ll head home. The night will end at your apartment with your baby wrapped around you and a healthy transfer into Steven’s account for the pleasure of his company.

Ever since you and Steven returned from Germany, he’s been sleeping in your room with you whenever he stays the night. His bed has practically been untouched for the last couple of weeks; his own apartment even less so. These days, his room is just extra storage space for Steven to toss his clothes onto, and you couldn’t be happier. You’ve come to look forward to your new nighttime routine.

“So, do you get a paddle? Will there be a man talking so fast you can barely understand him?” Steven asks as the two of you enter the venue—a gorgeous art gallery, the host of the event.

“As fun as that would be, I’m afraid this is a silent auction,” you sigh. “You’ll only see this crowd at an auction like that if the lots are full of less-than-legal items.”

“What, really?” Steven asks in disbelief. “Aren’t those for, I dunno, shady people?”

“Oh, Steven,” you say indulgently. “These will be some of the shadiest people you’ll ever meet.”

Glass in one hand, Steven’s arm in the other—with him dutifully holding your clutch—you make your way through the gallery. Many of the pieces up for auction are paintings. They’re usually donated by some of the night’s guests looking to redecorate their homes. This way, they can get rid of the old paintings and find something unique for their newly refreshed foyer, all the while pretending they did it in the name of a good cause.

A few sculptures are scattered about, but those are usually never quite as popular. You also spot different memorabilia, either for some sport or another, or even items from a particularly beloved movie or actor.

Tonight’s selection also contains vintage handbags and jewelry. You’re sure there are other items about, but you’ve always had particular tastes and have rarely found items at an auction that you’re genuinely interested in. You only look because it’s expected of you.

A call of your name makes you pause, searching for the source.

Coming toward you is Daphne, a wealthy widow in her fifties. Like you, she doesn’t have the pedigree of some of the others, having “married up” after meeting her husband. Because of that, she’s never been as uptight as some of the other people you’ve interacted with, and as a result, you’ve always liked her.

“It’s good to see you,” you say, giving her a quick hug, mindful of your glass and hers. “It’s been ages.”

“You’ll need to squeeze me into your busy schedule for dinner some evening,” she teases. When she pulls away from you, she turns to Steven and says, “This isn’t Dan.” She looks him up and down, a knowing smile on her face.

“I’m Steven,” he quickly says, tensing beside you, apparently still a little jealous about your coworker.

“My date,” you provide without needing to as Daphne and Steven shake hands.

“Is he good?” Daphne asks you after introducing herself. She can guess that Steven is your sugar baby. She knows that’s your usual relationship, and she often has one of her own. She’s one of the few people you’re comfortable talking about babies with.

You glance over at Steven as if evaluating him. His nervous twitching has returned, and you’re unsure of the exact cause. A frown threatens to pull down the corners of your mouth, but you don’t let it succeed.

“He’s good,” you tell Daphne, giving Steven’s arm a reassuring squeeze. His cheeks darken.

He’s still responsive and isn’t blocking things out, a good sign that he’s not about to shut down.

“Where did she find you? I’ve been looking for a new man,” Daphne says, turning back to Steven. She always treats babies like people, unlike some who treat them like shadows, inconsequential, and best left seen and not heard.

“At the National Art Gallery,” Steven replies, a little strained, unsure what he’s allowed to say. “I work there and she was enjoying the exhibits.”

Daphne’s eyebrows raise slightly. She was likely expecting him to give a website. You usually prefer your babies to go through a screening process, so she knows picking up one at random—in person, off the street—is unusual for you.

“How serendipitous!” she exclaims with a genuine smile. Daphne then leans in toward Steven. “Now, tell me, Steven, how do you like your job?” she asks quietly with a pointed glance toward you.

Before you can say anything to try to reign Daphne in, Steven looks at you, his expression softening, the nerves falling away.

“It’s not really a job, though. Not to me. I just…like being around her.”

Your face starts to heat up as Daphne’s eyes flit back and forth between you, a knowing smile on her face.

“Good! Well, I won’t keep you,” she says, stepping back. “You two enjoy your evening. And I’ll be calling your assistant next week about dinner.”

After your goodbyes to Daphne, you and Steven continue walking around the gallery hall. You point out some rather dreadful pieces and make some talk with some of the other guests. As time goes on, you notice Steven steadily getting more quiet. You don’t think much of it. Putting on a show, even a minimal one, can be draining. His uneasiness has been following him all night, so you remind yourself not to stay longer than needed and keep moving.

“What do you think of this one?” you ask Steven, looking at the least ugly of the handbags. You’re still trying to find something to bid on that you could stomach the thought of taking home.

Before he can answer, the sound of shattering glass and a startled yelp fills the hall. Suddenly, Steven steps closer to you, his arm thrown protectively across your body as he searches for the source of the disturbance, his body tense.

“It’s alright,” you reassure, gently placing a hand on Steven’s arm. “Someone knocked into one of the servers.”

The tension leaves Steven, and his arm falls. You’re a little shocked. You’ve never seen him react like that before, though you haven’t exactly been in any situations where he would need to try to protect you.

“Sorry, I just….” He trails off, his voice sounding lower than usual. He shakes his head, confused. “I don’t know why I did that.”

You squeeze his arm. “Steven, are you alright?” you ask softly. “You’ve been a little off tonight.”

A slight frown forms on his face as he looks at you. “I’m fine. I promise,” he says, his voice mostly returning to normal. Then he gestures to the handbag you were evaluating. “You were thinking of this one, yeah?”

“I was,” you agree, looking Steven over. You don’t think you need to pull the plug on the evening quite yet, but something is going on with your baby. You chat about the bag for a moment, both of you pretending everything is fine.

As the night goes on, Steven starts becoming more and more withdrawn. You could have sworn you heard him mumbling to himself at one point, but when you asked him what he said, he claimed it was nothing. Though he was hesitant at the beginning of the night, he at least still made polite, though limited, conversation with the other guests you stopped and spoke with. Now, even you can barely get a word out of him.

“I think this will look lovely in your room,” you say to him as you come to a stop in front of an abstract painting that’s nothing more than splashes of various shades of a questionable yellow. You’re trying to get some reaction out of him, trying to gauge his feelings.

Steven doesn’t look as nervous as he did earlier in the night, but his brow still holds a slight furrow, and his posture, though perfect, is rigid. When you lean into him, he’s not as soft as he usually is. He doesn’t return the favor, leaning into you as he always does.

Steven doesn’t react at all to your suggestion of the hideous painting. It’s like he didn’t even hear you.

“Steven, look at me.”

He inhales as if preparing for something and finally turns to face you, though he doesn’t quite meet your eye. You take his chin and gently tilt his face toward you, making him look at you.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Though you keep your voice soft, gentle, there’s no mistaking the order in the words. He stares at you, mesmerized or lost in thought—you have no idea.

“I don’t…feel like myself,” Steven finally says, his voice sounding…wrong. “Can we go?”

Your hand falls from his chin down to his chest. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me something was wrong?” Usually, if Steven wasn’t up for something, he would tell you immediately. This isn’t like him at all.

Steven takes a second to answer. “I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

Your gaze softens, and any irritation, however mild, leaves you. “You could never ruin my night,” you tell him, filling your words with admiration.

You quickly turn around, typing in a random amount on the tablet for the ugly yellow painting, placing your bid, and making your mark for the evening. Then, taking Steven’s hand, you start heading for the exit. ��Let’s go.”

As you wait outside, you start mentally running through everything you have at home that might help Steven. If tonight just made him anxious, maybe even overstimulated, then you can have him change into something comfortable, dim the lights, and make everything nice and quiet. You can even brush out his slicked-back hair if he’ll let you touch him. Whatever he needs to makes him feel more like himself.

If he’s feeling sick, you’re sure you have something in the cupboards to help. If you don’t, you’ll just have someone deliver it.

“Can we go to my place?” Steven asks suddenly as your driver pulls the car up to the curb.

“What?” you say automatically, pulling from your thoughts and leaving you momentarily confused. “Are you sure?” To say that you aren’t a little hurt that he doesn’t want to be at your apartment would be a lie.

“Yes, please. I…need to be there,” Steven says, again, not looking at you.

You ignore the slight wound and focus on your baby’s needs instead. If he wants to be at his place, then that’s what you’ll do for him. After instructing your driver to go to Steven’s apartment, you take his hand again. It’s limp in yours, but he doesn’t pull away.

When the car stops in front of his building, Steven practically leaps out, pulling his hand from yours and leaving you behind.

You sit there, absolutely stunned and left unsure of what to do. Steven didn’t technically invite you up to his apartment, but neither did he bother to say goodbye.

Confused and more than a little hurt, you gather your clutch and sleeves and follow Steven out of the car, telling your driver to wait for you. You don’t exactly have a plan as you follow Steven into the building, narrowly catching the door before it closed and locked you out, but you hope to get some sort of answer from him.

Steven does a double-take when you slip into the elevator right behind him. Apparently, he wasn’t expecting you to follow. As the lift slowly grinds its way upwards, you and Steven are again silent, with him steadfastly avoiding eye contact.

Too stressed, too focused on Steven, you don’t process anything about the building itself. Any other day, you’d be thrilled to finally be allowed into Steven’s private space, but right now, you can’t think of anything other than what’s going on with your baby.

A dark part of you starts to whisper that it’s you. You did this to Steven and he wants out. But then a more rational part of your brain argues that he never would have looked at you the way he did just a few short hours ago if that were true. You’ve known Steven long enough to realize what a terrible liar he is. He couldn’t have faked his awe.

Whatever is happening, it’s something else. Something happened to him after you arrived at the gallery that caused him to act like this. You just need to know what so you can fix it.

The doors to the elevator open, on which floor, you have no clue, and Steven leads you off toward his apartment, no longer rushing to get away from you but notably keeping his distance.

Pulling his key from his pocket, Steven unlocks his door, allowing you into this part of his life for the first time. You had always wanted it to be under better circumstances.

The first thing you notice is the books. It’s not that you didn’t believe Steven when he told you how many he has, but hearing about it and seeing it are two very different things.

They are stacked everywhere. Shelves are overflowing, and neat piles are littering the entire apartment. There are even some spilling into the kitchen, gathered around the shelves that serve not only to separate the space from the rest of the flat but also host the tank for Steven’s pet goldfish, Gus. Before you can take in much else, Steven is moving away from you, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

Then he grips the back of the chair, the jacket bunching under his fingers. When he still doesn’t say anything, you do what you always do: take care of him.

Spotting a kettle on the stove, you make your way toward it, glazing at the wall immediately to the right of the door, taking note of the map and various postcards.

From his mom.

You suppose it’s something since, as far as you’re aware, she’s yet to return any of Steven’s various calls. Steven even told you this apartment is technically hers, but you’ve wondered more than once if she’s ever returning to London.

Grabbing the kettle, you take it to the sink, fill it, and put it back on the stove before opening the cupboards and hunting for a mug. Thankfully, the teabags are on the counter, left in their original tin. Steven’s eyes follow your every move. Only once you set down a mug and patiently start waiting for the water to boil does he finally speak.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you tea. Sit.”

Steven takes a step toward you. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I do,” you say sternly, turning to face him. Steven pauses, a little taken aback. “Sit,” you repeat more gently and return to your task. He pulls out a chair, the legs scraping along the floor, and obediently sits.

As the kettle whistles, you take it off the heat and pour the water into the mug. The silence is overwhelming as the tea steeps.

“Is it me?” you ask after a couple of minutes. You keep your back to Steven as you move around the kitchen again, hunting for sugar. Even though you don’t believe it is you—not entirely, anyway—you need to know what it is. You need to be delicate and the best way is to ease into it.

Steven doesn’t answer you until you stand across the table from him and set the tea by his hands.

“No. It’s not… it’s not you.” He shakes his head. “You’re… you’re good.” He goes silent again. He doesn’t touch the tea.

You wait for a moment before moving around the table to stand at his side. Sucking in a breath, you’re about to speak but hesitate. Maybe you should let it go and let Steven work out whatever’s wrong in his own time. Ultimately, though, you continue.

“Is it something you don’t want to talk about, or is it something you don’t want to talk to me about?”

Steven’s posture stiffens even more as he keeps his gaze on his hands. After showing no signs of responding, you reach out, taking his chin and turning his face toward you for the second time tonight.

“Steven.” Nothing else. Just his name and the unspoken plea for him to give you some sort of answer.

His eyes search yours for a moment before he takes a steadying breath. “I can’t tell anyone,” he quietly admits. “I’m sorry.”

You nod. Some things are too hard to share. You won’t begrudge Steven that. “But you’ll be okay?” Steven nods, your hand still on his chin. Leaning down, you kiss his cheek. “I’ll be here to listen if you can tell someone someday.”

When you pull away, Steven’s face is redder than you’ve seen in months.

“O-okay,” he breathes, his voice a touch shaky.

You hate to do it, but you know you should leave. Whatever Steven’s going through, he’d rather do it alone. You have no right to intrude upon his personal life as much as you have tonight. You’ve done all you could and can’t blame him for not wanting to open up to you.

You’re just his sugar mommy, after all.

You step away from Steven without another word and take the agonizingly short yet still too-long walk to the door. Swinging it open, hand on the knob, you glance back, catching Steven’s eye before he quickly looks away. For a moment, he looked like a complete stranger staring back at you.

Shaking the thought from your head, you pull the door shut softly behind you.

#moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight fanfic #x reader #sugar series

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