translation
Aventurine doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especiallyâfor keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluableâthe day when he must die without shattering you.
(Or: You are the only person in the universe who understands Aventurine in his mother tongue. He often regrets teaching it to you.)
5k words. gender neutral reader, established relationship, angst, non-graphic sex (reader bottoms, anatomy neutral), themes of cultural loss, references to slavery, aventurineâs canonically implied desire to die. MDNI.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.
Deception does not come easily to him in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weakâand too kind. The universe was a different place in the days when his life was coloured by the warble of Avgin dialect. It felt simpler, partly because he was a child and partly because Sigonia was yet untouched by outsiders. There were no corporations, no casinos, no commodity codes. His entire world was sand, desert, mother, sister, father (or more oftenâghost), goddess, tent, wagon, luck, sin, rain, blessing, Avgin.
Katican.
Aventurine is sure that he knew more than just those words. He was fluent as a child. He had conversations with his sister that were complex enough to make his heart hurt, though perhaps his heart was just constantly aching anyway. But the rest of his early words escapes him. He could maybe dredge them up if he thinks long enough, but he also isn't sure if his tongue and lips could form the shape of them anymore. Sometimes he still counts in Avgin, memorises phone numbers in it, but he doesnât remember the last time he actually strung together a full sentence in the language.
When Aventurine was first stolen into slavery (a word that he had not known as a child, and still doesn't know in Avgin), he wasnât given a Synesthesia Beacon. He had to rely on his ears and his wits, deciphering the harsh edges of the Katican dialect and then the strange garble of Interastral Standard Language. By the time he had a Beacon installed, it was already translating all speech into Standardâhis dominant language.
Sometimes he feels a little aggrieved by it, but at least it wasn't Katican. He'd have blown out his brains if it were.
But it is easy to console himself: Avgin is not a useful language anyway. Dead languages have no value, and the Avgin dialect was killed along with its people. You canât perform commerce in a dead language, can't negotiate contracts, can't enter a gambling den and use your silver tongue to rob people blind. You can't use a dead language to fell governments and extract resources; you can't use a dead language to bring an entire planet to its knees. You canât use a dead language to gamble your life; you can't use it to save yourself from the gallows.
You cannot deceive people in a language that is defined by sand, sister, goddess, ghost.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin. His command of it is too weak, and there is no one left to which he can lie, anyway.
When you ask Aventurine to teach you his first language, he gives you an amused look.
âWhy Avgin?â he asks. âNo one speaks it anymore. I can teach you Common Sigonian if youâd like. Or we could learn Xianzhounese together. Maybe Intellitron code? I know a little.â
âYou speak Avgin,â you argue.
âNot often,â he says. âAnd badly when I do.â
âBut it's still your language. And I want to understand you.â
Aventurine has to stop himself from laughing. Understand him? He hates being understood. When people understand him, it makes him predictable. And unlikeable. Hardly a position from which he can manipulate people in.
You understand him well enough to know that.
âYou'll have to give me a better reason than that,â he says neatly. âMake it worth my while. Reward me.â
You look at him as you ponder, your eyes lingering on his. Perhaps trying to read him, though he prefers to think you're just enjoying the sight of them.
âIâll teach you my language as well?â
âYou meanâyou'll reward my hard labour with more work?â he says, lighthearted.
You frown at him despite the joke. âYou don't want to understand me better than what a Synesthesia Beacon would allow?â He blinks, pausing. âItâll be convenient too. We can talk shit about other people in public and no one will understand us.â
Aventurine considers you. He doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especiallyâfor keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluableâthe day when he must die without shattering you.
He also likes the idea of talking shit in public.
âI'm listening,â he says, voice lilting. You lean in, smiling. Sweet. It makes his heart feel something he isn't used to. Something addictive. Something disgusting. He scrambles to cover it with one of the usual tools: humour or distraction or maybe just plain old lyingâhis most reliable weapon.
âI'll throw in a kiss?â you try.
He hums. âJust one?â
âOne per day.â
âThree.â
âYou drive a hard bargain.â
âWell, I am a businessman.â
You snort, but he knows you're endeared. You have very noticeable tells when youâre flustered.
âOkay,â you say. âThree kisses on days you teach me.â
âDeal.â
Aventurine remembers more Avgin than he thought he would.
It comes to him slowly, painstakingly. You aren't interested in structured lessons, and he wouldn't be able to provide them anyway. He has a nonexistent grasp of grammar aside from this sounds right and that sounds strange, and Avgin dialect is both so niche and so dead that no textbooks are available. The scholars have abandoned the language as much as the politicians abandoned its people. Aventurine only has you, his fragmented memory, and whatever questions come to mind as you live out your days with him.
Mostly, you ask him about basic vocabulary. Sometimes you ask him to repeat sentences from your conversations in Avgin, like heâs some kind of multilingual parrot. Each prompt forces him to wade through the fog in his mind, the one thatâs been shrouding his childhood memories until now. He's startled at how naturally the old words roll off his tongue: One, two, three, four. Good morning. Good evening. Good night. Sweet dreams. Five, six, seven, eight. You're lying to me. Why do you always lie to me? I don't know what you're talking about. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Welcome home. Have you eaten? Have some bread. I made you stew. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. That was dangerous. I thought you wouldn't make it back to me. Sometimes I think you want to die. One hundred, one thousand, one million, one billion. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
When you say, How do I ask you to let me hold you, he answers easily. He'd heard the words so often as a child: Let me hold you, Kakavasha. Let Mama hold you. His mouth forms the sounds without conscious thought.
He regrets it almost immediately.
When Aventurine hears it from youâstilted, halting, but no less gentleâhe stops breathing. Let me hold you. You say it all the time in Standard, but it feels different in Avgin. More painful. A strange sense of panic closes in on him when he's wrapped up in you, thinking in Avgin, thinking sand, sister, goddess, ghost. He holds you tightly, like the rags cut from his fatherâs shirt, or his motherâs locket won back from the shell-slashers, or a bag of poker chips beneath a card table, clutched within his trembling grip.
âAventurine, is something wrong?â you ask in Avgin, and he replies in Standard with his usual smile.
âHm? No. What could be wrong if I have you here?â
Lying is one of his greatest tools. Sex is another one. So he says, âI think I'd like my reward now,â and he runs his lips along your jaw, your pulse, the spot over your heart (there's a word for that in Avgin but not Standard, he tells you), until you're laughing. I thought you wanted three kisses, you tease, and he replies, Who said I wanted to kiss you on the mouth?
But he coaxes open your thighs, and once he's inside you, he collects his payment properly. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses youâand you swallow his lies whole.
There are some things that Aventurine doesn't teach you. Mostly, theyâre things that he canât teach you.
There are countless gaps in his Avgin. His speech is painfully childishâprobably more childish than it was when he actually stopped speaking it. He doesn't know how to swear (something that disappoints you) and he doesn't know how to flirt (something that devastates you). He doesnât know any words that would be useful for work either: commercialization, governance, stakes, winnings, profit. When you ask him what his job title is in Avgin (âWas senior management even a thing in Avgin society?â), he laughs and gives you the word for gambler.
Then there are the words that he remembersâhas remembered his whole lifeâbut never says. Not to you, and not to himself. He doesn't teach you any prayers. He doesn't teach you any blessings. He doesn't teach you about Mama Fenge, or the Kakava Festival, or how the rain fell when he was born. When you ask him, What holidays did you celebrate when you were little? he shrugs and says, We didn't have any. Sigoniaâs too bleak to do any partying.
Then you ask him one day, while your bodies are spent in the afterglow of sex, sticky with sweat and sweetness, how to say I love you. And he goes quiet.
Love is a cheap word in Interastral Standard. In the language of globalisation and trade, love has been commercialised, commodified, capitalised for power. You say it to him in many contexts: I love this, I love that, I love you. He hardly ever reacts, and he's never said it back. It would feel unnecessary and also cruel if he did: Aventurine has only ever said the words himself as either a joke or a manipulation.
But love feels different in Avgin than in Interastral Standard, doesn't sound like a thing that can be traded or bought. Kakavasha only ever said the word love to his mother, to his sister, to his father's grave. Love in his mother tongue feels priceless.
When Aventurine thinks about you saying itâI love you, Kakavasha, in clumsy, earnest Avginâsomething so painful swells in his throat that he can hardly breathe.
âThere is no word for love in my language,â he tells you.
You blink. âOkay, then what's an idiom for it?â
âThere is none. Thereâs no word or phrase expressing love.â
You raise a brow. âThatâs hard to believe.â
âIs it?â He smiles. âThereâs no Avgin in the known universe who cares about love. Only scheming, thieving, and treacheryâand you can't do those things when love is involved.â
You look at him in alarm. âWhy are you saying that?â You're practically squirming in your discomfort. âI don't know why you think I'd believe such a racist stereotype.â
âItâs not a stereotype,â he says. âI'm not talking about the Avgin culture. I'm talking about myself.â
After all, he is the only Avgin left.
It is an unfair thing to say. A cruel thing to say. After all the laughing and kissing and crying and fucking, after all the tender eyes and gentle words from youâit is probably the worst pain imaginable: I don't give a shit about you. He waits for you to cry.
But you only stare at him calmly, studying him. You brush the hair out of his eyes, seeing them clearly.
âIf you lie to me all the time,â you say in Avgin, âeventually I'll stop believing anything you say.â
Aventurine is speechless. His heart does that addictive, disgusting thing again. He thinks about leaving, but then you say, Let me hold you, and he can't do anything other than obey.
Avgin dialect was once included in the Synesthesia Beacon list of functions. The Intelligentsia Guild added it before the Second Katica-Avgin Extinction Event, when the IPC was trying to get a political foothold on Sigonia via the Avgin people. The language was alive then, with enough value to be included into the Synesthesia LLM by the linguists.
But since the Extinction Eventâsince Kakavasha ran away from homeâthe Synesthesia data on Avgin has been stagnant, a fossil. Aventurine knows because he's subscribed to software updates for certain languages (Avgin Sigonian, Common Sigonian, Interastral Standard, and now your mother tongue). He gets pinged every time there's a new addition for slang, for neologismsâbut there hasn't been a ping for the Avgin dialect since he had the Beacon installed. The live translation function hasn't even been available since the previous Amber Era. When he checks its page on his Synesthesia app, it's very clear whyâ
SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT
SPEAKERS: 0
STATUS: Extinct
END OF SERVICE: 2156 AE
The complete death of the language has led to an irritating dilemma for you and Aventurine. You keep running into words that he doesn't knowâthis time not because of his childlike speech, but because they never existed in his language to begin with. Ocean, tropical, rainforest. Starskiff, accelerator, space fleet. Stock market, shortselling, mutual funds. Black hole, event horizon, spaghettification. All things that never came up for Kakavasha, but now come up for Aventurine, and the language has not evolved to include it.
He always wants to switch to Standard to discuss these things, but you're insistent on speaking in Avgin as much as possible. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't mind humouring youâpartly because he likes to indulge you, and partly because heâs grown used to hearing the honeyed timbre of Avgin dialect in your household. The place would feel strange without it.
So you start filling the gaps with other languages, filtering them through the lyricism of Avgin. Loanwords, he thinks theyâre called. You take ocean, tropical, rainforest from Amazian; starskiff, accelerator, space fleet from Xianzhounese; stock market, shortselling, mutual funds from Interastral Standard. For the astrophysics terms, you try directly translating themâwith limited success.
âCan't I literally just say âblack holeâ?â you ask in Avgin, and he nearly spits out his coffee.
âPlease don't. That's a dirty word.â He can't bring himself to say what it means, but from the way youâre laughing, you can clearly guess.
âI thought you said you didn't know how to swear.â
âYou've just reminded me how.â
âYou're welcome.â You look on the verge of cackling. Aventurine finishes his coffee and wonders when you're going to surprise him with your newfound vulgarity.
âLet's just do the space terms based on Standard,â he says. Begs.
âNo, that's so boring.â
âThen let's do your language.â
You open your mouth. Close it. Give him a blank look.
âYou don't know how to say those words in your mother tongue either, do you,â he intuits.
âWell, âspaghettificationâ doesn't really come up in everyday conversation, does it?â
âThen maybe we don't need it.â He smiles, senses an opportunity. Smells blood. âHow about âloveâ? I'd much rather know how you say that. I bet it sounds beautiful.â
You give him a long look. Your eyes are vulnerable when you share it: Love. I love you. Heâs fascinated by the sound of it. Your voice is never that fragile when you say it in Standard. It's never so earnest. He repeats it, staring at you, and your gaze falls to the ground. His mouth curls.
âI like it,â he says. âLet's use that. It'll sound nice in Avgin.â
You try to recover. âSure. That works. But back to âblack holeâââ
And the two of you continue like that for days, weeks, months. It feels like a complete bastardization of his mother tongue on some days, in some conversations. Almost unrecognisable. But it doesn't feel bad. Itâs all he has, it's all you have, and when he walks into your home, he starts speaking it without thinking: your bastard, patchwork language. The Avgin dialect that exists only in your house. A tongue that can only be understood by a liar.
And then, one lazy Sunday morning, he gets a familiar ping. He expects it to be Interastral Standard, as usual. The language balloons with each planet that the IPC colonises.
But instead, he opens his screen and freezes.
SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT
SPEAKERS: 2
STATUS: Endangered.
SERVICE RESUMED: 2157 AE
NEW UPDATES: 103 loanwords and 5 neologisms added.
He can't stop looking at the status. Endangered. Endangered, which means dying, but alive. The Avgin dialect is alive again. The Intelligentsia Guild determined it, so it must be true. But Aventurine can't agree: there are no Avgin speakers in the known universe other than the two of you, and what you speak isn't real Avgin. The Avgin spoken by his mother and father and sister is dead; the Avgin spoken by Kakavasha is dead. The festivals are gone; the deserts have been terraformed. There are no wagons; there are no dances; there are no prayers. There are no blessings, and he has no homeâ
As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry.
His throat locks up.
âAventurine?â you ask. Your voice is drowsy, but concerned. âIs something wrong?â
He looks at you from his phone, a polished smile on his face.
âNo.â His syllables are plain and efficient in the noise of Interastral Standard: âJust looking at details for a new assignment. Itâll be a long one.â
âOh.â You frown. âWill you be away from home for a long time, then?â
He stops himself from swallowing. âYes, I'll be away from the house. For several months, probably.â
âOkay.â Your voice is small. âTake care of yourself, okay? I'll miss you.â
Each word you speak resonates with heartbreak. It always does in these conversations, even in Standardâbut the sorrow is amplified in Avgin. His mother tongue has an inherently sad quality to it, he's noticed. His people have lost so much over their historyâtheir language is one of loss. It's his language of loss. Kakavasha did all his grieving in Avgin; Aventurine has never felt sorrow in Standard. When the language died, so did Kakavashaâand all his regrets with it.
âYou'll come home to me, right?â you ask. It's a beautiful sentence in Avgin. A heartrending one. He feels something that he hasn't known since he was a child.
It's a feeling he has to kill.
âYes,â he says in Standard. âOf course I'll come back.â
This is not the first time that Aventurine has been mistaken for dead, but this is the longest time.
The latest world to join the IPC network was a tough acquisition. It had been ruled by a despot who wreaked havoc on both the people and the planet, and who was too stupid and reckless to resolve conflicts with his trade partners. He probably would have blown up the whole star system had he been left to his own devices. Aventurine had no qualms about bringing him to ruin, nor did he have qualms about nearly dying in the process.
If things had gone his way, he'd either be dead or missing. This would have been the perfect opportunity to do the latter, actuallyâto be freed from the IPC. Free to drift alone, speaking with strangers in strange, unfamiliar tongues. No connection to his past, to the cruel history of his luck, to his commodity code. No tether to his inherently unjust destiny. But instead he's back in your house, pockets heavy with his borrowed wealth, speaking to you in his bastardised, childish Avgin. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
Your Avgin isâshockingly fluent. He doesn't know how. He can't think about it right now. All he can process is the wounded animal noise of your speech as you yell at him, as you cry. Like an injured songbird, or a weeping child. Why did you leave, why did you lie, why do you always lie to me, why don't you give a shit about me, you spit. Why do you want to die, why do you want to die, why do you want to die, you keep saying. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost, he keeps hearing. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost. Don't leave me, big sister. People will die. Why do you have to go?
âIâm sorry,â he tries again, this time in your language. âI'm so sorry. Come here. Let me hold you.â
You collapse into your mother tongue. Aventurine is both relieved and horrified. Relieved that he doesn't need to hear the language of his griefâhorrified that he needs to hear yours. He's never heard you cry like this. He's never heard you break like this. These must have been the words you used when the soldiers found you hiding in your closet, when they dragged you out of your home. You were just a child.
Aventurine doesn't know the words you are usingâyou've never taught themâbut he still understands them.
You're very malleable when youâre sad; even more so when you're hysterical. Aventurine understands this about you, and he understands how to calm youâthis time in your native tongueâand he understands how to kiss you. He understands that you need to feel close to him. He understands that there are ways to accomplish this other than sex. A normal person would talk it out, have an honest conversation, come to a mutual understanding, and maybe even stop trying to kill himself. They wouldn't fuck you into the mattress while your face is still wet with tears.
But Aventurine is not a normal person. He doesn't know how to have an honest conversation, and he doesn't want to be understood. Lying is his greatest weapon, and sex is a close second. So he kisses you until youâre too breathless to cry, fucks you until you can't think, and makes you come so hard that youâre in too much bliss to grieve. And maybe it's horrible of him, but he enjoys it. He enjoys the way your body takes him in so easily, the way your nails dig into his back, the way you tighten around him when you climax, so wet and needy for him. The way you beg for him in your language for liars as he spends himself inside you: I love you, Aventurine, I love you, I love you, I love youâ
Only because it feels good. This is all only because he enjoys fucking you. This is all only because you enjoy fucking him. This is all it'll ever be, and it'll be this way until he gets to meet his end.
(Some months ago, Aventurine started dreaming in Avgin.
It surprised him when he first noticed it. The last time he remembers having a dream in his native tongue, he was twelve years old and still in chains. And even then, it had become a sporadic, strange thing. Awful to wake up from. One minute he was with his mother and sister on a cool, rainy day, speaking fluently in Avgin as he laughed and playedâand the next minute, he was being shaken awake in his cage, hearing the cruel lash of Katican.
But ever since he's started speaking Avgin with you, he's been dreaming in it. Vividly. Sometimes he's a child in these dreams, and sometimes he's grown. He's always back in the Sigonian desert, among the tents and the campfires and his family wagons. His mother and sister are alive. Sometimes his father is too. The skies roar with thunder and the stellar winds are always harsh, but they always keep him cocooned up in their arms. He's always warm.
Sometimes Aventurine dreams of nicer days. Clear skies, warm sun, cool breezeâall blessings from the Mother Goddess. On these days, he tends to be an adult, and you tend to be there with him. Your Avgin is fluent but strange, filled with funny loanwords and peculiar slang. His father likes the neologisms and starts using themâbut only in wrong ways. His sister finds it embarrassing and keeps apologising to you.
His mother loves you. She loves you so much it hurts. This is how I know you're blessed, Kakavasha, she says, glowing. Youâre so lucky to have found such a kind person.
Kakavasha knows this. He knows he's lucky, and in his dreams, that isn't a bad thing. In his dreams, his luck means that his home is not violently excised from his heart: his father never dies; his mother never dies; his sister never dies. The tents are not burned; the wagons are not destroyed. He is never forced to forget his people's dishes, their songs, their language, their joy. And in his dreams, his luck means that he meets you anyway, without all the loss and the chains and the lying.
In his dreams, he is able to bring you to the desert. He is able to teach you the Avgin he spoke as a child, to cook all the meals his mother used to make, to share with you their coffee and their tea. He teaches you prayers. He teaches you blessings. He tells you about Mama Fenge, about how the rain fell when he was born. He takes you to the Kakava Festival, shows you how to dance, sings to you all the Avgin songs until you're singing back. He presses his palm to yours in prayer; he kisses you in devotion, not avoidance.
Sometimes the two of you still fight, the same fights that you have in real life, but he handles them with honesty. He listens to you. He apologises to you. He tells you that heâll change, and he means itâbecause this world is a kind one, and he has no need to be so cruel to you.
In this kind world, when you lay in bed with his arms tight around you, you smile at him and say, I love you, Kakavasha. You say it in Avginâreal Avgin, not the dialect born from genocide and deceitâand when he responds, there's not even a little bit of insincerity in his voice. Because Kakavasha never became Aventurine in these dreams, so he has no Interastral Standard in which he can lie to you, no silver tongue with which he can manipulate you, no commodity code that inspires his fear of being controlled by you. Kakavasha only knows Avgin, and he only has his sand, his family, his goddess, his home.
And he has you. Finally, he has you.
He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses youâand then he tells you the truth.)
.
.
.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.
You noticed this very early on: whenever he lies to you, he always switches to Interastral Standard. Probably he wouldn't be able to do it in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak, and the words he knows are all too kind. He speaks with the innocence of a child, and children cannot deceive people in the way that adults can. Children cannot perform commerce or negotiate contracts. They cannot use a silver tongue to rob people blind. They cannot save themselves from the gallows.
So Aventurineâs Avgin is defenceless. Vulnerable. So vulnerable it hurts. You are not so vulnerable in your first language because your captors spoke it on occasion, and you learned to lie in it to gain their pity. You told Aventurine that knowing it would help him understand you, but this was a deception. Aventurineâs mother tongue was a language of trust, but yours is a dialect of abuse.
The Avgin language died before Aventurine could be gutted by it; this is why it disarms him so completely. This is why heâs so indulgent and so warm when you use it with him, why he yields to all your requests. Not requests for money or giftsâyouâre certain those are meaningless to himâbut for affection. Let me hold you. Let me touch you. Let me kiss you. He can never say no.
This is also why he loves hearing you speak his mother tongue, you thinkâit makes him feel at home, it makes him feel safe. Maybe it even makes him feel loved. He never seems so at peace speaking any other language, so you try to use Avgin as much as possible. You like seeing him happy. You like it even if it means you need to teach him your own native language in exchange, even when it means you need to hear him say all the things your captors used to say. You don't mind it if it's him. You never mind the harm he inflicts on you, especially not when it brings you closer to him.
It is convenient that he cannot lie in Avgin. You only wanted to learn it in the first place because he talks in his sleepâmostly in Standard, but sometimes in his native tongue. And now that you know he cannot lie in Avgin, you also know he's always being honest in his dreams. Honest when he throws his arms around you in his sleep. Honest when he grabs you so tightly that you bruise. Honest when he buries his face into your neck and whispers prayers into your skin.
Most of the words he says are common ones, the earliest vocabulary that he taught you. But there are some things he's withheld from youâand to learn those things, you had to track down linguists from the Intelligentsia Guild, bribe them with your dirty money, have them give you all their deprecated, extinct data. It felt two-faced, and it was violating, but it was the only way. You already know that Aventurine would rather die than translate his feelings for you, would never want this part of himself understood.
I'm sorry for always leaving you.
I'm sorry for making you cry.
I can't bear the thought of losing you.
Freedom would be too lonely without you.
I don't want to hurt you anymore.
I don't want to lie to you anymore.
I missed you.
I want you.
I need you.
I love you.
end
afterword
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O4O: part i
|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || omega for omega, soft smut || wc: 10.3k  || ao3 ||
Jing Yuan has been content riding out his heats alone for centuries. You, despite being another omega, are happy to lend a hand if Jing Yuan will have you.
minors, antis and ageless blogs dni
đŠđ this piece is apart of SPRING FEVER: an omegaverse collab! đđŠ
part i (here) â part ii (coming soon!)
notes: hello omega jing yuan omega jing yuan save me... the way omega jy has haunted me for months. MONTHS. this fic is incredibly indulgent soft, needy smut with non-traditional a/b/o dynamics. THANK YOU to the lovely @owlespresso for beta reading!! please read the tags and enjoy!! <3
CW: a/b/o dynamics, omega jing yuan (with afab and amab anatomy), omega reader (afab anatomy), past yingxing/jing yuan/dan feng, bottom jing yuan flavors (though reader does not do any penetration), use of toys, worldbuilding around omegaverse, lots of biting, milfy jing yuan, mommy kink without the word mommy (at least not in this part đđ!!),
Jing Yuan has not shared his heat with anyone in a very, very long time. Centuries, most certainly. Jing Yuan doesnât find it very useful to keep track of that length of timeâ he finds it cumbersome if anything. Thereâs no use holding onto a past that only forces him to redigest pain.Â
Jing Yuan rarely has heats. He keeps a diligent schedule of medication and only has to go through them once every decade or so. Occasionally less, if the Luofu is passing a particular star system or comet field. His heats are always cumbersome. He can conceal his omegan sensibilities often, but it is more difficult prior to a heat.
Preheat is a different beast.
When Jing Yuan sequesters himself in his estate for the better part of a week, anyone who knows heâs even there assumes it is to go through a rut. A week is a standard amount of time to take off for a rut and is expected. However, a heat has a standard time off of about two and a half weeks. Much longer to accommodate preheat and nesting needs.Â
Jing Yuan rarely indulges his own.Â
The Luofu, at large, assumes he is an alpha. This is manufactured, however only partially. Generally, the citizens of the Luofu assume, given that he is the General and he has a larger, broad-shouldered stature, that he is an Alpha through and through. He always wears scent patches in public, which is normal for both omegas and alphas. Betas, too, occasionally. Depending on the subtype. The Charioteers know that he is an omega, but they are committed to some amount of discretion and guard the information as a secret. Lady Fu, an alpha, will occasionally scold him for being so secretive. Like he harbors some sort of self-hatred that he is an omega.Â
It is simply more convenient for him to be seen as an alpha. Jing Yuan doesnât wish to disturb this perception.
And therefore, it is much easier to wait as long as possible between heats and bear them alone. Whatever instincts he has can be satiated with toys and a half-decent nest. Jing Yuan has always considered this enough. âEnoughâ.Â
(Itâs not sating. Jing Yuan cannot lie to himself about this. He remembers laying with Yingxing, and how the alpha made him feel more full and content than Jing Yuan had ever thought possible during a heat. Or ever, truthfully. He remembers how calming Dan Fengâs presence had beenâ grounding and reassuring, too. Jing Yuan was fucked, filled and protected. An omegaâs dream.)
Jing Yuan... copes with what he has. A large, plush bed with a downy mattress, a few donated, alpha-scented garments, and a collection of inflatable, knotting toys. He always leaves his heat with lingering cramps, a brutalized hole, and a yearning that takes a few weeks to quiet itself.Â
It is natural that he craves his mates. Even if they are long dead (not dead. Not really. Not the same as they once were, anyway.)
And certainly, never to be his again. The mating mark on his neck has long faded.
Jing Yuan tracks his heat so such yearning can be anticipated and planned for. He knows when his heat is approaching, down to the specific day it will occur. He titrates off his suppressants carefully, and maps out a portion of time off for himself a year or so in advance.Â
Which is why it is very odd that he starts exhibiting preheat symptoms in the middle of the day, a random day, during a tactical meeting.
Even if he had been titrating down his dose in anticipation for a planned heat in a few months time, it is far, far too early to begin feeling symptoms. The familiar itchiness prickling under his skin is entirely unexpected. Jing Yuan has to put a particularly large amount of effort to get through this unnecessary meeting without letting a single symptom slip. He can only adjust in his seat so many times before it is improper, or juggle the cradle of his jaw from one hand to the other before it is clear something is wrong.Â
If any of the Charioteers and their advisers notice anything amiss with him, they say nothing. The only one who looks off-put is Fu Xuan. Sheâs a spitfire alpha herself, and perhaps sheâs keen enough to notice that Jing Yuan is beginning to feel... unwell. Though he is masking his scent as he always does, he imagines that the flush in his cheeks is becoming increasingly obvious.
Fu Xuan gives Jing Yuan a wary look as the meeting is dismissed.
âGeneral,â She says curtly. âAre you well?â
âIâm fine,â He gives her a rich laugh as he stands, muffling a groan as his stiff back and knees ache. Heâd sat for too long. He feels light-headed as he rights himself and Fu Xuan glares at him.
âI doubt that,â Fu Xuan huffs. âI will not interrogate you in public, nor do I think you would give me an honest answer even if I didââ
âSo little trust in me, Master Divinerââ
â However, I will urge you to go home. â She takes a step closer and sniffs the air. Itâs just the two of them in the meeting room now, the rest of the parties in attendance having filtered out. Subtly and without fanfare, she takes his hand in her own, and presses her wrist to his. Jing Yuan keeps an easy grin on his face but canât help the way he tenses his fingers, flexing them at the contact. âDo you need an escort?â
âIs Lady Fu worrying for me? How kind.â
âIâmâ not, â Fu Xuan huffs now and more roughly smears their wrists together. The scent gland she is almost abusing is swollen and hot to the touch. It takes all of his composure not to squirm with her treatment. âIâm no fool. If you have a heat starting, you should be comfortable at home, not in a war room.â
âMaster Diviner, you think Iâm an omega?â Jing Yuan says with a smile. He knows she is already privy to this, but he canât resist teasing her a bit.
âYou are insufferable. Even in this state. Go home. I will take you there myself.â
âIâm afraid I canât return home just yet,â He hums. He imagines he has a few hours before proper pre-heat sets in. âI have a lunch date that I cannot miss.â
âYouâ a lunch date?â
âYes, of course. Itâs a scheduled event, dear Diviner.â
âDo not patronize me.â
Jing Yuan laughs as she fumes. He has the urge to ruffle her hair, but thinks better of it. The complicated updo would surely be ruffled, and Jing Yuan is already getting an earful as it is.Â
âI would never.â
Fu Xuan yanks her arm away with a growl. She wears some type of masking perfume, she always has, but with her frustration swirling, a bit of her actual scent peaks through. Itâs light on the back of his tongue, floral almost. Nearly inedible, but the kind of scent Jing Yuan that makes him nostalgicâ
(For a master with a scent like frost-covered roses, and a packmate with a scent filled with springtime lilac blossoms in fat clusters.)
âIf this lunch is really so necessary, may I escort you there at least? Or will your alpha be meeting you here?â
âTheyâre not an alpha.â Jing Yuan hums. His stomach feels warm regardless. âAnd Iâll be just fine getting there myself.â
Fu Xuan looks at him, questioningly. Her lips open, then close once more. There are questions she clearly has. And for all her brashness and hot-blooded fervor, she understands decorum better than most. She pries out of care and her good intentions, and Jing Yuan can respect that if nothing else.
âIâll concede,â Fu Xuan sighs. â However, please let me know if thereâs anything else you need. You have my number.â
âNoted.â Jing Yuan rises, and feels the heat clouding his head sink lower in his body. Heâs being engulfed.Â
Fu Xuan deadpans, âGeneralââ
âHave a good rest of your day, Master Diviner,â He calls with a light laugh, slipping away before Fu Xuan can give him any further grief.
...
As the Arbiter General of the Luofu, Jing Yuan knows its streets and secrets very well. Thereâs more than one way to arrive at his favored terrace garden without being seen or smelt by the public. It is helpful that this path is lined near an aqueduct stream, surrounded by lush greenery and clumps of fragrant azure asters. This path is tucked away, straddling an external tunnel of the Luofuâs inner tunnels. Really, only the Calibrators aboard the ship use it, and as there are only a few and they tend to keep to their delve, Jing Yuan has very little fear walking this way at his own leisure.
He is glad you tend to take your lunch dates in the privacy of this particular garden, under the gazebo and nestled atop its many silken blankets and pillows. A conventional restaurant in this state would be doable, but unideal.Â
Jing Yuan can smell you as he approaches. It makes him pause, just outside the gate. His hands hovers over his jade abacus as he opens his mouth to taste you in the back of his mouth.
(Warm, a familiar scent that he associates with the rare indulgence of relaxation. Itâs not overly sweet or ripe, but balanced and full-bodied. Not quite floral or fruity, and not deep enough to be akin to an aged black tea. Perhaps like the roll of a hearth or the beeswax of a lit candle.)
Heâs sighs. It calms him instantly.Â
Even if you arenât an alpha, you are familiar, as is the current setting.
Youâre sitting at a low table in the shade of the gazebo. There are several plates of cheeses, cut fruits, salted meats, and nuts laid out. Youâre ladling sticky honey into a small dish as he enters, and look up at the sound of the gate closing.
You smile when you see him.
âGeneral,â You smile. âI apologize, I started setting up lunch without you. Everything should still be chilled.â
âNo need to be sorry,â he laughs gently, brushing a hand against your shoulder before rounding the table, and taking a seat across from you. âI could never complain about your diligence. You have chosen quite the spread today, havenât you?â
You flush with a nod, and gesture down to the table, âThe markets were lovely today, I had to splurge. Youâll have to let me know what you think.â
âOnly if you do the same.â
âI-I can do that,â You smile at him softly.
Despite your familiarity, you still regard him with some amount of anxiety. Jing Yuan has long since placed this has less to do with his status as General, and more than likely due to a deepened amount of affection that Jing Yuan... entertains. Enjoys. Thrives off of, even. He perhaps returns it, though he hasnât told you that explicitly.
Besides, you believe him to be an alpha. Heâs sure that, if you did know his secondary gender, such affections would fade quickly. The allure of what he could provide as an alpha is quite different from what he can provide as an omega.
Jing Yuan takes a sip of sparkling juice, and as he lowers the thin-necked glass, you look at him strangely. A crease knits itself between your brows.
âDid I get some on my face?â Jing Yuan chuckles and wipes at the corners of his mouth with his thumb.
âNo... you just,â You stumble with your words, hands flexing in your lap. âAre... are you alright? Your cheeks look quite warm, and youâre sweating around your hairline.âÂ
You always have been keen to bodies other than your own. Itâs not the most common trait.Â
â... Am I?â Jing Yuan could choose to lie at this moment. It would be easy to say he was using a new brand of suppressants, or blame it on a stressful day. However, he doesn't like lying to you, only twisting the truth when entirely necessary. âI do suppose Iâm at that point in my cycle.â
âOh!â You startle and sit up more straight. You push a plate at him. âPre-rut? You should eat, then. Youâll need your strength. Doâ do you have someone I can call? I donât mind.â
Your worry is cute.Â
Jing Yuan canât help thinking about it. You are an omega full of so much care and urge to help. Jing Yuan has seen it and experienced it many times, and has also seen how it has gotten you into unfortunate situations. You have a trusting mind and spirit, and more than once, it has been used against you.Â
Jing Yuan likes keeping you close, so he can look after you, even if itâs from a distance.
He stares down at the plate. Thereâs a pile of glistening orange grapes, a few roses of sliced, cured meats, a chunk of honeycomb, and buttery looking crackers. It does look delicious, however Jing Yuan has always struggled to eat in his pre-heat. When he looks up at you to decline, your expression looks even more worried, almost sour.
Before he can speak, you are. Petal-soft lips lips downturned. âAre you... not in pre-rut, General?â
He deflates, slightly. He is oldâ and. He does not wish to steer you away from what is a correct assumption. You are his most trusted companion.
âI am not,â He says softly, and picks up one of the grapes. He squeezes. The skin is taut and tight. âAnd, please call me Jing Yuan. Formalities can be dropped, yes?â
âIâ yes, of course.â You look from his plate to him. âSo, youâre... pre-heat?â
âI am, yes.â
âOh!â You immediately heap his plate with several other kinds of fruit, and grab a clean glass and pour ice water from a pitcher into it. âI apologizeâ for. Making such an assumption.â
âNo need to apologize.â He soothes and lays a hand over yours. âIâm aware of what the vast majority of the Luofu assumes my secondary gender to be. It does not bother me. If it did, I would have corrected the greater public long ago. I apologize for not telling you directly until now.â
âItâsâ okay,â you reply. Perhaps a bit hurt. âI never asked. I justâ I just thought. Wrong.â
(Please be kinder to yourself, he thinks. It hurts to see you saddened on my account.)
âNonsense,â he laughs and gracefully takes the water you offer. He downs the glass down his parched throat. Heâ hadnât realized how thirsty he was. âNo harm done. If anything, Iâm grateful that you now know.â
(Regardless of how it could change your feelings toward him.)
Jing Yuan has tempered heartbreak for millenia. Another oneâ is not nothing, but it is manageable. Perhaps not during preheat, but he still has time to mourn.Â
âIâm glad too,â you tell him, and squeeze back his hand. You only scent him sometimes, always so shy about it, but now you firmly rub the scent gland in your wrist against his. His aches, and the sensation and exchange of pheromones nearly makes him wheeze. He straightens his spine.Â
âWas thatâ?â You almost pull away.
âNo, itâs very welcome.â
You stare at him, intent and soft, before settling. Tentatively, you rub at the gland in gentle circles.
âYou should eat,â you say after a moment. âDo you have an alpha I can call? Orâ um, anything you need me to pick up for you?â
âI am fine.â Jing Yuan will text Qingzu for the essentials, rather than troubling you. âIâll finish lunch with you, and then see myself home.â
â... No alpha to pick you up?â
âNone to speak of, no.â Jing Yuan manages a smile.
(It has beenâ centuries since Jing Yuan had an alpha to care for and stake a claim on him. The notion of finding another has been put out of his mind since he himself had to confine Dan Feng to the Shackling Prison and exile the man Yingxing became. Even after meeting them as they are today, Jing Yuan knows they are no longer his mates.)
âOh.âÂ
Every one of your emotions is so clearly on your face. You look so sad for him and you squeeze his hand. He has half a mind to pull away, and remind you that he does not need your worry. However, he is in pre-heat, and by Lan, he is craving worry. Â
âAnd... heatmates?â You ask. âI donât want to pry, but itâs hard to spend a heat alone.â
âOnce again, none.â Jing Yuan replies without hesitating. The silence that follows is poignant as you study him.Â
âI see.â You frown again, clearly thinking. Jing Yuan can see the thoughts turning around just behind your eyes. You pile on even more fruits to his plate. âEat, eat. You need it.â
âThis much fruit will give me a stomach ache, I fear.â
âSome of it, at least!â You huff at him. âFor me, please?â
Jing Yuan meets your gaze, easy and soft. Thereâs no threat, only the heat that matches your scent and the feel that radiates in his chest.
(You are not his alpha. You are something entirely differentâ something that he wants so badly to hold.)
âFor you.â
...
By the end of lunch (in which, Jing Yuan does manage to eat a decent amount of the fruit youâd put on his plate), Jing Yuanâs pre-heat has begun to simmer into a more uncomfortable territory. He desperately wants to shed his uniform and armor, and slip into a robe and no bottoms. He hasnât begun to slick yet, but he will surely start to by sundown.
Jing Yuan stands after the meal, stretching. Itâs proper afternoon now, and the birds of the garden chirp eveningsong.Â
âJing Yuan?â You ask as he stretches his arms above his head. His name sounds lovely in your mouth.
He hums, âYes?â
âDo you want a heatmate?â You ask quietly.Â
He looks at you.Â
Youâre fiercely meeting his gaze, even though youâre clearly struggling to. Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth, and youâre fighting a frown from the crinkles on your forehead. Regardless, you stand your ground and ask a question that is surely difficult to broach, especially so directly.
âIâI am offering.â You stammer. âTo clarify.â
âTo be my heatmate?â
âYesâ I hate to think of you suffering alone, Jing Yuan. If I can be by your side to ease it, if only a little, I would like to be.â
âThat is very brave of you to ask.â He smiles with a tilt of his head. âAnd bold.â
âIâ Iâm being honest.â You almost whine. Itâs so cute. âIs that a no?â
âNo, not at all.â Jing Yuan replies. âHowever, I wouldnât want you to help solely for my benefit. If you wish to enter my nest exclusively to be an aid, and not out of... personal wants, I would feel guilty.â
âItâsâ itâs personal wants too.â
â... Is it now?â
âYes. Absolutely.â
âEven though Iâm not an alpha, as you thought?â
âYes.â
âYouâre certain.â
â Yes, Jing Yuan.âÂ
âI cannot give you a knotââ
âI do not need one!â You break, much to Jing Yuanâs amusement. âI am happy to be by your side, regardless of that! If anything, Iâm more than happy to share a nest with you without the assurance of a limp and a potential pup.â
Jing Yuan smiles, almost unrestrained, and your cheeks heat deliciously.Â
You stammer, and poke at his chest, âYouâre teasing meâ!â
âI apologize, you must forgive meââ
â Rudeâ!â
Your bury your face in his chest and nuzzle there. Itâsâ clearly a self soothing action, one you realize a moment too late isnât quite proper. You stiffen, beginning to draw away, before Jing Yuan catches you by your scruff and holds you there.Â
âYouâre alright,â He holds a wide palm there. âI apologize for teasing you. I mean so warmly.â
â... Scoundrel.â The sound muffles into his chest.
âAm I?â
You peer up at him, so warm in the cheeks and eyes... almost watery. Something in his chest feels sticky and molten.Â
â Yesââ You dare to meet his eyes again. âBut, one Iâm very fond of.â
Jing Yuan steels himself.
You are an omega. It is not your pheromones addling his mind. There is clarity in the attraction and affection he has for you, one not influenced by the urge to be knotted and bred. Though, Jing Yuan wants that, maybe part of him needs it. There is a trunk full of toys and implements he has tucked away that will sate the urge. The feelings that he carries for you will not so easily be placated.
âI would like it very much if you were to share my heat with me,â He speaks softly, just for the two of you to hear. Not even the garden birds will know his words. âIf you are still offering.â
âYes,â You say quickly, tentatively wrapping your arms around his waist. âYes.â
He chuckles, easy and low, and presses his nose into your hair. Perhaps itâs pre-heat, making him sentimental and mushy. He usually hides out and bears it alone in his comfiest nest so these feelings typically do not get expressed in any other way other than delirious, anguished cries while a knotting toy takes the edge off.Â
Jing Yuan finds these are nice to indulge, as your scent envelopes him.
...
âI lied earlier,â Jing Yuan says as you enter the threshold of his estate. âI apologize sincerely.â
âOh?â You ask with a tilt of your head, accepting a pair of house slippers eagerly. â... What about?â
âI am in pre-heat unexpectedly. Though I have been tapering suppressants for an anticipated heat, it has come far earlier than planned . Things are... not as I would like them. Youâll need to excuse me for a few moments.â
Jing Yuan, like any omega, is particular about his home and nest, especially around his heat. He knows his home and inner chambers are not to his liking and heâll need to prepare them. Even if you arenât an alpha entering his nest, you are a guest and companion he is very fond of. You deserve only the best.
âOf course, whatever you need,â you assure him. âDo you need me to grab anything while you do so? I donât mind running to the marketââ
Jing Yuan turns on his heel, grabbing your arm firmly, âYouâre not leaving.â
âO-Oh.â
Your eyes widen, and heat rises in your cheeks. Your throat bobs as you swallow and nod. Jing Yuanâ were he not in pre-heat, would perhaps be a bit embarrassed by his brazeness. However, now? The idea of you leaving his home sends him reeling. You cannot leaveâ not until you smell like him and his nest. Not untilâ not until this is over.
âI sent a request to Qingzu to fetch us a few things during the walk over. Sheâll be here shortly. I do, however, have a bowl of fruit that could be cut up while I get myself sorted. How does that sound?âÂ
You nod eagerly, happy to follow instruction. Jing Yuan knows this about you and enjoys it thoroughly.
He sets you up in the kitchen with a bowl of sunsiettas, a box of meldberries, and a few bunches of perfectly ripe, round kaishen grapes. Jing Yuan leaves you to the task, which he can already tell you will do dutifully. You thrive off of praise and direction. Itâs a dangerous trait of an omega to carry, even more terrifying to hold openly as you do. Jing Yuan knows it has burned you before.
However, he intends to indulge you well and kindly, as it pleases him very much.
His mind, far-too warm and itchy, yearns to spin fantasies as he locks himself in his room with a shake of his head.Â
He must keep it together. Just for awhile longer. His bed isâ not a nest. Not the nest he wants (needs) it to be. His duvet, thick and luxurious as it is, needs a fluffing and a fresh scenting. His pillows are not arranged to his liking, and he needs to poke through his linen closet and add some extra layers as well. He needs to make sure thereâs lube nearby with clean toys. Water out. His phone charged and volume onâ (though, he already sent a message to Qingzu stating his heat has hit and heâll be out for at least a week. âDefer to Diviner Fu :3â , which is Jing Yuanâs payment to Lady Fu for the list of errands he had sent her.)
Jing Yuan shakes his head with a laugh. The little alpha will certainly be pleased when she hear sheâll get to play General for a while.Â
Pre-heat drives him forward. He sheds his many layers (without aid, which is objectively a headache and he regrets not asking you for assistance initially. However, Jing Yuan is fairly certain that if he were to be fully bare around you, regardless of his pre- heat or not, he may jump you and drag you into his nestâ)
Pre-heat is also making him somewhat irrational. Â
He throws on his favored robe, a silken, cream-colored garment with delicate gold and red embroidery around the hems. The sleeves drape at his wrists and a sash ties it snugly around his waist. The itch thatâs been rolling around just under his skin feels duller, with the less restrictive garment. The fabric crosses over his chest in a way that is... revealing. Probably too revealing, under any other circumstance, especially given that you have never seen him in anything less than his daily regalia.Â
The thought of looking so indecent around you has its allure to it. One that Jing Yuan lets himself entertain with a smitten smile as he works.
He is attracted to you, surely. This he knows and has known.Â
Jing Yuan acknowledges that this is both emotional and physical. You are dear to him, truly. In a way that is unique to any of the connections, he holds in the present. Your presence is one he thoroughly enjoys, and, more than once, (many times), has craved during his late-evening ruminations in his courtyard. Heâ has thought about inviting you over, if for nothing else than a chat in the moonlight and tea or wine to your preference, howeverâ
He has always stopped himself.
Yearning, he will allow in the ways he has learned to manage it over the centuries. Small doses of longing that can be enjoyed and swallowed down, without festering. Being brazen with his wants and feelings is... slipperier. Especially concerning you, as you are dear to him, and Jing Yuan, for better or for worse, would like to share space with you for as long as he can manage.Â
This attraction is regardless of secondary gender.Â
Jing Yuan has not cared about secondary gender for a great while (since he shared a bed with a short-lived alpha and one of Longâs Scions, who, like all Vidyadhara, did not have a secondary gender at all.)Â
Your presentation as an omega was never a deterrent to him. If anything, it was something of a comfort. Jing Yuan was claimed long ago, and he knows that no alphaâs claim will feel the same as Yingxingâs and he wouldnât want anyone, especially you, to attempt to emulate it. The ownership of a claim was not something he sought. Jing Yuan has had his heart broken enough for this lifetime. He is sure you could rend his heart asunder, however it would not be in the way of losing a mate that he is biologically tied to.Â
Statistically, Jing Yuan is lucky that such a loss did not cause him to become Mara struck five hundred years ago.
He is very content with whatever your relationship could become. If nothing else, the prospect of it allures him. Especially now that you know his presentation and clearly seem undeterred yourself. Ifâ if anything. Your scent calmed and cooled when heâd told you on the terraces.Â
Another thing that Jing Yuan will have to parse when he isnât so wet that heâs leaving puddles in his wake.Â
For now, Jing Yuanâs nest is satisfactory aside from a few personal items.Â
Now, all itâs missing is you.Â
...
Jing Yuan does not find you in the kitchen, but rather the foyer, wishing Qingzu a goodbye with a wave and shout.Â
Jing Yuan mustâ
(Temper his instincts because you are far too close to the door and you need to be in his nest and his teeth need to be in you and his scent on youâ)
âJing Yuan,â you say to him warmly, with a smile. There are a few canvas bags on your arms. âHow are you feelingâ?â
Jing Yuan canât stop himself from dragging you away from the tall set of doors and back to the kitchen. You squawk at his firmness, but donât reject his touch. He helps you heft the bags onto a low table. His own arms shake, with both the strain and his own heat-induced weakness.
âItâs really progressing, huh?â You tentatively raise a hand, and place it on his forearm to stroke there.
Jing Yuan practically purrs when you rub over the silken fabric, âIt is. Quickly. However, my nest and appropriate supplies are ready. Did Qingzu deliver all that I asked?â
âIt seems so.â
There areâ three more bottles of lube. A few pearly-looking medicine pills, a specialty item from the Alchemy Commission. Several stacks of ready-made meals and electrolyte powder. There are several vials of milky-looking oils he had her grab for more scandalous purposes as Jing Yuan would like to avoid any type of friction abrasion. Lastly, there are few unmarked boxes with new toys.
âYouâre so well-prepared.â Your eyes are wide as you take stock of the haul. Jing Yuan bundles things into a basket and ushers you to his nest.
âI have gone through many heats,â he chuckles. âI have learned the best tricks.â
âI-I can see.â
As you enter his bedroom, you stare at his nest with wide eyes. You jump when Jing Yuan locks the door.
â... Is that alright?â Jing Yuan asks.
âYes, yes, of course. I justââ You swallow. âI havenât ever helped another omega through a heat. If you have any pointers or preferences, let me know while youâre still in your full mind, please? Iâd like to make this as comfortable for you as possible.â
Jing Yuan thinks for a moment. With a tilt of his head, he rests his hands on your shoulders. Your scent is spiced, a bit nervous, but also undeniably aroused. Your gaze darts down to his exposed collarbones and chest, then quickly back up to his eyes. Heat rises fiercely in your cheeks.Â
âYour presence will be helpful in and of itself,â he assures you with a squeeze. Carefully, he hooks his thumbs on your outer garment and pulls it down, undoing buttons and ties along the way. Your lips part, breath hot. âIâll guide you as I need. My heats tend to be mild, though they do last a full week. There will be lulls, which I tend to be quite worn out during. Iâll need your assistance more than anything.â
You nod, taking in his response.Â
Jing Yuanâ heâs holding it together. Slick is beginning to drip down his inner thighs and thereâs an ache in his core that feels heavier and hotter by the minute. However, he does want to do this part slowly. He prides himself on his patience. Piece by piece, he takes off your day clothes and tosses them into his nest. Without them, your scent is stronger. Your neck is bare from any topical or adhesive blockers.
âDuring the rest of it though?â You ask, softly. âWhen youâre in the throes of it.â
Jing Yuan hums, letting a shaking hand rest on the curve of your waist, âIâm not certain. Itâs been quite some time since Iâve shared a heat with anyone.â
â... Really?â
âYes.â Jing Yuan presses his lips to your forehead without thinking. The heat of it, of you, sinks into his own. He feels like heâs going to burn up. âDoes that surprise you?â
âYes.â You answer, and push yourself closer to his neck. Your lips part to taste his scent on the back of your tongue. âYou are a catch. I know you have quite the lineup of suitors... I just assumed.â
âYou also assumed I was an alpha.â
âThe General is a skillful liar.â
Jing Yuan clicks his tongue, sliding a hand below your last garments. Satin, lacey things that are almost sheer. Thin. He could tear them easily, but doesnât. His touch lingers.
â Jing Yuan,â he reminds you. You stammer before pitching into him. He carefully walks the two of you backwards. His legs are close to giving out. âAnd Iâd like to think of it as a skillful withholding of unnecessary information.â
â Jing Yuan is very good with his words,â You murmur into the soft skin of his neck, lingering around one of the scent glands there. They ache, sore and unstimulated.
So carefully, you stretch up on your tiptoes to nose at one of them. Your scents bloom together and his eyes almost roll back into his head at the meld of it, the relief and rush of connection.Â
Itâs the last push Jing Yuan needs before dragging you into his nest with a stifled moan. Coherency is shattered and all he can do is crave, crave, crave.
...
You are a good heatmate.
Astoundingly good. Attentive, kind, and so soft. Itâs a relief to Jing Yuan, whoâs heat-addled mind is so used to loneliness and cold. You do not have the scent or knot of an alpha, but youâre more than enough. Itâs presence and comfort in a way Jing Yuan so, so missed. Itâs enough in a different wayâ and that difference is good.Â
(You are not Yingxing or Dan Feng, and Jing Yuan is grateful that you arenât.)
Jing Yuan finds himself on his back, with you wrapped around him. You let him pillow his cheek against your collarbone. His nose presses against your scent gland, and he pants against it with an open mouth and spit slicked lips. Your hand lays over his chest, cupping his breast while gently thumbing over his nipple. Heâs so swollen there, aching.
He cries out as you pinch, as if it could relieve any of the pressure roiling around under his skin.
You curl closer into him with your lips against his temple. âDoes that feel good?â
He can only keen and hope you understand that itâs a plea for more.Â
You must because a moment later youâre squeezing with your entire hand. Itâsâ too big of a handful for you. Your fingers are soft and your touch gentle. The visual of the plump flesh of his chest bulging out from between your fingers rewires Jing Yuanâs brain for a craving he never knew possible. A rush of slick gushes from his cunt andâ itâs so much. He lurches into your neck, licking blindly at your scent gland. Vaguely, he notices you stiffen and your scent grows a little sharper.Â
Itâs worry. Jing Yuan canât have that.
With every ounce of his strength, Jing Yuan rolls you below him, and sits on your hips. You let him, so pliant and agreeable, and lay below him. Jing Yuanâs breath catches and drool slips to the corners of his mouth.
You are beautiful. You look debauched, and youâre not the one in heat. Youâre flushed and damp with sweat, just as he is. The robe heâd draped you in is mostly open, revealing supple skin and your last bastion of modesty in the form of a cute pair of panties that Jing Yuan will fantasize about later.Â
You look up at him in awe, lust-hazed just like him. Thereâs little composure to be had as your fists ball up in the sheets around his thighs. Your gaze goes glassy as you look from his face down to where heâs seated atop you and back again.
âNo teeth,â he assures you. It is the last coherent thought he has, if only to provide your some comfort.
You look up at him sweetly and nod, grabbing the plump flesh above his hips. âNo teeth.â
(A claim wouldnât take, anyway. Not really. Omega-to-omega pairings lack the necessary pheromones to stake a claim on each other. The most it would do would indicate that whoever has been bitten is a submissive-leaning packmate. Whichâ Jing Yuan actually would not mind biting you. He would like his teeth in your neck if you would ever allow him.)
He groans at the thought, lowering his head as a silver mane of hair spills around his face.
Jing Yuan is drenched and hard, leaking from the tip of his cock and seam of his cunt. Itâsâ filthy. Youâre soaked too, with a mix of him and undoubtedly yourself too, though Jing Yuan canât scent it over the smell of his own heat. Itâs regrettable as he is sure the mix of you must be divine. Heavenly.Â
He wants it in his mouth.
Jing Yuan slinks down your body, licking and sucking at patches of your skin. You try to bat him off, haul him up and away from your own leaking sex, but he resists. He needs a taste or heâll die, probably. His heat can be quelled in a number of ways, he presumes.
With his face buried in your cunt, surrounded by your scent, the ache for a knot is dulled. When you cry out on his tongue, it is almost deafened.
Jing Yuan drinks you upâ he should pay more mind to your clit, probably, if he wants to get you off properly. However, he is so immensely distracted by your entrance and the essence of you thatâs leaking out. Thereâs a rapidly widening damp spot beneath your ass. A steady flow that Jing Yuan needs in him.Â
He seals his mouth over your cunt, and prods his tongue inside of you. He presses so close, suffocating with his nose tight to your clit, to lap at your insides.Â
Youâ you wail above him. Your hands bury in his increasingly tangled mess of hair for any sort of leverage. Jing Yuan doesnât let up; he doesnât think he can. Your tone crashes into one thatâs softer, more airy, begging for more. For less. Jing Yuan canât entirely tell. He isnât sure he cares, truthfully. All he knows is that your thighs tighten around his head with each suck and slurp.
The sound of it is heavenly.
Your thighs press around his face. Flush to his cheeks are the scent glands in the apex of your inner thighs. Not everyone has them, as theyâre something of a recessive trait among all secondary genders. The scent that comes off them is your own, however muskier and deeper. It sticks to the inside of his nose and pours down his throat like a nectar. You mewl when he breaks away to lap at one, coaxing out more of the scent. He gluts himself on it.
He needs, he needs, he needs.
âJing Yuan,â you pant above him, propping yourself up with one arm while the other blindly reaches among his nest. âDo you need it? Knot?â
HeâÂ
(He needs to be filled. He isnât picky if that feeling is quenched with his cunt, ass, throat, or nose. The scent of you is almost enough, even if he clenches down on nothing and feels hollow in his belly. The sensations are so dull with you nearby. He feels heat incensed, but in a way that craves closeness with you and not the manic pursuit of a knot.)
Itâs refreshing. Jing Yuan regrets not propositioning you for this treatment sooner.
âAre you offering?â Jing Yuan purrs. He places his thumbs over the scent glands of your inner thighs and presses down on the swell of them, just under your skin.
Your back bends off the bed and you throw your hand over your mouth. Teary eyes meet him and you nod. From the folds of the nest, you pull forth a knotting toy with a shaking grip.Â
Itâs beautiful for a toy. Itâs a model that Jing Yuan had seen in a few high-end adverts on the few social medias he moonlighted on. Itâs a flesh-like plastic cock, with an inflatable knot at the base. A little, wired remote drags along the blankets of his nest as you hold the phallus out to him. The plastic of the toy is a light gold, cut with veins of blue. It looks otherworldly and unreal. Jing Yuan has never cared for much realism with his toys, though this one is human enough.Â
He makes a mental note to get Qingzu a bouquet for purchasing it for him on such short notice.Â
The head of it feels cool against his cunt. Itâs a welcome sensation as it feels like his body is burning up from the insight. He lays over you, wrestling you a bit to be flat below him, with his thighs caging yours. He growls when you try to grab the toy from his hands to assist.
It makes you pause.
Your soft palms cup his cheeks, âDo you not want me to help?â
âThe angleââ The angle wonât be right, Jing Yuan wants to say. His words feel lost in his throat as he slowly begins to push inside himself. He gasps and tries to duck into your neck, to like and suck at the gland there and feast on your scent.
âI can tryâ?â
â No.âÂ
Jing Yuan wants you just like this. In his nest, smelling like him and arousal and safety. The toy thatâs sliding into his cunt is mostly irrelevant, as is the twitch of his cock as he slowly and methodically fucks the toy into himself. Little by little, he bullies it into his underused hole. The stretch isâ is not bad. It would be far more uncomfortable if he werenât in heat and pouring slick.Â
You ask more quietly, just as he bottoms out. You still havenât let go of his face. âAre you sure?âÂ
He is, but he canât find the words to say so. Instead, he nods and tucks himself closer to you. You pet down the back of his neck and push on his scent glands. They ache with his heat. The pressure and direct contact makes him grunt as he adjusts to the toy in his cunt.
You hush him and nuzzle in his cheeks, âYouâre doing so well. So good, Jing Yuan.â
He keens and pulls back the toy cock, only to shove it back into himself a moment later. Praise from you is a drug. Heâs sure. Youâre unbearably earnest and sweet and you are too kind to him. You whisper more of them into his ear as he fucks himself, deep and slow. He feels the sentiment of your words more than he hears it. Deeply affectionate and caring. If he were more lucid, he would be disarmed by you, speechless even. Perhaps he is already speechless, but he blames that on the heat haze and how the head of the toy is pressing deliciously into his sweet spot.
He narrows his focus on the spot and fucks him on the toy in earnest.
Jing Yuan will have an arm ache after this. Many aches, actually. It will be worth it. It is easiest to bear with you underneath him, tilting your hips up to grind against his dripping cock. Itâs not the friction his body craves, but itâs welcome. It sends sparks down his spine and he whines into your neck.Â
You nip at his neck, high on the side of it, and Jing Yuan lets loose a cracking moan. Itâs almost embarrassingly loud. Were Jing Yuan able to feel shame in that moment, heâd be red-faced.
Instead, he tips his head to the side, allows you room to mouth and suck marks as you desire. You catch on quickly, and hum, licking broad stripes and soaking him in your scent. Your marks. It surrounds him.
He fucks himself on the toy faster.
(Itâs nothing like the heats he had while he was mated with Yingxing and Dan Feng. Not at all. They were shorter, back then. Perhaps it was his youth or the relentless pace and haze Yingxing kept that burned Jing Yuan out faster. Or, maybe it was that Dan Feng always made sure he was wrung out, despite not craving him in the same way Yingxing had. It was carnal then. It still is now, but it does not feel as manic. You are gentle without qualifiers, sweet without expectation, and happy to let him rut into you and back onto the toy as much as he pleases. Your kisses are bruising, but not bloody like Dan Fengâs. Thereâs a different pace, a different scent, and a different intent.)
Jing Yuan once enjoyed the desperation that Yingxing put into everything he did (including him). He had fallen in love with Dan Feng for his poetics and distanced care. You have neither of these. It is unfair, ultimately, for Jing Yuan to draw comparison.Â
Perhaps, heâll feel guilty over it later. For now, his arm gives out and he falls into your chest with a keen. His back arches, hips raised, and the new angle is so, so good. You run your hands through his hair, and move your thigh, just right, so he can grind on it to his heartâs content.
Heâs close; he can feel it in his belly.
What sends him over the edge is the feel of your lips against his hairline, the way your lips have curled into a soft, easy smile as you kiss him there. You stroke down his back, like how a good lover would.
You are a good lover.Â
He shudders as orgasm grips him. The sound that rips from his throat is shattering, as overwhelming as the heat that boils over in his guts. And you are such a good lover, that the little remote must have already been in your hand, as in the moment he comes, the knotted base of the toy begins to swell. Jing Yuan canâtâ canât chase his orgasm. He can feel his eyes growing wet while his body feels out of his control (he hates that, he really does). You, however, are a good lover and reach and stretch, matching his angle with the toy and fuck him through it yourself. The knot catches once inside him, then a second time, and with the third, it locks him and the toy together.
And with what can only be called a sob, Jing Yuan fully collapses on top of you.
He canât keep himself upright, he realizes. His thighs tremble terribly, and his arms are the same. His eyes are filled with tears he didnât expect and doesnât know what to do with. It feels vulnerable. Too vulnerable, in a way that Jing Yuan has avoided for centuries now.Â
Before the feeling can consume him, youâre coaxing him onto his side and wrapping yourself around him. A sheet gets pulled atop the both of you and youâre nosing into him wherever you can.
âItâs okay,â You tell him. âYouâre okay, I promise.â
A muffled sound that comes from your throat, followed by the low roll of a purr.Â
Oh.Â
All for him?
He shoves himself closer, skin to skin in all the spots he can reach. His tongue laves at your scent glands as his cunt flutters around the toy. He claws at your back before locking his arms around your waist.Â
Youâre purring for him.
He can help but do the same, even chirping without meaning to as he nips at your jaw. Jing Yuan trails his lips to your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. You curl and laugh at his touch, and Jing Yuan steals the lovely sounds from you with a kiss. Itâs something deep and consuming, and Jing Yuan needs more of the taste of you. You squirm into it, gasping and opening your mouth for him to explore as he needs. Your openness continues to undo him.Â
Itâs all the reassurance he needs. Any poisonous feelings fall away, and Jing Yuan, for the first time in far too long, finds himself content and knotted.Â
...
Jing Yuan has never had a heat quite like this one.
It is certainly more mild, and certainly a bit shorter than what he was expecting. The worst of it lasts five days, followed by three days that he canât quite call post-heat. Though the desire in him is less feverish, he still craves your presence so much it hurts, and the idea of you being out of his nests sends him into a toothy panic those days. The âno teethâ rule is modified to allow some biting, as long as it doesnât involve any scent glands.
(However, Jing Yuan still would not mind putting a claiming bite on you. He makes a note to bring this up when heâs feeling some clarity of mind and can... attempt to court you properly.)
The most intense days of his heat are spent with a knotting toy in his cunt, rutting against your soft thighs, or with your hands wrapped around his cock. He eats you out whenever he can muster up the energy to shimmy between your legs and luxuriate there. Any down time is spent dozing in the warm sun rays that his bedroom is perfectly placed to receive.Â
The latter days of his heat, Jing Yuan is more lucid.Â
Itâs in those days he truly enjoys his heat. Though the burn of arousal still lays within him, it is easily tempered with your presence in his nest and your many shared bite marks. Your time awake is spent lazily kissing, speaking in low voices, and sharing laughter and cups of cool water, one after the other.Â
Jing Yuan, partially, did not think he would ever get to experience this type of connection again. with you or any other partner. The intimacy of the act is so deeply vulnerable, and after the spiritual loss of both Yingxing and Dan Feng, he never endeavored, or wanted to endeavor to, open himself up in that way again.
He, perhaps, convinced himself he did not need to.
(Nevermind the many nights, both heat-addled and otherwise, Jing Yuan spent craving nesting companions. Nevermind how many nights Jing Yuan lay alone, accepting his losses and mourning mates heâd never hold again. Jing Yuan could never choose to be selfish.)
It helped when Yanqing was little. He was just a small pup with golden eyes like Jing Yuanâs and a fiery spirit, even when he was so small. Jing Yuan had never considered himself maternal, however having a pup to take care of brought out latent instincts heâd spent the better part of his life pretending didnât exist. As Yanqing aged, however, he was less receptive to such affections and connections. After presenting (far too young, poor thing, traumatized body), Yanqing wouldnât share a nest with Jing Yuan unless he fell ill. Even then, Jing Yuan would have to coax him into it.
It quenched something in him. It allowed Jing Yuan to let himself care in the direct way he craved. With his position as General, how often does get to show care with his hands, and not with his words or stratagems? Not with sacrifice or poetry, but with his body and scent.Â
Jing Yuan realizes now that there truly have been so many urges and behaviors Jing Yuan simply did not indulge.
And as his heat breaks, Jing Yuan thinks heâd like to start indulging them more.
...
On the last day of his heat, you stir around nightfall. You are exhausted, Jing Yuan knows this. Though his heat has provided him with a surprising amount of stamina, you are in standard condition, and looked wrung out halfway through day two of his heat. Jing Yuanâs grateful youâre as fond of midday naps as he is.Â
You are cradled against his chest, your cheek pillows on his breast. Heâd thrown a robe on while washing up, and hadnât elected to remove it. The silky texture of it feels lovely against his flushed, sensitive skin. You seem to enjoy it too as you grip at the fabric of it in your sleep, nuzzling into his chest.
Your brow scrunches and a little sound pops from your throat as you try to burrow closer. Itâs a hopelessly sweet gesture, desperate and honest. Jing Yuan canât help but chuckle and smooth a hand over your mussed-up hair.
When your eyes crack open, your voice is raw, ââS morning?â
âNo, nighttime.â Jing Yuan nods to the darkened window.
You raise yourself up just enough to look, hum, and then fall back on top of him, âFeels like it should be morning.â
âWe havenât been keeping a very consistent sleeping schedule,â Jing Yuan rarely does, but he imagines that you and your position with the Sky Faring Commission have quite a regular routine. âYou can keep resting.â
âI donât wannaâ,â Though, you shove your nuzzle into his chest, smearing him with your scent. âI wanna stay up and talk to you.â
âMe?â Jing Yuan smiles, smitten. He pinches your cheek. âAbout anything in particular?â
â... Not yet.â Your eyes slip closed. âMaybe later. I want to say things to you, but I feel... mushy. Inside my head.â
âPheromone drunk?â
ââSomething like that,â Your words slur. âNot that Iâm complaining. You smell so good, Jing Yuan.â
When you say his name, he shudders. The hand thatâs been playing with your hand slips to your nape and squeezes. You keen at the contact and tangle your legs with his. Itâs an impossible amount of closeness you are seeking, but Jing Yuan must attempt to give it to you. Itâs abashed and honest, and in the stillness of night, how can he not indulge?
âDo I?â
â Mhm.â
âLike what?âÂ
Youâre falling asleep, clearly. Youâre struggling to keep your eyes open even as you inhale deeply. Your lips part and you take his scent into your mouth.Â
âEarth after rain,â You hum. âSunbeam and linen. Warm milk.â
He squeezes you.
(A long time ago, Yingxing had complained about his scent. âComplainedâ. His face had been flushed crimson, telling him how distracting his sweet, rich scent had been. Dan Feng thought it was the funniest thing, considering Yingxing so clearly enjoyed Jing Yuanâs scent, as did he. Theyâd described it similarlyâ âpetrichorâ Dan Feng had told Jing Yuan while sweeping his mane back from his neckâ âthe smell of sunshineâ Yingxing had told Jing Yuan after berating him.)
âHow complementary.â Jing Yuan purrs and pulls you closer by the waist. Your face is smushed against his chest, but you donât complain. You keep your lips parted to enjoy his scent. âAnd you like it?â
âSo much,â You assure him, droopy-eyed.Â
So good for him, so so good.
Jing Yuan presses the tip of his finger to your lips, a bit chapped from the dehydration and exertion. You chirp with it, a bit more awake.
He hushes you, and pushes his finger further into his mouth, âSleep now, dear. You need to rest.â
ââSo do yaâ,â You try to say, though it comes out garbled as Jing Yuan lays his finger on the flat of your tongue. Your eyes widen and go a bit crossed to look at his wrist, then up to his eyes.Â
Jing Yuan isnât entirely sure what compels him, but something does. Gently, he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead. He idles there, and pets down your side.
âIâll sleep soon, Iâm sure you know.â Jing Yuan says softly. âWill you indulge me?â
(He asks to be selfish.)
Without hesitating, you nod.
(And you let him.)
Jing Yuan doesnât explain himself. He doesnât need to. Maybe itâs the specific sweetness his scent must take on, or the night air in contrast to the warmth and comfort of his nest, but you understand what he wants and give it to him without so much as a word.
Your lips open a little wider and Jing Yuan slips another finger inside. You stroke your tongue on his fingers as you close your mouth, eyes going dazed and heavy-lidded. You take a deep breath, inhaling his scent into the deepest parts of your lungs. You suck on his fingers gently.Â
Jing Yuan watches with still, even breaths.
Later, he will analyze why this scratches so many itches in his brain. Why his post-heat mind feels more calm and sated than he thought possible. Why he wants more of this, always, even if he doesnât have a name for it yet.
For now, he is so, so content to have you this way. You are lulled back to sleep so easily, sucking on his fingers with your cheek still smushed against his breast. Even as you sleep, Jing Yuan doesnât remove his fingers. He explores the inside of your mouth with gentle, easy pressure, so as to not wake you. Itâs exploratory, more than anything.Â
He plays with you in such a way until heâs too drowsy to continue. Satisfied and warm, he drags you under the covers and holds you close, scenting you one last time before letting himself fall into a contented, new kind of sleep.
...
You depart suddenly, while Jing Yuan is in the kitchen deftly chopping fruits and assembling little parfaits.Â
You had been in his bathroom, freshening up with whatever products youâd like from his stash. Jing Yuan had left you your own robe for when you exited, quietly beaming that heâd have yet another article with your scent on it.
However, when you do leave the bathroom, you are fully dressed in the day clothes you arrived in a week ago. You stand at the doorway of his kitchen, pausing, wide-eyed.
âI n-need to go,â Your voice wavers, like youâre going to be ill.
Something squeezes in between Jing Yuanâs ribs. There are thin, transparent patches on your neck on either side. Scent blockers. Your eyes look watery. Jing Yuan immediately sets down the knife he had been working with.
âIs everything alright?â asks Jing Yuan. He knows something is wrong, even if he canât smell you, youâre clearly distressed and disheveled.
âItâsâ itâs nothing. Itâll be okay.â You tell him. Your voice trembles and you shake your head.Â
âAre you sure? I can help.â
âItâsâ itâs really nothing. I need to leave. I-Iâm really sorry.â
You look from him to the foyer that leads to his front door and back again. Thereâs a desperate look in your eye that Jing Yuan has never seen with such an intensity before. It makes his heart ache and his hands feel clammy. He sighs.
(And a quiet, ever-present voice in his mind says, âthey all leave, eventually.â)
âAlright.â Jing Yuan gives you a smile, the best he can muster. He knows it must be sadder than intended, as your expression falls and you look like youâve been punched.Â
âIâm so s-sorry.â
âItâs alright,â It isnât. Not fully. âHandle whatever it is that you must. Iâm only a call away. If you need anything, please donât hesitate to contact me.â
âOkay.â You take a shaking breath and shudder out the exhale. Youâre trying not to cry and it takes everything in Jing Yuanâs being not to rush to you and attempt to mend whatever is causing you distress butâ
(He canât. He canât do that. You have asked him to leave you be and Jing Yuan has spent his entire life honing his ability not to chase, even when he so, so badly wishes to.)
You give him one final, fleeting look, âThank you. Iâ Iâll see you at our next lunch, okay? Iâm sorry.â
It looks like thereâs more you want to say, but youâre already out the door before you can. Jing Yuan hears it open and shut with a soft thud that vibrates throughout his home. It leaves Jing Yuan standing alone in his kitchen, frozen, while the robe he wears slips down his shoulders. He bears your marks, and reeks of your scent. His nest grows colder each minute. And though his heat has ended, the yearning for you has not.
If anything, the feeling is far stronger than it was before.
He latches onto the fact you will have your lunches. Thatâ he will find some clarity then. That he can inspect you for damage during the next sunshine-filled meal you share, and prod to see if the last week and half did not carry the same type of... meaning for you, as it did Jing Yuan. He will need to make sure youâre well. Heâll fret until then, he knows this.
(A more dormant, possessive part of him wishes he snatched you back from his foyer and threw you back into his nest. If something was wrong, he could. If something needed fixing, he could help. If it were anything official for your work, Jing Yuan would pull any and all strings to get you out of the obligation. If you were hurt, Jing Yuan would do anything to see you better.)
Instead, Jing Yuan idles in his kitchen, feeling struck and helpless. Something in him aches, deep and low, and Jing Yuan lays a hand over his chest and squeezes it into a fist. He had thought he had become used to this type of loneliness, but it aches all the same.
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