O4O: part ii
|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || omega 4 omega, hurt/comfort || wc: 11.5k || ao3 ||
After your swift departure following his heat, Jing Yuan copes with your strange behavior. He only hopes you will crumble, so he may catch you.
minors, antis and ageless blogs dni
part i - part ii - part iii (coming soon!)
notes: ohhhh mommy jing yuan how you continue to captivate me. this piece has been so fun to dive into!! and has gotten longer than anticipated :'^) though o4o was a planned two shot, it will now be in three parts!! please enjoy this part and all the goodness of caring kind and patient mommy jing yuan <33 thank you soo much to @ofmermaidstories, @owlespresso, & @honeyedgifts for beta reading and providing invaluable feedback. KITH!! now ENJOY!!
CW: a/b/o, omega jing yuan, omega reader, reader with afab anatomy and referred to with they/them pronouns, a burgeoning mommy jing yuan, hurt/comfort, sick fic, angst that WILL resolve (i prommy), author-cooked omegaverse lore, one threat of spanking, a single named OC, medical environments, past dan feng/jing yuan/yingxing
Jing Yuan remembers his first heat startlingly well.
It occurred only a day or two after he presented. He’d been Jingliu’s apprentice for less than half a decade. Fresh-faced and young, soft in his cheeks with youth. His scent had sweetened rather suddenly while out in the field with his fellow Cloud knights. His normally neutral aroma turned to something balmy and honey-like in the space of an afternoon. Jing Yuan had felt tender in the days leading up to this change, however, he hadn’t thought anything of it.
He was raised by two betas, after all. They had not bothered teaching Jing Yuan the signs to look out for when nearing the precipice of presenting and the symptoms of an impending heat. Jing Yuan hadn’t understood why the aggressive scents of sweat and musk that clung to the bedclothes and sleep sacks of his fellow recruits bothered him so much. He hadn’t understood why his chest and inner thighs ached, despite not being bruised or overworked by Jingliu’s training exercises. He did not understand why a few of the squirrelier recruits in his company seemed to follow a few paces behind him after their afternoon exercises, lingering around the communal shower as Jing Yuan washed himself.
Jingliu, however, was a coupled alpha with a very kind, loving omega mate. And the moment Jingliu smelled Jing Yuan, freshly bathed and without the reek of sweat on him, she quarantined him to a private quarter with as many blankets and pillows as she could find.
Jingliu was not an affectionate master. She was rather cold and rarely gave Jing Yuan any type of leniency during his training. She did not know restraint, she knew mastery and passion like they were her lovers and not the chipper Foxian that Jing Yuan would one day come to call one of his most beloved friends.
Yet, as Jing Yuan ripened and his first heat rolled over him, Jingliu was outstandingly kind. She stayed with him in his nest of scratchy, ill-suited blankets and scented him as gently as she knew how. Wrist-to-wrist, nosing at his sweaty temple tentatively. She saw to him until Baiheng could arrive and take up the task.
Jing Yuan can still recall hazily watching Baiheng and Jingliu exchange scents at his bedside, caressing each other so tenderly in a mere greeting. He remembers thinking:
“Will I be held like that one day?”
The thought was violent back then. Jing Yuan had not yearned in such a way before and he immediately assumed such a deep desire for intimate companionship surely had to come from his heat-addled mind.
Jing Yuan now knows that this assumption is wrong.
He had been held kindly, one day, by Yingxing and Dan Feng who tended to him so well. The kindest mates, sweet in their own ways, though always sharp-tongued. They both carried attitudes, but Jing Yuan didn’t mind the teasing and prodding they exchanged. The banter was half the fun. Jing Yuan knew that it would one day end, as Yingxing was short-lived and Dan Feng would’ve (should’ve) outlived Jing Yuan.
(It did end, but so differently than he expected. Yingxing, an abomination torn asunder that barely recognizes Jing Yuan as an old, scorned friend and not a lover. Dan Feng— now Dan Heng— he who wears the face of the man Jing Yuan loved but who cannot ever give him the same things. He who will never want the same things.)
Jing Yuan carried (carries) his broken heart well. What’s done is done. Jing Yuan never expected to be loved again, cherished or held like something to be cherished or held. Gentleness, he gives to others when he can, though he would never expect to receive it.
Maybe he craved it.
How could he not?
Regardless of secondary gender, everyone needs care.
In the throes of his heat, he craves the presence of a lover and companionship so deeply it makes him feel sick. His heats now are nothing like this first heat, where Baiheng wiped his brow with a cold rag and whispered to him kind praises like a mother would. They are nothing like the many he shared with Yingxing and Dan Feng, who fought over the best ways to please and sate him.
His heats now are lonely things. They are seldom more than a grudge match between the repetitive stress injuries in his arms and the knotting toys he keeps at his bedside and his motivation to be fucked and knotted by a false phallus made of silicone. His heats are unpleasant, truthfully, and if it wasn’t detrimental to his health, Jing Yuan would take an abortive medication before each one and stop them from occurring at all.
Until recently.
You somehow snuck your way close to him (he invited you to do so), and offered him the thing he had craved for centuries without a second thought. No expectations, no transaction. Your earnestness had always been a point of attraction for Jing Yuan. Sincerity as a turn on. You offered him your presence, body, scent and a smile for nothing more than an assurance that he wanted you.
And, of course he did. Jing Yuan is not a proud man, and he will admit his faults readily. And whether it’s a quirk of biology, his own psyche, or some combination of the two, he wants you.
And now he has had you.
And yet, you left him and his bed cold.
...
Jing Yuan worries in the days that follow his heat. Post-heat makes him antsy and anxious in a way that is uncommon for him. He alternates between pacing the courtyards in the middle of his estate and burying his face in the linens and pillows of his nest, soaking up as much of your fading scent as he can. He lives in the robe you had favored. He brings the wide, silk neckline of the garment to his nose frequently to inhale the strongest smell of you that lingers there.
He feels, notably, a bit pathetic.
It isn’t like him to stew like this even in post-heat. Usually, he’ll be on edge and fatigued, spending a day or two in bed before returning to the Seat of Divine Foresight to catch up on paperwork. It’s unpleasant, but not unbearable, and he doesn’t carry the same pit in his stomach that he does now.
His palms sweat during the day hours. He sleeps poorly.
It doesn’t help that you hardly contact him during the days that follow. He received a single text from you, just after you had left so abruptly:
[name]: i just got home safe. i apologize again. i hope you are well.
And nothing beyond that.
Jing Yuan assumes your own heat had hit. This is the most logical conclusion, as occasionally one omega’s heat can trigger another’s. It explains your erratic behavior and the scent-blocking patches plastered to the side of your neck. And Jing Yuan supposes it is fair for you to want to be home, near your nest your instincts would urge you to.
However—
(Jing Yuan is pathetic and a bit petty, and cannot deny that he is upset that you didn’t think to ask him to be your heatmate, after you so diligently and tenderly cared for him.)
Jing Yuan is not used to the conflict between his omegan urges and his own sense of reason. It makes him feel sick with a headache during the final day of his post-heat. He can’t even enjoy his usual tonic of ginger, lemon, and lyran root without a roll of nausea. His post-heat finishes with him alone (naturally, it seems, as it always is) and with a tummy ache that would flatten him were he a weaker man and not Arbiter-General.
...
Jing Yuan does not expect you to appear at your weekly, scheduled lunch. He assumes you are in the throes of your heat. He assumes you are—
(Suffering alone, in an empty nest probably. Or, had you contacted someone? There’s an insecure murmuring in the back of Jing Yuan's mind that worries you had flagged down someone else to keep your company. Maybe an alpha coworker from the Sky-Faring Commission. Maybe a sensible beta acquaintance who can keep an eye on you, but never get too close. Perhaps, you had hired a handsome, pay-per-heat alpha to warm your bed. Jing Yuan hasn’t indulged, but there are plenty of services on the Luofu that offer a catalog of vetted alphas to knot and sate a needy omega.)
It’s an easy spiral to fall into. One Jing Yuan worries himself in until your next lunch.
His worries turn to confusion upon arriving at his terraced garden to find you already at the gate. You idle, bouncing on your toes with a basket thrown over your arm. Jing Yuan can smell the aroma of freshly baked bread and rich, warm butter emanating from the basket. It mixes with your... scent beautifully. It soothes something in him instantly.
You give him a timid wave and a soft, “Hello, Jing Yuan.”
(Something in him aches.)
Jing Yuan assesses you quickly as you, together, set up the picnic for the meal in silence. Your neck is bare, soft, and unblemished. Not a single bite mark peaks above your collar which provides Jing Yuan with so much relief, that he almost sighs aloud. You seem well-fed, cheeks filled out and soft. Most interestingly, your scent is not heat-stricken. There’s not a hint of pre, post, or standing heat on you. The only difference to your scent is the taste of smoke that lingers in the back of his throat, something charred and acidic. Displeasure. Anxiety.
This all leaves Jing Yuan with more questions than answers, however he asks none during the meal.
Perhaps, Jing Yuan is feeling fragile. Your relationship feels tenuous, despite the seemingly consensual, pleasurable intimacy you so recently shared. Regardless of that, you sit across from him at the low table, picking over your plate quietly and nipping at the skin around your cuticles when you’re not. You can barely meet his eyes as Jing Yuan makes surface-level small talk.
“The weather is lovely today, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
...
“This bread is wonderful. What bakery did you pick up from?”
“The one at the edge of Aurum Alley. With the striped banner in the window.”
...
“How is Yukong and the Sky Faring Commission these days?”
“Just fine.”
...
Just fine.
It’s stilted and odd. You are clearly aware of the tension, with your shoulders drawn up to your ears and a half-scowl fixed on your pretty lips. Jing Yuan does what he can to parry around it, and draw out what he can from you gingerly. He doesn’t wish to pry at you; he knows it won’t do any good with you this guarded. He’s never known you to be anything other than earnest, so it is easy to conclude that your current demeanor and behavior are based within some type of discomfort.
He does not want to worsen it.
Lunch ends quickly that first week. You do not linger, only offering a quick goodbye before escaping him through a back entrance to the gardens. You offer him a single, fleeting look that echoes a pain Jing Yuan isn’t sure he has a name for yet. It makes something in him shudder and fracture, the soft-hearted omega in him begging the rational, sensical parts of him to chase you down, drag you by your scruff into his nest and explain yourself.
However, Jing Yuan does not. Instead, he leaves you with a melancholy smile on his lips and worn lines under his eyes.
...
Over the next few weeks, your lunches follow the same pattern. You arrive first, act cold and sad during the meal and leave promptly without lingering once it is over. Your scent remains acrid, varying sometimes to sickly sweet in a way that makes Jing Yuan nauseous. You hardly touch your food and offer him little in the way of conversation. Or information. Or anything remotely in the same realm as the soft closeness you had shared in his nest, or the lilting banter you exchanged before.
Jing Yuan bides his time and does what he can to put you together, outside of your scheduled, weekly meetings.
He reviews your social media for any new postings (there are none). He is keen to take note of any others’ scents that linger on you during your lunches (there are none that are unusual). He even trails you to the evening markets a few times. You’re sullen even then, picking veggies and fruit with a darkened expression. Tired and cold.
It is perhaps... invasive for Jing Yuan to keep such an intense eye on you. He can accept that. It seems like the wiser option than prodding and poking you and your off mood when you clearly want to spend the least amount of time with him as possible. Jing Yuan knows he must maneuver about your relationship carefully.
And truthfully? This is unknown territory to him. He is cautious.
And ultimately? Jing Yuan surmises that you will come to him before he must prod you. You are honest and Jing Yuan is certain (certain) that it must be very difficult for you to hold your tongue and fester the way you are. He resolves to allow you to wallow for a bit longer, before stepping in. He’ll examine you more closely then and find the weak points in your facade if necessary. He’ll lance through them then, and some type of catharsis will follow. The outcome of which he hopes is favorable.
(He hopes that it ends in companionship. Coupling, if he is to dream. He’ll take scraps as long as it is you.)
This behavior of his could, theoretically, destroy your relationship.
(Dan Feng never liked prying. He was a very private person who was so, so careful with what he shared. Even with his mates. Inversely, Yingxing was far from private. He complained and groused about anything and everything that rubbed him the wrong way. There were times when Yingxing would attempt to contain his poor moods, though this was rarely successful. It would inevitably lead to an evening-long outburst between the three of them. Explosive anger and sadness would fade into a sweetened dusk as they shared Jing Yuan’s nest, comforted by the warmth and lack of space between them.
What destroyed their relationship was the unnamed thing that Yingxing and Dan Feng shared that did not include Jing Yuan.
Jing Yuan never minded it. Both Yingxing and Dan Feng operated in their own unique niches on the Luofu, as High Elder and a rare short-lived genius, and they found a special type of kinship in that. Jing Yuan was not jealous within their polycule.
Perhaps he should have been.
Dan Feng’s brooding anxiety was a quiet thing. Like a storm out at sea, writhing as one looked on it from the shoreline. Something to watch out for, to run from, to seek high ground away from, but so distant that it was easy to dismiss.
Dan Feng feared Yingxing’s inevitable, looming death. Dan Feng loved so deeply and he would lose it so soon. Jing Yuan felt similarly but tempered the feeling. Dan Feng, despite his many meditations and mantras, did not.
Dan Feng had been given so little that was truly his in his lifetime. To have the life of a lover ripped away by something as trivial as biology incensed him.
Yingxing entertained Dan Feng too much. Spurred on things too large for him to truly understand. It’s belittling to say, but Jing Yuan believed it then, and believes it even more in retrospect. Yingxing researched and fed Dan Feng’s hope and anxiety in tandem. He kept Jing Yuan in the dark near the end, with lust-filled nights, a fat knot, and a well-cared-for nest.
When Jing Yuan pressed the two of them about their shared absences, their oddly timed visits to Scale Gorge and peculiar demeanors, he was pushed away. Shut out. It made him hurt and shake and only the two of them could put him back together in those instances. To be squeezed between them, fucked out and full, would soothe any wounds their distance left. Temporarily. They’d only be more distant the morning after and the cycle would begin again.
For all of his sharpness, Jing Yuan was unable to stop them in the end
Truly, how does one stop the mighty storm, born from the sea and the volcanic belches beneath its surface? Jing Yuan is only a man. To be caught in the ocean’s swirling undertow and the sky’s gales would have been a fruitless struggle. Treading water in the calm sea was hard enough. Under the tempest Dan Feng and Yingxing birthed? Jing Yuan could not bear it. He did not know how. The mutually-assured destruction that the duo brewed was not meant for anyone other than each other.
Jing Yuan wonders if his own aches had pushed the two away from him and closer to each other.
Was it guilt they were both too stubborn to name? Or, something worse like dislike or even hate? Did they only tolerate him, by the end, when they were too engrossed in their plans to achieve immortality to care about their omega anymore? Was Jing Yuan’s long-faded claiming bite a burden to them?
Jing Yuan tries not to dwell on it. It makes him too sad.
He will not deny the effects that their departure had on him. He is tentative to entertain lasting bonds like the ones he once had. He rejects every suitor. He is far too careful in sharing his burdens with those who do care for him. He dances with his words and feelings better than any street performer in Aurum Alley.
He worries for you because he has created some type of bond with you, and he worries that if he pries, you will run off and away from him, into a storm that he cannot weather, only to be swallowed by it.)
So, Jing Yuan is careful.
...
Things boil over exactly a month after Jing Yuan’s heat.
It is sooner than expected, though you are a tender-hearted thing. Perhaps Jing Yuan should’ve suspected that you would break within your own turmoil sooner rather than later.
On this day, you are not early to lunch. You are absent from the gates at the appointed time. Initially, Jing Yuan thinks you perhaps went in without him (you never do, always waiting to walk in step with him), though you are not any place in the garden when he does enter. The low table is bare as he steps under the gazebo and settles himself onto one of the silk pillows.
Jing Yuan can’t help but be nervous, rubbing at the scent glands on his wrist without thinking of it. As the minutes tick by, his unease grows like an oily bubble in his chest.
(You haven’t sent him any messages indicating you wouldn’t be here. You haven’t ever been so late before, never left him idling like this without any sort of communication. Your silence seems to speak more than anything else you’ve said to him in the past few weeks.)
(‘I don’t want to see you anymore, Jing Yuan.’)
Before Jing Yuan has further time to catastrophize, the back gate to the garden opens with a slam. It shuts far more quietly a moment later. You stand next to it, fumbling with the mechanical latch.
As your scent bleeds over the garden, Jing Yuan stands without thinking. His own spiral shatters.
Your scent is sour. Like something rotten, like a fruit ripened and laid with the eggs of insects. It’s far more alarming than the off notes that your scent has carried recently. It’s sickly sweet, earthen, and fleshy in a way that is startling and putrid. The sweet warmth of it is gone, not even a layer of it remains as you mutter to yourself, continuing to struggle with the gate, visibly panicking.
You speak before Jing Yuan can further acknowledge you, “I’m s-so sorry to be late. I-I got caught up with something in the Alchemy Commission, and the Starskiff tram— it filled up and I had to catch the next one, and then— I missed my stop? I’m sorry—”
You run a hand through your hair and tug.
Jing Yuan must attempt to soothe you, yes? He keeps his voice even and low as he says, “It’s alright.”
You do not look well, Jing Yuan realizes as he nears you. Your appearance matches your scent. Sweat soaks your temples, running in rivulets down your neck to visibly soak the collar of your innermost garments. Your pupils are pinpricked, gaze far away even as you (attempt) to speak to him. Your lips are chapped, chewed raw. The petal-softness looks almost busted open on one side from the abuse.
You scowl at him and shake your head.
“It hardly is.” You mumble. “I—I didn’t mean to make you wait. Or worry— if you did. I’m sorry to assume.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Jing Yuan approaches you carefully, slowly, the way one would approach a frightened, soaked kitten. “How about we sit, hm? I’ve already poured us both water, and it looks like you could use some.”
You open your lips to protest, and the bloody scab at the corner tears. Fresh scarlet bleeds over the puckered flesh and you turn away from him, just enough to paw at the wound obscured.
“I’m sorry.”
Jing Yuan’s heart breaks a fraction.
Your unwellness strikes something in him, and a white-hot dread burns from the base of his skull, down his spine, and settles in his hands and lower core. It is the physical reaction to the lucid understanding that something is clearly wrong. He can’t quite parse what, but he knows he needs to find out. Mend. Do something because if he has to hear the broken inflection in your voice for much longer, he will shatter. His nerves and resolve are more frayed than he thought.
With his voice soft and gentle, he says, “I appreciate you thinking of me, however, you truly do not need to apologize. If you’d like, you can continue your apologies once we get you into the shade and get some water in you. It’s already chilled. I’ll pour you a glass. How does that sound?”
It’s a belittling way to speak to you. He knows this, yet cannot stop the way his tone sweetens and lightens. It feels— natural, instinctual. It makes his mouth feel dry and tacky because—
(God, when was the last time he allowed himself to respond to his own anxiety and need to care in this way?)
(Will you be receptive to it?)
You stare at him, scowling and wet-eyed, “It— sounds f-fine. I can pour the water, though.”
(Perhaps.)
Jing Yuan steels himself, “Would you let me? I’d very much like to.”
“I always p-pour it though,” you sniffle. “You don’t need to.”
“I’d like to.”
He would.
Jing Yuan offers you his hand, palm up and inviting.
(He anticipates a rejection. There’s an afterimage, a fragmented memory of Dan Feng scolding Jing Yuan for this flavor of soppy vulnerability. Yingxing once laughed in his face for this type of sober-minded, sexless tenderness. They didn’t mean it to be cruel. They didn’t know how it bruised part of him so deeply that centuries later, his hand trembles the slightest bit as he holds it out to you with the same feelings warming his chest down to his toes.)
You take his hand.
Jing Yuan feels himself relax, if only a little.
He guides you back to the table, rubbing his thumb along the meat of your palm. He deposits you next to him at the table, rather than your usual spot across. You don’t seem to mind, you’re too focused on immediately fussing with the pillows and mats below you. Jing Yuan idles, watching.
You’re so uncomfortable in your own skin.
It takes you a while to settle. You shift from your knees, to cross-legged, then back to your knees. The pillow you’re atop clearly isn’t to your liking as you wobble on top of it, frown deepening as you try to get comfortable. You don’t look at him— or you won’t look at him, he isn’t entirely sure.
Jing Yuan pours each of you a glass of water and sets yours close to you.
“Drink?”
“Not yet,” You shove at the pillow between your legs. Your voice pinches. “I— I need a moment.”
“Take your time,” Jing Yuan assures you.
(He will not let you hurt for long. He can’t.)
You push and pull at the cushion. Your thighs quiver as you barely manage to hold yourself up to try and sit more comfortably. Jing Yuan watches you, taking note of how your body seems to struggle with its own weight. When your outer garment spreads open around your legs and he gets a peak of your inner layers, he can see that you’re soaked. Though, there’s no scent of slick on you. He presumes it must be sweat.
Poor, poor thing.
You gnaw at your bottom lip, teeth digging into the wound that’s already there. It weeps blood, a little smear of it dragging onto your chin.
That’s enough.
Jing Yuan snatches your water glass up. Gently, he presses the rim of it to your lips.
“Drink, please.”
It’s a gamble, truthfully. This much proximity and care could scare you off. It could make you turn tail and run, really. But, Jing Yuan needs this, he thinks. He needs to show you he cares in a way that is tangible and touchable and maybe then—
(You will understand the depth of his feelings. Maybe, you’ll even learn you can lean on him.)
You look over the top of the glass at him with widened eyes, “I—”
“Perhaps it will help you settle. You look quite dehydrated.”
“B-But I feel gross, I don’t want to drink anything.”
Jing Yuan implores you, “Will you try?”
“I don’t want to.” Your tone edges to that of a petulant child, fists balling up over your thighs. “I-I don’t know if it will help.”
Jing Yuan hums thoughtfully. “It certainly won’t hurt to have a small sip, would it?”
“... Probably not.”
You flash him a teary look before jolting your gaze away from him, blinking rapidly.
“For me, then?” Jing Yuan asks. “Just a little sip. If it makes you feel worse, you don’t need to drink any more. But, I really do think it will help.”
“... Okay.” You concede.
Jing Yuan expects you to take the glass from him. You have been careful not to touch him since his heat after all, and with how cagey you are, this hardly seems like the exception. And yet, you wrap your hands around his own that hold the glass, and tilt it back to sip. He follows the motion, careful to make sure you don’t choke.
Jing Yuan watches you take a small sip, then another, then a third, and suddenly you throw back the glass and take a gulp.
It soothes something in him.
He’s careful to keep the glass tilted just right so you do not drown yourself. You take large sips, water spilling from the corners of the glass, down your chin. Jing Yuan feels soothed as you finish it, allowing him to pour you another. You shake like a leaf next to him as he does.
“Slower with this next one,” Jing Yuan urges. “Would you like me to help you again?”
“I—I— No. You shouldn’t.” You shake your head. A moment later, you lay forward, face down on the table, bracing your forehead against the wood and hiding your face from him. Your arms wrap around your middle. “You shouldn’t have to.”
You curl in on yourself.
“But, I’d like to. If it would help you and make things easier.”
Jing Yuan moves to pet the back of your head but pauses, just before he does. He hovers there, considering, assessing—
He can’t be entirely sure what state you’re in. It’s clearly not heat, nor is it pre-heat. Perhaps you are ill regardless of your heat cycle, but he hadn’t noticed any other symptoms other than sweating, a clear fever, and your rancid scent. He cannot be sure any type of contact, intimate or otherwise, will be wanted, let alone welcomed.
He takes a chance.
(Jing Yuan remembers that you are a soft creature. Fragile and craving. You need contact, even if you think you don’t. Jing Yuan will remind you of this.)
He sweeps any hair off the back of your neck and lays his palm flat over the nape of it. His fingers wrap around the sides of your throat, just barely, and squeeze. Not enough to cause discomfort, just applying enough pressure that you can both be grounded in it. Jing Yuan nearly growls when he feel the absolutely torched state of your scent glands—
You keen. It’s a warbling thing and tension leaks out from you. Like a half-built home, you collapse in on yourself. You sniffle a moment later and press your face harder into the wood. Jing Yuan— he can’t have that. Seeing you hurt hurts him. He coaxes your head up as much as he can and rubs at the skin of your neck. Not near your scent glands, they’re too sensitive, even with the barest touch. He leaves them alone as a concern to sort out later.
You allow him this contact. You even lean into it and toward him as he pets you. Your shoulder bumps into his own and Jing Yuan can feel the heat coming off of you in waves. He hates this. He hates seeing you in pain, suffering, and he wants to fix it, but biding his time is the best option. He must be coaxing and gentle regardless of how he’d like to heft you over his shoulder, take you back to his nest, and make sure you are safe and well-cared for. It would help. Whatever state you’re in, suffering alone can’t be helping you. But being too rash could scare you off so easily.
You shiver beside him. Poor, poor thing. Your eyes are red-rimmed and glassy. He squeezes your neck reassuringly. Instantly, you’re hiding and burying your face in your hands.
“Jing Yuan,” you say softly. “You must stop being kind to me. Please.”
“I don’t think I can, dear.” His tongue slips and his heart aches. What a foolish idea for you to have. “Why do you not want me to be kind to you?”
“Because—” You chew on your words and shake your head. “I— I haven’t been good to you. I’ve actually been shit to you, and— it’s not fair for you to be so kind to me when I have been so vile.”
‘Vile’ is too strong of a word. Too cruel to yourself. You’ve been avoidant, yes. Unwell and dealing with so poorly, entirely. But vile? Hardly. Though your actions stung, he doesn’t hold the previous weeks against you. Especially in this moment, where his concern far outweighs any other feeling he carries. Any other pains you’ve caused him can be addressed later. There is more to parse. But nothing that takes precedence now that you are beginning to crumble.
“I disagree.” Jing Yuan says your name, sweet on his lips and aching between his ribs, “Please do not speak of yourself so poorly.”
“But it’s true,” your voice wobbles. Your shoulders shake. “I deserve it, don’t I? You are too kind to me, Jing Yuan, but I have been cruel to you. I left you in post-heat. I continue— to see you and pretend everything is fine, and that we’re fine, and that I’m fine even if we both know that something clearly isn’t. Yet, I-I’m too much of a fucking coward to say anything to you. I k-keep withholding things from you. I keep messing up and I hate that I’m doing it. I feel awful, lying to you and keeping you away. And yet, you are still kind to me—”
A sob breaks your last word and your hands fly to cover your mouth.
He says your name again, voice threatening to break, “It’s alright—”
“But it’s not!” You snap. “I-I care about you so much, Jing Yuan. I really do and I keep messing up. And I-I don’t know how to fix anything. I’m sorry.”
Jing Yuan collects himself and makes a series of decisions very quickly. It’s necessary. Your scent is putrid. Angry and rotten now. And Jing Yuan can’t bear to watch you struggle like this anymore.
He acts. It’s a flurry of motion in which he snakes his arms around your waist. In a single heave, he pulls you into his lap. He hauls you close, against his chest your legs thrown over his thighs. You fight him, just a little. A bit of squirming and a shove or two at his chest, but he isn’t perturbed. His arm stays securely wrapped around your middle as he tugs you closer still. You push against his shoulder with a frown.
“Jing Yuan—”
He tilts your chin up with a wide palm. You startle when you meet his gaze, almost cowering.
“I will not sit here and listen to you berate yourself any further for my sake,” Jing Yuan levels his gaze. He will be stern. He thinks you need it. “Do you understand?”
You bare your teeth at him, “I’m being honest—”
Jing Yuan reaches up and tears one of the scent-blocking patches on the side of his neck off and tosses it aside. His scent radiates. It’s concerned, worried, hurt but the achy kind of pain. Bitter and wind-whipped. You stiffen as his scent mingles with yours. There’s a sharp quality to his own scent that makes you cower just a bit, sinking further into his lap and the support of his arm wrapped around you.
“You are being incredibly harsh to yourself,” Jing Yuan tells you, softening his voice. He pets your cheeks and watches your eyes begin to water once more. “It doesn’t serve me, and it certainly doesn’t serve you. I know that you are upset, I have been able to smell it since the moment you entered the garden. I would like to help, but I can’t if you focus on being cruel to yourself, rather than telling me what is hurting you so badly.”
“I—” You swallow and wring your hands in your lap. Your words fade off and you only nod.
Tears slip down your cheeks anew. Before you have a chance to try and wipe them away, Jing Yuan ducks his head lower, closer to yours, and swipes the tears away with his thumbs. You sniffle when he does, meeting his eyes, only to look away quickly and fix your gaze on the ground. Your shoulders stay slack, though.
(A sign of submission.)
Jing Yuan will take it. He adjusts so that you’re fully bundled in his lap and he buries his nose in your hair. Ideally, he would drag you to lie down in the piles of satin blankets and pillows but Jing Yuan thinks better of it. He’s unsure he’d be able to get up if he were to get tangled up with you. The instinct to nest feels too intense to not heed if he were nestled any closer to you and the soft cushions.
You shiver against his chest. Whether it’s fever or nerves, it is hard to tell. You almost vibrate, sniffling and allowing Jing Yuan to tend to your cheeks. You even let him press his lips below each of your eyes. A little sob cuts off as he pulls away from you. He squeezes around your waist.
“Will you tell me what is going on?” He asks, voice hardly above a whisper.
You gather yourself, then nod. Your cheek squishes against the plate of armor on his chest and you bear into him. It doesn’t even seem like you’re doing so on purpose.
“I m-messed up,” you tell him quietly. “Really bad.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be fixed,” he assures you.
“But, Jing Yuan, it is bad. Even if it’s fixable, I don’t even know where to start.”
“That’s alright,” he replies. “I’d like to help, but I can only do that if you tell me what’s wrong. What happened, dear?”
It takes you a moment to gather yourself. You grab one of his hands and cradle it in both of yours. Sweetly, you rub at the meat of his thumb and over his palms. You glance up at him as you do.
“I was foolish.”
Something in him cracks.
“Do not insult yourself again, or I will put you over my knee.” The words fly from Jing Yuan’s mouth without any forethought. “Do you understand?”
It’s too far— it should be too far— but it’s clearly not as you squeak and nod, compliant. Something to be addressed... later. One thing at a time.
“I—” You nod your head erratically. “I understand. I won’t. I promise.”
“Good, dear.” He is brazen enough to lean his nose into your temple. You lean into him with a wet hiccup. “Please continue.”
“Okay,” you say. “I—I messed up while I was helping you with your heat. Like, really messed up. I d-didn’t mean to, but I didn’t take my suppressants the entire time I was with you.”
Jing Yuan barely keeps himself from stiffening up.
“I see,” he breathes. “Do you take the variety of suppressants that need to be taken daily?”
“Uh-huh,” You nod with a gulp. “I u-usually take them at night, right before bed. But I didn’t even think about them while I was with you. I was... having such a nice time that they completely slipped my mind until the morning I left your home. I started to feel a little weird in the shower, and my scent got all muddled, and I remembered.”
“I see,” Jing Yuan replies with a nod. “You did not smell like heat the following week if I recall.”
“I t-took an abortive heat-onset p-prescription I keep on hand,” you tell him softly. “I have a bottle of it that was prescribed by a healer I see at the Alchemy Commission. I have... severe heats. It’s better to stop them at all costs than to weather one.”
You haven’t ever told him this before. Your own heat cycle was always something private and kept to yourself. It makes sense, really. You were under the impression he was an alpha until relatively recently, and you had no reason to share the intimate details of your cycle and its apparent difficulties.
You continue, “My sup— sup— suppressants aren’t a great type, I think? They work well, but they need a high dose to do so. Going off of them cold turkey, even f-for a short time has r-really messed up my heat cycle. I’ve been taking them consistently again, but it’s still a-awful, Jing Yuan.”
Your voice wobbles and breaks when you say his name, and you bury yourself in his chest. You hide there and Jing Yuan can’t help but to huddle over you, rubbing over your arms and waist and hushing you. The urge to soothe overtakes him.
“It hurts, hm?” He speaks the words into your ear, and you shudder and nod profusely. Your scent is spiking, sweetening next to the rot. It’s better, at least by a fraction.
“Y-yeah. It’s so much. I keep getting little fevers and think I am going into preheat. Then—then I feel sick, like properly sick, and I think that I’m getting heat sick. I— get heat sick really easily, so it always feels likely and then I’m worried I’ll have my full heat and be sick. So, I—I take more of the abortive medication.”
“Each time you believe that you’re approaching your heat?”
You look down at your lap, shame clouding your eyes, “Y-Yeah. I know it’s bad. It keeps making me ill. My cycle just won’t even out— I feel so stupid— I shouldn’t say that. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I—I just don’t know what to do.”
Your last word shatters you and you bawl into Jing Yuan’s neck.
He lets you. He brings his knees up, boxes you into him and lets you scent him feverishly. Jing Yuan so badly wants to scent you back, but he is ever-aware of your own inflamed scent glands and thinks better of it. It would bring you more pain than relief at this point. Instead, he does everything else he can think of to ease you. He lets you nose into the scent glands on his neck, open-mouthed and panted between labored breaths. His hands run up and down your back and arms, smearing his own scent all over you.
“It’s alright,” He, instead, assures you through your panic. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Of course,” you hiccup and rub your cheek against his. “I just want it to stop.”
Of course, you do. Jing Yuan feels awful that you’ve been suffering and struggling and he hasn’t lent a hand this entire time. He feels— a bit foolish himself for not putting together that this was why you have been so avoidant and reclused recently.
“I know,” he replies gently and cajoles your face away from his neck. You start crying harder and with your full chest when you don’t have direct contact with his scent gland anymore. Poor thing. He rubs under your eyes and softens his own. “It’s been scary, hasn’t it?”
“Mhm,” You turn into his hand, seeking him. God, Jing Yuan is going to crumble along with you.
“I’m sorry you’ve had to weather this alone.” He says gently. “I’d like to try and help you, if you’ll let me.”
“... Only— and I m-mean only, if I am not burdening you.”
“You are not a burden to me.” You could never be. Jing Yuan speaks seriously and presses his lips, now chapped and dry with his worry, to your forehead. He lingers. “Even if you are struggling, it does not burden me to help you. It is much more of a hardship to think about you suffering alone or watching you suffering alone in the present. I would very much like to help— perhaps with a visit to the Alchemy Commission is in order firstly. How does that sound?”
“B-but, I already tried to see a healer today.”
He hums, “Is that why you were a bit tardy?”
You flush and nod, “Uh-huh.”
“What did the healer say?”
“They didn’t have a proper healer available for a walk-in, since they said it wasn’t an emergency,” you reply. “J-just an apprentice. He told me to get bed rest and try to take some time off of work.”
“Sound advice,” Jing Yuan nods, but notes the fact that you’re still soaked through with sweat and severely unwell. “However, I’d like it if we got you in to see someone for a full exam.”
“They said they were all full today— no appointments.”
Jing Yuan hums, rubbing over your ribs, “I have a personal healer at the Alchemy Commission. I am sure she will be able to make some time for you.”
“... Are you sure?”
“I’m certain.” Using his perks as Arbiter General hardly ever is appealing these days, not anymore. It would be a good use of status to get you into an urgent appointment for what is increasingly becoming an emergency with a physician he trusts.
“... As long as it doesn’t cause any trouble,” you chew your lip and settle back into him.
“You are not trouble,” he reminds you simply. “I only want to help relieve what is so clearly troubling you. Do you trust me to help?”
He asks you directly. Something is emerging between the two of you, he can tell and sense it, even if he doesn’t have a name for it yet. He knows that he will need your explicit trust to hatch the strategies that he wants to. You must trust him if he is going to take care of you well and properly, in the way that he is almost certain you will need.
“Of course.”
Of course, you trust him. You press a kiss to his jaw and linger there. Your neck, with your inflamed scent glands (are those hives rising up over top of them?), bared to him.
Jing Yuan could cry.
You don’t fight him anymore. There’s no bite in you now, just the afterburn of tears and the last dribbles of them that soak down your neck and jaw. Jing Yuan can’t help pressing a few kisses to your burning cheeks. You let loose a warbling whine that breaks the stillness of the garden. Jing Yuan wants more of it, more of you, but there is work to be done first.
You tuck into him as he takes out his phone. It soothes him to see you there, burnt out, but soft-lipped against his chest. He pets over his cheeks as he shoots off a few important messages.
...
The Alchemy Commission is quick to accommodate the General and the omega that the public will come to presume to be his mate. They tend to move heaven and earth when he requests anything of them (The last two High Elder’s have been quite fond of him, and that bias persists throughout their delve.) He has never been so happy to be in their good graces.
With haste upon your arrival, you are situated in a spacious exam room. It’s perfectly quiet; it’s the one they always keep Jing Yuan confined to when he requires attention. He’s glad they afford you the same care. It’s quite necessary.
You’ve wilted on the journey over. Though Jing Yuan offered to arrange a house call so you could rest in the comfort of your home, you shot down the offer immediately and without debate.
(“My ne— my house isn’t presentable.”)
It’s fair. A cagey, sick omega rarely wants a stranger in their home.
Besides, the atmosphere of the clinic seems to soothe you— both of you. The exam room is outfitted with a long line of cupboards and jars for dry storage. Various mortars and pestles for mixing and grinding of remedies sit on a bench. There’s even a small stove made of black rock to be used if a medication requires heating. The smell of dried herbs and medicinal oils permeates the air, and each lungful settles something in him. It reminds him of the many nights he spent bothering Dan Feng while he concocted the High Elder’s pearl panacea for his patients. It brings Jing Yuan back to his own bouts of illness, when Yingxing would chide him for being reckless while slathering his chest and the bottoms of his feet with minty salve.
Your scent dulls with the environment as well. The white noise of rushing water, just beyond the delve, surely helps relax you too.
(You still do not look well. Jing Yuan tries not to fixate and spiral on the fact that you are so deeply unwell, as it will not serve him further than working himself up. He instead keeps close to you, bearing your weight as you lean into his side and slump. You burn beside him.)
You only perk up when Jing Yuan’s healer enters.
His healer is a silver-eyed Foxian named Lei Huiling. As she enters the exam room, a gentle wave of budding jasmine flowers and rock sugar follows. It’s a gentle scent, clearly of an omega. It’s non-obtrusive, but still calming. Jing Yuan has always appreciated its quality, and he can see that you do as well as you sniff toward her and relax a degree.
She bows politely, “I apologize for any sort of wait.”
“It’s alright.” You reply, voice crackling and parched. “Thank you for making some time for me.”
“It’s my pleasure. I am happy to accommodate any request of the General. The Divine Foresight owing me a favor is an added bonus.” She gives a snaggletooth smile with a tilt of her head. Despite your condition, you stifle a laugh.
Jing Yuan appreciates the levity.
“The General is good for them.” You tell her. Your voice is crackling and dry.
It makes Lei Huiling’s brow furrow. “The General is an honorable man, you think?”
“I know.”
You squeeze Jing Yuan’s hand. It’s painfully heartfelt and vulnerable. Jing Yuan doesn’t think you’d reveal your affection with such ease if you weren’t so terribly beaten down.
Lei Huiling seems to sense this as well. She wheels up a chair and situates herself across from the two of you. “I know a bit of what you’ve been struggling with based on your intake information, along with the General’s messages. Could you describe it to me as well? As much detail as you can provide.”
Lei Huiling’s words make you look afraid. You look trapped, ensnared, and Jing Yuan wishes you wouldn’t. It’s the mixture of both guilt and fear that twists your pretty lips and has you mincing in the round, pitted chair you are sitting in. This is frightening for you, all of it, he knows. To have to bear details of something you’ve been so diligently trying to cope with (and hide, but that can be addressed later) clearly is causing you distress.
You squeeze his hand. Jing Yuan squeezes back with more force, and takes to rubbing his thumb over the back of yours. Only then do you begin to explain.
Your explanation is largely the same as the one you provided to him earlier. You do, however, add a handful of (concerning) details.
(“I-I took my abortive medication... maybe eight times. I know that’s too many—”)
(“I’ve been avoiding social s-settings, yes.”)
(“I don’t have much of a pack.”)
(“I haven’t slept well since this has all started.”)
Each admission sends Jing Yuan into a minor panic. He is so, so grateful he carries an extra scent patch on his person and was able to reapply his after tearing it off earlier. The last thing he needs is for you to be aware of his own spiral and machinations through his storm-charged scent.
“It must have been very difficult to go through what you have so far.” His healer gives you a sympathetic look. “Given your symptoms, I’d like to complete a standard exam, if that is alright with you. It would give us a baseline and establish the best ways to proceed to get you feeling better. Does that sound alright?”
You nod, “I’m o-okay with that. Can Jing Yuan— um, can the General stay?”
“Of course. He is welcome to stay for the exam if that would make you the most comfortable. I would like to check the cortisol levels in your slick, however, and that will require you to disrobe while we collect a sample.”
You eye him, think for a moment, then reply, “... He can leave for that part.”
Jing Yuan laughs and scents you with his wrist, “As you wish.”
He doesn’t enjoy leaving you alone, even if he’s only idling in the hallway outside of the exam room. The door is thin and draped with woven curtains, so the sounds inside are muffled, but he strains to hear you regardless. Never mind the various whispers and looks he garners from the various staff who see him keeping watch over an (his) omega. He needs the confirmation that you are—
(Okay.)
...
His healer taps through a tablet with a schooled expression but regards you warmly.
“So, let’s go over things. I will say, that the results of your exam and the few tests we ran are not all that surprising. Your slick does contain a high level of cortisol. You have severe pain in your major scent glands, which is indicative of internal inflammation and imbalance within your pheromonal system. It seems like your fever is lower than it has been, however your temperature is still not within normal range. These symptoms can be attributed to withdrawal symptoms for your specific suppressants.”
“... But, I’ve been taking my suppressants again. On a good schedule too.” You sound like you’ve been kicked.
Jing Yuan doesn’t mean to, he swears. But, maybe, he shoots the healer a sharp look. Maybe.
She takes it in stride, “You have been, but sadly this type of suppressant isn’t very efficient at regulating after an intense withdrawal. I have not prescribed alyan root-based suppressants in many, many years due to this unfortunate quirk. I also believe your symptoms have been compounded due to overuse of your abortive medication that you took when you felt your heat was beginning. It’s a bad cocktail, though you have done well in trying to get you and your cycle back to a healthy stasis.”
“How do we start to remedy things?” Jing Yuan asks.
You look nervous.
“Really, there are two options, in this case. The one that I would recommend first is that we titrate you down on your current suppressants, until you are fully off of them. I’d prescribe a regulating medication as well to ease your symptoms while doing so. Once you’re titrated off, you can go through a heat. ”
You flinch like you’ve been slapped.
Lei Huiling continues, “... This option would be my recommendation. The best way to help your body recover is to allow for a natural heat cycle to re-establish. We can look into suppressant types and abortive varieties that are gentler on your body, and less prone to the types of side effects you’re experiencing, following your heat.”
You stare at your lap.
“... Is there anything else we can do?”
“There is only one other option that could be potentially viable. I can double the dose of your current suppressants and your symptoms should stabilize within the next several weeks. The downside of this is that, given that you take suppressants in the alyan-root family, the already high, necessary dose typically leads to difficult heats down the line, whenever your next occurs. Heat sickness is a given, and with your personal history and disposition to develop heat sickness already, I wouldn’t recommend this option.”
“I see.” You sound like you’re about to cry. “I can understand why.”
Jing Yuan, who hasn’t spoken hardly at all, finds his voice carefully, “May we have a moment?”
“Of course.” She nods to him and offers another look. “Would you like a warm blanket? I can fetch one for you in the meantime.”
“... Yes, please.” You reply.
You’re quiet until Lei Huiling returns with a linen blanket, perfectly toasty. It probably isn’t a good idea to swaddle you in something so warm when you’re already feverish, but Jing Yuan concurs that you need the comfort in this moment. He wraps it around your shoulders and lingers.
“Would you like me to step out as well—?”
“No.” You interrupt, rapidly shaking your head. “... Please stay.”
Of course. Of course, he will.
...
You decide to proceed with the first option.
It is not a decision made easily, even though you agree with Lei Huiling’s assessment that full cessation off of your suppressants is the best course of action in the long run. This decision is made with trepidation regardless. Lei Huiling procures several prescriptions (a tincture of dian orchid nectar, a tea of ginger and myrel root, some tablets that can be dissolved under the tongue that she specifies tastes like apricots, but aren’t made of them—) and writes a detailed, surprisingly legible course of treatment. Her phone number is scribbled at the bottom for you.
You receive the piece of paper with shaking hands.
Lei Huiling prepares your first treatment right in the exam room. It’s a regulating tincture that smells almost too sweet as she unscrews the bottle and shows you how much to dose with the glass pipet (two-thirds of the way full) and where to eject it into your mouth for best results (the corner, under your tongue without touching your lips or tongue to the pipet.)
Jing Yuan commits the details to memory as you smack your lips with the taste. You grimace cutely.
You leave the Alchemy Commission in a daze. Jing Yuan keeps you steady with a hand on your lower back, lingering and keeping you walking in a (mostly) straight line.
He has— much to think about. To ruminate on. The bevy of information he received during your visit and the path forward to remedying you requires careful consideration. There are plans that need to be made, and relatively quickly. The sooner and more keenly Jing Yuan can make them, the sooner he can provide you ease—
(This is under the assumption that you want him involved in your heat.)
He thinks you do. He could be wrong. He could. However, given the way you lean into him, and scent his bicep every few steps, he doesn’t think he has much to worry about. Even if, perhaps, it will take you some time to come to this same conclusion.
He is willing to wait.
There’s a little shop a few blocks down from the Alchemy Commission clinic that is selling noodle jelly bowls, iced and hot. You must be feeling better, as when you pass by the size, your eyes widen and you slow your already-slow pace.
Jing Yuan orders you a bowl to split (iced, you need the cold—) and you settle at a table, tucked in a little courtyard, away from the midday foot traffic. You poke at the desert with a frown, spooning up some of the sweetened puffergoat milk that swirls at the top of the bowl.
“I’m sorry.” You glance up at him, then back down at the bowl.
(Ah, there it is.)
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“That’s hardly true. If I had remembered to take my suppressants during your heat, we— I— we wouldn’t be in this situation. I wouldn’t have hurt you and I wouldn’t be hurting like I am. I wouldn’t require all of this... excess attention. And for that, I apologize.”
“... I accept your apology.” Jing Yuan acquiesces. “Though, I do find it unnecessary.”
“But you shouldn’t find it unnecessary. I know— I know I have been inattentive to you and hiding this from you. It’s not fair to you. You should be upset.” you exclaim, angrily shoving a mouthful of bright green tapioca noodles into your mouth.
“It doesn’t please me that you hid your situation. However, I understand why you did. You were afraid, weren’t you?”
“I mean, yes. I am still frightened, but that’s not an excuse to hurt you. And as a result, you now have to deal with all of... this. Which you don’t, I want to assure you, Jing Yuan. I appreciate your concern and help and presence, but I am capable of handling t-this on my own.”
You gulp. Jing Yuan didn’t think you would be so stubborn.
“You speak as if I’m pulling teeth to simply be in your presence,” Jing Yuan says softly. Your hands ball into fists on the tabletop. “Do you think that?”
“I mean... maybe to a degree? Under current circumstances. You just c-care for me, and keep caring for me, and it must be hard, right?”
“It isn’t.” Caring for you has been the easiest thing he has done in centuries. He probes, “Why would you think that?”
“Jing Yuan,” you steel yourself and look at him. Into him. “Y-You care for so many, so much already. You are the helm of the godship and bear its burdens as your own. You are as dutiful a general as you are a person, and I can only imagine the effort that is required of you, unrelentingly, at the helm of this vessel. I struggle to find my lapse in judgment and its consequences as anything other than another load for you to bear.”
He stares at you. You stare back. He folds his hands into a steeple and rests his chin on them.
You bring up a logical, fair point. It’s a valid concern to raise, and one that he has already considered. The Luofu is in peacetime. Looming threats have been accounted for and there are always several sets of eyes scanning for any potential new calamities waiting to happen. There are contingency plans, written out in various forms, and backed up across six different systems. Jing Yuan doesn’t exactly derive pleasure from his current duties as general, but there is a satisfaction in knowing that he has ample safeguards in place and is confident in his own abilities to handle unexpected scenarios in stride.
Over the seven centuries that Jing Yuan has been the Divine Foresight, he has become used to the vigilance and protection the Luofu requires. The care he extends to the Luofu is... almost a burden. If he were less duty-bound, it would be.
The fact of the matter is that caring for you is not something he is duty-bound to do. He is not sworn and expected (beyond social convention) to be kind and caring to you. The careful, fledgling connection of something more vulnerable and adoring is his choice to have, keep, and hold. The softness that you share with him is just for him, and the care he provides to you is just for you.
He does not think that telling you this fact so simply will satisfy you.
Instead, he steeples his hands, sets his chin atop them and asks:
“Dear, why do you see caring for yourself as an innate burden?”
You freeze, like you’ve been struck under the belly of a storm. Like you’ve been caught.
“I don’t.”
“I’d implore you to reconsider. I do not know you to be a liar.”
“I— it’s not that simple.”
“It could be, couldn’t it?”
(If you were honest, like he knows will allow you to release the painful-looking tension wound in your shoulders. It would ease you.)
You stumble over your words, chew them, and look close to tears. Jing Yuan does not falter or waver, not yet, not yet—
“It should be my job, shouldn’t it?” You say softly, down, through the bowl, shooting the sentiment down towards the Luofu’s core engines. “I shouldn’t need anyone to look after me, especially not you. E-even if it would be nice. And I like when you do.”
Jing Yuan thinks about what you divulged in Lei Huiling’s exam room. Your lack of a proper pack, thin familial connection, infrequent scenting— It all paints a clear picture of someone who has taken every opportunity to bear their burdens alone.
(It makes sense, then, why you offered yourself up to be Jing Yuan’s heatmate without hesitation. You intimately know the suffering of a lonely heat and you didn’t want him to struggle in that way.)
“You are very capable, I can hardly think otherwise,” Jing Yuan itches to reach out for you, but not yet— “But, what if I want to care for you?”
“... You want to?”
“Yes, I would.”
“... Just during my heat?” You ask, looking up at him demurely. It’s a submissive gesture, one that clearly portrays this insecurity that you shoulder. “Or, after too?”
All of it.
“However you’ll have me.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“How would you have me, though?”
“All ways!” You sniffle and your eyes shine. You’re reaching your limit, close to cracking. “I like that you care for me, Jing Yuan. I just don’t want to cause you any trouble or make you feel like you need to.”
“That’s one of the reasons why I enjoy caring for you so much,” Jing Yuan confesses. Now, he reaches across the table and sweeps his wrist across your own. Your scents mingle. “Because, it is wholly my want and my choice to care for you.”
It all slots together for you then.
Your expression morphs first to one of relief, then intense sadness, followed by grief that makes your lip wobble. You are sharp, sharper than you seem often, and he knows that your own revelations hit you deep in the chest. Your warm scent goes to cloves and cinnamon and you look so, so sad.
Your bowl of dessert soup is forgotten as Jing Yuan ushers you into his lap, turned away from any passerbys, covered and protected from any potential, curious eyes.
“Do you believe me?” He asks, nosing at your neck to emulate a scenting. His touch is ginger and careful. He wouldn’t dare aggravate the ache there any further.
“I-I do.”
And he knows you do. He knows based on how you cup his jaw and barely resist kissing him on his lips. You’re too shy to in public; your eyes dart left and right to ascertain if it's a safe action. Jing Yuan makes the decision for you and presses a firm kiss on your forehead.
“I’m glad you understand.”
“Uh-huh,” your voice goes weepy and weak. It stirs something in him, an unnameable thing he doesn’t know what to call still, but its presence feels just as familiar as it is intriguing. “T-Thank you for being patient with me.”
“Of course.”
He considers his next course carefully, choosing indulgence in the end. It’s something you both need after today.
Jing Yuan ensures that you are nestled close to his chest, beneath the curve of his chin. He pushes the tip of his index against your lips. It rests on the seam. You make a sweet, confused noise in front of your mouth. Jing Yuan only hums in reply, bundling you up a little closer still. It’s not the best venue for this, but he has never been known for his propriety in casual settings anyway. You are more than hidden enough. Only the ochre and violet lily thickets will be witnesses.
He pushes his fingers into your mouth.
You startle, just barely, as Jing Yuan strokes your tongue with gentle motions. He watches how your lips part around his calloused fingers, how you shift your gaze from his eyes to his fingers, then to his eyes once more. It’s hopelessly endearing. Your trust is such a precious thing to covet, he only will treat you well.
Your eyelids droop a moment or two later, tears dripping from the corners of your eyes as he rubs the pads of his fingers along your gums, feeling the ridges of his teeth. Your scent still tinges with sickness but the blooming, plush quality of it is unmistakable.
“Is this alright?”
You nod, bashful.
He reminds you, “You may always tell me no or reject any advance, same as I can to you, understood?”
You nod again, cheeks warm as he thumbs over them. He knows you must know these things, but he wants to remind you. You do well with reassurance.
Pheromones are present in spit, just as they are in sweat and slick. The amounts differ per body fluid, but in your current state, your saliva is potent. The small amount that leaks from the side of your lips is fragrant, spinning the scent of you around him.
Jing Yuan allows himself to be content and a bit smitten.
He whispers to you, lips against your ear, “What will the people of the Luofu think, hm? Their General with an omega in his lap, toying with them in public.”
You look up at him hopelessly, but do not bite his fingers. You are so good, so so good.
Jing Yuan only pulls his fingers away when he notices the uptick in the pedestrian activity in the streets nearby. It’s rush hour, and the sun will set soon. As pulls his fingers from your mouth, drenched in spit (and your pheromonal musk that comes with it), you flush and tuck your face against his neck. He can feel the heat of you still, a reminder of what must be remedied and tended to.
You sense this as well, kissing his jaw fleetingly.
There will be more, he knows. Your heat will come sooner rather than later, and there will be ample time for hidden tenderness in the comfort of your nest (which he is sure will be a splendid thing to lounge about, should you permit him entry.) Desires will be sated, and Jing Yuan will, if allowed, wet his palette with the scent and feel of you. There will be time to enjoy you, and for him to be enjoyed by you once more. Jing Yuan does not know what you will ask of him explicitly, or what you will need, but he is happy to ample his way to understanding. Morsel by morsel, bite by bite, you yield to him as he does to you.
(You are no alpha to own him, he reminds himself. You lay no claim on him, his soul is untethered to yours, and the relief of that is immeasurable. The connection laid between you will be built in teeth and touch, but in a different way than the ones he was once so familiar with long ago.)
Jing Yuan finds himself almost eager to learn.
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