Work Text:
You slip up.
It’s an accident— really. It is. You don’t mean to say it.
Notably, you’re not in your right mind. Jing Yuan has eaten you out to completion so many times that you have lost count. Your thighs ache from the innumerable marks he’s left on the oh-so-bruisable skin there. His mouth still tastes like you when he kisses you.
He's fucking you now though, slow and deep. Each thrust is like a punch to your insides. It's overwhelming. It’s too much— way too much, but the idea of stopping has you tearing up and begging for more of Jing Yuan, rather than less. Harder, deeper, closer to the pit of you, so you’ll ache for days.
Jing Yuan delivers— he always does. He looks so pleased as he fucks you, breathing heavily, preening, clearly pleased about your current, puddle-ish state. He speaks to you in a purr, his voice low and rich. The tone of his words hits you, makes you wetter and tighter around him. The content of his words, however, is lost on you. You’re too far gone. Your mind is mush. You nod when he tells you too, when he tells you what you are. When he tells you who you belong to, who takes care of you—
You’re good. He says you are, you think. You’re his good, sweet things so you nod and raise your legs when he asks you to. He throws your ankles over his shoulders, kissing the fragile skin there. It’s sweet. You’re so well-cared for.
He unsheathes himself, and teases your hole with the tip of his cock. His honeyed gaze slides to meet yours through the haze.
"You want this, don't you?"
"Uh-huh." You feel like you're floating. Like you're going to die if he doesn't put his cock back inside of you. You nod dumbly, vicariously.
Jing Yuan hums, pleased. "You want this so badly, don't you?"
"I d-do—"
You do, you do, you do. You try to press closer; the angle is wrong for it. Your straining hips do not beget pleasure. You whine and struggle regardless because you need him, you need him—
He hushes you as writhe, petting over your cheeks with a warm look in his eyes. So sweet to you, caring, attuned and attentive like always and it's fucking ruining you.
"Can you say please?" he says cheekily.
You know he's not expecting your response. You aren't either.
"P-Please, mommy."
Your own voice is foreign in your ears. Jing Yuan's eyes widen, enough to give you pause, even in your pleasure drunk state.
You lag, then fucking realize what you just said—
(A moniker for a kink that you keep tucked away in your most shame-filled pornography piles. A list of rotting bookmarks containing beautiful women with shapely chests taking care of fragile little things, cooing and kind and condescending in a way that makes you feel literally insane. Every time you dare to indulge, you cum on your fingers or against your vibrator so hard you nearly black out. Then cry. Or both at the same time.)
Horror overtakes you. Your spell of lust and arousal shatters as you tune into Jing Yuan's expression. He's— processing. Clearly.
You fucked up.
You start stuttering out apologies, voice still shaking, breathlessness and fear churning into it. Embarrassment and shame stick to your ribs and you can feel your voice tremble while you rapidly approach the precipice of full on tears.
Before you can slink away and hide in the en suite for the rest of your life, Jing Yuan is grabbing your hips, dragging you back into place. Pushing you down so you can't squirm away, or squirm much at all, He stares at you. Like nothing is amiss, he tilts his head. Fluffy hair falls in a halo around his cheeks, his usual ribbon having been tossed aside hours ago.
Without speaking, he cups your cheek in one hand and pets you with his thumb, the way one would stroke a tiny kitten. you lean into the touch without thinking, and before you can continue to spiral and feel like death about accidentally calling your partner a name you reserve for your own late night, masturbatory session, one that you can only let yourself muffle into a pillow that you bite between your teeth—
Jing Yuan says, "Do you like that?"
"... L-like what?"
He chooses his words carefully, but his tone is still so gentle. "Me, being your mommy."
You're going to die. "Jing Yuan—" you bury your face in your hands. "Don’t b-be mean."
"I’m not trying to be, only clarifying." He leans closer. folding you in half. His ample, soft chest is up against yours. "Do you like the idea of being my baby, dear?"
He coos the words. Talks down to you in his tone and rubs along your lower lash line as he does. He doesn't let you turn away or escape the question even as your stomach churns.
You sniffle. "I— Um—"
"Remember to be honest." He grip drifts, and he massages over your sternum. The pressure makes you feel light-headed and floaty all over. "I'd hate to have to put you over my knee so soon. Can’t you just tell mommy how you feel?"
He's going to fucking kill you.
He squeezes around your throat. His cock (still hard, maybe even harder, purpling-tip) grinds against your clit.
You come.
Jing Yuan isn’t even inside you and you come with a sound that's something between a sob and his name, your vision speckling at the edges. You grab his shoulders blindly, squeezing and searching because oh my fucking god— your brain must be coming out of your ears as your cunt flutters around nothing. Your legs twitch, nearly convulse, against his shoulder.
He shushes you as you come. The high is too much, it's all too much, but he's cradling you within the sensation so well that it's okay. Everything is okay and the sensation is so horribly relieving that you do cry, properly, within a few heaving breaths.
Jing Yuan is good to you as you do. You can't see the hint of mischief in his eyes, but it's there as he pets down your chest, your waist and hips. Eventually, toward your cunt, where he places a wide, scalding hand over your navel.
"I need an answer, baby.” He says 'baby' in such a tone that you could nearly come again.
"I like it—" The words fly from your mouth and you nod, over and over. "I like it so much, I like you so much— Please, please, please—"
Jing Yuan chuckles richly, rubbing over the apples of your cheeks.
"Isn’t my baby sweet?" He presses his thumb between your lips, then down on your tongue. you drool around it. "You'll be good for mommy then?"
"Uh-h-huh." The sound comes out garbled.
Jing Yuan looks amused. shame and arousal burn in your gut and you feel so empty.
"Can you say it for me?"
You don't even hesitate. "I c-can be good for m-mommy."
"Sweetest thing," Jing Yua says, light and sweet and with a genuine maternal ring and you're going to die. “I know you can. Always so good for me.”
Jing Yuan pulls back, just enough to reach between you and position his cock so it's notched against your cunt. You sob with the contact, clinging to him.
"Such a cute thing." He tells you as he pushes into you. It's too slow for how stretched and wet you are. You need more, but he doesn't give it to you, even as you whine and gasp for it. Instead, he holds your jaw, one-handed with a silken grin. "Dear, take what I give you, hm? Let me take care of you how you like."
You might actually literally die. You've given the man too much power.
When he bottoms out, he presses against the bruises he made earlier. Scraping against your sweet spot, moving with a languid pace that normally, on a regular day, you'd goad him out of. You'd flutter your lashes and speak your own repertoire of sweet words to have him fuck you stupid and filthy and reverent into these same sheets.
Now, though? You can't. The only thought in your mind is being good. For mommy, who kisses down your throat and over your chest. Who hoists you just right so you're folded in half while he fucks you. The two of you can't be closer than this, and that vulnerability has always terrified you. But in your current state? When you're just being good and letting him care and push you as he sees fit?
It's all okay. it feels so good, you come again. Maybe twice more. It’s a slow roll that crashes over you and you can only just take it. You take whatever Jing Yuan gives you because it's okay to and you want it.
By the time Jing Yuan comes with a broken moan of his own into your neck, you feel cored out. Broken in a good way, with your parts slowly being reassembled into a new image. Ego death, maybe. Or, you're being dramatic and Jing Yuan (mommy, he said he'd be your mommy, what does that mean—) simply fucked you so well that you don't have a coherent thought left. Who is to say?
Jing Yuan rolls you, so you're tucked against his side, beneath his chin.
He exhales, his own shaking, fragile thing.
"So," your own voice scratches from your throat. "Should we talk about that—?"
He hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead, cajoling you— lower? "Later. Enjoy it, dear. Can you keep being good for a while longer?"
Fuck post-nut clarity— you're immediately plunged back in the depths of whatever budding thing you're actualizing. All it takes is Jing Yuan’s ever-patient, soft tone and you’re sinking pleasantly all over again. You nod, cheek pillowed against his breast.
He pets your hair and you breathe, hot and slow against his chest. The thump of his heart beats through you too; you swear it synchronizes with your own.
As you begin to doze, you hear him laugh, faintly. Hopelessly fond like he always seems to be with you, but there's a sweeter edge to it. Something new that makes you feel perfectly warm and too hot all at once.
But it's like he said, isn't it? There's time to talk about it later. Question, sort, feel out whatever thing is being awakened. It can all be parsed through after a cat nap.
With cum leaking from between your thighs, and Jing Yuan's peaked nipples just inches from your face, you drift and enjoy. Just like mommy asked you to.