#i'm going to chew on both of them so so much

[cheftsunoda]

idk if you write wag x reader or you only do poly but i'm shooting my shot so hear me out...i'm thinking pride month. i'm thinking lily zneimer with a fem reader. i'm thinking shyness and mutual pining. please i beg.

ivy— lily zneimer

blurbs

lily zneimer x !fem reader

in which yn relives her biggest accomplishment in life— loving lily. and maybe all this recollection will bring lily back into her life.

(a/n) : to all my girls, gays and theys— i am so sorry if this breaks your heart. it broke mine writing it but i got inspired by one of my favorite gays (frank) and this is one of my all time favorite songs and writing using it as inspiration was so enjoyable to me. love you all.

poly george carmen story will be up later tonight!

pls pls listen to ivy while reading. i beg of you.

—

—

“I thought that I was dreamin’ when you said you love me” 🌿

It happened on a Friday night in November, in the makeshift fort of bedsheets and textbooks they’d built in Lily’s childhood bedroom—half a physics problem set between them and the soft hum of Bon Iver playing through a laptop speaker. The air smelled like cinnamon tea and the barely-washed hoodie Lily always wore when she was nervous about exams. You were lying on your stomach, half-asleep on a page of handwritten notes, your legs tangled with hers under the blanket. Neither of you had said anything for a while, just passing Lily’s highlighter back and forth like a secret. Lily had been quiet for longer than usual. You felt her eyes on you, her fingers toying with the edge of your sleeve.

“YN,” she said, her voice barely a breath. “Can I… can I tell you something?”

You rolled onto your side to look at her, cheeks pink from the warmth under the blanket or maybe from something deeper. “Yeah, of course.”

Lily blinked slowly. Her lashes fluttered like she was battling with herself, like the words were too big for her mouth.

“I—” She stopped. Then let out a nervous laugh. “Okay. Don’t laugh, okay?”

“I’d never laugh at you,” you whispered, and it was the truth. You wouldn’t. Not with your heart already halfway in her hands.

Lily looked down at where your fingers brushed, then finally met your eyes. “I think I love you. No—no, I do. I love you.”

Time stopped in that little room. The heater clanked. The highlighter rolled off the bed. Your heart tried to climb out of your chest. You sat up a little, letting the silence stretch just enough to make her squirm before you smiled—small, crooked, aching.

“You think?”

“I know,” Lily mumbled, immediately burying her face in the crook of your shoulder. “Oh my God. I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

You laughed into her hair, holding her close, the both of you wrapped in that moment like you were the only two people on the planet. “I love you too, Lil.”

She peeked up, her eyes wide and glassy with something unsaid. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, pressing your forehead to hers. “So much it scares me.”

Her hand found yours under the blanket. Fingers laced. A tiny kiss on your collarbone—featherlight, a question more than a statement. You let your fingers trace her jaw, the curve of her smile, the hollow of her throat where her pulse raced faster than yours. It didn’t go further than that—just limbs tangled, soft laughter in the dark, and the quiet safety of knowing someone saw you completely and still stayed. That was the first night you ever heard her say it. You’d hear it a thousand more times. But never quite like that. Never when it felt that pure.

—

“The start of nothin’— I had no chance to prepare— I couldn’t see you comin’” 🌿

You met her in sophomore chemistry, fourth period, the day your school switched up everyone’s schedules for no reason anyone could understand. You’d walked in late, still clutching a granola bar and a crumpled excuse note from the office, and there she was—Lily—in your usual seat, bent over her notebook, chewing the end of her pen and looking completely out of place and exactly like she belonged.

“Uh—sorry,” you mumbled, gesturing vaguely toward the chair.

She looked up. Big blue eyes. Hair tucked behind one ear. Her lips parted like she’d been caught mid-thought. “Oh. Sorry—! I didn’t know someone sat here. I can move.”

“No, it’s okay,” you said too fast. “You can—yeah. Stay.”

So you sat next to her instead. Close. Not close enough to be weird, but close enough to feel the heat of her arm when she leaned over to read the board. Your skin buzzed where it nearly brushed hers. You didn’t hear a single word the teacher said.

For the next forty minutes, you fidgeted with your pencil and snuck glances at her whenever she wasn’t looking. She took notes like it was a test, all neat and underlined and color-coded. She smelled like citrus shampoo. She bit her lip when she was thinking. You were already doomed.

Halfway through the class, the teacher assigned lab partners. You both froze when your names were called together. You looked at her; she looked at you. A small, nervous smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“I’m Lily,” she said, once your stools were tucked in at the lab bench.

“I’m YN.”

Her smile widened. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Silence. You picked at the edge of the lab sheet while she tried to find the goggles that didn’t fog up. Every time your fingers touched while setting up the experiment—just a tap, just a brush—it felt like a firework in your chest. And maybe she felt it too, because she kept biting her lip and glancing at you like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how. You laughed when she poured too much iodine into the flask and stained her fingers, and she turned pink and smiled at you like it was the nicest sound she’d ever heard. It was small, barely anything, but by the end of class you both lingered at the lab station, not ready to leave. Everyone else had already packed up. Your backpack stayed zipped.

“You’re really smart,” you said, as she double-checked her notes. “I mean, like. The way you take notes. And stuff.”

Lily turned to you, flushed again, but grinning. “Thanks. I think you’re… cool.”

“Cool?”

“Like. You said I could keep the seat. That was… cool.”

You both laughed. And then the bell rang. And just before she turned to go, she said it in the softest voice, like she didn’t want to take up too much space in your life yet—

“Do you maybe wanna study together sometime? For the quiz next week?”

You blinked. “Yeah. I’d—yeah. Definitely.”

“Okay,” she said, and smiled again—shy and glowing. “Cool.”

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no thunderclap, no spotlight, no instant thunderbolt. But somehow, when she left the room, your world felt different. Lighter. Quieter. Like something had gently clicked into place. You hadn’t even touched her hand. But you already knew. You were going to fall in love with her.

—

“Ooh, I could hate you now. It’s quite alright to hate me now.” 🌿

It was raining the day she told you. The kind of rain that sticks to your clothes and makes everything feel heavier than it already is. You should’ve known something was wrong. Lily had texted ‘can we talk?’ earlier in the day, and your stomach had dropped before you even read the rest. She only said that when she couldn’t hold something in anymore.

You met in the parking lot behind the engineering building, the same place you used to kiss between classes when no one was around, where you used to trade energy drinks and kiss half-laughing with the scent of motor oil and asphalt on your hands. Now she stood in front of you, arms crossed tightly over her chest, soaked hair sticking to her cheeks. Her eyes wouldn’t meet yours. She looked like she hadn’t slept. You said her name once—soft, like maybe that would be enough to undo whatever she was about to say. But it wasn’t.

“I don’t know how to say this,” Lily said, her voice cracking halfway through. “But I need to. And I—I don’t want to lie to you. Not anymore.”

You waited. Your heart was already halfway out of your body.

“I think I’m in love with someone else,” she whispered.

You blinked. For a second, you couldn’t even understand the words. You thought maybe you heard her wrong.

She kept going. “With Oscar. I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You couldn’t breathe. You took a step back, and she reached out instinctively, like she could take it back just by touching you. “No—don’t. Don’t do that.”

“I didn’t plan it, YN,” she said quickly. “It wasn’t like that. We were just talking—just talking—and I don’t know how it happened, but it did, and I tried to push it down, I did, but I can’t lie to you anymore.”

Your voice was shaking when you finally found it. “How long?”

“Three months,” she said, barely audible.

You laughed—sharp and bitter. “Jesus.”

“I never stopped loving you,” she rushed. “I swear to God, I didn’t. I still do. I think I always will.”

“Then why?” you snapped, louder than you meant to, your hands clenched at your sides. “Why are you doing this if you still love me?”

“Because it’s not the same anymore,” she said, crying now. “It’s not fair to you. I can’t keep pretending I’m not thinking about someone else, and you don’t deserve that. I would never do this if I didn’t have to.”

“You don’t have to,” you said. “You’re choosing to.”

Lily broke down then, her knees folding slightly like she could barely hold herself up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m such a fucking coward.”

And you stood there, rain soaking through your hoodie, watching the girl you built your life around crumble in front of you, and all you could think was God, I wish I could hate her.

“I could hate you,” you said, the words escaping before you even knew they were forming. “I probably should.”

She looked up at you, eyes red, mouth trembling. “You can. You should. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I won’t,” you said, even though you wanted to. “Because I know you meant it. All of it. Before him.”

“I did.”

You nodded, chewing on the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking. “Then go.”

“YN…”

“No. Just—go.”

She hesitated. Like maybe she thought you’d stop her. Like maybe you’d reach out and say it one more time—don’t choose him. But you didn’t. Because some part of you knew she already had. So she left. And you stood in the rain long after she was gone. Soaking. Shaking. Trying to hate her. Failing. Because even now—especially now—you still loved her.

—

“When we both know that deep down, The feeling still deep down is good” 🌿

You see her for the first time in years on a screen. She’s in the background of a paddock interview, tucked under an umbrella with Oscar, laughing at something you’ll never hear. She looks a little older—so do you—but her smile is the same. That smile that used to light up your whole damn world before it broke you. You pause the video. Your finger hovers over the play button. You can’t bring yourself to press it again.

You thought you’d buried her, that girl from chemistry class with ink-stained fingers and nervous eyes. But she lives under your skin still, pressed into the quietest corners of your memories—your firsts, your almosts, your if-onlys. You don’t miss her in the way that keeps you up at night anymore. Not like it used to. But sometimes, on slow days, you catch yourself smiling at nothing—at the ghost of her. At the echo of a joke only the two of you ever laughed at.

You wonder if she thinks of you when it rains. If she remembers how you used to run through thunderstorms barefoot. If she still has that old hoodie of yours she said she’d never give back. You wonder if she’s still in love with you, just a little. Because you know you are. Not in the way you once were. But in a way that still feels good.

—

She doesn’t talk about you much anymore. Not to Oscar. Not to anyone. But you still live in her. Some nights, when the hotel rooms are too cold and Oscar’s away at press dinners, Lily lies on her back and watches the ceiling and thinks of you. Of the girl she loved before she even knew what loving someone meant. She tells herself it was another life. But she still remembers the way your laugh used to shake your shoulders.

She still wears the ring you gave her on a chain around her neck. Oscar thinks it’s from her mother. She’s never corrected him. She loves Oscar. She does. But some part of her heart still beats to the rhythm of your name. It doesn’t ache like it used to. It just… lives there. Sometimes, she drafts messages to you in her Notes app. Just to say I saw your name today, or Do you still make your tea too sweet?

She never sends them. But she doesn’t delete them either. You were her first real thing. Her truest thing. The one that shaped everything that came after. And no matter how much time stretches between you, the truth remains. The feeling is still there. Quiet. Tucked deep down. But good. Always good.

—

“If I could see through walls, I could see you're faking” 🌿

It had been months since you’d last seen her. Not since the parking lot. Not since the rain-soaked goodbye. Not since you told her to go, even though you never meant it. You’d tried your best to stop looking for her. You changed your walking routes, dropped the engineering elective she was still in, stopped going to that café near the mechanical lab where you always used to study together. You buried her in quiet routines and busy days, and most of the time it worked. Until it didn’t. You saw her on a Wednesday. Late afternoon, on the steps outside the main library, where the sun hit just right and made everyone look a little more golden than they really were.

Lily was standing in a small circle of people—laughing. Or at least, she looked like she was. But you knew her. You knew the real version of that smile—the one she used when she was belly-laughing on the floor of her bedroom, hair messy, cheeks flushed. The smile that unfolded slow and shy whenever she saw you across a room. This wasn’t that. This was the smile she gave when she was tired of being asked if she was okay. The one that pulled just a little too tight at the corners, that never reached her eyes. You knew that smile. You used to press your fingers to her jaw and whisper, “You don’t have to fake it with me.”

But you weren’t hers anymore. You didn’t get to say things like that. You stood at the bottom of the stairs, textbooks clutched to your chest, frozen in place while she laughed at something someone said—then turned slightly, like she felt you watching. Your eyes met. And for one second, just one, everything fell away. The noise, the students rushing past, the heat of the concrete through your sneakers. It was just her. And you. And everything you weren’t saying. She didn’t wave. You didn’t smile. But her laughter stopped. And in her silence, you heard everything. You turned away first.

Not out of anger. Not out of spite. But because you knew that if you didn’t, you’d walk to her and say her name and touch her arm and ask, “Are you okay?”

And she would lie. Because she always did when she was trying to protect you. And you would forgive her. Because you always did. Because even now, you still loved her. You walked away without looking back. But if walls were made of glass—if time and hurt and pride weren’t in the way—you would’ve stayed long enough to say—

“I see you, Lily. Even when you think I can’t.”

—

“If you could see my thoughts, You would see our faces” 🌿

Some days, you get through it without thinking of her at all. You go to class. You laugh with your friends. You remember to water the plant on your windowsill. You start to believe, maybe, that the ache is behind you. But then there are the in-betweens. The slow elevator ride. The quiet walk home after sunset. The click of a pen during a lecture. The taste of spearmint gum. And suddenly, there she is.

If Lily could see your thoughts in those moments—if she could press her hand to your temple and look inside—you know exactly what she’d find. She’d see your faces. Not just the two of you now, older and distant and hurting—but you as you were. Two girls in matching sweatpants at 2 a.m., trying not to wake your roommates with your laughter. Two girls kissing under a stairwell after acing a physics midterm. Two girls falling asleep on each other’s shoulders in the library, highlighters still in hand. She’d see the version of her you still carry… Smiling into your hoodie. Crying into your collarbone. Whispering “I love you” for the first time, voice trembling like it might break if she said it too loud. She’s in everything. Still. Quietly, softly. Like background noise your brain doesn’t know how to mute.

You wonder if it’s the same for her. If Oscar ever catches her staring too long at a wall. If he asks what she’s thinking and she lies, says nothing. Because what would she say?

“I was thinking about a girl I once loved so deeply I forgot what it meant to be alone. I was thinking about how I left her. And how some part of me never came back from that.”

But you’ll never know. So you keep it to yourself. You carry her in your thoughts—hidden, sacred. A collection of moments no one else gets to touch. And if she ever looked closely, if she ever really saw you again, maybe she’d recognize the pieces of herself still stitched into the way you smile at your coffee, the way you tilt your head when you read, the way you love. Maybe she’d know…You’re still there. In here. Always.

—

“We didn't give a fuck back then—I ain't a kid no more.—We'll never be those kids again” 🌿

It hits you while you’re walking past the old gas station near the edge of campus—the one with the flickering sign and the vending machine that never worked but still somehow stole your quarters every time. You’re not even sure why you’re here. You’d taken the long way home, just trying to kill time, just trying to stop thinking about her. But then you see the curb. The cracked pavement. The exact spot where you and Lily sat that night—sophomore year—so loud and alive and impossibly young.

You remember it perfectly. It was just past midnight, early spring, jackets zipped up over pajamas. You’d snuck out of your dorms and walked to that gas station just to buy slushees and sour candy and pretend you were living in a movie. You’d climbed onto the curb, your knees bumping hers, faces sticky from sugar and laughter, and you’d talked about nothing. About everything. You were seventeen. Maybe eighteen. In love in a way that felt endless.

You didn’t care about the future then. Didn’t think about careers or timelines or who you’d be when it all stopped feeling easy. You didn’t even care if anyone saw you holding hands under the fluorescent lights. You just were. Together. Whole.

“We should get matching tattoos,” Lily had said through a mouthful of watermelon sour strips. “Like dumb ones. Frogs or something.”

You’d laughed so hard your Slurpee spilled on your shoes.

“Why frogs?”

“Because frogs are underrated.”

“You’re such a weirdo.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” you’d whispered. And she’d kissed you, just like that, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Now you’re standing in the same place, older, quieter, bones heavier with all the growing up you didn’t ask for. And she’s not beside you. She hasn’t been for a long time. There’s no sugar on your tongue. No stolen kisses under flickering lights. Just the ache of knowing you can never go back. You’re not those girls anymore. You pay bills. You answer emails. You smile politely when people mention her name like it doesn’t gut you. You scroll past headlines that say Oscar Piastri’s girlfriend spotted in Monaco paddock and pretend your chest doesn’t tighten.

You miss her. But more than that, you miss you. The version of yourself who laughed too loud and believed love was enough. The version who sat on that curb and didn’t give a fuck. You ain’t a kid no more. You know too much now. And no matter how vividly you remember it, no matter how fiercely you want it back—you’ll never be those kids again.

—

“Everything sucked back then—We were friends” 🌿

It was the middle of junior year, and everything sucked. Your grades were slipping. Your parents were fighting again. You’d stopped showing up to half your classes because even the act of getting out of bed felt like climbing Everest. The world felt too loud, too sharp, and you were walking through it like your skin didn’t fit right anymore. You didn’t know how to explain it to anyone. Except Lily. You hadn’t kissed her yet. You hadn’t even told her you liked her like that. You were still just friends—in the loosest, messiest, most beautiful sense of the word. But she knew. She always did.

She’d show up outside your house with iced coffee and no questions. She’d drag you into her car and blast music you hated just to make you roll your eyes. She’d sit with you in silence for hours, her pinky brushing yours on the armrest like she knew how badly you needed to be touched without being asked. One night, when the world felt particularly cruel, you finally cracked.

You were sitting in her room, lights low, curled up under the blanket she kept for you. You weren’t crying. Not visibly. But you must’ve looked broken in some way because she turned off the movie you’d barely been watching and scooted closer.

“Hey,” she said, barely above a whisper. “You’re allowed to say you’re hurting.”

You shook your head, eyes fixed on a thread unraveling on the sleeve of your hoodie.

“I mean it,” she said, voice stronger now. “Everything is horrible. School. Home. All of it. You’re not crazy for feeling like it’s too much.”

Your chest cracked open just a little at that. The smallest breath of air getting through.

And then—softly, so gently—you said, “I feel like I’m disappearing.”

Lily didn’t speak for a moment. She just reached for your hand and laced her fingers through yours like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“You’re not,” she said. “You’re right here. With me. I see you.”

You didn’t realize how badly you needed to hear that until you were already crying—quiet, slow tears that leaked down your cheeks and soaked into her sweatshirt. She held you for hours. Said nothing else. Just kept her arms around you like her body was the only home you needed. And that night, as you drifted to sleep to the sound of her breathing, you thought— Everything sucks. But she doesn’t. She’s the one thing that doesn’t. You were just friends. But she already felt like the closest thing to love you’d ever known.

—

“In the halls of your hotel— Arm around my shoulder— so I could tell— How much I meant to you—meant it sincere back then—We had time to kill back then” 🌿

You don’t remember the name of the hotel. It was just one of those small, chain brand ones on the side of the highway—the kind with stale carpeting and vending machines that only took exact change. You were there for some high school engineering competition, wearing matching t-shirts and badge lanyards, sleep deprived and running on pure sugar and the rush of being somewhere new. It wasn’t anything special. But it’s one of the only memories that still comes to you clear and full, like it happened yesterday instead of years ago.

You and Lily had just come back from the closing ceremony—giddy and exhausted, her arm slung around your shoulder as you wandered the hallway, pretending you didn’t know how to get to your room just so you could stay close. Her hair still smelled like that citrus shampoo she always used, her hand warm against the curve of your neck. But that night, everything in you ached. You paused under the dim wall light near the elevator, her arm still resting comfortably around you, and it was then—you remember it so clearly—that she leaned her head against yours, just for a second.

And she said, voice low, almost sheepish. “You make everything feel easier, you know that?”

Your heart stumbled.

“I do?” you asked, like it was a joke, even though your throat was already closing with the weight of what that meant.

“Yeah,” Lily said, quieter now. “I just… I feel better when you’re around. Like nothing else exists but us.”

She was shy back then, even more than you. But that night, she wasn’t hiding. Not behind sarcasm, not behind jokes or nervous laughter. She meant it. Every word. And you could tell. That’s what made it different. Not the hotel or the hallway or the soft humming of an ice machine behind you. But the way she held you without needing a reason. The way she said you made her feel okay, like that was the most obvious truth in the world. You both knew it then—maybe not in full, but enough to carry the weight of what was coming. You had no plans, no pressure. Just time to kill and hearts too full to understand yet what they held.

You’d stay up until 3 a.m. that night, legs tangled on the scratchy hotel comforter, watching videos on her phone and whispering dreams into the dark. And in the morning, she’d braid your hair with shaky fingers before the awards ceremony and pretend it didn’t mean anything. But it did. You both knew it did.

Now, years later, you find yourself standing outside a different hotel. The kind she stays in now—sleek, international, impersonal. She’s probably upstairs somewhere, curled beside someone else, a life away from vending machines and fluorescent lights. But your shoulder still remembers the weight of her arm. And your heart still remembers the way she looked at you like you were the only thing that felt real. You had time back then. And now? Now you just have the memory.

—

“I broke your heart last week—You'll probably feel better by the weekend” 🌿

It had only been five days. Five days since Lily stood in front of you in the rain and told you she loved someone else. Five days since she watched the way your chest caved in on itself, your mouth set in a silence that sounded louder than anything she’d ever heard. Five days since you told her to go. And she did. She hasn’t stopped thinking about you since.

She lies next to Oscar now, in a hotel bed with too many pillows and none of your warmth. He’s asleep—peaceful, content in a way she can’t seem to reach. The room is quiet, but her head is screaming. Your name echoing through every thought like an ache she knows she brought on herself. She stares at the ceiling, her phone dimmed on the nightstand beside her. She hasn’t blocked you, but she hasn’t opened your messages either. She’s too afraid of what she’ll find. Too afraid of finding nothing at all.

“I broke your heart last week,” she whispers to no one. To herself.

She tries to soften it in her mind—You’ll probably feel better by the weekend. Like that makes it okay. Like it was just a paper cut. Like you hadn’t built a life around her hands. She tries to imagine you now, curled up in that worn hoodie you used to fight over, face buried in a pillow. Angry, probably. But you’ll be okay. You always were better at moving on than she was. Weren’t you?

She turns over, restless. Oscar shifts beside her, mutters something in his sleep. She closes her eyes and tries to pretend it’s enough—that this is the love that makes sense now. That the life she’s stepped into is one she didn’t have to destroy something beautiful to reach. But when she dreams, it’s you she sees. Not the heartbreak. Not the crying. But you—grinning in the hallway of that old hotel, braiding each others hair in early morning, whispering into her neck when she used to wake up from nightmares.

She broke your heart last week. She told herself you’d feel better by the weekend. But the truth? She doesn’t think either of you will feel better for a long, long time.

—

“All the things I didn't mean to say—I didn't mean to do —There were things you didn't need to say — Did you mean to? Mean to?” 🌿

You weren’t supposed to see her that day. But the campus bookstore is small, and the universe is cruel, and there she was—Lily—halfway down the aisle, running her fingers along a row of overpriced mechanical pencils.

You froze, book in hand. You should’ve turned around. Should’ve left. Should’ve pretended not to see her. But she looked up before you had the chance. Her eyes widened. And then dropped. And then she nodded once. Just enough to be polite. Just enough to be nothing. You couldn’t help it—you walked up to her, heart racing, some part of you still desperate for something more than silence. More than the way she left.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey,” she replied, voice too soft to touch. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You swallowed. “I come here all the time.”

“Oh.”

Silence. And then you said it—the thing you hadn’t meant to say, not like this, not here.

“I still don’t understand how you did it.”

Lily blinked. “Did what?”

“Left. Just like that. Like we were nothing.”

She winced, but you were already in it, already unraveling.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” you added, instantly ashamed, voice trembling. “I just… I think I needed to.”

Lily looked at you like you were holding her heart in your hands again. Like she wasn’t sure whether to beg for it back or let you crush it.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said. “I didn’t mean for it to go that way.”

“But it did.” You laughed, sharp and shaking. “And then you said all those things like they didn’t mean anything. Like I’d be fine. Like you were doing me a favor.”

Lily looked away. “You didn’t need me to say I loved him.”

“No,” you whispered, voice cracking. “But you did.”

And it hangs there. Between you. The one sentence that still tears open your chest every time you think about it.

“Did you mean to?” you ask, almost pleading. “Did you mean to say it like that? Mean to leave like that? Like I was just some phase you grew out of?”

She looks at you then. Eyes glassy. Tired. Honest.

“No,” she says. “I didn’t mean to. Any of it.”

And you believe her. God, that’s the worst part. You believe her. But belief doesn’t undo damage. And regret doesn’t undo goodbye. You both stand there for a moment longer, drowning in the words you never meant to say. The ones that still haunt you. The ones you wish you could take back, or at least soften. Then she nods again. One last time. And walks away. And you stay. In the middle of a bookstore. Holding a book you’ll never read. With a heart full of echoes and the awful knowledge that some things can’t be undone. Even when you didn’t mean to.

—

”I've been dreamin' of you, dreamin' of you —I've been dreamin' of you, dreamin' of you— I've been dreamin', dreamin'” 🌿

The train station in Milan is buzzing, but your head isn’t really here. You’ve just wrapped a four-day project with an Italian motorsport tech firm—long days, longer nights, cold coffee and hotter tempers—and now you’re sitting on a worn bench beneath the departure board, your laptop half-zipped in your bag, earbuds in, not playing anything. You’re tired. Not just physically. Soul-tired.

And maybe that’s why you let your thoughts drift the way they do, the way they always seem to when you’re somewhere new, somewhere far away from home. You think of her. Of Lily.

It’s been years now. Time has been both cruel and kind. You’ve built a life that isn’t defined by her anymore. You’re successful. Focused. A little lonelier than you care to admit. You don’t cry over her name like you used to. But you still dream of her.

Still catch glimpses of her in crowds. Still find her smile on strangers. Still feel her voice in the back of your head when you’re looking out the window of a train or walking through a city where no one knows your name. You’ve been dreaming of her lately. More than usual. That soft kind of dreaming—not always painful, but always real. You wake up with her name in your mouth and the shape of her hand still ghosting your palm.

So maybe that’s why, when you hear it—

“YN?”

—your first thought isn’t That’s impossible. Of course. You look up slowly. And there she is. Lily.

Standing a few feet away in the middle of the station, suitcase by her side, hair longer than it used to be but tied in the same half-messy bun she always wore when she was tired. Her eyes are wide, stunned. Like she doesn’t trust what she’s seeing either. You blink, heart catching in your throat.

“Am I dreaming?” you ask, barely a whisper.

She exhales—shaky, like she might cry. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

And for a moment, neither of you moves. You just stand there, frozen in the middle of the station, a thousand people rushing past but none of them mattering. Just her. Just you. You rise slowly, walking toward her like you might scare her off if you move too fast. She doesn’t step back. Her eyes are glassy now.

“I haven’t seen you in—”

“Three years,” she says, too quickly. “I know.”

Your chest twists.

You want to ask her how she’s been. Where she’s going. Who she’s become. But none of it feels right. None of it feels big enough for this. Instead, you say, “I’ve been dreaming of you.”

Lily’s lip trembles. Her hand tightens on her suitcase handle. “I know,” she says softly. “Me too.”

You don’t say I still love you. You don’t say Come back. But you both know. It’s in the way she looks at you like she never stopped. It’s in the way your body feels like it remembers her shape just standing near her. It’s in the breath you take, for the first time in months, that doesn’t feel heavy. You don’t know what happens next. Maybe this is just a moment. A final one. A soft goodbye dressed like a miracle. Or maybe it’s something more. But either way— You were dreaming. And for once, the dream came true.

—

The coffee shop is tucked away down a quiet side street near the station, small and warm and dimly lit—exactly the kind of place you would’ve brought her to back then, when you were younger and still believed the right setting could fix a broken conversation.

You sit across from her at a little table by the window. Your fingers cradle a ceramic mug that’s far too hot, but you don’t let go. It feels surreal. To be here. With her.

Lily hasn’t changed much. Her hair’s a little longer, her voice a little steadier. But the way she looks at you? That hasn’t changed at all. It still softens at the edges. Still makes your chest feel like it’s been cracked open just enough to let the past back in.

You’re both quiet at first. Sipping. Fidgeting. Letting the moment stretch.

Then she says, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

You nod, throat tight. “Me neither.”

She smiles, but it’s not happy. It’s sad, in that way that only old love can be. “I kept dreaming it, though. I’d see your face in crowds. Hear your laugh in someone else’s.”

“I’ve been dreaming of you too,” you say, not bothering to lie. What would be the point now?

Lily looks down, fingers running along the rim of her cup. “I thought you hated me.”

You exhale through your nose. “Sometimes I tried to. I thought it would help.”

“Did it?”

“No.”

She doesn’t apologize. And maybe she doesn’t have to. Because it’s not just about the leaving anymore. It’s about the way you both kept carrying each other in silence.

“I loved you so much,” she says suddenly. Like it burst out of her before she could stop it. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

You look at her, and the air shifts. Your hands are still shaking. “You left.”

“I know,” she says. “I don’t think I’ve forgiven myself for it.”

You want to ask why. Why she chose him. Why she didn’t fight harder for what you had. But deep down, you know the answer won’t heal anything. And the truth is—you didn’t fight either. Not really. You let her go. You told her to. There’s a pause. A long one. She’s looking out the window now, watching the world pass by like it didn’t break you both.

And then—quietly—you ask, “Are you happy?”

She takes a long time to answer. “Sometimes.”

It sits heavy between you.

You nod. “Me too.”

You don’t know what this is. If it’s closure. If it’s something new. If it’s just a moment you’ll carry for the rest of your life like a warm scar. But when you walk out of the cafe, side by side under a soft drizzle, you feel lighter than you have in years. Not fixed. Not whole. But softer. And when her hand brushes yours—accidentally, maybe not—you don’t move away. Some things don’t come back. But some things never really left.

—

[javaelemental]

Re: Murderbot

A couple of days ago I picked up the first Murderbot book (All Systems Red), largely because the TV trailer for the show had looked good and my tumblr dashboard was jam-packed full of people professing their love for the books.

Later, as the show started airing, my tumblr dashboard filled up with people loving the show.

Finally, I hit a night where watching shitty TV didn't sound like much fun, so I snagged the book and chewed through it in a few hours. (It's a short novella and I'm a fast reader.)

The book was delightful. I'm definitely going to read the rest of them so no spoilers, plz.

Today, since I had a day off, I watched the show, and it is also delightful.

They changed a lot of things from the book as far as plot goes. I mean, the basic plot seems to be the same, but there's been a lot added and a lot skipped over. I expect that's due to the extremely internal nature of the novella. A lot of what goes on in the book is basically Murderbot's internal narration, just it telling you what's going on. Not a lot of detail on, for example, action scenes. Also not a lot about what the human crew is actually up to, since Murderbot kind of ignores them as much as it can and also finds the majority of their activity boring and/or useless.

A few thoughts:

They made Murderbot's crew seem extremely hippy-ish in all the worst, most stereotypical ways. On one hand, I don't love that. They didn't seem this useless in the book. On the other hand, having lived in Oregon for fifteen years, I've met each and every one of these characters personally and in real life and they all act exactly like that. It was both annoying and hilarious.

Particularly so when Labeebee or whatever her name was showed up. Like, absolutely everyone should have seen how that was going to go, and yet not one single crew member did and for as much time as I spent muttering at the TV screen "She's a bad guy how can you not TELL that," those folks I know from Oregon would also have been this irritatingly naive and oblivious.

I like the expanded look into corporate life. You didn't see much of that in the first book. (I assume it starts getting mentioned in later books.)

They cut back more than a bit on mentioning how crappy all of the corporation's products are, which I kind of didn't like. A big reason why Murderbot manages as much as he does and why so much of the obvious fuckery gets missed until later is because the corporation's products are such hot garbage. Like, they do mention it, but it the books it's a fairly big plot device.

Anyway, I'm very much looking forward to the rest of the books, and the rest of the show. If you've been hearing a lot about it and haven't checked it out yet, do so. It's a lot of fun.

[inquisitornocturn]

◇ Inter Stellas Inveniam Te ◇

◇◇◇ Chapter V - Tuus Sum

⚜ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Xavier Calcazar/Volenta Calcazar (OC)/Heinrix van Calox

⚜ 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: Overall story rating - E. Overall tags - romance, disaster polycule. This chapter - smut, blowjob, deepthroating, cum swallowing, cunnilingus, PiV, creampie, existential dread.

⚜ 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Even the most powerful have their weaknesses. Volenta has more than a few of her own. One such weakness being her husband. Another - her love for toying with others. Her station permits it, but it doesn't come without consequences, because Lady Inquisitor soon finds herself entangled with another man. And she doesn't know just what events will unfold when the man she's married to gets assigned to look over the Koronus Expanse.

In the 41st millennium, there's only war. Be it on surfaces of planets, on the decks of spaceships or… in personal lives. And those battles are not easily won.

⚜ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Having dinner together doesn't happen often, but both Volenta and Xavier enjoy them when they do. Except his wife has a confession to make. And next day she accepts realization of something that the woman tried not to think of. Same as Heinrix, who is suddenly startled into his own sobering realization of who he has been sleeping with.

⚜ 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 10,751 | AO3 | Chapter navigation

⚜ 𝖆/𝖓: I didn't plan to post this chapter this week, but I needed something to cheer myself up a little so I'm posting "early". Due to that, the editing might be not the greatest here, but considering this is a hobby of mine and not something I'm aiming to publish, I am willing to be kind to myself and post anyway. That said, enjoy the drama♡

No servant is present to interrupt the dinner. They served their masters already and are in waiting in case one of them calls to be tended to. To refill their glasses or to bring out something else that they may wish for. But for now, it’s just the two of them. Volenta and Xavier. Sharing a meal which they so rarely get to do.

“So, when are you going back?” She asks with eyes on a plate, fork and knife in her slender fingers, cutting at the delicate meat drizzled with sauce.

Xavier just sighs, also cutting a piece of his dish, same one she’s having ,and briefly glances at his wife. She’s not wearing her uniform tonight, but neither is he. Yet her open, loose black shirt drapes gently over Volenta’s chest, upon which the rosette rests, as much part of her as the wedding ring on her left hand, paired with the ring of the Inquisition. He knows it to be a needle gun, loaded with toxin and somewhere there is irony, but Xavier does not linger on the thought.

“Not an answer I can give with full confidence.” He admits and pauses before placing a bite into his mouth, rising eyes to the woman at his side. The table they are dining at is long, fit to seat at least forty people, but Volenta is by his side, on the left to where Xavier sits, at the end of the table and in an intricate chair that is meant to show his status as the head of this household.

Volenta looks at him, chewing slowly and shrugs, swallowing the bite. “Then give me an approximation.”

“A week at best. At worst, I will be sent back tomorrow. There’s no way to tell.” He places another bite of meat in his mouth and watches Volenta abandon her cutlery in favor of taking a glass of white, chilled wine.

“Have you been given orders yet?” She asks but does not look at him and at that Xavier frowns with uncertainty. He senses that something is behind these questions. More than just her desire for them to spend time together.

“No, not yet. But I assume I will go back to Koronus, of course.” Another bite and he waits for Volenta to lower the glass from her lips and speak. She does so but it looks like Volenta is bidding for time.

However, she does not want to delay the inevitable for too long. So instead of letting them sit in strange silence, she sighs and puts away the glass, then picks up the fork and knife, resuming to partake in the meal.

“Lords of Terra want you to form a Conclave in Koronus.” The way she speaks the words makes them sound calm, but Xavier notices her reluctance to look at him.

“I expected as much.”

“You really do not sound surprised.”

“Why would I? Me and other inquisitors have been working as a warband already, but it’s simply not enough. That’s precisely what I reported to Raphael as well. Is it really that shocking that it’s finally acknowledged that Koronus Expanse needs heavier presence of the Holy Ordos?” Giving a glance to Volenta, Xavier finally notices that she has finally looked at him.

“Not that.” She says, cutlery still in her hands and the dish half ate. “That you would be assigned to lead it. Inquisitor Lord.” A wry smile etches itself on a beautifully pale face, making it look more vicious than it usually appears.

“It’s less of a promotion and more of a punishment, Volenta.” Xavier says and sighs, leaning back in the chair and putting his own cutlery down. Grabbing the nearby glass of wine that was poured for him, the man takes a sip, washing down the savory flavors from his tongue.

“You don’t truly believe that.” Shaking her head, Volenta lowers her eyes back to the plate and resumes eating.

“I’m inclined to think that it might be true.” He scoffs and looks at the wine in his hand, the crystal of the glass wet with condensation. “Some backend of the Imperium that would benefit more to be purged with holy fire rather than spending resources that could be better used somewhere else.”

She listens to him and says nothing. What Lords of Terra implied resurface in Volenta’s memory, the idea that they suspect her husband of straying from the Imperial morals firing a flame of rage within her soul. She wants to tell him, but she won’t. Because if the suspicions are not baseless gibberish which she desperately wants them to be – then she needs to be an agent of the Holy Throne first, and a wife second.

Observe, track, interrogate.

“Maybe so.” Volenta pauses to eat and Xavier allows her that moment of quiet until she speaks again. “But if you can bring more planets and people to the embrace of the Emperor, then I wouldn’t say it’s a lost cause. Maybe it’s a tedious work, but we need manpower to worship him with our deeds.” Again she looks at him and Xavier sees religious fervor burning in Volenta’s eyes. “I don’t propose mercy, dear, if you even think me having developed such flaw in your absence. No, I speak of the simple truth that even criminals and heretics can be used for His glory. Some machines need to be fed blood and flesh. I’m simply reminding you of that.”

Stunned, Xavier just takes another sip from his glass, not sure what to even say. He’s a man of faith too, but sometimes Volenta’s own leaves him speechless. It doesn’t surprise him, not per se, but sometimes he forgets just how fiercely his wife loves the Emperor. She even still carries that faded icon of the Master of Mankind. One that she had with her on a day Xavier watched Volenta pack her meager belongings.

It was the day he recruited her. Or rather, just decided to take the wide-eyed soldier with too much eagerness on her face as a possible acolyte. Volenta was wearing dead man’s uniform and the helmet was far too big, slipping over her eyes. But she looked at him in utter awe then and he couldn’t resist wanting to exploit the loyalty that was given to him on a silver platter. Part of a mixed unit, Xavier even then understood the reason for Volenta’s bound chest, that was impossible not to notice when he stood before her. But the real surprise was when he took off her helmet after becoming irritated how it kept misbehaving. The avalanche of long, white hair, put in a messy and dirty braid, slid from under it and took his breath away.

He couldn’t leave her there.

So Xavier decided to take this young woman under his wing and urged her to pack what she had. Which was pitifully little. A small, worn pouch Volenta stuffed with just one set of underwear and socks. And then the icon of the Emperor joined what even the most downtrodden would look down upon with compassion. It was tattered and had a prayer on a back, which Volenta couldn’t even read, being illiterate. He learned that later, but at the time the sight of this woman who was not quite yet done being a child, clad in bloody, filthy clothes that still bore a man’s name, made Xavier feel like he was the Emperor Himself, saving this pour, faithful soul from a promise of early death.

He wonders, as he watches Volenta methodically finish her meal, if she has that icon on her right now. And what a contrast sits by his side. The image in his memory being replaced by the woman who rose so high that not even Xavier could’ve predicted it. Emperor’s providence, he can’t explain it in any other way.

The scrape of Volenta’s stiletto heel over the tiles beneath the table makes Xavier remember that she’s probably waiting for an answer and he takes another sip of wine, then clears his throat. “I understand perfectly what you mean. But I will also remind you that some segments are beyond even His light, Volenta. Do you not have faith in me that I will do the job that is asked of me? That my judgement won’t be just?”

There’s a warning in Xavier’s voice and Volenta pauses while reaching for her own glass of wine, but only for a moment, and drinks from it before answering. “I do trust you, Xavier. Of course I do.” And when she looks at him, Volenta smiles with eyes full of adoration. A salve that softens his heart in an instant.

Reaching over the table, Xavier takes her right hand in his augmetic fingers and gives a careful squeeze of reassurance. “I agree with you. That it’s an opportunity to make use of the Koronus Expanse and I won’t be rash to condemn the sector into oblivion and void.”

She laughs at this, the sound delightful and Xavier rises his eyebrows with a smile emerging on his own face. “You can’t do that quite yet even if you wished so. You just have gotten promoted.” Volenta says and empties her glass at which Xavier just sighs, dramatically so, feigning annoyance.

“That smart mouth of yours can be used in different ways instead of talking back at me.”

“Speaking of that-“ Volenta slips her hand out of Xavier’s grasp and reaches over the plates to take bottle of wine from where it’s nestling in a gold bucket filled with ice.

When she doesn’t continue, Xavier raps his mechanical fingers over the table top. “Yes?”

And yet she still doesn’t answer, refilling his glass first, then hers. The bottle returns to the bucket and Volenta leans back in her chair, almost mimicking Xavier’s own pose, and her shirt opens a little wider, showing an edge of black lace over her left breast.

Taking a drink, Volenta locks her eyes on Xavier’s and hesitates just for a moment before finally speaking. “I slept with Heinrix.”

At first Xavier doesn’t even comprehend what he just heard. He stares at his wife, her calm eyes waiting for his reaction which he knows she can already predict. And then the words sink in, unfolding like poisonous flower, spreading toxins that begin coursing in Xavier’s veins immediately.

Without thinking, he rises a mechanical fist and slams in onto the table, making every single item on it jump. All that were standing, glasses and pitchers, tumble down. Some roll off the edge of the desk and shatter onto the tiles below. Only the bucket with ice and the wine bottle escapes similar fate. Despite Xavier’s sudden anger, he still didn’t bring full power to his augmetic arm.

“How in the Emperor’s name it happened!” He shouts but Volenta doesn’t flinch, knowing this was coming. Just this morning he said he will consider her possible entanglement with his right-hand man and she went ahead and got fucked by him before the decision was even made.

“It’s…” Sighing, Volenta takes another sip. Despite her outward calm appearance, her throat still dried the moment Xavier’s fist connected with the ancient wood. Running a hand over her loose white locks, the woman manages a shrug.

“Volenta.” Xavier frowns deeply, a sight that rattles even her, but she remains steadfast in keeping her composure. “You broke our agreement.” He’s not shouting and that’s what makes Xavier’s words sound like an unsheathed blade.

But this flares up the flame of defiance in her and she frowns at him in return. “What, you think I just went out today and thought to myself – what a glorious day to compromise my marriage?!”

“STOP!” He shouts again and Volenta’s frown deepens to an edge that is usually reserved for enemies, but Xavier is also unshaken by the confrontational attitude that his wife is displaying. “I asked you how that happened. And-“ he stops her the moment Xavier sees her lips part in an upcoming attempt to argue with him. “-don’t shrug at me again like some misbehaving juvie. Volenta, you are my wife and you will answer me.”

And whilst Xavier doesn’t hear it or see her lips move, he knows that in her mind Volenta is grumbling at him like a feral cat who got a toy taken away. She shifts in her seat a little, then drinks from the glass and Xavier puts down his own, realizing he currently lost taste for the wine.

“He found me. Came to apologize. We argued.” Of course they did. “And then it just happened.”

“So he apologized by fucking you, that’s what you’re telling me?” Xavier says much harsher than he wanted to and the words he has picked are not how he usually speaks, but in moments of heated exchange with his wife, Xavier tends to lean towards to how Volenta herself speaks, for better or worse.

“No!” She pauses, trying to calm her frustration but it snaps and Volenta throws her glass across the room where it shatters against the wall.

Legs of the chair hiss when Volenta suddenly stands but Xavier grabs her wrist and squeezes hard enough to make the woman wince with pain. “Why did you let him. Because God-Emperor sees I know you didn’t suddenly crawl into his lap like a whore. I know you.”

Volenta tugs at her arm, trying to free it but the mechanical handcuff that Xavier’s fingers have become do not budge and she snarls. “Does it matter? Or do you just want to yell at me for more reasons than one?”

“Of course it matters, Volenta!” He shouts again and she scalds him with a furious glare, trying to pull her hand away.

“Fucking fine! If you wish to know so badly, fine!” Yet she still tries to free herself and Xavier tightens the grip even further, making Volenta let out an agonized whine. Her eyes narrow at the pain but she finally stops struggling. “I don’t…” She swallows. “I don’t really know, alright? It’s just…” Words drift off while Volenta thinks of how to express why it happened.

Xavier is not immune to the anguished face of a woman he loves, but he has to know. He has to know if suddenly she…

He doesn’t let his mind finish the thought. Refuses to let it happen. He shouldn’t be afraid and yet here he is, hurting Volenta in a desperate need to be assured that his worst fears have not come to be.

“It felt like it does with you.” Volenta says so quietly Xavier nearly misses it and his attention focuses back on her, on her face still twisted in pain. “It was like that, but at the same time different. It’s… I don’t know how to explain it.”

And it’s the truth, or at least half of it. Volenta, just like Xavier, doesn’t allow certain thoughts to permeate her confession, because she does not want to think those thoughts, to wonder that maybe she and Heinrix were walking towards this outcome for many years now. Whether knowingly or not, it doesn’t matter and she does not want to think of it, not right now.

Xavier lets out a low, strained sigh and eases the grip of his augmetic fingers, watching Volenta’s face smoothen out from signs of pain. And when she rises her eyes back to him, Xavier clenches his jaw, but gives into the desire to feel her close.

With a sharp yank he tugs Volenta towards him and easily sweeps her into his lap, nearly smiling at his wife’s big wide eyes that betray surprise. He can’t do that yet, first he needs to scold her. Again.

At a sound of Volenta’s high-heel falling off her foot, Xavier sighs again and grips her chin with his fingers, making sure that she won’t look away. “Listen to me, my dear, and listen very carefully. I don’t want you doing this again.”

“But-“

“Not at least while I am here to satisfy your needs. Do you understand?”

Volenta stares at Xavier, saying nothing just breathing quietly and blinking couple times like an animal caught in front of the gun barrels. He shouldn’t permit this, he does not want to permit this, but Xavier can’t punish Volenta either. What she said, how Heinrix reminded her of him, it strung a cord in just how much Volenta loves him, to the point that even when she’s at his side she still craves, starved by their infrequent unions.

In truth, Xavier would prefer that she has chosen any other man than Heinrix, but if that’s who his wife finds solace in… Well, not even Xavier can deny that to her. After all, it’s his fault. He should not have made her an inquisitor if he wanted her eyes only on himself. He should’ve kept Volenta with him at all times, taking her with him anywhere he went. But no, he wanted her to excel, to serve, to become a perfect soldier because his love for the Imperium was stronger than his love for her. That was long ago, but it still is his fault that Volenta feels neglected, even if she will never utter such words to Xavier.

“Are you going to punish him?” She whispers at last and Xavier lets out yet another heavy sigh, considering whether he should or not, but then brushes the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, sweeping his gaze over the beloved features.

“No. If you’re truthful and he made you think of me – then how can I blame Van Calox for wanting the same things.”

“Things?!” Volenta pouts immediately and he chuckles, pressing his forehead against hers even when Volenta tries to remove her chin from his grasping fingers.

“Stop being so petulant, Volenta. You know perfectly what I have meant.” He whispers and before she can respond, Xavier kisses her, letting the barrage of murmurs become silenced against his lips.

She pushes at him, childish in her tantrum but no less loveable, and Xavier wraps both arms around her, squishing Volenta tightly against his chest until she has no room to struggle anymore. At being subdued, Volenta finally relents and kisses him back. Reluctant at first, still unjustly annoyed at her husband, but she feels his heartbeat under her palm where it’s pressed against Xavier’s chest, the layer of coat and shirt muting the sensation only slightly. She feels it and whatever desire she has to keep being irritated begins to melt away almost immediately.

Leaning into the kiss, Volenta becomes his pliant, loving wife again and Xavier pulls back, rising a hand to stroke the side of her face, eyes following the path of her scar. “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?” The tone of voice is deep and strict, but the smile betrays Xavier’s inability to actually deny he.

She fawns her dark eyelashes in turn, acting out an innocent maiden and he chuckles, unable to help himself. “Who? Me? No, Inquisitor Lord, I would never! That’s preposterous to even suggest!” Faking even the grating, squeaky voice of many noble women, Volenta clearly is her usual self again and Xavier can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Stop that, you know I despise when you talk like this.” Yet the sound of his new title is pleasant, even if said in a voice that is grating in its falseness.

“Fine, fine.” She chuckles and nuzzles her face against the side of Xavier’s neck, planting slow, gentle kisses beneath his jaw. “So you’re not mad anymore?”

“I am.”

“Liar.”

With a tired sigh that is no less than an act akin to the one Volenta put on just now, Xavier just moves one hand to his wife’s rear and gives it a squeeze. “Lying to the Inquisition is heresy. Are you calling me a heretic, my love?” Volenta chuckles again and gives Xavier’s neck a bite which makes him hiss at the unexpectedness of it.

“Only when you ask me very nicely.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

Volenta grunts when she rises from her chair. For the entirety of today she feels sore after Xavier decided that to show to whom she belongs to, he needs to have her at least in seven different ways. In truth - she lost count. They fell asleep at dawn and this morning she had to drag herself to work with almost every muscle in her body aching.

But now she got a vox message, sent to her through a private channel that not many agents have access to. Someone wants to meet her and, due to her job involving secrets upon secrets, it’s not like such a message is a rarity or the one Volenta would refuse. Could be something important. Or someone.

The location given is in the building. One of the conference halls that she is pretty sure is empty at this time. But before Volenta departs her office, she empties her glass of rich amesac and pressing palms to her lower back the woman stretches with another grunt.

Damn it, Xavier, you just had to prove your point like a territorial beast.

Despite the disgruntled thought, Volenta smiles and shakes her head a little. And the discomfort is just Xavier’s testimony to her, of his love. A promise, an oath, which she accepts gladly. It’s been a while since he left her in such a state, that walking itself is not without effort, but it feels good too. And when she makes first steps towards the door, Volenta sighs but soon the muscles adjust to her movement and the aches turn from agonizing throbbing to a dull tension.

Outside, the two agents who have been following Volenta around like lost puppies immediately jump to greet her, but she just waves her hand at them. “No need to accompany me this time. Go take a break.”

Not waiting for a reply and not even looking at them, the woman passes the men with her cloak gently billowing behind her from the urgency with which she wants to escape their eager, yet restricting presence. They are keen to serve, but she never liked bootlickers and their wide-eyed enthusiasm is already grating on the Inquisitor’s nerves every time she has to put them to work. But for now, she is free of them.

Navigating the corridors is easy and as always, Volenta doesn’t pay attention to reactions of others. Most bow their heads in fear of her presence, but there are always some that think defiance is a charming trait to have. Still, nobody dares to bother her and so she takes the lift to the lower floors of the building. With her office being almost at the very top, such trips are a daily life for her, unless she’s not doing her duties on Terra. And she’s been here for a while now. Which makes her think that soon, most likely, this too will come to an end.

With those thoughts on her mind, and many other burning in the background of her brain, Volenta stops by the conference hall door and looks around. No one’s here and the corridors are empty, but despite this being the building of the Inquisition headquarters, she still moves a hand over her plasma pistol, popping the clip open. Only when she feels ready for a possible attack is when Volenta presses a gloved hand over the scanner, needing to wait only a second before it beeps and the doors part vertically, letting her enter.

Inside it is as empty as it is outside, but the chandeliers with crackling, bright candles illuminate the area well enough to signal that someone has been here to service the area, and recently. Volenta steps inside, looking around, remaining sharp, and doesn’t flinch when once she’s further from the door it closes with a soft hiss and a quiet clank of metal snapping together.

Before her is a massive table shaped in a form of a shoehorn. It can seat at least a hundred if not more, with chairs neatly waiting to be occupied. In the center, around which the table curves, stands a podium with a built-in cogitator with its screen blank and off. There’s another door to the left of her, at the very end of the room, but besides the lavish decorations of skulls, visages of the Emperor and the Inquisition symbology representing all three major Ordos, nothing really stands out. Even the view outside of the windows, reaching to the ceiling with arching designs, only show the panorama of Terra and the air-bound vehicles that are stitching the sky in their flight paths. Some of the spires can be seen, but even this lower level of the headquarters is taller than most of the buildings around it.

Nothing, Volenta realizes and moves her hand from the plasma pistol, not sure what do to next. Leave or wait? So she makes a step towards the closest edge of the table, wondering that perhaps she’s missing a note someone could’ve possibly left for her. And even though Lady Inquisitor is not exactly seeing any sighs of such a thing, she knows better than take things at face value.

Suddenly, before she can make more than two steps over the armorcrys floor under which skulls are arranged in worshipful patterns, Volenta feels hands on her. One presses flatly against her stomach and another gropes at her chest, straining the fabric when her breast is squeezed. She gasps in shock, not because of the touch but because someone managed to sneak up on her like this, and before the woman can try to move away or look behind to see who it is, she feels lips against the side of her neck, right underneath the ear, and fingers find her pierced nipple even through the uniform, squeezing it, this time eliciting more than just a gasp from the Inquisitor.

“I have been thinking about you all night, all day.” Heinrix’s voice, familiar even with lust hushing it into a gravely whisper.

“What are you doing here?” Volenta tries to grab at his wrists, to halt Heinrix’s eager progression of finding access beneath her clothes, but lacking the brute strength to do that she ends up urging the man on. Interrogator’s hand slips from her stomach and between her legs, pressing through the pants she’s wearing and beginning to rub there in slow strokes.

“I needed to see you again, Volenta. I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. You are all that has been on my mind since yesterday.” Heinrix confesses and presses a wet kiss to her neck again while rolling her nipple between his fingers before tugging on the steel bar he too can feel through the fabrics.

“This is risky.” She tries to remind him where they are, but Heinrix doesn’t halt. Instead he releases her breast and slides a hand under the jacket, forcing one of the buttons to pull open and grant him the desired access. He then palms her left breast, squishing it eagerly a few times before finding the other nipple that the man does not want to neglect.

“I made sure to take all the necessary precautions. No one will disturb us.” He squeezes her nipple, making her moan and can barely hold himself back, wishing to bend her over the damned desk immediately.

“That’s- ah!” She hisses when Heinrix pulls on the piercing harsher than he did earlier but she can’t deny what her body wants, even if it aches. “Really? Why the cryptic message then?” Trying to look at Heinrix, Volenta attempts to turn her head but he just keeps peppering kisses over her neck, breathing heavier the longer his hand rubs between her legs and his fingers continue toying with her breast.

“I wanted to make sure that you will come.” Admitting without shame, Heinrix suddenly pulls his hands away, Volenta’s fingers not grasping his wrists firmly enough to hold onto them. And he spins her around, pressing the Lady Inquisitor against his body and clashing his mouth against hers.

She makes a noise of surprise and with one fist bangs at his shoulder while trying to pry Heinrix’s hands from around her waist, but he’s stronger and much more determined than she. And the weakness of her struggle only urges him on.

“I need you. Now.” Heinrix whispers for a breathy moment, pulling back just enough to speak and notices those beautiful eyes become heavy-lidded with desire he has invoked in Volenta as well. He kisses her already swelling lips again, this time getting a response that speaks of her need for him too. Heinrix’s heart beats faster at this reassurance that he feared he wouldn’t be able to receive.

Volenta’s struggle tapers into nothing and she finally pulls Heinrix into her, with her hands around his neck and gloved fingers messing with his hair, while Interrogator’s tongue explores her mouth and makes Volenta submit and let him do whatever he wants. He’s almost breathless from desire and begins pushing the Inquisitor backwards, where he saw the desk just before he forgot everything at the touch of her, including his own name.

Realizing what Heinrix wants with her, as if it were not obvious, Volenta smiles and plants her feet firmly on the floor, even if her heels slip over the armorcrys slightly. Heinrix senses her resistance and pulls back with his face flushed, eyes clouded with lust and quick breaths betraying desires that he does not even try to hide. Volenta moves her hands from around his neck and grabs onto his shoulders. “Let me, darling.” She whispers and turns around with Heinrix, pushing him against the desk.

With a quick glance the Inquisitor locates the nearest chair and turns it by the backrest, then nudges Heinrix to sit down. He gives her a confused look, full of questions, but instead of satisfying his need to know what she has in mind, Volenta just waits until he plops into the chair. One hand grasps at her wrist and tries to pull ger into his lap, but she instead easily slips her wrist from his fingers and puts her palms on his thighs, leaning in to grant him another kiss.

“Just relax and let me do this.” She whispers against the lips that try to chase after hers when Volenta pulls back and then kneels before him. The knee guards, shaped like skulls, make a dull sound on the reinforced glass of the floor, but she only brushes her hair behind her ears and begins to unbuckle his pants.

“You... You don’t have to do this.” Heinrix suddenly mutters, realizing just who exactly is kneeling before him, the heaviness of such act not lost on his lust-addled mind, but Volenta just smiles to him, grey eyes locking onto his.

“No? Would you rather I stop?” The question is underlined when she quickly bites onto the finger of her glove, pulling the hand out of it and letting the article drop between Heinrix’s legs. About to say something, what exactly he’s not even sure of, Heinrix just watched Volenta wrap warm fingers of her right hand over his cock that she expertly frees from the confines of his uniform.

“Wait, that’s not what I-“ Heinrix starts but cuts himself off with a sigh because Volenta doesn’t wait for him to speak or make some sort of argument. Instead, she leans over and with eyes traces the curve of Heinrix’s cock, the precum smearing the tip of it, the vein that throbs after the last stroke her palm makes, and then she lets it impale her mouth. The warmth and wetness of it makes Heinrix forget whatever argument he was about to make and both hands tangle in her hair. It’s better than what he had imagined.

“Deeper.” The Interrogator demands, not asks, and Volenta smiles briefly to herself before leaning in until her nose is right against the crown of short hair surrounding his cock. With bare fingers she traces up his stomach, following the path of hair that leads up, beneath his uniform, and Heinrix’s fingers fist in her hair almost mercilessly.

Then, as if having another thought, Heinrix releases his hold on Volenta and just before he feels the bend of her throat with his cock, he discards his gloves, throwing them onto the desk and grabbing fistfuls of Inquisitor’s hair again, moaning when he realizes just how soft that whine mane of hers is.

“Volenta…” Heinrix breathes, wanting to order her to begin sucking, but she needs no such explicit command. The moment she takes entirety of his cock into her mouth Volenta pulls back, swiping her tongue over the swollen tip of his cock and then descends again, taking him in fully once more.

With a shameless moan Heinrix lets her continue for a while, just enjoying the moist heat of her mouth, but she’s toying with him and he knows it, because she’s taking it slow, watching him from beneath those dark eyelashes. “Throne take you.” Heinrix swears, gritting his teeth the moment he notices a smug glee in her eyes and grabs her head with both sweaty palms, beginning to maneuver Volenta’s head, faster and rougher.

One hand on his thigh grips tighter for support and her bare hand on Heinrix’s stomach digs nails into his muscles, but he only hisses through clenched teeth, not relenting. Faster, harder, he uses Volenta’s mouth to give himself pleasure and it’s coming fast, much faster than he anticipated.

He realizes he could stop, maybe even should, to give her a warning he’s about to come, but it feels too good, the way the flat of Volenta’s tongue strokes the underside of his cock when he brings her face down onto himself, impaling her throat onto his length right to the hilt. With face twisted from strain and pleasure, Heinrix can’t take his eyes from her, finding her so wonderfully beautiful even right now, with her eyes beginning to tear up from the sheer brutality of his usage of her.

That face, that look - they become his undoing.

Heinrix groans and bends over Volenta’s kneeling form, his fingers painfully gripping her skull and holding Inquisitor’s face pressed right against his body as his muscles spasm and his cock begin spilling Heinrix’s seed down Volenta’s throat. Her fingers twitch, betraying her surprise, but she does not fight Heinrix, except digs her fingers and nails into him even further.

The way her throat works around his cock, trying to swallow the onslaught of warm liquid that he offers to Volenta up to the last drop, nearly makes Heinrix blank out. But finally his climax relents and he remains still, still bent over, still with his hands holding her head. Heinrix’s hair is sticking to his already sweaty face and he draws heavy, groan-like gulps of air, trying to catch his breath.

Suddenly he remembers Volenta and leans back in the chair, gently pulling her face away from his cock and notices several tears that have slipped down her face, but the glee is still in her eyes and when Heinrix’s cock finally leaves the wonderful confines of her mouth, Volenta inhales deeply and rubs her throat with the gloveless hand. “My, my, I would appreciate a warning next time.”

Inquisitor’s voice sounds rough and Heinrix would feel bad, maybe even sorry, if she didn’t look so beautiful in her debauched state. With a smile, the Interrogator cups her chin and brushes pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He gives a false promise and leans down, kissing Volenta not only to taste her lips, but to taste himself on them. His victory, his battle spoils.

She obediently kisses him back, naively believing that this was enough to satisfy him, but Volenta quickly learns that’s not how Heinrix himself feels. So when he pulls back and helps Volenta to her feet, she reaches down for her discarded glove only to get grabbed by the hips and thrown onto her back on the table. She winces from the surprise and a sting of hard wood against her back, but when she looks at Heinrix, his focus is not on her temporary discomfort but on her belt, the zipper of her pants, the clasps of her right boot that clatters to the floor the moment he releases them.

“Heinrix, wait!” She tries to protest, but Volenta’s voice is weak, still raw from the facefucking she’s been administered and even though Heinrix hears her, he entirely ignores it.

With his cock still spent from the orgasm, Heinrix doesn’t bother tucking it away. Instead, he roughly pulls Volenta’s leg free from her pantleg and attempts to do the same with the black panties she’s wearing, aiming to unclothe her just enough so that he can have access to her body.

“Heinrix, hold on a damned minute.” Volenta laughs, lifting herself on elbows to watch Heinrix’s serious expression, a drop of sweat slipping to the end of his nose and falling down.

“No.” Is all he says, growls partially from the impatience, and Volenta’s eyebrows raise slightly with surprise but she remains quiet and just smiles, allowing him to proceed.

To navigate her panties off her Heinrix has to pull the pants down her other thigh, but eventually he succeeds in leaving the delicate lace of Volenta’s undergarment rolled around her clothed thigh. Finally he presses both palms to Volenta’s inner thighs and spreads her for himself, pausing when a breath gets caught in his throat.

“Holy Terra…” He whispers to himself rather than her and glances up to the face that is no longer just pale, but colored with a pale blush. Volenta’s slightly swollen lips stirring the passion within Heinrix even further. “Damn you.”

With that proclamation Heinrix grabs Volenta’s legs and throws them over his pauldrons before leaning down and without a second’s delay pressing his mouth to her pussy, pushing the flat of his tongue against the wetness there that he accepts with pride as his victory. Volenta lets out a small gasp, then a moan, and Heinrix hears her drop back onto the desk, fingers finding his hair again and pulling his face even harder against her. “Fuck.” She gasps and Heinrix reaches up with one hand, under the uniform and the shirt, to find one voluminous, soft breast that he grips with his fingers to the point of bruising.

“Let me hear you, Volenta.” Heinrix whispers against her folds and with thumb of his other hand he pulls the side of her pussy, opening her to his view, opening her so that he can plunge his tongue deep inside.

He does that without a moment’s hesitation, pushing the muscle as deep as he can and glances up, hoping to see Volenta’s face twisted with pleasure, but has to smile to himself because her breasts block the desired view from his sight. It doesn’t matter, Heinrix decides, because how Volenta’s body responds and how she’s moaning for him are all the signs he needs to know that she’s enjoying herself.

Another moan, a grip in his hair painfully tight and Heinrix pulls back just to begin moving his tongue in swift circles around her clit, making Volenta’s body arch and whines become louder. He squishes her breast again and gets a satisfying yelp out of the Inquisitor that spurs him on. Lips wrapped around the throbbing bundle of pleasure, Heinrix licks at it, sucks on it, then licks again, driving Volenta louder and louder. It’s like music to his ears and the Interrogator completely forgets himself in the taste and heat of her. Why he has denied himself this bliss until now? It feels almost like a sin to have waited this long.

But his dulled with lust thoughts get interrupted the moment Volenta manages to speak, her words trembling and strained. “Heinrix, I will-“ Another moan cuts off her own words and that only rouses Heinrix to continue. His other hand grips the underside of Volenta’s thigh so hard she will bear bruises for days and he wants her to. He wishes to leave marks of their meeting upon that ivory skin that smells like addiction Heinrix never knew he had.

Forgetting himself, the Interrogator glances up but gets met with a wall of her uniformed chest, preventing him from seeing her face, so Heinrix closes his eyes and moves his tongue in rubbing motion over her clit, drawing pathetic mewls out of the woman that is at his complete mercy. She still is gripping his hair, but with the gloved hand she tries to find something to grab onto and ends up clinging to the edge of the desk, right above her head. With a cry Volenta latches her fingers onto it as if it’s the lifeline of her existence, and then unravels.

Her cries, loud and breathy, fill the conference hall, and her body shivers through the waves of pleasure that wash over Volenta again and again. Heinrix doesn’t stop, his tongue keeps moving, his grip on her body remains painfully tight and she spasms under him, thighs trying to squeeze around his ears if not for the pauldrons keeping them conveniently spread for Heinrix while he draws every last drop of climax and pleasure out of Volenta.

And she gasps, beginning to whine when her bliss starts to fade and Heinrix’s eagerness begins to feel like a mix of pain and pleasure at once. “Heinrix, stop, that’s enough.” She barely manages to say between the gulps of air and despite not wishing to, the Interrogator decides that she needs a moment to catch her breath.

Lifting his head, Heinrix smiles with smugness that Volenta hasn’t seen on his face before. “Never heard you like this before.” He says and pulls a hand from under her uniform, glancing down at her pussy that is still wet from his saliva, her own arousal and looks gently swollen from Heinrix letting his lust loose. In truth, his tongue and jaw feel sore, but the eager twitch of his hard cock tells him something that he already knew – he’s not done. Not yet.

“Did you have a reason to?” Volenta tries to smile, but her face is damp with sweat, hair sticking to the forehead in icy strands, and she tries to lift herself on the elbows again, but Heinrix grips her hips and pulls her towards the edge of the desk, making her eyes widen. “Wait!”

And for the first time Heinrix does pause, rising his eyes to Volenta with an open confusion on his face. “Why?”

Volenta just stares at him, not even sure what to say, her breathing is still heavy and being the only sound in the room while they look at one another. With a quick glance downwards and between her legs, Volenta sees Heinrix’s erection, already solid and eager for her, and the thought of soreness makes the woman want to tell him not to, to save it for another time, but the longer she stays silent, the more impatient Heinrix grows. And before she tries to make up her mind, he simply readjusts Volenta’s legs on his pauldrons, making sure that her shins remain over them, then grips the base of his cock and starts pushing in.

He does keep his eyes on Volenta and at first her expression betrays shock, but then it shifts to one of pleasant discomfort. He’s hurting her, if not too much he still is giving her an ache and Heinrix takes it with pride, not exactly aware that she has been sore before him. Still, it strokes Heinrix’s manly ego and with a smirk emerging on his lips, the Interrogator pushes the tip of his cock slowly, ramming the rest of it inside of her and making her yelp. Volenta throws her head back and grips the edge of the desk by her hips, which gives Heinrix a perfect chance to pull at Volenta’s coat, making the buttons strain when he harshly tugs the uniform open, then pushes her shirt over her breasts. With one more tug Volenta’s bra ends up underneath her breasts, and her hands by the sides of the Inquisitor make them squish together even without the bra holding the mounds together.

“Bloody Emperor.” Heinrix grits his teeth and begins thrusting, wanting to watch those big, round breasts bounce with his pumps, tracking how the piercings in her nipples swing every time he fucks into her to the root.

Volenta moans, biting her bottom lip painfully at the increasing soreness of Heinrix’s cock rubbing the aching walls inside of her, but she keeps looking at him, watching his face just like he’s watching her breasts, and a small smile appears on Volenta’s face. To be so wanted, so needed, it’s bliss in and on itself.

“Harder.” She huffs with a partial mewl and Heinrix smirks, beginning to thrust even harder. It’s painful, it’s pleasant and Volenta wouldn’t want it any other way, not right now. “God-Emperor…” She gasps and lets eyes roll to the back of her head. He’s so deep, so painfully deep but she would give up almost everything for him to continue.

Thankfully, Volenta doesn’t have to give up anything, because Heinrix grips her hips tightly and keeps slamming into her, fast and hard, feeling his balls slap against the Inquisitor loudly every time he fucks into her with fervor that he barely expected from himself. If first time was driven by mad lust, then this time it’s just feral, bordering madness. He needs her, he always needed her, Heinrix realizes he will forever need her. His Inquisitor, his Volenta.

But the entirety of the scene, with her almost naked body, with her legs on his pauldrons, with her round hips in his palms, all of it leads Heinrix down the path of chasing his climax just as mindlessly as before. Heinrix gasps her name, once, twice, like a prayer that he is willing to chant more than any other and he leans over her again, pressing Volenta’s thighs to her breasts and forcing the woman look at him.

“Yes, look at me, let me see you, Volenta.” Heinrix whispers and she doesn’t even nod, too lost in the pleasure and the pain still mingling in the most sinfully delicious way. She just keeps looking at him and he sees through the haze in Volenta’s grey eyes that her mind is dulled, dazed from ecstasy. He needs her to come again. With him. “You’re close?” He asks while pressing palms firmly onto the desk to give himself more purchase to keep those hard, rough thrusts going and Heinrix hears his own voice come out in breathy, strained and whispered barks. His question doesn’t even sound like a question, but rather a demand, and yet Volenta nods to him weakly, her mind barely registering anything but the pleasure.

“Volenta, I can’t… hold… back.” He warns and with a groan succumbs to the orgasm that he tried to stave away for as long as possible.

Heinrix doesn’t even get to see Volenta’s face because his climax is so strong it forces the Interrogator close his eyes, grit his teeth and press his face against Volenta’s chest, gasping into the soft mounds of her breasts. With thrusts erratic and stuttering in their rhythm, Heinrix spills himself into her again, pressing Volenta firmly onto the desk without even noticing it. His teeth find flesh and bite down to muffle his own voice and the world both spins and stops at the same time.

As Heinrix goes through his peak, Volenta barely feels the bite. Her fingers lock onto the edge of the desk so firmly she nearly breaks her nails, but not even that she notices as another orgasm hits her hard and heavy. She was close, but not as close as Heinrix. Yet feeling him fill her again, just like he did yesterday, sends her over the edge so unexpectedly that her eyes snap wide and Volenta’s back would arch from her body’s strain, if not for Heinrix, still on top of her so heavily that all she can do is cry out repeatedly and shiver in his arms.

After Heinrix finally stops moving, he remains as he is, prone upon her for a long moment and listens to Volenta’s gasps for air, the way her dry throat works when she tries to swallow. “You’re heavy.” Lady Inquisitor finally whispers and Heinrix pauses, then laughs, his own voice raw and breathy, but he does lift himself on the elbows and looks at the face that he never wants to stop seeing in this state.

“And you’re beautiful.” Heinrix says, making Volenta smile in turn and then leans in just enough to give her lips a soft, almost chaste kiss. “I’m sorry. If I hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” She answers in a similar whisper as his was and Heinrix grins, satisfied by the answer.

“Good.”

But the smile begins to fade when he realizes that both of them shouldn’t linger here. Not after all the noises they have made for the past forty or so minutes. Despite Heinrix making sure that no one needs the conference hall, nor that anyone will be around at this time, the risk still remains that some acolyte will find a reason to come here, and that simply won’t do. Despite his desire for Volenta, he would never want to compromise her reputation.

“We should go.” Heinrix suddenly says and Volenta’s smile dims a little, but she realizes quickly the same thing he has and simply nods.

“You’re right.”

Yet Heinrix pauses, unwilling to part just yet despite knowing they have to. One last kiss. A deep one and his tongue still tastes remnants of himself in her mouth. Then he pulls back and carefully straightening his back, Heinrix pulls out, watching his cum leak out of Volenta, creating a very satisfying view.

“Beautiful.”

“Maybe so, but my uniform.” She laments and to Heinrix’s delight rolls onto her side, swiftly moving her cloak and coat from under her so that they don’t stain. He wants to help, but not being sure how, Heinrix picks up his gloves first, then the one Volenta dropped onto the floor earlier.

In the meantime Volenta sits up, legs dangling from the desk, one of them still having her heel, pants and panties, the other one naked. And when Heinrix looks at her, seeing her hair a complete mess, Volenta’s shirt rolled over her breasts and bra beneath them, when he sees five round bruises from his fingers upon her right breast, all of it takes his breath away. He suspects that besides his more clothed state, Heinrix himself surely doesn’t look any better and he feels the sweat has soaked through his own shirt and the jacket, but those are minor details, not worth focusing on.

However, to Volenta he looks lovely. Uniform crumpled, pants undone, hair is no less of a bird’s nest than hers, but it only makes her chuckle. And she remembers the moment Xavier brought Heinrix in to introduce him to her. He’s going to be part of my retinue, Volenta, - Xavier said to her back then, - Once he fixes himself. Interrogator looked pitiful then. Missing an eye and part of the skull, limping and walking with a stick, but he still stood proud, and when his remaining eye turned to Volenta, who was an Inquisitor for only a handful of years, she saw pride and resilience there, in that face that was mangled seemingly beyond salvation.

And now he stands before her, whole, after spending years to fix himself with biomancy. A man reforged, born anew.

Volenta extends a hand, the one bearing no glove and Heinrix takes it, kissing the top of it, then steps closer and cradles the side of her face, looking Lady Inquisitor deeply in the eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Even now, I still crave for more of you.”

“Don’t be greedy.” She teases and Heinrix smiles at that, then gives her a kiss.

“I don’t want to go.”

“But you should. I’ll fix myself up but it’s better, just in case, if we don’t leave together.” She whispers against his lips and Heinrix freezes, realizing that Volenta is absolutely, horribly correct. He has to leave her here and that makes him almost angry. Sneaking around like two criminals as if what they have done is punishable. He does not want this. Heinrix does not want to be Volenta’s secret or him to be hers.

However, reality is not as willing to fulfil this wish of his and finally Heinrix nods and pulls back from Volenta with a heavy sight. “When can I see you again?”

“You didn’t need to ask me today, did you.” She laughs and Heinrix nods, defeated.

“You’re right. But maybe I should have asked.”

“And maybe you shouldn’t have.” Volenta gives Heinrix a pointed look and he takes the obvious hint immediately. He nods and before releasing her face he gently caresses the scarred cheek, before stepping away completely.

“Then I won’t.” Heinrix concedes and fixes up his pants, then runs fingers through his damp hair before pulling the gloves on.

Pausing to look at Volenta who pulls off her second glove, drawing his eyes to the rings on her left hand, two on one digit, he knows that he doesn’t want to walk away but feels like there’s nothing else he can say or even if he should, so he catches her eyes and nods. In turn Volenta nods back to him, flashing a smile that resonates with Van Calox and with a smile of his own he finally turns and leaves.

Volenta sits on the desk for a moment longer, watching Heinrix leave the conference hall after opening the door and glancing around. Only when the door slides shut again is when she sighs and looks down onto herself, seeing her completely ravished state.

With another sigh she finally slips onto the floor and begins assembling her attire together, careful not to stain anything as much as possible. But the way it happened again, despite Xavier’s disapproval, just makes Volenta sink deeper into her thoughts and the memories of Heinrix on occasions when they worked together or met, for one reason or another.

There was always something there, wasn’t it.

She knows it has been and finally admits it to herself, not daring to ignore it any longer.

Finally, when Volenta pulls up her pants and starts fixing the front of her uniform, she looks at the door where Heinrix stood last before departing, and wonders if he feels the same.

But all that’s on Interrogator’s own mind is bliss and a feeling of victory. As he struts through the hallways of the Inquisition headquarters, all Heinrix can think about is the taste of her lips, the way her body felt around him and against him, the way she moaned his name. Nobody else’s, his.

How the day passes Heinrix barely notices. Some orders, some tasks to be finished, some documents to be filed and sent out. There is something about a fellow colleague, trying to convince Heinrix to take a break and share a drink at Justitia Imperatoris, but he refuses it, not wanting to dull his mood or a memory of Volenta with meaningless conversation and less than subpar liquor. And so when his tasks are done, at least the most pressing ones, Heinrix goes home.

Outside of the vehicle window he sees the horizon become painted in hues of red and purple, signaling the end of day, and distracted by it, Heinrix lets the autopilot take him to the humble abode that he calls his on Terra. Unlike some other agents of his rank, Heinrix does not see the need for elaborate mansions or grand castles. And truthfully, it’s not something he could afford even if he wished for it. Having a home on Terra is an expensive endeavor and having an apartment on a high-rise building is already luxurious enough. It’s nothing in comparison to Volenta’s estate, which he has visited several times before and on business only, but he has made it his.

Arrival through the front door is marked by the machine spirits clicking out of slumber and lighting the lights. There’s a hallway, a big living room, a bedroom to the left, a small kitchen to the right, a balcony. Heinrix does not use the kitchen even though it is equipped with technology that would help him cook, but he’s not the kind of man to care for what he eats as long as he does. Living room and the bedroom see of the agent most often, not counting the bathchamber where he sometimes spends a long time just standing under the shower of lukewarm water.

Such a shower is exactly what he needs right now, Heinrix knows it. His clothes under the jacket and the cloak feel uncomfortable and he begins undressing right by the dark couch. Personal cogitator is blinking with a blue light, meaning it has messages and information that can wait. Color red would be a different kind of siren call, one of emergency. But since it’s not the case right now, Heinrix proceeds to take off his gloves, throw them onto the couch and let them be followed by the cloak, the pauldrons, the greaves, the shin guards.

For a moment he sits on the edge of an armchair, positioned diagonally from the couch and pulls off his boots, then runs a hand over his hair and sighs with a smile. Heinrix is almost confident he can still smell Volenta on him, the perfume of something foresty and richly fruity, like pomegranates he once tasted. He loathes to wash it off, to let her touch be scrubbed off, but trying not hold onto such sentiment the Interrogator removes his jacket, the undershirt and with fingertips traces the faint nail marks that Lady Inquisitor has left on his abdomen. Like they are medals of merit that he’s prouder to wear right now than his own rosette.

But Heinrix doesn’t linger much, already wondering how he can see Volenta again, how he can arrange another such private moment, maybe even tomorrow again. He chuckles to himself, realizing that the Inquisitor might see him as unable to be satiated, but can she really blame him? After all these decades watching her but being unable to touch her, stuffing his deepest thoughts and feelings to the darkest crevices of Heinrix’s own mind, lest they threaten to compromise their working relationship? No, he can’t even blame himself, how could anyone else?

Pants and shirt join the pile on the couch, the socks and underwear too until Heinrix stands in the nude and stretches his muscles, feeling bloody rows that Volenta’s long nails left there ache dully, but satisfyingly. He wishes to trace his fingers over them too, like it’s a testimony etched in his skin about how much he made her unravel the day before, just like today.

Heinrix is about to go to the bedroom, to the tall mirror that he uses to check his clothes every morning he wakes up here, but three steps towards the open door there’s a signal. A special one. It’s one that is assigned to his mentor, Inquisitor Xavier Calcazar, and Heinrix stops in his tracks. The blissful mood he has been soaking in the entire day dissipates immediately as if fog dispersed by the engine thrusters. Sweat immediately pebbles his temples and Heinrix finally realizes that he forgot something that he shouldn’t have.

Or did he really forget? Instead of willfully remaining ignorant to the fact that insisted upon him even when he saw Volenta last, when she pulled off her remaining glove before Heinrix’s departure. The rings on her finger that he saw clearly and turned away from, too ecstatic to really comprehend the gravity of them.

The harsh reminder. Harsh like a bolt shot from an Astartes gun, tearing everything in its way and finishing with a devastating explosion.

Not daring to delay even a second longer, Heinrix walks barefoot to where his garb is piled and finds the greave that bears the personal vox. It doesn’t flash, just glows with the dim green hue and a code name for his mentor. One click is all it takes to see the message behind the sender’s identification, yet Heinrix’s finger hovers of it, slightly shaking.

Did they get caught? Did… Did Volenta tell Xavier? Oh Emperor, what has he done…

In terror of his own mind, the Interrogator runs a hand over his hair then returns the finger to the button and finally presses it. The message finally displays its contents and it’s nothing he hasn’t read countless times, but it fills Heinrix’s stomach with so much dread he nearly starts dryheaving.

“Tomorrow at 8 sharp. My office. Merciless Wrath.”

Calcazar doesn’t need to add that Heinrix is expected not to be late, not even by one Terran second, and he swallows, attempts to swallow, but the dry throat refuses to cooperate and so he lets out a short cough instead.

Clicking the message into deletion, Heinrix throws the greave onto the clothes and closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. It can’t be anything else than the Inquisitor calling to him about… About the cheating. Cheating that his wife has done, sure, but Heinrix is also a cheater. Doing this, taking Volenta, having her in ways that he never had any right to. He betrayed his mentor and his trust. And for that, Heinrix is confident, he will pay tomorrow.

With legs feelings like they are about to fold under him, Heinrix proceeds to the bath chamber and enters the stall of glass walls, letting the water run. Actions driven by habit rather than decision unleash the stream much colder than what he’s used to, but the Interrogator barely notices.

He stands there, under the shower, head hung low and eyes open, staring into nothingness, into the memories of that pale, soft, yet lithe body under his touch. The way she smelled, the way he tasted himself on her kiss.

At first Heinrix presses both palms to the glass, needing something to help himself stay upright, sensing he might fall if he doesn’t do it, but then the frowning face of Xavier emerges in his mind, unforgiving and merciless like a proof of Inquisitor’s ship’s spirit and the wrath it can bring. At that moment Heinrix strikes the thick glass with a side of his fist. Then again. And then again.

He doesn’t have to ask himself how he has forgotten, because he hasn’t. He didn’t forget. Instead, he chose to ignore it, the knowledge of Volenta’s marriage, because the lure of her in Heinrix’s arms at last made him throw away caution like he has never done before in his life. It’s only death that awaits him on Merciless Wrath, he knows it with same assurance that he knows the Emperor sits on the Golden Throne.

With a bitter smile of a hanged man, Heinrix wonders if he will even be court-martialed, given a trial, or just shot on a spot the moment he enters Xavier’s office. Emperor knows, Xavier has more than enough to sentence Heinrix to execution even without the fact that he fucked Xavier’s wife.

Stupid, so so stupid. And blinded by his own lusts. He knows this. And while the smile turns into a chuckle, verging on mad laughter, Heinrix still doesn’t regret it.

If all that awaits him tomorrow is death – then he will go down smiling. Not in defiance, not to spite Calcazar and not out of disrespect to the man behind who’s back he went despite bearing all the trust the Inquisitor has placed in Heinrix. No, he will smile in front of a muzzle of a gun or from under the edge of a blade because even if he dies tomorrow – at least he finally knows how it feels to have Volenta in his arms and how soft her hair is.

Because he knows now what it’s like to look into her eyes and feel like he’s the only one in her universe.

And that knowledge, unlike almost any other, is worth dying for.

[heavenstrvck]

it felt like staring at a puzzle she only had a few pieces of, but still knowing that the picture would be beautiful. they had talked only for a short while, and yet something in ayda felt like she already saw the outline of the blonde, of who she was - away from this whole story. a beautiful, imperfect girl. unsure and passionate, filled with hurt and still cracking jokes. chewing on her bottom lip, all the journalist could do was take notes, as if it would ever come close to capturing how ti felt to just sit here next to cleo, to feel the hesitation in her voice, her sharp intake of breath, the way her blue eyes danced with amusement and grief at the same time.

a soft chuckle passed her lips at the mention of another divine prowess, and she shook her head, putting her pad aside and just listening. if cleo asked, she would find an excuse, say that she preferred to record what she said mentally before putting it to paper or something else that could sound plausible. even if she didn't doubt that the other would see straight through her. "now that would be an exclusive." she teased, eyes warm at the soft smile playing on the blonde's lips, blinding her as if she was witnessing an eclipse.

she could picture it, cleo in diving attire, passionately taking notes and measures, comparing samples just - living. not this half-life in isolation where people watched her, where journalists were sent from hours away to report on the things happening to her. just being herself. "it sounds nice. i've never been too big on science, but i'm sure it suits you well." she nodded, allowing her body to relax in the comfortable silence that fell between them, eyes almost flitting close and just taking it all in.

and then it all broke apart under her. the scream ripped through her entire body as if it was her own, fingers dropping the pencil she'd still been holding and pulling cleo closer to her, as if to drag her away from whatever it was that had provoked this reaction. her heart was thumping in her chest, panic rising through her stomach as her hands wrapped around the blonde's arms, as if somehow she could keep her safe.

"what is it? what did you see?" she asked, voice wavering as she looked outward, to the dark sea, nothing moving. and then she felt it. liquid against her fingers, just above cleo's wrists and her eyes dipped down, the sight making her eyes widen, something flipping her stomach upside down. "holy shit, you're - you're bleeding."

so much for a way with words.

nodding at the blonde's decision, she tossed her stuff into her bag, holding onto cleo's shoulders, slightly less firmly, slowly pulling back. not to leave her, to abandon her, but to not make it worse. getting up, she helped the blonde join her, fingers cupping her jaw once they were both standing up, checking for any visible wounds, anything that would give her a way to fix this. "what can i do? where do we go?" an hour before, they'd been strangers, but ayda couldn't even fathom the idea of leaving cleo to her fate right now, to give up on her like everyone else had.

cleo didn’t think there was a clear or linear way for anyone to really understand what she was going through. even now, as she sat beside ayda and tried to let the words come out in some sort of order, she wasn’t offering the whole truth. just fragments of it. enough to paint a picture, but not enough to see the full thing. maybe she didn’t even have it fully herself. maybe she was still brushing over the ugliest corners of it all. she hadn’t told her about the thing that followed her—not directly. hadn’t said a word about the figure that stayed just on the edge of her vision, always visible in the periphery, always gone the second she turned her head. it had never fully shown itself, not in the light, not in the way people would expect something miraculous to appear. but it was there. it had always been there. cleo felt it in her bones, in the static silence before sleep, in the cold breath against her neck when she was alone and no windows were open.

if she had to guess—and she’d tried, more than once—she was pretty sure it was miracle mary. and it was absurd. she knew how it sounded. she didn’t believe in that kind of thing. or at least, she didn’t use to. people around the island clung to religion like it was the only raft left in a sinking world. so if something strange happened, if someone bled without cause or healed the broken or saw shadows in their rooms at night, the people here already had a name for it. they called it divine. they didn’t ask why. but cleo did. why would mary choose her? what lesson was she being taught? was this some kind of punishment or slow-burn redemption? and if it was her—why come in pieces? in whispers and shadows and blood on her hands? why not just appear? why make her feel like she was going insane?

cleo knew she shouldn’t be talking to people. she knew she shouldn’t be talking to ayda. it was reckless. dangerous. every word out of her mouth could become a sentence in an article or a soundbite clipped out of context. until she understood what was happening to her, she should’ve been keeping quiet, staying distant, but nobody ever said how badly loneliness gutted a person. it was easy to act like she didn’t need anyone when people weren’t around—but then someone came along and stayed, and suddenly, the hollowness inside her echoed so loud she could barely think. she was supposed to scare people off. make them uncomfortable. remind them she wasn’t someone to be close to. not anymore. not with what followed her. but ayda didn’t flinch. she just stayed, and offered a few rare things: eye contact, humor, warmth. normalcy. cleo kept waiting for her own mouth to betray her, to finally say something that would push ayda away—but she never did. instead, she smiled. and gave her more answers than she probably should.

“don’t worry about it,” she said quietly, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. “not ready to test whether or not i can walk on water.” the smile that followed wasn’t her usual smirk—it was softer, not quite all there, and if cleo didn’t know better, she’d call it shy. she almost laughed at herself. since when the fuck was she shy? “it was great,” she added, softer now, “i dived more than anything. tracked marine life, catalogued movements. it’s not the reason i came back here, though. i was just…” her voice trailed, and she gave a one-shouldered shrug that stood in for the words she didn’t want to say. lost. grieving. running from something i couldn’t name yet.

she wanted so badly to believe ayda when she said this might pass—that maybe cleo wasn’t doomed to bleed and be haunted forever—but hope was a sharp thing, and cleo had cut herself on it enough times to know better. so she nodded, pretended that was enough, and let the conversation drift. they had that rhythm. easy detours. it was a gift, really, to talk to someone and not feel like you had to anchor yourself to pain the whole time.

her eyes drifted lazily toward the sea, catching on the dark horizon. her shoulders finally loose, her breath steady for once.

and then—

“holy fuck!”

the scream tore from her before she could stop it, scrambling backward so fast she nearly lost her footing. her heart slammed against her ribs like it was trying to break free. had ayda seen it too? had she seen the woman? she stood there. cleo saw her. above the water, not on it. not solid, not fully. but there. and then gone. cleo blinked hard, chest rising and falling like she’d been running. her limbs felt ice-cold, trembling from inside out. and then she felt it.

warmth.

she looked down. blood. soaked through the bandages. her hands slick, the pain sharp and nauseating under the cotton. her body was catching up now, like it had just been given permission to hurt. “i-i think we should get the fuck out of here,” she said, voice trembling, eyes darting toward the cliff edge again. she didn’t want to look. didn’t want to know if it was still there. but she knew.

they weren’t alone.

[yourbuckies]

Off topic, but I want to mention. I talked to our buddy, Sebastian Stan, relatively recently. He says he's been bothering you a lot about doing a play together...

[nyan-bynary]

Ok so far the summer Hikaru died is like if the last unicorn was kinda gay and in the horror genre

[skulkie]

hell yeah I do!!!

So, like, for starters, they probably both have about two siblings. Possibly more for Lucia (I'll mention this later down the line but I think she'll be slightly wealthier in peasant terms). Obviously Bridget has a brother (which, typically, if the father/husband dies then the women + and dower they had would become property of a brother or a son/son in law), but I think she'll be already an adult and at least currently something of a singlewoman. While typically this would be something of a burden for the brother and his wife (more mouths to feed was an issue and would have soured some of the relationship), I think that as she is a brewster by trade, the extra hands in the household are balancing out the mouths to feed (after all, she's managing to both make enough ale for their household's needs and sell it too—what's not to like?) though I've yet to determine exactly why she's still a singlewoman though it's been a few years since she entered adulthood.

I'm leaning that one of them will attempt to or at least consider becoming a laywoman (peasants do not become nuns. That is Rich Family Behavior.) and I think if I do a setting like Merlin it'll be really interesting with relation to religion should they actually see anything of the plot. I guess that's truthfully what will be some of the most delicious meat of the story: religion was both there as a belief but also as a way of marking the year, of keeping warm, of maintaining love and community. Which will also make it that much worse when they divert from the norms.

I also suspect, given the cheesemonger job, that Lucia will be on the higher end of peasants (though of course this isn't by much, it's more of a "we can afford to employ/house seasonal servants" then a "look at our extremely fancy house).

On the names: I prefer saint's names as their names as I think it indicates a lot about what their families wanted for them, and it gives them a specific day that they will care about. Currently their names are saints associated with their professions, but that's also subject to change. I'm also thinking about changing their bynames. Frankly I picked those based on the sort of byname given for a profession, but I think having some variation by throwing in nicknames or patronymic names or locative names would also be good. So a work in progress as well.

I've 100% got to study some maps and figure out which manor they'd be working under, and how the leasing went. Of course, they're also going to go to weekly court and have taxes and tithes to pay, so that needs to be figured out as well.

...There's some paragraphs you can chew on while I think about more lol enjoy

at the rate we're going with how late i have to stay up for work doing absolutely nothing, am gonna end up writin a fic about an oc who's a cheesemonger

[troublcmakcrs]

kyle: exists

tweek: i hate you. i'm in love with you. i want to hold your hand. i want to push you off a cliff, catch you at the last second, and make you beg me for your miserable life. i hope nothing bad ever happens to you. i would sell my soul to strap you down in one of those medieval torture nail chairs. i want to cuddle with you and hold you and keep you warm. i want to slit your throat and wash my face with your arterial spray. i want to fuck you. i want to make you breakfast. i want to hold a pillow to your face while you kick and writhe uselessly under me until i feel you go still. i want to kiss your stupid little cheeks. i want to marry you. i want to carve my name into your skin so you never forget me, for better or worse. i want to make you happy. i want to make you cry. i hope you die. i hope we both DIE.

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

"I told you it wasn't gonna fit, babe..."

"It'll fit," he insists, rubbing your clit as he lines up his cock with your entrance once more. "You just gotta relax."

"We've been trying for an hour and you can't even get the head in."

He shushes you, licking over his lip as his eyes focus on your cunt.

"Just lemme try one more time."

You huff and lie back down, letting him continue. He spreads your pussy lips open, pressing his cock against your entrance.

"If it hurts, we're done."

"I know, I know..."

He chews his lip, massaging your clit again, feeling your entrance pucker around the head of his cock. He breathes deep several times before he pushes forward, wincing but then relaxing when the head of his cock pops inside your cunt.

"Fuck! Babe, it hurts, pull out!"

"Just give it a sec," he mumbles, rubbing your clit in tight circles, trying to coax you to relax around him. You're impossibly tight, constraining him so much that he's not sure if he could even pull out if he tried.

After a minute, you relax against the bed, panting. He inhales, trying to push forward, but there's no give. The head is as far as he can go.

"I told you it wasn't gonna fit," you huff, rubbing your face tiredly.

"This is a start," he replies, sucking in a breath. "Let's just go with this for now."

"Do you even want to? Would just the head feel good to you?"

"Anything with you feels good." He pushes your knees apart once again, spreading you wide for him. "I can get off with this."

"Okay... but if it still hurts—"

"We'll stop. Just give me a chance to make you feel good with my cock."

His words make you shiver in delight, your cunt twitching. He pulls out just the slightest bit before pushing the head back in, still not able to move further forward.

His thumb grazes your clit before pressing roughly, collecting your slick and using it as lube to touch you properly. It feels good, really good in fact, so good that you wish he could fuck you hard like you fantasized about.

You buck your hips up and he gasps at the sensation.

"Do that again."

So you do. You buck your hips so that the head of his cock bumps your g-spot, making you keen. He keeps playing with your clit, his free hand moving over your thigh, stroking it lovingly.

It isn't ideal, but it's getting you off, making you whine and gasp. You bunch your hands in the sheets, twisting them as you keep bouncing your hips to and from the bed. The mattress creaks from your effort, but the noise only spurs you on.

"Feels good, baby," you moan. "Feels so good."

"Yeah? You like my cock that much?"

"Yeah, I love it."

"Fuck, and that's just the head, baby. Imagine when you can finally take the whole thing."

You moan, planting your feet to gain more control of your hip thrusts. You move faster, desperate, chasing your high as it gets closer and closer.

"Gonna cum, I'm gonna cum baby."

"Yeah? Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum on my cock?"

"Mm-hm! Gonna cum on your fat cock."

He moans, tossing his head back in pleasure, flicking your clit faster.

"Yeah, yeah, gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!"

You reach your peak, mouth falling open as you cum around the head of his cock. He groans low, eyes hazy as he looks down at where you're connected.

"Oh my god," he moans. "She's trying to suck me in. She wants me so bad, baby, she wants me to fuck her so bad."

His hips twitch and suddenly he's moving, fucking you through your orgasm with just the tip of his cock. He thrusts once, twice, a dozen times before his eyes squeeze shut and he cums inside you, painting your insides white.

You're both panting, trying to catch your breath. He pulls out, moaning when he sees his cum leak out of you. You're about to speak when he gets down on his elbows in front of you.

"Lemme clean up my pretty girl," he says before licking up his cum with his tongue.

[cvnt4him]

Think’n ab cock warming izuku

A lazy Saturday morning, he has to get up later to finish some papers but that's a problem for later izuku. You wake up earlier than him for the first time ever, you admire his beautiful features whilst hes in slumber land.

His forest green hair being portrayed in the most beautiful lighting, said lighting brightening up his face despite being asleep, he's such a bright person he doesnt even need the suns array of beautiful sunshine for that. His slightly chewed lips dry yet so plump and kissable, the freckles that popped out more due to the sun's colors beaming on his beautifully tanned skin. He was gorgeous.

You leaned down to plant a gentle kiss onto his sleeping face, cupping his cheeks as you do so. The touch on his face makes him jolt and try and scoot away, his eyes squeezing shut and annoyance being painted on his features, he groans and tries to pull away but only to stay in the same place due to you holding his face.

Izuku was annoyed and opened his slightly crusted eyes to see your face, his eyes immediately softened. Finally being able to see his gorgeous emerald green eyes, you smile in content. He hums and closes his eyes again before you pepper kisses all around his face.

“ good morning~“

You sing in his ear, making him hum once more. He didn't want to be awake, izuku wanted to lounge around all day and be lazy with his other half before he had to go and teach a bunch of noisy kids, who he did love dearly.

“ you're always awake before me! I'm surprised I managed to get up before you!“

Izuku peers his eyes open slightly to look up at you with furrowed brows in annoyance, he groans and rolls his eyes before closing them again, all you can do is giggle at your adorable husband. You scoot in closer to him and squeeze his cheeks making him huff.

Izuku then sits up and yanks you into him making you bury your face in his chest. Your eyes widened in surprise but you weren't exactly complaining. He holds you close with a tight grip ensuring you can't move even if you tried.

“ go t’sleep baby. ’know you're tired, j’s get some rest hon.“

Izuku lazily gets out, his speech slightly slurred and his voice raspy and groggy do to the morning. He was a morning person, by all means but sometimes all he wanted was to be lazy with his significant other, and you seem to be ruining it by touching him whilst he's trying to sleep.

“ ’zuku m’not tired.“

“ shut up.“

Trying with all of your might you manage to squeeze out of his arms and roll onto of him making him turn over on his back, he groans and looks up to you with angry eyes ones you never really seem to see.

“ can I cockwarm you?“

His once angry eyes were now wide and confused. You wake up and the only thing on your mind is dick? Really? He groans again with a blush to his freckled and still baby-like cheeks, a scar on his right cheek. He was hesitant, he really was fathoming it, debating, thinking about it, whatever you want to say he truly was.

Izuku was having a hard time deciding, he did want you to do that to him only because he was particularly pent up, you two hadn't had sex in about 3 weeks? Thats far too long for someone like izuku, he would never force you to do something of the sort, normally you initiate sex and he happily obliges, but you both have been very busy recently and haven't had time to do much more than hold each other when nightfall returns at the end of everyday.

Izuku finally had an answer, he gulps and looks back up at your happy and waiting eyes. You would've been okay with either answer, really. You just wanted him to be inside of you. With a blush still on his cheeks, he nods to you before looking away.

“ I want a verbal answer my love.“

He sighs at your words, eyes shutting as he clears his throat trying to get rid of the grogginess of the morning time.

“ yes, you can c... cock.. warm me...“

Izuku manages to get the confirmation out as you giggle and lay down beside him, confused he follows you insuit, you scoot back into him and pull down his sleeping shorts just enough to get his flaccid cock out. You stroke him a little trying to get him to harden up, gentle tugs at his fat and heavy cock in your hand, the weight of it is always nice but the stretch is always better. The thought alone brung a smile to your face.

Izuku watched your movements closely, admiring the way you were so sweet and gentle with his member, so careful with such soft movements it made him twitch in your hand. With that, you knew he was ready. He gulped as you turned around and pulled your underwear to the side scooting back onto him and pushing his cock inside of you.

You both wince and groan and make some kind of noise as he tries to push his way inside, you were tight and he felt just how much so, going straight to his head as he gulped down hardly. His brain was getting fuzzy from the intense squeeze to his cock, you really should've prepped yourself first. with a couple of minutes waiting you finally manage to get him inside, he bottoms out almost immediately he's always so needy and impatient when it comes to things like this he ended up thrusting into you making you fall forward and moan.

“ zu what are you.. doing?“

You ask slightly out of breath, he was choking on his breath trying his hardest not to absolutely ram his cock in and out of you like he knows he needs. God izuku was so horny he just wanted to fuck you so badly.

“ s- sorry.. hon I- ngh~...“

He sentence was ended by a muffled groan, you really were squeezing his cock so tight. You take breather and scoot back into him, his cock still being buried deep inside. It makes him moan softly into your ear as you get closer, a beautiful noose that you always welcome and are always pleased to hear. He hums in a whiney tone on accident, getting extremely red when you laugh at the desperate sound escaping your poor husband.

You sigh happily as you can feel his heavy cock stuffing you full, twitching occasionally when you pulse around him. Izuku held you close wrapping his hands around your stomach, he buried his face in your neck trying to lull himself back to sleep, you intoxicating smell so sweet and driving him absolutely feral. He tried so hard to go back to sleep but he was having a hard time, his cock was so deep inside of you and only getting deeper as time passed yet he wasn't fucking you. Not like he wanted to.

Izuku sighed desperately and defeatedly as he looked down at you only to see you asleep with a smile on your face. For fucks sake. There was no way he was getting back to sleep, and absolutely no way hes not blowing his load deep inside of you.. if he even gets to cum.

[jaeyunnz]

"Booksmart, Bedroom smarter."

jake + f¡reader + sunghoon. 18+

WARNINGS — making out, edging, pet names (princess, babygirl, doll, etc.) praising, double penetration, cum eating, squirting, unprotected sex (dont do it, stay safe.) dirty talk.

You're tangled up with Jake and Sunghoon—nerds with dirty secrets. Two seemingly innocent, studious boys whose hidden desires come to light.

Note: this seemed to be requested by a few. i worked really hard on it, i think it might be my best work and definitely my longest one. i've spent over a month working on this so nonetheless, enjoy — this is proofread. ♡

The quiet hum of the library surrounded you, the air thick with the scent of old books and fresh paper. A dull desk lamp cast a soft glow over the scattered notes and open textbooks, but none of you had been paying attention for the last fifteen minutes. The original plan was to study for an upcoming physics exam, but focus had slipped through your fingers the moment Sunghoon started absently chewing on the end of his pen, and Jake had stretched lazily, his hoodie slipping just enough to reveal a sliver of toned skin.

You were supposed to be studying, but the air between you three had been charged all evening at the library—longer than that, if you were honest with yourself.

Jake adjusted his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose as he leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur. “You’re seriously telling me you don’t get this equation?” He smirked, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with something unreadable behind them. “I think you just like when I explain things to you.”

Sunghoon huffed from across the table, twirling his pen between his fingers. “Yeah, or maybe she just wants attention from both of us. You do ask a lot of questions.” His tone was teasing, but there was an underlying challenge in his voice, something he wasn’t quite saying out loud.

Your pulse quickened, heat creeping up your neck. It wasn’t unusual for them to flirt—they’d always been like this, pushing and testing boundaries, testing the line between playful and something deeper. But tonight, the tension felt different. More tangible.

Jake tilted his head, lips curving into a knowing smile. “If she wanted attention, she could’ve just said so.” His hand brushed against yours as he reached for his notebook, a fleeting touch that lingered longer than necessary.

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “This is ridiculous. You realize we haven’t gotten through a single chapter, right?” He shot you a glance, something playful but dark glinting in his eyes. “Should we just admit we’re not actually here to study?” Jake chuckled, closing his textbook with a soft thud. “Okay where are we going with this...” you say, raising an eyebrow.

The air between the three of you grew impossibly heavy, the weight of unspoken words and months of teasing finally pressing in from all sides. Your heart pounded as their gazes locked onto you, both of them waiting for something—your not quite sure what though. "Sunghoon can explain that," Jake looks at him, wiggling his eyebrows. "Can you guys focus for one moment? This exam is worth a lot and I'm not about to flop from distractions." Sunghoon huffs out, irritated.

"We've been working all day, I'm sure a short break won't hurt." Jake looks at you, "Right?" He smirks playfully, waiting for a response. "Mhm," you reply back.

Jake’s smirk deepened at your agreement, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against the desk. “See? Even she thinks we deserve a break.” Sunghoon sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly torn. “Fine. But if I fail this test, I’m blaming you both.”

Jake chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, yeah. You stress too much.” His foot nudged yours under the table—light, barely noticeable, but intentional. Sunghoon glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. “What do we even do for a break?” Jake hummed, shifting closer to you, his knee brushing yours. “Dunno. But I can think of a few things.” His voice was lower now, teasing, but there was an edge to it—something almost daring.

"What is happening? You both are acting strange. Especially Jake." Sunghoon scoffs at your words. “He's always playing around.” Jake turned to you instead. “But she doesn’t mind, do you?” His gaze lingered, a flicker of something playful but intense behind his eyes. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “You like when I mess with you.”

Your breath hitched. The air suddenly felt thick, charged with something neither of them were saying outright—but it was there, simmering beneath months of teasing, lingering glances, and fleeting touches.

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a smirk, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered to your lips for just a second before he looked away. “We’re wasting time.” But there was no real bite to his words.

Jake only grinned. “So? Maybe she doesn’t mind wasting a little time with us.” The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t joking anymore. You stare at them both, blankly and confused. "I don't think we are on the same page," you say softly.

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t stop Jake when he reached for your hand, his fingers trailing lightly over yours before settling against your wrist. “If we’re taking a break, we should at least make it worth it,” Jake murmured. "If you know what we mean," his hand slides down to your thigh, gently caressing. This causes your body to shiver slightly.

"No, I don't know what neither of you mean. I'm completely lost actually," That was a lie. You know what they want, you just wanna hear them say it.

Sunghoon’s gaze flickered between you and Jake, then he sighed, shaking his head. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered—before standing and reaching for your other hand. He pulled you up gently but firmly, his grip warm and steady. Jake gets up as well, standing behind you, his hand trailing down to grab your waist and yank you closer to him, your cheeks turning bright red. “We wanna fuck,” he said, voice controlled but laced with something heavier.

You swallow hard, looking up at them. "Excuse me?–" Jake lowers his head down to your level, leaving a trail of kisses on your neck which causes you to bite your lower lip, despite feeling shocked from whats happening. I mean fuck, you never thought they'd want something like this? You thought they were always focused on grades and thats it.

"You didn't get it the first time, or second..." his finger slides underneath your shirt, his cold fingertips eliciting a moan from you. "So I'm being straightforward." Sunghoon watches you both, his serious demeanour breaking," My dorm is the closest," Jake smirked at him, letting you go. “Lead the way, Hoon.”

And just like that, studying was completely forgotten.

As you walked out of the library, the buzz of the campus seemed distant, as if the world had narrowed down to just the three of you. Sunghoon led the way, pulling you toward the dorms, his grip firm on your hand. Jake followed closely behind, his eyes never leaving you. The tension was almost suffocating, and every step you took felt heavier, like you were being pulled toward something you couldn't stop.

When you reached Sunghoon's room, he barely bothered with the door, pushing it open and guiding you inside. His eyes were intense, focused on you, as if everything about this moment depended on what you did next.

Jake was right behind you, his hands immediately finding your waist as he pressed his chest against your back. And there he went, stepping closer, his breath warm on your neck. He traced his fingers lightly along your arm, sending a shiver through you. "We've waited too long for this." His voice was barely above a whisper, his lips grazing your ear as he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss.

The kiss was urgent, like a dam breaking.

Jake's lips were soft but insistent, his hands coming to rest on your hips, pulling you into him as if he couldn't get close enough. Sunghoon's hand slipped to your back, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as he kissed the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

Everything about the moment felt electric. You could feel the way both of them moved together, not competing but complementing each other, their touches igniting a fire that had been building for months. Jake's hands were everywhere-on your hips, your back, your face-as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing against yours.

Jake's lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin, sending a surge of heat through your veins. You arch your back against Sunghoon's chest when you felt him leave sloppy wet kisses on your shoulder with his cold hands caressing and gliding over the soft skin of your thighs. "Fuck, you're so beautiful," he murmured, voice rough.

A part of you wanted to stop, it felt wrong but so right.

Your sandwiched between them, Jake sucking hard onto the skin of your neck to leave a purple hickey, a moan escaping your lips, "Ah mmph Jake.." he smirks at you, lifting his head up to meet your eyes.

Your pulse hammered as Jake’s smirk turned downright predatory, his dark eyes glinting with a need that sent a jolt straight to your core. “You’re fucking trembling,” he rasped, his voice dripping with raw lust as his thumb grazed over the fresh, throbbing hickey on your neck, making you whimper. He shot a quick, wicked glance at Sunghoon, some unspoken agreement flashing between them, before he crashed his lips back into yours, tongue pushing past with a hungry, desperate edge, tasting every moan you couldn’t hold back. Sunghoon’s hold on you turned possessive, his hard chest flush against your back, trapping you between their heat.

"You’ve got no idea how long we’ve fantasized about this,” he growled low in your ear, his hot breath fanning over your skin, making you shudder. His hands slid down, gripping your hips with bruising force before dipping lower, fingers teasing under the waistband of your pants, skimming over the sensitive skin with a touch that burned. His mouth latched onto the crook of your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark, his tongue flicking over the spot as you squirmed against him.

"F-fuck, Hoon..." Your head spun, caught in a haze of their scent. Jake’s faint cologne mixing with Sunghoon’s clean, musky warmth—and the overwhelming press of their bodies. These nerds, the guys you thought were all about textbooks and grades, were fucking unraveling you, peeling back every layer with dark, primal intent. Jake’s hands shoved your shirt up, exposing your stomach to the cool air, his rough palms dragging over your ribs, thumbs brushing just under the edge of your bra as he groaned, “Shit, you feel so good.” His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, pulling a shaky moan from your throat.

“Tell us how bad you want this,” he demanded, voice thick, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your knees weak, daring you to give in completely. "I want it so bad.. please." Your chest heaved as Jake’s intense stare pinned you in place, his words still echoing in your head, dripping with filthy promise. The air was thick with lust, every fucking touch from them setting your nerves on fire. Sunghoon’s smirk burned against your neck as his deft fingers popped the button on your pants, yanking them down with a hungry impatience.

"Gonna make you feel so fucking good,” he growled, voice rough as sin, his breath hot and ragged while his hands roamed your bare skin like he owned every inch. Jake didn’t waste a goddamn second, ripping your shirt off and tossing it aside, his eyes devouring the sight of you half-naked, vulnerable between them. His calloused fingers traced the lace of your bra before he dove down, sucking and biting along your collarbone, leaving red marks as his hands shoved your pants and panties off in one go.

The sudden chill on your slick, aching pussy made you shudder, but their heat swallowed you right back up. Jake’s mouth crashed into yours again, tongue fucking into you with desperate need, while his hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, yanking you flush against him. Sunghoon stripped behind you, his shirt long gone, and you felt the hard, throbbing bulge of his cock through his jeans as he rutted against your ass, slow and deliberate, making you whine, "Sunghoon... fuck."

“You ready to take us both, sweetheart?” he rasped in your ear, voice pure filth, as his fingers hooked into your panties and dragged them down, leaving your dripping cunt and tight ass exposed to their greed. "Mm.." you mouth out quietly. He kicked off his jeans, and the raw heat of his bare skin against yours had you trembling with want. Jake pulled back, eyes dark and feral as he stripped down, his thick, hard cock springing free, already leaking precum as he stared at you like a predator about to feast.

He guided you down onto the nearest surface—fuck, could’ve been a bed, a couch, who cares—spreading your legs wide as he knelt between them. Sunghoon mirrored him, shedding his clothes, his own dick just as hard and ready, the sight of their pulsing lengths making your pussy clench with desperate need. They moved like they’d planned this shit for months—Jake at your front, hands spreading your trembling thighs as he lined his fat cock up with your soaked entrance, teasing the tip against your clit until you whimpered. Sunghoon took your back, his rough palms sliding down your spine, spreading your cheeks as he pressed his leaking tip against your tight hole.

“Relax, baby, we’ve got you,” Jake muttered, voice thick with lust, as he pushed in slow, his cock stretching your pussy wide, the burn turning to a deep, aching pleasure that ripped a moan from your throat, "Ah f-fuck!" Sunghoon groaned low as he eased into your ass, inch by fucking inch, the tight ring of muscle giving way to his thick shaft, the dual stretch of them filling you up so goddamn full you could barely breathe.

“Fuck, so tight,” he hissed, gripping your hips hard as they both started to move, Jake’s thrusts deep and punishing, Sunghoon’s slower but just as brutal, their cocks dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. The wet slap of skin on skin, their grunts, and your broken moans filled the air as they fucked into you, their pace picking up, driving you straight to the edge of fucking oblivion.

Their cocks pounding relentlessly, stretching your soaked pussy and tight ass to the goddamn limit. Jake’s hands clamped down on your thighs, spreading you wider as he slammed in, sweat dripping down his temple, his breath ragged as he snarled, “Fuck, you’re so tight, squeezing me so good.” His eyes burned into yours, wild with lust, every thrust hitting deeper, making you scream their names. "a...ah shit-" is all your able to mouth out.

The feeling of being filled to the limit makes your eyes roll back in a daze. Sunghoon’s fingers bruised your hips, his cock driving into your ass with brutal force, his pace faltering as he groaned against your ear, “Shit, I can’t hold it—gonna fill this tight cunt.” The pressure of them both, the wet, obscene sounds of their cocks sliding in and out, pushed you past your breaking point. Your body convulsed, pussy and ass clenching hard around them as you came, a shattered moan ripping from your throat, your vision blurring with pure, fucked-out bliss.

Jake’s control snapped, his hips jerking as he buried himself deep, a guttural “Fuck!” escaping him as he unloaded, hot cum flooding your pussy, spurt after thick spurt coating your insides. Sunghoon growled low, thrusting once, twice more before he exploded too, his cock throbbing as he pumped his load into your ass, the heat of it seeping deep, making you whimper at the overwhelming fullness. "ah f-fuckk!" you shout out, body trembling.

They rode out their highs, grinding slow and deep, ensuring every drop stayed inside you, marking you as theirs. After a tense, breathless moment, they eased out, their cocks slipping free with a wet, filthy sound, cum leaking from both your holes, dripping down your thighs as you shuddered at the sudden emptiness. Jake smirked, still panting, as he helped you sit up, his voice dripping with dark promise, “Not done with you yet, baby.” Sunghoon’s eyes glinted with agreement as he stood beside Jake, both their dicks still half-hard, slick with cum and your juices, twitching at the sight of you fucked-out and trembling.

"m..more?" Sunghoon’s hand fisted in your hair, tugging just hard enough to tilt your head up as he growled, “Mhm. Open that pretty mouth.” You obeyed, lips parting, tongue out as he guided his thick cock past your lips, the bitter, musky taste of his cum and your ass flooding your senses. You sucked him down, hollowing your cheeks, his low hiss urging you on as he rocked his hips slightly. Jake stepped in next, stroking his glistening shaft before you switched, taking him deep into your throat, the salty remnants of his cum from your pussy mixing on your tongue as he groaned.

“Fuck, yeah, just like that,” his hand cupping your face while you worked him over. They alternated, using your mouth like their personal toy, grunting and swearing under their breath until they hit their limits again. "Gghh.." you gag around their cocks. Sunghoon came first this time, thick ropes of cum shooting down your throat as he held your head steady, forcing you to swallow every fucking drop. Jake followed right after, his load spilling over your tongue, hot and sticky, as he muttered, “Good fucking girl,” watching you gulp it down with hazy, satisfied eyes. When they finally pulled away, chests heaving, they softened almost instantly.

Jake dropped to his knees in front of you, brushing damp hair from your face with a gentle hand, a lopsided grin breaking through the haze of lust. “You’re unreal, you know that?” he said, voice warm now, thumb tracing your swollen lips. Sunghoon collapsed beside you, pulling you into his chest, his heartbeat steady under your cheek as he kissed the top of your head. “We didn't hurt you, did we?” he whispered, his tone quiet but sincere. "N-no.. that was amazing." you whisper out breathless. The three of you melting into a tangled, sated pile, the raw heat fading into something softer, sweeter, as you basked in the afterglow together.

you made it to the end. i wanted to explain why i was on a almost—3 month hiatus now. its quite personal but i started exams and went through a break up—ofcourse i feel much better and im happy to say ill be writing again! thank you so much for all the support on my work, its much appreciated. i hope you all are doing well.🥹💘

[mercvry-glow]

you, me, and empty space between us

parings. jack abbot x doctor!reader

warnings. widower!jack, age gap as always (jack late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), jack literally talks reader off the ledge, undefined relationship but they're clearly in love and going through something, unspecified mental health issues, panic attacks, possible suicidal ideation, talks of losing people, bittersweet ending though.

notes. ever since we learned jack was a widower i've been cursed with angsty thoughts. I think this one is really hard as we see both the reader and jack struggle with each other. I love them your honor, and I'm really in my noah kahan loneliness era for this man. as always any feedback is appreciated and I love all of you!

wc. 2700+

You don’t know when it had become so hard to breathe.

It wasn’t after the first patient death, or even the fourth or fifth. That was just life in the Pitt, and you had grown accustomed to it long ago… at least that’s what you thought.

It certainly wasn’t when he had walked in—Jack Abbot, all swagger and scruff, fresh on shift while you were finishing yours. You truly don’t know when you came to love him as more than a mentor. Maybe it was in the quiet, exhausted nights on his couch, or the rare mornings when your coffee mugs clinked in place of words.

Never open, always tucked away.

And maybe that’s why it hits you like a punch to the chest—because it’s something so small, something that you have no business caring about.

A glint of gold as he reaches for his first chart of the night.

His wedding band.

Still there. Still shining. Still hers.

And your breath just… goes. Like someone pulled the air from your lungs and replaced it with something heavy and wet and cruel.

You don’t even remember walking to the lockers. Just the click of the door behind you, the fluorescent lights buzzing too loud, and the burn behind your eyes as your hands shook, held tight against your sides. Everything became too much all at once. 

God, you're so tired.

Tired of the codes and the screaming and the silence that follows. Tired of watching children and parents die and pretending you’re not breaking a little more each time. Tired of watching your friends break each and every day more and more as this job steals their youth like it’s doing to yours. Tired of giving your heart to a man who, no matter how gently he touches you, will never touch you like you’re loved by him.

Not like he touched her.

You don't even cry. Not at first. You just run up the stairs, heart hammering like it's trying to escape, destination both known and unknown to your frazzled brain. Then you do cry—loud, ugly, shoulder-shaking sobs that don't stop. Not even when someone passes. Not even when your pager buzzes again.

You make it up to the roof before anyone sees you.

The cold Pittsburgh wind bites at your cheeks, but at least here, you can breathe again. 

Kind of.

 You wrap your arms around yourself, eyes burning as you stare out over the city like it's supposed to give you some kind of answer.

But it doesn't.

It never does.

You’re not even sure how long you’ve been up here.

The city stretches out below, distant and indifferent—cars moving like blood cells in some great, uncaring artery. You’ve spent your whole life trying to keep things alive, and now, standing here, arms wrapped around yourself in the wind, you’re not sure how to keep yourself going.

It’s not just Jack.

 It’s everything.

You’re tired in your bones. In your soul, if that’s a thing people really have.

Tired of the endless codes that ring like alarms in your dreams. Tired of holding hands that go cold while families scream down the hall. Tired of smiling when you’re empty. Laughing when your throat aches from swallowing everything you can’t say.

Tired of being second. 

To a memory. 

To a career.

 To a system that chews you up and spits you back out with new scars and fewer tears left to give.

You love your job. God, you do. But lately it feels like it’s eating you alive. And no one sees it. No one wants to see it.  Because you're the one who keeps it together. The calm in the storm. The smile at the desk. The one who always says, “I’m fine. Go. I’ve got this.”

But you don’t.

You don’t got this. Not anymore

You’re drowning.

And Jack—Jack is just the wound you thought you could bandage, only to realize it was deeper than you ever let yourself admit.

You see the way he softens when he talks about her, the few times you got to hear. 

The weight in his voice when he says her name.

And you? You’re the comfort. The quiet. The body he falls into when his ghosts get too loud, too much to handle alone.

But not the one he chooses.

Never the one he chooses.

A sob claws its way up your throat, and this time you don’t stop it. You sink, knees scraped by the roof's edge, standing past the metal railing and let it all go—the grief, the love, the years of being almost enough in every aspect of your life.

You cry until you’re raw. Until your breath hitches like a broken record.

Until you feel like there’s nothing left inside you. 

And still, the world keeps turning. The city lights don’t flicker. The wind doesn’t pause.

You are so deeply, achingly alone.

And in this moment, you don't even want to be saved. You just want to rest. 

To be done. 

“You know,” comes a familiar voice behind you, easy and low, “if you wanted to get me alone on the rooftop , all you had to do was ask. I would’ve brought you coffee.”

You flinch. Just barely. But he sees it.

Jack steps closer, hands tucked in his cargo pockets like he’s just wandered up here on a whim, not after checking every paitent room and hallway trying to find you. There’s that half-smile tugging at his mouth, the one he uses like armor—dry wit and soft hazel eyes, his whole coping mechanism wrapped in a single expression.

But the smile falters when you don’t answer.

When he really looks at you.

You’re standing with your hands pulled to your chest, fingers white-knuckled in your scrubs, eyes red and swollen. Shoulders shaking just enough to make him stop in his tracks after realizing you’re past the guard rail. 

“Hey,” he says again, quieter this time. “What happened?”

You shake your head. A tiny, useless motion. You can't even bring yourself to look at him, back still turned.

He steps toward you, trying to search your face. “Talk to me. Did something happen with a patient? Was it that kid from earlier? Or—”

“No,” you whisper, barely audible. “It’s nothing.”

“That,” he says, voice a touch sharper, “is a lie. And a bad one, kid.”

You let out a bitter little laugh that turns into another sob. “Everything’s just… too much.”

Jack doesn’t speak right away. Just watches you, the tension in his jaw building slowly. “You’re scaring me,” he admits, quietly.

“Fuck,” you snap through the tears. “Now you actually see me?.”

That stuns him. You can sense it—how his shoulders tighten, how his eyes scanning like they’ve missed something right in front of them.

You wobble, or try to move—your knees tremble under you, and Jack moves instantly, hands ready to grab you. 

You pull away.

“I’m tired, Jack,” you say, voice breaking. “So goddamn tired. Of being here. Of being overworked. Of watching people die. Of pretending I don’t care that you still wear her ring when you’re in my bed.”

Silence slams between you.

He swallows hard, words clearly stuck in his throat.

“I know she meant everything to you,” you say, softer now. “And I would never try to take her place. But it’s killing me. Being your person… Being the one you come to… but never for.”

His mouth opens, then closes again.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “And look, now I’m making my issues about you again. God, I’m tired of that too.”

Jack steps forward, hesitant, like he’s approaching something fragile. Or dangerous. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“I didn’t want to make it real,” you whisper. “Because if I said it out loud, I’d have to admit that I’m not okay. That this job—this place—you—are breaking me.”

He’s quiet for a long time. The wind whistles around you both, cold and uncaring.

“I didn’t know,” he finally says. “I should’ve. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

You look up at him, exhausted and open and completely undone. “I don’t want you to say sorry. I just… I wanted to matter.”

“You do,” he says, quick and firm. “You matter to me,”

You shake your head again, biting back another sob.

He doesn’t try to touch you this time. He just stands there in the silence you’ve created, eyes on yours like they’re the only thing he sees now.

And maybe—for the first time—they are.

Jack exhales slowly, like he’s trying to steady his own heart before he reaches for yours.

“You wanna know something?” he says, his voice rough but quiet. “First week I met you, I thought you weren’t cut out for this. All business, too rigid, straight spine, soft. Honestly? Scared the hell out of me, I thought you’d be gone by the end of the week.”

You huff, tired, but something like a breath of a laugh escapes you.

“But then you stayed two hours after your shift because a twelve-year-old was afraid of needles,” he continues. “And I saw it. That heart of yours—the one you hide behind clipped words and all that damn competence. You care so much it hurts you.”

He pauses, lets that sink in. You turn your face slightly toward him, just enough for him to see your profile in the wind.

“I know you think nobody sees you,” Jack says. “That you’re just some extra in other people’s stories. But I see you. I always see you.”

Your lips part, but no words come.

“You’re the one holding the line when everyone else is cracking. You’re the one who stays up on nights like this, falling apart where no one can find you. But I found you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He steps forward again, slowly, cautiously. Like he’s giving you every chance to step back under the rails and hoping you don’t choose the other way down.

“I don’t wear this ring because I’m not over her,” he says, tugging at the band absently. “I wear it because she made me better. And you… you keep me better.”

That stops your breath cold.

“I never meant to make you feel like you were just something temporary,” he says. “You’re not. Not to me.”

“Then why not just say it?” you choke, voice trembling.

He looks at you like he wants to. Like the words are right there on his tongue—but something stops him. Not fear. Not doubt. Just the weight of everything this moment holds.

“I’m saying what I can,” he says instead. “Until I can say it all.”

He steps closer, right in front of you now, eyes searching yours.

“You matter, okay? Not just as my best resident. Not just as a damn good doctor. You matter to me. You’re not alone in this. Even if you feel like you are.”

Silence again. Heavy, but different this time.

“I don’t know what happens next,” he adds, quieter now. “But I know I don’t want to face it without you.”

You feel something give inside you—something that’s been clinging to the edge for weeks, maybe months. You don’t fall apart again, not this time. But you do lean forward. Just a little. Just enough.

Jack reaches out to touch you, wanting to pull you in. Standing right there on the other side of the guard rails, steady as gravity.

 Letting you decide.

You stand there for a second, barely breathing. His words echo in your chest, ringing against all the places that have been cracked and hollowed out.

You matter to me.

It shouldn't be enough. Not after all this. But somehow, it is. Or maybe it’s just enough to stop the bleeding.

Your shoulders slump as the tension you’ve carried finally starts to unwind. You don’t fall into him, not dramatically. You just… lean. Your forehead comes to rest against his chest, tentative, uncertain. But you stay there.

And Jack? He doesn’t hesitate.

His arms move around you with a kind of quiet reverence—gentle but solid, like he’s anchoring you to the hospital roof. One hand settles between your shoulder blades, the other against the back of your head, cradling you like he’s afraid you’ll break again.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he murmurs against your hair.

“I scared myself,” you whisper back, voice hoarse.

“You could’ve told me,” he says, not accusing—just brokenhearted.

“I didn’t know how,” you admit. “I thought if I said it out loud, I’d lose everything and never come back together.”

Jack pulls back just enough to look at you. His thumb brushes gently along your wind bitten cheeks, catching a stray tear you didn’t even feel fall.

“You are coming back together,” he says, firm but soft. “Right now. Piece by piece. You’re still here. That’s what matters.”

You nod, barely, like you’re still trying to believe him.

“I don’t need you to be okay all the time,” he continues. “You don’t have to be strong for anyone. You get to fall apart. You get to feel this.”

“But what if it doesn’t stop?” you whisper, voice cracking. “What if it just keeps coming?”

“Then we’ll face it together,” he says, without missing a beat. “Shift by shift. day by day. As long as it takes.”

Your eyes search his, and for once, there’s no hiding behind sarcasm or guarded silences. Just truth. And maybe something deeper behind it—something he’s still not quite ready to name, but it’s there. Burning steady like a soft fire.

You close your eyes, letting yourself rest in the warmth of him, in the safety of this rooftop moment.

And for the first time in weeks—maybe longer—you take a full, deep breath.

You both stand like that for a long time—no words, just breath and heartbeat and wind. The hum of the city below feels miles away, like a different world. Up here, it's just the two of you.

Eventually, Jack shifts a little, his arms still around you. His voice is soft, barely above the wind.

“Hey,” he says gently. “How about we get back on the safer side of the rail, yeah?”

You realize, with a sudden twist in your stomach, that you’re still on the wrong side. Still too close to the edge, with nothing but cold air and steel keeping you tethered.

You don’t move right away. Your fingers grip the rail, not because you want to jump—God, no—but because the world still feels unsteady. Like if you let go, you might float off into something you can't control.

Jack doesn’t rush you.

He stays with you, warm and steady at your side, hands never leaving you. “One step,” he says softly. “Just one. I’ve got you.”

You look at him, and there’s nothing performative in his expression. No pity. No fear. Just calm, unwavering care.

You nod once. Then slowly, carefully, you swing your leg over the first bar. He helps you the rest of the way, hands guiding you gently, like you’re something precious. When both feet land solidly on the rooftop again, you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until it finally releases in a shaky exhale.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Safe and sound. Mostly.”

You laugh, barely. “I must look like a mess.”

“You look like someone who’s been through hell,” Jack says. “And is still standing. That’s not a mess. That’s a goddamn miracle.”

You look up at him, eyes glassy, and something flickers between you. Quiet. Heavy. Unspoken.

His hand lifts slowly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, then lingering—fingertips grazing your jaw, gentle as rain. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

“Can I…” he starts, then stops, catching himself. “I’m not asking to fix it. I just—”

You answer by leaning in.

It’s not rushed. Not desperate. Just soft. Slow. Like an exhale. Like the kind of kiss that says I’m still here. I still want this.

His lips meet yours, warm and steady, one hand still at your waist, the other against your cheek. There’s no fire in it—not tonight. Just light. Just steady comfort.

When you pull back, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing a little easier now.

“You sure about this?” you whisper.

Jack doesn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure.”

You nod. You believe him. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe in yourself again, too.

mercvry-glow 2025

[tbaluver]

Hewoo! I'm so so soo weak for your family fluff headcanons aaa can I request a scenario of the little kiddies of LADS men sneaking off with reader's phone and made a video call to their papas because they've been away from home and/or simply making a silly video call to brighten up their papas day? 🥺🫶🏻

˗ˏˋ Incoming Baby Call!˗- The Love And DeepSpace Men

featuring ( in order ): xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb genre: fluff fluff summary: your child(ren) sneak off with your phone to call them a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ WAHHH THANK YOU MWAH i love writing them as dads like i fear i want no husband as long as its them .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. this one is not beta read so i apologize for any mistakes! i have so much wip of them as papas that i hope to post soon <3 anyways i hope i did this request with justice ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ i hope you enjoy reading! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Xavier was exhausted and hungry, his mission dragging on longer than he’d hoped. He couldn’t wait to get back home, pick up some dinner for his family, and finally relax. He couldn’t wait to wrap up this mission and be back home with you both.

Just as he refocused on tracking the wanderer, a soft ringtone caught his attention. Without a second to spare, he answered once he saw your name flash through his screen. But instead of you, his little boy appeared instead holding his plushie-shaped cookie.

“Hi, little buddy.” Xavier smiles softly. His son, as usual, flashes a cute peace sign in front of the camera. It was a little habit he did whenever there was a camera around and it’s a habit that you both hope he’d never outgrow.

“Papa,” his son whispers, holding up the tiny plushie to the screen as if he were offering it to him.

“Are you offering me a bite?” Xavier asked, playing along as his son nodded eagerly. “Thank you. It tastes great,” He adds, pretending to chew thoughtfully and giving a mock critic nod. “I think we should get more of these.”

It warmed Xavier’s heart to see his son share food even through the screen. Perhaps it’s something he’d watched you both share meals often and picked up on it. “Don’t forget to share with mommy too, okay?” His son nods enthusiastically, his chubby cheeks puffing out. “By the way, where is mommy?”

His son placed a finger to his lips to quietly shush him as he tilted the phone to the side, revealing you peacefully napping close to him, a plushie tucked under your arm. Xavier chuckles softly, not wanting to disturb you.

“Alright, let’s keep it quiet so we don’t wake mommy up okay?” He whispers, “If you take a nap now, I’ll be home before you know it.”

His son nods sleepily as he snuggles up closer to you. Even in such a small and simple moment, Xavier couldn't help but feel grateful. It reminded him just how lucky he was to come home to a family with so much love.

Zayne:

It was another busy night at the hospital. Multiple reports to go through before checking up on several other patients who are waking from surgery in a few hours. Another stressful night, but he’ll manage like he always does. Just as he was about to settle down in his seat, he checked his phone.

11 missed calls

Concern floods his body as he immediately calls you, only to find your baby daughter on the other end. “Papa!” She coos, her sweet little smile makes him feel slightly relieved. 

“Hi my love, where is Mommy?”

“in the bafroom,” She replies casually, his heart easing. That would be correct, her snowman pajamas tell him that you both should be getting ready for bed right about now. “Papa! I miss you..Are you going home now?” She pouts into the screen and Zayne only chuckles into the camera, adjusting his glasses. 

“Not yet my love.” He says softly, her pout deepening further. “I’m sorry but it seems that I’ll be here for a while.” His heart twinges at his own words. As much as he hates to disappoint his daughter, he knows this is a part of his job, something she’ll understand better as she grows older.

“But whyyy? Can’t you work here instead? You look tired papa.” She whines with pleading eyes, hoping this time she can make her father come home early again. 

He chuckles, he must’ve heard you both talking about his reports in the morning and mistaken it for something like homework. “Not tonight my love. Unfortunately, some patients need me right now”

She pouts, her head turning away, and he can’t help but feel worried. Did he upset her? He would hope not, he would want her to sleep well tonight. Maybe he should come home early or he can make it up by getting secret sweet treats together again.

“Papa, how about I read you a book then?” She asks, breaking his thoughts. She held up a book that she’s been practicing with. Maybe she noticed the bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep and is trying to cheer him up in her own little way.

“Of course,” A smile tugs on his lips as he adjusts the phone so he can hear her better. She opens the book, sounding out each word with Zayne occasionally helping her with the tricky ones. His heart swells as he watches her, she’s already growing up so fast.

She stops reading when he hears your voice in the background, asking her what she’s doing. “I’m talking to papa, mommy! I’m reading to him right now” You chuckle, thinking she was talking to a picture of him on your phone again but don’t realize she’d manage to call him this time.

“Sorry, Zayne! We can call you another time!” You quickly grab the phone to see your handsome husband’s face on the screen. You know at this hour isn’t his break but before you can say anything more, Zayne gently cuts you off.

“No, it’s fine. Stay, please. Let her keep going. I haven’t taken my break yet anyway.” His voice softens with a chuckle when he hears her cheer in the background. You smile, adjusting the phone and settling her on your lap. Together, you both help her continue reading her story before you say your goodnight’s.

Rafayel:

Boredom isn’t even the word to cover it. Rafayel felt tired, drained, from the endless back and forth conversations with multiple collectors, sucking away all the energy from him. The more he conversed with them, the heavier his eyelids became. He wanted to yawn, to make it clear how uninterested he was in their never-ending rambling. However, if he did, Thomas would surely give him an earful later or worse another due date for another art project.

He glanced around the room, jealousy gnawing at him as he watched a group of an artist's family admiring art together. He wished you and the kids were here with him. He would’ve had you here if he hadn’t procrastinated to accept the invite, the room’s capacity was already maxed out and the lists of invites were soon closed.

As the collector rambled on, Rafayel could feel his eyes slowly drooping, surely soon enough the glass in his hands would drop. Luckily, just when he thought he might lose the last bit of focus, his phone ringing caught his and the collector’s attention.

“Excuse me, it’s my wife.” The collector nodded, walking away, giving Rafayel the perfect opportunity to slip into a private bathroom.

As soon as he answered the phone, his heart lifted. On the screen were his little bundles of joy. “My little glubs!” A wide grin spread across his face, his eyes lighting up as the kids' tiny smiles beamed back at him. “What are you guys doing? Where’s Mama?" He asks, tilting his head, hoping to catch a glimpse of you through the screen.

“She’s cleaning!” One of the kids chirped, earning a playful shushing from her siblings. Rafayel chuckled, they had definitely taken your phone again.

“Papa, can you come home now? We’re bored and we miss you!” Their pleas echoed from each other, hoping he could understand that they really missed him. His heart ached, he could practically feel their tiny arms reaching out to him through the phone.

“Just a couple more hours and I’ll be home, I promise. Then we can play all night long, yeah?” He raised a brow, tilting his head.

“No Daddy! We made something for you!” One of them piped up, excitement bubbling in his voice.

“Yeah! We made our own art...ex..exa? examission?” The word came out cute, and Rafayel’s sure he meant to say was exhibition. Rafayel didn’t know yet but they had planned to surprise him with their own little art show that you were secretly setting up in the living room. You figured it would be a good idea to cheer him up after a long day without his family. However, you didn’t know the kids would take your phone while they ran off to go ‘play’.

“Papa, you have to come soon or else we’ll close!” His youngest insisted. Raf smiled, realizing this was one of their clever little ways of getting him to hurry home before they had to go to bed.

He paused for a moment, tapping his finger on his chin. His kids waited in anticipation, a playful grin spreading across his face as an idea sparked in his head. “Got it!” He said, snapping his fingers. “I’m coming home now!” The sounds of cheerful giggles erupted on the other side of the line.

Rafayel quickly exits out of the bathroom, Thomas follows behind closely while he asks where does he thinks he's going. Rafayel mentioned briefly that he had another art exhibition that was way more important than this one, making it enough to leave Thomas confused and stop in his tracks.

Sylus:

There’s nothing more infuriating when the tradesmen don’t want to cooperate even if they’re tied up. They whine and complain but the moment they realize no one’s listening, they cry out for help. But before their pleas can even form properly, Sylus silences them with a single look, fear flickering across their faces.

“One moment,” He says, raising an index finger to quiet them. Everyone's attention shifts to his ringtone, a melody of a childish tune unexpectedly playing from the speakers. The tradesmen freeze, exchanging confused glances at each other.

“Bossman said one moment!”

“Yeah, one moment!” Luke and Kieran chimed in, nodding as they let Sylus step away

Sylus taps the green button, his brow furrowing as he sees your name and contact photo flash on the screen. A wave of concern washes over him, did something happen while he was away? But that worry disappears when he sees his daughter's bright, familiar face light up on his screen.

“Daddy!! Hi daddy hiii!!” She chirps, waving excitedly at him.

“Hello, my little dove. What’s going on? Are you and Mommy alright?” He feels the tension in his shoulders ease when she nods rapidly, her little pigtails that you tied bouncing up and down. His heart melted at the sight of her, she looked almost identical to him, with white hair and red eyes yet her personality reminded him so much of yours.

“She’s in the kitchen,” She whispers as if she was sharing a secret. He assumes that she’s taken your phone in secret again. It should be fine, he has taught her to use the phone for emergencies. This wouldn’t count as much as one but he needed to take a step away before he caused one. “Papa, are you okay?” Sylus pauses, taken aback by just how perceptive she is. Perhaps it’s the vein on his forehead that’s threatening to pop. She’s sharp just like her mother.

He exhales deeply. “It’s just a rough night sweetie.”

Her brows furrowed with concern and her pout deepened, pitying her father. How she wished to hug him through the screen. “Papa, how about I sing you a song!” She offers, earning another soft chuckle from Sylus. He always sings her to sleep or cheers her up with a song so it’s no wonder she picked up the habit from him.

“Go ahead, my dove.”

Her vocals were very much like her father’s. When she spots his grin, her confidence grows, making her sing even louder.

“Make it stop!” One of the tradesmen suddenly screams, his voice cracking in desperation. “I’ll give you whatever you want- just please make it stop!” He cries, making Sylus’s ears twitch, the vein in his forehead threatening to make a reappearance.

“Papa, what was that?” She asks, tilting her head innocently.

“I think it was your audience dear. They seemed to enjoy your performance.” Her face immediately lights up, letting out a gleeful cheer.

“Can you give me a moment sweetie? I’ll be right back,” He quickly mutes the call and shuts off the camera. Quickly he extracts the necessary information before the men are lifted from the ground, their feet dangling helplessly in the air as red tendrils swirl around them. Despite their begs and cries, they vanished into thin air, leaving the room finally quiet.

With the problem dealt with, Sylus flips his phone back on. He hears your daughter’s cheerful greeting from the other end of the call, her innocent enthusiasm makes his smile return.

“Looks like you brought some good luck little dove. It seems we’re heading home early tonight.”

Caleb:

It had been a long, grueling shift in the skies. Nothing but endless stretches of blue with a few clouds to break the dullness. The minutes dragged by, each one feeling longer than the last. Caleb sat in his cockpit, his elbow propped on the console and his chin resting on his hand as he gazed at his screen. He could handle a shift here and there but ever since your family has grown, miles away from everything he cared about, it weighed on him.

That’s when a familiar, cheerful ringtone broke through the silence.

Caleb immediately perks up, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he sees your name and a photo of you flash on the screen. However it wasn’t you on the other end, it was someone much smaller and cuter and very much identical to him.

“Dad, dad!” The little boy grins ear to ear. Caleb couldn’t help but grin back, the weariness from his shift fading away.

“Hey there, squirt! What’s up?” Nothing seems to be wrong as he reads from his son’s facial expression. “Where’s mom? Everything alright there?” But of course, he just had to make sure. He would not hesitate to fly this ship back around.

“Yeah! She’s in the kitchen cleaning up. I ate all my vegetables just like you said!” His son beamed, making Caleb chuckle, shaking his head fondly.

“Good job! Don’t forget to thank your mom too, alright?” Your son nods enthusiastically, his eyes sparkling but Caleb couldn’t figure out why he could be so hyper until he held up a thick book about the Jurassic era.

“Dad, I finished this whole book!” He said, flipping through the pages to show his dad the pictures. “Did you know black beetles are one of the only creatures that survived the Jurassic era? We should go find some!” His tiny finger lands on a picture of a massive beetle, his eyes wide with awe.

Caleb chuckled, his heart melting at how much his son was almost like him. “That’s awesome buddy. You know, I think-”

Before Caleb could say anything more, a soldier by his door interrupts him. “Colonel, sir-!” Caleb’s fingers twitched, slamming the door shut before he finished his sentence. 

He returned his attention to his son, letting him continue his chatter about dinosaurs, and beetles while Caleb would chime in, sharing a little fact or story like how he used to tell you when you were walking on your way to school or just to help you fall asleep at nights.

Time seemed to slip away as Caleb listened to his son’s excited ramblings, the hours of his shift seemed to go faster than he realized. Even though he still had a while to go, hearing the voice of his family was enough to keep him going.

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! Love And DeepSpace Masterlist, Pg. 2

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki is pissed the fuck off.

it doesn't take a rocket scientist to tell. whenever he's angry he makes it extremely obvious and most of the time it becomes everyone's problem. but it's weird to you because he was fine like, 5 seconds ago.

until 5 seconds ago he'd gotten back from buying groceries for the class and kissed you on the forehead as a greeting. he'd even brought the oranges you'd begged him to get last minute because you'd randomly been craving them, even after saying he wouldn't (but you both knew he would.)

but now he's pissed, and you have no idea why.

he's not saying anything either, but he keeps huffing and clicking his tongue every once in a while, fist pressed hard against his cheek and his jaw locked tightly chewing on the little piece of the own orange he'd been eating and finished a bit ago.

you keep munching on your piece of orange as you stare at him, and then you poke at his cheek. he grunts, shooing your hand away and leaning away from you.

"what's got you so grouchy ?" you tilt your head with a raised brow, he scoffs. readjusting his leg on the couch. you fight the urge to roll your eyes. he's ignoring you now ?

"katsuki."

silence.

"katsukiii-"

"it's nothin'." he growls, huffing through his nose.

this time you do roll your eyes "sure, that's why you're being all cranky." slowly, you inch towards his spot on the couch where he'd secluded himself away. he hasn't left the room and he doesn't react to you getting closer besides a slight side eye, so you know he's probably just being dramatic.

his nose scrunches up at your wording and he pretends he doesn't notice you lifting his arm up to lay in them. he doesn't comment on how he almost immediately changes his position to make you more comfortable.

"m'not cranky." he spits, eyebrows contorting and a pout settles onto his face "not a baby."

could've fooled me you think, but you decide against actually saying it. you're smile widens when his eyes narrow once he meets yours, he pinches your side "quit starin' at me."

"katsukiii. what's got your panties in a bunch ?" you coo and katsuki gives you the most repulsed look you've ever seen him make.

"don't ever say that ever again, i'm so fucking serious." he groans at your giggling, leaning his head away and shoving his palm in your face to get away from you like he couldn't just leave the room instead of actively pulling you closer to him. really, could've fooled you.

"ya didn't let me peel yer orange for you.." he mumbles grumpily.

you blink up at him "..what ?"

eyebrows furrowing just at the memory, he continues "was gone for three seconds to put away the damn groceries an' here you go, prancing around me, throwin' your peel away in the trash right in front of me."

oh, wow.

"katsuki. really ?"

"you know i always do it for you. yn." he sasses.

"that's why you were so mad at me ?" your giggles muffled by him pressing your head into his shoulder in a headlock.

"you were busy !" you fight weakly.

"so ? if you've got shit to do you come to me, i woulda done it in two seconds. peeling oranges doesn't take that long, dummy."

you keep giggling as you try to fight him off before you hear him snort and he releases you.

as stupid as it may sound, katsuki isn't the best when it comes to letting his affection be known through words, so you know how much acts of services, as small as they are, mean to him.

you sometimes forget how much he loves to do little things for you. throwing away your little candy wrappers, or already unwrapping your ice cream for you. or absentmindedly fixing up and sorting out your desk, or bookshelf when he sees your manga out of order or sticking out too much. the little ways he cares for you make your heart flutter. you smile up at him and offer him a piece of orange. he scowls at it.

"don't want your stupid orange." he mutters childishly, but you don't have enough time to pull away to eat it yourself before he grips your wrist. bringing it up to his mouth to eat it anyway. you roll your eyes with a fond smile.

"i'll be sure to leave the orange peeling to you from now on." you jest. he grunts in approval, softly chewing on the slice of juicy orange before patting your wrists, signalling he wants more. and you snort, but you still hand him another piece. his warm grip on your wrist remains even though he could very well just take it out of your hands. he hums again when the taste kicks in.

"you better, i mean it. otherwise it's your funeral."

thank my lovely lovely moot @kovu-bunnbunn for this lovely idea ! tysm twin ! :3

[hittmeandtellmeyouremine]

clingy

pairing: puddin!reader x older!rafe

warnings: mdni, lottie do not read, nothing crazy but suggestive content, ddlg themes, use of 'daddy'.

word count: 1.6k+ words

a/n: this was supposed to be rachel's request but i got distracted and wanted to actually answer hers without scraping this. plus i needed to feed my children. try that french toast tho. it's soooo good

the first few days it would start off with small things. you would cling to rafe as if you were handcuffed to him. which wasn't necessarily out of the normal, but it came across differently than usual. you would press closer than normal when you were on his lap, refused to wear pants around, constantly touching him.

things had changed, that was for sure. everything that could've been ignored and excused before, couldn't really be anymore.

you wake up in rafe's bed, snuggling closer against his pillow and smiling as you inhale his scent. until you realize that's all it is, just his scent. you frown, reaching over to make sure. much to your dismay, he wasn't in bed with you.

you slip out of the bed, his shirt falling to your thighs. you rub the sleep from your eyes, feet following the noises making your ears perk up.

pans clattered in the kitchen, something scrape against a skillet. you turn the corner to see rafe, shirtless and making something on the stove.

"mornin', baby" he smiles.

"where did you go?" you frown, making your way over to him.

the second you're within distance you wrap your arms around him, head tilting up at him. his sweats hung lower than they should've on his hips, hair spiky from the cold shower he needed to take.

"to cook, puddin'. you're not hungry?" he mumbled, looking down at your pure expression.

you hum in response, nodding slightly. "what're you making?"

"you said the other day you wanted to try croissant french toast didn't you?"

you nod.

"well, i'm making it for you"

he places a soft kiss on your forehead and you stay there, watching him flip the croissants. your arms never leave him, clinging onto him like your life depended on it.

your clinginess doesn't go unnoticed by rafe who just shrugs it off simply because everything had heightened since that night. this wasn't necessarily out of the normal, not really.

his innocent little thing, his little girl.

he continues to make breakfast, working around your bear-worthy grip. he wouldn't dare tell you how much of an inconvenience it really was, not when you were looking up at him with those big brown eyes he loved.

when he finally finishes with the food he gently pries you off of him, setting you in the chair next to his. you frown as he brings your plates over, setting yours in front of you.

"i wanna sit with you" you frown as he settles into his own seat.

"puddin', you need to sit in your own seat so you can eat properly" he explains gently, running a hand over his hair.

he fights the urge to just pull you onto his lap without as much of a second thought. he didn't like denying you, with anything really, but especially himself. you were his and he was yours.

"okay" you huff.

he starts to eat his food but pauses mid bite when he sees you. you were pushing your food around with the fork, staring at it like this wasn't something you had begged for. his brows furrow, taking the bite and chewing on it a bit before he spoke.

"you actually gonna eat or just keep playing with your food?"

you pause, doing a double take at his voice.

"sorry" you mumble, taking a bite just to accompany your words.

he nods and takes another bite of his food. he continues to watch you out of the corner of his eye. you're just taking bites so that he won't question you.

"you alright, puddin'?"

"just wanna be close to you" you mutter, taking another reluctant bite.

his heart swells at yours words, welcoming them with an open mind. you were still adjusting to this new dynamic, what it entailed still being figured out by the both of you. he sighs, the somewhat stern facade revealing itself.

"come here" he sighs, patting his lap invitingly.

you slide over onto his lap, back pressing against his chest like usual. he pulls your plate over in front of you and wraps his arm around you possessively. his chin presses into your cheek lightly as he tries to eat with one hand.

you continue to stare at your food, not touching it even with the new position.

"eat" he murmurs, swallowing his bite.

you make no movement to eat and he decides right then that he's gonna get to the bottom of this.

"puddin', do you not want to eat?" he asks.

"no, i do" you say, looking back at him.

it's so subtle, just barely evident but he sees it—the flicker your eyes do between his hand and your fork. that's when it clicks for him.

"want me to feed you?"

you nod, relaxing at him finally putting the pieces together.

he nods in response, picking up his fork and bringing it to your lips. rafe continues to feed you like that until both your plates are clean. the act is so simple but it means the world to you right now. it's a big sign at just how clingy you were feeling today. you were relying on him for the simplest things, putting everything in his hands.

the second he started to feed you, you relaxed. it was an obvious observation: you were comfortable like this, you liked for him to baby you.

he sets his fork down, pulling you closer against him.

"better?" he asks softly.

you look back at him, nodding slowly. he can see the gears in your head turning, tossing an idea. he doesn't have much time to question you because before he could you leaned in to kiss him, rather sloppily too. there was nothing nice or innocent about the way you practically tried to devour him in a kiss.

he freezes slightly, taken aback by your sudden action. this wasn't necessarily like you. this behavior was overly clingy, overly affectionate. sure you were clingy and affectionate but this, this was something else.

"puddin'..."

"what?" you ask, trying to lean in to kiss him again but he stops you.

he holds you in place, away from him. he takes a moment to study your face, trying to figure out what had his little girl acting like this. his hand cups your face, nails digging into your cheeks gently as he tilts your head back. your eyes held something he couldn't quite place—affection, need, maybe submission?

"what's gotten into you?" he mutters.

"i liked the other night a lot" you confess, nibbling on the inside of your cheek.

he nods slowly, piecing together what you were getting at.

"i love you, daddy" you say, leaning in for another kiss.

at first, he allows himself to return it, letting you taste him as you pleased. but eventually he pulls away, shaking his head and realizing some boundaries needed to be put into place.

"puddin', slow down for a sec" he murmurs, pushing your face away a bit.

you whine at his rejection, a frown quickly forming on your face. your eyes trail over him, replaying the intimate moments in your head. they seeped into your brain and stuck to your hippocampus like sweetest, thickest honey you've had.

"hey, don't do that" he scolds softly, trying to stroke away your frown with his thumb.

"why can't we kiss again" you ask, shifting in his lap to face him now.

he swallows hard, hands moving to your thighs. it was getting harder and harder to deny what was happening here, your advances beginning to become too much for him to handle reject.

"because, you're not thinking straight" he says gruffly.

without giving you an opportunity to object, he gets up and sets you on the chair, grabbing your plates and bringing them to the sink. though it's hard, he tries his best to ignore your gaze burning into him. your brows furrow at the distance he had created between you.

oh no, that just wouldn't do.

"why are you doing this?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest with a huff.

he doesn't give you an answer, wiping his wet hands dry on a hand towel.

your phone buzzes and he catches a glimpse of the pink notification. he takes the device into his hand, unlocking it and seeing the notification insinuating that you were ovulating.

oh? oh.

how didn't he pick up on it sooner?

"daddy?" you call, a little louder than before.

"you're not thinking straight baby, this is just your body going through something"

your eyes narrow at his dismissive words.

"i'm thinking just fine" you state, the sweetness in your tone gone. "i want to be with you, daddy"

"with me how, puddin'?" he questions, looking over at you finally.

the truth was, you didn't know the answer to that question. you just knew you wanted rafe in any way you could have him.

"why won't you touch me again?" you ask.

"puddin', it's not that simple" he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"you keep saying that but i don't understand" you say, raising your voice.

"baby, we cannot..." he sighs, trailing off because he didn't know how to explain this to you nor was he in the state to.

he sees your face, the way your bottom lip quivers from his space—both physically and emotionally.

"i just wanna be close to you, daddy" you whisper.

"i know, baby" he sighs, nodding. "but i'm still trying to figure out how we do this"

silence filled the space between you.

eventually rafe gave in a bit, allowing you to lay your head on his lap while you watched tv in the living room. he coiled one of your curls around his fingers, other hand sliding back and forth on the tanned skin of your thigh.

he needed to figure this out.

quickly.

-

[girlfromflor]

kyle garrick feeds you every time he feels like he can.

it's not uncommon for him to feel self-councious about his desires – maybe thinking he's a bit weird for it, or whatever. but when he sees the opportunity to deep dive in them he's done for.

so seeing you busy writing something down like your life depends on it, he can't help but say "hey, baby? food's ready," knowing damn well you'll say you're going to eat later.

"sorry, but i'm busy right now. just let me finish this real quick..." you mumble, not even paying him a glance. he smiles at the notion because, considering your headspace, you'll either brush him off or agree blindly to whatever he has to say.

"can i feed you, then? you don't have to move, i'll bring our food for us to eat here." he offers, and you answer with "okay, thanks, love" like you usually do after he says he'd be waiting for you, automatically, not even registering the fact that he didn’t say that.

once you realize it, it’s is too late. he's sitting by your side, a plate twice as big as you usually have in his hands – because he'll eat out of the same plate he'll feed you – as he pushes a fork filled with your favorite salty food to your lips.

you don't brush him off immediately like he expected you to, you simply glance over him before taking a bite. he hums in appreciation as you chew – like he's the one eating – and takes a bite himself. and that goes until the food is all gone, you keep your task until you feel sleepy from eating so much and he kisses your lips before getting up to leave the dishes in the sink – you'll do them later.

he watches silently as you gather your things and put them away before going over at him, kissing him once again. "thank you for feeding me..." you say honestly, mumbling into his neck as you hug him by the waist.

"i love to do it, baby," he answers, kissing your temple. then, he adds: "what do you think we lay down for a bit now, eh?"

and you gladly comply, the both of you cuddling under the covers until you're both asleep and dreaming of each other.