Archive of Our Own

(It happens out of nowhere.

Kind of.

Phoebe hadn't noticed her off-centered balance, hadn't realized that she'd been one bated breath away from landing on her side. Her awareness—or lack thereof—wasn't out of tardiness, she'd say. Not out of negligence, either. She simply hadn't expected it, not when she'd been feeling completely energized to the brim for all the hours she'd spent awake prior to this.

It's only when a tail wraps snug around her waist, preventing her fall before it even starts that she'd even realized the predicament. She could've fallen, nearly, just almost.

But she didn't, and it's all thanks to the person holding her up to her feet.

"I'd ask if you ate too much Pizza Classica for your lunch today," A rough voice sounds out behind her, lightly smug with a tone of worry barely hidden underneath, "But you look a bit too off for that, Phoebe."

When Phoebe looks up, she finds a familiar pair of crimson eyes staring down at her, scanning her flushed face while she's held by a strong pair of arms.

"You could still ask me that, if it gnaws at you so much." Always the person to lighten up the mood with carefree ways—the joke her newly entered companion delivers makes Phoebe laugh, a little sheepish as she replies, "I don't mind, Zani."

"We can save that for another time." Zani says, swatting the idea away, preferring instead to turn her around so that they're face to face, watching her as if she's trying to analyze her—as if she's trying to get to the root of the problem that Phoebe herself can't even put a finger on just yet. "You alright, Acolyte?"

"I'm not entirely sure." She says, honest to Imperator—because really, she doesn't quite understand what went wrong, either. "I've been better, I suppose, but that's all I really know—there's a reason why you had to catch me, after all."

Zani stares at her intently, not once letting her go from her arms; an ugly displeasure at her not-so-well condition purses her lips into an equally ugly frown.

"You should've told me if you were under the weather." Zani quips, holding her hand up to Phoebe's forehead—she doesn't even feel like she's heating up, but Zani just does so for safe measures, probably, "I could've stopped over at Rosemary's to bring you some remedies, you know."

"I wouldn't want to trouble you so much." Phoebe murmurs, slightly guilty at the thought of making her worry like this, "You already have a long way to go from the Vault to Bank Street, it would be rather impolite of me to ask you to do such a thing considering I don't even know what's wrong with me."

"You're courteous as ever, aren't you?" There's a giggle before Zani comes down with a sigh—directed at her politeness, maybe. After all, they've always liked to point out each other's penchant for thinking about others before they do the same for themselves. "You say that as if I don't take that same Wingray from Averardo Vault to Bank Street like you do when it's your turn to come to me."

And that's true, Phoebe thinks as she moves away from her hold, feet now steadied onto the ground; "But still…"

"Nevermind that." Zani wisps her concern away, wanting to save the lectures for another time, "Think you can remember if you did anything to warrant some dizziness?"

…Anything she did?

"I'm not sure." Comes as an instinctive reply, "I—I mean, I don't think I've really done anything that would warrant getting sick…"

"Drank enough water? Slept well enough?" She offers an example or two, and then a third that's delivered with a tone of mischief underneath, something Phoebe can't possibly miss when it's accompanied by a wag of her tail, "Missed a prayer or two in your impeccable routine, perhaps?"

"I should be asking the first two to you." Phoebe says, soft, letting another giggle prance about at her last sentence. "But yes to them, and no—I haven't missed any of my prayers."

"How immaculate you are, as expected of the dutiful Acolyte." The praise sends a shock of delight down Phoebe's spine, face flushing in tandem at the thought that Zani regards her so highly despite this praise being something she normally gives whenever they meet up and Phoebe finds herself babbling about whatever verse she has for the day. Weird. "Anything else? A minuscule tweak to your schedule that you paid no heed to that could perhaps explain your lethargy out?"

Phoebe sneaks a quick scan over her face. Stare, frown, as the words go unsaid; I should also be asking that to you.

Zani herself seems a bit tired now that she can get a good look on her. Signature eyebags aside because that's a trademark that doesn't seem like it'll disappear anytime soon no matter how much Phoebe reminds her to sleep and sleep and sleep—it's something that Phoebe feels she'll have to take up with Carlotta herself, soon, seeing how her work hours are the main reason for her long hours awake.

No matter. Phoebe will just masquerade it off as the standard Order employee welfare check. It's something she already does for the Montellis anyways ever since their incident in the Vault. The Order seems to be more than keen on putting her there, making sure that both her and Lenore were stationed by their place and it's not like Phoebe minds, really.

The Omegas there are always nice to her, the Betas never treat her like she's underneath them and even though some Alphas like to shoot her a compliment with the means of having her open her legs for them—it's not like it's something she suffers through everyday, not when Zani often helps her keep them in check.

She's known for that, really, being a Beta who can level with anyone no matter the dynamics. Zani's someone who likes to help others even if at first there's always the chance that a scowl will dent her pretty face at the words others will throw at her, often finding herself to be the first person that the Omegas turn to for help whenever they suddenly come into heat and—

—Wait.

Come to think of it, how long has it been since she's had her last heat..?

"Ah..."

Zani tilts her head, interested at the potential revelation she has at hand.

"Got something?"

Of course it's her heat, of course it is.

"I think…" )

If there's anything Phoebe could unfortunately count on when she's in heat: it's the fact that her mind seems to think that she has a pair of two left feet instead of just one.

The pace at which her feet moved across the wooden floorboards of her living room had been erratic, almost uncontrollable. There had been three separate occurrences where she'd nearly tripped and fell on air while she walked from her room to the front door—a concerning fact considering that usually, the amount of times she'd just stumble without an actual cause was zero; maybe increase it to one if she'd been particularly sleepy for the day.

The fact that her knees gave up moment she successfully twisted the knob open to welcome her guest inside probably isn't helping her case, either.

"Y—you're right on time, Miss Zani."

Zani catches her. Her hands are gentle when they hold onto waist, she doesn't push Phoebe when she falls flat onto her chest, it's as if she's expected this to happen. Weakening body, collapsing mind—her whole body feels like it's slowly getting lit over a bonfire. Phoebe tries to lift herself up because it surely must not be comfortable for Zani to have someone using her like a makeshift crutch, only to fail no matter how much she wills her hands to unstick around Zani's torso.

"I have an incredibly spotless time sheet for a reason," Zani remarks. She seems to look around the area, surveiling the environment like she so normally does as a part of her daily patrol in the Vault before glancing down back at her vulnerable state, "We should go in, hm? Can't have people finding you like this, can we?"

And Zani's right, she supposes. Her scent isn't pungent, at least she doesn't think it is compared to most of her peers. She thinks she can attribute that to her calming forte, though she's never really thought about it that much—she's not the type to attract people, really. Phoebe would like to think she's one of those Omegas who blend in rather easily. The Vanilla in her scent isn't so prickly, the Freesias and Peonies that accompany it never caused much trouble either. If anything, people often said she was pleasant to be around—again, she could probably thank her forte for that.

Not a lot of people pass by her dwelling at this time of day, and she's never actually attracted any Alphas into her cottage considering the scentproof nature of its walls—still, there is a probable danger in letting her pheromones radiate into the air beyond them, and she'd really rather not make Zani have to wrestle an Alpha off her front door.

So Phoebe does as she says. She steps back; right foot first, and then the left. The movements are still awkward, her muscles are barely amenable to the way she wants them to work—if it wasn't for the fact that she has Zani for support, she feels as if there would've been a fourth occurrence where she would've nearly tripped once more. It's a good thing she's here, really; Phoebe doesn't know what she'd do without her.

[Well, that's an overstatement—Phoebe does know what she would do without her. She's not a stranger to suffering; this isn't her first rodeo, nor will it even be the last. The aching will get even worse with every consecutive heat, and suppressants can only dull the unease for so much. Having someone to help her was bound to happen at some point. It's just that she didn't think it would be this soon, not when most Acolytes that didn't have romantic prospects tend to pick up a companion when they reach their thirties.

But it's not that she's complaining, really. Zani is someone she trusts. If there's anyone her body would acclimate to having in her bed: Zani would easily find herself in one of the top spots, she thinks—there's a reason she's here, after all. That part of her that's responsible for these changes in her body might've been even less forgiving if it had been someone else trespassing into her territory.]

Zani follows her too, with a lot less difficulty as she enters her home. She kicks the door behind her close with her heel, and the lock clicks shut after it. Compared to Phoebe, she almost looks like the perfect picture of health. Focused pupils, straight posture—even her eyebags weren't as bad as they usually are. Her tail is snappy behind her, wagging softly from left to right, horns sleek and delicate as they rest on the top of her soft, silky hair.

Plus, it's something Phoebe's only just noticed, but she smells… different.

It's a good type of different—scratch that, an extremely, definitely, positively good type of different. Yes, Phoebe does think that the emphasis is very much needed. The smell is pleasant and warm. She can pick out a fragrance that reminds her of citrus and another of spice; it's something she most definitely wants surrounding her nest, to wrangle around her pillows and dance with her own familiar scent.

Still, even though it's not something she's objecting to, Phoebe has to call that out. Her curiosity just makes it so that she can't left it go unasked.

"Did you get yourself some new perfume?"

Zani hums at her question, the noise resembling the tone of agreement.

"Carlotta got me access to Fisalian gardens with Rosemary to make something that could act as a proxy for an Alpha's scent." She explains the mystery away, "To help calm you down, since I don't really have all the equipment necessary."

Phoebe quirks an eyebrow, intrigued at her clarification, "Calm me down…?"

There comes a nod, "Rosemary used Montelli techs to turn them into more durable patches to last you through your heat."Zani pauses, her hand shoots up to peel away her ivory collar, revealing an opaque white patch underneath. "Is it not to your taste? I could take it off if you don't like it."

Phoebe shakes her head, gently swatting her hand away.

"I like it." She inches closer, inhaling the make-believe scent. Sandalwood. Cardamom. Bergamot. Fragrances that make up Zani's typical perfume mixed with something that mimicked the pheromones of an Alpha to calm her down—all without her asking, she'd gotten something to help her with her heat.

But that's not something she has to do. Cases in which an Omega or an Alpha takes up a Beta as a companion are rare, but not unheard of—Phoebe's had the pleasure to witness the union of some of those once-in-a-couple-thousand sparks, even. These things were not the norm. The Beta might start taking up fragrances that mimicked their significant other's scent to placate them; to mark their territory, but it wasn't always like that. It's normally not like that, even with couples that have been with each other for many years.

Phoebe takes a step back at the realization. Her head tilts up to meet Zani's gaze, she looks her in the eyes.

"…You did all that for me?"

"Pretty much," Zani affirms, laughing in nonchalance. She acts like this is something Phoebe should have expected—that the care she's giving isn't something that needed to be asked for, "It's not for me, and not for the Montellis, and it's definitely not for Imperator considering I barely even go 'round your parts—so all for you, yes."

"All… for me." Phoebe parrots more slowly, repeating a fraction of her previous words.

Beat, goes an inexplicably loud thrum of her heart at the declaration. Beat, it goes again.

Beat, beat, beat.

It happens before Phoebe realizes; her body moving by itself, urged by a sudden wave that has her feeling warmed from Zani's selflessness. She's not shivering as much anymore, there's the patch to thank for that. With whatever little strength she's regained, she levels herself to meet Zani's pupils head-on, balancing herself on her tiptoes despite her body shivering still all over from her heat. Her vision is unfocused, hazy; she barely even sees the glint of surprise that dilates open the carmine ocean of Zani's red eyes when she kisses her.

She kisses Zani soft, lips pressed bare against the corners of her lips. It's a short, brief kiss—hardly even a kiss when it doesn't even last a second before she pulls away. Maybe it would be considered more of a peck, but her mind isn't exactly rational enough to be considering these things.

When Phoebe comes to, the lingering aftertaste of Zani's skin on her lips jolting her awake from her daze; all she knows is red. Red rushing through her own face, red in the color of Zani's lips, and red in Zani's face, too.

"O—oh," She hadn't even asked for her permission to peck her, she's already being such a terrible hostess, "I—I'm sorry, I don't know what got over me—"

"It's fine." Zani cuts her off before she can go on another tangent of apologies. The redness is slowly draining out of her face, but she still can't meet Phoebe's eyes as steadily when she continues, "You don't gotta worry. Kissing isn't off-limits to me. And scratching, and biting, and whatever else people do while having sex—I read some technical things up before this, but I still wouldn't really know all that much."

Phoebe nods, but it's still obvious that the embarrassment still hasn't left her blushing face, either, "Right."

"W—well, caring for others is something that Imperator asks us to do as Their children, so I think you can say you're doing it for Imperator too." She continues to reason on, referring to the statement previous to her last, "Of course, you don't have to see it that way, but…"

"No, I think that's lovely." Zani interjects, laughing her nerves away. As a follow up, she leaps at the suggestion a little too cheerfully, "Though I sure hope that helps with my fairly poor attendance record at the Cathedral, eh?"

"Well," Phoebe was the one to give the idea, she shouldn't go back on her word. It's the least she could do, both as her friend and as a servant of her Lord, "Even if it wasn't, I'm sure I can help you make a case for it."

And she will, the next time she's able-bodied enough to walk up the stairs of the Cathedral to offer her prayers to Imperator. For now, she tiptoes once again—a little more rational, this time—and hugs Zani once more.

"Thank you for coming here." She whispers into her neck, soft.

"It's nothing compared to what you're going through." Zani insists, "I heard that the public consensus is that Omegas have it worse than Alphas. Considering that I've seen both dynamics accidentally fall into their cycles during a workday and knowing for a fact that it definitely was not pretty…" She'd said the 'not' with such a negative type of emphasis that Phoebe's almost curious what was so bad to affect someone like her that badly—but she can ask her about it some other time, probably, "I couldn't just let you suffer more because you have me helping you instead of one."

But she could if she wanted to, she didn't actually need to do this for her if she didn't want to. Rinascita is well-developed enough for her to go through this alone. It'll be painful, sure, but it's still manageable, all things considered. All she needed were her fingers—two of them, usually—a healthy dose of Order-sanctioned heat suppressants, as well as the standard issued knot that she can find in any local pharmacy.

That's how it's always been; that's how she would've gotten through this heat as well if Zani wasn't here.

"You're so sweet to me." Phoebe mutters. She's not even her mate—or, well, partner, girlfriend, significant other, et cetera, since that specific terminology doesn't exactly apply to Zani when she's a beta and can't really mark someone the way an alpha does.

Still, the point stands. Zani's so sweet to her, offering to tend to her like this when she's just her friend that happened to need someone to help her in a way that friends shouldn't really be helping—but she still came to her with that knowledge, she still came to her without expecting much in return.

If this is how Zani treats her, how would she treat her other half that she's yet to find?

Phoebe tries to ignore the clinch in her heart when she thinks of it, of another someone else who'd be lucky enough to spend their days with her in it, preferring to offer her a smile that she hopes doesn't show off her envy for a make-believe figure that doesn't even exist, for someone who has yet to exist in her life.

It's that entire train of thought which has Phoebe sighing before she says, "Whoever has your attention really will be set for the rest of their lives."

There's the slightest hint of pride in her eyes, a twinkling glimmer of amusement splayed in Zani's irises at the words that left her lips. A smile appears on her face too, mouth curving up as if she'd just been given some kind of award worth keeping.

"You praise me too highly, Miss Acolyte." Phoebe can hear a certain degree of fondness seeping into the way she edges out her syllables. It's strikingly fresh in Zani's voice, it doesn't disappear even when she says, "What if I extend an offer of my attention towards you even after this? You'll take it, then?"

The proposal freezes her, Phoebe's about to splutter out something that she hopes could suffice to be a response that won't show just how calm she is—not—but her body doubles over in a sudden maneuver, knees nearly buckling down into the floor once more had it not been for Zani's quick reflexes catching her before she falls.

They find themselves returning to their original position. Still by the same front door, still with the same problem looming over their heads. Zani came here for a reason, after all, she came here to help her through her heat, she came here to make sure she doesn't have to suffer as much as she would have on her own. Her mind's sending her a reminder of this, that Zani's presence and the patch she brought with her isn't enough to quell the thrum between her legs.

"Zani," Phoebe grasps onto her with desperation, clawing into her shirt; the feverish pang dissipates just as quickly as it came, but it won't stay away for so long, no matter how much she wishes it would go, "h—hic, n—need—"

"I'm here, I'm here." Zani coaxes her gently, reassuring. Her eyes scan quickly over the interiors of her home, quickly spotting a door that's left ajar down the hallway. Bullseye; "Shall I take you to your room?"

There's nowhere else she'd rather be, Phoebe thinks to herself as she nods her answer. Her bed-now-nest has always been the most comfortable place for her to toss and turn around her heat out every time it arrives—it'll be able to accommodate Zani too; she's always had too much space in her bed, even though it's always filled to the brim with pillows and plushies to ease her mind. They can always set them aside later on; it's more important for Zani to sleep on a soft mattress, she thinks. She can't let her guest sleep on the sofa when she's selflessly come along to help her like this.

The thoughts on their sleeping arrangements are shooed away when Zani kneels down, just for one second. One arm goes under Phoebe's legs, the other goes around her torso, and Phoebe's feet leaves the grounds just mere moments after. Zani hoists her up so effortlessly, she carries her as if she's air.

The sudden gesture has Phoebe surprised and she yelps—if Zani hadn't held onto her with such a good grip; she thinks she would've accidentally fumbled herself out of her grasp and landed face flat onto the floor.

"Don't worry." Zani says, reassuring. She shifts her arms around, fixing Phoebe into a position that lets her inhale the scent from her patch more easily, "I'll take care of you."

It's not like Phoebe's worried about her capabilities, really. She knows Zani will be good to her, there's nothing she could do to make her petrified of what's to come. She's more worried that she herself won't be able to match up to her expectations, if anything—there's a reason why she's never let anyone in like this before, familiarity and self-adherence issues aside; she doesn't want to burden anyone with her heat, it would be selfish of her to do so.

Even though Zani knows what she's getting into, even though Phoebe knows that fact too… there's a part of her that's still wary of being such a weight on her shoulders, restless underneath the surface.

Phoebe sighs, nuzzling into her neck, before pulling away to look her in the eyes.

"I know you will."

She inches her mouth closer to hers so they can kiss properly this time, trying to rid those thoughts away, and she can't help but think instead about how soft Zani's lips feels against hers. A perfect fit, she muses as Zani walks them into her room—like this is how it's always meant to be.

("…It's probably my heat."

"Oh." Zani blurts, suddenly looking away, "I see."

It isn't like it's taboo to be discussing her cycles like this out in the open. Ragunna may be strict with certain beliefs, of Imperator above and Their messengers that are the Divine Envoys, and there may be some parts of its ugly history that's all hush-hush to the point that uttering even a single word in its regards would result in social exile—but heat and rut cycles were not one of them.

It's a feature of their bodies, after all. As trying and as painful as they were, as much as it needed the presence of another to quell… Imperator had given this to them. Certain things were conventional, like the fact that Acolytes normally go through them alone as a testament to their adherence to self-restraint and to allow them the experience of suffering to bring them even closer to the divinity, but that wasn't one coming from the scriptures of Imperator.

A rooted culture it may be, but it certainly isn't one of the musts that every Acolyte had to follow.

It didn't even matter if it was taboo—Zani has always been someone to follow her own beliefs just as Phoebe does with her closeness to Brenno and Livia and Beppe and everyone of the like, and Zani wasn't the type to look down on her just because of the vulnerability that comes with the implant of her secondary nature. If there's anyone Phoebe might have felt comfortable enough to talk about this with, it would be her—it is her, if anything.

Zani grazes the corner of her own eyebrow, sighing.

"And here I was," she mutters, regret laying thick in her normally collected tone, "thinking I could finally cash in on that offer of yours."

Phoebe blinks, perplexed.

"Which one?"

"The one where you offered to teach me how to fish over at Riccioli without using anything of me as bait," Zani answers for the specifics, and then gives for an emphasis, "Regarding my tail, especially."

"Ah, that one." She bites back the wince that almost comes out of her throat, remembering the time Zani had mindlessly told her how a Rainbow Crab rendered her immobile for nearly a whole hour after it pinched her tail, "Thought you said your schedule's too packed for that, no?"

"Was too packed." Zani corrects.

Phoebe raises an eyebrow, "Huh?"

"After all those delays on my paid vacation," Zani explains, and the crooked grin that dangles off her lips feels almost enough to wash away all the exhaustion on her tired face, "Lady Carlotta's finally giving me my one week holiday, effective next week."

"Oh?" Phoebe pauses, the weight of those rare words sinking into her, "…Oh!"

It takes a minute for Phoebe to register her answer, which probably says something about Zani's work schedule if the word holiday coming from her mouth was such a peculiar thing that it has Phoebe so surprised.

The Montellis ought to give her more breaks, for Imperator's sake.

"That's a good thing, no?" It is a good thing, it's even a great thing, if anything—she's done so much for them over the years, and yet she barely received the relaxation she rightfully earned. This was a late thing coming, but late is better than never, Phoebe begrudgingly supposes, "I mean, you've done a lot of work for them. You deserve that break! You deserve a lot of breaks, really!"

"Right." Zani chuckles in disbelief, "Right, I do. I almost couldn't believe it either. I could've finally gone fishing with you for once."

And they could've done a lot more than that, too. She has her own schedules from the Order—but life hasn't been so wild recently, though she supposes not much could be considered wild seeing how their last expedition together almost involved a stake on her life.

They could've… they could've gone to Riccioli, she could've lended Zani one of her stronger fishing hooks and guide her until she caught her first Til the Fin-ish up until she's well enough to reel in the Overlord Squid—but that plan will have to be on hold for now, she can't risk going into heat in the middle of the sea.

"It's sad that I probably won't be able to enjoy your presence during your holiday…" Phoebe remarks, lamenting over the scenarios she's built up in her head; she could give Zani her book on fish instead, maybe, just so she won't mistake any mutant for an omen, "I'd love to finally take you on a sightseeing week with me at Riccioli and show you around."

"Yeah, true." Zani says, her tail swishing from left to right in a languid manner, moping at the regrettable timing of their misfortune, "But hey, no one said you can't enjoy my presence during my holiday."

Beat.

"Oh, Zani," Phoebe covers her mouth as she's chuckling, trying to ignore the leap in her chest, "you're so funny."

There's no way she's implying what Phoebe thinks she's implying, is she? Zani may be nice—Zani is nice, but niceness wouldn't normally equal to such endeavors. Not when it involves something so personal, something so intimate—she must be jesting like they've done many times in the past, Phoebe's sure of it. Why else would she imply wanting to come into her bed?

"Are you proposing that you want to be the first person to ever tend to me during my heat?")

It's normal for her kind to be so unstable during their heats, Phoebe's been taught this to be true ever since they'd suspected her gentle disposition to be an early warning from Imperator above from a time when she hadn't presented yet.

Still, some part of her twitches in frustration when they enter her room, embarrassment holding her by the throat as she stares at the sight of the messed-up bed she'd hid inside for the past hour or two while waiting for her heat to kick in.

Her room looks like a shipwreck, now that she can look at the area more clearly. There are pillows scattered everywhere, even to the point of spilling onto the floor beneath them. Creases have begun to form at the ends of the blankets that make up her nest due to how much she'd been grasping them, not to mention how the sheets are barely hanging onto her mattress due to how much she's shifted round and about—and everything makes Phoebe curses herself inwardly.

She'd invited Zani in to tend to her during some of the lowest moments of her life, why couldn't she have at least tried to make herself look presentable before showing her the worst sides of herself?

"Sorry…"

An apology is due, Phoebe feels, for the disarray she's subjected Zani into.

"I—I know it's not my best…"

"Mmh?" Zani quirks an eyebrow up, not even bothering to look back as she kicks the door behind them to a close. "Isn't that normal, though? Specially since you're in heat?"

"It's…"

"My apartment's also in a mess quite often due to the paperwork I bring home. There's a reason why I don't like spontaneous meet-ups at my place whether it from work or my personal life." Zani interjects kindly. She's careful as she walks, taking the time to maneuver through the wreckage of pillows that make up the landscape of her floor, "You don't have to worry that much about being messy 'round me, Phoebe."

"Okay." Phoebe acquiesces, hiding into her neck, still wanting to look away from the mess, "If Zani says so…"

"I did, cherie." concurs Zani almost immediately, "You and I are more alike than you think—at least your mess is much cuter than mine is."

"Really?" She's never had anyone compliment her on such a thing, especially not by someone who's always so neat when it comes to everything—no one's ever seen her like this. No one's ever even seen the dismal condition she's in whenever her heat comes along; "You think it's cute?"

"Just like the Acolyte that made it," comes as Zani's agreement. She hums accordingly to reaffirm that statement, to strike another chord into her already weakened heart; "I think both her nest and herself are very cute. I like them both."

"Zani likes my nest…" There's a certain satisfaction that she's getting from hearing such praises coming out of her; she feels a subtle warmth blooming all over her chest, "Zani likes me…"

"And you like that, I presume?" Is the conclusion that Zani comes to, judging from the sudden fondness that laces Phoebe's tone sugary sweet, "You like being called cute? Do you like thinking about our similarities, Phoebe?"

"Mmh." Phoebe nods, giddy as she rests her head near Zani's neck; she can hear her heartbeat from where she's situated, feeling an erratic beat, beat, beat vibrating through the walls of Zani's chest, "It feels good, feels like Zani was made for me…"

It's sudden when Zani halts in her place. That same heart starts to turn erratic, paces of one-point-two beats per second turning into one-point-five. It's only then that the realization of her own words start to sink into Phoebe's mind—her own heartbeat ends up following Zani's pacing, too.

"S—sorry." Phoebe mutters when she comes to, ashamed at her own advances. Imperator, she ought to do a better job of filtering the words that come out of her mouth, "Sorry, I shouldn't be saying these things…"

But Zani's laughing, then. It doesn't sound like the sort of laugh she'd let out when she's uncomfortable, nor does it sound like a laugh she's forcing out just to evaporate an awkward tension—the laughter that rings in the air feels airy, warm; like the things she'd said just made her even more endearing in Zani's eyes.

"You're too adorable for your own good." Zani remarks playfully, "It's okay, Miss Acolyte, as long as it helps with your heat, I'm fine with it."

The edge of her bed welcomes them softly when Zani sits herself down. She doesn't let go of her, not even when there's an ample amount of space for Phoebe's to body to lay on.

Phoebe's perched on her lap when she realizes a presence near her stomach. A presence that isn't Zani's hands or the flimsy texture of the thinnest nightgown she knows she has. Coarse surface and warm to the touch, it takes her barely a second for her hand to latch onto Zani's tail. It melts inwardly, curling like an affectionate kitten into her palms.

"Can I see you under here?" Zani sounds almost breathless, it's peculiar considering they haven't done much at all—is this the effect Phoebe has on her? She can't tell if it's purely her doing, or if the air conditioner's isn't doing its job; then again, that may be just her own internal temperature. "Are you okay with me doing that?"

Her throat fails on her to produce a confirmation, unable to sound out a yes even though that's the only thing Phoebe's mind could even think about right now. Zani waits patiently for a response, tail pinching onto the lower hem of her nightgown. It's only when she sees Phoebe nodding slightly that it starts to move, bunched up until it reveals her panties underneath; soaked by the trail of slick that's starting to seep through the fabric of her underwear.

"Fuck, Phoebe." It's embarrassing to be seen like this, and Zani's stare is so pointed already, clear in its direction; she's not even trying to hide that she's staring at her mess, "You're so wet already…"

"Because I like you." Phoebe says, looking away. "You feel nice to be around, c—can't help it…"

"The things you say…" Zani pauses, and Phoebe thinks she can hear her mutter a nearly inaudible cazzo under her breath, "Acolyte, are you hearing yourself?"

Phoebe's about to say that she can, really; Omegas may be prone to much changes in their bodily functions during their heat, but she could still hear herself perfectly fine. She could hear Zani perfectly fine as well, and she could especiallyhear that erratic beat, beat, beat coming from her heart picking up the pace despite the fact that she's no longer directly resting her head against her chest.

But Phoebe doesn't, she can't; not when she loses the chance before even being given out. Zani's lips fall onto hers once more—more quicker than their previous kisses, a peck more than a kiss, if anything, and all the attempts of a response evaporate just as quickly as their kiss ends.

…What was it about her being able to hear perfectly, again?

Still, her ears do not fail her. "Tell me, Phoebe." She hears Zani saying, barely, amidst the white noise bubbling inside her head, "What do you want me to do?"

But Phoebe doesn't exactly do what she asks of her this time. Instead, she lifts her hand up, gesturing with a slight nod of her head to take the outfit entirely off her body, to which Zani's tail does quickly with such a speed that Phoebe doesn't immediately register that her nightgown now finds itself splayed onto the floor; a glaring dash of sky blue against the wooden tiles of her abode's interior.

"I'll get it to the laundry later, when we're having a break," Zani quickly remarks, perhaps feeling bad about tossing away her clothes so carelessly. Then, she repeats her question, "What do you want me to do?"

It's difficult to express her wants immediately, Phoebe feels, so she takes Zani's hand in her own—they're nearly twice as big as hers, goodness, she has to wonder if they're really going to fit inside of her—and letting it hover above her chest, and she blushes fervently as she tries to gather the words stuck in the back of her throat.

Phoebe manages, still, despite the feeling of embarrassment that comes with the fact that she's stripped herself so bare in the presence of another human being, "Touch me?" Her voice has gone quiet, she'd be nearly unhearable if it weren't for the fact that there's no other noise to begin with, "H-here first, please?"

She knows she can be awfully good with her hands; those bony, slender fingers that would flex out and about whenever she cracks her knuckles during their time together. Hear that, Miss Acolyte? she'd asked once, picturesque grin a dark contrast against the bags that sag under her eyes, one finger pressed against its counterpart on her opposite hand, That too, is the proof of my hard work, another badge of honor for my dedication.

Phoebe heard it, she did—she saw them too, just how long they could be, just how nice they'd looked even under artisanal charcoal gloves. She'd thought about them too, sometimes—in the lonely pews of the Cathedral, when there was no one else but her own self and the statue of her God; she'd clasped her hands together as she waited for the sermon to start since she's quite oft an early bird, on occasion she'd even imagined how it would feel to have Zani's hands on hers.

[They just seemed so strong, didn't they? She could be a hand model, she'd surely make a good profit on that regard with how nice they looked. Imperator blessed each of them with their own unique quirks that gave them their personal strengths. Zani was given her fingers so she could have a good grip on her shield, surely, she was given them so she could hold the hand of her beloved taut; Phoebe would know that because she's felt them too, once. So warm and so strong and so flexible from all her years of spinning her pen whenever she finds herself bored in the confinement of her cubical; so surely she must be good with her hands too.]

The pointer finger is the first to move, closing the slight gap between Zani's hand and her chest—there's no warning when she starts rubbing circular motions on her right nipple; it has Phoebe mewling out of surprise.

[…That hypothesis is starting to lean to be true, at the very least.]

Phoebe can hear a hint of smugness in her voice; she can see the shadow of a grin crooking the corners of Zani's lips up, "What are you thinking about, Phoebe?" she asks, giving her a slight squeeze, nearly chuckling when the movement has Phoebe jerking into her warmth, "Are you thinking about someone else, Miss Acolyte? You seem rather distracted."

"No," but that's not enough to keep Zani from toying with her, touching her just like she's asked her to; touching her as if she knows what to do to unwind her down to her core. Zani doesn't keep her movements at a constant rhythm; she drags her fingers up slowly one second, speeds it up the next, then starts circling without any care for the euphoria it induces through her body—nothing about it is predictable, but everything about it feels so nice that it has tears starting to well her eyes already, causing Phoebe to stammer when she says, "No one, n—no one—"

It pleases Zani to see her like this, she thinks. A chuckle falls light on Phoebe's heating ears, she can Zani asking her once again: "No one but me?"

"Yes," no one, absolutely none—she feels like Zani would be laughing even more if she knew she'd been imagining the relentless hands teasing her oversensitive chest, "N—no one else, yes."

She can smell herself despite her embarrassment; she's even able to pick out the the notes of her flowery scent laid unberably thick in the air, aggravated by her touches. Zani switches between her breasts, giving both equal amounts of attention; she's mindful in her actions, fair as both of her nipples sting equally from her rubbing, ruby blossoms sprouting on the valley of her chest. She feels so hot from Zani's touching—her own hands can't possibly compare to this.

"Is this good enough?" Zani's voice breaks through her reverie, but not once does she stop her moving, "Too much pressure, cherie?"

Her arms wrap around Zani's neck to keep her close—she feels nicer to hold compared to her flimsy bedsheets; " "G—good, oh—" she can't even keep her words straight; goodness, she's already so ruined even though they've barely started. "Just like that…!"

"What else do you want?" Her voice is lower than usual, rougher in its edges as she's intent on touching her more. Phoebe thinks she can hear something that feels like pride in her voice—it almost sounds like Zani's suppressing a moan when she does a particularly damning flick that has Phoebe letting a sordid whine out through her throat, "Does the little Miss Acolyte want me to do anything else?"

"Use your mouth," Phoebe responds, trembling all over, a needy part of her desiring more than just her calloused fingers even though they're more than adequate enough already; but Zani will give to her what she wants, she'll give her this too if she asks, "please."

"Such a polite girl." and she chuckles at the next whine that's ripped out of her throat at the praise, "Alright, I get it. Say no more."

But Zani doesn't replace her fingers with her mouth instantly. She leans down first, stopping just above her right breast, her breath hot on her skin—Zani is not the type to waver, she's someone steadfast in her movements, whether in combat or not; but for the first time in her life, Phoebe thinks idly, she's seeing her hesitate. Her neck is stiff, and from this angle above her she can see a vein tighten near its juncture. It feels almost weird to see someone so reliable such as Zani flicker in her place like this… but it's also somewhat adorable, somehow.

But all thoughts of her endearment dissipate the moment Zani starts to move, her tongue flicking out to test the waters. It takes Phoebe by surprise, back arching at her sudden movement, unable to suppress the cracked yelp that escapes her mouth—and that's a reaction that Zani surely wants out of her, considering how her tongue peeks out again almost immediately right after.

Again, again—and again.

Her tongue is persistent, relentless as they continuously tease and probe at her nipple, and her hands don't stay idle either, constantly rubbing and tweaking the other nub in between her pointer finger and her thumb; Phoebe keeps on moaning her name like a prayer, "Zani—!" falling out of her lips every other second, each consecutive call sounding even sweeter than the last.

And it's good to be touched like this, it's good to have someone understand her body well enough despite only having known it for just a few minutes. Her eyes are reeling from sensitivity, the pleasure feels so nice that it's abnormal—she couldn't have done this by her lonesome, Zani hasn't even gotten to knot her yet but she feels like she might seize up from all the ecstasy soon. At some point, in an attempt to allow her scrambling hands to reach for something to hold on, they find themselves on Zani's horns; the suddenness of her grip has Zani choking a growl, and her tail snaps around her thigh in reflex from her touch.

The same thigh that houses the mark that loudly proclaims her to be a resonator among her peers; the very same mark that has her keening in shivering delight while she continues to hold onto her horns for purchase.

"Zani," She's getting overstimulated, she can't handle it all, it's already so difficult to stop herself from getting so worked up from the attention she's getting on her chest, but Zani's tail doesn't stop flopping against her thighs and everything stings so good; she can feel ecstasy riddling up her spine, "M—my tacet mark, Zani—!"

But they're both too far gone, Phoebe thinks. She can't keep still any longer, her hips cant from needy desperation against Zani's lap even despite the fact that she's holding onto her so tightly with the free hand that isn't busy with her chest. She can feel herself getting wetter by the second, muscles aching in entropic spasms while Zani continues to layer pleasure upon pleasure using her tongue and tail and fingers in tandem.

"Zani," Phoebe feels like the world's spinning, she's getting dizzier by the second. It's just that everything feels so good, Imperator, she feels so good, "W—wait, Zani—!"

Her throat seizes up without warning, and a particularly loud scream cuts through her sentence. There's a wave of light that flashes over her eyes in an instant; white noise settling into the canals of her ear as she falls limp against Zani's body like a straw doll.

When Phoebe comes to, the first thing that registers into her head is the intense shaking of her legs, still instinctively grinding onto Zani's lap, now stained with something unbearably stringy and thick and smells entirely just like her. Her vanilla, her freesias and her peonies; everything that about her that could possibly signal every Alpha and Omega of her existence in an open room—all just like her.

She can hear Zani gasp beside her, both of her calloused hands now supporting her gently by the waist—trying to ground her down from her sudden climax.

"Phoebe," Zani's voice is ladden with disbelief, rasping as she looks down at the space between her thighs, "fuck, Phoebe." One of her hands reach over, poking at the liquid like she still can't believe her eyes, "Did you just…?"

Did you just come? She doesn't finish. Still, Phoebe understands, hiding her face away in embarrassment.

But she can't hide from long, not when Zani's hand captures her cheek once more. Her touch is still soft, she holds her so gently as she tilts her head to her direction. Zani can see her entire face, now: the soft-scarlet blush, the pool of emotions spiralling in her multicolor eyes—all of it has Zani chuckling in endearment, and she pinches her cheek in delight.

"You really are too cute for your own good."

It’s unfair how such a word is capable of making her feel so weak. Phoebe’s heard her say this already—shouldn’t she be desensitized by now?

She isn't, and that's the problem. That word is not a word she finds herself unfamiliar with. The orphaned daughters she'd prance around with every Saturday from nine to five would always tell her that they want to retain a cuteness that's just like hers as they grow along with their heights. Her sisters often called her cute as a child; they still do, too. It's a normal thing to be said. Phoebe herself knows that she is cute, she knows her appearance is bound to attract some eyes here and there.

Still, it doesn't erase the fact that her head still reels in delirium from the compliment. She's feverish and maybe it's the belated aftereffect of a climax done right, but she's still blissfully dizzy from Zani's touch.

"Z—Zani—" Her name is fragmented as it leaves her mouth. They barely want to open, her saliva stretches thin over her lips. It's difficult to say much, she can barely even utter another word. The only thing that leaves her name is her mouth, it's as if she's lost every other word in her dictions, "Zani…"

"What else do you want me to do, dolcezza?" Zani continues for her instead, "Let me know, won't you? Anything else you want me to do to prep you for my knot?"

With every of drop of flickering confidence she has left in her sweltering head, Phoebe finds her hand, grabs it and inches her fingers closer to her body. Bashful, timid; she lowers it down her torso, leaping over her chest and her navel, down to the space between her wettened thighs. It doesn't take much to decipher what she's asking—even before her hand even reaches her ruined underwear, Zani's already staring at the space between her legs once more.

The plea comes out muted, shy. Phoebe didn't even know she was capable of making such a voice. Another word finally comes out, the same word she's been saying rather plenty every single time she makes a request:

"Please?"

Zani's answer comes out low too. Her voice is nearly hushed, their foreheads meet halfway when she says, "You don't have to ask twice. Relax, 'mega, leave it all to me."

But she doesn't even have the chance to ask her again, not when Zani's lips captures hers once more. It's not like she wants to, either. Zani understands her well, despite the limited time they've had together in an intimate situation like this.

She holds her close as they fall deeper into her nest, and everything around them fizzes into white noise.

(It's confusing, at first, to see the lightest of red hues dusting onto Zani's face.

"I meant that;" She tries to straighten out, fiddling slightly with her tie that didn't even need adjustments under her chin, "I could've brought you food and medicine and the kind."

Phoebe blinks, mimicking that same pink tint onto her own face.

"Oh."

She doesn't even have to meet her gaze to realize it; the fact that Zani's staring at her so intently after she'd spoken those cursed words—of her mouth having innocuously slipped an invitation of a lifetime to see her so vulnerable and bare as the day she'd been born.

Imperator above, save Phoebe now, please.

"Aha, silly me! What am I saying!" The words rush out of her so quickly that Phoebe nearly chokes in the process, babbling on and on. She thinks that if she pivots the topic away quickly enough, surely Imperator will take mercy on her soul and they'll simply move on to another mundane topic for a discussion, surely, "Maybe if my heat comes in late we could go for a one-day trip and I could show you the ropes so you won't have to injure your tail again—Sentinel forbid—even if there wouldn't really be a reason for it to suddenly skip a few days like that…"

Alas.

There's a frown on Zani's glossy lips, pursed tight into a thin line as she calls for her, a worrisome tone etched within the two syllables of her name.

"Phoebe."

Whatever force that had compelled Phoebe to look at anything and anywhere and everywhere else but those eyes of hers falls short the moment Zani's voice rang into her ears.

"Excuse my bluntness." Zani says, unsure if she should say it and it's a sign that she shouldn't, Phoebe thinks. She really shouldn't, lest she opens a door to a path that Phoebe's never taken before, one that she might find herself taking if it's her who's asking. If it's Zani who's willing to hold her through it all and the thought of it scares her that she might.

She shouldn't, she shouldn't, she shouldn't—

"You said that I'd be the first ever person to come tend to you during your heat." Zani repeats, verbatim, nailing the words down to the sequence it's said in, "Does the Order not assign a suitable intimacy partner to help their Acolytes through their heat?"

Well fu—

—Flapjacks.

Flapjacks, right. Sentinel forgive her indecency, she shouldn't have cursed using the same tongue she uses to worship her God if she could help it.

"Zani, you don't have to offer yourself!" Phoebe nearly exclaims—goodness, she's louder than she wants to be. Maybe that's the adrenaline, for all she knows. She lowers her volume by force, the next words slipping by with more composure, much more befitting for a totally calm, totally unsurprised Acolyte: "That was just a slip of the tongue, please look past my indecency."

Zani raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not offering myself like that, though?"

Right, she didn't actually offer herself in that way—that's all just Phoebe assuming, running her mouth from being taken by surprise at her inquiry.

…Dear Imperator, just take Phoebe away from this mortal plane already, won't you?

Zani chooses to look past her consecutive mishap, though, genuinely wanting to know more with her next words. "Just to sate this heretic's curiosity." She says, hiding the shadow of a chuckle that barely peeks through the amusement ringing through her tone, "Please do share your knowledge, Miss Acolyte."

Phoebe sighs.

Well, it's not like it'll hurt anyone…

"They don't."

The words slip out of her with a slight tick—almost pitchy but still controlled, luckily enough. She can easily pass it off as a slight itch in her throat if Zani chooses to ask her about it, even though her head's reeling in delirium with the possibilities scouring through her head of where this is heading.

But Phoebe continues with the explanation, somehow: "The Order of the Deep values the sanctity of the body." She says, fiddling with her thumbs, trying her damndest to untangle the bundle of nerves beginning to coagulate under her skin, "But they don't forbid the practice. I—I mean, Acolytes tend to go through them alone, and there are controversial discussions about it. But unless there's an extraordinary case to be made, the elders won't go out of their way to forbid an Acolyte from…"

Her unease slips past the cracks all too easily when it comes to it, to the last words that holds the implications of one of her own having their heat cycle being quelled by an outsider they wouldn't exactly know about—of some unknown stranger tending to another person cut from the same cloth as her, of someone else potentially tending to her.

Zani coaxes her to finish, still. She knows, almost, but just to make sure, "From…?"

Phoebe swats her hand out lackadaisically, "You know."

The weak gesture is enough to get the message across. Zani—Imperator bless her heart—is kind enough to save her from saying the words, to take it upon herself the burden of uttering them for her.

"So you've never—" She pauses just in between, perhaps as unsure as Phoebe is, but not unsure enough to let the conversation slip from her hands, "—you've never let anyone been with you during your heat?"

The answer is nearly inaudible when it leaves Phoebe's lips.

"…Yes."

"But you could, if you wanted." Zani presses her on softly, trying to affirm what she thinks she understands. "You could invite someone?"

Phoebe doesn't even know if she's capable of nodding, opting to reply instead.

"I could." She says, almost as inaudible as the last, "But…"

"…But?"

"But I've never…"

Phoebe takes another breath, welcoming another fistful of air straight into her lungs.

There's so many things she could say, so many options for words, so many sentences to be uttered, but not a single action can come out. She feels some peculiar force holding her back; say nothing that points to proximity with another man or woman alive, it orders, this thought that she shouldn't say anything that could poison the well that is Zani's head with the image of her with someone else—because isn't that just an uncomfortable thing to visualize?

"I mean," But she tries to continue, somehow, even if the those words refuse to leave her mouth. There's other ways, after all; "It hurts not having someone, and Alphas can get even worse than Omegas when triggered into a rut, so I've never been…" touched, never been cared for, never been held even when I—when my body desperately needs it but I try to tell myself that I shouldn't, not when I'm not used to someone else trying to— "…It's scary to let someone I'm not familiar with when I become so…"

Moody, emotional, trapped with a mind that won't stop chattering despite the amount of medication she takes—someone that doesn't seem like Phoebe Marino, someone who'll have to depend on her like how everyone always has…

And who is she to subject a burden onto Zani's shoulder like that?

Her hand flails around once again, just to fill in the blanks in between, untouched but still knowable when it's something that all the Ragunessi are aware of as a byproduct of living in a society where these dynamics are the foundations of the norm. Zani should get it by now, Phoebe feels. She knows so many things that Phoebe doesn't and isn't this just another thing they teach in life, just another lesson learned simply from living, all beyond the confining warmth of the Order's arms?

And Phoebe's right with her assumptions as "I see." comes out of Zani's mouth, understanding as ever as she nods her off.

Zani's jaw tightens as she continues on to scratch her neck, tail nervously jittering behind her when she stops her explanation, saying, "You don't have to continue, Phoebe. I get it."

She knows what Phoebe will have to say next, doesn't want to burden her with having to spell it out for her: to let someone she doesn't know into her nest, let someone she doesn't know strip her bare, someone she doesn't know have their hands all over her body, teeth where they shouldn't be at, have their length buried deep inside of her, trying to knot her and give her the momentary satisfaction from an orgasm that'll hit her so well when it's caused by someone else, and not from her clumsy hands that's barely amicable with the concept of pleasuring herself when she's used to restricting herself from doing exactly just that.

[But…

...It's not like there anyone like that: anyone who she thinks she'll ever feel comfortable enough to not be herself around.

Anyone but the one in front of her, anyone but her inversion, her antithesis. Anyone but what her acquaintances have often said is her polar opposite in the side of religion, someone who in theory shouldn't get along with her but still does, somehow, in such a way that makes her feel like she's been zapped by thunder all over, goosebumps over her skin when she thinks of her smiling fondly at her. There isn't anyone but Zani, anyone but her, anyone but Zani who isn't actually hers—]

"Phoebe."

She snaps up once more, at the mere mention of her name.

"You don't have to accept, of course," Zani says, hanging an offer into the air, "But—"

It's here, Phoebe thinks, where Zani's supposed to give her condolences. Extend an genuine apology for a system that she has no control over, before offering her the aforementioned kindness of bringing her some food and medicines and the kind for the week. Zani could give her a gesture of goodwill that would allow her to measure up to her weightless joke of letting Phoebe bask in her presence, while still uncompromising the holiday she desired so much.

It's the only logical decision here, see, and Zani's always made logical decisions because that's just how she is. She's a woman of utmost composure, an expert in the trade of rationale. There's a reason why she's built a reputation for her sharpened skills a la Montelli fame.

Why would a beta like Zani—haunted by hours of overtime, sought after for her prowess and her skills and the everything that she is, someone who can't possibly tend to an omega as well as an alpha could possibly can—ever, ever want to spend up the entirety of her well-deserved holiday having to take care of a mess of an omega that is a heat-addled Phoebe Marino?

That would only happen in Phoebe's dreams, surely, and this isn't…

"…Would you like me to accompany you through your heat, Phoebe?")

"You look rather lovely from up here, Miss Acolyte." Zani hums thoughtfully, rubbing circles into her thighs.

Phoebe whines at the comment before spreading herself wider. If the embarrassment hadn't already settled in sooner; it would have certainly sunk in by now, "Stop talking…"

It's just as she says: Zani sees everything from up there, sat right between her thighs. It's an amicable position, Phoebe finds that her legs rest easy as they're slung over Zani's own while she's lying down under her gaze, and the pillow slotted below her head is comfy while it supports her entirety.

She must be enjoying this, Phoebe thinks to herself. Both the conductor playing and tuning her most beloved arrangement as she pleases while simultaneously being the audience in the front row to the show of a lifetime—Zani must be having the time of her life, enjoying a first-class seat to her slow undoing.

Her stare is piercing, there isn't a single slight of movement that escapes her eyes. They stay in the same spot for too long, like a horrible leg-shaking habit. They keep moving all over the place without any signs of stopping; her torso at one moment, then her neck the next, sometimes she'll even look at the strap she's already put on, too—so we can get right to it, Phoebe, she'd said after tossing away her sodden leggings before attaching the harness on herself—nevermind the fact that she's even started stealing glances at her cunt, all wet and dripping because of her. Zani likes to see that too, how her hands are moving down under, stroking at her entrance as it coats her fingers slick white.

Her fingers never stay idle in one spot for too long either. They rub on her entrance, already embarrassingly wet from her previous release and then there's a push with intent, Phoebe bucks into her touch with such an urgency that it sinks into her almost instantly. The gasps start slow; individual pantings sliding over one another without one interrupting another. Zani tests her further and rubs a slow finger over her clit, haunting her with phantom sparks of ecstasy prickling into her spine.

It doesn't matter how much she tries. There's a disconnect present between whines, harmony lacking in its beats as they fall upon one another, mixing into one discordant string of noises—it's difficult to suppress her moans, it doesn't seem like Zani wants to give her even the slightest bit of leniency.

"The sounds you're making are adorable." Zani mutters to dig the point even further, "Do you like it when I touch you like this?"

"D—do you really need an answer?" She just always has to tease whenever Phoebe's too shy to voice her feelings; her capillaries start to widen from a vivid blush, "Or are you just trying to rile me up?"

"Those things don't have to be mutually exclusive," She answers methodically, and the smile crosses the border of a smirk when she says, "Tell me, cherie. Do I not have the right to receive my flowers as well?"

It's not that she doesn't. It's far from it, even—if Zani could smell her, if Zani could identify her raging scent in the air, she would know that she's unfurling under her touch. The smell of her freesias are no longer docile, the fragrance of her peonies run rampant in the air. She's blooming from under the merciful grasp of her lengthy fingers, she can't stop herself from gasping every time Zani hits a spot that has her keening in mind-breaking delight—her body might as well be an instrument that Zani's become a master of; it's absurd how she's only touched her for a few moments but she understands her so well already.

"Zani is so good—" Her hand twists the bedsheets beneath them, she needs to vent her pleasures somewhere; there's too much of it for her to stay still, "I'm so lucky to have Zani with me."

"And you're such a good girl." Zani's fingers curl in within her to steal another whine, "Is it comfortable enough, Phoebe? Think you can take me yet?"

And she's comfortable, more than comfortable with how nicely Zani's taken care of her thus far. It's probably why a distant thought suddenly takes shape in her head, something that laid dormant in her mind; something that's been circulating around since the moment she'd accepted her companionship for the entire week.

There's an urge lying inside of her, biting at her heatdazed mind to pleasure Zani too—she's sacrificed her vacation just to take care of her, she's gone far and beyond just to make sure she won't be as lonely as she used to be. It's the least she could offer back; a small window of time where Zani could lie back instead.

So.

First comes the answer, "I can," and it should've stopped there, Phoebe could've just stayed in place; but the same hand that had once twisted the bedsheets is now pushing against them, giving her enough momentum to prop herself to sit up. Her mouth parts open once more, "But could I also ride you instead?"

The glimmer of surprise that flickers through Zani's face does not go unnoticed. Her eyelashes flutter belatedly at the request, and there's a moment where her mouth opens for a second despite nothing coming out of the act. Bright red clouds the surface of Zani's face—it's as if Phoebe's dyed her with her own trademark blush, too.

Zani pulls her fingers out with a drag so unintentionally slow that she has to wonder if it's her attempt at a distraction. It wouldn't be the first time; it probably wouldn't be the last.

Still, "I want to ride you," she mutters again, more steadfast this time, wanting to make sure that she's heard her request and isn't just trying to tease her. She adds the magic word, the one thing that's always succeeded in letting her get what she wants: "Please?"

Zani blinks, this time.

"As you wish, cherie."

There's barely a pause when Zani's anchored back into reality, her bottom lip twitches like she wants to say something once more; but she yields without saying anything else, reversing their positions to accommodate her request. It's Zani now whose subjected to Phoebe's merciful whims. It's her now who's propped up against the pillows, settling into a half-sitting position as Phoebe straddles her on the bed.

And it's a good thing that Zani's taken the precautions, she supposes. The harness is still wrapped taut around her waist, having taken a backseat while Zani had been between her legs. There's a visible mark where the knot is located at the base of the toy, and Phoebe has to wonder if it can fit inside of her—her hand moves faster than her mind can think, it trails down the sculpted ridges and its make-believe veins. For a moment, Phoebe swears she could almost see it shudder underneath her curious gaze.

Phoebe's mind wanders for a second, wondering if Zani would be like this too, if she'd been born an Alpha; a moot point, considering that it's a scenario with a probability of none.

Still, she can afford to give Zani a show too. Phoebe has to please her this time, just once, at least—it's the least she could do to repay her for everything she's done. Her vacation should've been spent away under the sun, in the midst of sandy beaches and enjoyed with a platter of delicacies to wash the away the chemicals of energy drinks that have long plagued her gut.

A ragged breath escapes Phoebe's throat. She's shaking when she inches her cunt closer to Zani's make-believe cock, and her slick sticks onto the silicone finish of the toy almost too greedily. The shine on its surface is a temptation, a vein catches on the sensitive bundles of her clit at her rubbing. If it wasn't for Zani's hands steadying her, Phoebe fears she might've doubled over in an instant.

"Let me know if it gets too much." Between reassurances, Zani etches circles into her flushed skin, "Just because I'm off-duty, doesn't mean I still don't have any strength left inside me."

"R—right…" Phoebe steals a glance at her arms. She can't stop herself from gulping, she can still see the toned lines that map out her muscles even from where she's positioned, "You're so strong, after all."

The trail of her slick doesn't stop even when Phoebe lifts herself up. It squelches and drips and drenches the tip like the stream of a waterfall. Overflow, she's slippery to an awkward fault while her entrance aligns with the ridges of the toy's bellend, angled to where her aching walls need Zani most.

"I can do it," She mumbles to herself for reassurance. Her hips slowly rock forward to take more of Zani in, a repressed whimper sublimates into the air when the head of her cock fully breaches her entrance, "I c—can—"

The whines lapsing through her mouth overwhelms her enough to interrupt her own sentences. She pushes herself further onto the toy, breaths shattering under the impact of being opened by a fullness that stretches her so bare in front of someone who'd only ever seen her under the fleeting warmth of virtue.

And it's always her name that continuously leaves Phoebe's mouth, among belated breaths. It's Zani's name that she mutters when she takes another inch, it's her name that she whispers as she blinks away a tear—there's no other word that she wants to say, no other name that she wishes to speak. When Zani brushes a thumb over her clit, beckoning her to continue, not even the pleasure that breaks her composure even further can replace the noises that she makes.

Beneath her, she can hear the rough edges of Zani's grunt spilled sideways while she's spread open as she can be. Zani's eyes still haven't left her, it still moves all over her body like she doesn't know where to look; like she wants to look at everything at once.

But Phoebe's legs are starting to ache, and she's getting dizzy from her attempt of a show. The whole word is spinning; her vision's an unclear mess that's only dotted by traces of creamy skin and silver hair. She barely registers it, the moment when the strap is fully nestled within her walls. Everything flashes by like a crystalline blur, she's still so wet that she's started to drip over her mattress, her insides feel like they're burning as they hold tight onto the ridges of the toy.

There's an attempt to rid herself of the fog building up in her eyes. She blinks once. Twice. Three times, even, and it's only then that her vision refocuses. No longer lying down, she finds Zani sitting up now, too, and the lack of distance between their warm bodies is unbelievably apparent.

They're so close to each other—Zani's so close to her that she can listen to her breathe; she's so close that she can hear her heart beat.

"You sure you're fine?" Her voice rings out in front of her as she's struggling, "Not that I'm saying you don't look fine, but…"

"I am..!" Her voice comes out a little more high-pitched than she'd like it to be. Nevertheless, her legs continues to move like a piston; she's already lifting herself up once more, "Really, you can sit back and watch."

It's fine. This entire ordeal is fine, and it's because she feels fine that she picks up the pace in her riding. It doesn't matter that her legs keep slipping every time Zani fills her up completely, it doesn't matter that the tempo of her movements is a dissonant frenzy—what matters is that she has to be the one to do this; she has to try and please her for once.

"Phoebe," The soft press of Zani's fingers against her clit stops, and they move to grip her wrists, "Phoebe, hey."

"It's okay." Phoebe mutters, her voice beginning to slip into a breaking point; roughly transmuting into uneven strains, "I'm okay, r—really—"

She's okay just as she is fine, too. Nevermind the fact that her limbs are failing on her one by one, her left leg first and then her right and now she's unable to pull herself up once more—she'd almost fallen a few times when she greeted Zani by her door, but didn't her strength come back eventually? She just has to stay close to her, she just has to inhale her scent in again.

"Phoebe," Zani's voice rings again, suddenly, and her grip starts to tighten, "Wait."

"I can do it." Her arms circle around Zani's neck for purchase, but she's not even sure who she's trying to reassuring anymore, "I c—can…"

She catches a whiff of Zani's scent, here, but nothing comes to mind. She doesn't feel replenished at all—if anything, she can only smell herself in the air. Once blooming; her own scent is a frantic, jumbled, riffraff of a mess—it's chaotic now, an unpleasant aroma that makes her eyes well with tears.

So maybe that won't work, considering her heat's gone long past her incubation period and landed itself onto one of its excruciating phases. She's never been this stressed before and the sensation is alarmingly new, she needs to find something else.

But that doesn't matter, either; she can still grind into her lap, this is still something she could do. Zani won't have to work her into another climax as long as her waist can still bend at her urging, she won't have to move another muscle, she won't have to do a single thing. This is something that can be salvaged, Phoebe just has to—

"Omega, are you even listening to me?"

Phoebe's entire body freezes in an instant, movements coming to a halt at her sudden urging.

"I said stop." Zani says, an emphasis on the last word, and the insistence in her voice tastes like snake venom. She repeats it, too. "Stop moving, right now."

It's the closest thing Zani's come to a violent outburst, she's never raised her voice at her like this; this Zani was usually reserved for rowdy crowds and roughneck scoundrels. This isn't a version of her that comes out so easily; this isn't a version of her that Phoebe typically gets to see.

But there's a reason for this now, for her sudden upturning—it doesn't matter how Phoebe twists the facts around; had her body been able to do the things she wanted it to do, they wouldn't be in this situation at all.

The thought that she'd angered her twists her guts blue with guilt; her eyes start to well with tears.

"Hey," The roughened ebb in Zani's voice dies down almost too quickly at the sight of her bawling. Her movements turn frantic, she reaches to cup Phoebe's face in her palms, "Wait, don't cry. I didn't mean to—"

Phoebe flinches at her attempt at placation, an instinctual movement. There's a part of her that doesn't want Zani to see her like this; ruined and shattered, a remnant of her usual self. Her own hands move up to cover her face, too; unwanting to let Zani see her like this.

""S—sorry, sorry," She doesn't know what she's apologizing for, if this is for her crying, or her unwarranted rejection, or both, "I'm sorry, Miss Zani, 'm sorry."

Her tears prick into her eyes and it stings, it stings so bad and it doubles into the soreness that's already palpitating through her limbs. Still, she can't find it in herself to cease her pathetic crying, no matter how badly she wants for it to stop. Still, they keep flowing out of her eyes; the ache persists.

"Phoebe." Zani calls for her again, and the gruffness has fully dissipated into the same tenderness that normally coated her tone once more, "Phoebe."

Still, Phoebe won't budge. Still, Phoebe doesn't want her to see—she shakes her head from left to right, digging into her own palms. Her body keeps shivering with guilt and the fact that she's in heat is making it worse. The emotional weight on her mind is taking its toll; it gets more disagreeable by the second, her crying only picking up in its pace.

It's quiet between them for a moment, as quiet as it can be when taking her pitiful sobs into consideration. A part of her thinks that it's over, now; she's ruined their pace that they've so carefully brought up. Zani had done so well in setting the mood; she'd relinquished so many parts of herself just to make her feel safe—kissed her plenty everywhere, held her softly in her arms, pleasured her so nicely that Phoebe doesn't even know if she can return to relieving her symptoms without her ever again—but she'd ruined the building blocks so easily; it only feels right for her to walk away.

Zani doesn't, though, she barely even shifts in place. She chooses not to run, not to escape despite the fact that she can.

"Phoebe," She calls her for the nth time, soft.

But she doesn't stop there. Zani reaches out to her, again, and her lips press softly against her forehead curtained by sweat-dampened bangs, then at the intersection at where her ring fingers meet as they cover her face, before she ends it between the touching pinkies. She kisses her so softly despite everything, she kisses her so softly that it almost feels like love—Phoebe feels her hands weakening at every touch.

Zani's voice is still gentle, still soft when she says it:

"Look at me."

(…This isn't Phoebe's dream.

This isn't a fictional realm, she's not up around cloud nine. She's somewhere outside the Order's gaze, somewhere far from the Montellis' reach, somewhere that isn't her bed and that means that she's not asleep. If she's not asleep, she's wide awake, so…

…Surely, Zani won't push into her hands the invitation of a partner for her heat. Surely, what Zani will ask of her now is if she'll want that offer of food and medication delivered to her doorstep every other day. Surely, that's what she's going to ask now. Surely—

Wait a second.

"Pardon me, Zani."

What in Imperator's name—

"…Could you repeat what you just said?"

Goodness. Someone ought to tell her that pre-heat fatigue hits much harder now than what they used to be.

Well, the Carnevale incident is still fresh in their minds despite it happening a few months prior by now, and she did also probably inhale a couple hundred breaths of mineral-filled air in the depths of the vault, which probably also worsened her symptoms, and even though it's been months since then—it has to be why auditory hallucinations are happening to now, isn't it?

Surely, Zani didn't just offer herself on a silver platter like that. Not when a holiday is just upon her grasp, not when she could do a whole lot more by herself for fun than tending to some scrawny, teetering, Order-fashioned Omega's heat—

"Would you like me to accompany you through your heat, Phoebe?"

Oh.

…So she wasn't hallucinating at all.

That wasn't her mind playing tricks on her.

…Huh.

"A—as I've said before," Phoebe starts again, trying her best not to gawk at the proposition. "You don't have to offer yourself, Zani."

"I'm aware of that, yes." Zani replies, then pointing out the ever so obvious unanswer to her question, "But that's not a no, Phoebe."

Or a yes, or a maybe, or an anything that would actually equate to a clear-cut response to a question that she's found herself in the receiving end a couple of times before from fellow well-meaning Acolytes that she's always rejected outright.

There is a reason for it, though: for this non-rejection—one that Phoebe feels will expose her when she says it.

She does say it, nonetheless. "Because I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't want you to." She admits, suddenly getting shy, the whole weight of the situation starting to sink into her head. "And you know that I'm not exactly fond of liars."

When Zani hums, it's almost as if she wants to make it all too clear that she's amused with her answer.

"I'm quite aware of that as well." Zani responds, as easy as ever, like she's just offering to get her one of the Vault's newest limited Cuddle-Wuddle printed credit cards instead of offering to bear herself wide open, all only for her eyes."But I am also being honest when I tell you that I'm not saying this because I feel like I have to out of an obligation, though I'd have to warn you first."

Phoebe's eyes squint out of reflex, unable to comprehend what Zani means exactly at 'warn'.

"…Huh?"

"If you don't mind my amateurity, my performance won't exactly be optimal." Zani expands at her dubious urging, if that huh can even be called urging when it's a silent proclamation of shock at most, "Since, I mean, I never had enough time, or the genes, or had a deep enough relationship with anyone to really dabble in such endeavours."

"My," Phoebe chuckles, unmeaning to demean, really. It's a reflex gesture, something that just happens because is it just her, or did it suddenly get ten degrees warmer around here? Surely that's not just from the blood starting to rush into her face, "So there is something the capable Miss Zani has never done? I'm surprised no one has ever tried to pounce on you yet."

Zani raises an eyebrow at her comment.

"Pounce on me, you say?"

She mirrors Phoebe's chuckles, replicating them all the same.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Zani's tilting her head like she's genuinely asking for clarification—probably is genuine, too. If someone said the same thing to Phoebe, she'd ask of them the same

"I mean." Phoebe finds her throat drying, countless thoughts rushing through her head at the sudden question that wasn't suppposed to have her mind racing for something that wouldn't be turning her see through, "Have you seen yourself?"

Zani blinks once or twice before she answers, "Every morning, while I make sure I don't smudge my makeup, yes."

A sigh lapses through Phoebe's lips.

"Not like that."

[Because Phoebe has. She's seen her so many times by now; In between seldom breaks from work to remember what she looks like with undeniable clarity in her mind. Phoebe's memorized those carmine eyes, recalls the height at which her horns stand proud under the morning light. She can recount the way her toned muscles flex underneath her dress shirt, pressing against the cotton whenever she incidentally moved around a little too much, arms stretched to erase the strain on her limbs and—

—It's not like Phoebe's seen Zani do that last one all that much. It's just something she remembers enough to burn into her memory; that's all to it.

It wouldn't be absurd to say that Zani would fit the picture perfect image of an ideal woman for so many people in the world—if anything, it would be more absurd to think that she isn't.

And it's not just a couple hundred of Ragunessi that would fall for her at first sight, Phoebe thinks. Even Septimontians would water at the sight of her. Jinzhou's people too, perhaps even Mengzhou's citizens, and every other one of Huanglong's cities. Lilyland's, and Mingting's, and New Federation's—all of Solaris-III combined, and even worlds beyond that if they existed beyond the bounds of fairytales her mother used to lull her to sleep to.

But it's not really just that, it's never been just cosmetics alone. If there's anything her days in the confessional booth has taught her, it's that pure physical attraction could never sustain a relationship in the long-term, and even Zani has everything beyond it checked down to the core. Zani's a reliable person. She's efficient, hardworking, respectable, she's so many things in one that it isn't a wonder at all that the Montellis scouted her, that they trust her to do all kinds of things from tending to echoes in the Vault to accompanying the Laureate.

And even with all that, she's still a kind person underneath all her nonchalance. She's protective over those she loves, she'll go even so far as to sacrificing her own health for the peace of their beloved land, and it's both an honorable and horrible aspect of her that Phoebe can only hope she'll quell one day because Sentinel above—there's just no telling when her body will just give up on her.

No one in this land knows when they'll return to the ground beneath them. Who knows if she'll just double over and die because of how much she ignores her own self for the sake of others, if she compromises her life without even knowing it, if she takes a step further than she's supposed to, if the warning her eyebags that she often takes no heed to isn't enough to strap her down to a bed for a good night's rest and—]

"Hello? Solaris to Phoebe?"

Zani brings her back to reality, as she so often does.

"Don't worry. I know that you're not insinuating that I go around bedding all sorts of women I find in my free time—they're mostly filled by you, or my spontaneous naptimes, if anything." Zani clears her throat out casually, before an eyebrow quirks up and—dear Imperator, here she goes: "Unless, the good Acolyte does assume that…?"

Phoebe wouldn't have known if Zani finds her flustered face to be a funny sight to behold. If Zani did find it hilarious, she doesn't comment on it, thank Imperator.

"O—of course not!" Phoebe tries to scrambles out, surprised, "It's just…!"

And it's her turn to clear her throat out now, readying herself for what's next.

"You're such an amazing person, Zani, with your countless accolades and all." Phoebe says, in a smaller voice compared to all her previous words, trying her best to look into her eyes just to show her that it's true, really, that she doesn't think of her like that, even though she's failing miserably and just ended up staring at her jittery hands—that she's just surprised she's going to her first just as Zani will be hers if she accepts, "You're always capable of grabbing the spotlight wherever you go, so I just..."

"Just…?"

"I just thought there would have been someone fortunate enough to have your attention…"

The hum that slips through Zani's lips is a thoughtful one. Almost acknowledging, even.

"Well, now." Zani pauses to click her tongue, crimson stare zeroed into Phoebe's stature, "Is this your way of saying you've been feeling quite lucky, these days?"

Phoebe looks up at her in an instant, perplexed.

"Why would I be lucky?"

"You said it so yourself." Zani tries to clarify, though that's not exactly something Phoebe really understands, still, she said that someone—well, implied that someone who has her attention to the point of romantic fixation would be lucky, and it's not like Phoebe— "I've been paying attention to you quite a lot these days, specially after the Vault and your fishing escapades and whatnot. If that equates to good fortune, then I suppose you should go and buy yourself a lottery ticket."

—has her attention in such an intimate way…?

Phoebe's entire being seizes in an instant.

"I—I didn't mean attention as in someone who you spend your free time with—!" She tries to sound out, tries her best to snap herself out of that wishful reverie of hers even though it feels awfully mortifying to say anything close to romance right now, ""I meant it t—to be someone who's fortunate enough to have your attention romantically, someone who can build an exclusive relationship with you."

Right. There we go. Phoebe thinks to herself, trying not to buckle down under Zani's thoughtful gaze, That was easy to clarify, wasn't it?

There's another hum, another click of the tongue.

"There are many things I've never done no thanks to my busy schedule… having a love life and sex included." Zani answers curtly, almost methodical in her tone. She can be so much more straightforward than most people, but that's no-nonsense Zani for you, Phoebe thinks, another blush happening upon her cheeks while Zani continues on: "Though I doubt it means that I won't be able to do the latter well enough, especially when there's something critical at stake."

"How confident, Zani." Phoebe chuckles, scratching her neck, ignoring the heat that's starting to rise under her fingertips, "No wonder you're Averardo's Best."

She takes a deep breath, looking away once again as the next words leave her lips.

"This won't ruin us, will it?" Phoebe asks again, nervosity spasming through her veins. "I value you greatly as a friend and as an ally."

And even more than that too, even if she would never dare to say it to her straight; as someone who'd held her mental state in mind after multiple bouts of uncertainty to her still unyielding faith, as someone who haunts her dreams by day and as someone who fills her prayers by night, as someone who's responsible for inciting minor thrums of emotion from Imperator-knows-where inside that little heart of hers that she wasn't sure was allowed to feel love beyond the confines of ones stemming from devotion for her Sentinel and Their envoys or from tear-striking memories of an innocent childhood ripped away from her hands long gone, as someone who exists in her mind, in her thoughts, in her life—God, since when had her menial feelings evolve to this stage?

If she does something that'll make Zani hate her, if she does something that'll permanently remove Zani's presence from her life…

Her throat tightens at the thought, unwanting to continue that line of questioning any further even though Phoebe does, still, with whatever strands of wavering strength is left inside of her.

She's nearly trembling when she says it, the not confession that feels like one: "I don't want to…"make you do something that you don't want, make you give yourself to me when you barely have any time for yourself, make this feeling I have for you that I both fear and crave will grow ever bigger, that it might just suffocate me to no end—"I don't want to lose you over…"

"Phoebe."

Two gloved hands find their way onto her full cheeks, cutting her mid-sentence as they force her to look up at those eyes she'd been trying to avoid this whole time.

"Look at me.")

Zani's words echo in the air, a gentle plea looming within the ragged breaths against Phoebe's quivering hands.

"Look at me, Phoebe." Zani says, again. Not a command, not an order—just a simple request, warm and soft-spoken, in the same tone she so normally uses when she's talking to her, the one where Phoebe is without fault. "Look at me, won't you?"

It's the thought that she has her pleading that has Phoebe complying with her request. Zani calls for her so gently that Phoebe can't not do as she says.

Her trembling hands slowly unwind away from her face to give Zani what she's asking for—look at me rewinding over and over again in her head to make sure she gets the memo. You have to look at her, she tells herself as she braces for impact; anticipating to see blinding rejection splayed on Zani's face for her pitiful actions, Look, Phoebe. Look.

But she doesn't see it.

Phoebe doesn't see disgust scrunching her features, she doesn't even see the slightest indicator that Zani hates her in any form or shape from the expression on her face.

"What's wrong?" Zani is patient as ever when she asks her, calloused thumb wettened by the trail of Phoebe's streaking tears. "Phoebe, what is it?"

What isn't wrong? Phoebe wants to say, all tearful and shaking in her arms, How could you stand me, still? When all I've done is nothing but burden you with more than your share?

"I wanted to make your break worthwhile…" She manages, somehow, quickly rolling over her alphabets to try and keep her stammers to a minimum, "You already did so much for me. I don't want you to feel sick of me for occupying your time, but I couldn't even ride you properly…"

She keeps on sobbing, it's difficult to cut her tears off when an undeniable pressure is an inconvenience on her attempts from ceasing her cries. "I'm sorry," coming out of her constantly, no matter how much she tries to stop her mouth from blabbering. "I'm sorry…"

Still, despite her rambling, Zani calls her gently.

"Phoebe."

One of her hands tilt her up by the cheek and, "Phoebe." She calls her again.

Then again, "Phoebe, listen to me."

And Phoebe does, she's always been listening, it's not like she's going to stop now. Still, she looks up too. Looks at her, looks at the fondness that's somehow still present on her face—relaxed muscles, softened gaze, anything and everything that spells out comfort, the picture-perfect portrait of someone who cherishes her still, despite her failing grievances—Zani didn't ask her to look at her, she'd only told her to listen, but it feels wrong to deny her this. She's done so much for her, it feels wrong to make her feel like she's not paying attention to her words.

"I'm doing this because I want to, okay?" She says then. There's a roughness to her tone, an edge that feels almost exhaustive; something that makes Phoebe feel like Zani wants to drill the declaration inside her; you have to know this without it directly being said, "Is there anything I did wrong? What did I do to become so despicable in your eyes that you think I'm doing this for my benefit?"

"N—not you…" Phoebe counters, but she needs to say something else, she needs to make sure Zani knows that it isn't her, that it's never her, that she can't ever be someone despicable in her eyes when she's anything but everything negative she's come to associate with the polarizing aspects of her life. That it's not Zani who's at fault when ultimately, it's everything inside of Phoebe's head that's messing with her, that it isn't Zani who's rendering her so capably incapable of doing anything else.

Out of her comes a sniffle and a sob, before she can barely piece it out:

"I'm a mess…"

At the end of it all, the gist of her thoughts, Phoebe thinks in the midst of her heat hazes her mind into a crisp along with the sounds of her bumbling tears—most of it all is because of that.

And your life has always been about cleaning messes up, Phoebe would be continuing on if she wasn't so busy trying to wipe her tears away, hands reaching up to cover her face as another abysmal attempt to hide herself from her, to not ruin this moment any more than she already has, to have herself be in control of one thing—just one thing she begs herself, just one. She doesn't want to give Zani such a horrible experience when it comes to lovemaking—not when it's supposed to be something so holy and intimate and mindbreakingly divine if the scriptures had anything true to say about it.

Zani had selflessly given her freedom of having her first with someone she actually loves. Her second too, and her third, her fourth, her fifth—each and every consecutive time for the entire length of her stay until she's done with her cycle, all to sate Phoebe's selfish desires for wanting to be tended to in her life, tended to by someone she should never have wanted to feel the touch of because Phoebe's not someone who should have allowed her heart to take and want and take and want while not giving parts of herself in return, she isn't someone who should even desire another's warmth when in the first place—and who is she to take away the little bits of pleasure Zani could've gotten, too?

But Zani's still holding her, she still keeps her hand on her cheek, "Hey," she calls, soft, her voice muted with a tender strain, "Haven't I told you already? I know what I'm getting myself into. It doesn't matter that you're a mess right now because of something you can't even control."

And she has. Zani has told her this over and over and over again that Phoebe essentially knows that fact by heart; and yet a part of her still feels like she needs to prove herself, that she doesn't deserve her unless she's doing something for her too. Something of substance, something that would be worth doing in exchange for Zani giving up her holiday away just to be able to sate her heat.

"I know, but it's so difficult not to think that, hic—" Phoebe chokes down another sob; her throat feels like it's going to burst in rampant flames, "I'm sorry, 'm sorry…"

"Shh, there there." Zani coaxes her, placing featherlight kisses onto the corner of her eyes, "You've been trying to please me too much. As cute as it is—and it's extremely adorable, tesoro—I came here to take care of you. That's what I promised to do, that's what I want to do; no other ulterior motives. So let me handle you, alright?"

It's difficult for Phoebe to give an acknowledgement, her muscles feel like they're failing her everywhere; mouth unable to open, lips pressed in a thin line, neck stiffening under the weight of Zani's reassuring gaze. It feels like an eternity when she finally finds it in herself to nod; her voice comes out in a shatter gasp.

"Please."

But it's easy when Zani holds her, it's easy when she turns their places around. She's placed onto the mattress, their positions reversing when Zani places herself back between her legs; the bed is still forgiving on their weights, it barely squeaks when Phoebe supports herself onto the pillow to get a better view of Zani on top of her. She wants to see, she wants to get a look—she can feel herself twitching in anticipation when Zani lines herself up with her entrance. The bellend of the toy is still wet with her slick; Phoebe nearly whines when they touch.

"I'm going to put the strap in, okay?" comes out as a forewarning. One hand holds her cock at the base, she's still patient as ever when she asks, "Are you with me, Phoebe?"

"Please," Phoebe says again. She doesn't even know how she sounds right now. Fragmented with want, all she knows is that she wants her to be near, "W—want you, Zani, please."

"You have such good manners even when your head's burning you out of your mind." Her praise is broken by a giggle, she starts pushing in as she remarks, "Oh, how could I ever hate such a sweet girl like you, Phoebe?"

But she's not given the chance to respond when her lips are covered by the presence of Zani's own, the high end of her ariose voice ripping itself out of her throat when Zani enters her whole. She's still so wet despite her previous attempt that the glide is eversmooth, still so wet that it barely takes anything for her to be filled up to the brim—there's no inertia when she enters, Phoebe accepts her so greedily that they barely register it when she bottoms out inside of her.

"Is it good?" Zani asks, and then has to follow it up with another instruction when she realizes that nothing tangible is coming out of her mouth, "Cherie, you have to use your words."

"Good." Phoebe's barely even able to fulfill her request. Everything feels like it's finally fallen into place—there's only one word in her mind, one other word to accompany the duosyllabic familiarity of her name; "Good, Zani, good—h—ah—!"

"Mmh, good girl." Zani says, and the tender edge that's present with every new word is intoxicating; Phoebe's never known how it feels to get inebriated, has only heard of recollections from thril-seeking pirates and primly proper nobilities here and there—but she thinks this could come close to it; the feeling of being on pleasant, effervescent high, "You're such a good girl, Phoebe."

It doesn't feel like she's teasing her anymore, it feels more like she's saying this to be true. Not because she can, but because she wants her to know that she's being good—pliant for the taking, letting Zani do as she wants, letting her do as she pleases. Her tail forms a slipknot around a leg, it barely wastes a moment as it lifts her thighs up to rest over her shoulder—Phoebe can feel herself shudder, she can't stop herself from moaning when Zani pulls herself out and takes her deeper. Then again, and again, and again—it's difficult to think about anything else; she fills her up so completely that all her prior attempts by her lonesome seem subpar in comparison to this.

"Look at you, taking my knot like this." Zani grunts out. The thrusts start to become fervent, the slap of their bodies is obscene and Phoebe feels almost pathetic, to hear her trying to sate her like this, to listen to her talk about an artificial part of her just to help the fantasy feel more real. She's done all of this for her, it's always been for her, everything has been for her—but Phoebe wants her to know, too; how loudly her heart is beating because of her.

Does she feel it too? How good Phoebe is for her? How badly she wants her so?

And Zani does, maybe. "You're doing so well, Phoebe." comes out of her next, her fingers pressing crescent indents onto the small of her waist, "Wrapping around me so nicely too. You have such a pretty voice, bella—I wanna hear more of you when I make you come undone."

She keeps kissing her like she means it too, she keeps kissing her as if the oxygen will drain itself out of their lungs if they were ever to part. Zani kisses her so hard that it makes her dizzy, she kisses her for so long that Phoebe thinks she's already memorized the way their lips move against one another with perfect ease—Zani keeps murmuring praises in between their moving, she can't stop telling her how pretty she looks when she's taking her entirely; it's so intimate that it has her scent sublimating with such a heightened potency into the air.

Phoebe can't help but wonder as the world spins around her; couldn't all of this mean something?

But this… doesn't have to mean anything. It doesn't have to mean something beyond a way to curb her biological needs—because that's where things start to fall apart, doesn't it? She's doing this for relief, as selfish as it may be. She's doing this because she has to go through an irreplaceable feature of her life, to have someone to hold onto so tightly—nails imprinted onto flesh, teeth clenched around skin, a grip so tight it's bound to leave phantom pain around as an sinful afterthought to blush over once it's a done deal, left to be swept under the rug as their lives move on—all so that she can get through a cycle without five times the pain she so normally has to suffer through.

But you know why, Phoebe, a part of her mind chips along as Zani holds onto her waist, branding herself into her, just another permanent chokehold she'll have on her psyche whenever Phoebe finds herself looking into the mirror as she dresses herself up for the day and remember of this; of the way she'd held her so tenderly in her arms, careful with every single touch, loving with every single word. The thought of it will be keeping her up at night—Zani will be keeping her up at night as she tosses and turns in her bed, unrelenting mind preventing her to sleep.

Worse is, Phoebe doesn't even hate that she will.

You know why you're taking another kind of burden by receiving her in your bed, her mind chatters on and on, unwanting to leave her to her own devices—to the way Zani's pushing inside her, reaching spots Phoebe couldn't even figure out herself. You know why you didn't try harder to steer the conversation away the moment you suspected she was gonna offer herself, when you'd immediately do so with anyone else—even if they were an Alpha who could help you so much more better than she ever can.

And she knows this, she does. She's known it for some time. For a long time, even. She may not have known it since the day they met near the Sanctum, but the feeling had appeared, at some point. Maybe when her fingers started to mindlessly scroll through her contacts until they reached her name, maybe when they’d started meeting up using excuses of interventions in her religion alongside follow-up business questions when she just wanted someone to talk to.

[There was someone to look her in the eyes and tell her that the two of them are still living, someone who knew what she’s went through because they also had that same experience blindly thrown at them—someone who did not look at her with contempt while being capable of challenging her beliefs in a way that never belittled her, someone who sought her out despite their limited breaks.

Someone who keeps occupying her thoughts, someone who manages to make her heart leap astray; this someone who would even make time out of their busy schedule, all because they seemed to like her presence just as much as she did theirs…

There’s only one person like that.]

"Zani."

Her mouth is the one to unravel everything she's tried so desperately to conceal so far.

"I love you."

Her eyes suddenly close out of a reflex of wanting to be left unseen, her hands gravitate towards her face once more in habit. Phoebe tries to make herself stop spilling out those three words, to force her mouth to stop the same way Zani halted her movements the moment her voice resounds so clearly in the air.

"I'm sorry, I—" —for being so selfish even though I should've restricted myself as I always do; for saying sorry again even though you already told me not to; for inviting you, wanting you, needing you; for everything, for all of this—all those ideas for words, so many things to say that she can't seem to let out, not when her mouth decides that she likes her damning confession too much to let it leave, parroting it on like the holy prayers that have become so familiar on her tongue, "I like you a lot, Zani, I l—love you—"

It isn't enough for her to feel the taste of Zani's mouth on her own anymore, so now she just has to up and tell her this, too. Phoebe should be terrified, she should be aghast at how it's running off on her like this, but she doesn't even want to stop herself from speaking—when else could she ever say this without being afraid that it'll be construed as what it truly means?

But it feels like they're repeating a scene from a prior act, deja-vu flickering briefly in her mind when calloused fingers press circles softly against her arms. Zani leans down to kiss her in the exact same pattern: her forehead curtained by sweat-dampened bangs, the intersection at where her ring fingers meet, before she ends it between the touching pinkies. A repeated cycle, repetitive at every turn, looped from the very first step and with all that follows—so shouldn't her words be the same too? Verbatim and identical, that same look at me that Phoebe will do exactly because that's what Zani will ask of her, too?

She waits for it, for Zani to tell her to look at her again, hands readying themselves to reveal her reddened complexion underneath, to show herself once more and let it all play over a second time. A callback to their previous duet: something she's experienced before, something expected, something that won't strike another dazing chord into her already heat-wavered heart, something that—

"Me too."

Something that isn't that.

Phoebe feels her hands tensing in an instant.

There's only one thing she could be admitting to, only one other sentence she could follow up with to make her agreement make sense. The same words she'd just uttered and confessed, something she's not ready to hear, not with her unprepared ears—

"I love you too, Phoebe."

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

(It's almost humorous; the fact that the curse slips past her mind without a guard to prevent its formation, escaping her headspace with such swiftness that Phoebe can't stop from leaving like she'd done successfully every other time.

All because Phoebe hadn't thought she'd say it back, that she hadn't foreseen an outcome where Zani would tell her she loves her too just like this.

And she's still unprepared when the words finally hit her, and she still doesn't know if she can take another repeat of those words if Zani's willing enough to give it to her—but she likes it a little too much. She likes the words a little too much when Zani says it, when she addresses it to her, directs it to her, gives it to her and only her with no one else in mind.

Phoebe wants her to say it again, she wants Zani to catch her up by surprise, to pull the rug under her feet and watch her stumble just to let her fall in her arms before she hits her head onto the unwelcoming ground. Say it over again and again until she memorizes the cadence of her voice, the ease at which those precious words roll off her tongue, until she's capable of reciting it in her head unprompted like Zani means it the way Phoebe does, like she loves her the way Phoebe does—)

"But you also seem love hiding yourself when you're embarrassed, huh?"

Beat.

Zani reaches out to her, trying to pry apart the hands covering her face once more. Phoebe can hear her giggling, can almost see the endeared grin tugging her lips when she says, "Am I not worthy to see your adorable face when you're red because of it, Phoebe?"

But no, that's not the problem—Zani's never the problem, never. Phoebe needs her to know that, the urge causing her to shake her head, disagreeing, even though she doesn't let her pry her fingers away just yet, "It's not that…"

"Then don't hide it anymore."

Whatever horrible expression she fears might be there when she opens her eyes… Phoebe doesn't see it.

What's in front of her is Zani without even a single hint of discomfort on her face. Everything from before is still there—the same relaxed muscles, the same softened gaze, the same picture-perfect portrait of someone who cherishes her still—it has her hands falling weak in an instant, going limp as Zani pries them away.

"There we go." Zani coos, tender and loving in every way, invoking the feeling down to her touches. It sends jolts of electricity down her skin, and what Zani says next only helps to amplify all the feel-good waves rushing down her spine, "Good girl, Phoebe."

Zani's hands move down to her waist again, readying them back into their previous position. Her fingers mime circles onto her reddened skin when she says, "I'm going to move again, alright?"

There's a thought at appears as they reenter their previous rhythm, that this is an nonsensical fantasy she's making up in her nest. A dream that's too real and unreal at the same time, desire seeping into a fictitious landscape. Omegas have been known to hallucinate as a side effect from her heat, a part of her feels like she'll wake up anytime soon with half the slick she has now between her legs; mark-free and untouched, no one to hold onto but her own lonesome self—but that's not the case here, isn't it?

Phoebe can sense her, she can feel her; Zani's palms sear hot as they catch onto her waist and pull her closer until there isn't a single gap between their flush bodies. She can touch her too, legs wrapped taut around Zani's hips, fingers clawing onto her back—she can trace her scars even from here, can feel the patches of healed skin from years of recovery. She'll have to say sorry later on for adding to its amalgamation; even dull nails could pierce into skin. Yet, even then, Phoebe feels like she can imagine the dismissive reply that'll come out of her swollen lips.

[Apologize? She thinks Zani would say, combing through the flimsy strands of her sunshine hair, chuckling as she watches a wave of red flash over Phoebe's face because goodness, that might as well be the clearest proof of existence that they've touched—goodness, she can already hear the relentless joking from a mile away, It's good evidence of my hard work, isn't it? It would be remiss of me if I lacked the ability to help you through your heat.]

But the time for that isn't here, not yet. It still feels like Zani can read into her head, "You've always been so considerate, even in a state like this." She remarks, rubbing a circle into her limber waist and it has her keening wildly in delight, "So fragile and so brittle, tesoro. Yet you're still thinking of me? Of my enjoyment? What makes you think I don't like orbiting around your plane of existence?"

It's difficult to protest when she feels so good inside her, her mouth failing for the nth time, refusing to let anything else but Zani's name fall off her lips.

"I love you too, okay?" Zani mentions again, those three words that so easily has her heart racing, pulsing through the ridges of her chest, "So you don't have to worry about appearing so weak in front of me. I chose to do this—I don't want you have to go through this by yourself."

"Don't say t—things like that—" Phoebe barely pieces out, the words stammering out because she can't seem to control the shudder that's ruining the movement of her lips, "My heart c—can't take it—"

"Say what? That I love you, Phoebe?" She's torturing her, Imperator, she must be in a purgatory where both hell and heaven are fighting to keep her at bay combined, because where else could she be if not there? Zani doesn't stop herself, she keeps looking at her like she means it, that she wants this the same way Phoebes does, like she wants her the same way Phoebe does. She says it over and over, imparting her with a question at last; "You don't want me to say that I love you?" And again, again Zani has to drill it into her sweltering head; "But I do love you, Phoebe."

"Zani," Phoebe goes, calling for her like she can't live if she says anything else, "Zani, don't stop, Z—Zani—!"

And it eggs Zani on; the fact that her name is the one she whines out so frantically without shame. Zani's doing as she says, she still holds her so tenderly as she says it. Her mouth keeps running, her hands keep catching onto her tensing body as she digs into her cunt—Phoebe doesn't want to let go of her, it feels like everything might crash if there's even a single second that passes by without feeling like they might as well melt into one.

"My precious girl," A pause, "My darling Acolyte." Zani thrusts into her again and the pleasure that comes with it is so good that her eyes start to sting with the light of a thousand shining stars, "You're mine, aren't you, cara mia? Just as I'm yours?"

"Zani's." Her mouth's running on autopilot, heat catching her in an absolute daze because yes, Phoebe wants this for herself, she wants her for herself. Belonging to someone has never felt so good; she'd never thought the taste of desire could be so sickeningly sweet, "Y—yes, yes, 'm all Zani's—"

"Tell it to me again," Phoebe can hear her chuckling, she can see her teeth baring through a smile so wide even despite the tears rendering her vision blurry when she continues. "Am I yours as well, Phoebe?" Then again, just to make sure, "Do you want me to be yours, Phoebe?"

She does, she does want it so badly that it hurts so good when her pathetic heart lashes out within the confines of her chest at Zani's urging. Her hips keep thrashing up to match her pace without her even realizing—she's so sore and yet she wants to keep moving, the pleasure singes when Zani reaches so deep into her that she's starting to feel lightheaded from the euphoria overflowing. Her thighs are so drenched with slick that she can hear their squelching every time Zani thrusts inside her. The realization that she's coming apart because of Zani sends another heatwave over her body—she hadn't even been this wet at the first instance of her heat.

Phoebe wants to scent her all over until she smells like her too; stake her own personal brand of a claim on her, make it known to everyone that she'd laid her hands on her too—that she'd been touching Zani just as much as Zani touched her, that they had been mutual in their exchange of warmth. Her arousal burns so brightly in the air that she can smell it in its obscene incense; vanilla and lavender coagulating in harmony, wanting to achieve something, wanting to stick to someone despite the inability that comes with the innate difference in their underlying biology.

She can still pick out Zani's too—the citrus and the cardamom and all that entails with it. She wonders what she'd smell like all over if only Zani could scent her if she had the means—it's unreasonable, baseless, and Zani is not someone who flows by with things that are grounded in irrationality; but what part of this was supported by rationale in the first place?

"I want Zani." Her own blabber sounds like nonsense to her; she doesn't even know if there's enough coherence in her melted tone for Zani to understand her words, "Wanna keep Zani for myself, don't wanna let anyone else have Zani."

Out of Zani comes a grunt, "You can keep me." Then again, she emphasizes; "Can keep me as much as you want," and again, again, she goes, "Phoebe can keep me 's long as that's what Phoebe wants. You want that, cara mia?"

And Phoebe wants it, she does, "No one else, no one but Zani—" There isn't anyone she wants enveloping her in their arms if not her; no one to calm the incessance of her pains but her, "Want Zani to mate me, please." It has to be her, it can't be anyone else—she'll even fool her body for her, for this; no one else can replace her, where else will she find someone that has her palpitating from the obscenity of want? "I'll be a good omega for Zani, please, please, please."

"But you already are." Zani murmurs, hands sweeping against her still sweat-dampened bangs, eyes still holding something that Phoebe thinks she could maybe call love; "My omega, fuck—you're so good, Phoebe, so good—"

Her hands keep clawing into Zani's back, she feels herself starting to falter as her release draws ever near. She keeps on moaning, the noises won't stop falling, she can't stop calling her name like her life depends on it. It feels like her mind's short circuited from the friction, all her senses filled up by Zani alone.

She can feel her teeth nipping claims into her neck, she can feel her tail dragging around her thighs. She's on top of her, she's inside of her. She's everywhere on her body, she's everywhere in her mind—it doesn't matter if Zani isn't able to scent her, no matter how badly a part of her protests against the fact that her citrus won't snap onto her skin. There are traces of Zani all over her entirety; she might as well belong to her at this point—the thought of it sends another wave of ecstasy down her spine.

"Are you close, Phoebe?" Zani asks tenderly because she can feel it too, maybe, and the base of her knot is swelling so much that it doesn't even feel artificial; when she thrusts into her, the feeling of euphoria keeps on overflowing. Her body feels pliant when Zani says, "Wanna take my knot? Does my pretty omega want me to give her my knot?"

Her knees feel like putty as the bed squeaks and stammers from all their relentless moving; "Please." Phoebe begs. She's desperate for her knot; it feels like she might go insane without it, "p—please, k—knot me, please."

"So polite, my girl." And it's silly how such a commonly used word drives her insane, but it does. My, she says. She's hers, all hers. It's the fact that Zani likes her enough to tolerates her antics, that she finds her endearing enough to want to refer to her as someone belonging to her, the same way Phoebe wants to belong to her. Zani's driving her insane, Phoebe thinks her next climax's just seconds away from happening once more, "You're so cute, feels like 'm head's not working seeing you be so good for me. Think I might just come from seeing you like this too."

She's blinded by a splintering warm light pouring into her eyes when her orgasm hits, vision so glaringly white that it feels like she's seeing every single star humanity has yet to reach at the back of her mind. It must be this, she thinks, what those before her had felt when they'd first stepped ashore into a land that they'd graze and develop and build upon for generations to come. Someplace to stay, someplace to call home—a someplace which isn't a place as it is a someone she could anchor herself to.

Zani's fitting inside her so nicely, the toy filling her to the brim without a space left untouched and it's still good—it's still so good that she barely registers Zani dripping all over her thighs, her own cunt pulsing at the sight of Phoebe like this, at the thought that she'd been the one to indulge her appetite for closure like this.

And Phoebe barely registers it too, when she feels Zani's lips hovering over her scent glands, canine teeth greeting the surface so familiarly with how much she's ghosted around the place. She arches into her mouth, shivering in delight when her tongue wets and licks and nips upon her skin even though it won't take now.

It won't take as much as she does it, no matter how much Phoebe wishes it will—she can't ever take her bite because Zani just doesn't have the ability to give her one.

Phoebe doesn't even know what part of it is more laughable: the fact that Zani knows this as much as she does, but still doing it nonetheless, or the fact that Phoebe lets her—that she lets her as if her body will take pity on them at the nth consecutive time and let her be claimed down to even the most menial strain within her cells by the never-to-be bite.

Zani had done it then while they were chasing for her high, maybe she'll even do it all over again for the next instance they do this, some five or ten or fifteen minutes later depending on how long the artificial knot sates her body—but she'll do it again. Again and again and again like it would take if she tried just enough, despite knowing that it won't ever will.

And it feels pathetic, Phoebe feels pathetic when she whines because of her, whines for her to do something about a part of her she can't mend to its rightful order when they were born like this, to be incompatible by the organic design of their entire beings—the thought of it is frustrating, it has her hand tugging at Zani by the horn, pulling her in for a kiss because this is something they can still do, at least. Zani can still give her this—she can still choose to give her this, at least.

It doesn't feel pathetic when Zani kisses her back just as well, grinding hips slowly stuttering into a halt to pour her whole focus into her urging. It's sweet. She's sweet and she kisses her so sweetly, so fondly and so everything in between that it makes Phoebe feel so seen, Imperator, why does being with her make Phoebe feel so seen?

But she thinks she doesn't have to search within Imperator's scriptures to know why she feels herself turning transparent around her—she knows she doesn't have to. Not when the answer is so perfectly crystal clear that even Brenno and Livia and Beppe with their vastly different views on life could still come up with the same answer that's been teetering around her mind.

This little game they're playing, one where she didn't enter by choice, one where the runner-up is to surrender their hearts for the winner to do with however they please, a game that Zani's leading in so effortlessly that the outcome ought to be set in stone to any audience that's watching the two of them prance around to their heart's content.

It's easy to see, no matter how she twists it up and about; Phoebe already knows, really.

She might as well have lost the winning hand before she even knew it all began.

(It's confusing.

Zani makes her feel confused, Phoebe feels.

With such wholehearted tenderness, with all this care and all this warmth radiating out of every touch, out of every stare and out of every gesture, Phoebe should feel comforted. She should find all of Zani's actions to be nothing else but comfort, a friend taking desperate measure because these few moments are the precursor to desperate times and, well, Phoebe does, that's true—but shouldn't that be the only feeling she feels, now?

But it feels weird too, Phoebe thinks.

At the pace that it's going: erratic and uneven, escalating by the second, never once slowing down even though she feels like it's beating at a speed beyond human bounds, why does it feel like her heart's threatening to spill out of her chest?

"Maybe we didn't get off at the best footing, Acolyte and Enemy of the State and all—" Jokes, teases; her best friend, it seems. The satiritical title makes Phoebe giggle, and that in turn had Zani smiling as well, " —but that's then. Now? You're my friend."

Zani's all soft and kind and gentle, holding her she's tending to an wounded animal that she doesn't want to scare any further, "Colleague, ally, someone-who-always-manages-to-be-there-in-life-or-death-situations-with-me—" she rambles on and on, "you're a lot of things to me, Phoebe. So believe me when I say that I want to take care of you."

But it's not that Phoebe doesn't believe her—she knows she does. Zani has always has a penchant for taking care of everyone in her life even if she won't usually admit it to anyone's faces—she'll sacrifice so many pieces of her soul just to make sure the Ragunessi has their share of happiness, she'll give and give and give until she's nothing but a husk of her already not-so-lively self. It's something that no one can change about her, an aspect that no one can temper if not herself.

Yet…

The Phoebe she knows, the Phoebe she's come to be acquainted with—it'll barely be the same Phoebe she'll be taking care of.

Phoebe can pick out her own scent in the air and it's embarrassing; she's never been this eager, she'd always been so serene and calm that it's the first time her vanilla is so potent that she has to wonder if Zani could smell her too. Her teachers have always praised her for her virtue, restriction is a best friend made familiar from years of temperance; it feels wrong to rope Zani into her own mess, it feels wrong to feel like she could have this.

"But I'll be a hassle." And she has to know this, Phoebe thinks, almost desperate, just one more attempt, a last ditch effort to convince her not to stay near even if she wants her to because she won't be herself around her, can't be herself around her, "I'll be a mess."

"You say that as if I'm someone whose life isn't made up of taking care of hassles." Zani reminds her once more. "You won't be a hassle, trust me."

But she sees the frown on Phoebe's face which can't be interpreted as anything but believe me when I say that I will be one, Zani, which then has her opting to go for an agreement, instead: "But if you really insist on being one, at least you'll be a hassle I want to take care of." Zani lets her know, giggling when she sees a spark of red across Phoebe's face before ending it off on the sweetest of notes and—Imperator, how can Phoebe not flush even harder? "My hassle, my mess."

The inhale that comes out of Phoebe is dissonant, she shivers when she meets Zani's eyes.

"It's no wonder they like to put you in the front lines when you were at the Bank." They've always hired the best, after all—and what is Zani if not the best among all? Phoebe can feel her heart convulse when she says, "You have such good lip service, Zani."

"It helps when the service is being done to someone I find thoroughly enjoyable." Zani remarks shamelessly. She says it so simply, words falling out of her with an ease that doesn't even sound like it's a practiced glib—is this how Phoebe looks in her eyes? "And kind, and nice, and so very lovely—among other things. Doesn't really become much of a service at that point than it is just me liking your company."

Her head spins in delirium, she feels like she might faint when Zani finishes her sentence.

"You're sure with this?" Phoebe asks, once more, trying to cast the dizziness away. Zani needs to be sure of this, she can't possibly forgive herself if she's doing this with even just the slightest bit of reluctance, "Are you really sure?"

"Of course I am." Zani replies without difficulty. Her hand is a constant presence on Phoebe's face—she can't look away, Zani just won't let her. It's as if she wants her to see the integrity in her eyes, it's as if she needs her know to just as much that her mind is set. She's not going to have this any other way, "I don't want you to suffer on your own, Phoebe."

"I know," because she feels just like her—if Zani was in her position, she'd likely have done the same, "I wouldn't want you to suffer on your own either, Zani."

This is it, then.

"I'll tell Brenno, then." She acquiesces, final; it'll be fine, she hopes—she'll have to make sure everything is proper when the day comes, she can't possibly burden Zani more than she should, "That he and the others don't have to worry as much."

"Of course." Zani concurs and her hand is still on her cheek—she holds her so gently that Phoebe sometimes wonder if she's afraid that she'll break, "Rest assured to them, I'll make sure our beloved Acolyte is taken care of."

The words rest at the edge of Phoebe's mind and a giddiness starts to rise. Zani says 'our Acolyte' with such a fondness that it has her thinking idly of the possibility of another outcome; she can't help but wonder if there will ever be a time when the word my will be the one precede her title instead. )

Zani is quick to coax the toy out of her when the minutes pass by, artificial knot dampering out in the confines of her walls. Her slick-laden release spills over the mattress and Phoebe can smell herself in the air once again, arousal no longer burning as bright as Zani flops onto her right side, head under Phoebe's chin, holding her in her arms.

One of Zani's hands reach over to trace the imprint of her teeth that her body will never take as a mating bite; she sighs in belated bliss when the pads of her finger press against the indent left behind.

"Don't show this to anyone else." Zani says, unordered. It feels less like a command and more like a plea, if the melancholic lilt upending the corners of her voice had anything to say about it; "An Alpha with bad intentions might decide to mark you forever… they won't be able to resist you with how adorable you look when you're needy like this."

"So you say." Phoebe hums weakly, fingers raised up to reach to her head, threading them between the fine lines of Zani's silver hair, softly smoothing out all the split ends that's come apart as a result of her own hands thrashing around throughout the duration of their time; "And you don't have bad intentions like the lot of them do?"

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," Zani doesn't immediately reject the thought, even though it's clear with everything she's done that the former statement stands true. She toys around with the idea of a villain, throwing the notion back t her around with a sing-song tune, "Still want me to stay in the off-chance I'm not joking, Phoebe?"

Phoebe laughs, knowing the answer far too well by this point.

"You wouldn't ever hurt me." She murmurs, soft.

Zani clicks her tongue, amused. "Addicted to me already, madam?"

"After all that?" There's another humorless laugh slotted in between and Phoebe closes her eyes, inhaling the citrusy scent that the patch emits, the same one that's helped sate her throughout the whole ordeal and somehow survived, "Can you blame me?"

"Never." Zani replies, sounding utterly hopeless to her innocent charms, "I can't ever blame you for anything."

They stay there, silently basking in each other's presence as her heat simmers on the down low. Minutes pass by with nothing shared between them, nothing but the fleeting kisses Zani places onto the crown of her head along with the here-and-there caresses of her tail around the areas of Phoebe's tacet mark.

So it's quiet, almost too quiet when Zani opens her mouth to ask her this:

"Do you mean it?"

And Phoebe doesn't understand, not really, not at first, what she means by it. They've done a lot of things for the past hour or so, things that she once never thought could have happened in her dutiful life. Her need for clarification is sounded out by a simple, "Huh?"

It doesn't take long for Zani to respond.

"When you said you loved me."

Beat.

Phoebe thinks that were Zani to dig open into the cavity of her chest right now—she'll find that her own heart nearly stuttered to a halt.

"Do you mean it?" She repeats once more, just to make sure Phoebe gets it—that her question wasn't being upended by the sudden pounding in her chest, "Do you mean it when you told me that you love me?"

What about you? Phoebe wants to say—should say it too, probably. Its not like she threw it at her and she didn't respond, not like Zani scrunched at her in disgust and told her she shouldn't be saying such things. There had been no reprimand, no lectures, nothing at all that suggested she didn't like the thought of Phoebe's love being hers—and shouldn't that be the question being asked here?

Zani had caught her confession even if she didn't think it was one made out of rationale, had regurgitated it right back at her with the same amount of authenticity that she so normally always has whenever she's talking to her, except that she has the benefit of the lack of a heat plaguing that decisionmaking of hers that's so widely known to be the definition of being so pristinely free of errors because it's never ended in her making a wrong choice of making the recipient of words feel like she'd left her

And yet.

Zani didn't even try to rebuff her, not even once. Her mouth had said the word 'love' so many times that Phoebe can recall it so easily in her head with that trademark cadence of hers, repeating in her mind over and over again.

(Once, I love you, Phoebe. Twice, I love you too, okay? Thrice, That I love you?. The fourth, the fifth: You don't want me to say that I love you? But I do love you, Phoebe.)

Phoebe should divert the question, needs to divert the question, even: Didn't you say it too? She'll ask first, then: Twice and a half times more than me, too? and at last, What's your excuse?

What comes out of her lips is neither of those words.

"Of course I do." Phoebe admits, plain and simple, but not without a space of doubt for her to brush off as an innocent statement, something an ordinary outsider can still see as something she'd say to a precious friend; "You're someone I cherish, Zani—how can I not?"

But Zani sees through it—that lingering doubt, that futile attempt to mask an admittance that she knows was fashioned to throw her off the trail. She pursues it without stopping even for a moment to potentially give Phoebe some leeway for a moment of reprieve. It is Zani, after all—of course she does.

She sighs, not letting Phoebe escape her resolute sights.

Here comes the sixth: "Do you love me, Phoebe." And there goes the seventh; "Do you love me to want me in your future, to wake up to being locked in my embrace for the rest of your life." And she adds this for one last safe measure: "Romantically, not as friends, just to air out any confusion."

Phoebe lies on her side subconsciously, her back now facing Zani as a reaction to her sudden outpour. She might lose her composure, she feels like she's being seen through again; she can still sense Zani's stare locking her in place even despite the fact she can't see her face.

"Well, say that I think I'll end up feeling that way one way or another, no matter how much I try to escape it." Phoebe replies, looking at anywhere but her, terrified that she'll confess everything, trying not to shiver as Zani's tail wraps tighter around her waist when she affirms the possibility with faltering grace. "And now I want you to be with me for the rest of my life even though we're not entirely compatible by nature." Or by social standings, or by factions, but especially by that secondary gender of theirs.

It's her now, toying with the idea of a hypothetical like Zani had did with the idea of her being ill-intentioned when she placed herself in her bed—except it's not a hypothesis when it's true that Phoebe doesn't just love her as a friend at the forefront, that she also likes her as someone she could spend a lifetime with in a manner beyond friendship.

It's the truth that Zani is someone she likes romantically, too—that Phoebe likes-likes her that perhaps her feelings have even bloomed into something more akin to the devotion she sees between Ragunessi couples that walk the streets. It's there no matter what she wishes to think, it'll be there nonetheless. The important part here is that somewhere inside the desires of her heart she'd exposed to no one but herself and within hidden prayers to Imperator above, she's there.

Phoebe exhales, continuing her lines, hushed and almost silent in fear of a dismissal. Her head turns around just slightly to take a small peek at the defenseless expression on Zani's face when she says; "Are you going to call me selfish for that?"

[Because she knows there are some people who will; her people, really. The same kin who sees her as a beacon of light sent by the Sentinel above, the same men who watch her with an eagerness that feels almost suffocating as they note how utterly lovely she'd be as a dutiful wife, the same women who praise her delicate beauty and adore her for her blameless virtue. The same people—brothers and sisters and seniors and superiors all alike, looking upon her with nothing but delight when they're not busy fussing over the fact she's being led astray by someone who goes against their way of life—most, if not all of which that will call her selfish for this.

This; to want more than she should ever expect. This; to yearn for someone whose unyielding ideals are ones her seniors claim to be the antithesis to the path of a worshipper of the divine, to cast her precious gaze away from Imperator above, to seek for warmth in someone that she shouldn't ever once consider an acquaintance, or even a friend, and even more so a lover, someone she wants to hold and cherish and kiss and live her days with for the rest of her life—]

"Is that a rhetorical?" Zani asks, nearly hushed, slicing right through her noisy thoughts that are blaring through her mind, "What if I said I want you to want me to be your partner for the rest of your life?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Phoebe counters back, twisting her neck even further so she can see her better, not immediately answering because isn't that what Zani's doing here, too? "Is what you're asking me not a rhetorical as well?"

"Miss Acolyte."

Zani laughs bitterly, but it isn't out of resentment, nothing of the sort. Commendment at her attempts to delay the inevitable by maneuvering a way out from saying yes, I do, perhaps.

Phoebe wouldn't know the exact reason for that laugh of hers. She won't ask why, either, not when Zani's staring at her so intently like she wants to bite.

"Don't fling my words back at me."

"Or what?" There's a rush of excitement at her own rebellion, and Phoebe meets her eyes just as eagerly because she won't be caught like another in deer in headlights, "You'll bite me as a punishment?"

"Perhaps I will." Zani chuckles, even though that doesn't sound entirely like a punishment; she can still feel her on her skin, red blotches discolorating into purple strains littered all over her as if Zani was trying her damndest to have her marked; "After all, your neck did seem like quite the sweet spot, no?"

The gasp that Phoebe lets out sounds almost like a shriek. She hits her shoulder playfully, looking almost scandalized at the suggestion, "What exactly are you trying to imply?"

"Just a hypothesis, little miss." But that doesn't sound exactly assuring; not really, not in the slightest, "Shall we test it out, then?"

"Huh?" Her eyes furrow, "What are you—A—ah—!"

Before Phoebe's capable of processing her words, Zani's already moving. She goes straight the juncture of her neck, near her scent glands, and places a bite onto her already bruising skin. Then another, and another and another. There's no time for Phoebe to react, no time for her to push away her advances—Phoebe can't stop herself from jerking at this so called punishment and it's not like she can escape, anyway, not when Zani's tail is wrapped taut around her thigh, preventing her from leaving.

Phoebe can hear her chuckling, giddy at her response as she licks over her most recent bites.

"You're unbearably cruel, Zani." Phoebe manages, now on her back again, clearly not meaning the word; not when the smile that's on her lips is so full of glee that it's even infecting Zani with a smile of her own, "You started it…"

"You're just so easy to tease." Zani quips, her lips moving to placate the redness of another bite, "Aren't you, o' fair lady Acolyte?"

Phoebe gives no response to that. She merely huffs at her teasing, turning away once more like she's a lover scorned—it's not fair that she has her in such a compromising position, she can't help but be so easy to make fun of considering their unbalanced situation.

But the hands that remain on her waist are unshaking, and her tail does not waver in its place. Zani still holds her so close, they're still stuck to each other. Limbs intertwined, palpable heat shared across their bodies; she still hasn't taken off her strap, either, the toy pokes her in the space between her thighs every now and then. She keeps remembering how she's touched her, she keeps remembering how they gave their everything to each other; her ears starting to redden from the thought.

It doesn't help either, the fact that Zani doesn't stop brushing over her skin with her lips, drawing lines over her lovebites as if she wants to keep them there, like she doesn't want them to ever disappear.

And it's sudden when Zani says it, "I'll do it." coming out in a low voice—she sounds so vulnerable; a shiver seeps into Phoebe's skin when she hears, "I'll do it, if you want."

But it's not like she understands what exactly Zani's trying to imply, "Huh?"

"If you want me to help you with this for the rest of your life." She explains, clarifying at her vague behest, "I'll do it."

And that's the clarification that she needs. Phoebe understand her now, but it feels like that understanding's only been given in exchange for all the oxygen in her lungs. She gasps at the abrupt confession, taken by surprise.

"You're not supposed to answer it like that." Phoebe mutters, her breaths start to turn erratic, "You're supposed to tell me to find someone; someone that was born tailored to my needs—someone that isn't you."

"But I'd be lying." Zani counters, chuckling bitterly, "And you don't like it when people lie."

And it's true that she doesn't, that she doesn't really like it at all when people do anything that disgraces the name of her Lord and Their scriptures. It's not that she's faultless herself—Phoebe knows she is not without fault, she tries her best to stick the path that she feels is true. Straight to the course, guided by the light that is the warmth of Imperator's all-knowing gaze.

Still.

She'd also be lying if she said that it doesn't make her feel something, the thought that she rememers her quirks like she knows the back of her hand; Zani pays attention to many things, she knows she does—they wouldn't be in this situation in the first place if she hadn't caught her from her fall, if she hadn't suspected there was something amiss in her condition. She's always looking out for her and just that should be enough—but it isn't.

"We're not supposed to." Phoebe whispers; it has to be enough, how could she ask for more than she has? "You've done too much for me. You're already doing too much for me. I can't possibly ask you to—"

"Do you love me?"

Beat.

"You didn't answer me before." Zani reminds her, insistent in her urging but still so undeniably gentle with her. "Do you love me, Phoebe?"

What else can Phoebe say?

"Yes." she does love her; she does, "I love you, Zani."

"Then that's all that matters to me."

"You think you're asking too much of me?" Zani goes on, "Isn't that the other way around here? Is it not me who's being the relentless one? To ask you to go through something you're biologically designed to go through with someone that can't fully sate those needs?"

The words keep falling out of her mouth, the blabbering just can't seem to stop."I can be selfish too, you know." She says then, nosing into her skin,"I don't say things just because I can. I'm not selfish, normally, because there's not much for me to feel selfish over. There's never been much for me to want beyond a good night's sleep and bad guys to boot for the sake of Ragunna's peace. It's just that…"

Zani stops for another intake of breath, pulling her even closer by her waist.

"I'm not a poet. I don't have grand words to say and I don't think I could ever reach the standards of the scriptures you're so used to reading. But… when it comes to you—" The moment feels too vulnerable, everything feels so unreal that Phoebe feels like she'd just fainted right after her knot and that this is now the climax of her dreams; "—I don't want another person to be there by your side."

But it's not a dream, it can't possibly be a dream when everything feels too true to be an unexistent lie. She thinks she can say she has a rather good imagination, her mind easily capable of conjuring picturesque scenarios of how much brighter the world would be if she could pat Brenno and Livia on their dainty little heads without fear of her seniors' persecution—but this doesn't feel like a dream; Zani feels too real. Her breath on Phoebe's trembling back, the licks that she places on her skin like she's a puppy that's begging to be held in her arms—self-deprecation has never been a virtue that Imperator's scriptures taught, but Phoebe isn't this good at self-theatrics, no.

"I don't want you to find anyone else, Phoebe. Not for your heat, and especially not for your life." Zani mutters, awfully quiet; she sounds so extinguished, like she's not sure she should be admitting this—but who else could there possibly be in that position in Phoebe's life but her? "You wanted an answer, didn't you?"

The sigh that leaves her sends leaves goosebumps under Phoebe's skin, chills singing through her trembling spine. She doesn't seem to want to let go of her, she keeps holding her so close it's as if she fears she might disappear the moment she loosens her grip—but Phoebe isn't planning on doing that, not really; she likes being held in her arms just as much as Zani does.

Zani buries her head in her shoulder, nosing into the bites littered all over her skin. It's real, this entire ordeal is; their bodies pressed so close that it's obscenely, intimately sweet—everything is real. Even now, Phoebe can hear her heartbeat so clearly that she feels like her own heart is syncing up with Zani's too.

Beat.

"I might not be what you need." Zani's quivering, voice shaky with the slight of susceptibility. "But if I'm what you want, if you're willing to go through this and everything after it with me—" She stops, and a crack in her vibrato momentarily overtakes her throat; beat. "Then I can live with that; that's all I need to know to stay with you."

Zani moves up, her breath fanning the shell of her ears—she kisses her there too, once. Then another, and another; beat. She's brimming with her unmated marks but it still makes Phoebe feel so full; there might as well be no other place the sun has touched that Zani hasn't yet as well.

"Tell me to stay with you." Zani pleads, begging her with a desperation barely hidden under the seams that she'd normally find unbecoming of herself, "Didn't you say that you wanted me, too?"

Beat, beat—beat.

Her seniors have told her that it isn't right to desire for the unordinary; there's a reason why people find order in the mundanity and why on earth would she ever settle for something so unorthodox when there's countless of others—others who'd fit her better, others who walk her way of life, others who won't have people chattering about her love life like it's the only weed in Imperator's ever-so-perfect garden of blue and white. They should be nemeses, they ought to be each other's enemy; it's just as selfish for Phoebe to want this life, she knows it is.

But God—what would she not give to make sure that the bed she sleeps in is one that has Zani lying beside her too?

Her body's moving on autopilot once more. Phoebe flops onto her side to meet her face-to-face, and their eyes meet without hesitation, foreheads pressed together when she remarks, "You're the one I want."

She says because it's true; she does want this like she does, she wants her just as much that it's sickening—she'd never knew she was capable of desiring someone like this before; there's no one else just like Zani in her mind. "There's no one else but you."

It's always been her, and it'll always be her, she thinks as the light of a thousand stars lights up the latent features on her face. She looks so lovely like this; the realization of a love unlost has her beaming, and how can Phoebe resist wanting to press herself against those kiss-swollen lips? She finds herself leaning in, wanting to act on her desires—but then a feverish incandescence rides over her body; and she spasms as warmth rushes all over like a heatwave.

Always in the worst of times…

"Zani." Phoebe calls for her, realizing what's about to come; her heat's just beginning, the grace period is even shorter considering their incompatibility andthey still have a week to go through before they can settle down and think for their future together—but that's okay, Phoebe feels; it's okay as long as she's going through it with her, "It's starting a—again—"

Her words are cut off by the shrill pitch of an inexorable moan; her own body temperature is so high that she can feel it all over, redness bursting into bright fireworks across the silky surface of her skin. No matter, though, this isn't like all her previous heats—she doesn't have to go through this alone, she doesn't have to work herself through despite the tiredness of a climax anymore.

Zani holds her close, just as she's always done. "There, there." She says fondly, placating her with another kiss to her temple, "Don't worry, cara mia. I'm here for you."

She can feel the tip of her strap positioned against her already weeping cunt, legs spread wide open to coax the toy in. Her encouragement is soothing, it has Phoebe closing her eyes in triumphant bliss as she lets Zani's lips brush over hers once more. Zani's said it herself, after all—there's nothing for her to worry over and their life has just yet to start; she'll be there to catch her when she falls.

"I got you, Phoebe. I got you."

She did. She always does; and she always will.