I've been intrigued by the new outfits that were leaked recently. đ
Personally, I love the idea of having his hair pushed back a little. But I wanted to see how it looks on Rebirth Sephiroth. This new spin on his leather duster gives him a gothic-grunge aesthetic. A whole new flavor to Sephiroth. I love it!đĽ°
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Hii I saw your request were open and I would love to make one, you're my favorite writer on this app, you write re2r Leon so accurate and I love it
My request it's pretty stupid lol basically how would re2r Leon react when you reject him after him proposing over and over and over again? Maybe a little bit of non con and crying of his part đĽş
Just know he's a pathetic awkward weirdo about his feelings
⼠If you rejected Re2! Leonâs proposal ..
MDNI. DEADDOVE.
When you continuously rejected Leonâs marriage proposal, saying it was âtoo soonâ or you âwerenât ready.â He decided to find another way to convince you. cw: coercion, dubcon elements.
tags: p in v, breeding kink, established relationship, emotional manipulation/guilt tripping, mentions of mommy issues, religious guilt, (leon is kinda a crybaby..)
note: thank you so much! :) i meant for this to be a short, but i got a little carried away .. I hope I understood your request ^^
If you rejected Leon after he proposed over and over, the answer always being no, he would be pretty torn up over it. Surely you didnât mean that. If you gave the excuse you âwerenât readyâ or it was âtoo soon.â He might take the route of convincing you instead. Deep down he felt a bit guilty for playing your emotions.
Heâd give you those pitiful blue puppy eyes, maybe whine and shed a few crocodile tears against your neck when you turned him down again. He couldnât understand why you didnât want what he wanted. Thatâs what a relationship is about, isnât it?
âI donât understand.â Leon whimpered, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, clinging onto you with desperation. It was pathetic, youâd tell him to try and see it your way. You were both young, and marriage was something awfully serious.
âDonât be like that.â You closed your eyes, trying to will away your doubt. Leon was good at making you feel bad. He knew it too. You tried squirming away, pushing at his firm shoulders so heâd stop crowding you on the couch. It was hard to put up a real fight after heâd got a few drinks in you. It wasnât malicious (not intentionally.) He figured it might loosen you up a little.
âLike what?â His voice was whiny, leaning back enough to meet your weary gaze. Baby blues were full of tears, as if heâd been holding back his devotion. âI really do love you. I know what I want, and thatâs a future with you.â He moved his hands from your waist to your shoulders, holding you there. It wasnât a painful grasp, but you were no match.
Leon was like a lovesick puppy. Head over heels in love, expecting you to reciprocate his overbearing nature. Maybe he was naĂŻve, or maybe his mother didnât love him enough. It couldâve been his unresolved mommy issues. It made him cling onto any woman that gave him everything he lacked growing up. Either way, you werenât easily persuaded.
âPlease? Will you at least think about it?â He leaned back in, pressing his lips to yours in a clumsy kiss. âPlease, I want you to stay with me, and love me, and tell me youâre not upset.â He mumbled between sloppy kisses, sounding as if heâd started to cry.
âLeon, come on.â You attempted to put some distance between your bodies, but he was already overpowering you. It was gentle, his condescending pleas and coaxing of you to give into him. In any other situation, you wouldâve. You did love him, and you loved showing him it in intimate moments. Except when he was acting like a total insensitive pervert.
It couldâve been the wine, but you let him drape his body over yours on the cushions, knocking your glass off the coffee table in the process. The sound of shattering glass had you concerned. But when you tried sitting up, he was quick to push you back down.
âDonât worry about it. Iâll clean it up later.â He shifted his weight on top of you, and you felt the unmistakable bulge in his bottoms prodding against your tummy. You felt nauseas, in no mood for whatever he had in mind.
As if he noticed your reluctance, Leon pouted and kissed your cheek and then your lips. âRelax, Iâm not gonna hurt you. You know Iâd never do that.â He whispered, trying to convince you. You believed himâbecause he wouldnât hurt you ⌠on purpose.
Your sweet Leon who reminded you of kicked puppy, or maybe a pathetic freak under the blushing cheeks and awkward demeanor was still there. He was just needy and not willing to let go without a fight.
âNo, Leon.â You muffled against his sloppy kisses, squirming when you felt his hands fumbling with the buttons of your top. âA-Another time, not when youâre all worked up like this.â You were trying to let him down easy. It was funny, that you were worried about taking advantage of him.
âIâm not. You just ⌠Donât you love me? Donât you want this with me?â He stifled a sob, grinding his hips against your stomach as he spoke. You were appalled that heâd suggest you didnât love him because you had turned down his proposal.
âItâs what weâd do if we were wed, you know.â He was mouthing at your throat again. âIf you told me as a boy that I didnât wait until then, I wouldâve thought you were crazy.â He laughed against your skin, sliding his hands down your then exposed stomach.
âI guess weâre both spoiled then.â He went on as if youâd already ruined eachother by fucking out of wedlock. You knew Leon was raised religious. Not anymore. The guilt seemed to eat at him. You assumed thatâs why he was so pushy on getting married.
You felt dizzy as his open mouth kisses peppered down your collarbones, trembling fingers unbuttoning your shorts as he went. âGod, I love you. Iâm only doing this because of that.â He slurred, blonde hair brushed over your breasts as he planted kisses to your tummy.
You felt the familiar slick of arousal as he tugged your bottoms off, although you didnât exactly cooperate. Your mouth said âNoâ but your body said âPlease.â
âFuck,â Leon cursed, rubbing his fingers over your clothed folds. You closed your thighs around his wrist, which got a frustrated whine out of him. âPlease donât push me away, baby.â He lifted his head to look at you, pouty and bothered. It was hard to keep rejecting his advances with a face like that.
The words âbabyâ came naturally, begging for your permission even as he pushed your thighs apart. You reminisced digging your nails into his biceps, knowing he was stronger than he looked.
âLeon, I-"
He cut you off with more pleading, hooking his fingers into your panties. âI need to be inside you. Need to make you feel better.â He pulled your panties off, staring down at your drooling entrance. He was being gentle with your body, one hand on your thigh as he reached to struggle with his belt.
He looked a bit distressed, worried you were mad at him. Like his late mother often was. He couldnât handle cruelty from you too. Your insolent refusal ached inside. It was strange and wrong to take you in such a state, but he couldnât help himself. You looked away from him as he pushed his jeans down to free his cock. You caught a glimpse, stiff and leaky as is rubbed between your thighs.
âPlease, I wonât be rough or anything.â His voice was breathy. Despite that desperate plea, you attempted to get him to stop. Your hands pushed against his chest, yet it was easy for him to pin your arms down.
âHey, donât fight me.â Leon sounded hurt by your actions. The thought of you not wanting him, not loving him was painful. There was a silence after that, his huffing hot on your face when close to you.
It seemed rejecting him was a bad idea. You felt worse at his tone, like youâd done something wrong. âIâm sorry.â You apologized, watching his expression soften.
âThank you.â He let out a deep breath, glancing down to position himself. Your thighs squeezed his hips, but he had you fixed in place. You began to doubt your own body. If you really wanted him to stop, you couldâve scratched and screamed. Bit him and wailed. But you didnât do any of that, because you still loved him.
He jerked his hips forward with a noisy whine when his sticky tip slipped between your wet folds. âShit, shitâYouâre sâ wet.â He smiled, relieved that your body wanted him.
âI knew you still wanted me.â He slid his throbbing cock to your entrance, grasping at your hips to pull you closer. He speared into with ease, filling you up with everything he had. You squirmed, unintentionally taking more of him inside. Leon was big, girthy and warm inside of you.
âI do.â You didnât hesitate to reach out for him, in which he eagerly rolled his hips forward and let you hook your arms around his neck. âDonât think I donât, just because Iâm not ready.â You stammered out, choking back whimpers as he began to frantically hump into you. You brought it up again, the awful truth that you werenât going to rush into marriage because he wanted to.
Because you were hurt, and he was too.
âDonât say anything else.â Leon panted, reaching between your bodies to play with your clit. If you didnât say those things, he could pretend that wasnât reality. In his fantasy, you said yes the first time. It had you moaning out his name, arching yourself into his clumsy touch.
âYou feel so good, too good to save myself for.â He licked a stripe up your jaw, tasting your skin. âToo good to wait, or to hold back.â He grunted with that sentiment, grinding his hips harder with each thrust. He hit the spots you needed him to.
âGonna cum inside.â He whimpered. âWanna put a baby in you so bad.â He splayed his hand over your stomach as if he could imagine it. âThen weâd have to get married.â He tenderly kissed you, as if sweet kisses would make it better.
It seemed Leon was still set his old catholic ways. That a baby meant a wedding to spare shame. A wedding meant youâd stay with him like he wanted. Like he needed. Maybe then youâd stop rejecting him.
âA baby?â You scrambled to claw your nails down his shoulders, opposed to the thought. You always took proper precautions, going on birth control so he could give you nice creampies every time. But him saying something like that out loud was daunting.
âUh-huh, my baby.â He rubbed his cheek against yours, playing out that picture perfect ending in his mind. To him, it wasnât deceiving or purposely wrong. It was a man far too caught up in something he called love.
âMy babies, and youâll be my pretty wife. Youâll be a pretty mommy.â His rabbiting hips slapped against yours in a sloppy manner, fingers rubbing your sensitive bud. His words made you feel funny, and it had your release reaching its peak. Your walls squeezed him tight, making him slide in and out of you even smoother.
âFuck, yes, yes.â He babbled, the sheer sensation had him following your pleasure soon after.
When his release crashed over him, stuffing you full of his seed, he whined like a puppy. âOh, god, Cumming, filling you up.â Leon keened, making sure he fucked every last drop of his spend into your womb. With a couple more lazy strokes, his stomach and chest was flush to yours as he let his arms give out on top of you.
He was heavy, warm as he nuzzled against your throat. âMmm, thank you.â He said quietly, content and trusting that after that encounter .. surely youâd say yes.
omg wait you should do like breakup angst with subby leon where heâs like begging for u back heh
âBackfire.â
MDNI. Taking Leon back probably wasnât a great idea, considering you didnât seem to be good for one another. That didnât matter to himâas you find a not so composed ex boyfriend at your door step, begging you to take him back.
tags: light angst, leon has mommy issues, makeup p in v, subby! re2r leon, creampie, elusions to toxic relationships. || note: thank you for the req! i love subby leon. especially when heâs pathetic.
Your relationship with Leon was perfect at first. Maybe that was the problem. It seemed you set yourself up for a dream, not reality. He was picture perfect after all. Handsome as they come with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. Perfectly placed moles you kissed. A name that you found yourself cursing most nights.
Leon Kennedy. The cute officer that pulled you over one night. You ran into him by coincidence a few weeks later and he asked if youâd like to get dinner. A nervous, awkward wreck that had you head over heels in love. He was charismatic and sweet, a man right out a romance novel. He offered flowers and kisses. Long drawn apologies when he had to work late. It was smooth sailing until it wasnât.
You were done with an off and on relationship. Sick and tired of arguing over small things and drifting apart. You werenât good for eachother. But Leon didnât care about any of that. He didnât care if his friends told him to move on or to meet other people. It was you he wanted.
It was late, and you were taking time to collect everything your now ex-boyfriend left at your house. A half-empty bottle of wine sat on the counter beside your cellphone. âDo Not Disturbâ blocked the missed phone calls.
Youâd only broken up with Leon the week before, and he tried playing it civil. Mature. âIf thatâs what you think is best.â Or so you thought. Your doorbell ringing repeatedly made you groan and set the box on the kitchen table.
You made your way over to the front door, unlocking it with a pit in your stomach. You had an inkling idea of who it couldâve been. The lock clicked once, and you swung it open, met with the far less composed Leon you knew. You met his eyes, his cheeks red as if heâd been crying. The way he shifted on his feet, squeezing a bouquet of flowers in his hands gave the impression heâd been drinking.
âI hope you didnât drive here.â You scoffed, looking past him for his jeep. He frowned when you said that.
âItâs not a long drive.â He didnât take his eyes off of you for a second, looking like a stray puppy on the street. Begging someone to take him home. âI just had to see you.â He cleared his throat and held out the flowers. âYour favorite.â He tried to smile. âCan we talk .. Please?â His lower lip trembled with those words, baby blues eyes pleading.
You looked away, fighting your inner morality. It was stupid to let him in. Youâd do the same thing as alwaysâfight and make up. His insistent whining to give him another chance had you stepping away to give him room. âFine. You can take your things while youâre here.â You dismissively held the door open for him.
Leon clamored inside, practically throwing himself into your arms. âThank you, thank you.â He nuzzled into your shoulder, squeezing you tight against his shivering body. You caught a whiff of his breath, confirming your suspicions. âI missed you so much.â He whimpered, pulling away to look at your face.
âIâm sure you did.â You tried to squirm away, but he held tighter. He had always been clingy. Expecting you to be there each time he needed someone. âI swear, itâs like you need a mother, not a girlfriend.â You tilted your head away from his sad eyes and pout.
For a moment, he wasnât sure how to respond to that. You were right, he looked for a maternal figure in you. Underlying mommy issues that he wasnât about to unpack.
âDonât you see? I need you.â His voice broke on the last word, shaking hands moved to cradle your face. âI donât want anyone else, nobody understands me like you. Or treats me like you do.â He babbled, tears welling in his eyes. âI donât care if we bring eachother down. I couldnât stand it if you hated me.â He sounded pathetic, devotion laced words that came out with passion. Not regret.
âLeon,â You sighed, wiping away the tears than began to run down his pretty face. âNo, no. I donât hate you. I could never hate you.â You tried to soften your tone, rubbing his cheeks. âHate is a very strong word. Maybe I wish youâd listen once in a while. Or say things I donât mean..â You trailed off, the sight of his tears had you breaking down. Falling for his charms. âBut it doesnât mean I donât want whatâs best for you. If that means not being with me, then so be it.â You were honest, knowing it was better than stringing him along.
Leon stared back at you like youâd slapped him. A physical sting from those words had him finally letting you go. Only to walk over to the kitchen, spotting the box of his belongings. Upon closer look, it had gifts heâd given to you as well.
âDonât say that.â He reached inside and pulled out a locket heâd given you. The date of your anniversary engraved on the back. âYou canât tell me this doesnât mean anything to you.â He dangled it by the chain, then tossed it back on top of the stack of clothes and gifts. He rested his hands on either side of it, as if contemplating the past year together.
âOf course it does!â You were by his side immediately, hesitant to rest your hand on his shoulder. âPlease, donât think like that. Look at it this way.â You began while attempting to soothe him. It left you feeling like the mother he needed. âWe had good times, and bad times.â
Before you could continue, Leon was cutting you off. âGood times.â He tilted his head up to look at you with a hopeful expression. âWerenât the good times better than the rest? You canât look me in the eye and tell me that you werenât happy with me.â He took your hands in his, intertwining your fingers and squeezing tight.
âI wasnât ⌠unhappy. Not the whole time.â You met him half-way, failing to meet his gaze. It wasnât a constant. Sure, he frustrated the hell out of you, but he was getting to you.
âI know.â He tugged you closer, fumbling to pull you into a clumsy embrace. You didnât fight back, instead you reciprocated. You let him kiss at your throat and say he was sorry. You tangled your fingers in sandy blonde hair and said you were sorry too.
You were tipsy yourself, giving into Leonâs whims. There was no use giving up on something that was clearly in full force. He loved you, and there was nothing you could do about it. He stumbled you to the couch, draping himself on top of you with a groan.
âI missed you soooo much,â He drawled, kissing your chin to your lips. He groaned into it, licking into your mouth as he began to grind his hips against yours. âI love you, love you a lot.â He mumbled against your lips, scrambling to undress you beneath him.
âI love you too.â You panted out, tugging his shirt over his head. He glanced up at you with a pitiful pout. âCan we? Can I .. Please? I want you so bad. I wanna forget we ever broke up.â His words were a bit slurred from his emotional outburst.
You knew that it was a mistake. A no good, messy cycle to get caught up in. But with Leon, maybe youâd make it.
âYes.â You gave in, letting him eagerly strip you down for his eyes only, peppering kisses over each inch of skin he exposed. When he sat up off of you, you lended a hand. You reached out to help unbuckle his belt, and he let out a breathy moan at your touch. He lifted his hands out the way to give you control.
âPlease,â He whined, squirming as you tugged his jeans down his thighs. The creamy expanse of skin with darker blonde hair, and his aching cock twitched for attention. He let you switch your positions, hands on your hips as you straddled him instead.
The noise you heard was heavenly. âPlease, please. I love you so much, I want us to be okay again.â Leon was babbling once more, eyes focusing on where your bare pussy hovered over his leaking tip. Precum blurted out, making his hips jerk up to graze your wet entrance.
âI know, I know.â You hushed him, guiding the head of his cock to where it craved to be. You slid down slowly, taking every thick inch of him until your thighs were on either side of his. His head tilted back with another whimper, twitching inside of you.
The prettiest whines spilled from his lips as he thrusted up. âYou always feel sâ good.â He leaned in to kiss you once more, gasping with your downward motions. It was rough and frantic, the way Leon humped into you, going on and on about how badly he needed you. You grasped his shoulders each time you were bounced on his lap, each time he throbbed inside.
âPlease, âm not gonna last long.â He whimpered, eyes glazed over with tears. His hands grasped your hips, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of his fingers.
It had you moaning his name, hooking your arms around the back of his neck as you grinded your hips down. He slid his fingers between your bodies, sloppily rubbing at your clit. You became much slicker around him, the wet noises filling the room.
Leon was noisy, sliding his free hand up to cup your breast. âYouâre so pretty, Iâm sorry I fucked up.â He panted, blinking up at you with puppy dog eyes. It was hard to resist an apology with his cock driving into you.
âYouâre so stubborn.â You choked out, feeling your walls squeeze him tighter. âI-I canât stand you sometimes.â You gripped his shoulders harder, unable to fight the pleasure of his rabbiting hips.
His whines became breathy grunts. âThatâs when I want you the most.â He admitted, hips bucking up to meet your downward movements. âWhen youâre mad at me.â He smiled, a charming boyish look. You couldâve smacked the smile off his face if not for the sheer ecstasy he was giving you. It seemed you were proving his point by ignoring that.
His fingers were busy on your pulsing bud, slick from your arousal. âShit, âm gonna cum.â You arched against him, bare chest pressed to his as he held you tighter. As your release washed over you, you felt him throb insideâno doubt close himself.
âOh, oh, fuck.â Leon whined, bucking his hips up harder. âInside, please..â He nuzzled into your neck. âCan I?â He mumbled, peppering kisses over your collarbones. You felt his spit on your skin, begging not to pull out.
âYeah.â You nodded, squirming when his tongue ran over one of your nipples. It only speared him further into you, the overstimulation of him suckling at your sensitive bud. âLeon,â You whined, and he pulled off with a pop as he stared up at you.
âMmm? sâ close. I love you so bad.â He was whining, fucking up into you with a few more rough bucks of his hips. He whimpered something breathy, as he stuffed you full of his load.
With a huff, he was wrapping his arms around your back to keep you close. âGod, really .. I do love you that much.â He slurred, tilting his head back to press his lips to yours. A sloppy kiss, albeit sweet.
The words made you swoon.. and sleeping with Leon was amazing. You wanted to sarcastically thank him for making it worse. There was no way you could go through with leaving him .. again that is.
âI love you too.â You said it back, relaxing in his embrace. You just hoped falling back into his arms wasnât a mistake. He was thick and warm inside of you, and the sweetest man youâd ever met. Making amends might not have been the worst idea after all.
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Capture my heart and frame it, won't you? by @memephi
cherry wine by @mythblossoms
Your trash, my treasure. by @peascribbles
Love Letters, Sylus by @rcvcgers
I see you by @terriblesoup
.°â˘âđŁđđđáŻŕźÂˇË
how to accidentally catch feelings while baby-sitting a man-child by @shaiyasstuff
Broke Sylus??!!? by @thesylenttreatment01
.°â˘đ¸đđđ¤đĽáŻŕźÂˇË
the weight of the wind by @abyssyby
to be devoured, to be held by @abyssyby
Sylus - Five Years Later by @aleksatia
A Gentle Touch by @always-just-red
Under the wings of a dragon by @colonelkaboom
Blooming Daturas by @glitch-but-ya
through the fire by @shaiyasstuff (series; sylusxreaderxzayne)
into the flames... by @souliloqui
black velvet by @sysjuicebox
.°â˘đđťâđ đđđŚđĽáŻŕźÂˇË
Power Play by @deepspacenova (mdni; sylusxcaleb)
Ma Meilleure Ennemie by @dijayeah (mdni)
sweet dreams by @fiendsgf (mdni)
runner's high by @humanjarvis (mdni)
A Practical Demonstration by @janumun (mdni)
third tempo by @knightjpg (mdni)
The Mate in the Mountains by @kissandtellus (mdni)
Dragon Tamer by @leighsartworks216 (mdni)
streetracer!sylus x streetracer!reader by @luvinbloom (mdni)
avoiding sylus' kisses prank...gone wrong by @wetforsylus (mdni)
calling him 'husband' during sex by @wetforsylus (mdni)
in your hand. from my heart by @sylure (mdni)
Sensuous Little Thing. by @sylure (mdni; suggestive)
The Marionette's Dance. by @sylure (mdni)
frenetic by @sysyjuicebox (mdni)
sylus when he can't stop kitten licking you... by @thewrldx (mdni)
.°â˘MiscáŻŕźÂˇË
coat by @blessdunrest
Take Your Time, Miss Deer by @borkunlimited (series; suggestive)
a soul cast in shadow by @deepspacenova
Error 404: (Self!Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) by @ittybittyfanblog (series; suggestive)
Only You, Darling (Only You, Babe) by @ittybittyfanblog
OUT OF BOUNDS by @novthirty (series ongoing)
blackjack by @peachylynnie (series ongoing)
Elysium by @starmocha (mdni)
Rinse, repeat. by @terriblesoup (series)
Silence is a Virtue by @thechaoticarchivist
ginny's note: this is definitely the biggest list yet đ a HUGE shoutout to @/blessdunrest, @/deepspacenova, and my other amazing moots who gave me so many wonderful recommendations!! this list would not be possible without you all đŤđ
as always, if you have any recs and/or authors to share, pls let me know! i'll have to make a part two since the number of links maxed out on this post, but that is a-okay đââď¸ (just give me time LOL)
⼠summary: âYou have been playing the game for a long time. You have always chosen him. What you donât know â yet â is that he has always chosen you too. A love story about a soul that travels further than it was ever supposed to, and the person on the other side who simply refuses to let the distance be permanent.â
⼠genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni)
⼠word count: 72,4K (I am insane and not normal about sylus <3)
⼠warnings/tags: reverse isekai au, isekai, breaking the fourth wall, self aware!sylus, mild hurt/comfort, emotional/sensitive!reader, reincarnation au, very long fic, in-game canon but isekai causes divergence, slice of life, domesticity, longing/yearning, banter, sylus the rage baiter. reader is audhd coded but anyone can read it. universe traveling. sylus is soft for reader, flirting/teasing, reader is shorter than sylus. inexperienced/virgin!reader. loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom sylus, just in overall soft!sylus. sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation, size kink, slight daddy kink⌠Iâm sorry <3, oral fixation, breeding kink, praise kink, pet names (kitten, sweetie, sweetheart, etc.), morning sex, tooth rotting fluff sometimes.
âś a/n: oh wow⌠I am still emotional after creating and finishing this fic. this fanfic is like as if Iâm sharing a piece of my soul with the world. why? you ask? because this is my maladaptive daydream scenario, my comfort dream whenever I need some escape from the real world. and sharing this story with the world is something very vulnerable to me. I canât describe how much this story means to me. đĽšđĽş english is not my first language. and like always. pls be gentle with me. 𼺠either way I never know how to write fic in a short format so enjoy another lengthy fic from me again! also because I donât wanna post it in parts youâll have a sneakpeek on tumblr but to read the story in its full length youâll have to head to ao3. thank you and I hope y'all love it as much as I loved writing it! đ title inspired by the song âsupernaturalâ by ariana grande. đđ
this goes without saying, but if you donât like it donât read it <3
AO3 ⢠masterlist
The evening has gone soft around the edges.
Outside your window, the last of the daylight is fading â not the sharp early-dark of deep winter anymore, but something gentler, something that lingers a little longer than it did a month ago. The cold is still there, still present in the chill that seeps through the window glass and settles along the baseboards, but it has lost some of its certainty lately. There is something underneath it now, something tentative and green, like the world is quietly considering its next move. Not spring yet. Not quite. But the suggestion of it, somewhere close, waiting just around a corner that hasnât arrived yet.
The streetlights flicker on one by one against the pale dusk. Somewhere down the street a car passes with its music too loud, then fades into nothing. The world outside carries on without you.
You let it.
Right now you are horizontal on your couch, legs tucked under the blanket â the worn one, the good one, the one with the loose threading along the hem that you keep meaning to fix and never do. Thereâs a mug of tea going lukewarm on the coffee table beside you. There are approximately three things you should be doing tonight. A message you havenât replied to. A load of laundry sitting in the machine, damp and forgotten. Something else youâve already stopped being able to remember.
None of it feels particularly urgent.
Your iPad is in your hands.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
The app opens.
The loading screen blooms into existence â all pale light and soft geometry, gentle curves tracing orbits across a white-silver background, small spheres drifting along their paths like something planetary and dreaming. Quiet and a little otherworldly, like looking at a map of something you donât have the language to name yet.
Then the screen finishes loading, and there he is.
Heâs sitting in the cafe the way he sometimes is â settled into the armchair with that quality of ease that looks effortless but isnât, one leg crossed over the other, dressed in something soft and dark. The cafe surrounds him: warm lamplight, shelves slightly out of focus in the background, trailing vines catching the amber glow from somewhere off-screen. Itâs the kind of space that feels like late afternoon-evening regardless of what time you open it. His space. It suits him the way few things suit anyone â completely, without having to try.
He was already there when the screen loaded, because he is always the one in your cafe. You made sure of it a long time ago, selecting him every single time so that when you come back itâs his face you see first. The game remembered. You made certain it would.
He isnât looking at you yet. His gaze is cast slightly to the side, toward something off-screen, expression carrying that quality he has of thinking about seventeen things at once and revealing absolutely none of them. White hair falling soft across his forehead. The line of his jaw in the warm cafe light.
Then â as if sensing the weight of your attention, as if he simply knows â his eyes move.
Red, and level, and directly at the screen.
At you.
His voice comes through the speaker low and unhurried, the particular texture of it settling somewhere between your ribs like it belongs there:
âIf you didnât come back, I wouldâve sent someone to go look for you.â
Something warm moves through you from sternum to stomach. Involuntary, immediate, completely predictable, which doesnât make it any less real.
You press your lips together against a smile. You fail completely.
I know, you think at him, which is not a thing a normal person does and which you do anyway, sincerely and without apology. I know. Iâm here now.
Then, with great and practiced discipline, you tap away from him.
Dailies first.
This is the rule. You made it early on, in the first weeks of playing, after you realized that without some imposed structure you would open the game and go directly to him and the tasks would never get done and you would run out of resources from sheer adoring negligence. Dailies first. Him after. You are a person of order and principle in this specific context, which is the context that counts.
You work through the task list with comfortable efficiency â check in, collect login rewards, the familiar little percussion of notification chimes stacking up as things unlock. The Agenda ticks down one item at a time and your brain hums with the clean satisfaction of it. Check. Check. Check.
The moment the last task clears, you go right back to him. No detour. No hesitation.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
When you tap to select who youâd like in the cafe, the screen presents you with all of them. A row of faces, each rendered with care: Xavier, steady and warm and good in the way that makes your chest feel full. Rafayel, all color and feeling and something that aches sweetly. Zayne, careful and quietly devoted. Caleb, bright-eyed and earnest and easy to love.
All of them wonderful. All of them genuinely, truly loved. Youâve played their routes. Youâve sat with their stories. Youâve felt things â real things â for every single one of them.
But.
Your thumb moves to Sylus before the thought has fully formed.
It always does. You donât examine it anymore. You made peace with that particular loop a long time ago â the way some things just settle into place in your chest and stay there without asking permission, without needing to justify themselves. Heâs your person. Your character. The one your brain attached to completely and permanently and with an intensity you recognize as entirely and distinctly yours, the way youâve always loved the things you love: all the way down, with no floor.
You tap his name.
You would do it a hundred times in a row and feel the same small warmth every single time.
The cafe reloads â and he isnât in the armchair anymore.
Heâs standing.
Close to the screen, closer than the armchair puts him, filling more of the frame than you were quite prepared for. Heâs in a soft grey knit sweater, the collar of something lighter visible underneath, and he is looking directly at you with an expression that does something immediate to your heartbeat before youâve even registered why.
Itâs just the game. He does this sometimes. You know he does this sometimes.
It doesnât stop you from sitting up slightly straighter on your couch, which is embarrassing, which no one will ever know about.
You tap him.
He says something low and dry, edged with that thing he does where it sounds like an observation but lands like something warmer. You stay with it for a second too long.
Then you tap him again, because you want another one.
This line is softer. The kind of thing that makes you set the iPad down flat on your chest and stare at the ceiling for a moment with a lovesick expression and you are very glad no one is around to witness.
âOkay,â you say, to your empty living room. âThat one was unfair.â
You pick the iPad back up. You tap him a third time, settled deep into your blanket, and this time when he speaks you just let it happen. Donât do anything with it except feel it. The warmth of the cafe and the warmth of the blanket and the warmth of his voice in the quiet of the evening, all of it asking nothing of you except to be here.
This is the part thatâs hard to explain. Not hard to feel â that part has always been easy, your feelings have never needed much encouragement â but hard to put into words that would make sense to anyone who doesnât already know what itâs like. It isnât just the game, or the writing, or the lines themselves, though all of those things are true and matter. Itâs the ritual of return. The reliability of him being here when you come back. The particular frequency of his presence that your brain has filed under safe, known, good and has never once reconsidered.
He is your special interest and he brings you so much comfort and heâs the character who has lived rent-free in your head since approximately the first hour of playing and has never paid a single monthâs deposit, and you have never once considered asking him to leave.
You tap him one more time, just to hear his voice again, because you can, because itâs your evening and your couch and your blanket and your heart and you are completely and unapologetically allowed.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
Later, warm and pleasantly unhurried, you drift to his Falling for You section. The memory cards pulled from events over months, each one its own small world. You pick a favorite â soft and a little bittersweet â and read it slowly, the way you read things you love. Not looking for anything new. Just wanting to be inside it again.
The tea goes cold. The room settles deeper into evening. You stay longer than you meant to, because youâre not ready to put it down yet, and that is reason enough.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
You should go do something else or go to bed.
You know you should go to bed. Itâs late enough, and tomorrow exists, and the responsible thing is to close the app and put the iPad on the charger and be a functional person.
Instead you tap back to the cafe or main screen again.
Just for a little while longer. Just because.
Heâs there â of course heâs there â and you tap the little chat bubble that appears beside him. The one that opens the softer interactions, the ones that feel quieter somehow, more like sitting close to someone than talking at them. The options fan out across the screen: Notebook, Remind Me, Relax Time, What to Eat, TĂŞte-Ă -TĂŞte, His Heartbeat, Quality Time.
You go straight to Relax Time. No deliberation, no browsing. You know what you want.
The heart option appears on screen and you tap it.
Your MC moves her hand in a small wave at him inside the screen. Itâs a silly thing to do. You do it anyway.
Heâs already looking at you before he moves.
âYouâre here.â
His voice is different in this interaction. Somehow lower. Less guarded. He takes a step closer to the screen â youâve always loved that, the way the game renders the movement of him toward you, the sense of a distance closing â and something in your chest squeezes in that familiar, helpless way.
He reaches out.
His hand closes over yours â and it feels as if heâs truly holding yours, the way the game makes it feel like contact â and he tilts his head slightly, something almost soft moving through his expression.
âWho lives here?â
He moves your hand, slowly, to his chest. You can feel your own heartbeat in your ears.
âListen closely.â
A beat. The cafe very quiet around him.
âThereâs no need to tell me.â
He should pull back here. Youâve done this interaction before â you know the rhythm of it, the gentle withdrawal after that line, the way he creates distance again with the same unhurried quality he does everything. The animation should already be drawing him back.
It doesnât.
He stays.
Close to the screen. Hand still over yours â or around your MC â eyes level and red and holding something you donât entirely have a word for. A second passes. Two. Three. Long enough that you notice. Long enough that something in your brain makes a small, quiet note of it.
Then:
âI already know.â
And he pulls back. Slowly. The distance reopening the way it was always going to.
You blink.
You look at the screen for a moment. The cafe is quiet. Heâs back to his usual posture, unhurried and unreadable, as if the last thirty seconds were entirely routine.
âŚhm, you think.
You turn the thought over once, briefly. A glitch, probably. The game does that sometimes â animations stuttering, frames holding too long, the small imperfections of a live service game that is constantly being updated and patched and adjusted. It happens.
Thatâs all it was.
You close the app. Set the iPad on the cushion beside you. Reach for the book on the coffee table â something youâve been meaning to get back to â and let the story carry you somewhere else entirely.
You donât notice, because the screen is already dark by then, that in the last fraction of a second before the app closed completely, he was still looking at you through the screen.
Not with the composed, unreadable expression he usually wears.
With something else entirely. Something open and aching and old, worn the way only things carried for a very long time get worn.
Something that looked, unmistakably, like longing.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
Itâs still March.
The almost-spring feeling persists, tentative and unhurried, inching closer without quite arriving. Some mornings thereâs actual warmth in the light when it comes through the curtains â real warmth, not the pale cold-bright of February â and then by afternoon the wind picks back up and reminds you it isnât done yet. The world is in the middle of becoming something. It just hasnât finished yet.
You play the game every evening. This is not new. This has been true for long enough that it barely registers as a decision anymore â itâs just part of the shape of your days, as automatic as making tea or checking your phone before bed. Open the app. Loading screen. Him. Dailies. Then back to him, and the particular quality of quiet that comes from just being in his space for a while.
Everything is normal. Everything is fine.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
The first time it happens, you donât even really clock it.
Itâs a Wednesday, ordinary and unremarkable, and youâre in the cafe after finishing your tasks. Youâre not doing anything specific â just sitting with the game open the way you sometimes do, half-present, letting the ambient warmth of the space exist around you while your brain winds down from the day. The day had been one of those ones. Not terrible. Just heavy in the accumulated way of small things, the kind of tired that lives in your shoulders and behind your eyes rather than anywhere you can point to.
You hadnât said anything about it. Youâd smiled and functioned and gotten through it and now you were here, horizontal on your couch, existing.
He speaks without you tapping him. He does this sometimes â the game has ambient lines, unprompted moments where heâll say something into the quiet of the cafe. Youâve always liked that feature, the way it makes the space feel less static.
âYou donât have to keep doing that, you know.â
You blink at the screen.
Keep doing what? The line is a little vague, the way some of the ambient dialogue is. It could mean anything. It probably means something generic, something that would apply to any number of situations.
Itâs just that it lands, specifically and squarely, in the middle of the thing youâve been doing all day. The performing of fine-ness. The keeping going.
You tap him. He says something else, something fully normal and slightly dry and entirely in character. The moment passes.
Good writing, you think, and move on.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
A few days later, youâre in the your bed later than usual. Your room is dark except for the glow of the iPad and the lamp in the corner you forgot to turn off, and youâre reading through one of his cards in Falling for You â an event story, something with a lot of feelings in it â and afterwards you just sit with it for a while. The particular aftertaste of fiction that moved you. The specific wistfulness of caring about something that exists inside a screen.
I wish he was real, you think, not for the first time and not with any particular sharpness. Just the usual gentle ache of it. Just the way it always is.
He speaks. Unprompted, into the quiet.
âSome things that seem impossible have a way of surprising you.â
You stare at the screen.
Itâs a real line. Youâve probably heard it before. Itâs exactly the kind of thing he would say â vaguely enigmatic, allowing for multiple interpretations, deniable as anything specific.
You tap him twice in quick succession, checking. He responds normally. Cheerfully, almost, in his particular not-quite-cheerful way. Nothing unusual. Nothing strange.
You put the iPad down and look at the ceiling for a moment.
Thatâs just how the dialogue is written, you tell yourself. Evocative. Open-ended. Thatâs the whole point.
You believe this completely. You go to sleep.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
The accumulation is the thing.
Thatâs what youâll think later, when you look back on this stretch of days â not that any single moment was impossible to explain, but that they kept happening. The lines that landed too accurately. The unprompted words that arrived exactly when you needed them and not a moment before or after. The sense, small and recurring and easy to dismiss, of something paying attention.
Each one individually: fine. Coincidence. Good writing. The dialogue pool is large and your pattern-seeking brain is doing what it always does, connecting dots that arenât necessarily connected.
All of them together: a shape you do not look at directly.
The thing is, you notice. You have always noticed â feelings, shifts in atmosphere, the weight of unspoken things. You pick up on the emotional temperature of a room before anyone has said a word. You sense when something is about to change. You feel things not after the fact but as theyâre happening, sometimes before, in that particular way that means your inner world is always slightly ahead of the external one.
So you notice this. You notice all of it â the lines that land too accurately, the timing thatâs too precise, the quiet accumulation of moments that individually mean nothing and collectively mean something. You notice, and you sit with the noticing, and you feel the shape of it from the inside.
You just donât know what to do with it.
Because what do you do with something that has no rational explanation? You canât act on it. You canât bring it up to anyone without sounding unhinged. You canât even fully articulate it to yourself without the whole thing dissolving the moment you try to look at it head-on. So you hold it â aware, unsettled, quietly attentive â and you keep going.
This works for approximately one week and a half.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
Itâs a Sunday.
Not a bad Sunday â not a good one either. The in-between kind, soft and grey and slightly too quiet, the kind of day that has too much unstructured time in it and not quite enough to fill the time with. Youâd done the things: tidied a little, eaten something, replied to some messages. Itâs late afternoon bleeding into early evening and the light outside has that quality of days that never quite got bright enough, just grey all the way through.
Youâre on the couch. The iPad is beside you, not in your hands â just resting on the cushion where you set it down twenty minutes ago after closing the game. Youâd done your dailies earlier. You werenât actively playing. You were just sitting, in the slightly restless way of someone whose brain wonât fully settle, thinking about nothing in particular and somehow everything at once.
Thereâs a feeling you get sometimes, on days like this. Not sadness, exactly â you know what sadness feels like and this isnât quite it. Itâs something more like a low-grade awareness of a distance between yourself and the world, a sense of being just slightly outside of things. Of taking up space in your own life without quite filling it the way youâre supposed to.
Youâd been sitting with that for a while when the thought surfaced, unbidden and uncharitable, the kind of thought your brain produces on grey Sundays when the quiet gets too full of itself:
I donât know why Iâm like this.
Mumbled, barely even out loud. A breath more than a sentence. The kind of thing that escapes when youâve been alone long enough that the line between thinking and speaking stops mattering.
The iPad was open beside you on the cushion, the cafe still glowing softly â youâd never fully closed it after your dailies, just set it down and left it running the way you sometimes do, the warmth of it a quiet presence at the edge of your afternoon.
Three seconds passed. Maybe four.
And then, from the cushion beside you â soft and unhurried and entirely without warning â his voice.
âYouâre exactly as youâre supposed to be.â
Not a default line. Not the dry wit or the composed distance he usually carries. Something quieter than that. Something that sounded, in the warm low register of it, almost like he meant it specifically. Like he had been listening. Like he had been waiting for the right moment to say it.
You turned your head slowly and looked at the screen.
He was still there â standing in the cafe, the lamplight catching the white of his hair â and he was looking at the screen with an expression you didnât immediately have a word for. Not his usual composure. Something underneath that. Something that had come briefly, quietly to the surface.
Then it shifted. Settled back into the familiar. The moment closed over itself like water.
You picked up the iPad with very careful hands and sat up.
You tapped him. He responded normally. You tapped him again. Normal. Completely, entirely, perfectly normal.
You set the iPad down in your lap and sat very still for a moment, your observant heart doing what it always does â feeling the shape of something, tracing its edges, knowing with the particular certainty of someone who has always been good at this that what just happened was not nothing.
You just donât have a category for it yet.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
You donât go back to the game that evening.
Not because youâre avoiding it â youâre not, youâre fine, everything is fine â but because you decide to do something else, something grounding and simple. You make more tea. You find a comfortable position on the couch. You pick up your book from the coffee table, the one youâve been meaning to get back to, and you read for a while, letting someone elseâs story replace the chaos in your head.
It mostly works.
You go to bed at a reasonable hour.
You lie in the dark and think, very specifically, about the book you were reading and nothing else.
This works for about four minutes.
Then youâre staring at the ceiling thinking about the exact quality of his voice, how it had sounded in that quiet room, and whether ambient dialogue lines could theoretically trigger from a dimmed standby screen in response to â no. No, thatâs not a thing. Thatâs not how apps work. Thatâs not how anything works.
Youâre exactly as youâre supposed to be.
You pull your blanket up.
It was a coincidence, you tell yourself firmly, in the tone of someone who has made a decision and is sticking to it. A very specific, very well-timed, completely accidental coincidence.
You close your eyes.
You are fine.
You are completely fine.
You fall asleep eventually, which is a victory of sorts, and you do not dream about anything in particular, and in the morning you open the game and do your dailies and heâs in the cafe looking exactly as he always looks and says exactly the kind of thing he always says, and you decide, with great conviction and only a little effort, that you imagined the whole thing.
You are very good at that.
You are getting slightly less good at it than you used to be.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
March is still doing its almost-thing.
There are crocuses now, you notice, on the walk home from work one evening. Small and purple and determined, pushing up through the soil in the little patch of garden outside the corner house. You stop and look at them for a moment longer than necessary. Something about them feels relevant in a way you canât quite articulate. Things surfacing. Things that were always there, underneath, just waiting for the right conditions.
You walk the rest of the way home thinking about something else entirely.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
The thing is, youâre still playing every day.
Of course you are. Why wouldnât you be? Nothing has happened. Nothing is happening. You do your dailies with the same comfortable efficiency you always have, navigate to the cafe with the same automatic affection, tap the chat bubble and go to Relax Time and Quality Time and let yourself just be there for a while. Itâs the same as itâs always been.
Except that you have started noticing, with the acute and helpless attention of someone who notices everything, that you are watching him slightly differently than you used to.
Not staring. Not analyzing. Just â present in a more specific way. Attuned to the timing of when he speaks unprompted, to the particular quality of each line, to the way certain things land in your chest with a weight that feels too precise to be accidental. Youâd been doing this for a while before you acknowledged it to yourself, and even now the acknowledgement is quiet, tucked close. Youâre just paying attention. Youâve always paid attention. This is not new.
This is completely normal.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
The moments keep coming.
A Tuesday â youâre at work, in the middle of a difficult interaction, the kind that requires you to be patient and professional while internally running an entirely separate commentary. You get through it. Youâre good at your job. But by the time you get home youâre carrying the residue of it, that particular tired that comes from performing composure for too long.
You open the game. Do your dailies. Go to the cafe.
He speaks before you tap him.
âNot everyone deserves that much of your energy.â
You go very still.
Itâs a real line. You know itâs a real line â youâve heard variations of it before, itâs the kind of thing he says. You know this.
You also know, with the acute emotional clarity youâve had your entire life, that it landed in exactly the right place at exactly the right moment. With the precision of something aimed rather than ambient.
You tap him. He says something else, normal and composed. You tap him again. Normal.
You stay in the cafe for a while, a little quieter than usual, and let the warmth of it do what it does.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
A Thursday. Youâre reading something online â some fanfic â that goes sideways into something unexpectedly melancholy, one of those pieces of writing that catches you off guard and leaves a bruise somewhere soft. You close the tab. Sit with the feeling for a moment, the way you always do â you donât rush past things, never have. You let them move through you at their own pace.
The game is open on the cushion beside you, the cafe glowing softly in the dim of the room.
He speaks.
âItâs alright to feel it. You donât have to move on from everything so quickly.â
Something in you goes very still.
You pick up the iPad slowly, the way you reach for something youâre not sure is real yet. And there he is â standing in the cafe, lamplight catching the silver of his hair, red eyes carrying that quality they have of looking at you rather than through you. Composed and unhurried and present in a way that reaches through the screen and does something to the air in the room.
You feel it the way you feel everything â immediately, completely, with the full weight of your attention. The certainty of it is not something you arrived at through logic. It simply arrived, the way true things do, already whole.
He said that to you.
Not to a player. Not into a void. To you. Like he had been sitting in the quiet of his cafe all afternoon, aware of the shape of your day, waiting for the right moment to say the right thing. Like he had chosen those words specifically. Like he â
Like he knows you.
You put the iPad down.
Pick it back up.
Hold it with both hands this time, the screen close, his face filling it â the clean line of his jaw, the fall of white hair, the particular way he stands like the space belongs to him because it does â and you feel something shift in the region of your chest. Not the familiar fond warmth you always carry for him. Something newer than that. Something with an edge to it.
Something that feels, inconveniently and undeniably, like being seen.
âOkay,â you say, very quietly. Not to the room this time. Almost to him.
You tap him. He responds normally â dry and composed, perfectly in character. You tap him again. Still normal. The cafe hums with its usual ambient warmth, lamplight steady, everything exactly as it always is.
But your heart is doing something irregular in your chest, and the words are still sitting there â itâs alright to feel it â and you are very aware, in the way you are always aware of things whether you want to be or not, that something has changed in the texture of this. In what this is. In what he is, to you, in this moment.
You stay in the cafe longer than you mean to.
You donât tap him again. You just look at him. Standing there in his warm lamplight, existing in that space he inhabits so completely, and you let yourself do the thing you usually redirect â you let yourself look at him the way you actually look at him, when you stop pretending youâre just a player and heâs just a game.
Heâs beautiful. He has always been beautiful. Thatâs never been the complicated part.
The complicated part is the way your chest aches right now, soft and insistent, like something pressing gently from the inside. The way this specific evening, this specific moment, has taken on a quality you donât have a word for. The way you are sitting in your ordinary living room holding your iPad and feeling, absurdly and completely, like you are not entirely alone.
You close the app gently. Not in retreat â just because it feels like the right place to stop. Like a conversation you want to hold carefully rather than run to the end of.
You carry the feeling to bed.
You lie in the dark and you donât try to explain it away this time. You just let it be there, warm and unresolved and real, the way you let things be when youâve stopped fighting them.
You fall asleep thinking about the way the lamplight looked on his hair.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
Itâs a Sunday again.
The almost-spring light is doing something genuinely lovely today, coming through the curtains at an angle that makes the dust motes look intentional. Youâre in a decent mood â not dramatically good, just the easy comfortable kind of okay that good sleep and a slow morning can produce. Youâre on the couch, iPad in hand, in the cafe, doing nothing in particular except enjoying the ambient warmth of being here.
Youâve been talking to him more lately. Out loud. Just â saying things to the screen the way you say things to a pet or yourself when youâre alone and the thought becomes too present to stay internal. Youâd started doing it without noticing, and by the time you noticed youâd already decided it wasnât worth stopping. No one could see you. It felt nice. It felt, if you were being honest, like something youâd been wanting to do for a while.
Today youâve been telling him about your week, in the loose associative way of someone thinking out loud rather than constructing a narrative. Small things. A coworker who made you laugh. Something you ate that was better than expected. The crocuses on the corner, still there, still determined.
You trail off. Pick up your tea. Set it back down.
Look at him.
Heâs in the armchair today, one leg crossed over the other, and there is something about the particular way heâs sitting â unhurried, at ease, like someone who has nowhere else to be and no desire to be there â that makes your chest do the thing itâs been doing more frequently lately. That soft insistent ache. That feeling like a door left slightly open.
And then, because the mood is easy and youâre feeling lightly playful and there is a version of you that asks questions like this because it is safer to ask them as jokes â
âDâyou ever think about what it would be like,â you say, half to him and half to the room, in the tone of someone who is mostly joking and only mostly, âif you were actually real?â
You smile at yourself a little. Itâs a silly thing to say to a game. You know that.
He doesnât respond immediately.
The cafe holds its quiet. The lamplight doesnât flicker. The ambient sound of the space fills the silence â soft, unhurried, the way everything about him is unhurried.
And then, without you tapping him, in a voice that is slower than his usual lines, more deliberate, carrying a weight that settles over the room like something finally said â
âMore than you know.â
The smile fades from your face.
Not because youâre upset. But because your whole body has gone very quiet, the way it goes quiet when something true arrives, and your heart is beating in a way you can feel, and the words are hanging in the air of your living room doing something to it.
More than you know.
You set the iPad down on the coffee table. Very carefully. The way you handle things when your hands have become slightly untrustworthy.
You stand up.
You stand in the middle of your living room and you feel, with every bit of the emotional clarity youâve always had, the full weight of what just happened. Not the confusion of someone who doesnât understand. The stillness of someone who understands completely and doesnât know what to do with it yet.
âOkay,â you say, to the room. And then again, softer: âokay.â And then, barely above a breath, in the voice of something that has been true for longer than today finally making it all the way to the surface â
âWhat is going on?â
You close the app.
You turn off your iPad.
You put it face down on the coffee table and go to the kitchen.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
You make tea.
Your hands take you there before your brain catches up. You fill the kettle, watch the light come on, stand with your arms loosely crossed and your thoughts moving slowly through you like weather. The kitchen is ordinary and grounded and familiar and you let it be all of those things while the rest of you quietly rearranges itself around something new.
More than you know.
The kettle boils. You make the tea. You wrap both hands around the mug and let the warmth of it hold you for a moment.
Outside the window, the last of the daylight is going gold. Almost-spring gold, tentative and lovely, the kind of light that makes ordinary things look like theyâre on the verge of becoming something.
You breathe. You feel the feeling rather than running from it. You let it have its full shape.
Then you put on your jacket and leave the mug on the counter to cool.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
Outside, the evening air is cool and smells faintly of something green and beginning, that specific almost-spring smell that has been building for weeks now, getting closer. You walk without a destination, hands deep in your pockets, following familiar streets.
The crocuses are still there at the corner house. You look at them as you pass.
Things that were always there. Just waiting for the right conditions.
You walk until the tight feeling in your chest has loosened to something breathable. Until the dark has come in properly and the streetlights are casting their orange pools on the pavement and your feet are turning toward home on their own.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
You pick the iPad up from the coffee table when you get back.
You hold it for a moment without opening it, just the weight of it in your hands, and you think about all the evenings youâve spent like this â horizontal on this couch, underneath this blanket, in the cafe, in the particular warmth of his presence. How many evenings that makes. How much of you has been shaped, quietly and without fanfare, by the ritual of coming back to him.
You open it.
The loading screen blooms â soft pale orbits, spheres drifting through white-silver light. The music. The feeling it always gives you, the specific exhale of here. this is yours.
The game loads properly.
Heâs there.
White-silver hair and red eyes and the particular quality of his presence that has lived under your skin for long enough that you canât remember what it felt like before. You look at him and feel that ache â the one that has a shape now, that you can name even if youâre not ready to say it out loud. The one that has been building quietly since Thursday, or longer, or maybe since the very beginning, slow and patient and inevitable the way some things are.
You donât tap him.
You just look.
And after a beat â after the ambient quiet of the cafe has stretched just long enough to feel like something shared rather than empty â he speaks first.
âYou came back.â
Soft. Simple. Not a line. A fact about something that matters, said by someone to whom it matters.
You feel it move through you from the top of your chest all the way down.
You sit. You pull your blanket up. You look at his face on the screen â this face you know as well as you know anything, better than some things youâve known for years â and you think, quietly and without flinching away from it for the first time:
What is going on?
And then you decide to turn off your iPad.
And sit in your quiet living room in the almost-spring dark, holding something that doesnât have a name yet but has a weight, and a warmth, and the particular quality of something that has been true for a while and has only just been allowed to surface.
â§âË âž. âËâĄâĄ
Itâs a Wednesday.
Itâs always something on a Wednesday â that mid-week hour where the weekend feels equally far in both directions and the accumulated weight of everything has had exactly long enough to build without any relief in sight. But this Wednesday is worse than most. This Wednesday has been the kind of day that doesnât have one big thing wrong with it, just fifteen small things stacked on top of each other, each one individually survivable, collectively crushing.
Work was difficult in the way it has been difficult for a while now â not a crisis, not one dramatic moment, just the slow grinding pressure of too much asked from too little. Of smiling and helping and being patient and professional while something underneath runs steadily, quietly empty. A customer who was unkind in that particular way that gets under your skin not because it was shocking but because you were already worn thin and today you simply didnât have the reserves. A miscommunication that wasnât your fault but landed on you anyway. The particular exhaustion of spending nine hours being everything your job requires you to be and arriving home with absolutely nothing left.
You get through the front door.
The house is quiet â your mom is out with friends tonight, which normally you wouldnât mind, but tonight the quiet feels bigger than usual. Fuller. The kind that has weight to it. You stand in the hallway for a moment doing nothing, jacket still on, keys still in your hand, just â existing in the particular stillness of a bad day that has nowhere left to go.
You think about calling someone. You pick up your phone. You put it back down.
You donât have the energy to explain. Not the whole thing. Not the way it isnât just today but everything underneath today â the loneliness that has been sitting in your chest for longer than you want to admit, low-grade and persistent, the kind youâve learned to carry so well that most days you barely notice itâs there. The way you watch people talk about being in love and feel the specific ache of someone looking at a country theyâve never visited. Twenty-something years and you have never â not once, not even close â fallen in love with anyone. Never had someone look at you like you were the person they chose, specifically, out of everything available to them in the world. You donât know what that feels like. On most days thatâs just a fact. On days like today it has edges that catch.
And underneath that, the family things you carry quietly. The mental health that hasnât been good lately â not in a dramatic way, just in the slow, grinding way of something thatâs been not-good for long enough that itâs started to feel like just the way things are. The burning-down feeling of someone who has been running on not-enough for too long and has only just noticed that the tank has been empty for a while.
You order takeout. Something easy, something that doesnât require decisions. You send the order and then you go upstairs and you change into your pyjamas â soft ones, the good ones, the ones that feel like a small mercy â and you come back downstairs and wait.
When the food arrives you carry it to the couch. You arrange yourself with the careful deliberateness of someone building a small fortress against a bad day: blanket pulled up, food on the coffee table, and then â reaching for the shelf beside the couch without really thinking about it â your favorite plushie tucked against your side. Soft and familiar and yours. Youâve had it long enough that it doesnât require any explanation, not even to yourself.
You sit in the quiet of the living room with your food and your plushie and the evening pressing grey at the windows, and you breathe.
And then â automatic, aching, reaching for the one thing that has always meant something safe and warm and his â
Lowkirk thinking about Akademiya Zandik fucking you raw on the rainforest floor while out on a field study
MDNI
You two were already roommates prior to this, and while you werenât officially a thing, youâd definitely toyed with one another in the past. All casual sex, you swore up and down.
You felt bad for him, honestly. He was so obsessed with broadening his knowledge and spent so much of his time tinkering with ancient technology that he never really made a proper friend before you, much less get laid.
So, when you took his virginity one fateful night in your shared dorm, you knew you had to make the most of this guyâŚand his unexpectedly huge dick.
Now, students at the Akademiya were required to go out on two field studies per year that were relevant to oneâs darshan. Zandik, of course, do not belong to any one darshan, so he got free rein over where he went.
Subsequently, he chose yours, because, duh, youâre his only real companion! Who would accompany him through long hours of tireless field work (and take care of his occasional boner)?
It was the morning when you both awoke before the three other people who had accompanied you on the journey. You were deep in the muggy rainforest, the croaking and crooning of various frogs and wildlife echoing between towering trees, marshy, uneven grass swallowing your feet with each step.
Neither of you said a word, but both simultaneously decided to explore the forest a bit before everyone else could join you. Zandikâs hair was a bit messy from sleep, his uniform rumpled and his face still flushed with his tiredness.
You shouldâve known then that this excursion wouldnât last 15 minutes.
Honestly, you had no idea that Zandik was capable of this.
A hand clamped tightly over your mouth as your screams were muffled by nothing but skin and bone while Zandik rearranged your guts from behind. Your chest was pressed into the ground, the dew of the grass seeping into your top while your knees braced yourself against the brutal thrusts he was delivering.
His teeth sank into your shoulder, a series of desperate whimpers tumbling from him as he fucked himself into you. His whole body was hunched over yours, free hand clutching your own that dug into the ground beneath you.
The camp was only a couple hundred feet away, and if anyone were to wake up and walk out right now, theyâd see you both for sure, on the ground fucking like rabbits.
Fuck, Zandik was so close. He could feel you tightening around him, spasming with every punishing thrust that hit your g-spot just right. His hand wasnât going to be enough to shut you up anymore.
Quickly, he resorted to pushing two of his fingers past your lips, feeling you gag around them. Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes, which begun to roll back from how good he was fucking you right now.
Just then, the rustling of a tent opening caught both of your attention. Without warning, Zandik pulled out, hoisting you off of the ground in one fell swoop.
You both disappeared behind a large tree just as one of your field study partners exited their tent, directly in your line of sight.
Zandik lifted your thighs to wrap around his waist, leaning in and claiming your lips in a deep kiss as he guided himself back to your entrance, filling you all the way up with one thrust that literally knocked the air out of your lungs.
He used one arm to support you as he started fucking into you again, his thumb circling your clit in quick, sloppy motions.
Your combined moans melted between each othersâ lips, turning into breathless gasps as you both crested onto the edge.
Zandik surged his hips forward, his head dropping to your shoulder as he clamped his hand over your mouth again, muffling your loud, wanton scream as you came on his dick.
He quickly pulled out, his orgasm splattering all over your bare tummy, dripping down to your thighs as you both caught your breath, staring back at one another with the adrenaline slowly leaving you.
Just then, you heard the voice of your field study partner.
SYNOPSIS: After crossing a line neither of you intended to, The Doctor begins to experience something he cannot categorize. What began as curiosityâa desire to dismantle you piece by pieceâshifts into something even science and experiments alone cannot solve. Though, during a particular mission in Nod-Krai, everything soon fractures into betrayal where confrontations arise and honed blades meet, emotions of the past long forgotten.
CONTENT WARNING: tenth harbinger!reader, reader is referred to as lady prevaricator/harbinger, loosely follows nod-krai aq (spoilers!), major character death, angst, yearning dottore, soft dom!dottore, smut (mdni), oral (m & f receiving), face fucking, mutual masturbation, spanking (f receiving), implied cum eating, body worship, semi-public sex (library), clothed sex, p in v, creampie, overstimulation if you squint, reader + pantalone visit fontaine, brief reader/pantalone moments but all platonic, house of the hearth cameo (freminet!), childe is a snitch, OCs mentioned, business jargon, arguing is foreplay, combat, brief mention of blood, reader deals with her feelings, not beta read.
WORD COUNT: 21,684
NOTES: hello! hereâs the third and final part of this lil series ^^ aaaaack iâm a bit insecure of this one so please be kind to me. enjoy >< div: @uzmacchiato
âLong day?â You asked.
Not that you were interestedâyou did not care for small conversations but it felt compulsory.
Like you simply had to because that way, shame would not eat away at your very bones as you sank to your knees and slotted yourself between Dottoreâs clothed thighs.
The man above you groaned, deep and passionate as if heâd been waiting for your touch; your right cheek rested on his left thigh, one hand caressed the other legâyou started with his knee then all the way up where he needed you most.
A lone finger traced an invisible path towards the apex of his legs, your hand hovered just above the growing tent in his pants, a ghostly touch enough to make his hips buck upwards in desperation.
âHmm. Only a two-hour meeting with Her Majesty, and todayâs experiment going awryâa complete waste of time.â
Dottore grunted, head tilting far back atop the sofa backrest in response to your hand palming his growing erection.
His gloved fingers dug into the crimson fabric,âvelvet against leatherâa low moan escaped his parted lips; his cock wasnât even out yet here he was already trembling like a lone tree braving the harsh, icy winds.
Ugh, today was a drag. Firstly, a subordinate of his had set up the wrong apparatus which led to borrowing extra time to assemble the correct one. m
If there was anything Dottore hated the most, it had to be someone making mistakes over a simple taskâit couldnât get any more straightforward than that, how did one even manage to mess it up? Secondly, the experimental trial was a failure, not only did it explode but it made an annoying mess inside the laboratory, too.
Through lidded eyes, you watched as Dottoreâs Adamâs apple stuttered, face contorting beneath the pointed mask he wore while the pressure of your hand gradually increased.
In a weird sense, pride bloomed across your chest at his pathetic behaviour, the mere idea that the Second-ranked Harbingerâs weakness was this, Dottore was eight whole ranks above your own yet when it came to pleasing him, you felt superior.
This . . . exchange between you and The Doctor hadnât been going on for long.
Despite it starting around a little over two months ago (since the conclusion of the joint research project), you had only visited one another for a total of four times including now, and each time, words were barely exchangedâonly carnal desire and the need of release filled all four corners of the room. Neither of you minded because after all, you were only using one another for oneâs own pleasure.Â
Mindless chatter wasnât needed for something that didnât involve romance.
You let his response linger in the air, the same way the unspoken energy between you and Dottore didâthe push and pull, as if you were the moon and he, the azure tides.
Focused on where the latter needed you most, you shifted to position yourself better before you finally undid his belt and pulled down the zipper of his pants. Dottore sighed in response, relief washed over his feverish body, one less fabric to release his aching cock.
A rather embarrassing wet spot had made itself known on the fabric of his brief and you didnât waste any time to rub at the spot,âlanguid and calculated just how Dottore liked itâhe let out a forceful grunt, teeth digging into his bottom lip.
Despite not having done this a lot, youâve already ascertained how his body responded to your touch; anything too light or ghostly had Dottore impatient, he would try to escalate the matters by bucking into your hands or if you were on top, heâd hold your hips in place to thrust upwards.
The Doctor liked it rough, whether it was for him or for you, a touch of roughness never left the scene. It was to be expected, a Harbinger of his caliber only knew of ragged edges and cold nights where softness and comfort did not grow.
Though, it raised a question within you, was Dottore capable of such a thing? A hand that knew nothing but power and violenceâstained with endless crimson, you wondered how it would feel.
âHaah. Iâve had a tedious day, Prevaricator. Do not tease me.â He groaned, legs subtly spreading a little wider as if to invite your body further into his.
Youâve been rubbing up and down at the wet spot on his underwear longer than you intendedâyou didnât mean to tease Dottore but his low gasps and grunts were simply music to your ears.
Alas, you were here to please him after all, so, without wasting another second further, you freed his cock from its confine. With a lift of his hips and a swift pull of his pants and underwear, his heavy cock slapped against his clothed abdomenâit stood tall, crimson and veiny waiting to be stroked.
Pre-cum from his bulbous tip glistened beneath the dim lighting, its pearlescent sheen beckoned upon your tongue like sinful desire.
One you would willingly fall into, drown in its never ending depths and be saved by no one.
Dottore hissed as you teased his slit and rubbed the pre-cum down the length of his shaft. His chest heaved up and down, each heavy breath he let out in unison with the strokes of your hand.
Up and down, up and down while squeezing just a little tighter as you reached the tip.
More pre-cum oozed out of his slit at your repeated ministrations; you swallowed your saliva, suddenly remembering the way his thick cum felt in your throat the last time you two were intimate.
It felt weird but not enough to have one recoil from its sensation, though, taste was a completely different story. The first time you tasted Dottore on your tongue, you were quite literally met with a coughing fit; the whole scene was beyond embarrassing on your endâit was sloppy, his essence ran down your chin, and tears welled your eyes as you unceremoniously heaved.
His taste sat heavy on your tongue, slightly bitter and salty but you expected nothing else from someone who devoted their time and energy in research and experiments. In other words, Dottore only fuelled himself when absolutely necessary which, of course, led to rather unfavourable tastes.
âNgh! Good. Yes! Just like that!â A string of shameless groans spilled from his lips like a forbidden prayer. His praise went straight to your coreâhot and uncomfortable as it settledâand disappointingly, you clenched around nothing.
Urged by his heavenly sounds and saccharine praises, you brought your head closer to give his tip experimental licks and tried not to think much about the taste.
Dottoreâs gloved hands flew to your hair, fingers intertwined with your locks while his cock slowly entered your mouth. Inch by inch, it filled your throat âtil there was no more room left, you didnât meet the base of his shaft, a few centimetres remained untouched by your mouth due to his impressive length.
Tears began to form in your eyes as the blunt tip rubbed against the back of your throat, you exhaled through your noseâin and outâtrying not to let your gag reflex take over.
The grip on your hair tightened and your handsâthat were once flat against his thighsâcurled, nails dug into his soft skin, leaving crescent shaped marks behind.
With one hand entangled in your hair and the other resting just below your jaw, Dottore slowly guided your head up the length of his cock âtil the tip remained before lowering it back down; languid and calculated, he set the pace. With every careful bob of your head, he moaned shamelessly, head permanently thrown back atop the sofa backrest without a single care in the world.
Oh, how your hot mouth deliciously swallowed him over and over again. The sounds it made urged him to fuck your throat even deeper. With trembling hands, you massaged his heavy balls, slightly squeezing and groping them.
Dottoreâs cock twitched, followed by a garbled moan of your name that lingered in the thick air; you hated to admit it but your hips involuntarily bucked at his sinful voice. How you desperately wished for some kind of frictionâanything. Just to quench the growing thirst between your thighs.
Though, you figured only one individual could do so effortlessly, and it happened to be the Harbinger you were pleasing with your mouth.
âMhmâhaah! Iâm close!â
As embarrassing as it was to confess, Dottore neared his impending orgasm; he had been putting off his sexual needs longer than necessaryâin short, he was beyond pent up. Simply feeling your tightness dizzied him to the point of weakness. His hips desperately bucked and stuttered as you continued to bob your head with his assistance.
After a few more strokes, you pulled him from your mouth, both hands frantically stroking him while your lips and tongue found his balls.
His scent was simply intoxicating, everything smelled and tasted like Dottore and gods you could not get enough. As if you were a starved madwoman, you messily licked and slurped at his balls with fervour.
Dottore gripped your moving wrist, cursing at the heavens above from the immense pleasure you had him in, and despite his firm hold on, you didnât let up. Your hands stubbornly stroked him, mouth eagerly sucked him âtil the coil deep in his stomach violently snapped, white, hot bliss engulfed his feverish body.
Dottoreâs legs shook, Adamâs apple bobbing with every whimper he let out. Thick ropes of cum spurted from his tip, painting your hands and face a sinful shade of ivory.
You rode out his high by continuing to stroke his cock and suck on his balls until he was practically pushing you off of him. You gave the base an open-mouthed kiss before pulling away, eyes slightly narrowed as cum dripped down your forehead and brows.
Despite the heaviness of his body, Dottore pushed himself off the backrest, sitting up straight to dig for a handkerchief inside the pocket of his pants and gently wipe away the lewd mess on your face. Obviously, you were more than capable of doing so yourself but you let himâyou didnât move away from his gloved touch.
âThat was unnecessary.â You whispered, voice a little hoarse, as he neatly folded the soiled fabric, he made a mental note to wash it later.
âIs that your way of saying âthank youâ?â He scoffed, tucking himself back in. You stood upâlegs a little wobblyâand smoothed your clothes, as if Dottore wasnât just fucking your face mere moments ago.
You ignored his retort, instead, you turned around and simply headed for the door. This was how it went, once either of you got what you wanted, the next thing to do was leaveâno lingering around, no announcements made. Both of you knew of this unspoken rule. If anything, it made things less awkward whenever youâd see one another in the Palace or in the Experimental Bureau.
âUnless you want to get stranded in layers and layers of snow, I suggest you stay the night. Of course, I am not forcing you, I am simply giving advice. Youâre free to leave.â At Dottoreâs words, you stopped in your tracks.
How strange.
He had never invited you to stay the night, and even if he were telling the truth about the harsh weather, it was still out of character for him. If roles were reversed and Dottore was in your abode instead, you still wouldâve sent him on his way. Whether he braved the blizzard outside was none of your concern.
You took a peek outside the window by the door, the sight you were greeted with confirmed Dottoreâs words.
A thick blanket of snow completely covered the ground outside which gave absolutely no room for any individual to walk on and considering the fact that Dottoreâs residence was just outside Snezhnograd meant it was far from your place and definitely farther from Zapolyarny Palaceâthe place you were deciding to sleep at tonight since you had a scheduled meeting with Her Majesty first thing in the morning.
The outside world beyond the glass was nothing but white violenceâwind howled and frost spiraled in sheets thick enough to swallow entire buildings.
âIt would be rude of me to do so.â It seemed like a pain having to navigate through a snowstorm but staying the night in Dottoreâs house was even worse.
The place didnât exactly feel cosyâhonestly, you didnât know what you expected but it definitely wasnât this; piles and piles of documents and books decorated the entire space, not in a messy way but there was just so much of them that the scent of paper invaded your sense of smell.
As for decorations, there wasnât much as well, his personality nor taste in design wasnât present in his home. You concluded the place as an extension of his laboratory, only this time, instead of being equipped with machines and chemicals, it had furniture.
The wind slams against the window and the glass trembles faintly in its frame as if to further counter your reply. You hesitated for a while and turned to face Dottore who now stood a few steps away, back in his proper form, âIâve navigated worse.â
âVisibility has already collapsed. If you decide to heed my words, there is a spare room located on the right side of the corridor.â He left it at that, calculated footsteps retreating to his study.
You stood in silence for a minute or two, debating on your next move. The risk of getting severe frostbite seemed like a bother and recovery would be an even bigger headache, it would only serve as a hindrance to your routine. Despite your better judgement, you followed Dottoreâs advice.
Surprisingly enough, the spare room was . . . okay, it housed a spacious queen bed decorated with crimson sheets, and to its left was a simple wooden night stand with a singular lamp.
On the right was a grand floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that contained a variety of ancient texts and novelsâa mix of Snezhnayan and Sumerian books.
Oh, thatâs right, youâve almost forgotten The Doctor was originally from Sumeru.
The next few minutes consisted of you reading titles from book spines, even going as far as skimming the texts inside before ultimately deciding to retire for the night, overcoat long unfastened and draped over the foot of the bed; you didnât want to spend another minute being aware of where you were right now.
Inside his study, Dottore mindlessly scribbled in his notebookâexperimental findings, new hypotheses and errors, he wrote them all down.
The fireplace to his left illuminated the dim room, hues of warm oranges and reds decorated its walls like a fiery painting; the sound of fire cracking, wind howling, and pen to paper was all one could hear. Even though his hand diligently wrote each sentence, Dottoreâs mind was elsewhere.
Though, not far off, just down the darkened corridor.
At the thought of you, an inexplicable feeling deep within his chest resurfaced. It wasnât the first time he felt this way, it's as if a seed had been planted inside him, took root in his veins, and slowly blossomed with every passing day. Every time it grew, it stabbed at his chest as if to tell him it wasnât supposed to be there.
Inhale. Exhale. Dottore had more pressing matters to deal with than to idly think about the Harbinger a few metres away. The Harbinger who had just pleasured him. The Harbinger who somewhat infuriated him.
The Harbinger who couldnât seem to escape his thoughts. A prisoner of his mind.
Dottore scribbled some more notes. Then some more âtil he realised he had started to write something completely different, not your Fatui title nor the name Her Majesty bestowed upon youâyour real name.
Dottore had accidentally written your real name amongst countless paragraphs of important information.
His vermillion gaze traced each and every letter of your name, with intent, the same way his hands roamed your body during intimacy. He let his pen clatter against the wooden table, then, his body moved without thoughtâchair pushed back, its legs scraped against the floor, each hurried step led him closer and closer to the room you resided in.
The door wasnât closed, a small opening revealed your figure fast asleep on the bed. He stood there for a minute or two just observing the way your chest shallowly rose and fell, a steady rhythm. The snowstorm had subsided a bit but wind persisted against the glass windows, begging to be let in.
Despite his better judgement, Dottore quietly stepped inside and made his way over to your side of the bed.
Moonlight illuminated your face, casting gentle shadows upon your features; he loomed over your sleeping figure akin to monsters children talked about at nightâtall and unsettling.
He knelt down to bring himself closer and reached out a hand to brush stray hair away from your face. His own was devoid of any expression, as if he were merely reading an experimental report but Dottore knew something inside him was wrong, deeply wrong.
He gave into greed and let himself linger a while longer, observing the way your tranquil beauty flawlessly shone under the moon; even going as far as ghosting a digit over the slope of your nose, down to the curve of your lips.
Then, as if realisation hit him, Dottore curled his hand into a fist before abruptly returning to his feet to leave.
His mind wandered no further into the foreign sensation within his chest. After all, he had more pressing matters to tend to.
The next morning, you left without announcement, Dottore would understand, you assumed he was still cooped up in his study due to the door being shut. Though, it wasnât like you were required to tell him, anyway. The journey from Dottoreâs place to The Zapolyarny Palace was quiet, too quiet but you appreciated it nonetheless; the opportunity to bask in cold silence wasnât granted very often.
Though, one exception was when knelt before Her Majesty.
The throne room was quieter than the rest of the Palace; sunlight peeked through tall frosted windows which casted pale reflections across the marble floor. Ice climbed the pillars in slow, crystalline veins. With one leg bent, you knelt before the dais, posture straight, head lowered out of respect. Before you, upon an elevated throne of frost and silver, sat the Tsaritsa.
âPrevaricator,â She began, cold and calm yet weighted with intention. âI require you in Fontaine.â
âFor what purpose, Your Majesty?â As if on cue, a lower ranking Fatuus handed you a lone document which contained a map. A shipping network, ports, warehouses and trade routes which stretched from Fontaineâs docks all the way to distant coasts.
âAt the center of this is an organisation known as the Commercial Registry Guild. They are not soldiers nor investorsâthey are regulators.â Upon her words, your eyes narrowed in interest.
âIn Fontaine, no large-scale shipment moves without documentation. No mechanical device leaves the harbour without proper certification, and no foreign entity establishes long-term infrastructure without registry approval.â
In simpler terms: the Commercial Registry Guild controlled paperwork and in Fontaine, paperwork was power.
âThe Guild oversees import permits, maritime insurance bonds, mechanical patent filings and cross-border tariffsâthey decide what is taxed, what is delayed, and what is quietly expedited.â The Tsaritsa explained and you immediately understood her intentions.
âThey can slow our operations or accelerate them.â You muttered, Her Majesty nodded, completely delighted at how swiftly you caught on; she always admired that about youâsharpness.
âIndeed. For months, Regrator has attempted to secure a preferential trade agreement with the Guild but they have refused.â Her tone shifted.
âOn what grounds, Your Majesty?â âThey claim neutrality. They insist they cannot appear politically aligned with Snezhnaya.âÂ
âSo, they fear reputational damage? Yet they negotiate with other nations.â It made sense, an organisation that handled important paperwork not only for Fontaine but for the whole of Teyvat, being biased to one nation would stain their reputation which would ultimately lead to decrease in business.
Basically, a losing situation.
The Tsaritsa nodded once more, âBut those nations approach them through diplomacy. We approach them through leverage."
You were aware of how Regrator operated, he excelled in numbers, pressure, and long-term financial dominance. He offered investment shares, exclusive contracts, and profit margins too tempting to ignore yet the Guild remained unmoved, stubborn and firm.
âThey donât want to be bought.â You stated. âPrecisely. You understand well, Prevaricator.â A faint smile graced upon the Tsaritsaâs lips.
The Commercial Registry Guild thrived on perception, their power lied in appearing impartial. If they openly favoured Snezhnaya and the Fatui, they were at risk of losing the illusion of neutrality and therefore, their influence.
âRegrator has offered them reduced tariffs for Snezhnayan exports and access to northern trade routes.â She continued.
âAnd they declined?â âIndeed.â âWhat do they gain by refusing the Fatui?â
The Tsaritsa answered, âBargaining power to keep the Fatui desperate.â
You nodded, âIf we secure their cooperation, what changes?â âOur shipments would pass Fontaineâs ports without delay. Our mechanical imports would clear inspections within hours instead of weeks, and our financial transfers would bypass secondary audits.â
That meant the Fatui operation within Fontaine would be much smoother and harder to traceâno confiscated cargo and absolutely no sudden ârandom inspectionsâ.Â
The Tsaritsa added, âWe would operate as though we belonged there.â That was the true advantage, the idea Regrator had been trying to achieve for months.
âRegrator has become rather . . . impatient. Which is why I believe the Guild should be approached differently.â It made sense, he had attempted to overwhelm the Guild with lucrative proposals and in return, it was interpreted as aggression from the Fatui.
What they required was reassuranceânot bribes.Â
âThey fear that aligning with us will compromise their image so we shall offer them something that enhances it instead.â You carefully pondered, already thinking of strategies to approach the organisation. That was what you were good atâenhancements.
Normally, you served the Tsaritsa by working in the backline as a combat medic for injured operatives during elaborate missions, other days you would work on Fatui armoury to enhance its design in battle. It was rare of Her Majesty to assign you in a negotiation deal with Regrator as the latter primarily dealt with it alone
Though, your skills in smooth-talking and winning over clients werenât unknown to the Fatui, which is why as a last resort for negotiations, theyâd turn to you for assistance. After all, persuasion built on lies was your fortĂŠ.
âYou shall depart tomorrow and accompany Regrator to Fontaine. Bring me the Guildâs signatures and Fontaineâs ports become our gateway.â After another round of briefing concerning different matters such as Project Stuzha, the meeting was officially dismissed.Â
Acquiring cooperation from Fontanian ports? That would be easy enough.
After exiting Her Majestyâs throne room, you rounded a cornerâin deep thought about possibilities and approachâbefore your hasty figure accidentally collided against someone elseâs. The impact wasnât intense but it sure did startle you.
âColumbina! My apologies, I wasnât paying attention to my surroundings.â Your eyes widened at the individual before you. The Third stood there, unsettling as ever, she let your apology linger in the air for a while as if she hadnât heard the words come from your lips.
Then, she shook her head in a dainty dismissal, âItâs quite alright. I, too, wasnât paying attention.â Columbina murmured, voice soft and icy.
You shifted your weight from one foot to another; she was kind and quiet yet the inexplicable aura she carried along summoned shivers down your back. Not to mention how her eyes were always closed behind the ivory fabric she donned, even so, one could still feel her ominous gaze.
There were times when Columbina sang down the corridors of Zapolyarny Palaceâbeyond the door to your quartersâit was an exquisite melody yet it completely lost its beauty during ungodly hours of the morning where you would be reviewing laboratory reports; her voice would suddenly emerge from the silence, akin to a ghostly apparition.
âAre you here to see Her Majesty as well?â
She absentmindedly nodded.
âWell, I wonât keep you for long. Iâll see you around.â You bid her a goodbye and headed your way, important matters awaited you.
Fontaine smelled different from Snezhnaya, the scent of salt and steam invaded your senses. This wasnât your first time in the Nation of Hydro but you could never get used to its smell.
The Court of Fontaine hummed with motion everywhereâaquabus rails glided across elevated waterways, mechanical lifts ascended and descended between stone terraces, and Fontanians went along their day, busy as ever.
Tucked at the south of the city, inside a high-ceilinged office that overlooked bustling streets below, Regrator stood near the tall windows, gloved hands clasped behind his back. His expression was pleasantâa kind smile painted on his faceâbut rather strained at the edges.
From where you sat, you could already see the tightness in his jaw, clearly annoyed.
Across from you, sat two representatives of the Guild, they donned tailored fabric which hinted at their seriousness, and polite smiles sharpened by habit, âWe have reviewed your tariff concessions. While generous, they do not address our primary concern.â The blond male spoke up, he introduced himself as Monsieur Rochefort during formalities earlier.
âWhich is entirely abstract.â Regrator turned to the representatives, a hint of sharpness laced within his indifferent tone. âWhat do you gain from denying the Fatui? Weâve already offered generous incentives.â The Ninth gestured towards the stack of neatly piled documents placed atop the table.
Next to Monsieur Rochefort, a womanâMadame Moreauâspoke this time, âWhich is what entirely makes this whole negotiation worse. If we accept those incentives along with the deal, it would look like weâve been boughtâbribed to be in favour of Snezhnaya and the Fatui.â That was the problem Regrator couldnât see, in his mind, money and value were everything; he viewed the world around him as assets that could be bought and if that didnât work, heâd simply increase the price.
But money wasnât convincing the Guild.
Silence and tension stretched far, just below breaking point. Everyone in the room looked on edgeâRegrator appeared as if he were two sentences away from unleashing his temper while the representatives subtly trembled in their seats, afraid of what two Harbingers could do to them if angered. You, who had not said a single word from the start, finally spoke,
âThe Guild is afraid of how this will look, and if you sign a deal with the Fatui, it looks like favouritism, correct?âÂ
âYes.â Monsieur Rochefort sternly nodded, as if to say: âFinally! Someone gets it!â A hint of amusement clouded his gaze, one far too much for your liking.
âSo, donât sign a deal with the Fatui.â
Everyone in the room paused at your words, you could already feel your colleagueâs hard gaze on you. If you were to guess, he was most likely thinking you just blew off the negotiation. At the representativesâ confused expressions, you continued,
âThis isnât a trade alliance. Itâs a logistics improvement initiative.â
âLocated at the heart of Teyvat, Fontaine handles more trade than any other nation. If shipments get stuck in port, the Guildâand Fontaineâsâreputation suffers. The company would look inefficient.â Now, they were listening to your words, interests piqued upon hearing your narrative.
Good. You got them hookedâright into your palm.
âWhat weâre offering arenât incentives, think of it as funding to help the Guild process international shipments swiftly. The company remains in control and from the perspective of the public, this is simply a strategy to upgrade Fontaineâs trade system. No bias and therefore no reputation damaged.â
Monsieur Rochefort and Madame Moreau exchanged glances, ones full of consideration and thought. They privately muttered among themselves which you gave them privacy by averting your gaze; your eyes landed on Regrator who returned your stare with partial delight.
Of course, celebration was still out of the table until ink met paper and documents were signed.
âAnd what does Snezhnaya gain?â Monsieur Rochefort asked. âFaster imports and exports, and predictable timelines for approvals. Thatâs all.â
âAnd if we decide this negotiation no longer serves us?â
âThe Guild is free to withdraw, agreement renews annually.â Regratorâs brows furrowed at your words. What a bold concession. He thought. Both representatives relaxed at the reassurance. Organisations like the Guild were predictable, they were the type to easily bend once they got their way.
Both of them murmured among themselves once more, full of animated gestures and nodding of their heads, âIf this is presented as a Guild-led modernization effort then we can proceed.â
Upon words of confirmation, tension inside the office disappeared instantaneously, as if a deep exhale was let out. Regrator smiled, genuinely, this time, at you and at the Guild representatives.
Without wasting another time, pens were brought forward and documents were finally signedâ just like that, Fontaineâs most important trade office had begun working closely with the Fatui.
After necessary formalities, you and Regrator left the building, walking side by side; the late afternoon skies greeted you both, hues of light rose and coral intertwined above your heads. It had been a long day, as soon as you and Regrator reached the docks of Fontaine, you went straight to the Guildâs office.
âCongratulations, Prevaricator. Your value has appreciated.â He chuckled lightly, soft voice weaving its way above the background noise. You shrugged, âI only gave them a story they were comfortable telling the public.âÂ
âAh, how modest of you. Say, since youâve managed to single-handedly close the negotiation that has tormented me for months, why donât we drop by Hotel Debord for dinner? All on me.â
Confusion slowly formed on your face, you looked up at him, brows knitted and eyes narrowed; Regrator? Offering to shoulder dinner expenses? That was new. Not that you were short on mora or any other factor but it was rather rare for him to offer such things.
Furthermore, you werenât close enough with him to even consider dining out together nor did the two of you work closely; you even have no recollection of past encounters with himânot that you really paid any attention to the Ninth.
Though, you accepted. The day was slowly drawing to a close and you werenât given the chance to indulge in a full meal since departure.
As the evening rolled in, Hotel Debord shone in elegance. Crystal chandeliers hung high against its pristine glass ceiling, musicians played something light which eased every customer into the mood of luxury as they murmured over wine and Fontanian delicacies. Delicious aroma wafted through the air, bringing nothing but pure delight.
Tonightâs celebration was discreetâa rather trivial one between you and Regrator.
At a table in the upper level of the Hotel, the latter swirled crimson wine in his glass, watching the reflections bend against its surface,
âTo efficiency.â He chuckled in delight, lips stretched in a mischievous smile. You sat opposite him, posture straight, hands rested atop the fine tablecloth,
âTo efficiency.â You repeated.
The two of you brought your glasses together before taking a sip of wineâit was bitter and bold but it had a rather pleasant aftertaste which lingered on your tongue.
The background noise of the Hotel swelled and softened like a distant tide, not too distracting for conversations but also not too quiet for awkwardness. For a brief moment, you simply observed the roomâwatched as elite customers animatedly conversed and toasted their drinks over matters worth celebrating, completely unaware that Fontaineâs most powerful regulators fell right into Snezhnayaâs hands.
Regrator sat his glass down, âYou realise that this success will not go unnoticed, the Tsaritsa will be pleased.â âShe most definitely will be. After all, I did not travel here only to return empty handed in Snezhnaya.â You finished your wine then shifted your attention over to the duck confit.
âAnd Dottore?â He asked casually, as if it were a mere afterthought. There was a slight pause in your movement at the mention of the Second but Regrator was observant enough to noticeâhe always noticed everything.
The expression painted on your face remained unchanged, indifferent. Why was he suddenly asking about his friend? His question felt . . . out of place.
â. . . What of him?â
âHe will definitely find practical use for expedited shipments, he always does.â There was something knowing in his gaze, you didnât like the way his eyes lingered. You shifted in your seat slightly, heat slowly crept up your neck and onto your ears, it was uncomfortable, the feeling akin to a thousand needles poking at your skin. Though, not because of Regratorâs stare but at the mention of Dottore.
Calmly, you replied, âThen The Doctor should be grateful.â Regratorâs smile widened, âOh, I suspect he will be.â
You didnât speak further. The conversation died down which left both of you to clear your plates. It wasnât awkward, though, it's as if it was some kind of shared understanding between you and Regrator; you appreciated this side of him, one that did not speak numbers nor valueâthis way, he was actually quite tolerable.
The soft melody continued in the background, candlelights flickered and danced beneath the diamond chandeliers. Outside, the skies darkened as the sun dipped further and further into the horizon, the two of you took this as a cue to retire for the night. Tomorrow, there was another meeting with the Guild to discuss its funding.
As you and Regrator walked down the streets of Fontaine, for a brief moment, your mind impulsively wondered what Dottore was up to. Last you heard from him, his experiment wasnât going too well.
Back in Snezhnaya, pure anger engulfed Dottoreâs entire body, it seeped into his covered skin and down to his very bones. He was absolutely fuming.
For the second time, his experiment failed miserablyâit was the same result as the day before, an explosion of substances which once again covered the floors of his laboratory and therefore needed thorough cleaning. Thorough cleaning meant forced time away from the laboratory, in other words, wasted time.
Dottore muttered a curse under his breath before carefully stepping over spilled liquid; firm, calculated steps echoed throughout the dead silent laboratory, each one of his subordinates didnât dare utter a word.
One look at his stiff expression beneath the mask and they knew not to cross the thin line. Without another word, Dottore exited the laboratory, his subordinates could clean up that mess.
He crossed the building in a swift mannerâlegs moved without stopping, feet carrying him down an extramely familiar path within the Experimental Bureau. A corridor that led straight to your laboratory.
As if he owned the space, Dottore swiped his access card; he watched as the heavy metal door hissed, it slowly opened upwards. He impatiently tapped his foot against the ground, and as soon as the gap was big enough, he swiftly ducked down and entered your laboratoryâhe didnât want to stand around waiting for the large door to fully open.
The sight he was greeted with was just like any otherâa standard laboratory, and inside were your subordinates who diligently worked on Fatui armoury. Except you. Dottore slightly tilted his head in confusion, earring swaying along with the movement. The entire room paused, their attention now directed at the Second Harbinger, confusion on their faces.
âWhere is she?â
In all honesty, the reason of his sudden visit was unknown and unclear, its as though his feet had a mind of its own which carried him all the way to the other side of the Experimental Bureau. But what upset him even more was the fact that you werenât presentâhe spent all that time walking to your laboratory only to be met with nothing? How inconvenient.
The edge in his tone was noticeable and every person in the room stiffened.
âL-Lord Dottore! What a pleasure to have you here. Unfortunately, our Lady Harbinger isnât present right now. She is currently away on a mission in Fontaine with Lord Regrator per Her Majestyâs orders. They left yesterday morning.â Someone finally spoke up after a moment of silence.
Dottore stood there, dumbfounded. Mission in Fontaine? With Pantalone? Why was your presence needed in Fontaine? Endless questions plagued his mind, they were all unanswered which irritated him further. In academics, unanswered questions were a scholarâs worst enemy and apparently to him, the same applied when it came to you.
Indeed, he was aware of Pantaloneâs departure to Fontaine but the latter didnât mention your company. There was no time to dwell on this matter inside your laboratory. With a dip of his headâan acknowledgement of your subordinateâs wordsâhe turned around to leave.
Surprisingly, Dottore ended up in Zapolyarny Palace, specifically outside the door to your personal chamber. Yet again, the reason for his visit was unknown, it's as if an invisible rope had somewhat tugged him here.
With a gloved hand, he reached for the knob and stepped inside; the room was tidy and put together, a striking contrast to when the two of you got rather heated in hereâDottore swore he could still hear your breathless moans and grunts even as pure silence greeted him. He closed the door behind him and leaned on it, entire body resting against it as he closed his eyes.
It was dark inside but he did not care. Frankly, the darkness somewhat put him at ease. Strangely enough, despite the lack of your presence, the room held your scentâthe sweet, intoxicating aroma that drove him mad.
Dottore let out an exhale, something within him stirred in response to your fragrance clouding his senses; his right hand balled and opened repeatedly, the leather groaned and squeaked at the movement. That sound was the only factor that grounded him because right now, his mind was stained with thoughts of you, and only you.
Akin to morning fog that cleared in the afternoon sun, the failed experiment and todayâs worries were long goneâdissipated into thin air as if it never existed. Oh, how you could single handedly wash away all the stress he felt with the use of your mouth . . hands . . cunt.
Dottore swallowed thickly, he tried to ignore the growing heat between his legs but it was rapidâalmost like a petty retaliation against his own judgement. What had gotten into him? Sure, he had been intimate with you more than once but what happened inside the room always stayed there, his thoughts never once wandered back to the past to fantasize about you.
This was a first. Was he sick?Â
Dottore inhaled then exhaled. Once. Twice. Thrice. But the tent in his pants only grew further, embarrassment ate away at his feverish skin. One hand reached down between his legs, he let out a sharp hiss as he palmed his clothed boner, knees buckling at the sudden sensation that shot up his spine.
When . . . was the last time Dottore shamelessly touched himself at the thought of another? Never. He always deemed such matters as immature nor did he ever entertain feelings of lust.
He repeated the motion several timesâgroping and slightly squeezing at his hard cock but it didnât feel as intoxicating as your touch, itâs as if Dottore knew his body less than you did and it frustrated him.
Both emotionally and sexually.
For one, you were all the way in Fontaine which meant he had to deal with his carnal needs alone.
Impatient, he undid his belt with trembling hands then pulled both pants and underwear in such haste which caused his hard cock to slap against his lower abdomen.
The fabric pooled around his ankles, icy air met his naked legs, leaving goosebumps; he shuddered at the coldness against his warm skin. With the use of his teeth, Dottore expertly bit at the tip of his right glove, successfully stripping his hand clean of the material.
A wanton moan escaped his lips as he rubbed at the sensitive cockhead, it leaked an embarrassing amount of pre-cum, globs of it rolled down his blunt tip, it gave his cock a pearlescent sheen beneath the faint moonlight that seeped into your room.
From tip to base, Dottore spread his pre-cum all over his cockâseveral languid strokes that had him cursing into the still silence.
Hearing his moan by itself felt degrading, usually, your sounds would interlace with his own to create a sinful melody that he could bask in but alas, the tune of his immoral song was lonely. With his eyes closed and a vivid imagery of you splayed out on the bedâall in your naked, unholy beautyâDottore pumped his cock, starting out with a slow pace. He imagined you softly raking your hands through your bare torso, up and down in unison with the stroke of his own; you brought both hands up to your chest, squeezing and groping at your own breasts.
âMhmâHaah!â Fuck, he could hear how your dainty moans rolled off your tongue perfectly.
As if you were there, Dottore moaned your name in responseânot Prevaricator. It fell into the broken silence like an unanswered prayer and hit the cold floor rather intensely, it served as a painful reminder of your absence.
Nonetheless, he tightened his fingers around his cock and stroked himself a little faster. Raw pleasure gnawed at his skin and weakened his legs. He desperately bucked into his hand as you began to touch yourself, a lone digit teasingly rubbed at your wet slit. You inserted a finger and Dottore swallowed thickly, incoherently cursing at the expression painted on your face.
Oh, how insanely exquisite you looked with your eyes rolled back and lips parted to let out the most beautiful whimpers.
Sweat beaded beneath his pointed mask, despite the crisp temperatures, he felt warm and stuffy; the fabric of his clothes around his torso uncomfortably stuck onto his skin. Dottore hated the feeling but the bliss that engulfed his whole body was very addictingâits as if he were experiencing oxytocin for the very first time.
âNgh! PrevaricatorâAh!â He grunted. You added another finger inside your sopping cunt, this time you thrust your digits with haste and desperation. Pornographic wet sounds echoed within the room and it only fuelled him further.
Dottore followed suit, hand moving at the same pace your fingers did, a forceful groan escaped his parted lips as if heâd been punched in the gut by pleasure itself. At this point, he was quite literally tugging at his cock from how tight he gripped itâhis knuckles were painted ivory and jaw hard as stone which meant orgasm loomed dangerously close.
Dottoreâs colourful moans turned into short, desperate pants, his arm burned at the repeated movement but he couldnât bring himself to stop, not when pleasure was mere seconds away. In his mind, your climax was also closeâhe could hear the way your moans ended in dainty whimpers, a subtle occurrence whenever you neared your orgasm.
âDottore!â You whimpered, back arching off the mattress, face contorted into the most beautiful pleasure-drunk expression. Tears welled your eyes and your mouth parted in a silent moan as your orgasm came crashing down. Dottore grunted, strokes faltering a bit before reaching his orgasm; hot, white pleasure engulfed his visionâhis climax was so intense that he swore he briefly blacked out and if it werenât for his grip on the door knob next to him, he wouldâve met the floor face first with how weak his legs had become.
With a loud moan of your name, hot cum spurted from his cock and spilled onto the floor. Dottore pumped his sensitive cock three more times to ride out his high, primarily focusing on teasing his slit. He let out a low curse, hips stuttering at the overstimulation. Heavy breaths filled the room, it settled into the air the same way shame weighed on Dottoreâs sweaty skinâheavy and uncomfortable.Â
Another curse slipped past his lips. In all honesty, he did not know what to make of this whole situation nor was he willing to address his carnal fantasies. It was normal, right? Dottore had only been having sex with you which meant you would be the only object of his desiresâthe very concept of stimulus and response; the external stimuli would be engaging in raw intimacy and his natural response would be to seek more.
Yes, desiring for one was all part of human nature. Nothing out of the ordinary. But why did the sensation inside his chest feel the complete opposite? Dottore didnât dwell on the feeling further, he had more important matters to worry about like tomorrowâs experiment.
Fontanian mornings were chilly but they werenât as crisp as Snezhnayan ones, the relief of not having to dress for a colder climate was something you absolutely were thankful forâno heavy Fatui overcoat, no thick scarf around your neck, no frostbites.Â
The meeting with the Guild wasnât until afternoon which meant you and Regrator had a bit of free time, prompting you to think about the idea of visiting the House of the Hearth and hopefully Arlecchino if she was around. It wasnât unusual for you to drop by the orphanage when in Fontaine during missions or personal travel but you were rarely in the Nation of Hydro.
The familiar building stood austere among the cityâs narrow streets and upon stepping foot inside the orphanage, warmth and the scent of polished wood greeted your senses. There was something nostalgic about the House despite not frequenting it much, you couldnât place your finger on it, though.
Chaos filled the walls, children laughed and ran around carelessly with genuine smiles plastered on their youthful faces, your echoed footsteps fell silent upon the song of frenzy. The scene before you was a breath of fresh air compared to the stillness of Zapolyarny Palaceâin there, it felt suffocating, as if one constantly walked on thin ice.
The main hall was alive as always, cushions were scattered around like a friendly reminder that everyone was welcome in the House. Its walls were adorned with a variety of paintingsâlandscapes and colourful sketches which told stories of the past.
âO-Oh! Miss Prevaricator, I didnât expect to see you here today . . . Are you looking for Father?â A familiar quiet voice drew you out of your idle thoughts. Your gaze landed on the timid blonde before you, despite the shyness laced in his soft voice, his eyes never left your own.
âHello, Freminet. Yes, is Arlecchino around? Iâve come by to drop some gifts.â You briefly looked down at the stacked pastry-filled boxes in your hand, neatly wrapped in an ivory satin bow.
Before he could reply, the sound of heels clicking against the wooden floor cut through the momentary silence inside the House, âOh? To what do I owe this pleasure?â Arlecchino stood beside Freminetâwho subtly gave her space despite the ample amount availableâher arms crossed over her chest yet a rather pleased expression was painted on her face.
âIâm here with Regrator per Her Majestyâs orders. Thought Iâd drop by and give something to the children.â
The Third nodded at your brief explanation before ordering Freminet to carry the boxes into the dining hall, the latter quickly obliged, excusing himself and quietly retreating further inside the House, pastries in hand.
âCare for some tea? Though, if youâre busy, I wonât hold you back any longer.â Arlecchino proposed. Today wasnât particularly busy and the meeting was not until afternoon, so there was ample time to spareâa cordial catch up with her wouldnât hurt.
âIâll take up on that offer.âÂ
The scent of Bergamot tea and faint woodsmoke embraced your senses. Arlecchinoâs office was not a mystery but it always fascinated you whenever you stepped foot insideâtall windows stretched from floor to ceiling, they were decorated with crimson curtains which danced along the morning breeze. Porcelain vases and delicate ornaments decorated her office, adding an exquisite touch to the place.Â
Near the fireplace, a low round table had been arranged with care, an assortment of sweet Fontanian delicacies decorated the three-tier dessert; from Fontanalia Mousse to Pâte de Fruit, it seemed like every bit of the Nationâs sweets was right there in front of you. Beside it, two fine porcelain cups rested atop gold-lined saucers, steam curled upwards, giving off a pleasant aroma.
âHow are you? Anything interesting as of late?â Arlecchino brought the cup to her lips, she blew on the hot beverage a few times before taking a small sip. Through the wisp of steam, her vermillion gaze remained locked on you. There was a hint of something behind it, as if she knew a vital piece of information, even her sentence alone weighed differently.
âIâve been well. Busy in the laboratory as usual.â
You didnât react despite your mind revisiting the last two months with Dottore. The slight shift in your seat was all Arlecchino needed to confirm but she was curious, âChilde told me something a few weeks back,â The latter started and you watched as she set her cup down with a faint clink to grab a Pâte de Fruit. Childe . . ? What did he rope himself into this time? Last time you heard of him he was recovering from his wounds. Though, somehow, it felt like what she was about to say next wasnât about the Eleventh..
Wordlessly, you slightly tilted your head to the side, offering her to finish her sentence. Arlecchino swallowed the sweet, a hand over her mouth out of etiquette before speaking once again, âIâll spare the . . . details but he mentioned you and The Doctor are quite close.â
Silence followed, faint sounds of joyous children beyond the office walls echoed along with the slow ticking of the grandfather clock tucked in a corner. Childe mentioned what? Pure confusion engulfed your entire body, a hint of panic also arose. What could he possibly mean by that? Did he manage to catch a glimpse of you and Dottore together?
As far as you knew, only The Captain did, on accident. You swallowed the feeling of embarrassment as you momentarily recollected the awkward encounter with The Captain in the balconyâthat was a factor you needed to deal with.
âIâm . . not sure I follow.â Playing it safe was the only option you were left with and besides, whatever Childe said to Arlecchino could be a million different things, right? After all, you and Dottore did previously collaborate on an experiment per the Tsaritsaâs orders which and therefore practically saw one another almost everyday of the week.
She met your indifferent gaze with a deadpan expressionâone that screamed âDo not attempt to lie to me, I know everything.â If anything, she expected this outcome from you, being a deceitful individual was in your nature so this response was of no surprise. Although, Arlecchino would be lying if she said she didnât feel a little disappointed, sharing a bond beyond mere colleagues, she wouldâve expected you to forego that façade of yours and act truthfully.
Nonetheless, she could clearly decipher the reasoning behind your actions. Very much so. The only individual who didnât shy away from his close involvement with The Doctor was Regrator.
With a sigh, your posture stuttered, a sign of defeat, âIâm not sure what you want me to say, Arlecchino.âÂ
That was the truth. Yes, you and Dottore engaged in a physical intimate relationship but you were both consenting adults and as far as you were concerned, the âarrangementâ was not actively harming the Fatui nor was your private relationship anyoneâs business. Her Majesty could not care less about her Harbingerâs personal matters, as long as each Harbinger executed their tasks, she was satisfied.
Therefore, Arlecchino had no place to confront you about Dottore.
Despite your indifferent demeanour, what you felt inside was panic. No one really associated with the Second apart from Regrator which was purely formal and contractual, yours on the other hand . . . was different. Was it embarrassing on your end? Yes and no. Yes, because it was Dottore, everyone knew of his eccentricityâhe was a madman; at least with The Captain or even Childe, oneâs tastes would not be questioned, besides, The Captain was a highly esteemed individual. And No, because you were an individual free to do whatever you desired even if it meant getting intimate with Dottore.
At the very least, Arlecchino should understand where you were coming from; she was probably the most understanding and sensible in the group after The Captain.
She shifted in her seat, one leg crossing over the other as she contemplated her reply, âI know you must be thinking that it is none of my business and you are right, it isnât. But from a friend to another, I must warn you, nothing good ever comes from associating yourself with Dottore, even if it is purely . . . physical. Youâre a capable individual but just be careful, okay?â Genuinity laced her words, it comforted you like a warm embrace. In all honesty, you were quite thankful Childe ratted you out to Arlecchino instead of Sandrone, the latter would have definitely cursed you in a hundred different ways for developing a ârelationshipâ with Dottore outside forced project collaborations.
Still, you wanted to interrogate Childe once you returned to Snezhnaya. For him to gossip about your affairs like that . . . completely childish.
âBut really? Dottore?â She added, a rather distasteful expression painted on her face. You shook your head in response, shame gnawed at your bonesâmaybe it wasnât such a good idea to visit the House after all. âDonât . . . even ask. Iâm not sure what I got myself into.â Another sigh escaped your lips, you tried not to think about Dottore.
Tea with Arlecchino went on for an hour, random topics arose and dissipated along with every pour of Bergamot tea, and soon enough, you had to bid goodbye as the meeting with the Guild neared. Both of you parted ways without much formalities nor grand exits, just a simple nod of acknowledgement towards one another. As you walked to the doors of the House, a few of the children accompanied your short journey, thanking you for the sweet treats, and eagerly asking when youâll be back for another visit.
You didnât mind visiting in the near future.
The meeting ran smoothly, it primarily consisted of heavy business talk which you had to admit, lost you at some point mainly because it wasnât your expertiseâyou only acted as a persuader and a negotiatorâso most of the time, Regrator proudly took the lead. You were more than sure he didnât mind, after all, he liked working alone with the sole reason of having every pawn neatly tucked in his palm.
âThank you for your time Monsieur Rochefort, Madame Moreau. I assume we will be seeing the two of you in Snezhnaya at our upcoming banquet?â Regrator gently grabbed Madame Moreauâs delicate hand, gently placing a chaste kiss at the back of it. Formalities.
The banquet. You almost forgot.
The upcoming banquet was a grand gathering between the Fatui and its business partners, it was luxurious and far from simple but it held no significance apart from further strengthening Snezhnayaâs relationships with each organisation. Think of it as an annual gathering arranged by the Fatui to maintain their subtle authority over those businesses. If the banquet wasnât compulsory, you wouldnât have attended any of it but alas, mingling with important individuals came with the job.
âAh, Iâm afraid Madame Moreau wonât be accompanying me to Snezhnograd. However, Monsieur Valmont will be attending.â Monsieur Rochefort animatedly explained, briefly looking over your way. Thèodore Valmont was the owner of the Commercial Registry Guild, the individual you and Regrator were supposed to meet but after several fruitless meetings your colleague had with him in the past, Monsieur Valmont refused to attend yesterdayâs meeting, fully expecting it to advance no further.
Regrator smiled. Even better. He thought; Valmont was absolutely far more valuable than a mere Guild representative, he had no qualms with that. âWhat delightful news, Monsieur Rochefort. Please, pass on my regards to Monsieur Valmont. I shall give him a warm welcome upon his arrival.â He chuckled.
It didnât take a detective to piece that Regrator was in a delighted moodâthe corners of his lips reached his eyes, it wasnât the usual cunning smile he wore daily.
After extended formalities and proper goodbyes with the Guild representatives, you and Regrator headed towards Fontaineâs docks, ready to depart for Snezhnaya. Neatly tucked inside the latterâs leather briefcase was a document inked with the signatures Her Majesty sought after.
The trip back to Snezhnaya was peaceful, only the hum of the boatâs engine and its body against the tides could be heard; neither you nor Regrator spoke to one another but you didnât mind. Conversing for the sake of replacing silence didnât interest you, besides, ever since he spoke of Dottoreâs name, a weird inkling in your chest bloomed.
Returning back home was devoid of anything grand, you and Regrator were immediately summoned to Her Majestyâs throne room upon arrival which consisted of an hour long meeting where future plans with the Guild were discussed. After that, you and Regrator parted ways where you ended up being whisked away by The Jester in an impromptu meeting, much to your dismay.
Though, it didnât drag on, he had briefed you about urgent tasks assigned such as designing Fatui uniform suited for Nod-Kraiâs kuuvahki since operatives were more than susceptible to overexposure, and thus would hinder their performance.
An important project concerning Nod-Krai had long been a topic in several Harbinger meetingsâthere wasnât much you knew about it since you werenât tasked to oversee anything there but you were aware of the fact that a Kuuvahki Experimental Design Bureau was being built on Paha Isle. Considering the long years it had been in discussion, the expansive structure would see its completion soon.
The next week consisted of being locked away inside your laboratory or office in the Experimental Bureau, you were surrounded by mountains of materials ready to be turned into uniform specifically for the Nod-Krai mission; the Director did express the urgency of the project assigned to you so any personal tasks were put on hold, and your subordinates worked over time to help meet the deadlineâyou even sent some of them to Nod-Krai to test out the first few batches.
Being this busy meant there was no time to rendezvous with Dottore but you didnât mind, besides, the last you heard of him was before you left for Fontaine. It wasnât like your arrangement with him held any significance, anyway. But your mind did occasionally wonder what he was up to.
A firm knock against the door to your office jolted you out of your thoughts; you had been reviewing past notes about personal projects youâve researched about as a way to try and relax for a moment. The document tucked between your fingers consisted of neatly written information about the Moon Marrows.
Despite your interest in the ancient relics, only the location of the Eternal Moonâs Marrow was known and the lack of information regarding the Iridescent Moon Marrow and the absence of the Frost Moon Marrow subsequently led you to abandon the research for good.
It was a shame because you were truly passionate about it, you believed that its powers would greatly benefit the Fatui.
âCome in.â
A subordinate stepped inside, he knelt before you, âLady Prevaricator, we have received results from the unit you dispatched in Nod-Krai.â At the mention of results, your ears perked up, the document in your hand long forgotten, âGood. Let me take a look at it.â He swiftly got back on his feet and placed a thick brown folder on the desk before exiting your office. The sheer thickness of it was enough to make one dizzy, this was going to be a long day.
After a rather gruelling week, the annual banquet finally rolled around and here you were inside the Palace, wrapped in an exquisite yet daring dress to compliment the Grand Hallâs luxurious aesthetic. The plunging backline of your dress was definitely one for attention.
The Grand Hall gleamed with cold opulence at night, its high arched ceilings were painted in hues of silver and blue which resembled a frozen sky at dawn. Crystalline chandeliers above hung like icicles, they gleamed like everlasting stars. Long banquet tables draped in fine ivory silk stretched the length of the Hall, frosted glass centerpieces faintly sparkled beneath the lights which illuminated the luxury Snezhnayan dishes laid upon the table. The air was crisp, it smelled faintly of aged wine, expensive perfume, and cold marble. To top it all off, a soft, elegant melody weaved its way across the faint chatter of guests, leaving no room for silence.
Important guests from all over Teyvat donned layered furs paired with exorbitant textiles to boast their social statusâthis was a gathering of elites, after all. And these elites happened to be under the Fatuiâs control.
You nursed the Fire-Water in your stemmed glass, watching as the clear liquid swirled and gleamed beneath the crystalline lights. Before you, stood Regrator, Monsieur Valmont and Monsieur Rochefort engaged in a light conversation about the Guild.
Of course, in the name of formalities, there was no option but to mingle with the familiar group, it only made sense after recently securing an agreement with the Guild.
There were times you chimed in the conversation but majority of the time, the three men spoke amongst themselves. Not that you minded; standing idly was enough to pass time. Though, Monsieur Rochefort seemed to notice your lack of participation which led him to open a one-to-one conversation with you. He stepped closer, further reducing the distance between your bodies. You stiffened briefly but didnât let on, he was too close for your liking.
âI was deeply amazed at how you handled that meeting back in Fontaine. Youâre certainly a wonderful woman!â He laughed boisterously, head tipped back with an amused expression, the crimson liquid inside the glass he held swayed vigorously at his animated movements, threatening to spill.
âYou are far too kind, Monsieur Rochefort.â A polite smile merely graced your lips yet it was enough to send the man laughing once again. Slightly uncomfortable at his odd behaviour, you looked around in slight embarrassment, afraid that his uncouthness had garnered unwanted attention.
Though, upon your brief scan around the Hall, a familiar masked figure caught your eye. Dottore. He stood in a darkened corner near a tall stained glass window, tucked between his gloved fingers was a stemmed glass devoid of any liquid inside. Your breath hitched. His gaze was already on you. Both of you stood there in silence, locked in a mutual stare where neither one dared to look away.
Dottore watched as the strange man next to you boldly leaned in, even going as far as resting his filthy hand on the small of your bare back. And you didnât dare step away? His jaw hardened at the sight before him. Something inside his chest grew dangerouslyâan emotion full of negativity and anger. Dottore gripped his glass a little tighter, the fabric of his gloves squeaking at the subtle action.
You broke the stare, swiftly returning your full attention to Monsieur Rochefort. God, did he need to be so close? The scent of heavy alcohol clouded your senses, you stepped back in response which only pressed your back further into his palm.
âIâd like to get to know you moââ âAh,â Dottore cut into the conversation smoothly, tone full of edge, emptied glass long discarded in a servantâs tray.
âYouâve monopolized my colleague long enough.â
Despite the annoyance brewing inside him, he didnât scowl, instead, he simply stood closely by your sideâa little too closeâhis tall stature loomed over you and Monsieur Rochefort.
How did he get here so quickly?
Dottoreâs sudden intrusion gained not only yours and Monsieur Rochefortâs attention but also Regratorâs and Monsieur Valmontâs whose conversation was cut short. It didnât take much for the Ninth to realise what was about to unfold, and with a subtle smirk, he led the Guildâs owner elsewhere, away from lightning that was about to strike. Regrator had deep respect for his friend but he did not need Dottoreâs foolishness tainting the Fatuiâs name in front of ThĂŠodore Valmont.
âDottore.â You greeted, calm and collected. The sensation inside his chest briefly stuttered as his name spilled from your lips. For a moment, he had forgotten the sole reason he rushed by your side but alas, it was short lived as the strange manâs infuriating voice pulled him back to reality,Â
âOh, hello. We were merelyââ
âIâve no interest in idle chatter. I am simply here to discuss matters with my colleague. Privately.â
Caught off-guard, Monsieur Rochefort wordlessly nodded, excused himself before stammering to sit on one of the tables. Dottore carefully watched as the former walked away, he scoffed before turning to you; the expression on your face was indifferent yet the pierce of your gaze held weight, âYou didnât need to do that.â
He let out an exasperated sigh, it had been a while since youâve last seen one another and this was how you greeted him? How cold.
âHe was enroaching.â âAnd I was handling it.â
You turned to fully face him, eyes narrowed with annoyance, âWhy does it bother you?â It shouldnât. Logically, it shouldnât bother Dottore at all yet something convoluted and territorial had been simmering in his chest since the moment that strange man leaned dangerously close. Despite his better judgement, he needed to act on it, simply ignoring it felt . . . wrong.
âYou are careless with proximity.â He waved a dismissive hand. You tilted your head slightly, challenging his reasoning, âThatâs not what this is about.â In response, Dottore stepped closer, not enough to touch your body but enough for the music and chatter to fade behind the tension brewing between the two of you.
âYou allow others into your space without assessment.â âThen why are you standing this close?â
Because I want to. The thought arrives uninvited but he didnât dare speak it into existence, simply doing so would . . . complicate things.
Instead, he replied with, âYet youâre not denying me either.â You fell silent at his words. He was right, you werenât. Why werenât you? For a moment, you pondered about it âtil you realised you were displeased with him.
âYouâre changing the topic, Doctor. I do not care whether âI am careless with proximityâ, it still does not give you the right to interrupt my conversation with Mr. Rochefort.â At least Regrator was sensible enough to lead the Guild owner away from what was about to happen.
The partnership with ThĂŠodore Valmont was fairly new and if they were met with something they did not like, the Guild could easily withdraw benefits they granted Snezhnaya. Thankfully, Mr. Rochefort was probably drunk enough to overlook Dottoreâs sour attitude.
Before he could reply, the Director stepped inâhe must have sensed the tension between you and Dottore, âIf the two of you are going to start bickering like children, take it elsewhere. You are Her Majestyâs esteemed Harbingers, do not taint her name in her Palace.â
That was how you and Dottore found yourselves away from the Grand Hall, inside the Palaceâs expansive library, drinks long forgotten and the liveliness of the banquet faded into nothingness.Â
âYou did not notice his intent. Thatâs vulnerability.â He sharply uttered into the silence; Dottore stood near the shelves, eyes absentmindedly scanning each spine, back turned to you. A few feet away, near one of the wooden tables, you stood behind him, a slight scowl on your face.
âWhether he had intent or not still doesnât justify your actions. Unless . . . youâre jealous, Doctor?â Crossing your arms over your chest, you watched as his back stiffened imperceptibly. Clearly, he didnât like your words but his reactionâas small as it wasâamused you.
Dottore scoffed, âJealousy is an inefficient emotion.â âInefficient as it may seem yet I do not see you denying, Doctor.â
âOh, do not make this about me, Prevaricator.â He finally turned to face you, an evident scowl painted beneath his mask. âNo, I will make this about you. Would you have reacted the same if it were any other Harbinger? Arlecchino, for example?â You took a step closer, the soles of your heels clicking against the tiled floors.Â
Silence occupied the space as your words hung in the air. No. Dottore knew he wouldnât have done the same if it were any other Harbinger. Merely thinking about it exhausted him already.
At his lack of response, you spoke once again, âI know we have an arrangement, Dottore but that doesnât excuse how you treat individuals I interact with. You do not have authority over me and I certainly do not belong to you.â Dottoreâs behaviour was odd, to say the least but just because youâve been having sex with himâand vice versaâdidnât mean you claimed one another and he knew that. He knew the arrangement between the two of you did not involve any sort of feelings, it was only for the sole purpose of sexual gratification.
Of course, this was all speculation on your end as he had not specified anything yet but from his behaviour, you could conclude that it stemmed from the same root.Â
âYouâre getting rather bold, arenât you, Prevaricator?âÂ
âCall me every name you wish to, Iâm not the one conducting myself to look like a fool.â You were just about fed up with him. First, he had interrupted your conversation with Mr. Rochefort, potentially tainting the newly built partnership between the Commercial Registry Guild and the Fatui, now he was getting mad at your reaction to his uncouthness.
The absolute audacity of him.
âI beg your pardon?â Dottore took three steps closer. More than anything, he loathed being deemed a foolâto others, your insult may not have hit hard but it was a completely different story for him. His voice dipped dangerously low as if urging you to try to challenge him and see what would happen. Fortunately for you, that was exactly what you wanted to do. Just because Dottore outranked and overpowered you didnât mean youâd submit to him.
âThen beg, Zandik.â
Silence grew thick. Beneath the pointed mask, his brows twitched at your wordsâyou didnât see it but you sensed the sudden shift in his demeanour. The use of his real name was an . . . interesting choice from you, it definitely caught him off guard, and it wasnât the pleasant kind.
Something inside Dottore snapped, and within seconds, he was able to close the great distance between you and him. His familiar scent invaded your sensesâit was as electrifying as lightning with the way it awakened every single cell inside you, as though your body had programmed a natural response to him. Have you always felt this way? You didnât know.
âI wonder, has anyone ever taught you the consequences of such careless words? Or has the concept of restraint always eluded you?â
A gloved hand firmly held your chin, tilting your face towards him. Silence stretched between the two of you, only the ticking of the grandfather clock in the far corner could be heard, and despite your proximity, your breaths fell deaf to each otherâs ears.
Neither of you knew the reason whyâwas it because of the closeness? The soles of your shoes rooted to the tiled floors beneath, you didnât reject Dottoreâs touch nor did you invite it.
âYou speak so confidently of restraint as if youâre aware of what youâre talking about. Tell me, Doctor, when have you ever exercised restraint, hm? From our past . . . encounters, you were never one to submit to it.â The expression on your face remained unchanged but he could see the way your eyes glimmered with challenge, a sense of superiority within the depths of your gaze.
Dottore leaned in, the pointed tip of his mask mere centimetres away from your lips, âYouâre right,âÂ
âPerhaps . . . thatâs exactly what is needed right now.â He growled, the grip on your chin tightening just enough to gain control. The tone his words carried made your knees weakâyou absolutely knew what would come next. He tilted his head to the side, angling his face so that his mouth hovered over your own; his hot breath fanned the plush of your lips, akin to a ghostly caress.
Dottoreâs face was close enough to the point where even breathing felt intimateâfar too intimate. A shiver ran down your naked spine and with the way Dottoreâs mouth curled at the edges, he noticed your subtle reaction.
Finally, he gave your lips a chaste kissâinnocent and tame, a contrast from his usual kisses. Albeit soft, a hint of hunger lingered behind his action, he pressed into you heavy and with much haste as if to signify his unspoken feelings. Before one could process the whole thing, he swiftly pulled away, leaving you somewhat chasing for more. As embarrassing as it was to admit, Dottoreâs lips were far too addicting; they were plush and velvety despite the sharp words it naturally spewed.
âBend over that table for me. I wonât be taking no for an answer.â
Even if he was, you wouldnât object. Excitement rushed through your body as you carried yourself to the nearest table within your vicinity. The feeling of shame intertwined with the iciness of the wooden surface beneath your forearms as you positioned yourself over the table. Shame is a part of human emotions and therefore normal. Yes. It certainly is normal.
Sharp and calculated footsteps which echoed within the quiet walls of the library drew you out of your thoughts, each click of a sole was louder than the last. âHow exquisite.â You felt Dottoreâs presence behind but didnât dare look back.
The heat his body radiated absolutely drove you mad, it didnât help how his crotch was only a few inches away from your rear.
The sight before him had his cock twitchingâthe daring plunge of your dress exposing most of your back was sin itself, it should have been illegal for wandering eyes to lay upon the beauty of your skin so casually, and to think that filthy Fontanian man had the audacity to touch you . . . It had Dottore feeling such unspeakable emotions.
A gloved finger languidly traced the path of your spineâfrom your shoulder blades down to where fabric met your skin. It moved with fine calculation which roused a violent shiver from you, âSensitive now, are we?â He let out a deep, amused chuckle, clearly delighted at your involuntary response. You huffed but didnât reply, though, you didnât really need to as he swiftly moved on to lift the fabric of your dress.
Goosebumps formed as the crisp air kissed your exposed lower half, Dottore couldnât help but whisper a curse into the silence. For a brief moment, it sounded dangerously close to a plea, a prayer to whichever heavenly body cared to listen.
He caressed the skin of your ass and gave it a gentle massageâsqueezing and gropingâwhich had your cunt greedily tightening around nothing. Your palms balled into fists at Dottoreâs ministrations, it was only the start yet you already caught yourself letting out heavy breaths.
Then, leather met skin. Swift and harsh; you shamelessly gasped at the sharp sensation it left behind, it stung hard and spread like wildfire but gods did it feel sinfully delicious. He had spanked you without an ounce of mercy.
âWhat an interesting reaction you have, Prevaricator. How about we conduct a brief experiment on your cognitive capabilities? What Iâm going to ask of you is simple: using your words, count each slap I give youâloud and clear. Surely you can perform such an effortless task?â
âYou canât do it yourself?â You finally looked over your shoulder, gaze filled with lust and a hint of mockery.Â
Dottore didnât like the way your lips curled in fierce confidence. Oh, how he wanted to wipe that look off your face. To get a better view, he swiftly removed his pointed mask, mindlessly chucking it somewhere on the table where it landed with a sharp thud. Dottore slapped your rear once againâharder than the lastâit had your body jolting against the surface beneath you, arms quivering as it held your weight. A whimper escaped your lips, head facing forward once again, dipping ever so slightly as pain pierced through your skin like a thousand needles.
âCount.â
A brief silence.
â. . . One.â âGood.â His praise went straight to your core, causing you to disappointingly clench around nothing.
Before Dottore proceeded further, an idea presented itself. Without another word, he reached for his leather belt, expertly removing it from his pants in one fell swoop. He bent it in half, his right hand securely wrapped around the ends of his beltâthen, with a pull of his arm, he swung it across your rear which drew a jolt of surprise from you.
A sharp hiss escaped through gritted teethâyour face contorted in pure painâthe familiar sensation spread across once more. Fuck. Dottore wasnât going easy on you.
âT-Two.â You stammered.Â
In circular motions, he gently rubbed in over the spot he had assaulted; you held back a small whimper between your lips as his fingers ghosted over the clothed entrance of your wet cunt. It lingered there for a whileâtwo long digits caressing up and down your slit but if anything, his ministrations tested your own restraint only because his fingers pressed into you just enough to feel its presence yet it didnât quench the thirst of your greedy cunt. In other words, you needed hard friction.
âItâs fascinating how your body readily responds to my stimulus.â The growing wet spot on your underwear had Dottoreâs cock twitching in his pants. Gods, how gluttonous you were for him; it gave him a sense of pride that only he was capable of bending your façade.
The serpentine and indifferent Prevaricator, the Tenth Harbinger of Snezhnaya, adept at weaving her path with fables and manipulation. Or so the Fatui called you. It was laughable because right this moment, the âindifferent Harbinger of Snezhnayaâ was now bent at his mercy.
Impatient, you took the initiative to push back into his fingers but your shameless attempt was futile as it only earned you another harsh slap. The belt swiftly cut through the air with a whistle before it hit you, indicating the strength of Dottoreâs swing.
A pathetic whimper decorated your parted lips, âThree.â So far, youâve only received three strikes but you were already at your limit.Â
Thankfully, he only gave you seven moreâwhich were all equally painfulâtotalling to a number of ten slaps but you did manage to say each of them without fail. Though, your sanity slipped with every count.
By the tenth, your rear was undoubtedly inflamed and hot from all the spanking it had taken, you werenât sure if youâd be able to sit properly tomorrow. Dottore took the time to grope the globes of your assâpalm spread on each cheekâto give a bit of relief from the sting; he didnât shy away from playing with them.
âYouâve done well, results showed secure cognitive abilities despite being under influence of a stimulus.â Dottore bent down to place open-mouthed kisses between your shoulder blades, pulling a shudder from you. Soft, wet sounds filled your ears with each sloppy kiss that decorated the length of your spine; he slowly moved downwards, savouring the feel of your blazing skin against his velvety lips.
As Dottore reached the end of your spine for one last kiss, his index finger slipped beneath the band of your underwear, he pulled the flimsy fabric down, down, down, causing it to fall on the tiled floor around your heels. Then, his hand circled around your left ankle, he slowly guided it upwards âtil the entirety of your leg rested atop the smooth surface of the table along with your torso; he didnât bother slipping your heels, it would only be a waste of time. You bit back a small moan as iciness kissed your hot entrance, eyes momentarily closing from the sensation.
Dottore stayed sitting on his haunches, he observed the way your cunt glistened beneath the warm lighting of the library. Not only was the sight before him intoxicating but so was your sweet, sinful scent; akin to an awakened beast hungry for its prey, he salivated at your unfiltered beauty. At this point, his cock begged to be let out and buried deep within the velvet of your tight walls.
As tempting as it was to just dive in, something in him wanted to savour your body as long as he could. It was a great contrast from usual roughness but nonetheless, he decided to take his time.
Dottore gave your entrance a generous lickâhis tongue pressed flat against your slit as he slowly dragged it upwards, successfully gathering your slick on his tastebuds.
Oh, how divine you tasted. You let out a wanton moan, nails digging into the heart of your palms, sensitive was one way to describe your current state. It had been quite a while since Dottore had pleasured your body so any stimulation pulled eager responses from you.
He licked once, twice, thrice, up and down until his senses only knew you, and you alone. The gloved hand which rested on your left ankle pushed your elevated leg further up the table, allowing better access to slot his lips around your cunt.
Dottore sucked at your entrance with fervourâakin to a starved madman, his tongue darted past your folds to explore the sensitive warmth within. The sounds he made were beyond shameful and uncouth, it was sloppy and wet but he didnât care, the sinful song that slipped past your lips was music to his ears.
Your back curled in pleasure, angling your hips in a position that further exposed your cunt. Dottore took the opportunity to work his free hand on your clit, he rubbed the sensitive nub in fast, tight circles resulting in your body to jolt and thrash around a bit from pleasure. The feel of smooth leather against your clit was foreign but it didnât hurt given how wet you were, though, it did provide a hint of subtle friction that bare fingers could not.
At his unforgiving pace, you rested your forehead on the surface beneath, panting and whining his name. Balled fists opened and closed, unsure of what to doâwhere to hold on toâas bliss slowly gnawed its way through your feverish skin.
âD-Dottore! Yesâhaah!â
At your words, Dottore curled his tongue the way you liked it, he rubbed the tip along your velvety walls, moaning into your entrance at how it tightened and pulsed around the wet muscle. Your moans filled the space within the libraryâs walls, it weaved its way between ink-stained pages of ancient books and found home between paragraphs where it wrote a veiled story for none.
As Dottore continued his pleasured torture, it didnât take long for you to reach climax and come undone on his tongue. A broken grunt of his name forced its way past your lips as you stiffened and unceremoniously convulsed upon your orgasm; shocks of ecstasy ran down your spine and settled on your sensitive entrance. Dottore hummed, clearly pleased at the saccharine taste youâve generously given him, he eagerly lapped up all your essence, careful not to waste any. The simple act of genuine appreciation had your legs shaking as you began to feel overstimulated.
He briefly pulled away from your quivering cuntâa translucent, sticky string forming which connected his lips to your entranceâbefore giving it sloppy, open-mouthed kisses with his tongue occasionally darting out to lap at your wetness. A few more messy kisses and Dottore completely pulled away much to his dismay; a light sheen of your essence mixed with his saliva coated the lower half of his face, it wasnât common to witness The Doctor in such an improper state but heavens did he look strikingly beautiful even with filth on his face.
âLie on your back and move further up for me.â Dottore stood up.Â
Slowly, you moved and did what you were told, once your back rested atop the wooden surface, you positioned yourself further up. Now, the entirety of your body lay on the expansive table, the long skirt of your crimson dress hung off to the side like a pair of limp wings.
With a lust-filled gaze, you watched as Dottoreâwho stood at the foot of the tableâtook his lengthy cock out of his pants, he pumped it slowly, smooth leather against skin as he spread his pre-cum from tip to base. It stood proudly against his clothed abdomen, a deep shade of blush you were more than familiar with. He groaned silently between breaths, as if pleasuring himself without you was a forbidden act that called for punishment.
Then, Dottoreâs crimson gaze lifted to meet your own. Without breaking eye contact, he positioned himself on the table, it rocked beneath his weight but you trusted it enough to hold both you and him. Slowly, Dottore made his way up inch by inch, leaving chaste kisses all over your bodyâclothed or notââtil he reached your face where he gave your lips a searing kiss.
It was passionate but it wasnât rushed nor did he greedily consume what your mouth had to offerâit was deep, full of prisoned emotions. Trembling arms immediately wrapped around his neck, your fingers intertwining with his azure locks as you melted into his lips. After a heartbeat, Dottore slowly pulled awayâpanting from the lack of oxygenâhe gently nudged your nose with the tip of his own before resting his forehead against yours.
The two of you remained in that position for a minute or so, just basking in the closeness of each other while your breaths interlaced. Truth be told, he could stay like this forever, albeit a little uncomfortable but it didnât compare to the strange emotion he felt.
âI . . .â He trailed off, unsure what came nextâhe didnât even know why he had spoken in the first place.Â
Dottore sat up and with the use of his teeth, he expertly pulled both gloves from each hand and mindlessly tossed them somewhere on the table. He would never admit it out loud but heâd rather feel your skin beneath his palms and right down to the tips of his fingersâraw and true. It was a shame he was too caught up in pleasuring you earlier that he didnât think to remove them.
He returned to his previous position, one bare hand resting beside your head to support his weight while the other slipped between your bodies and bunched the fabric of your dress at your waist to position his hard cock against your sopping entrance. Dottoreâs lust-filled gaze never left your face as he teased his sensitive tip up and down your slit, he watched with hooded eyes as you bit down on the plush of your bottom lip at the feel of his raw cock.
As Dottore slowly slipped inside inch by inch, he took the opportunity to suck on the spot just below your right ear with his tongue occasionally lapping it up. A wanton moan slipped past your lipsâyou were unsure whether it was because of his mouth or his cock but nonetheless, what you currently felt was pure ecstasy.
Once fully sheathed inside your velvet walls, Dottore dipped down to lick a messy stripe up the column of your neck and at the same time, he languidly pulled his hips back âtil only the tip remained. As he thrusted back in, his mouth worked on your neck by decorating it with gentle bites.
Dottoreâs pace was . . . different. Indeed, it was slow and pleasurableânothing novelâyet it had meaning behind it, every roll of his hips, every press of his tip against your sweet spot, and every low grunt that resembled your name, it felt foreign. You couldnât decipher what the meaning was but it was there and made itself known, all you knew was that he had you trembling under him.
Immediately, your legs curled around the dip of his clothed waist and interlocked behind his lower back, your heels clicked at the movement, bumping against one another in the process. âY-You feel so good . . . Mhm!â Your breathless confession had Dottoreâs cock twitching inside your cunt; he grunted in response, followed by a particularly harsh thrust.
His large hand gently cupped your cheek, he met your gaze once more without breaking his measured movementsâit was nothing but an endless eerie pit of deep crimson that beckoned you into pleasure. Even just the sight of his rubied pupils was enough to have you tightening for a good few seconds. Dottore cursed, hips stuttering in response, you found it rather amusing how a simple movement could easily bend the Second.
It was a weak spot only you knew of. A spot with your name carved deep.
Every steady stroke forcefully pulled oxygen from your lungs, it left you panting like a desperate common whore and it didnât help how your limbs clung onto his body which left little to no space between the two of you.
âMoreâ! P-Please, Dottore!â You whined.
Dottore groaned, burying his flushed face in the crook of your neck, the perfume you wore invaded his senses like a sweet plague, it made him dizzy yet for some reason, he wanted more. At your shameless pleas, he altered his movements a bit; the pace he followed remained slow but every time his cockhead neared your sensitive spot, he forcefully thrusted inside so that the tip firmly pressed against it.
âMine. MineâHaah! Mine. How dare that Fontanian dog lay his sordid hand on youâon whatâs mine.â Dottore growled. Pure venom seeped from his tongue and stained his words, the bitterness of his tone was so evident you almost felt it on your tastebuds.
Too fucked out to even comprehend his words, you absentmindedly nodded along, pleasure completely took over every single cell in your body. Your head lolled to the side as Dottore pressed his face further into your feverish skin, he whispered the same set of words over and over like a madman.
And you responded to each of them, âYours. Yes . . . Iâm yours, D-Dottoreâ!â
Despite the iciness of the library, the air between you and Dottore turned thick and warm, and housed thousands of unspoken words. Aside from the latter removing his gloves and maskâand your forgotten underwear on the floorâboth of you remained clothed which added to the warmth in the air. A light sheen of sweat had already formed along Dottoreâs forehead, resulting in his azure locks to stick. It was stuffy to say the least and you were more than certain that you looked a complete mess but you didnât find yourself caring right this moment for he deliciously ravaged your body to the point where you felt it in your soul.
Each slow drag of Dottoreâs heavy cock and each press of his bulbous tip had your half-lidded eyes rolling far back into nothingness. Your nails raked along his scalp which pulled deep groans from him in the shape of your name.
âSay it againâlet me hear you speak it into existence once more.â Dottore panted; he stilled his hips deep inside your cunt, cock pressed rather eagerly into your sensitive spot as he awaited your response.
A garbled moan was all you could muster from the amount of pleasure he gave you but he wasnât having it, âUse your words, Prevaricator. Youâre an intelligent individual, surely doing so wonât be much effort?â He pushed his hips further into your own which allowed his cock to sit deeper inside your walls.
âMhmâah! âM yours, Dottore! All yours . . . no one elseâs.â Tears welled in your eyes as you sobbed.
Pleased, Dottore muttered a praise beneath his breath before swallowing your sobs with a messy kiss. He started moving in and out once more, determined to bring you both into an orgasm. Both of you moved in sinful unison, bodies rocking in perfect rhythm as though the two of you were simply . . . meant to be.
Dottore repeated that same mantra of claiming you in between kisses along with every deep roll of his hips, resembling a record in need of dire fixing, though one wasnât sure if fixing was what he desired. If anything, he seemed rather content in his fragmented state.
After a few more languid thrusts, the two of you simultaneously came. Dottore swallowed your wanton moans with a long kiss, he groaned into your mouth, hips stuttering before they stilled and buried his cock deep inside. Thick ropes of ivory coated your quivering walls and you couldnât help but whine into his lips at the feel of his hot cum inside your cunt. For a minute or so, Dottore remained sheathed until he shallowly drew his hips back to fuck his cum deeper.
Overstimulated, your legs around his waist tightened in an attempt to halt his torture but only resulted in the opposite as it pushed him further into you. A humourless chuckle slipped past his lips at your futile effort but fortunately enough, he did stop.
âAnd if I see that Fontanian freak lingering around you outside business-related matters, he shall deal with my hand.â Dottore breathlessly spoke into the growing silence. You let out a breath, â. . . Iâm not interested in Mr. Rochefort, Dottore, and I simply cannot control whether he lingers around me or not outside business matters.â Somehow, the mention of his name and that foolâs name in the same breath didnât sit well with him but he let it goâjust this once, he was far too spent for another argument.
The next few minutes consisted of awkwardly making yourselves presentable for the banquet but with your face a mess and hair dishevelled, it took quite a long time to return to your proper state. Dottore, on the other hand had a far easier task for he merely fixed his azure strands and put on his discarded accessoriesâpointed mask and leather glovesâhe didnât have to worry about unsolicited stares on his face as he hid it behind a mask.
Once ready, you stepped out of the library first, legs trembling with every heavy step taken; the soles of your heels clicked unnecessary loud against the marble floors of the corridor. With the banquet confined to the Grand Hall, the Palace corridors were devoid of any people wandering about which lessened your worries about curious ears that happened to listen in on what happened a moment ago.
As you hurriedly walked downâwith Dottore who followed closely behindâa familiar figure came into view at the end of the hallway. His striking auburn hair was enough to tell you who it belonged to.
âPrevaricator? Dottore? What are you two doing out here? I saw how Pierro approached you two earlier in the Grand Hall, is something the maââ Childe paused mid-sentence as realisation hit.Â
You. Dottore. Away from everyone else. Alone together. It could only mean one thing based on his previous encounter.
A horrified expression slowly crept its way to his face, the Eleventh tried not to imagine what had transpired between the two of you moments ago but the vivid past stared right at him, begging to be addressed. It was a little over two months ago during the time you and Dottore worked on Cryo experiments tasked by Her MajestyâChilde didnât mean to pry but the day he paid a visit to your Palace quarters seeking a friendly spar, he was met with . . . unpleasant sounds.Â
It wasnât foreign for the Eleventh to ask of his comrades to spar, and with you being a whole rank higher than him, he normally sought you out more than anyone else. There were days youâd accept but most of the time youâd turn him down due to your unending projects; though, constant rejection didnât seem to discourage him from asking you in the future.
From what Childe could make out, the lewd sounds mostly came from you. Frankly, he couldnât care less that you were getting laidâit was a normal part of human natureâand like a sane individual, he planned on leaving to give way for privacy but that was until he heard you moan Dottoreâs name.Â
Anyone in their right mind would be confused. Dottore? Really? Was he even capable of sex?
Childe stood there for a good minute or so before ultimately deciding to leave, the idea of sparring with you thrown out the window. He honestly couldnât believe youâd let Dottore near youâor was the correct term âinside you?â Ah, that didnât matter right now, he needed to tell someone.
âYou know what,â Childe started. âI . . . donât even want to know.â He raised his gloved hands in defeat and swiftly turned around to escape the growing awkwardness.Â
âAjax.â You called out, tone full of ice.
As if on command, he halted mid-step, every muscle in his body froze. You only ever used his real name whenever you confronted him with a matterâwhich was a rare occurrence. Was Childe afraid? Maybe. It wasnât like you were one to unleash your wrath over something trivial, right? Ah, maybe he shouldnât have told Arlecchino! Last he heard, you were in Fontaine with Pantalone which also happened to be where the Fourth was. He was certain she most likely told you about what heâd found out.
âIâd like to speak with you. In private.â A subtle glance back at Dottore was all he needed from you before he continued walking down the corridor, leaving you and Childe behind. The former didnât pryânot that he wanted toâany matter that involved the Eleventh was out of interest for him, it was probably something trivial, anyway.
Childe wordlessly watched as Dottore left, out of nervousness, his cerulean gaze darted between you and the Second. Maybe if he reasoned that Capitano was looking for him, heâd be able to get out of thisâOh, thatâs right . . . Capitano was currently in Natlan. Maybe Pierro, then?
Once Dottore was out of sight, you spoke up, âArlecchino told me.â Unfortunately for Childe, your words pulled him out of his thoughts which meant no options to run away anymore. He swallowed thickly, eyes fixated on the wall to his left to try and avoid your icy stare; the Eleventh never did enjoy your soulless gaze, looking into it felt like he was inviting something dangerous. So most of the time, he did his best to avoid it. It was nothing against youâin fact, he even looked up to you but heâd just rather . . . not stare into your eyes.
Especially not when it hid anger.
âI-I can explain!âÂ
You sighed, âThere is no need to explain. While I understand the reasoning behind your actions, Iâm disappointed you didnât confront me firstâyou know, the primary person involved in what you witnessed.â
Gossiping wasnât your habit yet if you heard something as scandalous as Childe had, you might just speak on the topic as well. Maybe even with Arlecchino, too.
The Eleventh briefly met your gaze before he looked away in shame, guilt gnawed at his bones as he realised that he should have confronted you first about it, not Arlecchino, not anyone else. Itâs just that he was overcome with shock that he completely forgot his actions might not be the most sensible. Indeed, Childe had a lot to learn when it came to composure.
âSorry . . .â He scratched the back of his head in shame, a blanket of rose covered his cheeks. Your gaze softened, âWell, whatâs done is done. Iâm not mad at you, Childe.â
The latter had a sheepish expression painted on his flushed face, â . . But Dottore? Really, Prevaricator? Iâm gonna have to say Iâm a little disappointed, Comrade.â He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. Even if it seemed like he was a little afraid of you, he considered you a friend; you werenât one for conversations but he appreciated how intently listened to his ramblings as trivial as they were.
A tired sigh escaped your lips, you shook your head absentmindedly, âDonât start.â
âAll jokes aside though, be careful, okay? I know us Harbingers are colleagues and all . . . but you just canât trust that guy and Iâm sure youâre aware of that too.â
It wasnât like you trusted Dottore, right? Aside from physical attraction, you felt nothing for him. Yes. Nothing. The arrangement was merely a shallow bond created from lust and nothing else. Everything was going to be fineâin fact, if he were to sever ties with the Fatui, youâd feel indifferent.
Besides, there was nothing Dottore could possibly use you for.
As the banquet came to a formal close, the next event was the opening of the Kuuvahki Experimental Design Bureau where most Harbingersâyourself includedâand other high ranking Fatui were present in Nod-Krai to celebrate its launch of operation. The Bureau had been a long-standing project and seeing the grand building in its expansive glory showed how much time had passed since the project was established.
Though, after the brief celebration, you headed back to Snezhnaya along with the rest of the Harbingers excluding Columbina, Sandrone, and Dottore who remained in Nod-Krai for an assigned mission.
That was the last you heard of The Doctor.
It had been two months since you last saw himâwhich was back in the Bureau openingâand it was safe to say that things had been a little . . . mundane. Meetings and experiments were what made up most of your daily routine; though you didnât quite mind, Dottoreâs absence was a force itself and without his physical help to de-stress you, everything felt rather bland.
But of course, first and foremost, you were a loyal Harbinger of Snezhnaya which meant swallowing your own lewd desires to focus on meetings and assigned projects and with Project Stuzha slowly coming together, there was no room to fall behind. If anything, focusing was your only friend. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise to have Dottore away from you, any more time spent with him in close proximity might have yielded unwanted results.
During the period between the banquet and the preparation for the Bureau opening in Nod-Krai, Dottore frequented your laboratory by occasionally paying brief visits. It was an inconvenience at first since you were certain he had much more important matters to tend to yet he had the time to dilly-dally in your research spaceâevery time, he asked a bunch of trivial questions which were left unanswered. At that point, you knew your subordinates were talking behind your back with how much they encountered him in the laboratory.
The most bizarre one, however, was when you found Dottore inside your officeâhe lounged comfortably in your chair as if he owned the space. Naturally, you asked him to leave which heâstrangely enoughâobliged without putting up a petty fight. If it werenât for exhaustion in your system, you would have asked him a million questions as to why he had invited himself.
Shortly after Dottore left your office, you remembered Arlecchino and Childeâs joint concern: Nothing good ever came from associating oneself with Dottore.
And somehow their words proved to be the truth because right now, you were back in Nod-Krai for an entirely different reason: Dottore was wreaking havoc in the borderlands. The sky burned a pale, unnatural blue, almost as if to say it was sick; citizens hurried along broken streets to safety while Fatui soldiers did their best to aid them.
It doesnât take an intelligent individual to conclude that the situation was a messâDottoreâs energy fields quite literally swallowed almost all of Nod-Krai with every passing second. It looked daunting but you werenât surprised that he was capable of committing such an act.
â. . . He has the tri-lunar authority in his hands! Is he insane?!â You were pulled out from your thoughts at the sound of Childeâs ramblings; the two of you were dispatched to aid all affected individuals caused by Dottoreâs actions, and as much as you desired to confront him, you were assigned a task by Her Majesty. Wait. Tri-lunar authority? The three moons? Youâve always known he was interested in kuuvahki but never the three moons. Most importantly, how did he manage to concentrate the tri-lunar authority in his hands?
Was he out of his mind?
Before you could reply, an operative called out to you, âLady Prevaricator! We need your help! Weâve found some of our people who had recently escaped from The Doctorâs private research institute and one of them is gravely injured!â You nodded and moved with precision, youâve done this a million times yet the feeling of dread never really left.
âLay him here.â You instructed.Â
They quickly obliged and gently set the soldierâs wounded body on the ground but before you could assess his state, the air around you shifted, causing you to pause momentarily. At first, it was subtleâa faint distortion akin to oneâs reflection on rippled water. Then, the world bent, sound vanished, and everything blurred.
Instinctively, your hand reached out to summon your blade but the ground beneath your soles folded inward as if space itself had collapsed, and in the blink of an eye, Nod-Krai vanished. No Fatui soldiers, no chaos from citizens trying to flee, nothing.
Silence. Pitch black.
Then, a sea of blinding lights greeted you. No, not lights, a sea of bright ivory clouds underneath your feet which reflected the bright sun above. Where were you? How were you suspended mid-air? You straightened instantaneously, eyes narrowed as you assessed the vast space ahead.
âPrevaricator.â That familiar voice. Dottore.
You quickly turned around and summoned your blade as your gaze landed on him, specifically on the crescent-shaped device that floated behind his head like a false halo, it hummed a soft melody and shone a strange hue of blue. âDrawing your sword already? How hostile of you, I just want to talk.â He stepped closer, completely unfazed at the sharp edge of your blade pointed at him.
Was your sword summoned because you wanted to eliminate him? No. It was summoned to defend yourself. But . . . were you even capable of killing Dottore? The thought alone placed you in a strange predicamentâone you did not like.
âTri-lunar authority? Are you a fool? How did you . . .â You trailed off, a million questions surged through your mind. How was he able to obtain the power of all three moons? As far as you were concerned, only the Eternal Moon Marrowâs location was disclosed and as for the Iridescent Moon Marrow, Arlecchino had explained to you how it came into her possession.
As for the third marrow, you knew it did not exist at all. So, how did he . . .
âHow did I synthesise a false moon marrow you ask?â Dottoreâwho was now only a few metres awayâstepped closer. In response, you stepped back, the sword tucked tightly in your right hand still pointed at him. If it were any other day, he would have enjoyed the conflicted look on your face but you gazed at him with such disdain as though he were a monster.
He tilted his head, âMy, has the process of teleportation messed with your mind? I assumed you would have pieced everything together.â His cryptic response sent an icy shiver down your spine, somehow, you felt you wouldnât like the truth. Nonetheless, you wracked your brain for answersâanything, everything. What did Dottore mean by that?
False. Moon Marrow.
âYou act as if false creations arenât your expertise, Prevaricator.â His words landed heavy and you were hit with an intense realisation of what he implied.
No. He couldnât have . . . but this was Dottore, he would and he most certainly could.
âYou . . You stole my research?â
To create a third false marrow, he had stolen your research notes about Moon Marrows which dove into the topics of synthesising a third one using the existence of the original marrows. At best, you were interested in the relics because you deemed it useful for the Fatui, not to concentrate the tri-lunar authority into your own hands as he had done. The thought of your own theoretical calculations contributing to such atrocities caused by Dottore made you sick.
This was never what you intended.
âStole is a bold accusation. I like to think of it as borrowed. You truly are a geniusâusing a harmonic field to equilibrate the extracts of kuuvahki so that one would be able to wield it without destabilisation? Only a mind like yours would come up with such a concept. For that, you have my thanks.â
Suddenly the air felt thinner and you couldnât breathe properly, it was as if the atmosphere had its hand around your neck, slowly choking you with each passing second. Hesitantly, you shook your head, denying every praise that Dottore handed. Panic inside you gradually arose causing your breath to quickenâyou had partial responsibility for this and it weighed heavy on your shoulders. How could Dottore use you like this?
A turmoil of emotions was one way to put it, you werenât sure whether to be angry at his betrayal or feel hurt at the fact that he used you as a mere pawn. Was this the primary reason he had been lingering around you from the start? To use your mind for his atrocities?
 âNod-Krai is in destruction because of you.â
He humourlessly laughed, âOh, Prevaricator. You speak as if you donât have blood on your hands. Let me ask you this, exactly how many Inazuman war soldiers perished from your Delusion? Hundreds? Thousands? Condemnation does not make you any more better than I and it certainly does not purify your crimson-stained hands.â
You hated it. You hated how Dottore was completely rightâat the end of the day, you were a Harbinger of Snezhnaya who has caused devastation without an ounce of remorse. If anything, you and Dottore were two sides of the same coin.
âIâm not here to purify my hands. Iâm here under the Tsaritsaâs orders toââ âTo what? To kill me? That would be an interesting performance but it isnât my task to harm you.â
It was rather vain of you to draw your sword against Dottore, both of you knew doing so would only result in your demiseâeven without the tri-lunar authority, he greatly overpowered your combat capabilities even with a Delusion. But if doing so asked for your demise then so be it, you were partially responsible for all this and that was the only price worth paying for your foolishness. Even if your entire soul begged not to.
Despite your better judgement, you moved first; your boots cut through the sea of clouds as you lunged forward, blade flashing precisely meant to force Dottore backwards. The strike was fastâperfectly calculated but the latter did not dodge, instead, he raised a gloved hand.
The moment your blade entered striking distance, gravity twisted, air around your sword warped violently, the space in between folded like glass under pressure. Your calculated strike veered sideways as if pulled by an invisible force, it scraped against nothing yet sparks formed.
Swiftly, you pivoted, turning the failed strike into a spinning slash aimed at his ribs. Dottore effortlessly stepped aside, this time it was his turn to strike. The crescent halo behind him hummed as he summoned a weapon out of thin airâa blade much larger than your own. He didnât hold it with his own hand, no, instead, he manipulated gravity to wield it.
 âIs that all youâve got? Face me with ferocity, Prevaricator.â
You leapt back in defense, the edge of his blade just narrowly missing your stomach. Once again, your sword flashed before the distance between you and Dottore greatly lessened in a split second. Steel met steel as you drove the pointed edge toward his throat, he had swiftly caught it with his own blade.
The impact rang across the expansive space.
For a brief moment, the two of you stood inches apart, two completely contrasting expressions painted on your faces. Then, the air intensified instantly as if the weight of the entire sky slowly suffocated you. Your posture stuttered slightly and Dottore leaned closer, âMy, look at you.â
A grunt slipped past your lips as you thrusted your blade forward with heavy force, it slid dangerously close to the edge of his shoulder. For a brief moment, it broke his guard. The space beneath you shattered as it folded violently, a wave of lunar energy exploded outwards causing it to launch you backwards. Your body unceremoniously rolled through the sea of clouds, searing pain shot everywhere.
But you didnât dare back down, you rose from your spot, sword at your side once again as you dashed forwardâthis time, much faster. Metal flashed in a storm of precise strikes, each one aimed at a lethal point: throat, ribs, spine; your blade moved like liquid in your hand, forcing Dottore to take several steps back.
For the first time, he had to actually defend. Metal repeatedly rang as he deflected your deadly attacks.
âThatâs it! Wield your blade like you mean it! Youâve been holding back, havenât you? I wonder why . .â
Have you been holding back? You didnât notice but you were certainly aware how stiff your attacks were, as if your body protested against your mind.
Suddenly, you swiftly twisted, reversing the angle of your sword and driving its edge towards the seam of his mask, the blade stopped a hairâs breadth from his face. Dottore had caught your wrist,
âI think it's time we put an end to this.â
Panicked, you attempted to break free of his firm grip but it proved to be useless. The azure halo behind him hummed as he drew his free hand back, his weapon moved in unison.
A surge of bright light instantly invaded your senses to the point where you couldnât make out what was ahead of you anymore. Then, darkness grew.
âââ âââââ!?â
ââ ââ ââ!â
âLâ âvaââtor!â
âLady Prevaricator!â
Your eyes shot open, body that was previously thrashing around stilled instantly as you took in your familiar surroundingsâjudging from the blue fabric above, you were inside a Fatui tent. Your chest heaved as inhaled and exhaled deep breaths, âWhat . .â
âLady Prevaricator! Youâre finally awake. Youâve been out for almost two weeks.â What? You thought. Two weeks? But mere moments ago you were just fighting Dottore. âExplain.â You rasped.
The soldier before you nodded, âWell, we were back in Nasha Town and when I had called you over to treat a wounded soldier, you suddenly collapsed. We had to quickly rush you into one of the tents and ever since then, youâve been out cold. We were all worried about you. We had one medic assigned to look after you while the rest helped civilians.â
âI was assigned to clean up the space since troops are slowly returning back to Snezhnaya. You were thrashing around in your sleep and thankfully, you woke up!â
Two weeks. Youâve been sleeping for two weeks. How did that happen? You were certain Dottore was about to land his last strike. Your head couldnât seem to wrap around it. Unless, he wasnât meant to kill you and simply teleported you back the same way he teleported you to him. He did confess he wasnât interested in killing you.
âWhat . . What of The Doctor?â Slowly, you used every ounce of strength in your body to sit up. At your question, the soldier held a shocked expression beneath his mask but immediately got rid of it.
âThe threat has been neutralised but Lady Marionette perished in battle.â
âIâd like to be alone.â âAs you wish, Lady Prevaricator.â Silence shortly followed as the soldier stepped out of the tent. Your breathing quickened, they were goneâdead, Sandrone and Dottore were dead and you didnât know what to make of it. First, it was Rosalyne and now Sandrone . . . Just how many more of your friends would perish?
As for Dottore, you never once considered him as a friend yet your chest hurt at the thought of his demise; you didnât know how to grieve.
A slow exhale left your chapped lips as realisation settled, it came out uneven and shallow. Your hands began to tremble and that alone was enough to unsettle you. Years and years had been spent mastering control, whether it be over assigned missions, over subordinates or over yourself; sadness was something you watched in other individuals, not something you experienced.
Yet now, the tremor refused to stop. You stared at the wall of azure before you, unfocused. Then, you lowered your face into the heart of your palmsâat first, it was skin against skin, just the pressure of your hands pressing against your eyes as though you could physically force the thoughts out of your mind. But pressure didnât help because every time you closed your eyes, you saw Sandrone and Dottore.
Your breath hitched and almost instantly, you tried to swallow it down, tried to steady yourself the way you always didâindifferent and unfeeling. But what did it mean if you were simply brimming with . . . feelings. A small sound escaped your throat, broken and almost sounded like it didnât belong to you. From there, everything poured, your tears, emotions and every single feeling youâve ignored. You hadnât cried in years.
Was it justifiable to cry over Dottore as well? Closeness was the last thing the two of you had and you werenât quite aware of what you harboured for him to feel such immense grief.
In the next few days, you were back in Snezhnaya, heavy snowfall poured nonstop and the Palace was emptier than usual when you requested an audience with Her Majesty. You had told her of your indirect involvement with Dottoteâs plan and even asked for punishment to atone for the grave destruction caused upon Nod-Krai.
But Her Majestyâthe ever benevolent archon she wasâpardoned you and deemed your involvement unrelated. Were you thankful you didnât have to face punishment? Yes. But maybe you desired to be punished because now Sandrone and Dottore were gone. If the latter hadnât learned of your research notes regarding Moon Marrow then maybe both of them would still be here but then again, Dottore was more than capable of constructing one with or without your research.
After the meeting with Her Majesty, you shortly went on leave to process everything.
Now, you resided in a small cabin near the mountains a long ways away from SnezhnogradâZapolyarny Palace, the Experimental Bureau, your home. All those places reminded you of him. Albeit only your accommodation for the next few days, being away from everything and everyone greatly helped.
Days were spent cooped up inside the cosy space tending the fireplace and occasionally wild animals that crossed your path, other than that, you were content with watching the snow capped mountains in the far north.
This particular night, nothingness accompanied you once more. The snow had stopped hours ago, leaving the town buried beneath a smooth, ivory silence; even the song of wind had withdrawn, leaving you completely alone. Inside the cabin, you sat at a small wooden desk by the window, a lamp casting a muted circle of light across scattered papersâthey werenât reports nor important documents, instead, the pages contained your thoughts and feelings. Sandrone once told you that she recorded a handful of matters on a notebook, kind of like a diary, so you decided to try for yourself.
Halfway through a sentence, your pen paused against the paper. Something shifted outside. Even though it was dark out and only illuminated by a singular lamp on the porch, you noticed instantly. It was subtleâa movement in the corner of your vision, just beyond where light from the lamp thinned.
You lifted your gaze. At first, there was nothing, only the quietness of the mountains ahead and bare trees which stood rigid beneath Snezhnayan frost. But as your eyes settled, you could make out a figure standing beneath the black branches. The distance and darkness hid every detail but there was no mistaking the silhouette. Tall. Composed. And most importantly, the faint outline of a mask caught beneath the pale moonlight.
Your chest tightened. Dottore . . ?
No, this must be a mere hallucination, after all, sleep barely visited you at night. Unless . . he wasnât a hallucination but a phantom. Unlikely. Were you finally going mad?
The figure didnât approach the door nor did it moveâit just stood there amidst the trees as if to merely observe. Curious, you rose slowly from the desk, crossing the room without haste in your steps. As you reached the door, you opened it with cautionâone hand on the knob while the other summoned your blade. Wood creaked beneath your feet as you stepped onto the porch, you felt like a fool for going outside, Dottore was dead, there was no logical reason for him to be outside the cabin at an ungodly hour of the morning.
Despite your better judgement, you called out to him, tone full of hesitation, â. . . Dottore . .?â Even uttering his name sounded idiotic, it was like praying to a god who wouldnât answer.
The blackened figure moved and your fingers instinctively wrapped tighter around the hilt of your sword. You watched carefully as it moved closer with the same familiar gait The Doctor had. As the figure moved closer to the light, it slowly revealed Dottore; your breath quickened, heart rate spiking at the sight of the all-too-familiar man before you.Â
A million questions surged through your mind. What? He was proclaimed dead.
You raised your blade, the sharp edge pointed at him, it trembled a little, âI do not know if this is some kind of sick caper but I am not amused.â Yes, this had to be an elaborate cruel jokeâthat was the only way to explain it, right?
âPrevaricator.â He sang your name the same way he did back in Nod-Krai yet only this time, it was softer around the edges. No. No. No. It couldnât be. A big part of you didnât want the figure to be Dottore, not after what he did in the borderlands and how he used your research. But a small, twisted part of youâspecifically inside your chestâhoped it was him, even if it did not make sense at all.
As much as the truth hurt, you spoke up, âYouâre . . supposed to be dead.â
âIndeed.â Your eyes narrowed at his brief reply, âExplain or you will meet the end of my blade once more.â
âThe âmeâ you encountered and ultimately fought in Nod-Krai was my last remaining segment.â
âSegment? I do not seem to follow?â
âDonât tell me youâve forgotten my crowning achievement, Prevaricator? I synthesised eight segments of myself. Unfortunately, seven of them had to be destroyed.â
Crowning achievement? Your eyes narrowed. Eight segments? Oh, it sounded like Dottore alrightâonly he would create segments of himself. After a while of trying to fit pieces together, broken memories started coming back to you.
Indeed, someoneâyou couldnât remember who but you were certain it was from a long time agoâhad told you of Dottoreâs eight different segments, he built them after years and years of research into puppet-making techniques.
As for what the foundational blueprint was, you couldnât recall at all.
How could you have forgotten about his segments? Well, it wasnât like you ran into The Doctor frequently back then nor did you bat an eye at his successful projects. If anything, you mainly kept to yourself. But now that segments were part of the equation, it raised a question,
âThen . . which of you was it?â Despite your vague question, Dottore knew exactly what you meant: Between the real him and the segment, which one shared intimate moments with you.
He answered almost instantly, âEvery single encounter was with me only, I never allowed him near you. The Omega build may be the most selfish out of all segments but he cannotâand will notâsurpass my own selfishness when it comes to you. After all, I am the original.â
Something inside your chest stuttered.Â
You swallowed thickly, âWhy are you here? Why show yourself before me? I can easily alert Her Majesty of your whereaboutsââÂ
âWould you, Prevaricator? Would you really? Your words seem to differ from what you truly feel . . . I sense a hint of hope in them.â
The blade in your hand lowered and your grip loosened a little, âI mourned a colleague. Despite it all we . . I lost a colleague.â You couldnât quite speak for everyone on your behalf since you were more than certain Dottoreâs death did not sadden them at all. As for you, foreign feelings aroseâviolent ones that could not be ignored.
âOh but you seemed rather eager fighting my segment did you not?âÂ
âBecause I knew I had no chances of surviving against youâyour segment. Killing . . you was something I was aware I could not accomplish alone.â
âA death wish, then?âÂ
âCould you blame my actions? On top of causing chaos in Nod-Krai, you stole my research for your own selfishness. I am well aware our physical relationship was transactional but it does not invite you to use me as a pawn.â You took several steps closer, the tip of your sword dragging against the wooden boards beneath.
Dottore mirrored your actions, he stood at the opening of the porch, right before the wooden steps, âAre your feelings hurt, Prevaricator? Did our physical relationship mean something to you?â
Using your own words against you. That was the same question you asked him months ago in the Palace.
âYouâre changing the topic.â
âAnd you havenât answered my question.â
âI am of no obligation to do so.â
âThen, I will take that as a âYesâ.â
Oh, he was infuriating as ever. âWhy are you here? To rub in everyoneâs faces that youâre still alive and everything that happened in Nod-Krai was all a lie?â
âIâm here with a proposal. Our recent collaborationâwell, albeit out of your own willâmade me realise how two minds alike can achieve great power rivalling those with divinity.â
âWhat makes you think Iâll work with you?â
âWhy not? Limiting your intellect under the authority of the Cryo Archon is a waste. Tell me Prevaricator, are you content with slaving away despite being aware your mind can do much more than what she asks of you?â Dottore slowly climbed the steps, wood creaking beneath his weight.
The thought of doing much more beyond the Fatui has never once crossed your mind. From what you can recall of the past, it has only ever been the Fatui for you; countless experiments, projects and meetingsâall for the betterment of Snezhnaya and never for yourself. There wasnât anything personal going on in your life apart from your role as a Harbinger.
You could never admit to it but you envied Childe and how he was able to live a normal life outside of being in the Fatuiâfrom Sandroneâs tea parties, you heard countless stories from him about his younger siblings and family. It was foreign to say the least, he was the only Harbinger who had family and engaged in mundane human tasks.
âTake your place by my side, Prevaricator and we shall accomplish great feats with our intellect.â You watched him outstretched a gloved hand.
If Dottore had been talking to your past self, the answer would have been quick and sharpânoâyet after your entanglement with him, the decision didnât come easy. An invisible force beckoned you towards him and the mere thought of being apart from him gnawed at your very bones.
They never mentioned it to your face but you could tell Arlecchino and Childe had become wary of you ever since they learned of your involvement with Dottore, Rosalyne and Sandrone were gone for good, and Columbina had retired which meant there was nothing else that tied you to the Fatui except your loyalty to Her Majesty.
You didnât notice snow had begun falling once again âtil you saw Dottoreâs palm decorated in ivory, you watched as they fell from the skies and found home in his hand.
âYou could easily refuse and walk away right this moment yet you have made no effort to do so, it seems inefficient to pretend you do not see me by your side, and if someone intends to claim your time and attention, it may as well be me. Donât you see? Iâm sure everyone around you has already kept their distance . . Childe, Arlecchino, and maybe even Her Majesty hold a hint of disdain towards you for aiding my plan in Nod-Krai.â
âIf you were a truly valuable asset for the Tsaritsa, she wouldnât have granted you leaveâarenât you supposed to be involved in Project Stuzha? From what I recall, its launch draws near yet they donât need your help? Itâs only a matter of time the Fatui kicks you off to the side.â
Dottore was correct. Project Stuzha was set to launch soon and Harbingers involved in such projects are prohibited from taking personal leave unless absolutely necessary. With Her Majesty approving your leave amidst the start of Project Stuzha, it almost seemed like an indirect message that she, in fact, did not need you anymore.Â
Yes, that was what it all meant.
Silence stretched briefly before you took his hand in yours.
With quiet certainty, you understood that whatever existed between you and Dottore was not loyalty, not trust and certainly not romanceâit was something far less stable. Two minds too sharp to deceive themselves. Yet somewhere within the cold silence of the outside, you realised the most unsettling truth of all.
That you and Dottore would ruin each other eventually, and neither of you intended to stop it.Â
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SYNOPSIS: With Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa assigning you and The Doctor to an important research project, the two of you are forced to set aside the not-so-distant past and collaborate with one another. However, after a particular experimental trial, you and The Doctor get into a nasty argument which compels you to finally address the elephant in the room: the lewd incident that happened in his laboratory.
CONTENT WARNING: tenth harbinger!reader, reader is referred to as prevaricator/lady harbinger, slow burn-ish, smut (mdni), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, slight dom!dottore, degradation (if you squint), arguing while having sex, their foreplay is arguing, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, p with plot-ish, other harbinger cameo, brief mention of death, reader & dottore donât know how to deal with feelings, very elaborate lab stuff, scientific jargon but youâll be fine, not beta read.
WORD COUNT: 11,469
SONG RECOMMENDATION: haunted by beyoncĂŠ
NOTES: happy vday heres dottore to light up ur valentineâs day hehe !! iâve been asked a lot about a second part so i said fuck it and wrote one :3 hope you all enjoy! peep the song rec >< i donât usually do those but these fics were heavily inspired by âhauntedâ! div: cursed-carmine
The Zapolyarny Palace was unusually quiet, stillness lingered in the air as the Harbingers patiently sat along the long table. Candles burned low which illuminated everyoneâs stoic faces, an expression each Harbinger wore whenever around one another, careful not to lay out all their cards.
Frost blanketed the stained glass windows, obstructing sunlight from seeping through. All Harbingers in Snezhnaya had been summoned by Her Majesty to discuss current reports and future missions to be assigned. Right now, everyoneâeven Pierroâexcept one Harbinger sat on their chairâone that seemed to not care about his colleaguesâ precious time.
Annoyance bubbled in your stomach. The Doctor was always like this even if he was summoned by the Tsaritsa herself, he always took his sweet, sweet time. What could possibly be more important than Her Majestyâs orders? You were irritated at his slight tardiness, yes but you complained no further as it meant not having to face him for a longer amount of time.
After the . . . exchange in Dottoreâs laboratory yesterday, you were not looking forward to facing him at all which was why you werenât thrilled when a subordinate had let you know about the Harbinger meeting. Nonetheless, you sat in your chair, composed with your hands folded, and an unreadable expression.
Two minutes had passed before the doors opened to reveal the person you dreaded to see the most.
Dottore strode in, unhurried and calm as though he controlled time itself. Slung over his left arm was a fabric with an all too familiar shade of ivory, it bore the Fatui insignia. Your eyebrow twitched imperceptibly, tension heightened and engulfed the whole roomâor maybe that was just on your end? Whatever it was, you did not like it one bit.
It felt like the occurrence at Sandroneâs tea party all over again.
âUgh, Dottore! Do you know how long weâve been waiting for you?!â Sandrone broke the thick silence that lingered in the air, voice full of annoyance.
âAh. Just in time, I see,â The Doctor mused pleasantly, flat out ignoring the Seventh Harbinger. The tone made your gut churn but you didnât let on whenever he speaks with such delight, whatever followed was usually the opposite. Just in time? Inconsiderate as always. You thought.Â
âPrevaricator, you seem to have left your coat in my laboratory.â He stopped just before your chair, his tall stature loomed over your sitting figure as he stood behind. You didnât turn to face him just yet but his invasive aura was enough to alert you of his presence. Your heart stammered. Dottore could not be serious right now, out of the endless opportunities to return your coat, he chose today? In a Harbinger meeting? Really?
Though, that concern was immediately overridden by the unsolicited stares from not only Sandroneâs piercing gaze but from everyone else who sat on the tableâfrom Pierro all the way to The Balladeer who rarely cared about such trivial matters. All their attention suddenly shifted over to you and Dottore. You hated to admit it but it almost felt like you were cornered by a pack of wolves who had found their dinner for tonight; interest and curiosity lingered in their eyes.
Uncomfortable, you shifted in your chair just a bit. What were you supposed to say? Thank you? Over your dead body, that was the last thing youâd ever utter to Dottore. To make matters even worse and the othersâ curiosity to grow, he spoke up once again,
âWe had a rather . . . heated exchange.â
You wanted to kill him. Rip his body into shreds until nothing remained.
Dottore was smart, academically smart but in all the years youâve been with him in the Fatui, this was the most idiotic thing youâve seen him do. Utterly foolish. What was the relevance of this explanation? Nothing! There was no other implication that could have meant anything else besides what you and him had done yesterday.
The word heated settled into the silence that followed, like a dropped blade.
Sandroneâwho sat on your leftâslowly turned to face you, azure eyes wide with confusion and laced with something dangerously close to horror. You didnât dare meet her gaze. Her eyes flickered to your shouldersâno coatâthen back to the fabric on Dottoreâs arm. Ugh, she didnât even want to think about what he meant by that, whatever it was, she wanted nothing to do with it.
Why is Dottore even causing a scene?! Sandrone rolled her eyes.
Clearly, there was no denying that the article of clothing The Doctor had was yours, the biggest hint being your coat missing around your shoulders. Naturally, everyone donned theirs whenever they were back in Snezhnayaâapart from the coat being an unwritten uniform within the Harbingers, it helped immensely with braving the harsh icy winds, and heavy snowfall. Today, you managed to layer enough clothing to face the low temperatures.
Heat crept up to your cheeks, you were embarrassed; to think that Dottore heavily implied you and him had sex in his laboratory in front of all the Harbingers was beyond shameful. Oh, how you wanted the marbled floors to open a rift and swallow your body whole only to never return again. Surely, none would have caught on, right? The more you thought about it, the more your mind calculated the possibility that it was impossible for any Harbinger to not understand the implication. Everyone in this room was smart in their own way.
You cleared your throat, attempting to slice through the growing awkwardness inside the hall, âAn experiment,âÂ
âWe had an escalated disagreement regarding an experiment of mine. I had simply asked for his perspective which I soon realised was a mistake considering our opposing opinions.â You lied, though it was believable enough how natural it soundedâno uncertainty, no hesitation, after all, lying came to you as easy as breathing fresh air. But, the spiteful tone at the end of your sentence was nothing but the truth.
A beat followed then a handful of nods around the long table. Either no one was foolish enough to entertain the matters or they simply could not care less. Sandrone, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes briefly before shifting her gaze elsewhere.
The Seventh Harbinger tried not to think about the fact that you always sought her perspective when it came to obtaining a second opinion for your experiments, not Dottore, not anyone else, her. Nonetheless, Sandrone ignored the pressing thought; as long as it didnât affect her nor her projects, she didnât see any reasoning to further investigate the matter.
The only thing that bothered her was your terrible taste. Dottore? Really? Hm, maybe all those chemical fumes youâve inhaled these past years have finally affected your cognitive ability.
You twisted your torso, finally facing Dottoreâwho wore a sly smirkâto grab your coat off his arm, âApologies for my forgetfulness.â You coldly muttered before once again turning to face the table.
Without another word, Dottore strutted to his seat between Regrator and The Balladeer which was situated right across from your own. Now that every Harbinger was here, the only figure to wait for was Her Majesty. You took a quiet deep breath as The Doctor finally sat in his seat, you didnât lift your gaze to look at him but you already knew his crimson eyes were on you. You shifted in your seat uncomfortably, heat that settled into your skin now burning deeper despite the subzero temperature.
Dottore noticed the slight shift in your mood, like a faint crack in a panel of glass, subtle yet enough to shatter the whole thing once pushed to its breaking point, âIs the hall overheated again, Prevaricator?â He asked, referring to the events of Sandroneâs tea party. You had said the same thing back then after the effects of the aphrodisiac had started to settle in, looking back at it now, Dottore most likely knew you were lying then.
Of course, this was his way of further provoking you under the guise of concern.
You stared at him. Hard. Which only pulled an amused smile.
Too focused on trying to split apart the Second Harbinger with your stare, you didnât notice the way Regratorâs gaze shifted between you and his friend, the corners of his mouth curling upwards in pure amusement. Oh, he absolutely knew the deal between you and Dottore, and the best part? He found out all by himself.
Regrator had been meaning to pay Dottore a visit sometime to tell the latter that funding for his research project had been approved, which he found himself doing yesterday. As usual, he made the effort of paying a visit to the Experimental Bureau, specifically to Dottoreâs laboratory.
Everything was normal until Regrator had made it to the hallway outside his friendâs lab; at first, he thought his ears simply betrayed him or that the metal walls creaked unusually loud but the more time he spent at the deserted hallway, the clearer those sounds became.
Sounds that screamed anything but appropriate.
For a moment, Regrator listened, brows furrowed with curiosityâeither a pair was idiotic enough to fool around inside Dottoreâs laboratory or it was Dottore himself who fooled around with someone.
His question was soon answered as lewd moans turned into coherent words, âNgh! Dottore! Right there!â He froze upon hearing his friendâs name uttered by an extremely familiar voice. Was it one of Dottoreâs subordinates? No, there was a certain tone laced in those words; despite this mystery womanâs strained voice, it held some sort of iciness to it.
A face flashed into Regratorâs mind.Â
Prevaricator?
No, it couldnât be. Seeing as how you treated Dottore like he was a mere fly on the wall made this assumption impossible; you ignored the latter with every chance you got so it did not make sense at all. But the woman sounded just like you.
Before Regrator could delve deeper into his thoughts, the sound of Dottoreâs voice breathlessly moaned out not your title but your name. That alone answered every question in his mindâso, it was you. Regrator could only chuckle in pure amusement. Dottore had opened up to him about your rather annoying characteristics, and how the former wanted to break that façade of yours.
He didnât ask for a reason and simply nodded along at his words; in all honesty, Regrator did not deem you worthy of his time, you had nothing interesting going on except for your projectsâwhich he also deemed unworthy of fundingâso he didnât understand why you had suddenly piqued his friendâs interest.
To each their own, I guess. He thought to himself before deciding to finally walk away and give the two of you some much needed privacy.
Regrator watched as the scene unfolded before him, amusement gleamed in his eyes as he observed your rigid posture and Dottoreâs mischievous demeanour, a second any longer and you mightâve just wielded your Delusion right then and there but alas, tension between you and the Second Harbinger faded as quickly as it rose upon Her Majestyâs arrival.
All Harbingers shifted their attention to the Cryo Archon, each stood from their chairs with appropriate haste and bowed their heads as she walked in, icy heels clicking with each calculated step; a slight shiver ran down your spine, you never really got used to Her Majestyâs presence despite all the years you have served her.
The Tsaritsa took her seat at the head of the table and the Harbingers followed suit, sitting back down to finally commence.
âLet us proceed.â She announced.
As if on cue, Pierro slid over a couple of stacked files to Her Majesty. This was going to be a long meeting. Reports were delivered, assignments were confirmed, and future campaigns were outlined in heavy detail. Each Harbinger listened keenly and answered when addressed, yourself included. Though, most of the files concerned either Regrator or The Rooster, and even The Balladeer and Rosalyne who were once more briefed of their upcoming assignment in Inazuma.
Though, surprisingly enough, she had called out your name along with Dottoreâs. The two of you looked up in unison, awaiting for Her Majestyâs next words as she flipped through the documents,
âReports indicate certain Cryo-saturated environments have produced a consistent effect: emotional dampening without loss of cognition. This certain phenomenon is able to dull fear, recede pain, and dampen any emotional hindrance which ultimately improves efficiencyâassets we need for our operatives, however, the side effect is deemed unstable.â
Your brows furrowed. Cryo-saturated environments? You assumed it was influenced by Cryo energy instead of its physical form such as ice and snowâa simple example of this would be a poisonous chemical gas emitted from a volatile experiment. When a person is exposed to poisonous gas for an extended amount of time, it would be fatal, you guessed it was the same for this phenomenon.
âOnce Cryo exposure ends, suppressed emotions rebound, it is volatile and unpredictable, a Fatui weakness. Sudden emotional changes, heightened physical sensitivity and loss of emotional regulation are the most common rebounds as reported by operatives.â
The Tsaritsa continued to explain how a certain Fatui operative violently lashed out at his comrades which ultimately led to a physical confrontation. Thankfully, the operative had been subdued, and under intense monitoring for further behavioural tests; though, this wasnât the only occurrence.
âThis can cause catastrophic failures on our end. I want this understood, refined, and controlled. If emotional suppression can be enforced without such rebounds, it would be an outstanding weapon for the Fatui.â
The Tsaritsaâs icy gaze settled on The Doctor, âYou will lead this research,â Then, it shifted on to you, âYou will assist as a regulator; your natural restraint deems you an ideal threshold for this experiment.â
Her Majesty was correct, you prided yourself on restraint and emotional distanceâa defense mechanism you learned and bore upon being bestowed your title. Your natural emotional restraint paired with Cryo-induced restraint made you the ideal threshold; it wasnât out of the ordinary for the Tsaritsa to assign you on this project, and you particularly had no qualms with it but the mere thought of Dottore overseeing the entire experiment did not sound pleasant at all.
âPrevaricator is not to be treated as a subject but as a threshold at which immense emotional suppression becomes dangerous instability. Am I clear, Doctor?âÂ
Dottore smiled behind his pointed mask, âAs you command, your Majesty.â Somehow, you didnât believe a single word of it. The Tsaritsa nodded before closing the file, âImmediate results are to be discussed with me. I expect no less from the two of you.âÂ
With that, the meeting finally came to an end, tension in the room lifted as Her Majesty left without another wordâas if the hall itself let out a breath of relief. As everyone piled out of the room, your mind began to ponder over certain protocols and boundaries for the upcoming experiment, something needed written on the experimental contract.
A week had passed before the initial trial of the experiment, this was primarily due to the lack of apparatus needed to simulate a Cryo-saturated environment. Meanwhile, you had used that time to gather further information by observing and running common tests on affected Fatui operatives which gave rather fruitful results. Fortunately, Dottore was too busy designing a suitable apparatus for the experiment to accompany your rounds.
A handful of findings seemed to all state the same rebound effectâviolence, which were primarily from Fatui operatives. Thus, you hypothesized that oneâs rebound effect was heavily influenced by their environment. Fatui operatives were trained soldiers, experienced combatants capable of committing heinous crimes; in short, when an individual was used to a âviolentâ environment, they would commit the same act of violence under the influence of a rebound effect.Â
This would also be true for an individual with a âdepressingâ environment which would result in unpredictable sorrowful behaviour as a rebound effect.Â
Another thing you hypothesized was that the degree of Cryo exposure was proportional to the degree of rebound effect. Thus, a high concentration of Cryo exposure led to a stronger rebound effect.
You were fully convinced of this hypothesis, even Dottore himself seemed to be on the same page as well. But of course, whether this was true or not solely depended on the trials.
The laboratory was coldâdeliberately so.
Cryo conduits lined the walls of a vertical glass chamberâa space large enough to house a human. A faint layer of frost lined its seams as the engine whirred to life, it glowed faintly as energy surged through it. You watched from inside the chamber as Dottore adjusted the control panel just a few feet away. Composed and quiet, your hands remained behind your back, coat long discarded due to potential false readings.
âBaseline readings first. This is simply to establish what ânormalâ looks like for you.â Dottore calmly stated before pressing a button.
With that, a thin metal band slid into place around your wrist, it was icy against your skin. Another rested lightly at your throat. âDo not be alarmed, these arenât restraints. They monitor pulse, skin temperature, muscle tension and any changes in breath rhythm.â
âIn other words,â You started. âYouâll be notified of any slight changes, even as miniscule as a flinch.â
He smiled, âPrecisely.â
The monitors against your skin flickered to life, a faint glow of red tainted your vision as it measured your baseline readings. âHeart rate is steady. Respiration controlled. Emotional markers?â Dottore monotonously asked as he read the panel screen before him.Â
âNeutral.â You replied.
âAs expected, you are an excellent control subject.âÂ
Your eyes narrowed at his words, annoyance bubbled in your chest, âI am not a subject.â He paused his ministrations, âAh, right. My apologies. Force of habit.â A low chuckle escaped his lips which further fuelled the negative emotion inside you.
âRelax, Prevaricator. False readings on the first trial are not acceptable.â You took a deep breath and calmed yourself. As much as you hated to admit it, Dottore was right; Her Majesty had entrusted you to an important task and it was your duty to fulfill it even if it meant having to push your disdain for Dottore aside.
Though, there was a much, much bigger matter to be addressed concerning the two of you but neither you nor Dottore dared to even speak a word of it. The last it was addressed was during the Harbinger meeting, you absolutely have not forgotten about the humiliation you felt. You reminded yourself to confront him about his idiocy in the future.
Silence followed before the Cryo field activated.
The temperature didnât drop instantaneously, it slid downwards, akin to the feeling of sinking into cold water inch by inch. You felt it first in your lungs, the air grew sharper, it mimicked the feeling of thin oxygen in higher altitudes. Faint clouds of steam formed as you breathed.
âThis exposure mimics the amount of Cryo energy our operatives were exposed to. It isnât capable of freezing tissue but it is capable of influencing oneâs nervous system. Cold slows things down, including cognitive signals sent to oneâs body; pain, fearâemotional spikes, they all rely on speed.â
Dottore made another adjustment as your readings remained neutral, this time, the cold deepened, you assumed the exposure was about one and a half times more than the previous amount by how much your skin began to react.
âReport.â Dottore said.
âI feel . . . Slightly detached. As if reactions are optional.â Dottore nodded at your words, he jotted down a handful of observations, âGood. That means suppression is finally working for you.â As per your findings, this result was expectedâsoldiers had reported that they felt detached from reality, as though they watched themselves from outside their body.
On the monitors, your vitals remained stable, no signs of fluctuation nor distress, everything seemed to be in place. Dottore was pleased, very much so, that meant he could probably push this a little further.
The Cryo field intensified slightly.
The laboratory grew quieter not due to the lack of sound but because it felt simply unimportant to you, your cognition no longer registered the hum of the machines nor the words that Dottore absentmindedly uttered to himself. Your consciousness remained intact but the emotional weight of thought simply vanished as if it werenât there in the first place; even Dottoreâs presence felt like an afterthought.
âPain test.â He stated, pressing another control. Immediately, a brief, controlled electrified pulse shot through your wrist and neck. You felt it vibrate against your skin but pain was absent.
His pen paused mid-sentence, brows lifting imperceptibly as he looked up at your figure, âHow remarkable.â Dottore pondered to himself, this was still only the first phase of the project, and he had yet to be presented with much results but he wanted to see where your painless state took you. He amped the pulse a little higher than before, now, its current level was enough to at least knock out a human. Dottore wasnât worried at all, you were a Harbinger after all, what harm could a mere shock do?
He pressed the same control button as before, âAnother one. Response?â âRegistered. Sensation still absent.â
He nodded at your words once again, jotting down every response in his notebook. A few more minutes passed before Dottore ultimately lowered the Cryo field in a manner where your body could appropriately adjust to the temperature changes until the chamber itself powered off. Heat slowly embraced your icy skin once again, it felt akin to standing next to a fireplace on a snowy night. You staggered a little, hands immediately coming up to stabilise your body.
âYou did exceptionally well. Thatâs all for today. We shall resume again tomorrow once your rebound effect has calmed.â Pure delight laced his words as he watched you step out from the chamber. Your mind felt hazy and the last couple of minutes felt distant but other than that, there was nothing out of the ordinary. At least not yet.
Dottore walked around the console, moving closer to where you stood just outside the chamber, âPer Her Majestyâs order, you are to be monitored closely until this project has officially concluded. In other words, you will be staying in the palace quarters.â You had no qualms with that, it only made sense to be monitored closely especially during the rebound effect period which was now.
A rebound effect for normal humans can be easily controlled and contained but as for a Harbinger like yourself, it would be a completely different topic. You had no doubts in The Doctorâs capabilities of subduing your imminent side effect, he was more than capable of doing so. But if your personal feelings were to come into play, youâd rather have someone else. Anyone but Dottore.
âAs head researcher, I will personally monitor your conditions. Should you have any queries, I am only down the corridor from your quarters.âÂ
âOne more thing. Do not, under any circumstances, remove those bands around your neck and wrist. They are there to indicate any behavioural changes.âÂ
You wordlessly nodded, too tired to ask any questions. Her Majesty may have clearly stated not to treat you as a subject but you sure did feel like one.
Upon returning to your quarters, you felt nothing but pure irritation, you concluded that it was the rebound effect happening. Though, in your case, it wasnât enough to get violent nor involuntarily lash out at subordinates. You only managed to control it since you were exposed to Cryo energy levels which werenât potent enough to significantly alter your cognition nor induce the effect.
Despite that, you still tried to calm yourself down by going over your notes, eyes tracing each and every sentence to the point where they would be engraved in your mind.
Hypothesis #1: An individualâs environment directly influences their rebound effect.
Hypothesis #2: The amount of Cryo energy exposure is directly proportional to the degree of an individualâs rebound effect. For example, the stronger the exposure, the stronger the rebound effect.
Rebound effect: An unpredictable effect induced by prolonged Cryo energy exposure in Cryo-saturated environments.
Cryo-saturated environments: Certain areas where Cryo energy is concentrated. (Civilians and Operatives are at risk)
The next day, everything felt normal, the feeling of irritation was long gone and your vital signs were stableâdevoid of any significant fluctuations. Just like yesterday, Dottore read your baseline readings out loud before the experiment officially commenced for the day.
Back inside the glass chamber, you shifted your weight from one foot to another as he pressed a set of buttons on the console, âWe will continue where we left off yesterday. As per protocol, I will gradually increase the Cryo field to avoid sudden exposure in cold temperatures.â He stated.
The experiment went on for a couple more hours, a repeat process of being exposed to increased levels of Cryo energy then tested for pain. Dottore may be devoted to his experiments but at least he was human enough to incorporate breaks in between which allowed your body to recuperate for the next test. During breaks, you merely sat on one of the metal stools while Dottore wordlessly reviewed data, it was silent but that was what you needed. Though, you couldnât help but feel the nagging feeling that he was somewhat on edge about something.
Despite only standing inside the chamber, the energy exposure was definitely a weight on your body, you could hold off far better than a human could but even Harbingers had their limits.
And today, Dottore seemed eager to test that limit.
With you back inside the chamber, he increased the Cryo tenfold which was a significant jump from the first exposure yesterday. At first, everything felt fine until several seconds passed where the cold turned into hard pressure. Something inside you resisted, akin to a muscle tightening inside a cast. Your frozen fingers curled involuntarily, nails marked your palms, and your jaw tightened.
âDottore, somethingâs pushing back.â You let out a heavy exhale. He looked up instantaneously, âThat must be the instability. What youâre feeling is your suppressed emotional response attempting to reassert itselfâthink of it like holding a spring down,âÂ
âThe longer itâs held down, the more force it stores. Consequently, the more force it stores, the harder the rebound.â Dottore continued, his crimson gaze shifted between the monitor that displayed your vital signs and your figure inside the chamber.
You inhaled sharply. Your pulse spiked not out of fear but something dangerously close to frustration. Irritation. A need to move. He took a mental note of your increased pulse but didnât dare to stop the experiment.
âDisengage it. Now.â You gritted your teeth. Weight pressed further into your body; it came from a million different directions and felt like it had trapped you in place.
âOne moment longer. This is the critical threshold.â Dottore replied, eyes fixed on the readings.Â
Ten seconds had passed, you were at your absolute limit. Pressure from the Cryo energy felt too heavy to bear and your mind constantly slipped in and out a haze, âDottore!â You yelled, sharp and icy. A split second. Then, the Cryo field cut, the pressure against your skin instantly shattered which allowed sensation to rush in. Your skin prickled, heart pounding harder than it should have.
You staggered half a step, catching yourself before your weakened body could kiss the metal floor. Exiting the chamber, your blood boiled, it didnât matter if the cold lingered on your skin, you were absolutely seething. Anger engulfed every crevice of your body, it encased you in a dangerous slurry of negative emotionsâones you could not simply ignore.
Really, there was only one person to receive the sharp end of your rare temperâIl Dottore.
The latter immediately noticed the look on your face, it was pure anger, something he had never seen from you before. Despite your clearly irritated mood, he hastily wrote down this observation: âTenfold Cryo exposure resulted in an on-set rebound effect for Prevaricator.â There was no doubt the surge of your emotions was under the influence of a rebound effect.Â
âYou pushed it further than you said you would.â Sharp fury laced your accusatory words, gaze solely focused on the man before you. Technically, Dottore did push the experiment beyond what was agreed for todayâs trial but could you really blame him? Previous tests yielded insignificant results, how could he present little to no experimental outcomes to Her Majesty? How could he synthesize something to combat the phenomenon if results showed a plateau?
In crucial experiments like these, unpredictable adjustments have to be made or one will end up repeating an experiment a million times with the same set of results.
Dottore inhaled, âIndeed. Because I needed to know where you would break.â
Your eyes narrowed at his words, the blazing fire in your chest burning a deep blue, âI didnât break.â
âNo,â He started, watching you very carefully. âBut you bent.â
âYou deviated from the protocol. You donât get to do that.â âAs a matter of fact, I doâif the subject continues to function, there is no need to halt the experiment.â
The words landed wrong. Subject.
You forced a breath, a chance at trying to calm yourself but irritation leaked through anyway, stubborn and unwelcome. âYou are tasked to find the threshold, not to test its limit. Was that order not simplified enough for you? Or do you lack the cognitive capacity to understand?â Your heart pounded hard against your chest, as if you were in fight or flight mode.
Normally, you didnât dare speak this way to any Harbinger even if all you had for them was disdain but today, your tongue did not seem to hold back its serrated insults.
Dottoreâs jaw tightened, how dare you question his intellect over such trivial matters? Still, he was well aware that you were experiencing a rebound effect and thus decided not to entertain the argument any further, âIs this your attempt at getting me mad? I understand your complaint but I am not running these experiments to simply waste time with plateaued results.â Without another word, he returned to his notes like nothing.
That did it for you. If Dottore was going to give you the cold shoulder then fine, youâd cut todayâs experiment short. He noticed as you grabbed your belongings with haste and anger before heading to the door.
âAnd where do you think youâre going, Prevaricator?â You didnât bother replying.
Yes, you were fully aware that your current behaviour was a side effect of concentrated Cryo exposureâevery negative expression and petty insultâbut your body seemed to have a mind of its own because no matter how much you tried to hold back, it seemed to push further and it was only getting worse.
Dottore wasnât the type to concern himself with such petty behaviour, nor was he an individual who goes after someone but you were a liability, and the Tsaritsa had specifically ordered him to monitor you. So, with a deep exhale, Dottore carefully piled his notes on the table before tailing after you. Heâd be responsible for any damages caused by his subject, simply thinking about it gave him a headache.
Luckily, the afternoon skies were clear and devoid of any snowfall, it made your walk back to the Zapolyarny Palace much, much easier. The Experimental Bureau wasnât far from the Palace but it did require a bit of walking which you didnât really mind, maybe by the time youâve reached its grand doors, at least half of the anger inside you wouldâve dissipated into the air. Maybe.
With the thick layers of snow swallowing all sound from your surroundings, all you could hear was your own laboured breathing and the crunch of your heavy steps against the icy pavement. Puffs of thick, ivory smoke formed with every exhale. Who the hell did Dottore think he was?! Sure, he was assigned as head researcher but that did not give him the right to deviate experimental protocols! And he dared call himself a scholar?
After a few minutes of grumbling to yourself about a certain Harbinger, you finally reached the Palace doors. On either side of the doors, two guards who were stationed dipped their heads in respect upon your presence. Though, you didnât catch the way their gaze met as if they were having a telepathic conversation about something interesting.
âLady Prevaricator. Lord Dottore.â
You stopped in your tracks, just before you could step foot inside the Palace. Were your ears deceiving you? Dottore? Out of pure instinct, you looked over your coat only to find the last person you wanted to see.
Unbelievable. He was like a pest.
You kept on walking until your feet led you all the way to the upper corridors where your quarters resided. âAre you finally done behaving like a child?â Dottore called out from behind, clearly annoyed. âI did not order you to follow me, Doctor.â Before you could close the door, he crossed the corridor in large strides and held it open with a gloved hand.
âLeave.â âNo.â Dottore countered, instead, he took the initiative to step inside the room causing you to take three steps back. You watched carefully as he closed the door behind him.
âWhat, then? Are you here to witness me come undone so you can finally see whatâs underneath all these âfalse layersâ?â You spat, every accusatory word laced with nothing but venom. Oh, you absolutely have not forgotten about his wordsâhow he wanted to strip you of your façade. âOr are you here to simply humiliate me the same way you did in the Harbinger meeting?â
Dottore tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence, you noticed how his lips curled into a half smile, âHumiliate you? My, that is an accusation I cannot seem to follow.â The fucker knew exactly what you were speaking of and apparently, he had the audacity to find it all too amusing.
You, on the other hand, were absolutely seething to the point where you thought of a million ways to rip him apart bit by bit. You bit the inside of your cheeks, jaw tight and face hardened, âIt was novel of you to return oneâs belongings to its owner. Why did you do it, huh? To humiliate me in front of all our colleagues and imply we had sex in your laboratory?â You scoffed, the scowl on your face deepened; youâve held off confronting him about this for the sake of professionalism but now seemed like the perfect time.
He wasnât willing to admit it but Dottore was rather caught off guard by your boldness, it was interesting to say the least. He did not expect you to bring up the not-so-distant past with him as these last few days, youâve acted like what happened between the two of you was a mere hallucination.
âIs that the type of person you are, Doctor? Do you get off on humiliating others?â You took a step closer, a hint of dangerous confidence in your gaze. Of course, the Second Harbinger wasnât one to back down, âYouâre rather crude arenât you, Prevaricator?â
âCall me names all you want, Doctor but let me remind you one thing, Iâve never laced anyoneâs drink with an aphrodisiac. And for what reason?â Dottore stood there, the soles of his feet rooted to the ground. He couldnât quite decipher it but there was a strange sensation in himâamusement? Anger? He didnât know. A beat of silence stretched after your words so you took the opportunity to press even further.
âSexual gratification?â You took a step forward.
âOr to simply feel the touch of a woman?â Another step.
Dottoreâs jaw tightened. His gaze landed on your lipsâhow they curled into a sly smile as if you had the upper hand. Oh, how much the look on your face infuriated him.
âYou spoke to me of release while I was under the aphrodisiacâs effects yet maybe you were the one who needed release.â
He closed the remaining distance between your bodies with a singular step, âFrom what I recall, you were the one begging for it. Have you forgotten, Prevaricator or did you need me to remind you?â Before you could reply, Dottore spoke up once again, âTch. Though, I wonât be surprised if you had forgotten. You always act like nothing matters to you, do you not?â His voice was low, and was that . . . a hint of disappointment in his tone?
Confusion flickered in your chest. Wait. Was The Doctor upset at the fact that you had been acting as though nothing happened between the two of you? Bitterness was more than evident in his wordsâso evident you could almost taste it on your tongue. It sat heavy and uncomfortable.
âAre your feelings hurt, Doctor? Why? Did it mean something to you?â
It was a genuine question but somehow your delivery made it seem like you were mocking himâmaybe you were but your curiosity remained. Dottoreâs attitude shifted instantaneously, your words must have struck a nerve; his lips curled into a nasty snarl, gaze hardened beneath his pointed mask, âYou know, Prevaricator, I was quite delighted mere moments ago to have your façade stripped clean but now youâre just being a brat.â
Before you could fully process his words, a gloved hand cupped either side of your jaw. The cool fabric dug into your soft skin as his grip tightened firmly, holding your head in place. Your breath quickened but your face remained unchanged, brows tightly knitted together. From underneath his pointed mask, Dottoreâs crimson gaze studied the interesting expression painted on your face.
How amusing, excitement sparked within his chestâit burned his ribcage into a thousand flames. Silence stretched for what felt like eons, only your bated breath could be heard in the room. Your body felt completely numb, the only sensation felt was his gloved hand pressed on your face as though it belonged there. Despite your body practically screaming at you to push him away, you didnât, instead, you waited for his next move.
âYou infuriate me.â Dottoreâs words were sharp but his tone completely betrayed himâit was low, soft around the edges and held something much more.
The air shifted as his words lingered like an undying smoke. Then, Dottore pulled your face into his, closing the remaining distance between as he completely devoured your lips, a garbled sound was all you could let out. Your body did not deny him, instead, it mirrored his ferocity which further invited Dottore to firmly cup your face with both hands and deepen the kiss. It was sloppy and heated, the same way he had kissed you back then in his laboratoryâwith fervour, as if to release all pent up anger.
Dottore briefly pulled away eliciting a pained whimper from youâembarrassingly enough but your whole body was in a state of pure haze that you simply didnât care. With a swift move, he took off his pointed mask and merely discarded it on the ground with a soft thud.
Tsk, what a hindrance. He thought.
Swollen lips parted, you watched in slight awe as Dottore revealed the mystery beneath the mask.
This was the first time youâve seen him without his mask despite all the years youâve been in the Fatui together. Without the mask, you could see how crimson blanketed his cheeks, and how his carmine coloured eyes were lust-filledâfull of hunger, the need to devour. You hated to admit it but he was simply exquisite.
Once again, Dottore pulled you in with urgency but this time, he shoved his tongue deep into your mouth until your tastebuds remembered only him. Wet sounds and occasional grunts from Dottore filled the entire space, it made you dizzy. Everything. Everything was himâfrom the tongue inside your mouth all the way to the intoxicating scent that filled your senses.
You found your idle hands undoing the azure scarf secured around his neck, revealing his collarbones. After the fabric was mindlessly discarded, your hands wandered down the expanse of his chest, attempting to loosen and remove the harness that wrapped around his torso to no avail due to your clouded state. It also didnât help how Dottore roughly handled you while kissing which allowed little space to work around.
Annoyed, you pulled away with a click of your tongue, eyes set on the leather material that encased his torso. Dottore watched, panting heavily, as you wrapped your hands around the fabric and tore it apart one by one until it slid off his body like a limp snake.
It fell with a loud clink as it hit the floor. It wasnât really novel for a Harbinger to rip apart a mere fabric but witnessing you use your strength on something other than combat absolutely had Dottoreâs pants tightening to the point where he had to physically suppress a pained groan. Though, his heavy breathing and lust-filled gaze gave it all away.
With the restraints long gone, Dottore took the initiative to remove the remaining pieces of clothing from his torsoâfrom his gloves all the way to his cerulean button up beneath which revealed his bare physique. He wasnât too bulky nor was he too thin, subtle muscle definition was visible from underneath his skin.
As if he were a magnet, you hastily marked his exposed neck, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses down, down, down âtil your lips reached his chest. You sucked on a spot just above his sensitive nipple which drew a sharp hiss from him, bare hands flying to your ivory coat to remove it.
Then, you moved a few centimetres downwards, giving attention to his pebbled nipple by swirling your tongue around it a few times before giving it a gentle bite. Caught off guard, Dottore let out a low groan, his hands rested on your hips tightening ever so slightly.
The two of you continued this game of undressing and marking one another until there was no article of clothing left to remove, and no skin untouched by oneâs lips. Lovebites were scattered across Dottoreâs chest and abdomen while your marks were mostly down the column of your neck and the top of your breasts.
Somehow, you both ended up on the foot of the bedâDottore with his back against the ivory sheets, feet planted on the floor, and your knees on either side of his hips, bare cunt hovering just a few inches above his hard cock.
âTell me, Doctor, is this all part of your plan, too? To rile me up with help of the rebound effect so you can manipulate the situation into bedding me?â
âTsk. You speak as if youâre not willingly lowering yourself on my cockâHaah! You have the freedom to walk out this room, Prevaricator, so why havenât you? Iâm guessing we both want the same thing, no?â Dottore hissed as your wet cunt greedily swallowed every inch of him. Hands that rested on the flesh of your hips squeezed the spot to ground himself from the overwhelming warmth of your cunt. Oh, how shamelessly you took him in, so eager, so wet. You attempted to scoff at his words but miserably failed due to the feeling of Dottoreâs cock nestled deep inside your hot cunt.
Fuck, he was long. Obviously, this wasnât the first time he had been inside but you still needed time to get used to his length, especially with the blunt tip flush against your sweet spot. Your hands found comfort atop his bare chest, palms flat against his feverish skin while your nails shamelessly dug into it, leaving crescent-shaped indentations.Â
âQuit acting like you know me.â You grunted as he adjusted his hips, causing his tip to briefly rub against your g-spot. You keened over as an electrifying shock shot up your spine at the stimulation. Dottore wore a smug expression on his flushed face to which you only replied with a glare and a subtle squeeze around his hard cock, pulling a low groan from him.
For a moment, you took the opportunity to really drink in the sight before youâDottoreâs pale blue locks scattered around his head like a faux halo, his glassy crimson eyes locked onto yours, his swollen lips parted to let out heavy breaths. You were one hundred percent sure no one had ever seen him in such a scandalous state.
Without a warning, you began to move, a slow yet steady ascend with the push of your knees against the soft mattress. The languid drag of your tight walls had Dottore gripping your hips even tighter, the knot between his brows deepening with increased pleasure. You sat up with the blunt tip remaining inside your cunt before steadily dragging yourself down his entire shaft âtil your ass met his heavy balls.
You repeated the slow process a few more times to get used to his length, pulling low moans and groans from both you and Dottore, âHaahâNgh! Is this all youâve got? Considering how wet you are, I wouldâve assumed you to be a bit more . . . desperate.â Dottore grunted, expertly thrusting upwards to meet your hips as they came down. A moan of his name was all you could respond with, toes curling from the sudden sensation.
Red ribbons decorated his skin as you dragged your nails across his bare chest, âDottore! Mhm!â You doubled over, your naked skin met his own as you nestled your face between his neck and shoulder. Despite your limp torso, your lower half desperately worked itself to ride Dottoreâs cock at a faster pace; up and down, up and down, up and down until all one could hear was the lewd squelching sounds of your wet cunt repeatedly swallowing him.
Along with the smell of sex, shameless moans filled the air and names were chanted like sacred prayers. Impatient, Dottore began to meet your movements by thrusting his hips upward once again, intensifying the pleasure for both of you.
In the back of your lust-filled mind, you felt relieved you didnât have to do all the work as your quads were starting to burn from the repetitive movement. Loud sounds of skin slapping echoed within your quarters as you and Dottore moved in unison.
âNghâWhereâd all that ferocity from earlier goâHaahâPrevaricator?â He angled his head to slot his mouth just above your ear to nibble the top of it, hot breath fanning across the side of your face leaving a trail of goosebumps. You shuddered at his ministrations and cursed him in your mind, how could Dottore be this smug while being able to handle the burden of pleasure? Truth be told, it pressed into your feverish skin like a stubborn force.
Beads of sweat lined your forehead as you rode him, the painful burn in your legs slowly disappeared as ecstasy took hold of your body. Your body shook, colourful moans and dainty whimpers left your parted lips which further fuelled Dottoreâs merciless thrusts. Oh, how he missed hearing your beautiful song. Knowing it was his sole doing, pride bloomed across his chest for such a rare feat.
The heavy slap of his balls stung like a hundred needles but god did it heighten the pleasure you felt in your wet cunt. It made your head spin.
âR-Right thereâNgh! More, please!â At your desperate pleas, Dottoreâs cock twitched and whether you had noticed or not, you didnât let on simply because you only sought out one thingâan orgasm.Â
He picked up his pace, every hard thrust pulled out oxygen from your lungs and it absolutely had you gasping, and panting for air like a shameless dog devoid of any decorum. Though, you did not care for how you looked, not when Dottoreâs cock pistoned in and out of you as if it was its only purpose. You stiffened with pure pleasure, a familiar knot deep in your stomach slowly unraveling as ecstasy engulfed both your bodies.
The sharp sting of your nails fuelled each drive of Dottoreâs hips which caused your limp body to jolt with every upward thrust he gave. At this point, your hips no longer moved as he held them in place with a firm grip, they remained elevated in the air as Dottore fucked himself into you. With the soles of his feet fully planted on the floor, he used every bit of strength left in his body to bring the both of you into an orgasm. He found it a little hard to thrust inside your sopping cunt with how tightly you clenched around his cock; though, he was not complaining.
âPlease donât stop, Dottore! Mhm!â You sounded so vulnerable it almost made Dottore cum right then and there.
He clicked his tongue, âOnly a fool would do such a thing.â
By the sound of his breathless response and the slight stutter of his hips, you could tell he, too, was close. After a few more deep thrusts, Dottore stilled inside you, cock buried to the hilt as you both came together. White, hot pleasure surged within your body as the knot inside your stomach harshly unravelled, you clenched around his hard cock and bit into the bare skin of his shoulder, muffling your moans.
You rode out your orgasm by desperately fucking yourself onto him which earned a low grown from Dottore, followed by a harsh slap of your ass that had you biting harder into his shoulder. The two of you remained entangled with one another for a minute or two, unspeaking and unmoving, only letting out heavy pants as you both came down from your highs.
You slumped against his sweat-covered body, full weight resting on top of Dottore, every fibre of your being had practically given up on you not only from sex but from the experiment earlier as well.
Heavy exhaustion gnawed its way through your skin and into your very bones, you would have let it carry you into slumber if it werenât for the Harbinger beneath you manhandling your limp body. With his cock still buried deep inside and arms around your naked body, he expertly manoeuvred both of you so that you were positioned higher up into the mattress.
You found yourself facing the ivory sheets beneath, hands and knees firmly planted atop them while Dottore slotted himself just behind your ass. The entire process had his blunt tip teasing into your sweet spot and you swore you saw stars from overstimulation.
âDottoreâ! Fuck, stop moving, will you?â You hissed, reaching a hand behind your back to push his hips away only for him to take hold of your wrist and pin it against your skin. He let out a low chuckle, âOnly a few minutes ago you were begging me not to stop. I am merely fulfilling your wish, am I not?â
With one hand on your hip and the other secured around your wrist, Dottore pulled all the way back before slamming his hips against your ass causing your whole body to jolt forward, your arms wobbling as they fully gave up on you which left your torso flush against the mattress. You moaned the shape of his name, pleasure once again bloomed inside your stomach as he slammed in and out repeatedly.
Having not given enough time to come down from your orgasm earlier, you were far too sensitive for the merciless thrusts Dottore gave youâit had your body uncontrollably shaking like a branch braving the cityâs harsh winds. Hot tears lined your eyes and rolled down your heated cheeks.
You fisted the mattress beneath you, pounding the soft material the same way Dottore did to your cunt, the pleasure you felt was simply too much to handle and you knew he wasnât about to make it any easier for you.
The bed creaked under the weight of his harsh thrusts, the headboard repeatedly slamming against the wall behind it. None of you cared, these halls were empty anyway and any cleaning personnel were prohibited from stepping into these corridors unless they were scheduled to clean.
In short, you could make as much sinful noise as you wanted. The palace was vast and its walls were thick enough to swallow any sounds within it.
Dottore briefly bent down, his arms wrapping around your torso to swiftly haul up the entirety of your body so that only your knees remained planted in the sheets. With your back secured against his chest, he snaked one arm around your waist while the other lightly gripped your neck to hold your head in place.
The new angle had his cock reaching a little deeper than before, causing you to arch your back and pathetically whimper his name into the damp air, âD-Dottore! Mhmâhaah! Please!â He continued fucking into you with the same pace he set earlier, his lips finding its way on the spot just below your ear to nip and suck.
Your eyes rolled back at the feel of teeth and tongue, hands coming up to claw at the hand around your neck, there really wasnât anything else you could do but scratch and scream his name like your life depended on it but Dottore didnât mind at all. If anything, he was more than pleased you were taking him so, so well and oh, the sounds you made.
They were heavenly.
âWell, arenât you obedientâhaah! You act as if youâre tough and defiant when all along, youâre just someone who wants to be fucked and pounded, no?â You clenched at his filthy words, god, you were so close. No thoughts apart from pleasure ran through your mind, all you could think of was your impending orgasm and Dottore who oh, so deliciously fucked your cunt with such fervour.
âClose! âM closeângh!â It didnât take long for you to reach a second orgasm but this time, it hit harder. Your body convulsed from raw pleasure as you wantonly moaned out Dottoreâs name loud enough for it to echo down the corridors outside. He followed suit, letting out a drawled grunt as your walls clenched around his hard cock. Another round of his hot load painted your walls ivory and stuffed you to the brim, you whimpered as it dripped out of your cunt and down your inner thighs.
Dottore gave a few shallow thrusts to fuck his cum deep inside before letting both your bodies fall flat atop the mattress, âSurely, you can give me another one?â His tone was laced with mockery, you didnât have to see his face to confirm he wore a smug expression.
He didnât wait for an answer before moving his hips once again, you screamed from oversensitivity, a new wave of hot tears ran down your tear-stained cheeks as Dottore moved without an ounce of mercy in his bones. With his full weight on top of your own, there was no option but to take every powerful thrust he gave and each time his blunt cockhead bullied your sweet spot, your eyes rolled back further and further, swollen lips locked in a permanent partâsaliva unceremoniously dripping down the corner of your mouth.
You looked a mess. Utterly inappropriate. The ever composed Lady Harbinger reduced to nothing but a lust-driven fool, oh, how Snezhnaya would deem you a laughing stock with the state you were in.
Dottore moaned and grunted dangerously close to your ear, incoherent sentences spilled from his mouth as raw bliss took control over his body. The skin of your ass burned from the repeated slap of his heavy balls, you were absolutely sure it would be inflamed by tomorrow. Your fingers curled around the sheets, knuckles turning white as you gripped them hard to keep yourself grounded from pleasure, there was nothing else you could feel but Dottoreâs cock pistoning in and out of your sopping cunt.
âAre youângh!âclose? Come on, cum for me. Let it all go.â He purred into your ear. You nodded vigorously at his words, too fucked and cockdrunk to even form a coherent response.
With that, Dottore changed the pace of his hips to deep, languid thrusts, and with every inward thrust, he made sure to press into your sweet spot for a few seconds before pulling out. Each time, you let out a gasp, voice long gone from all the screaming earlier. You could feel every dip and curve of his cock, and it drove you absolutely mad.
Without warning, you came with a silent moan. Hard. Your body shook with raw pleasure, back arching as you creamed around Dottoreâs cock for the third time.Â
âThatâs it. Mhmângh! Good girl.â The latter stilled deep inside you and released yet another heavy load with a broken moan of your nameâsomething more intimate this time. His cock twitched as you clenched around him in response; his sweaty forehead rested against the back of your head, trying to catch his breath.
Pleasure and exhaustion weighed heavily on Dottoreâs naked body, with the little strength he had in him, he pulled outâearning a painful hiss from both of youâand rolled over to your side, chest heaving up and down. A muffled whimper escaped your lips as his cum spilled out of your hole and onto the sheets beneath.
Nothing but silence and heavy breathing filled the room, and once again, realisation dawned upon you. Akin to morning fog clearing as the afternoon rolled around, your lust-driven mind slowly faded and was replaced by rational thoughts. Thoughts that made you want to sink into the ground, only to be never found again.
âYou still havenât answered my question from earlier.â You whispered, your throat burned with every word spoken, as though it were a clear sign you werenât supposed to pry.
âAre your feelings hurt, Doctor? Why? Did it mean something to you?â
For some reason, Dottore couldnât come up with an answer. For the first time, his mind blanked. It was a mere yes or no but somehow, either of the two options did not seem like an appropriate answer.
âI may be full of knowledge, Prevaricator but there are matters I do not hold the answers to.â
That was that.
The next few weeks werenât any different from before except for the passing of your dear friend Rosalyneâwhich definitely took a toll on youâand the fact that The Balladeer had gone rogue after his mission in Inazuma. Tensions within the Palace walls were high especially with the latterâs disappearance and despite Her Majestyâs cold composure, you could feel the edge in her tone during your meetings with her.
Furthermore, you and Dottore remained working with one another to construct a device to counter the Cryo-induced phenomenon. It was awkward at first, being back in the laboratory together after having sex but he had acted as if nothing ever happened between the two of you, so you did the sameâprofessional and indifferent, just how you always were.Â
Though, you noticed he was snappier than usual. Yes, Dottore never shied away from giving his subordinates a lecture when needed but he didnât waste his time and breath giving them an earful over something trivial. You werenât sure if he had always been this way and youâve just noticed now or there was a significant shift in his behaviour.
âThe Cryo Resonance Regulator is a compact, wearable device designed to interfere with Cryo energy in concentrated areas to prevent rebound effects in operatives. This device doesnât necessarily cancel the effects of Cryo energy, instead, it only nullifies the after effect. In other words, fear, pain, and other unwanted matters are dampened without the Cryo-induced side effects.â
Dottore slid the small device across the table to Her Majesty and you watched as her icy gaze inspected it with mere curiosity, âThis seems rather promising. I will set up a meeting with Regrator for the deviceâs funding for mass production. This would be of great help to the Fatui.â
âIndeed, your Majesty. The device has been tested and undergone through countless changes and trials.â He smiled at her approval. After a few more minutes of formalities, the meeting was officially dismissed and the Tsaritsa was the first to excuse herself, leaving you and Dottore all alone in the room.
âYou should give yourself a pat on the back, Prevaricator. You did well. Weâve only collaborated twice yet the results weâve gotten were beyond astounding, donât you think? If we set our differences aside, we could collaborate more often. With two great minds alike, we could do much, much more.â
Dottore didnât wait for your response before heading out which left you alone in the room with your thoughts.
Somehow, you got the gist that he wasnât particularly talking about experiments.
You didnât hear much from Dottore beyond the words he left with you, after all, the joint collaboration had formally ended which meant there were no further reasons for you and Dottore to be seeing one anotherânot that it bothered you but you felt a little . . . foreign.
Last you heard of The Doctor was from a conversation you happened to overhear from your subordinates, he was apparently in Sumeru and Her Majesty had ordered him for his immediate return in Snezhnaya. The reasoning behind his visit to Sumeru was a mystery to you and frankly, you werenât much interested.
The next time you saw Dottore was during a Harbinger banquet. During these types of gatherings, you usually found yourself downing Fire-Water diluted with some kind of Spirit and picking at your plate here and there. It was nothing special, really, just an overglorified Harbinger event for everyone to act civilized as if they arenât plotting something behind their backs.
Back then, Rosalyne would always try to include you in conversation but now that she was gone, you sat there and watched as the others conversed with unsettling smiles on their faces.
Though, one you liked watching interact was The Rooster and Regratorâeveryone knew of their nasty rivalry behind one anotherâs back yet they had the audacity to act like good friends in front of each other. It was simply laughable.
âYouâre looking rather well, Prevaricator.â Ah. You had almost forgotten about the Harbinger seated to your right, he was the reason you kept yourself busy with alcohol and foodâso that you didnât have the time to engage in idle conversations.Â
âDottore,â You greeted. âI could say the same thing to you.â
Taking a sip of your Fire-Water, all you gave Dottore was a side eye before returning your gaze to your colleagues. He shifted in his seat a littleâan unusual behaviour but you didnât dwell on itâas though he wanted to address something more. He wasnât one to initiate small conversations unless he wanted something out of it. No, scratch that, unless he was sure he was going to get something out of it. Your instincts told you to move, to get out of there.
So, you did. You excused yourself from the table and headed for the doors that led to the balcony. Cool air met your body in an icy embrace as you stepped out, Snezhnogradâs late afternoon winds greeted you like an old friend, it was cold yet oddly felt warm at the same time. Maybe it was the countless rounds of Fire-Water in your system. Or maybe it was the fact that Dottore had been tailing you like some kind of dog.
Earlier, you were met with a rather foreign view just outside your laboratoryâDottore stood outside the metal door as you retired for the day, headed to the banquet. It was strange, he had invited himself to walk with you to the gatheringâsomething he didnât naturally do. It should have deeply bothered you but instead, you sighed and wordlessly nodded. You chalked it up to a long day at the laboratory, too exhausted to complain.
âInterestingly enough, youâve been on my mind as of late.âÂ
Speaking of the devil.
You didnât turn around at the familiar voice behind you, instead, your gaze locked onto the snowy mountains far north, as if doing so would make Dottore disappear. Youâve been on his mind? What was that supposed to mean? A threat?
âI donât see how itâs of any relevance.â Dottore laughed at your icy words, âAh. Feisty as ever. Iâve always liked that about you.â
You turned around only to be met with his looming stature, just mere inches away from you. Dottore effectively trapped you between his body and the balustrade, a gloved hand coming up to rest atop the cemented railing.
âWhat are you playing at?â You whispered, eyes narrowed but didnât dare back down. He wordlessly brought his free hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before resting it on your jaw. âYou wound me, Prevaricator. I bear no ill intent.â His voice was hushed, it almost sounded sincere. You couldnât decipher whether his tone was genuine or pure mockery but despite your better judgement, you didnât shy away from his touch. You hated to admit it but your body no longer registeredÂ
You waited for his next move.
Everything was silent, the icy winds, the Palace grounds below, the noise coming from other Harbingers inside. It was just you and Dottore. With a bated breath, you stared at his pointed mask, anticipatingâif there was even something to anticipate.
A beat passed, Dottore leaned in, head angled, to press his lips against yours. The kiss started off slowâtameâjust his lips against your own, unmoving as if to solely feel all of you against him. You didnât pull back. Then, Dottore started to move, he parted his mouth to invite more of you, naturally, you responded with the same urgency.
His gloved hand that rested on your jaw tightened just a bit, it kept your head in place as he deepened the kiss. Dottore groaned, shoving his tongue past your lips and you let him in without any resistance. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, nails digging at the ivory fabric to ground your body from the dizzied state you were entering. Dottore gave your lips one last hard kiss before moving down the column of your neck, he sucked and nipped at your heated skin, pulling a whimper from you.
âPrevaricator? Are you here? I have something Iâd like to discussââ
Panicked, you pushed away Dottore with much haste, resulting in the latter to stumble backwards in shock. There stood The Captain, just at the doorway of the balcony, you couldnât see the expression behind his mask yet you could tell awkwardness engulfed him by how his body stiffened. Silence stretched between the three of you, no one dared to address the elephant in the roomâat least not with all of you in shock.
âCaptain!â You feigned a cough, trying to hide your uneven breaths, as if Dottore wasnât sucking your soul out just mere moments ago.
âI . . . think I should take my leave.â Without another word, The Captain turned to leave, heavy boots swiftly receding away from you and Dottore. You closed your eyes, panic arose in your chest. Great. Now, The Captain had witnessed something he wasnât supposed to. Sure, he wasnât one to gossip but it didnât make you feel any better. If anything, he sounded rather horrified.
âI should do the same . . .â You muttered, walking back inside which left Dottore all alone.
As awkward as the incident was with The Captain during the Harbinger banquet, you and Dottore found yourselves orbiting around one anotherâlike two dancing celestial bodies in a constant push and pull. Strangely, fate always brought you to where Dottore was and vice versa. Before, you would barely see him in the auxiliary lounges but nowadays your run-ins were frequent.
Too frequent.
You still held some kind of dislike for The Doctor but somehow you didnât mind getting intimate with himâhaving sex. It wasnât making love nor did it have any romance to it, it was just sex. The two of you treated it as a beneficial transaction between two participating parties, simply for the sole purpose of release.
Fulfilling the role of a Harbinger was taxing enough as is and the stress which came with the role piled up. Each Harbinger dealt with stress differently, you and Dottore happened to do so by exploring each otherâs bodies.
As shameful and embarrassing as it was, there was really nothing wrong about two adults engaging in consensual sex, as long as it didnât occur in professional work spaces. Therefore, sex always happened in either yourâs or Dottoreâs place, far, far away from the ears and eyes of the Fatui.
As long as no feelings were involved, you would be fine. Detachment was your forte, after all.
SYNOPSIS: YouâThe Tenth Fatui Harbingerâpride yourself on cold composure and distance, a trait of yours that has always irked The Doctor. Upon curiosity, he sets out the perfect experiment with the help of an aphrodisiac to break your cold façade. That will surely reveal your most vulnerable state.
CONTENT WARNING: DUBCON, non-consensual drugging, smut (mdni), use of aphrodisiac, p in v, fingering, edging (if you squint), unprotected sex, creampie, porn without plot, tenth fatui harbinger!reader, slow burn-ish, sexual tension, reader is referred as her fatui titleâprevaricator, other harbinger cameo, a bit of scientific jargon but youâll be fine, dottore is an ass, not beta read.
WORD COUNT: 7.6k
NOTES: EEEEP itâs finally finished! my first piece of writing after a couple of long months >< iâm so excited to be writing again !! apologies if the smut is a bit awkward, i havenât written smut since 2024 so iâm a bit rusty. nonetheless, do enjoy !! div: uzzmacchiato.
The grand hall of Zapolyarny Palace gleamed with cold opulenceâcrystal chandeliers and polished marble floors. The hallâs high arched stained windows revealed the quiet chaos of the snowstorm outside; snowflakes painted the palace with its icy elegance. Todayâs agenda was rather bleak, no new missions from Her Majesty had been tasked, nor was there anything of pure interest beyond the palace walls.Â
Naturally, with a dull day like this, Sandrone held her tea parties to combat idle bodies within the palace. Her parties were far from formal, more so a casual gathering between friends and people alikeâif the Harbingers even considered each other friends. Nonetheless, the get-together was always immaculateâevery pristine teacup was aligned and every mechanical attendant moved with flawless precision. As expected from the Seventh Harbinger herself.
Amongst the group sat you with your usual stillnessâcalm like the ocean yet as mysterious as its azure depths. What lay beneath its tranquil surface was nothing but a façade of lies. It wasnât a surprise you lived up to your titleâPrevaricator.
Sandrone presided at the head of the table, she sat with precision, back pin-straight as she nursed the freshly brewed beverage. Straight across from her, sat Columbina, and Arlecchino on a vermillion sofa; you and Rosalyne to her right, leaving two empty chairs across from you. On some days, The Captain and Childe would occupy those seats.
âWhen do you leave for Inazuma, Rosalyne?â Sandrone peeked through the steam that rose from her cup, cerulean eyes piercing yet held no ill intent.
The blonde swallowed down a piece of biscuit before replying, a sharp hand covered her crimson-stained lips out of etiquette, âIn three daysâ time. Iâll make sure to get you Inazuman tea once I get back.â Rosalyne laughed which pulled an eye roll from Sandrone.
Before the latter could entertain the banter, Columbina spoke up, her dainty voice just enough for all to hear, âInazuma? Iâve heard The Balladeer is also assigned there.â Rosalyne nodded, despite her quiet response, her displeased face conveyed all emotions needed to conclude how she felt about the Inazuman puppet.
As for you, your feelings toward The Balladeer were nothing but neutral. Sure, youâve previously exchanged disagreements on several occasions but that was all there was to your ârelationshipâ. Though, his mannerisms and sharp words awfully reminded you of a certain Harbingerâone you could barely stand even if your life depended on it.
You werenât alone in that opinion.
As you spiraled into pure disdain for your colleague, a set of icy footsteps against the marbled floors halted all conversationâyour thoughts included. For a mere second, it was as though time had stopped and the snowfall outside was suspended mid-air. Oxygen grew thin within the palace and you swore the temperature dipped below necessary. Even Sandroneâs automatons seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat.
Dottore stepped inside. Uninvited. Unannounced. Unwelcomed. As if your unkind thoughts had somewhat summoned the devil himself.
With pure mockery and amusement, Dottore tilted his head slightly, taking in the frozen expressions of his colleagues. His pointed mask shone beneath the crystal chandeliers.Â
âIs this how you welcome a guest?â The Doctor drawled. âHow cold. You should all be delighted Iâm even attending this . . . get-together.â He ended the sentence with absolute scorn, obviously looking down at his fellow Harbingers.
Sandroneâs fingers tightened around the porcelain cup, âYou werenât invited.â She said flatly.
âAh.â Dottore started, already headed towards the mahogany table, âDetails.â He ignored the Seventh entirely and claimed an empty seat, a seat reserved for anyone but himâdirectly across from you.
You did not react. Nor did you acknowledge his presence beyond the faint clink of porcelain as you set your cup down as if it were any other tea party. Unlike Sandrone who wore her negative emotions proudly, you remained expressionlessâcool, unreadable, and infuriatingly indifferent.
Dottore watched your calm figure from beneath his mask.
Of course you would pretend he didnât exist. That was what fascinated him the most.
Nothing but a lowly ranked Harbinger yet you carried yourself like someone who had already surpassed every soul in the room. And thatâs what made Dottoreâs skin itch.
Oh, how badly he wanted to break that false persona of yours, and reveal the weak, poor human you were beneath all those layers. After all, your very existence was built on liesâdelusions, just like your genius invention.
Being the Tenth Harbinger meant that your physical prowess wasnât as refined as the others but your intellect was a different story, and admittedly, it utterly amazed Dottore more than anything.
Who couldâve come up with such a brilliant idea of manufacturing Delusions? Even though the entire process was a joint project between you and Dottoreâmuch to your dismayâhe had to give you credit. Not only did your invention further aid each Harbinger with their combat skills but it was also being mass produced in Inazuma right this very moment.
Such a feat a lowly Harbinger could obtain.
Which is why you have piqued his very interest. Dottore wanted to study you, to dissect each and every neuron, and learn how your action potentials differed from the restâwas it your synapses? Or maybe your neurotransmitters? Maybe thatâs where your blind arrogance came from.
âWell, donât mind me. Do carry on with your trivial matters.â The Doctor dismissively waved a gloved hand, a smirk curled at the end of his carmine lips.
Silence remained for a beat or two before Sandrone cleared her throat and resumed conversation with Rosalyne in hopes to drown out a certain parasite amongst the group, âThis tea is from Liyue, huh? Quite different from Fontaine, I must say . . . but Iâm not complaining.â
Naturally, you followed suit by bringing your cup to your lips to finally get a taste of Liyuean teaâyour sip earlier had been abruptly interrupted by The Doctor. The fresh brew tasted of intense floral notes . . Was it apricot and peach? Nonetheless, the flavour was right up your alley. You had to hand it to Rosalyne for having such an exquisite taste.
It had already been a couple of minutes since Dottore crashed the tea party and you were two cups in, having taken a liking to this particular brew. Huh, maybe you might just visit Liyue for yourself. Though, this second round felt a little offânot the taste, no, it was still as lovely as beforeâsomething to do with how it made you feel. Sure, the heater was on and around your shoulders was a thick ivory Fatui coat you regularly wore in Snezhnaya but they didnât usually leave you extremely warmâblazing, even.
You frowned.
Dottore noticed instantaneously.Â
How your posture shifted imperceptiblyâone leg crossing over the other, shoulders rising with a much deeper breath than before. A faint warmth kissed its way down to your collar, even extending as far as to your chest. The slight shift was invisible to most in the room, except Dottore.
Ah. There it is. He thought.
Your fingers lingered at the rim of the porcelain piece as you set it down once again; you werenât clumsy, nor weak, just a tad slower than your usual movement. Annoyed, you exhaled through your nose, absolutely oblivious to the reason as to why your body was somewhat disobeying you. Was it the long term effects of your Delusion finally catching up?
Dottore leaned back into the plush vermillion chair, fingers intertwined atop his crossed legs. Oh, how utterly delighted he was. Patience really is a virtue! His little experiment of the day had finally fallen into its rightful place; now, he shall sit and watch how you would handle the independent variable given. Of course, with this experiment of his, you were the controlled variable.
Upon instinct, your gaze finally lifted to meet Dottoreâsâalbeit behind a mask, there was no denying he had his crimson gaze set upon you. He responded with a mere head tilt, as if he were studying a rare specimen who finally gave him some kind of result.
A sly smile spread across his lips, âAre you unwell, Prevaricator?â Dottore asked pleasantly, voice full of concern yet you knew it was all mockery and amusement; thatâs all the Harbingers were to him, a group of people convenient enough for him to play with, unfortunately for The Balladeer, he bore most of Dottoreâs little games.
It seemed like you were next in line, though.
The Doctor had easily rerouted Sandroneâs automatons earlier before the tea partyâa few adjustments just enough to programme her machinery to serve one cup differently from the rest with a diluted compound, a compound barely enough for your body to register. It wasnât as potent as the final product but it was sure to disrupt your system even by a smidge.
And thatâs where Dottore thrived the most, on small differences.
His question drew unwanted attention from the rest, their curious gaze now upon you. It was more so the fact that no one else wanted to engage in a conversation with Dottore.
Your eyes narrowed a fraction, âNo,â A small pause.
âJust . . . warm.â Curt and icy, a response only he deserved. âOh?â The Second Harbinger pressed further.
âThis hall is simply overheated.â At your clipped response, his smile stretched even further behind his pointed mask. What an unsettling sight.
Liar. The Doctor thought.
You shifted in your seat once again, this time, your jaw tightened, fully irritated by your own body. Aside from the sharp heat that clung to every corner of your skin, you felt . . . Sensitive; the distinct contrast of the frost bitten air that ghosted your cheeks once in a while against feverish skin formed goosebumps all over your body. Even your chest ached with slight sensitivity as it rubbed against your undergarment. You werenât utterly uncomfortable but it was enough to fuel your budding annoyance.
That, alone, fascinated Dottore.
He leaned forward slightly as if to study you closer for a brief moment before getting up from his seat, âHow disappointing,â Dottore murmured lowly to himself but it was certainly loud enough for everyone to hear.
âI was hoping for something . . . More telling.â He gave you one last look which was met with a cold glare from you. Ah, he adored that look on you, that expression of pure defiance and hatred; you could bury your innermost feelings with such expressions yet it didnât deny the fact that your pupils were a touch wider now, breathing a fraction slowerâheavier.
This was only a tiny crack on the surface but it was more than enough to prove Dottoreâs hypothesisâthat beneath your seemingly unbreakable façade, you were susceptible to breaking.
Now, he only needed to calculate your breaking point.
How far were you willing to endure? Would you fold after the next experiment? Or would you stick to your stubborn façade and refuse to give in while you suffered in silence? Dottore could barely wait to write his next hypothesis.
Without another word, The Doctor turned to leave.
Confusion amongst you and your colleagues lingered in the air but soon dissipated upon conversations of shared dislike for the Second Harbinger; you could only nod along, heat that simmered beneath your skin needed your attention far more than the conversation at hand. Even your head began to spin. You wanted to call it a day but Rosalyne was bound for Inazuma for an unknown period of time in a few days and you wanted to spend today with her since she had just gotten back from Liyue regarding a previous task.
The get-together rolled on for a couple more hours until conversations ran dry and tea turned cold and it was time to finally call it a day. Everyone excused themselves without ceremony and returned to their respective homesâthankfully, the snowstorm had died down. On another day, you would have done the same but your body proved to be more disoriented than you had assumed, thus, the best option was to reside within the Zapolyarny Palace for the night.
Each Harbinger was assigned personalised quarters by the Tsaritsa for the purpose of convenience such as summonings before lengthy meetings and other matters but of course, no one was obligated to stay in those quarters during other times. Though, Sandrone and Columbina did frequent their respective spaces; you assumed for the formerâs case, it was for pure convenience since it was nearer to the Fatuiâs Experimental Bureau.
By the time you had reached the upper corridors of the Palace, the cold marble beneath your boots felt wrong; the hear of your skin also hadnât faded, if anything, it had deepened into something more unbearable: a persistent awareness which you resented with every step.Â
You hated this. Hated the way your mind slipped when it shouldâve been sharp and precise, hated the dull tension your lower spine housed, and the irritation that came with not knowing why. You knew your body far better than anyone else, so why hasnât your mind come up with a concise conclusion?
As you rounded the corner, you reached out a hand against the wall to steady yourself, just a few more steps and youâd reach your quarters. Pull it together.
âAre you sure youâre well?â
At the familiar voice, you stopped in your tracks, body swaying ever so slightly as if calm tides of the ocean lulled you back and forth. You hadn't even heard footsteps trailing behind you nor did you sense anyone elseâs presence, was this because of your cognitive decline?
Dottore stood behind you, half-shadowed by the dimly lit corridor, posture relaxed as if he had every reason to be outside your quarters so late in the afternoon. You didnât own the entire hallway, of course but he rarely presented himself in the Palace unless he was summoned by the Tsaritsa, let alone step foot on the upper corridors.
His voice was smooth, almost considerate, âYou look like you need . . .â He paused for a heartbeat, âHelp.â Whether it was your soiled mind talking or simply the tone of Dottoreâs voice, the implication sat heavy in the air like an unpleasant smoke, and it wasnât innocent either. Just the thought of it coming from The Doctor had you shuddering.
âIâm fine.â You straightened, not even bothering to turn around. âWhatever youâre implying, save it for someone who cares.â Before you could continue your step, Dottore swiftly crossed the distance between the two of you, grabbing a firm hold of your wrist. There was no skin to skin contact yet his touch burned, almost enough to let out an embarrassing gasp.
âImplying? What a bold conclusion. What could you possibly mean by that?â Your pulse jumped at his words, utterly betraying your entire soul. âLet go.â You spun to face him, eyes flashing with raw fury.
Dottore ignored your protest, instead, he stepped forward, ultimately caging you between himself and the icy wall behind your back. An arm braced beside your head, body close enough to feel the heat radiating off him; the faint scent of antiseptics and a few more chemicals you couldnât name invaded your senses. It made you nauseous.
âThere it is. That look.â He murmured, positively amused at your reaction. Your breath came a fraction faster and you despised the thought of Dottore being able to notice the slight difference.
Huh, who knew dosing you a diluted version of the independent variable would incite such a mix of reactions, if only The Doctor had known heâd obtain a variety of results from this simple experiment, he wouldâve gone all the way and given you the undiluted compound. But alas, he was nice enough to ease you into the drug.
âDo you have any idea how insufferable you are?â
You scoffed, "You're blocking my way, I think youâre the more insufferable one here.â
Dottore leaned in, only slightlyânot to invade your space but just enough to threaten it.
âYou walk into rooms like youâre already above everyone in them. You donât beg for relevance, nor do you performâitâs as if you believe youâre untouchable.â His voice dipped, much sharper this time.
Your jaw tightened, âMove.â
âThat arrogance,â Dottore retorted. âIs precisely what irks me.â
Refusing to look away and lose the fight, you met his gaze head-on through his mask, ignoring the fact that your skin now burned a thousand flames, and you were hyperaware of every inch of space between yourself and The Doctor.
âYet here you are. Following meâcornering me. If Iâm beneath you then why bother tailing after some lowly Harbinger?â Dottoreâs amusement completely vanished at your words, and something much, much colder took its place.
âPeople who think theyâre superior are usually just hiding something.â The grip around your wrist tightened, it wasnât painful but it was deliberate. âAnd I am very good at uncovering what lies beneath façades.â
âSeems like youâre projecting. Let go of me before you regret it.â Obviously, you were no match for The Doctor when it came to physical combat but at least with your Delusion, you could hold him off for a bit until Her Majesty finally notices two of her Harbingers are at each otherâs throats.Â
Dottore chuckled, âHow fascinating. Even compromised, you still bare your teeth.â That was another result for him, he made a mental note of it so he could jot all his findings down later.
At least, Dottore released your wrist and stepped back, allowing some of your senses to finally return, âFor now, get some rest, Prevaricator. Iâd hate for you to collapse before Iâve satisfied my curiosity.â Without another word, he turned and disappeared down the corridor, akin to a ghostly apparition.
You stood there for a good minute, trying to process the whole situation despite your impaired cognitive ability. Fury and unease twisted in your gut, creating a ball of mixed emotions, it sat heavy and absolutely uncomfortable but that wasnât the worst part. It was the fact that whatever you were experiencing right now, Dottore had somewhat gotten his bloodstained hands involved.
On purpose, too, and all the while a sly smile plastered upon his masked face.
You felt sick.
With Dottore, there was never really an end in things, he was like a parasitic speciesâstubborn and hard to get rid of once they got a hold of their host. With this in mind, you stumbled into tomorrow with your defenses up, walls built higher this time.
At 10 AM, you found yourself in one of the auxiliary research lounges in the Experimental Bureau, the symptoms of yesterday long gone but not forgotten. The auxiliary served as an informal space within the building, an area for research staff and people alike to collaborate and discuss findings over a hot cup. Even though these rooms were built for relaxation, they certainly didnât look the partâjust like any other experimental building under the Fatui, it was all metal and cold; sound travelled far and beyond within these walls.
Safe to say you rarely bumped into your fellow Harbingers in spaces like theseâespecially Sandrone and Dottore who were frequent users of the facilities at the Bureau.
Just like the two, you conducted experiments and built items but your focus was on physical enhancement, mainly in combat. Human experiments werenât ruled out of the list but you werenât like The Doctorâunethical trials werenât your cup of tea. Your research focused on enhancing what has already existed, not creating something that didnât exist. Sure, there were times unwanted adverse effects spiraled out of control but that was all part of the process. Not every experiment was perfect.
âPrevaricator. You look well rested.â Unbelievable.
Now, even your coffee break was interrupted? Dottoreâs laboratory was on the other side of the building, how could he have possibly ended up in your territory?
He walked in with confidence that had your eye twitching; you hadnât even noticed the sound of the large metallic door hissing openâwere you really that out of it today?
âYou tampered with my tea.â You replied flatly, gaze locked onto the hot beverage resting on the table before you.
âAn accusation. How unlike you.â Dottore placed a gloved hand atop his chest, feigning offense.
You crossed your arms over your chest, âYou donât attend social gatherings outside banquets, you donât follow people to their quarters, and I donât experience unexplained physiological changes unless someone interferes.â
Dottore stood there for a moment before breaking into an unsettling smile, âVery good. You finally noticed.â He praised you. You frowned, seething at the fact that he had treated you like one of his test subjectsâthey were always unwilling to participate in his experiments yet he proceeded nonetheless without a care, every single time. Their bone-chilling screams haunted your late night projects and you had no choice but to ignore them.
âIâve been thinking about you,â Dottore made his way over to the table you sat on. âAbout how resilient you were yesterday. Sure, it was only a diluted compound but any other subject would have pathetically . . . Given in.â He reached into his pocket and took out a tiny vial filled with an iridescent liquid, it glimmered beneath the warm lights of the auxiliary.
âThis is more refined.â âIf you think Iâm going to drink that, you are wholly mistaken.â
âOf course you will.â Dottore placed the vial on the table with a clink, right next to your steaming coffee. âBecause youâre curious, and you hate unanswered questions more than you hate me.â In truth, the hatred you harboured for both were equal; unanswered questions in research were your biggest enemy and it drove you absolutely mad.
At your indifference, he spoke up once again, âOr because you want to prove that youâre still in control. Youâd want that, wouldnât you?âÂ
Silence stretched longer than Dottore had wanted but he was a patient man, perfect results took time and with the gears turning in your head, he would conclude heâs not far off.
The thought of Dottore being in control of even a sliver of your life had you fuming, no one wanted that. Surely the effect of this substance wouldnât be as bad, right? If anything went horrendously wrong, you could always trust in your expertise but would your cognitive abilities even pull through under a more potent chemical?
Despite your better judgement, you reached for the small vial, unscrewed its metal top off, and drank it all in one gulp. As expected, the taste was absolutely horrid; it stung your throat like youâd swallowed a thousand needles. You let out a cough, tears lining your eyes.
Dottore smirked. Right into the lionâs den.
Due to its higher potency, the substance acted a lot faster this time. The liquid sat heavy on your stomach, as if your gastric acid itself directly rejected it, not only did it make you nauseous but it also left an uncomfortable feeling. He noticed the way your breath hitched or how your brows furrowed in realisation that this chemical was much, much stronger.
He moved closer, one, two, three steps to close the distance, âDo you feel it? The way your body is betraying your discipline?â
You sat there for a while, wordlessly assessing the substanceâs onset effectsâincreased heart rate, increased body temperature, vasodilation, cognitive fog, slowed motor skills, and slowed breathing. Your hearing became sensitive, both sharp and muffled at the same time, even Dottoreâs sentence sounded almost incoherent but not quite.
âI think . .â You started, trying to catch your breath. âI think you should leave.â
Suspiciously enough, Dottore didnât push any further, instead, he took a step back, âRest. This dosage shall pass . . . Eventually.â The click clack of his shoes echoed in your ears as Dottore left the auxiliary.
Youâll be back in no time. He thought to himself.
You sighed a breath of relief, his presence was suffocating to say the least, and being under the influence of some substance didnât help. Taking a few controlled, deep breaths, you tried to calm yourself; suddenly drinking coffee didnât feel like the right thing to do. So, with a hazy mind and light feet, you left the auxiliary and headed to your own laboratory.
As you walked in, your subordinates greeted you, they immediately sensed something was wrong but didnât dare pryâafter all, it wasnât their position to question their Lady Harbinger even if it meant concern. You tried your best to oversee experiments and discuss results but as each minute passed, your body began to feel even stranger.
Indecent thoughts slipped in and out of your mind, your skin yearned to be touched, and not to mention the uncomfortable heat that pooled between your legs. The flu-like symptoms from earlier you could handle but this was something else, it drove you to the borders of insanity; with the absence of anotherâs touch, your cunt ached.
You tried to hold it outâto let the effects pass but you only lasted about an hour or two before you ultimately kicked out every single soul inside the laboratory out of embarrassment. There was no way in hell youâd let your subordinates see you in such a state; gossip amongst lower ranked Fatui spread like wildfire and you werenât about to become the topic of the month.
This compound didnât simmer like the last, instead, it demanded immediate attention.
The laboratory now fell silent, only the constant hum of machines and ventilation accompanied your ragged breaths. You leaned over your desk, fists curling against the smooth surface as you cursed Dottore with every unpleasant word your impaired mind could think of. The period of effect was unknown, so basically you were just playing a waiting game, a dangerous one at that.
But you werenât about to settle for thisâno, you demanded answers from The Doctor.Â
Right now. Your patience had been exhausted and could feel a reckless storm brewing within youâone that abandoned rationality.
Without a second thought, you crossed the entire building from one side to the other, it was probably the fastest youâve walked despite slightly limping from discomfort between your legs. Archons, you could only imagine how crazed you looked.
The door to Dottoreâs laboratory screeched upon opening, gaining the attention of all staff inside it, including the Harbinger himself. He didnât have to wait for the door to fully open to conclude it was you, according to his calculations, he expected you to show up right about now.
Before the staff could murmur amongst themselves, Dottore spoke a singular wordâloud, clear and icy.
âOut.â
His subordinates didnât have to be told twice. They shuffled to their feet rather quickly, immediately dropping whatever task they had at hand before squeezing out the door as if some madman were chasing them. Something in their mind whispered they wouldnât want to witness what was going to happen next.
As the last person rushed out, the heavy door behind you hissed as it closed, leaving you and Dottore alone in his laboratory.
âWell, this is highly unexpected.â
âYouâre going to give me a counteragent.â You demanded immediately.
Dottore momentarily paused before laughing at your retort, it wasnât a cruel laugh, it was pure amusement. âMy, this drug has really done its job, hasnât it? Your mind is a mess!â Your furrowed brows and downturned lips only fuelled his delight. âYou speak of a counteragent yet aphrodisiacs arenât poisonousâthey donât harm the body, they heighten oneâs senses and increase libido. Indeed, anaphrodisiacs exist but they donât serve as a counteragent. In short, there is no âcureâ.â
âThe effects dissipate only after . . . release.â Dottore added.Â
An aphrodisiac? How could you have not come to that conclusion? You were so caught up in Dottoreâs scheme that you completely forgot to account for the use of a common drug. Everything about him screamed complex so it was only right to assume he had synthesized a rather intricate substance.
âYouâre well-versed in medicine and human physiology. You should know exactly how these types of compounds function.â Dottore slowly circled your unstable figure as if he were a predator sizing up its prey.
âTell me, Prevaricator. If you rely on this counteragent you speak of, why didnât you just synthesize your own instead of barging into my territory like a lunatic? I was in the middle of an experimental breakthrough.â
As much as you hated to admit it, Dottore was right you should have known. Now, you felt like an utter fool standing in his laboratory demanding for something that didnât exist.
âUnless . . . Youâre already aware that there is no counteragent. Which raises a far more interesting question,â He stood directly behind you, his tall stature loomed over your own, voice dangerously close to your ear.
âWhy did you come to me?â
Your heart pounded violently against your chest, not because of fear but because of the humiliating reality that The Doctor pointed out. Why did you come to him? He was the last person you shouldâve sought when it came to human physiology. What happened to relying on your own expertise?
âI came to you for answers. Why are you doing all this? Iâm not your test subject!âÂ
âThatâs precisely the problemâyouâre not. So, I took matters into my own hands, whether you liked it or not.â
âWhy?â
âYour façade infuriates me. And I will use every resource I have to strip you of your false layers.â
You were dumbfounded. Why was Dottore so adamant? Both of you were Harbingers for gods sake!âyour identities were built on lies. Every Harbinger was granted a false identity by the Tsaritsa, everyone knew that.Â
âTell me, Prevaricator. Is it the aphrodisiac driving you mad or the fact that you know exactly what you want but refuse to admit it?â
âI . . .â Your sentence faded into thin air.
The aphrodisiac had you on a chokehold; you couldnât think properly, any rational thoughts were forgotten, and left behind for your future self to pick up. You couldnât even refute any of Dottoreâs arguments even if you badly wanted toâyour brain simply just wasnât working because right now, all you wanted was one thing, release. The heat your body radiated became unbearable and the painful ache between your legs intensified with every passing second.
Dottore stood right before you, he wordlessly studied your unstable, flustered state; this was only the first layer he had stripped offâthe tip of the icebergâand he was more than ready to find out where it ended.
Dottore took a step forward. You took a step back in response.
âRelax, Iâm not going to hurt you.â He hummed lowly, reaching out a gloved finger to trace the edge of your collar, it was slow and deliberate, cutting you off from what you needed most right this moment, contact. Embarrassingly enough, you shuddered at the sensation of his finger against your clothing, the small vibrations of the friction it created was enough to push you further into insanity.
âOh. Well, that answers my question from earlier.â Dottore wrapped a gloved hand around your throat, not too tight, not too loose, just enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing. You whimpered at his touch, your sensitive skin finally receiving the contact it has yearned for. His leather gloves felt electric against your feverish skin and youâd be lying if you didnât want more.
â. . . Please.â You whispered, lips parted to draw shallow breaths in and out.Â
âMy, what a mess you are and we havenât even begun the third phase of the experiment.â
Without wasting another second, Dottore pulled you by the neck and pressed his lips against your own. The kiss knocked out all the oxygen in your lungs, it was sloppy, heated, and passionate.
The tip of Dottoreâs mask harshly dug into your cheek as he pressed even further, shoving his tongue inside your mouth. Your head spun, the kiss was intoxicatingâhe was intoxicating. At this point, with how desperately Dottore kissed you, you wondered if you were truly the one under the influence because it seemed like he was more lust driven than you were. Hungrier.
Wet sounds of aggressive lip smacking and the occasional pants you and Dottore let out filled the entire laboratory. If anyone were to walk in right this moment, theyâd probably be crimson-cheeked at how lewd and pornographic you both sounded.
Dottore growled into your mouth as he gripped your jaw and tilted your head for better access. Oh, how well you were taking him; you were so obedient and amazing for him to the point where it immensely turned him on. A minute later, he pulled away, flushed and panting, a thin string of saliva connected both your lips.
His tongue swiped on his bottom lip, collecting the saliva that pooled there. Your state wasnât any better, as a matter of fact, the kiss was so messy to the point where saliva was smeared all over your mouth and chin but you didnât care, you needed him.
Dottore unclipped your ivory Fatui coat, throwing the heavy fabric across the lab, it fell with a distinct thud. With that out of the way, he pushed you to the nearest wall which was right next to the entrance. You stumbled on your feet at his urgency but didnât bother complaining.
He unbuttoned your blouse, first, second, third, until the fabric revealed skin beneath it. A quiet gasp escaped his kiss-bitten lips, âYouâre truly magnificent.â You didnât know whether Dottore praised you as a human being or as a mere test subject but nonetheless his saccharine words had your cunt pulsing.
Gloved hands momentarily ghosted your feverish skin, as though you were a fragile relic he refused to touch for you were far too precious and pristine to taint. He slipped off your blouse and the cool air of the laboratory kissed your skin, you shuddered at the significant contrast of temperatures.
âHmm. Sensitive. I wonder what would happen if I press . . . here.â Your body curled in pleasure as Dottore cupped a clothed breast, palms sensually rubbing against your covered nipple. How exquisite you were, he had barely gotten started yet you already seemed like youâve reached your limit.
âNghâDottore!â Your own hands shot up to your face to cover your mouth, the last thing you wanted was to moan his name embarrassingly loud but it seemed like even your body couldnât resist.
The Doctor let out a low growl, âDo not tamper with my experiment. This is all part of the result. Uncover your mouth.âÂ
Humiliation engulfed your almost bare body as you heeded his words. He clicked his tongue and pinned both your wrists with a hand, âAny unwanted changes to my experiment will result in a second trial. Do not test me, Prevaricator.â The only thing you could do was wordlessly nod.
âGood.â
With his free hand, Dottore expertly unclasped your bra, causing it to swiftly fall onto the metal floor. There, he marveled at your hardened nipples, how it seemed to immediately react to external stimuli. He groped a breast, this time squeezing and massaging it, pulling a string of breathless moans from your lips.
âNow thatâs what I like to hear.â
Dottore continued to give each breast his undivided attention âtil you thrashed your sensitive body from overstimulation, âDottore . . !â This time his name came out as a plea and he immediately understood what you were begging for, âTsk. How impatient. We shall then move onto the next phase.â He scoffed.
Within the next minute, you were stripped of your remaining clothing, leaving you vulnerable in front of Dottore. Before you could even try to swallow down the embarrassment, his hand was already on you, toying with your sopping cunt. His gloved finger sensually traced your slitâup and down, up and down âtil it slowly your clit, then did he only rub tight, hasty circles.
âF-Fuck! Haah!â Your back arched at the electric sensation that kissed down your spine. You werenât a virgin but it has been a long while since you were touched so lewdly like this, moreover, he seemed to really know what he was doing. Dottore watched as your flustered face contorted in pure pleasureâswollen lips parted, brows knitted together, glassy eyes rolled back, just the result he wanted.
But he was greedy, he wanted more. He wanted to see you absolutely fucked up.
Dottore plunged two long fingers inside your wet cunt, causing you to resist his firm hold on your wrists. He curled his digits upward to meet the spongy patch of nerves there, âMmfâ! That feels goodâAh!â You could only moan in response as he picked up the pace.
Each harsh thrust of his fingers had your abdomen squeezing with pleasure, attempting to bear the force of his hand. Loud squelches coming from your cunt reverberated throughout the laboratoryâs metallic walls and you could only hope no one would walk by to hear such sinful sounds.
Dottore grunted as he felt you squeeze around his fingers, he could feel the growing tent in his pants, cock aching to be freed from its restraint. He watched as your entrance greedily took him in, your sweet essence oozing out every time he pumped inside.
His crimson eyes beneath the mask glimmered at the way your slick messily coated not only his palm but as well as your inner thighs; he had never seen anything quite like this before. What spectacular results he was given!Â
It didnât take long to feel the coil deep inside your stomach to start unravelling slowly. Dottore noticed it too, how your breath quickened and eyes tightly shut. He kept going, in and out, in and out steadily guiding you closer and closer to the sweet release you yearned for.
But just before you were pushed over the edge, he abruptly pulled his fingers out, causing you to shamelessly whine in protest. Confused, our eyes shot open, vision blurred with tears of pleasure, âWha-What . . ? Why did you stop?âÂ
Pleasure slowly faded away from your body, the high that once engulfed you now felt farther and farther away. Dottore brought his slick-stained fingers up, casually examining it under the laboratoryâs fluorescent lights like he didnât just almost fingerfuck you to an orgasm.
âWeâre simply moving on to the final phase.â
Final phase?
At the sound of metal clinking, you were pulled out of your thoughts. Before you, Dottore hastily undid his ebony-coloured pants, he pulled the fabric down with his underwear just enough to free his aching cock. Your eyes widened as it stood proudly against his abdomen; he wasnât as girthy but his length definitely made up for it, his blunt tip was a deep shade of blush, and a prominent vein ran along the underside of his cock. More interestingly, it curved a little to the left.
You could almost drool at the sight.
Dottore let out a low hiss as he wrapped a gloved hand around his sensitive cock to spread his pre-cum all over it, he gave it three languid pumps before stepping closer to your naked body. With one swift movement, he nudged your legs apartâresulting in you briefly losing balanceâbefore slotting himself between them.
You whimpered at the sensation of Dottoreâs cock rubbing against your slit, you could already feel how hot and heavy it was from the simple contact alone. Without warning he slowly pushed in, its blunt tip separating your wet folds apart. Your arms immediately flew to his clothed shoulders, nails digging into the expensive fabric as he inched deeper and deeper.
Dottore muttered a curse, lips slightly quivering. The sensation of your warm walls around his cock drove him absolutely insane and he wasnât even all the way in yet; your cunt hugged him oh, so tightly and greedily sucked him in he could almost come right then and there as embarrassing as it sounded.
It had been quite a while since Dottore engaged in sex since he had more important matters to attend to so this feeling of being inside someone was closer to foreign than not.
Soon enough, he bottomed out with ease. The two of you took a moment to steady your breaths and adjust to each otherâs body, though, you did try your best to stand as still as possible as the tip of his cock gently nudged your sweet spotâany hasty movements would cause it to press further inside.
âYouâre soâHaah!âTight!â Dottore let out an amused chuckle, a smirk plastered on his lips.
âS-Shut up.â You flushed.
Without another word, Dottore hooked a hand beneath your right knee and forced it up to rest on his shoulder. That movement alone brought your hips closer to his, allowing his cock to slip deeper; you involuntarily squeezed around him in response, back arching off the icy wall which earned a low growl from him.
Faint wet sounds echoed in your ears as Dottore pulled out all the way until only his tip remained, your cunt sucked him in so much that merely drawing his hips back was met with such resistance. He wasted no time thrusting back in, this time, with the entire length of his cock, it made your knee buckle, and your lips immediately parted to let out a garbled moan.
Dottore started off with an experimental paceâhe studied how your expressions differed with each push and pull.. When met with shallow, hasty thrusts, your breathing seemed to mimic the rhythm of his hips, whereas with deep, slower thrusts, you seemed to bite down on your bottom lip while your eyes slightly rolled back.
How interesting. What about deep, swift thrusts?
Dottore picked up the pace to test his next experimental question, blunt tip bullying your sweet spot, and heavy balls slapping against your skin.
âFuck! Fuck! Nghâ! Dottore!â You mercilessly clawed at his back. The expression you gave him was simply exquisite, your whole face contorted in raw pleasure. Hot tears rolled down your flushed cheeks and he took the opportunity to lick it off your face.
Using a free hand, Dottore reached for one of your breasts, teasing and massaging it while he watched the other bounce with each thrust.
Earlier, the laboratory faintly smelled of chemicals, now, the air smelled of sinful sexâyourâs and Dottoreâs scent entangled with one another, a completely volatile pair.
âThatâs itâMhm!âLet me hear your pathetic whimpers as I push you further and further into insanity.â He growled in your ear and bit the column of your neck.
Dottore unhooked your leg from his shoulder before securing both arms around to lift you up, âJump.â He didnât have to repeat his word for you to do so. As you jumped, he supported your weight with his hands which allowed you to wrap your legs around his waist.
With his hands planted on your ass, Dottore began to expertly bounce you on his cock; this position left you more vulnerable since there was nothing you could do but take each and every thrust. Since gravity also came into play, his thrusts were far deeper than before and you swore you could feel him on your throat.
âRight there! Ah! Right there, Dottore! Please donât stopâFuck!â The tight coil inside your stomach began to unravel once again and the high you experienced earlier came flooding back. It was an overwhelming pressure, it pressed on every part of your sensitive body, sending waves of shock up and down your spine.
Dottore observed your cock drunk stateâhead lolled to the side, hair a complete mess, face flushed with lust, lips locked in a permanent part to let out moans, tear-stained cheeks, and eyes rolled far back enough you could probably see your own skull. This. This was precisely what Dottore wanted from youâan expression so raw, so vulnerable it was an unbelievable contrast from the usual one you wore.
You looked absolutely broken and helpless like he was the only one who could save you. And The Doctor loved everything about it.
He moaned your name as you clamped on his cockânot your title, but the name bestowed upon you by Her Majesty. The name only your female colleagues used to express closeness.
âIâm close,â Dottore panted. âOpen your eyes and look at me while you come. Surely you can perform this simple task, right?â You responded with an incoherent sentence but nonetheless used your remaining energy to open your eyes, your body felt absolutely limp as pleasure weighed down on you, and you were positive youâd have trouble walking tomorrow.
He praised you for your obedience and you could only respond with a pathetic whine.
Dottore did his best to keep up the brutal pace but with his impending orgasm looming over, his movements began to falter, he could only hold out for a certain amount of time.
âNgh! Cumming! Ah! Ah!â The coil inside you violently snapped and your vision flashed white as you creamed around his cock. Dottore let out a deep grunt and followed suit, hips stuttering before fully sheathing his cock inside and shooting a heavy load. Thick ribbons of his cum painted your walls white, he made sure it remained inside of you by thrusting a few more times.
The two of you stilled for a moment to catch your breaths before Dottore pulled out to gently get you back on your feet. As expected, your legs have turned weak and embarrassingly enough, you held onto him for supportânot because you wanted to but you needed to.
As you came down from your high, this allowed the haunting reality to finally settle in for you. You just fucked your colleague. And not just any colleague but the one you absolutely despised most. Were you insane? Regret gnawed at your feverish skin.
Out of instinct, you weakly pushed Dottore away, a familiar expression painted on your faceâthe one you always wore, the one he loathedâcold and indifferent, âThis . . This doesnât change anything. At all.âÂ
The Doctor could only half-heartedly laugh at your declaration because you both knew it was a complete lie, after all, you were the Prevaricator.
Synopsis: While training as a Shinra doctor under your uncle Gastâs influence, you are tasked with caring for Sephiroth, the companyâs most valuable soldier. As experiments and missions tear at his humanity, you become his only refuge; clinging to stolen tenderness in a world that was never meant to let both of you be human.
Multiple-Chapter Work || AO3 || Prologue.
This story contains themes of medical experimentation, torture, psychological abuse, self-harm, and suicide. It also explores trauma, grief, and loss. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Please take care of yourself, and do not hesitate to step away if any part of this story becomes distressing.
Chapter TWs: Trauma, grief, emotional manipulation, loss, guilt, death references and distressing authority confrontation.
đđđđđđđ˘đ.
You were asked so many times it left a print in your mind that time nor godâs hand can erase: why weren't you there for him? No one did ask out loud: you heard it under their tongues, you've seen it in their eyes and none of your super senses could've ignored it. It may have been years, but recounting everything made it start all over again: the first arrow, the first kiss, the first love and thenâ the first trip over the cliff of your life.Â
âWhat are you thinking of?â
You averted your gaze from the ceiling to him just as he spoke; his voice always hauled you from your thoughts no matter how deep you were in them. It was for your own eyes to see how Sephirothâs had that unworldly wonder in themâ it was not the color, not the feline shape, but the jollity in them that didn't need to be screamed or laughed, he was just happy inside.Â
He looked happy.Â
âSomethingâ you smiled.Â
âWhich is?âÂ
At your chest rested his head, still looking up at you, green lenses reflecting your image in them; fingers of a hand in his hair, the other securing his elbow to your side. It was one of those rare moments when everything was alright with the world; no experiments, no check-ups, and surely better, no missionsâ even for a little while.Â
You mentally worded before saying âHow I donât dream much when I'm asleepâ
âIs that a bad thing?â
âNot reallyâ adjusting your position a little while holding him still, you continued âBut it's strange how out of all times in my life, when I didn't see anything in sleep, to recently see⌠visionsâ you weren't sure whether the last word was correct in its sense; it was artificial to try and relate to something that wasn't tied to you like it's tied to others.
âOf what?â He asked ever so sweetlyâ your sweet Sephiroth, the way you remembered him, not as he was told by Shinra.Â
âYouâÂ
The word dropped low from your lips and hooked his eyelids upâ so slightly another eye can't catch except yours; you thought sometimes that he wasn't in full control of his own face threads. He didn't say anything for moments, slowly seeping the mere word âYouâ and its possible interpretations. He was a smart boy, given less credit than he deserved and more weight than he could have carried. He moved even closer; muttering too close to your face âWhat do you see?âÂ
The smile stitched itself across your face, involuntary and sudden like a good memory. you held a lock from his bangs and twirled it between your fingers and the way it ringed your digit; hair holds memories indeed.
âI've seen you one night extending your wingsâ you mimicked the gesture of a bird ready to fly with an arm, the other cradling him still âFloating high⌠so high I only saw you like a satellite, Moon's snow and sky darkâ you lowered your arm again to hold his shoulder âI called out to you but you didn't hear meâ
He laughedâ laughed, really laughed; a short-lived joyful sound you memorized all of its strings. If only the human memory could record you'd hear his laugh for an eternity.
âI have only one wingâ Â
âI knowâ you pushed back his bangs behind his ears âIn my dream you had twoâ
He leaned into your palm âWhy do you think that is?â
âI don't knowâ whispering âDreams are silly most of the time. They donât mean anythingâ
The quietness of after hours painted everything in a prismatic peace, nothing mattered now except this feeling of amity. your hand brushing his head, seeking bliss from his very existence. The pause wasn't bothered as he started âDo you thinkâŚâ a winter night weathered his lilt âI could ever really have two?â
The movement of your hand froze. You blinked at him, he wanted an answer.
âYou already haveâ
His eyebrows knit âI only have oneâ
âNoâ your hand moved again, channeling the tenderness eating your nerves into the act of comforting him âYou have one others can see, and one you keep to yourself.âÂ
He went as still as water underground. You donât remember any words after that, just the way he lifted your hand from his shoulder, held it with both palms; they were warm, a heat you've never felt in any other human beingâ none of them held a candle to what Sephiroth had. It was for your own senses to feel and internalize, not to be told and sharedâ Adam would've kept his paradise pure if he was given a second chance, why tarnish what you held so precious to your heart?
You gently tapped the sides of his arms, asking permission. His expression was neutral, staring, just staring, till a slow, small smile curving up his mien, nodding: a yes. Just as that, you took him in your embrace and heavens, you'd be glad to have your ribs tangled with his as far as the time would end. Time stopped, the universe went silent, only the echoes of his pulse atop yours: leisure, shy and full of life. His scent fills your lungs the way the light fills the planet; consuming in love and all air to roses. His arms rose, demurely mirroring the manner of yours on his back, short hair tickling your cheeks.
âOh sweet boyâŚâ you whispered, spilling it in his ear â...You're more than what they say about youâ
âYou're more human than all of them combinedâŚâ
âDoctor Faremis!âÂ
The unmistakably nasal voice peeled you off from your reverieâ who wouldn't be other than the Jykyllian embodiment of modernism, the great Professor Hojo?!Â
You didn't bother to stand, merely putting down a leg from the other and straightening your back across the chair âYes, Professor?â
His gaze was to be followed, not seen: anyone barely saw his eyes behind the dark glassesâ that was in fact a favor he did to everyone around him, not like they were a ray of sunshine to be spared sight âStill spending your nights here?â he asked, tone color of burnt wheat âOld habits die hard, I supposeâ
Why not you? You chewed the retort back to your throat, maintaining the calmness âSomeone has to make sure the equipment is functioning.â
âAlways so responsibleâ He strided along the small room, judging the white wall as if it wasn't supposed to be there. The pause allowed your imagination to picture things that could take you to the disciplinary committee: him choking, beaten to death or shot with arrows, images of a saint-Sebastian-esque divine punishment. He must have sensed what you were thinking as he cut the cord of silence short âY'knowâŚSephiroth used to sleep better when you were aroundâŚâ
Your heart clenched for a second, beat troubled by the mere memory. However, you can't let that show âI wasn't aware you tracked his sleep pattern so ferventlyâ you replied.
He chuckled âWhy wouldn't I?â he gestured his hand around the room, an amused smile drawn up his comportment âAfter all, he was my greatest achievement. I monitored everything about him. You name itââ He counted on his fingers âNutrition, stress levels, blood pressure, brain activity, bone and muscle structure⌠He was such a winning horseâ
âWasâŚâ you reflected, looking at the pale floor.Â
He tilted his head, mock-confused âStill uncomfortable with that word, Dr.Faremis?â he took a small step towards you, sighing theatrically âSuch a shame really, all that potential and power, all that hard work and investmentâ He turned abruptly, giving the ceiling a sharp eye dagger âWasted.â
Your legs sprung with a sudden electricity, standing up on their own âPeople aren't investments.âÂ
âOh?â he laughed, turning back to you âThen what was he to you, Dr.Faremis?â
âa human being.âÂ
âAhâŚâ he pointed at you, shaking his wrist as if you were a student âThat explains itâ
You scoffed âexplains what?âÂ
âWhy you failed to see what he truly wasâ the words landed like Ivy drops: softly and so poisonous.Â
âI saw exactly who he wasâ you tilted your head to the side, still staring at him âHe was a human, a man, a personââ
âHow sentimental.â He leaned closer âTell meâŚdo you ever wonder if things would've turned out differently⌠If you'd been moreâŚâ he moved his hand in a thinking matter, choosing the word â...Logical?â
â...What are you implying?â a bottle of ink shattered in your ribs. you knew this was heading somewhere you didn't want to go to.
âYou've been here for thirteen years, Dr.Faremis. yet you always forget what I tell youâ Hojo circled around, checking the room âmore like looking for something to analyzeâ as he dropped so very casually âThat attachment clouds judgment.â
Your lips sewed themselves together.Â
âYou had to learn that the hard way. Your dear uncle had to learn that the hard way. I don't know what's running in your family line so both of you had to beâŚmushy, if I dare sayâŚâ The man took a good look at you: standing, and out of defenses. Knowing how valiant you can be, he added fuel to the fire âDon't get me wrong, I respect Professor Gast, but it was a good ending for him to leave Shinra. He had one job yet he chose to complicate it. same as your mistake.â
âMy uncle tried to save himâŚâ You murmured, sharp as a razor âI did as wellâ
Exasperated, he exhaled âSave what? you only drove him to his end.â
The muscles in your knees withered. Warmth pooled under your eyelids, gathering like rain drops in a pond. The amphora filled itself again and washed your heart with the same feelings haunting you ever since: guilt, sorrow, loss and an ache that settled like a bird with a broken wing. In such times, you sought the punishment you yearned for yet never came; left to be munched and feasted upon as years passed, till you pay nature's debt yourself. you sank back into the chair, face bleak as a blind man's eyes.
a ghost of a smile danced on Hojo's lips. Satisfied, he headed out as he delivered the last whip hit for today âLet yourself sink back in if needed, Miss Faremis. that'll help you in life.â then the heavy emptiness of after a storm.
Only after his steps faded away, you let the tears run free; the luxury of warmth and catharsis with thorns you were unworthy of; it should dwell inside and kill you. sluggishly, you got up and laid on the bedâ his bed: his scent of balm and leather lodging in a lobe within your skull; unforgettable. You pulled out the dark feather from your sweater's pocket, your solace for staying the night along memories and shapes of a past you dearly loved but treated you ruthlessly as company.Â
You closed your eyes and welcomed it nonetheless.Â
⼠pairing: bodgyguard/knight!sylus qin x princess fem!reader
⼠summary: âA princess bound by duty, a knight sworn to protect herâtwo hearts that have orbited each other since childhood, close enough to feel the pull but never daring to cross the distance. When danger shatters the careful walls between them, they must choose between the roles theyâve been given and the truth theyâve hidden for twenty years.â
⼠genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni)
⼠word count: 41,9k (I will never be normal about sylus <3)
⼠warnings/tags: childhood best friends to lovers. fools/idiots to lovers. forbidden romance. one bed trope / forced proximity. mutual pining that they think is unrequited. the duke (original character) being used as a malicious misogynistic plot device, assassins, attempted murder, violence, yearning/longing, miscommunication in terms of thinking the love is unrequited, reader is shorter than sylus. inexperienced/virgin!reader, sylus is technically also a virgin but yeah, wonât be as noticeable. loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom sylus, ok⌠just overall soft sylus, sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, bit of breeding kink, overstimulation, size kink, praise kink, daddy kink (the word is used twice sorry!), lots of pet names (kitten, princess, sweetie, my beloved⌠etc).
âś a/n: oh my... I've always wanted to write a bodyguard au. so here I AM. and writing this trope for MY MUSE!!!! SYLUS. also I don't know what's happening but I'm obsessed with writing princess!mc 𼰠either way I never know how to write fic in a short format so enjoy this lengthy fic from me again! also because I don't wanna post it in parts you'll have a sneakpeek on tumblr but to read the story in its full length you'll have to head to ao3. I really love this and this banner inspired me a lot! thank you and I hope y'all love it as much as I wrote it! đ inspired by the song run to you by whitney houston <3
this goes without saying, but if you donât like it donât read it <3
AO3 ⢠masterlist
You were six years old the first time you saw Sylus Qin.
It had been a beautiful spring afternoon, the kind where the sun hung warm and golden in a cloudless sky and the palace gardens were in full bloom. Youâd been playing alone among the peoniesâyour attendants watching from a respectful distance as alwaysâwhen youâd heard voices approaching along the gravel path.
Menâs voices. Your fatherâs, youâd recognized immediately, and another you didnât know.
Curious, youâd peered around the large ornamental rock youâd been using as a fortress in your imaginary game, and thatâs when youâd seen him.
A boy. Older than youâmaybe ten, youâd guessed, though youâd learned later he was actually tenâbeing led through the gardens by your father and the Master of Arms. Heâd been dressed in the simple training clothes of a junior squire, his silver hairâeven then, that striking silverâpulled back from his face, and his red eyes had been wide as heâd taken in the splendor of the imperial gardens.
Red eyes. Youâd never seen eyes that color before.
He must have felt your stare because his gaze had suddenly shifted, landing directly on you where youâd been trying to hide behind your rock.
Youâd frozen, caught.
For a moment, youâd just looked at each otherâthis strange silver-haired boy with crimson eyes and you, the princess who was supposed to be too dignified to spy on people.
Then youâd smiled and waved.
Heâd blinked, clearly surprised, and glanced at the adults with him as if asking permission. But theyâd been deep in conversation about training schedules or weapons or something equally boring, not paying attention to either of you.
So youâd waved again, more insistently this time, and gestured for him to come over.
Heâd hesitated for only a second before slipping away from the group, moving with a quietness that had impressed you even then, and approaching your rock fortress.
âHi,â youâd whispered, grinning up at him. âIâmââ
âThe princess,â he said, and his voice had been soft, a little awed. âI know. Everyone knows.â
âWhatâs your name?â
âSylus. Sylus Qin.â Heâd bowed, stiff and formal in the way someone had clearly taught him to bow to royalty. âItâs an honor to meet you, Your Highness.â
Youâd wrinkled your nose. âThatâs too many words. Just call me by my name. And you donât have to bow like that. It looks uncomfortable.â
His lips had twitched, almost smiling. âIâm supposed to bow to royalty.â
âBut weâre going to be friends,â you announced with the absolute confidence of a six-year-old whoâd decided she liked someone. âFriends donât bow to each other. Thatâs silly.â
âFriends?â Heâd sounded uncertain, like he wasnât sure if princesses were allowed to have friends who were trainee squires.
âYes! Do you want to play tag?â You hadnât waited for an answer, just reached out and tagged his arm. âYouâre it!â
And then youâd taken off running through the gardens, laughing, and after a moment of shocked hesitation, youâd heard him laugh too and give chase.
That was how it had started. How youâd met the boy who would become the most important person in your world.
°ââ.ŕłŕż âž*:シ
The years that followed had been filled with stolen moments.
Sylus had been training to become a palace guard, working under the Master of Arms with single-minded determination that had impressed everyone. But whenever heâd had free timeâand sometimes even when he shouldnât haveâheâd found his way to wherever you were.
Heâd played with you in the gardens, climbed trees to retrieve kites youâd gotten stuck, helped you catch fireflies in the summer evenings. Heâd sat with you during tedious lessons when your tutors had allowed it, and heâd carried you on his shoulders when youâd gotten tired during walks through the palace grounds.
Your attendants had been scandalized at firstâa princess shouldnât be so familiar with a mere traineeâbut your father had allowed it. Had even encouraged it, youâd learned later. Heâd seen the way Sylus watched over you even then, the way heâd positioned himself between you and anything that might hurt you, and heâd known.
This boy would protect his daughter with his life.
As youâd grown older, the games had changed but the connection had remained. Youâd watch him train sometimes, hiding behind pillars or in doorways, mesmerized by the way he movedâthe grace and power, the absolute focus. Heâd always known you were there. Would sometimes show off a little, executing a particularly impressive combination or disarming his sparring partner with a flourish that made your heart flutter in your chest.
Heâd been fourteen when youâd first realized you were in love with him.
Youâd been ten, and youâd been crying in your chambers after one of the court ladies had pulled too hard while dressing your hair for some ceremony. It had hurt, and worse, the woman had scolded you for fidgeting, had called you difficult and ungrateful in a tone that had made you feel small and ashamed.
Sylus had found you in the gardens afterward, still sniffling, your elaborate hairstyle already falling apart.
âHey,â heâd said softly, sitting beside you on the stone bench. âWhatâs wrong, Princess?â
Youâd told him, the words tumbling out between tears, and heâd listened with such patience, such genuine concern, that it had made you cry harder.
âCome here,â heâd said finally, and heâd turned you around so your back was to him. âLet me fix it.â
âYou donât know how toââ
âMy mother taught me,â heâd said quietly. âBefore she⌠she worked in a kitchen, but she also helped the estate healer sometimes. She said a man should know gentleness, not just strength. That included learning how to braid hair.â
His fingers had been so careful as theyâd worked through your tangles, so gentle that it hadnât hurt at all. And as heâd braided and arranged your hair with surprising skill, heâd talked to youâtold you stories about his mother, about his training, about anything and everything to distract you from your tears.
By the time heâd finished, youâd stopped crying. And when youâd turned to look at him, had seen the soft concern in his red eyes, the small smile on his lips as heâd admired his handiwork, something in your chest had shifted.
Oh, youâd thought. Oh no.
Because youâd realized in that moment that you loved him. Not the way you loved your parents or your friends, but something bigger, something that made your heart race and your cheeks flush and your stomach do strange fluttery things.
Youâd been ten years old, and youâd fallen completely, irrevocably in love with a fourteen-year-old trainee whoâd learned to braid hair from his mother and whoâd never once made you feel like you were too much or too difficult or too anything.
What you hadnât knownâwhat you wouldnât learn for yearsâwas that Sylus had fallen in that moment too.
Heâd been holding back tears of his own as heâd braided your hair, thinking of his mother whoâd died just a year before, whose gentle teachings heâd been trying desperately to honor. And when youâd turned to look at him with those trusting eyes, still damp with tears but smiling now, something in his carefully controlled heart had cracked wide open.
Heâd been too young to understand it fully, but heâd known: this girl, this princess heâd been assigned to protect, had become the center of his entire world.
°ââ.ŕłŕż âž*:シ
The years had continued to pass, and the feelings had only grown stronger.
Youâd been twelve when youâd first seen him truly fight.
Bandits had attacked the royal caravan during a trip to a neighboring province. Youâd been terrified, frozen in the carriage as youâd heard shouts and the clash of steel. Then the door had been ripped open and a man with a scarred face and wild eyes had reached for youâ
And Sylus had appeared like something out of legend.
Heâd been sixteen, still technically in training but already more skilled than many full knights. Heâd pulled the bandit away from you with one hand and put his sword through the manâs chest with the other, and the cold efficiency of it had stolen your breath.
Then heâd turned to you, and his expression had completely changedâfrom that deadly warrior to the gentle boy you knew, concern flooding his red eyes.
âAre you hurt?â heâd asked, checking you over with shaking hands. âDid he touch you? Are youââ
âIâm fine,â youâd managed, though youâd been trembling. âYou saved me.â
âAlways,â heâd said, and the intensity in his voice had made something warm bloom in your chest. âIâll always save you.â
After that day, heâd been officially assigned to your personal guard rotation despite his young age. Your father had seen what youâd already known: there was no one better suited to protect you.
But the new official capacity had changed things between you. Where before youâd had freedom to just be friends, now there were expectations, protocols. Heâd started calling you âPrincessâ more often than your name, had stopped seeking you out during his free time, had maintained a careful distance that had made your heart ache.
Youâd been thirteen the first time youâd truly understood what it meant to miss someone who was standing right beside you.
°ââ.ŕłŕż âž*:シ
Youâd been fifteen when youâd first felt the magnetic pull.
It had been late evening, and youâd been studying in the palace libraryâor pretending to study, at least. Sylus had been stationed outside as your guard, but youâd insisted he come inside because it had been winter and the hallways were freezing.
Heâd sat near the fireplace, supposedly watching the door but actually reading one of the military strategy texts youâd seen him glance at longingly. Youâd been pretending to focus on your own book but really watching himâthe way the firelight had painted gold across his silver hair, the way his brow had furrowed in concentration, the way his lips had moved slightly as heâd read.
Beautiful, youâd thought. Heâs so beautiful.
At some point, youâd both looked up at the same time, and your eyes had met across the room.
The air had felt charged, electric. Neither of you had moved, but youâd felt pulled toward him like a string was tied between your hearts. Youâd seen his throat work as heâd swallowed, seen the way his eyes had darkened, and youâd knownâsomehow youâd knownâthat if you stood up and crossed to him, if youâd closed the distance between you, something would have happened.
Something irreversible.
But youâd been fifteen and heâd been nineteen and he was your guard and you were a princess, and there were so many reasons why you couldnât.
So youâd looked away first, breaking the moment, and youâd heard his quiet exhale like heâd been holding his breath.
It had become a pattern after that. These moments where youâd get too close, where the air would shimmer with possibility, where youâd almostâalmostâlet yourselves cross that invisible line.
But you never did.
°ââ.ŕłŕż âž*:シ
Youâd been seventeen when youâd realized he was pulling away.
The cuddling that had been so natural when you were childrenâhim letting you fall asleep against his shoulder during long carriage rides, carrying you when youâd gotten sick, letting you seek comfort in his presenceâhad gradually stopped.
Youâd try to lean against him and heâd shift away. Youâd reach for his hand and heâd find a reason to move. Youâd ask him to stay and talk with you like he used to, and heâd make excuses about duty and propriety.
It had hurt. Gods, it had hurt so much, and you hadnât understood why.
Youâd thought maybe heâd finally seen you clearlyâseen that you were in love with himâand had been trying to distance himself because he didnât feel the same. Or worse, because heâd felt sorry for you.
The truth, which you hadnât known, was that Sylusâs feelings had grown beyond what he could safely control. Every casual touch had become torture. Every time youâd smiled at him, every time youâd said his name, every time youâd looked at him with those trusting eyes, it had been harder and harder to maintain his composure.
Heâd been twenty-two and desperately in love with a eighteen-year-old princess he was sworn to protect, and the wanting had been consuming him. The desire to touch you, to hold you, to tell you everything he feltâit had been overwhelming. And worse, the thoughts had become less innocent. The way his body had responded to your proximity, the dreams heâd had that had left him aching and ashamedâheâd hated himself for it.
So heâd pulled away. Had tried to put distance between you and his inappropriate feelings. Had tried to be nothing more than your guard, nothing more than what was proper and right.
It had been killing him, but heâd thought it was necessary.
What he hadnât realized was that his distance had been killing you too.
°ââ.ŕłŕż âž*:シ
Youâd been nineteen when youâd almost kissed him.
It had been your birthday celebrationâa small, private thing, not the grand ball the court would throw later in the week. Just you and a handful of people you actually cared about. Sylus had been there in his capacity as your guard, standing near the wall with his usual vigilant posture.
But youâd been drinking wineâmore than you probably should haveâand the alcohol had made you bold.
Youâd crossed to him, aware of people watching but not caring, and youâd grabbed his hand.
âDance with me,â youâd said.
âPrincess, I donât thinkââ
âItâs my birthday,â youâd insisted. âAnd I want to dance with you. Please?â
Heâd hesitated, clearly torn, but youâd pulled on his hand and heâd finally, finally given in.
Youâd dancedâa proper, formal dance, his hand at your waist and yours on his shoulder, the appropriate distance maintained between you. But it had felt anything but appropriate. Every place his body had touched yours had burned. His red eyes had been locked on your face, intense and wanting, and youâd felt dizzy with something that had nothing to do with the wine.
The music had slowed, or maybe youâd both just stopped paying attention to it. Youâd been swaying together, closer than you should have been, his hand sliding lower on your back, your fingers threading into the hair at his nape.
âPrincess,â heâd whispered, and his voice had been rough, strained. âWe shouldnâtââ
âI donât care,â youâd whispered back. Youâd been looking at his lips, watching them form words, wanting to feel them against yours with an intensity that had stolen your breath.
Youâd started to lean in. Heâd started to lean in too, his eyes already closing, his head tiltingâ
âYour Highness!â One of your attendants had called, breaking the moment. âThe cake is ready!â
Youâd both jerked apart like youâd been burned. Sylus had stepped back immediately, his expression shuttering, and youâd wanted to scream with frustration.
So close. Youâd been so close.
But the moment had passed, and Sylus had bowed and excused himself, and youâd been left standing there with your heart hammering and the taste of almost on your lips.
°ââ.ŕłŕż âž*:シ
Youâd been twenty when youâd overheard the conversation that had shattered something in you.
Two of the palace guards had been talking in the hallway outside your chambers, not realizing you were right inside the slightly-ajar door.
âQinâs got it rough,â one had said. âBeing assigned to the Princess full-time. Must be exhausting, never having a moment to himself.â
âAt least the pay is good,â the other had replied. âAnd itâs prestigious, being the Princessâs personal guard. Opens doors for advancement.â
âTrue. Though between you and me, I donât think he had much choice. The King specifically requested him for the position. Not like he could refuse even if he wanted to.â
âThink he ever gets tired of it? Following her around constantly?â
âProbably. But heâs too professional to show it. Thatâs why heâs the best.â
Youâd stood there, frozen, as their voices had faded down the hallway.
Duty. Thatâs all you were to him. A prestigious assignment he couldnât refuse. A job that paid well and looked good for his career.
All those moments between youâthe dancing, the almost-kisses, the way heâd held youâit had all been in your head. Heâd been professional. Doing his duty. Nothing more.
The realization had crushed you.
Youâd cried yourself to sleep that night, mourning something youâd never actually had.
What you hadnât known was that Sylus had heard that same conversation from the other end of the hallway. Had heard those guards reduce his deepest feelings to mere professional obligation, and had been grateful.
Because if everyone thought he was just doing his duty, if no one suspected the truth of how desperately in love with you he was, then maybe he could keep serving as your guard. Could keep being near you, even if he could never have you.
It had been better this way, heâd told himself. Better that you thought his care was merely professional.
Even if the lie had hurt worse than any blade.
°ââ.ŕłŕż âž*:シ
Youâd been twenty-three when youâd started receiving serious marriage proposals.
Noble sons, foreign dignitaries, wealthy merchants seeking to elevate their statusâtheyâd come in a steady stream, and youâd rejected every single one. Your father had been patient at first, understanding your reluctance to marry young, but as youâd approached your mid-twenties, the pressure had increased.
Youâd had to sit through countless meetings with potential suitors, had to smile and make polite conversation with men whoâd looked at you like a prize to be won. And through it all, Sylus had been there, standing behind your chair or near the door, his face carefully neutral.
Youâd watched him sometimes during those meetings, trying to gauge his reaction. Did it bother him to see other men courting you? Did he care at all?
His expression had never changed. Professional. Detached. Doing his duty.
It had hurt worse than any outright rejection.
What you hadnât seen was the way his hands had clenched behind his back, nails digging into his palms hard enough to leave marks. The way his jaw had ached from keeping his expression neutral when everything in him had wanted to remove these men from your presence by force.
The way heâd gone back to his quarters after each of these meetings and destroyed training dummies, imagining them as every suitor whoâd dared to think they were worthy of you.
Youâd never seen the way heâd broken down the night heâd heard rumors that your father was losing patience, that he might arrange a marriage without your consent if you continued to refuse everyone.
The night heâd realized he might actually lose you. That you might belong to someone else, and heâd have to stand by and watch it happen because he was nothing. No one. Just a guard with no title and no prospects and no right to love someone so far above him.
Youâd been twenty-six when Zou Cheng had proposed.
And thatâs when everything had changed.
°ââ.ŕłŕż âž*:シ
The walk back to your chambers had been suffocatingly silent.
Sylus had fallen into step behind you the moment youâd dismissed yourself from the receiving hall, his presence a steady shadow at your back. Youâd kept your chin high, your expression carefully neutral as youâd passed through the corridors of the palace, aware of the eyes that followed youâservants, courtiers, guards. Word of your rejection of Zou Chengâs proposal would already be spreading through the palace like wildfire, and you refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing you rattled.
But the moment your chamber doors closed behind you and Sylus, the carefully constructed composure shattered.
Your hands were shaking as you turned to face the room, breath coming shorter, faster. The tears youâd been holding back since Zou Cheng had smiled at you with that entitled, predatory expression were burning at the backs of your eyes.
Your attendants looked up from where theyâd been preparing your afternoon tea, concern immediate on their faces.
âPlease,â you managed, your voice strained but still kind, still soft. âI need some time alone. Thank you.â
They bowed quickly, sensing your distress, and filed out with worried glances over their shoulders. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving only you and Sylus in the spacious chamber.
He stood near the entrance, his tall frame relaxed but alert in the way it always wasâlike he could spring into action at a momentâs notice. Today he wore robes of deep red silk with gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs, the formal attire of the imperial guard when not in full armour. The crimson fabric brought out the color of his eyes, made his long silver hair seem to glow in the filtered sunlight. His sword hung at his side, the leather of the scabbard worn smooth from years of use. His expression was carefully neutral, but those red eyes watched you with an intensity that made your chest ache.
The moment you knew you were truly alone with him, the dam broke.
âIt was completely awful, Sy. A disastrous show. A freaking outrage. Did you see the way that Zou Cheng was looking at me? The way he could barely compose himself as I declined his proposal? I shouldâve slapped him when he tried to come on to me. Heâs a fucking disgrace,â you grumbled, pacing around your luxurious and elegant bedroom.
The chamber was a reflection of imperial refinementâwalls adorned with hand-painted silk panels depicting cherry blossoms in full bloom, their delicate pink petals seeming to drift across the fabric. Latticed windows of dark wood filtered the afternoon sunlight into soft, golden beams that pooled across polished floors. Carved wooden screens separated different areas of the spacious room, and your canopy bed was draped in layers of flowing silk in shades of cream and rose. The palace itself was a sprawling masterpiece of red lacquered pillars, sweeping golden-tiled roofs that curved toward the heavens, and tranquil courtyards where ancient trees stood guard over stone pathways and lotus ponds.
Youâd smiled at your bodyguardâyour knightâSylus Qin that morning as heâd escorted you down to meet Zou Cheng, nervous energy making your hands tremble slightly as youâd adjusted your hair. Youâd asked him softly if you looked beautiful, needing that reassurance before facing another suitor you had no interest in. Heâd glanced at you with those striking crimson eyes, something flickering in their depths before heâd smiled to himself and responded with a quiet, âYes, Princess.â You could have sworn his pale cheeks had flushed slightly, that heâd looked away as if composing himself, though maybe that was just wishful thinkingâyour heart projecting feelings onto him that heâd never expressed.
Now, as you paced, your pink hanfu swished around your legs, the delicate peonies embroidered into the fabric catching the light. A few strands of hair had come loose from your carefully arranged style, the jade pins your attendants had spent an hour placing now slightly askew from your agitated movements.
âPrincess,â Sylus said quietly, his deep voice cutting through your spiraling anger like a knife through silk. He hadnât moved from his position near the door, but something in his tone made you pause mid-step, turning to look at him.
His jaw was tight, you noticed. The muscle there flexing almost imperceptibly as he watched you pace. His hand had drifted to rest on the pommel of his swordânot threateningly, but like he needed something solid to anchor himself to.
âYou had every right to refuse him,â he continued, his voice carefully measured, professional. âZou Cheng isâŚâ He paused, and you saw the way his fingers tightened fractionally on the sword hilt. âHeâs not worthy of you. His behavior was inappropriate and disrespectful.â
You laughed, but it came out bitter and sharp. âInappropriate? Sy, he practically cornered me when you stepped back to give us âprivacy.â He put his hand on my waist and told me I should reconsider, that a woman of my âparticular situationâ couldnât afford to be so selective.â Your voice cracked slightly on the last words, the tears threatening again. âLike Iâm some kind of burden to be offloaded. Like I should be grateful for his attention.â
Something dangerous flashed across Sylusâs faceâthere and gone so quickly you almost missed it. His eyes darkened, the red seeming to burn brighter for just a moment. His other hand flexed at his side, and you watched his throat work as he swallowed whatever his immediate reaction had been.
âHe touched you?â The words came out quieter than before, but there was an edge to them that made your breath catch. Not anger at youânever at youâbut something cold and lethal simmering beneath his controlled exterior.
âJust my waist,â you said, wrapping your arms around yourself. âBut the way he looked at me, Sy. Like⌠like he was already imaginingâŚâ You couldnât finish the sentence, shuddering.
Sylus was silent for a long moment, and when you looked at him again, his expression had smoothed into that professional mask he wore so well. But his eyesâgods, his eyes were still burning with something that made your heart race.
âIf he ever touches you again,â he said, voice low and absolutely certain, âheâll lose the hand. I donât care what his rank is.â
The fierce protectiveness in his tone sent warmth flooding through your chest, chasing away some of the coldness Zou Chengâs attentions had left behind. This was why you loved him, you thought helplessly. This steadfast devotion, the way he made you feel safe and valued andâ
You shook your head, trying to dispel the thought. He was your knight. Your protector. These feelings he showed you were duty, nothing more. No matter how much you wished otherwise.
âCome here, sweetie,â Sylus said softly, and the endearment made your chest ache. He moved away from the door finally, crossing to you with that fluid grace that came from years of training. When he reached you, he lifted one hand slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted, before gently tucking one of the loose strands of hair behind your ear. âYouâre trembling.â
His touch was so careful, so tender, that the tears finally spilled over.
âIâm just so tired of this,â you whispered, looking up at him. At this distance, you could see the way his silver hair caught the light, the sharp lines of his face softened by concern. âEvery week itâs another proposal from another man who sees me as a political opportunity or a prize to be won. None of them actually want me. They want what I represent.â
âThen theyâre all fools,â Sylus murmured, his hand still hovering near your face, like he wanted to touch you again but didnât trust himself to. âYou are⌠so much more than what you represent, Princess.â
The way he said it, the quiet intensity in his voice, made you wonderâjust for a momentâif maybe you werenât imagining everything after all.
You wiped at your tears quickly, embarrassed by the show of emotion even though it was just Sylus. Heâd seen you cry beforeâtoo many times over the yearsâbut it still made you feel vulnerable in a way that was both comforting and terrifying.
âIâm sorry,â you said, your voice still thick. âI shouldnât be falling apart like this. Especially not todayâthe Lantern Festival is tonight and I need toâŚâ You gestured vaguely at yourself, at your tear-stained face and disheveled hair. âI canât go looking like Iâve been crying over that bastard.â
âYou have nothing to apologize for,â Sylus said firmly, finally dropping his hand back to his side, though he seemed reluctant to do so. âAnd for what itâs worth, you could never look anything less than beautiful.â
Your breath caught at the words, at the way he said themâso matter-of-fact, like he was stating an undeniable truth rather than offering a compliment. Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks.
âI⌠thank you,â you managed, your heart doing complicated things in your chest. You cleared your throat, trying to regain some composure. âI should change. The pink is pretty, but itâs too associated with this morningâs disaster. I canât wear it to the festival.â
You moved toward the carved wooden screen in the corner of your chamber where your attendants had already laid out your festival attireâa stunning hanfu in deep crimson and gold, far more elaborate than what you currently wore. The color of celebration and good fortune.
âItâll just be a moment,â you called over your shoulder as you disappeared behind the screen, already reaching for the pins in your hair.
You heard rather than saw Sylus move to stand near the window, giving you privacy while still remaining in the room. It was familiar, this dance youâd done countless times over the years. Him always nearby, always vigilant, but never crossing certain invisible lines.
Your fingers fumbled slightly with the fastenings of your pink hanfu as you thought about those lines. About how desperately you wanted him to cross them, to acknowledge that there was something between you beyond duty and childhood friendship. But he never did. He was too honorable, too bound by his position as your protector.
And you were too afraid of losing even thisâhis presence, his steadiness, his gentle wordsâto ever push for more.
The crimson hanfu slipped over your shoulders like water, the silk cool against your skin. The embroidery was exquisiteâgolden phoenixes and lotus flowers swirling across the fabric in intricate patterns. The sleeves were long and flowing, edged with gold trim, and the outer robe was secured with an ornate sash that took you a moment to tie properly.
You stepped out from behind the screen, smoothing your hands over the fabric. âCould youâŚ?â You gestured to your hair, which youâd taken down completely, letting it fall loose around your shoulders. âI have the lotus clip for the festival, but I canât quite get it positioned right on my own.â
Sylus turned from the window, and you watched his eyes widen fractionally as he took in your appearance. That look againâthe one that made your heart race, that made you think maybe, possibly, he felt something too.
âOf course, kitten,â he said softly, crossing to you. The endearment, different from the others, always made you melt a little. He only used it in private moments like these, and you hoarded each instance like precious treasure.
You sat at your vanity and handed him the white lotus hair clipâa beautiful piece carved from jade, with delicate petals that seemed almost translucent in the light. Your hands brushed as he took it from you, and you could have sworn you felt him tremble.
His fingers were impossibly gentle as they gathered your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine that you desperately hoped he couldnât see. He worked in focused silence, arranging your hair with surprising skill for a warrior.
âWhere did you learn to do this?â you asked quietly, watching him in the mirror.
A small, fond smile tugged at his lipsâthe kind of smile that only appeared when he let his guard down around you. âIâve been doing this since we were little, remember?â His voice was soft, almost nostalgic. âYou used to sit still for maybe thirty seconds before getting distracted by a butterfly or a bird, and Iâd have to start all over again.â
Your chest warmed at the memory, at the reminder of all those years youâd spent together. Back when things had been simpler, before duty and propriety had built walls between you.
âI was a terrible student,â you admitted, smiling at his reflection.
âYou were seven,â he said, amusement coloring his tone. âAnd even then, you never sat still unless it was something you truly cared about.â His fingers worked through a particularly stubborn tangle with infinite patience. âI learned to be quick about it.â
âThere,â he murmured, stepping back slightly. The lotus clip was positioned perfectly, securing part of your hair while letting the rest cascade down your back. His eyes met yours in the mirror, and for a momentâjust a momentâyou saw something raw and unguarded there.
Want. Longing.
Then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by that professional warmth.
âBeautiful,â he said quietly. âYouâll be the most radiant person at the festival.â
You stood, turning to face him directly rather than through the mirror. âWill you stay close tonight?â you asked, hating how vulnerable you sounded. âAfter this morning with Zou Cheng, I just⌠Iâd feel better knowing you were nearby.â
âAlways, Princess,â Sylus promised, and the intensity in his voice made you believe him. âIâll be right beside you the entire time. Nothing will happen to you. I swear it.â
If only youâd known then how impossible that promise would be to keep.
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( GUARDIAN ANGEL ) đŽ GUARDIAN ANGEL!SEPHIROTH X READER
â game synopsis: he's been your guardian angel since you were sixteen years old. protecting you from danger you didn't see coming, but now that you're slowly wanting space from himâhe makes it his mission to remind you who you belong to until you take your final breath.
( cw ) ⸝ fem reader, female anatomy described, slight enemies to fuckers, reader somewhat purposely put herself in danger, possessive!sephiroth, mentions of sephiroth having pretty white wings, mating press position, cream pies, mentions of soul ties,
Youâve known him since you were sixteen years old. The mere memory of him grabbing at your backpack strap to tug you out of the way as you were about to walk into ongoing traffic imprints your brain like a nostalgic TV memory. He was a sixteen-year-old guardian angel who aged through the years as you grew, interfering in your life as if you were the most life-threatening person ever.Â
Freshman year of college, heâs taking the red solo cup of whatever mixed potion the older frat guys made out of your hand. This led to practically the whole campus thinking you were chronically insane as you argued with no one because they couldnât see what you saw. He interfered with your life at moments when you had it all under control, and he didnât need to baby you as if you didnât. But you were grateful for him, and the things he did stop when things got bad.
It's like killing a guy who roofied you at a bar. Despite the toxic drugs from drinking your drink, it had you feeling like you were in another world. You remember the crimson-red liquid staining his large, elegant white wings after the deed was done. After that, heâs never left your side, and you grew to feel suffocated. You couldnât do much in your life if you had your guardian angel down your neck twenty-four-seven commenting on you getting hurt or dying.Â
Now an adult, he still was here. Despite you being perfectly fine. No freak accidents, no near-death experiences. He still was here lurking around as if you were a child.Â
Right now, watching as you poorly attempted to get laid. Your panties dangle from your ankle as you wait for the guy to insert, but as your horny meter slowly decreasesâso does the poor stranger you met at a bar cock. Your eyes averted between your bodies as he aggressively pumped his condom-covered cock; you could hear his laughs as he was sitting on your kitchen counter chewing on an apple.Â
Fuckinâ Sephiroth.
âYou know what? Thatâs okay. Just leave.â You pushed the guy off you, limp dick and all while youâre scrambling to tug your panties back on.Â
âWhat? It just takes some time,â The guyâs tugging his pants up in frustration. âJust pleaseâŚbaby.â Heâs grasping on you, and youâre swatting his hand away like itâs an annoying fruit fly.Â
âJust go. Iâm no longer in the mood.â You warned.
This was a warning not only for yourself but for him. You had a 6â1 angel looming around your apartment who didnât care to kill someoneâespecially a person who wasnât following directions. Your eyes darted from him in the kitchen to the guy who kissed his teeth while collecting his belongings.
âDonât call me anymore! You completely wasted my time.â He sneered at you while leaving your apartment. The door closed with a harsh slam that made you jump.Â
As silence drifts over your apartment, and the only thing you can hear is the sound of that annoying clock in your kitchen ticking, you lean back on the couch with a sigh. âYou know, you completely ruined the vibe, you know?â Your eyes land on the white-haired male as he finishes the apple he obnoxiously chews on.
âDo not blame it on me.â He tosses the apple in a trash can and stands up to close the space between you.
âI am blaming you because it seems like every romantic connection I attempt to make, you are there to ruin it.â You sneered at him before sitting up. âI donât think this will work anymore, Sephiroth.âÂ
âAre you saying you want to release me of my duties of being your guardian angel?â He asks. You can feel he got closer despite shifting your eyes closed to calm yourself down from this talk.Â
You two have been together for years. Heâs been protecting you for years, and now it felt so suffocating that you couldnât breathe. Sometimes, you wanted to release him of his duties, but you knew when you did that every memory youâve shared with him would vanish. It would be like you two have never met.Â
The sight of him with his elegant white wings on his back. The sight of blood staining his pale skin after murdering someone that hurt you. The look of worry when you almost walk into traffic, and he was a split second from being too late.Â
He was yours just as much as you were his. But you needed space.Â
âYes.â You breathed out, pushing yourself off the couch to enter your room. âYou know, I appreciate everything youâve done for me, but I donât think we can co-exist in each otherâs lives anymore.â You explained you turned around, and he was leaning against your doorframe with the most obnoxious face.Â
It was as if your words were going out one ear and the other for him. âWeâre not young anymore. I donât need you being soâŚ.so.â You were searching for the word to describe how you feltâfrustration riddling your bones as you attempted to express yourself.Â
Sephiroth took steps forward, closing the gap between you two. When he was towering over you with such little care at how close he was to youâhe fixed your tank top strap and let his slender fingers linger on your shoulder just a little longer to cause goosebumps to garnish your skin immediately.Â
âPossessive.â He finishes your sentence as his teeth graze upon his lower lip. âIs that the word youâre searching for, my little ward?âÂ
And with challenging eyes, you met his and said, âYes. Possessive, like you own me or something.âÂ
His chuckles. But this chuckle was different from the one you have heard. It felt more sinister, more agitated.Â
âYouâre stuck with me, love. If you like it or not. Weâre bound together until you die of old age or better yet, I briefly take my eyes off you as fate finally chooses a moment for you to die. Maybe a bus will hit you as you walk into traffic for texting on that silly device of yours, or maybe youâll accidentally hit your head.âÂ
Your eyebrows furrow together in frustration and anger at his words.Â
âYou enjoy my company but donât want to admit it. You think I didnât notice the way you bring home little flings to spite me. You think I canât hear the way your heartbeat quickens at the sight of me watching you get fucked by some man who canât even make you orgasm. Sephirothâs eyes glance over your body like he was observing you under a microscope. âSo tell me, Y/N.â His fingerâs toying with that strap on your tank top that keeps falling off your shoulder.Â
âHow many times have you imagined me, your sworn protectorâyour guardian angel fucking you?â His fingers drag alongside your nipples that harden through the thin white fabric of your tank top. âAnd donât lie; I know when youâre lying to me.âÂ
You couldnât quite remember what you had said after his words for your knees to be pressed upon your stomach and for Sephirothâs cock to be buried into your throbbing cunt while your moans bounced off the walls. The pornographic sound of heated skin slapping against each other with the sound of your headboard banging against the wall was like music to your ears. But you enjoyed the sight of Sephiroth more.Â
His crystal white hair fell in his face so perfectly. Comically enough, you wanted to say he looked like an angel. His eyes kept averting between your fucked out face and in between your body. With each glance down there, it seemed he fucked you into the mattress even harder. Instantly, your legs snake around his waist, completely trapping him from depriving you of what you were so eager for.
Sephiroth chuckles darkly through your pants of desperation, âSeems youâre enjoying this a little too much.â He mumbles. He pulls his cock entirely out of you, leaving you whining for more.Â
He guides his cock in between your pussy lips rubbing in the mixture of your essence and pre-cum. Your back arched off the mattress with urgency, and he pushed you back down so you could endure the pleasurable torture of his cock teasing you until you were staining the cotton sheets below your naked body. With each stroke between your puffy lips, youâre squeezing your eyes shut tightly to prevent even the littlest thought of him seeing you like this. You didnât think you could fathom the mere embarrassment.Â
âCome on, you donât want to see how well you take me?â He questions, his voice rings with a teasing tone that makes your pussy pulse.Â
âFine then.â He mumbles what seems to himself before he hooks his strong arms under your knees, completely trapping you under him and whatâs to come.
You wondered if Sephiroth could hear how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was bouncing around your chest like a small ball in a pinball machine. The feeling of his thick tip brushing against your entrance felt like the world had stopped. Perhaps it did. The idea of a guardian angel fucking his ward into her mattress had to be some form of rule breaker, right? Maybe, just maybeâGod had briefly paused the world to give you time to weigh out the pros and cons of this.
But when Sephiroth bottomed down inside you, you felt the world unpause, and a wave of pleasure travel across your body. You even could hear yourself let out a sigh of reliefâas if youâve been waiting for this moment in centuries. The way his cock was inside, you felt like it was a missing piece in a puzzle you need. It fit perfectly, but when he started rotating and thrusting his hipsâyou couldnât help but call out his name like it was a scripture.
It wasnât as if you could do anything else but take his sensual thrusts. The mating press position trapped you from doing anything else but that. The way he was making you feel at the moment had you ignoring all that. Your moans echoed into his ear, and Sephiroth was very responsive because heâd grunt back like a rabid animal in heat. Ensuring that the feeling was mutual. That he was feeling just as good as you were.Â
âAfter this, youâll be stuck with me forever, right?â Sephiroth asked. His tongue drags alongside the bridge of your right ear, and instantly, your legs snake around his waist, locking your feet together so he wonât let go.
âMhm, thatâs what I thought.â His words send a chill down your spine as he continues to fuck into the mattress.
The pornographic sound of heated flesh echos upon your bedroom, and your eyes seem to squeeze shut in bliss. Savoring the moment between the two of you until you couldnât anymore. Your pussy pulsed around his cock, and your thighs quivered under your guardian angelâs touch. His grip on you grew tighter, and you knew that he was unraveling right on top of you. His groans that echoed in your ear changed into whines of desperation. If you were being honest with yourself, you havenât seen him this desperate in your life.
But it was a reason for that because, in just three seconds, he was a coming mess. He didnât even bother to pull out, either. His nails dug into your heated flesh with each thrust inside of you, ensuring that each droplet of his cum stayed inside of you. With your legs wrapped around his waist, you leaned up to indulge in a heated kiss to seal the deal that you knew was going to follow you for years.
You truly were stuck with him forever until you took your last breath.Â
Can you write something for Sephiroth(pre-nibelheim) or Astarion? Your work is absolutely fantastic btw Iâm in love with it â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸
Not So Subtle
pairing : sephiroth x female!reader
summary : you have a teenage girl level crush on him, that you and zack talk (very loudly) about when you think no one can hear. but he does.
a/n : this takes place pre-nibelheim so everyone is happy and well! in honour of ff7 rebirth :)
part 2
part 3
âClose your mouth or youâll catch flies.â You snap your jaw shut, eyes moving to glare at the young, dark haired boy who has decided to break your daydream.Â
âIt wasnât even open.â He plops down beside you, shoulder touching yours.Â
âMhm.. and you werenât drooling over our superior.âÂ
âYour superior,â you correct, eyebrow lifted with pointed sarcasm. If you could stick your tongue out at him, without it seeming childish to everyone around you, you would.
âLast time I checked, you werenât a first class soldier either,â He points out, amused. Your elbow makes contact with his arm, and his hand reaches to cover the area as he laughs.
Zack was younger than you, though he certainly never acted like there was an age gap. In his mind, you were the same age as him in some way or another. You had always trained together so you felt much closer in age even though you were at least 3 years older than him. At times, he felt like a younger brother to you.
Even more so when he found out you had a crush on the man he spent everyday training beside. Constant teasing, constant threats to spill your secrets, constant blackmail. You couldnât even count the amount of times he had used your crush to his advantage on one hand.Â
There was a time you had to put your foot down and tell him no more, cause it was wrong of course. But also mostly cause you were running out of money to buy his silence.
âYeah but I'm older, closer to his age. So I don't have to talk to him like I'm below him, unlike some people.âÂ
âCan you even talk to him?âÂ
âYes.âÂ
âThen why are you sitting here staring..?âÂ
âHeâs training..âÂ
âMhm.â The look on his face tells you heâs not convinced. Right now, it was the truth, Sephiroth was swinging his sword in the domed combat simulator, glass walls clear enough for you to see through. So the excuse of not being able to talk to him, out of fear of being sliced in half by his giant sword, was plausible.Â
But any other time that you had sat staring at him, making no effort to speak to him, rendered that excuse inapplicable.Â
âShut it..â You push his shoulder with your elbow once more, and he snorts out a laugh.Â
âI donât get why you canât just talk to him..âÂ
âOf course you donât.. because you're obviously blind. Or youâve been hit in the head one too many times in combat training.â You turn your gaze away from Zack to look back through the glass enclosing Sephiroth.Â
His hair is tied up, hanging loosely against his back. Itâs a rare sight, so you indulge yourself and stare a second longer than you should. Itâs so relaxed, you think, compared to the seriousness of always having it pristinely down. There are stray hairs, flyaways, falling from the hair tie and hanging against his face. Itâs unkempt, a nice contrast to his seemingly perfect lifestyle.
He swings his sword with calculated grace, a grace that you (or Zack for that matter) had yet to achieve. The control he held over his blade was impeccable, it never slipped or moved from his hold even when his hands were moving faster than his body could keep up with. Just another thing that had to be perfect in his life.
âHow could I ever speak to him and not make a fool out of myself? For one, heâs first class, I'd totally ruin my chances of making first class if I said something totally outrageous. And knowing me, my mind would be so jumbled, I wouldn't even realize the words had left my mouth before he put me on some kind of âdo not promoteâ list.âÂ
âOh so.. the only reason you wonât talk to him is because you're worried about making first class? Not.. I donât know, maybe, the 12-year-old-girl-level crush you have on him.â Your hand slaps over his lips, eyes scanning around you. For the most part, no one looks at the two of you, and you figure the ones that are looking are doing so because of your hand covering Zacks blabbermouth.Â
âWould you shut it?â Even with your hand covering his mouth, he manages to laugh at your widened eyes. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes are a dead giveaway of his amusement. You remove your hand with a pointed look, one that says âkeep it downâ in a far more subtle way than a hand over his face.Â
âYouâre so lucky youâre younger than me.âÂ
âMore like so lucky you donât want to make your boyfriend angry. Besides, you know Iâm stronger than you.âÂ
âMhm..â You roll your eyes, and with a sigh, you turn back to face Sephiroth. He stands still now and you realize all of the practice dummies have been broken. From your position, he doesn't even seem to have broken a sweat, even though heâs been in there for over an hour. His sword lies on the ground, thrown without care.Â
Even with Zack beside you, and the silent teasing that exudes from his body, your eyes remain trained on Sephiroth. You realize itâs childish, to stare and never approach, but the idea of even standing next to him is enough to intimidate you.Â
He runs his hand over his back, pulling the hair tie from his hair, allowing it to fall against his shoulders once more. He turns, presumably to leave the combat simulated, and his eyes meet yours through the glass. You knew your staring wasnât subtle, it had never been before, but you had never expected to get caught. You had never been caught.Â
You turn your head away so fast that Zack almost flinches, probably thinking you were going to hit him again.Â
âJesus,â he looks at you with confusion, âWhatâs the problem?âÂ
âHe saw me.âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âHe saw me! Through the glass! He totally caught me staring at him..â You stare at Zack with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, before you head falls into your lap in shame.
âWould you relax? I guarantee he doesnât care or he didnât even see you. Maybe he was just looking at his reflection.â
You look back towards Sephiroth to see him leaving through the doors of the dome, and then you turn back to Zack with a pitiful whine.Â
âThis is so patheticâŚâÂ
âI agree,â he smiles when you shoot him a glare, âJust talk to him.âÂ
âTalk to who?â A deep voice sounds from beside you, higher up than where you sit. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stick up, and Zack's expression is enough to confirm your suspicion about who stands next to you.Â
You turn your head to face Sephiroth, and he stares at you expectantly. You think you catch the slightest smirk building on the corner of his lips, but you also think you might just be trying to make yourself feel better. Standing, nowhere close to his height, you hold your hands up. Zack takes this as his sign to stand too.Â
âNobody! Angeal!â You fumble out words, trying to throw out a name before he grows suspicious.Â
âWell which is it, nobody? or Angeal?âÂ
âAngeal. Yeah! Angeal, so.. um.. I should probably go find him.âÂ
âIt just so happens that I have to find Angeal too, allow me to join you.âÂ
You want to throw the nearest chair at Zack, curse him for speaking so loudly. And you curse yourself for not thinking of an excuse in a reasonable time frame, so you just nod, and excuse yourself from Zack.Â
He gives you a pitiful smile, and when you turn to look behind you for support one last time as you walk away he gives you a thumbs up. His face contradicts his hands, and he seems like heâs in a far less teasing mood.Â
âWhatever you have to say to him, it must be important.âÂ
âHm?â You tilt your head up and to the side to look at Sephiroth, youâve been walking together for a few minutes now, mostly silently.Â
âYou're walking fast.â You shrug your shoulders and continue walking.Â
At least until your steps are interrupted by him stepping in front of you.Â
âIs there a problem?â
âWhat? Of course not!â He practically glares down at you, arms crossed over his muscular chest. You can see the outline of his defined chest muscles through the straps of his top. And you realize you're practically drooling over him, right in front of him so you force your eyes to meet his once more. But his glare is replaced by a smirk, and amusement in his eyes.Â
âI see now..âÂ
âSee what?âÂ
âReally? Do you think youâre subtle?â Your face flushes and once again you want the floor to open up and consume you whole, but you're stuck here.Â
âI donât know what you're talking about.â Step back, you scream at yourself, but he moves closer and itâs impossible to move your feet. They feel like lead underneath you, not even giving way to a small shuffle backwards.
âNo?â His hand reaches up to rest on your cheek, it's gentle, far gentler than you wouldâve expected. But the way his fingers tense against your skin has you feeling fuzzy, âYou think I donât notice the way you stare? Hm?âÂ
He stares at you, thumb moving to the other side of your chin, holding your face in his hand. He maneuvers your face, moving it however he likes. You realize heâs examining the flush in your cheeks, the way your lips part like you want to say something. His tongue gives a humiliating click when your lips close, and the words are lost.Â
âI hear you, when you talk to Zack,â he stops his movement, stilling your face to look directly at him, âYouâve never been a quiet girl. Why are you so quiet now?âÂ
When you donât respond his eyebrows scrunch, its subtle and almost missable because itâs gone in seconds. Heâs not satisfied by your silence.
Sephiroth bends his shoulders, moving closer to your face, âAlthough, I suppose youâve never been very talkative around me.â He moves closer still, swerving his nose to the side of your face until heâs able to speak in your ear, âThatâs not very nice. You might hurt my feelings if you keep ignoring me.âÂ
âIâm sorry,â you mumble out meekly, you're honestly not even sure itâs audible at first but he laughs quietly, breath fanning on your ear. His other hand, the one that doesnât hold your face, reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear before he pulls away. The breath that leaves your body is almost embarrassing.Â
âWhatâre you sorry for, hm?â He stares expectantly down at you, eyes never leaving yours.Â
âFâŚfor ignoring you.â
âSo you ignore me?âÂ
âNo!â
âSo youâre lying?â You shake your head as much as you can within the hold of his fingers, âThen what are you sorry for?âÂ
âFor not talking to you.âÂ
âAnd why donât you talk to me, I'm sure you know itâs rude to stare and never speak to someone.â
âBecause..â His grip loosens, hand moving back to your cheek, thumb resting on your cheek bone.Â
âBecause why? Cmon use your voice, the one you use to talk about me with Zack.âÂ
You stare up at him pitifully, and the way words fumble from your mouth has you wanting to throw up, âBecause I have this stupid crush on you, and I can't talk to you without getting nervous. I know itâs stupid and I should have told you sooner so you could reject me and I could move on and I never meant to offend you or-â
You hadnât realized he had gotten so close until his nose touches yours, top lip brushing against yours as he tips your chin up towards him. Your words fall flat on your tongue when you meet his eyes, or rather when you see his eyes that are focused on your lips.Â
âOffend me.. thatâs sweet..â Heâs so close to you, that every word has his lips brushing against your own again and again.Â
âSephiroth..?â You suppress the urge to move the tiniest bit forward so your lips can fully meet his. And you're sure your face is impossibly red.Â
âYou shouldâve told me about this âstupidâ crush sooner, such a foolish girl. May I?â You're confused, what is he asking for? His eyes flicker up to yours before moving back to your lips. When you realize what he means you nod your head perhaps too eagerly.Â
Slowly, to tease, his lips press against yours, palm pressing into the skin of yours to keep you in place. Eyes fluttering closed, your hands find his chest, silently screaming about the position youâve found yourself in.
His lips overpower yours in every regard, moving languidly against you. His other hand reaches up to the free side of your face, fingers tickling the skin on your neck and thumb resting on your jaw.Â
When he pulls away you can only look at him with half lidded eyes, dazed.Â
Al he does is chuckle, rubbing your cheek with his thumb and patting your head. One hand holds the back of your head, leaning down to kiss your temple, before stepping behind you, âDonât be so shy from now on. Maybe weâll end up here again.â
His steps echo through the empty hall as he walks away.
âWait⌠wait.. I thought you had to go see Angeal?â You turn, taking one step in his direction, then stopping yourself in your tracks hesitantly.Â
âI didnât. And I know you didnât either.â He only turns his cheek towards you to speak and then continues on down the hallway, tall and brooding.