#dottore x reader

[crowttore]

"Dottore?"

He stirred beside you, the soft rustle of sheets followed by his warm body pressing against you.

"You're still awake?" his voice was hushed, laced with sleep. It was rare for him to fall asleep before you, a fact that made him shift his body, wrapping his arms around you as he always did when your nightmares struck. "I'm fine. I've just been thinking, you have all your segments to assist you and provide perspectives…" He turned you to face him, one hand brushing back your hair with the utmost care, playing with the strands while he searched your expression. You smiled, stretching to kiss the familiar crease of his brow.

"I've been wondering, would it be beneficial for me to have segments as well? It could ease our workload, and I'm sure there are plenty of ideas and outlooks I've long since discarded that might prove useful and-"

He quieted your rambling with a chaste kiss, cracked lips briefly meeting yours before he pulled back with an amused expression, stifling a small yawn by burying his face into your hair.

"If that is what you wish, I will do nothing to hinder it."

You knew that wording, a small huff leaving your lips before you spoke. Had there been something in his eyes just now, or was fatigue affecting you both?

"But you won't help me either?"

"Call me a selfish hypocrite, but I prefer keeping you whole"

Masterlist

[vvvchu]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ You Wanna Steal My Gold, Slut?

(You thought you were stealing gold. Turns out you were stealing a spot on the dragon's dick.)

You should’ve listened.

You should’ve stayed far, far away from the mountain with the bones outside.

But noooo. You needed a shiny lil trinket, right? Just one ruby. Just a quick grab.

And now?

Now you’re pinned under a 10-ton fuckmonster with horns, wings, claws, and a cock the length of your arm.

“Aw, poor little thief,” he purrs, smirking down at you like the absolute demon he is, while your naked, trembling body squirms under him.

“You wanted to steal my gold?”

He spits on your pussy. It sizzles.

“Now you should be punished.”

He spreads your legs so wide your hips pop.

You yelp. He moans.

“Fuck yes—scream for me.”

His claws are digging into your thighs. His body’s so hot it feels like it’s melting you open.

And then—

Then you see it.

His cock.

Veiny. Curved. Leaking. So fucking thick the head alone has your cunt flinching.

He slaps it against your pussy once—hard.

You sob.

He grins.

“Scared? You should be. I’m gonna fuck your guts so deep you’ll taste me in your dreams.”

He doesn’t prep. He doesn’t tease.

He just grabs your ankles, bends you in half, and starts pushing in.

Your pussy makes this obscene wet squelch as it tries to stretch for him.

You’re shaking. Crying. Gushing.

And he’s moaning like a beast, tongue out, drool dripping on your tits.

“Godddd, listen to that sloppy little hole…”

He fuckin’ growls.

“So fuckin’ wet. So tight. So small. You were made to be my cocksleeve.”

You scream. Again. Again.

Your belly’s bulging with his cock. You’re clawing at the gold like it’ll save you. You’re not even speaking real words anymore—just whimpers and moans and messy, high-pitched “fuck—fuck—fuck—!”

He's laughing now.

“Cute little moans. Keep makin’ ‘em, bitch. I’m gonna break this pussy in half.”

You cum. Hard.

Your pussy clenches, gushes, and it makes this disgustingly wet pop sound as he bottoms out.

You scream again.

“Look at this messy cunt—fuckin’ creaming all over my cock like a little whore.”

He slaps your clit. You twitch.

“Yeah. You like it.”

Then he uses his tail.

You don’t even see it coming.

It snakes under you, slithers between your asscheeks, and the tip rubs your other hole.

You gasp. “Wait—! Wait please—”

“Oh shut up.”

He shoves it in.

Now you’re double stuffed.

Tears streaming. Mouth open in a silent scream.

Your belly looks pregnant. Your insides feel like soup.

You’re shaking like a broken toy and he’s still pounding you with obscene force, panting like a dog in heat.

“Fuckfuckfuck—I can feel your cervix—holy shit—take it, take it, TAKE IT—”

You’re clawing his chest. Dazed. Dick-drunk.

He licks the blood off your cheek and whispers:

“You’re mine now, little thief. My cunt. My whore. My treasure.”

And then—he knots.

Of course he knots.

You feel the thick, hot swell of his cock lock inside your cunt and flood you with hot, white dragon cum.

It’s endless.

You scream. You squirt. You pass out for like half a second.

He groans into your throat while you twitch and tremble, filled to the brim.

Your belly swells. Leaks. He smears it around your thighs and mutters filth into your ear.

“So good for me. So full. Gonna lay my eggs in this tight fucking cunt.”

After?

You’re limp. Gurgling. Brain melted.

He’s purring. Still inside you. Still hard.

He cups your face in one huge clawed hand and kisses your forehead, bloody and sweaty.

“My sweet lil thief.”

He purrs.

“Touch my gold again, and I’ll fuck your mouth next. Got it?”

You just whimper. Pussy leaking.

He chuckles.

“Good girl.”

[marspebbles]

i like dottore

[imjustreallytired08]

Gods, why do I have imagines that make me go feral.

Hear me out... the Fatui Harbingers with a reader who's so innocently sweet it gives them heartburn... and has big boba like eyes. Kind of like my "Heart of Gold" post I made idk how long ago.

●The first harbinger who would meet the reader would surprisingly be Pantalone of all people. Poor reader would ABSOLUTELY be coddled by him. Giving them anything they desire, but the reader doesn't want anything. And when The Regrator asks, they just go...

Reader:"But I already have everything I want standing in front of me." ●v●, -v-, ●v●.

Pantalone: *Immediately falls to the floor foaming at the mouth and teary eyed from how cute they are.* "I don't know what I did to deserve your sweet sweet heart..."

●Sadly, The Regrator's private time with reader would fall short after they ask to meet his colleagues. At first, Pantalone says no, but one sad droopy eyed look from the reader has his banker heart clenching inside his chest. Giving in and begrudgingly letting the reader meet the very much unstable group of Harbingers. And boy, almost all of them dropped like flies for the sweet reader. With Childe and Columbia being the first to go.

Columbina: *Cooing and squishing at the reader's cheeks*. "My, my, no wonder The Regrator was keeping you all to himself! You are just so adorable!"

Reader: "Hehehe, thank you! You are very pretty too, miss angel!"

●Yeah... The Damselette immediately got cuteness aggression after that innocent compliment. While Tartaglia was pouting against the wall since he wants to dote on the reader too, but is still VERY much creeped out by the number 3 Harbinger.

●Unfortunately, most of the Fatui Harbingers didn't like the reader at first since most of their hearts were closed off or preferred to keep to themselves. With the list being of Pierro, Dottore, Signora, Sandrone, Scaramouche, and surprisingly Capitano. Though an innocent reader got a few of their hearts to melt with questions of their passions or their history. With a few examples like Dottore or Pierro.

Dottore, who was working on some... very concerning experiments when the reader had snuck in.

Reader: "What happens if you pour too much abyssal energy into someone?"

Dottore: "They either explode or lose their minds."

Reader: "Cool... can I watch you explode someone with it???"

Dottore with a sly grin growing on his face: "Ooooo, someone likes to get bloody! But of course! It has been a while since I made a living explosion."

●Let's just say Pantalone was petrified when he saw the reader covered in blood and a grin stuck on Dottore's face. As for Pierro... let's say he was working on paperwork when the reader asked him their innocent questions...

Reader: "You're from Khaenri'ah, right?"

Pierro: "Yes, what wrong with that, child?"

Reader: "N-Nothing! I just... wanted to know if there's any sweets I could make from there. I want to make The Captain some because I though maybe making something from his past would give him the appetite to eat something. Since I've never seen him eat anything..."

Pierro: *A small smile growing on his face*. "You wish to know of any Khaenri'ahns sweets... to help Capitano? Very well then."

●The reader was able to make the sweets for Capitano and made some extra for Pierro as a thanks. Let's just say that both of the old males were very close to crying from the nostalgia of the desserts and from the reader thinking of them.

(Little note, Scaramouche still does not like reader. But a whole lot of glares from every single harbinger made the Balladeer tolerate them... at best.)

So now you know that if you every harm the innocent reader, you would DEFINITELY need to write a will fast because you would be hunted down and killed by every harbinger in a slow and painful way. And the Tsaritsa's thoughts on them? She very much approves of them since they're able to get the harbingers to stop them from killing each other just to spend time with them with one sad stare.

(GODS, WHY DO I LOVE THE FATUI HARBINGERS SO. FREAKING. MUCH????!!!!!)

[acideathr]

♫ .. “ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵… “ ★ . •° .

ılıılı what is means to belong to dottore

dottore, who doesn’t ask for your consent - he demands your compliance, not because he doesn’t believe in choice, but because in his mind, you’ve already chosen him the moment he looked your way. anything after that is just ritual.

dottore, who doesn’t need to chain you to keep you - though he could, easily. instead, he breaks you down with precise affection, stitching dependency into your very bones until the idea of leaving him feels like self-harm.

dottore, who keeps a file on you thicker than any research journal - documenting your scent, sleep patterns, tone of voice when you’re lying, what makes you shiver. he doesn’t love blindly - he knows you down to the molecule.

dottore, who doesn’t tolerate rivals, real or imagined. anyone who looks at you too long, speaks too sweetly, smiles in a way that lingers - they simply disappear. you don’t need to know how. you just need to know you’re safe… and his.

dottore, who experiments with potions not to control you, but to perfect you. a formula to make you sleep without nightmares. another to intensify pleasure only when you're touched by him. if he modifies your body, it’s only because he sees it as his canvas.

dottore, who kisses you like he’s claiming territory - slow, surgical, and deep. his lips move like they’re memorizing the shape of your soul. to him, your body isn’t just something to touch - it’s something to conquer.

dottore, who mocks the idea of soulmates, but refers to you as his “singularity” - the variable that disrupted his perfect system. and now that you’ve contaminated his logic, he’ll burn the world before letting anything separate you again.

dottore, who whispers terrifyingly gentle things when you sleep. “you breathe differently when you dream of me. i measured it.” or “your blood pressure spikes when i touch your throat - fascinating.” it's not meant to scare you. it’s meant to remind you: he knows you better than you do.

dottore, who doesn’t just want your love - he wants your fear, your devotion, your complete surrender. to see your trust in him remain intact even as he shows you every monstrous, brilliant, horrifying part of himself.

dottore, who would carve his name into your skin with a surgeon’s precision if he thought you’d forget who you belong to. but instead, he settles for something worse: leaving pieces of himself inside you - thoughts, memories, sensations - until even when he’s gone, you’re never alone again.

[fatuismooches]

quid agit amor?

synopsis: Dottore thinks back to the first time he celebrated your birthday back in the Akademiya.

includes: dottore w/ gn! reader

notes: Yet another fluffy birthday fic from me since it’s that time of year again. Specifically, Akademiya Dottore being awkward and silly around you. <3 Thank you to my lovely smoochlings for giving me ideas <3. Previous years’ fics - here and here.

Birthdays were never anything special to Dottore. 

All of his had passed without anything of note occurring. As a child, he might have looked forward to it a bit more, but as he grew into an outcast, the date hardly ever crossed his mind. It was almost amazing how his mind could remember ancient history and dates, but sometimes, it took a few seconds for him to recall his date of birth. Regardless, the scholar had expected this to stay the same.

However, it did not, thanks to a certain someone he met during his days at the Akademiya, who was none other than you, of course - his long-time lover of hundreds of years. You were the first one to truly acknowledge his birthday and go so far as to make it known to him. Even after centuries, the memory of his first birthday spent with you remained clear in his mind, along with all the others that followed, but it was the first one that had the most lasting impact on him. 

Dottore remembered being speechless in the beginning, staring at you with blank eyes. You had acted normally the entire day, but near the evening, you had made his favorite meal for him. He had thought it was a bit odd, but didn’t question it as he scarfed it down immediately. It wasn’t until you brought out the cake that it took a few seconds for it to click that today was his birthday, and for some reason, you knew. (At the time, he didn’t even know how you discovered his birth date, as he had never told you. He never saw the need to.)

“I figured you wouldn’t be the type to enjoy anything grand and overbearing, so I went simple for you.” You had said the words so casually as you placed his guilty pleasure of sugary goodness on his plate. “Happy birthday, Zandik! You can open your gift after.”

The scholar, for once, didn’t even have a witty response to your nonsense, only watching you dig into your slice and beam. You, the person he’d known for hardly a year, had gone out of your way to do all of this for him. All of a sudden, your strange actions this past month had made sense. At times, you would stay silent and only look at him with a smile. You took on more commissions for some extra Mora, all to afford this. It was incredibly confusing… but he felt warm. He hadn’t realized at the time, but he was feeling the effects of what love does.

But he let the memory fade away at the sound of a familiar tone.

“What has your mind straying away from me?” A teasing voice pulled him out of his reminiscing. There you were, cheekily smiling at him, looking different from your younger student self that he had just imagined, but just as beautiful.

“Nothing of importance, I assure you,” he chuckled at your accusatory look. Dottore had you sit in front of your vanity with a sizable mirror, enough to reflect your face and upper body, while only a piece of Dottore’s chest and his hands on your shoulders were visible through the glass. His hands reached down to glide along your collarbones as you playfully huffed.

“Alright then,” you hummed as you played with his fingers. Your husband had helped you get dressed and ready for the day, putting on the finishing touches. Your birthday was always an exciting affair for those in the lab, and although it wasn’t anything huge, that was the way you preferred it. 

All the segments would prepare a gift (or more) for you, and make sure to lavish you with attention. Even lonesome Zeta would make an appearance. Seeing how busy they usually were, this was always something you looked forward to. After a few years, even the regular agents had caught on to when your birthday was and offered their wishes (and added it to the Fatui’s Handbook). It was pretty cute to see them work up the courage to talk to you. Dottore wasn’t surprised you were so well-liked, but he always kept a careful eye on those individuals. Some of them would even give you presents, but your husband would always inspect them carefully first. He didn’t take chances when it came to you.

But the scholar couldn’t help but think about how different these days were compared to the ones back at the Akademiya. Now that he’s built an eternal relationship with you, he regrets admitting that he missed your birthday in the first year he knew you.

—

In his defense, having known you for less than a year, your birthday was never something that would cross his mind, considering his lack of care for it. And furthermore, on the day of, you didn’t act any differently. It was only after his first birthday that he began to think about it.

To be honest, Zandik didn’t need to care about your day. You were just an odd classmate that somehow sneaked your way into his dorm and life, squeezing through the cracks. Just because you went out of your way for him, it didn’t mean he needed to do so for you. It was your choice, something that he was still investigating, as your intentions were unclear.

However, despite those thoughts, the student found himself looking through your things for some information on your birth date anyway. It took a bit of rummaging, but eventually he found some form of identification with your birthday, only to find it had already passed. At the time, Zandik didn’t know how to feel.

But after months went by and your second birthday began to roll around, he felt the urge to do something.

Why? He wasn’t sure.

At the time, he didn’t realize that love was compelling him. It was something he was wholly unfamiliar with. And yet in the back of his mind, the researcher part of him that wanted to examine the effects of love, and the human part of him that wanted to experience it, was unaware of his developing change.

Now, a lot longer had passed, and Zandik had grown closer to you. Minutes, hours, days, weeks, months spent in your presence. He had witnessed many different sides of you, ones that felt you weren’t hiding anything from him. You were soft and sweet and annoying to him because you wanted to be. You celebrated him because you wanted to. It was a difficult conclusion to come to.

Birthdays were still nothing special to Zandik. They still hadn’t grown to be of any importance to him.

But it didn’t feel right to ignore yours. The scholar decided to chalk it up as a mere repayment for what you did for him. After all, although you may have done it of your own free will, he didn’t want to somehow end up in your debt.

And so Zandik got to work, but the problem was that the student had never planned for anything related to birthdays. He knew the basics, cake and parties and gifts and whatnot, and although he usually found applying his knowledge to reality easy, this was a different case.

The cake was easy enough, though. He had known you long enough to gather what your favorite flavor was. A part of him wished he knew how to maneuver around a kitchen as well as you did, so he could concoct a cake as delicious as the one you made for him. But he’d rather dip into his limited Mora than create a headache for both of you by causing an accident. (For something that was related to math, it still baffled both of you how terrible he was at it.)

But it was the gift that Zandik was stuck on. He doesn’t remember ever gifting anyone anything before. Putting aside the fact that he saw no use in doing so, the more important part was that he never had anyone to gift anything to, being surrounded by people yet so alone his whole life.

Therefore, he does what any scholar does once they’re stuck on something - he researches. Naturally, the House of Daena has books on everything one can dream of, even on the history of birthday customs, traditions, and gifts across Teyvat. It was perhaps a strange thing to look for even in the land of wisdom, but he ignored the odd look the library assistant gave him once he checked it out.

While the book was enlightening, it gave him more information than he desired. Zandik simply wanted to acquire a gift that was most fitting for someone like you. You had somehow managed to pinpoint many of his interests and produce something he liked, though he loathed to admit it. You had told him he was easy to read after a while of being around him, which he preferred to ignore, and opted to decide you were just very observant, like he was.

Regardless, Zandik supposed he knew what you liked, too. He had been with you for about two years by now. But translating that into a gift was difficult. Clothes and jewelry were a popular choice, but Mora was an obstacle for the average Akademiya student. Besides, he believed you’d enjoy different things more than that.

And so the genius found himself stumped by something as silly as a gift of all things, but he told himself that he’d find something eventually, since your birthday was still a while away.

—

It wasn’t until you two were browsing the market on Sumeru’s streets that Zandik finally got an idea of what to gift you.

The two of you shopping together wasn’t uncommon. For one, the older vendors tended to be kinder to him, as petty Akademiya gossip didn’t reach their ears too much, so he knew some good shops to get basic necessities from. Secondly, nowadays he had a habit of following you around like a lost kitten. You didn’t say that out loud, though.

Today was already a good day. You got what you needed and even managed to get Zandik’s favorite baklava. It was a good thing that the café gave a good discount to Akademiya students. So now, you two were making your way back to the dorm, slowly anyway, since you liked to gaze at all the cool things that were on display. One vendor in particular had caught your eye.

“Aww! They have tiny robot puppies!” You immediately recognized the sight of Fontaine’s Clockwork Meka, having been interested in machinery just like Zandik (and furthermore, they were cute), only that these were far smaller in size. You were sure that the purpose of such machines was far more important than being turned into toys, but money was what drove the world. Zandik noticed when you marveled at the design and clever use of cogs and parts for its paws and tail.

“Such parts could be put to better use than a mere toy,” your friend scoffed. Though he was similarly interested in the nation’s machinery, he preferred things that actually served a purpose. You shot him a look.

“Hey! They serve the purpose of being cute! Having a robot pet would be nice. It might not be fluffy and warm, but it’d still be fun! Ah, imagine if it could talk too! But those are way too expensive, hmph.” You sighed, dreams quickly being washed away, not noticing the thoughtful look the scholar gave you.

It was then that an idea hit him. It was almost perfect. 

Although Zandik didn’t share your feelings on such silly creations, machines were his area of expertise. If he could work with ancient Ruin Machines, making a robotic creature that could walk and hop around would hardly be a challenge. He would put those Fontainian inventions to shame by himself with ancient parts that were hardly as good as those fancy ones!

You didn’t notice that Zandik’s signature sharp teeth had momentarily come out, a sign that something was going as planned. 

—

Zandik had been acting a bit strange as of late.

Well, he was always an odd specimen in general, especially when you first got to know him, but you could tell something was up.

Mostly because he had become a bit… distant? He still talked to you a lot, but it was less than before. It was as if something was on his mind, as you’d seen him lost in thought lately. You hoped it wasn’t anything serious. Not to mention, he seemed to be working on something in secret. Maybe some more research that was banned at the Akademiya? You could only guess, but it was equally as strange since you had gained his trust, and he shared any new possible experiments with you, calling you a respectable assistant.

Your suspicions only grew when you woke to see Zandik leaving the dorm early one morning. He had nearly jumped when you let out a gasp at the thought of him leaving to research without you, so here the two of you were venturing out into Sumeru’s forest. For some reason, you had a feeling he didn’t want you following him, but he wasn’t against you coming with him. 

The place he wanted to go was a hidden pocket in the forest where the secret machine was stored, the “secret machine” being a Ruin Guard that the two of you were able to successfully work on. You had made yourself comfy on the ground, relaxing and waiting for your friend to be done with whatever he needed to do. Sometimes, he came here only to tinker and play with the machine. You couldn’t blame him - this was probably the thing he was most proud of. The noise of clinking here and there quickly comforted you as you turned to glance at him.

Admittedly, you had a bit of a crush on your fellow scholar. In the beginning, when you first heard the rumors about Zandik, it was mostly curiosity that drew you close to him. You wanted to see if he was really that terrible. Unsurprisingly, the gossip was not true. He was eccentric, yes, he treated you poorly in the beginning, yes, and he was still snarky here and there now, yes. But underneath all those layers was someone who wanted to be accepted and seen. It had taken some time, but Zandik had truly learned how to be a good friend, and you were happy to be his friend too, even if he didn’t use that label.

Lately, however, you had begun to long to be more than friends with the scholar. You realized pretty quickly after your heart started racing around him from time to time, or how much happier you were when he accepted your physical affection. But you had tucked your crush deep within your heart, knowing that Zandik was not someone who loved easily, despite being the only person he was ever this close to. You weren’t sure if he’d love you back, but you were willing to wait until the day you thought he did. There were moments he was rather tender to you, after all.

Regardless, those thoughts quickly dissipated when you noticed that Zandik was actually partly disassembling his beloved Ruin Guard and carefully putting its parts to the side. You could only stare in shock. He had worked so hard on getting it functional again, and even reverse-engineering it, only to dismantle it again.

“Zandik! What are you doing?” He almost jumped at the sound of your voice, as if he was trying to make sure you didn’t see.

“I need the parts for another project,” he said calmly, but you were still confused.

“But this is your project! The project of all projects! Your favorite project! The one that matters the most! What could be more important?”

“You’ll see,” he huffed. Although you wanted to pry for more information, the fact that he hadn’t offered any up was a sign it was a secret, considering he loved to go on about his new ideas. So you let it be.

But still, you couldn’t help but wonder what could be so important that he’d choose it over something so valuable to him.

(It was you, of course.)

—

Zandik had slowly started to get back to normal, or you thought so at least. Perhaps whatever he was working on was going well? That’s what you guessed for the most part, seeing as he was dragging you out for expeditions again. But this journey was a bit different from previous ones, because Zandik, for once, wanted to become more familiar with the plants in Sumeru. 

“Zandik, why are we studying plants? I thought you would want to do something more exciting.” For someone who usually found it boring compared to other things he could be studying, you were a bit surprised, but you helped your friend anyway.

“Examining their medicinal properties could be useful in the future,” he said simply, choosing his samples carefully.

“Medicine? What, is Sohreh rubbing off on you?” The girl from the Amurta Darshan had a tendency to ramble about her findings to you and Zandik whenever you saw each other on occasion, and surprisingly, he would listen. She also knew of your crush on the scholar and would playfully nudge you toward him while he would be oblivious.

“Someone needs to study them. I can’t keep having you bleed out on me,” his response was quick and sarcastic. You gasped, playfully offended. 

“You overexaggerate! I don’t even get hurt that much!” It was just random traps in old ruins that tended to get you! And you were protecting Zandik, so it really didn’t hurt that much! You huffed as you fell back on the grass, letting him do the work by himself, though you were touched he was, in a way, doing this to help you. Your eyes widened as you noticed something more interesting just arm’s length away - a patch of Sumeru Roses.

“We should study this instead,” you sighed, fingering the soft, purple feathers. Zandik glanced at it with a lack of interest.

“It is used for scents and cooking. It would not be helpful to me, as with most flowers,” he said indifferently, to which you pouted.

“Untrue. There’s a lot to know about these things! And they’re pretty! Maybe I’ll study these while you do your own thing,” you hummed, tempted to go and find other types of flowers in the area. You didn’t notice how Zandik’s gaze lingered on you as he sighed.

“You always are fond of things I do not understand.” You beamed at his response.

“And that’s why it’s my job to help you understand! Exchanging knowledge is always a good thing!” Your peer did not give you an answer and went back to his work, but you knew you had gotten through to him a bit.

Oh, if only you knew the hole you had thrown him into. 

The next thing he knew was that he had begun to sit in the back of Amurta classes and listen to the lectures, about Sumeru’s flowers of all things.

The scholar felt silly, becoming so well-versed about such fleeting things, especially since many of them didn’t even have medical effects. But here Zandik was anyway, making sure to gather a decent amount of flowers while on expeditions by himself. The worst one was when he had to hang off the edge of cliffs to pick at the lotuses, but he did it anyway.

His mind tried to chalk it up to the idea that he was doing this for knowledge and potential useful properties he was unaware of, instead of doing it to please you.

(But now, even the Harbinger could see he was a fool for you.).

—

Months had passed since his preparations, and all was in order.

For the robotic toy, he had settled on a bird. A small one, since you were always fond of the creatures. It was hard to work on it, seeing as you two lived together, but he worked on it nonstop while you were in classes. Blueprint after blueprint, trying to find the best design, until he finally managed to use his scant number of parts to bring it to life. It was bound to impress you, he thought.

As for the flowers… well, the dorm didn’t have space to plant anything, sadly. But he had found another solution, thanks to his in-depth research. And so he had decided to press the flowers into a notebook for you. This gift was more practical, after all, the one you were using was about to run out of pages. Thankfully, you didn’t question the pile of books stacked on top of each other in the corner. 

Furthermore, he had managed to keep it a secret from you, despite how into his business you could be. You probably had guessed something was up, but surely you’d be surprised still.

—

Luckily, your birthday managed to fall on a weekend this year, so there was no class scheduled for either of you. It also meant that you were sleeping in for as long as you felt like, which allowed the scholar to prepare what he was going to say to you. He had purchased the small cake early in the morning (leaving him nearly Mora-less, but at least he’d get to share it with you) and placed the gifts in a box. That was fine, but now he had to deal with actually speaking the words to you.

For some reason, that was proving to be more of a challenge to Zandik than everything he went through to prepare this special day for you. He was never good with words, if all the rude grumbling he gave you said anything (which he eventually regretted). Regardless, Zandik had begun to go over the script in his head.

You would wake up eventually, rub your eyes and stretch and probably lie there for a bit, before getting up and finally getting ready. You’d come out of the bathroom with a fresh change of clothes and get ready to make breakfast. You’d smile at him and ask if he was up all night again. You two would then sit at the table and eat together. Then, he would take care of the dishes, an arrangement that worked. After that, you’d stick around and poke at him for some conversation. That was all routine and normal. It was then that he should make his move. He would produce the box and push it toward you, saying that it was for you, and then you would be happy. And the cake would be devoured too.

… And as he thought, his predictions had come true. The first part, at least. You were here with him, looking content as you asked him about his reports. Your face rested on your arm as your fingers drew on the table, still a bit sleepy. Zandik admired the sight for a brief moment before quickly ignoring those thoughts. He needed to hurry up and get this over with instead of wasting the day agonizing over it. And so he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and finally breached the topic.

“I have something for you,” he started off simply. You perked up with interest and looked a bit taken aback.

“For me?” You wanted to add the word ‘today’, but you weren’t sure.

“Yes. Consider it… repayment for last year. Or repayment for everything you’ve helped me achieve, that works as well.” Zandik fought the blush creeping up his face as he placed the present box in front of you. For as long as he’s known you, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this shocked.

“Do you, like, know-?” Before you could finish, he practically shoved the box closer to you, which made you gasp.

“Of course I know. I find it more appalling you never once uttered your own birthday but focused on celebrating mine,” he said, although he immediately wished he hadn’t said it like that. He may not care much for social interactions, but he already knew he was messing things up.

“W-Well, I just- I didn’t think you’d really be interested in stuff like that…? And hey, you didn’t bother to tell me yours either! I had to investigate on my own- wait, how did you find out my birthday?” He waved your concerns off.

“It doesn’t matter now. These… affairs are not a big deal anyway. And since you have done something for me, it is only natural that I reciprocate,” your roommate quickly pushed the conversation along, as if he was struggling. You stared at him with wonder, ignoring the racing of your heart.

“… Thank you, Zandik. This makes me very happy,” you wanted to reach over and hug him, but decided against it for now. “I’m very interested as to what you got me, though.” You took off the cover of the box and were greeted by two items. The glint of metal caught your eye first, as you carefully pulled out the item. It was… a bird. A small one that fits perfectly in the palm of your hand, completely made out of parts, all cleverly put together to resemble a real animal.

“It’s so cute!” 

“Press the button on the back,” Zandik instructed, and you noticed the blended-in protrusion. You thumbed the button and suddenly, the once unmoving robot lit to life.

“It can-” you paused as the machine managed to hop down from your hand and walk around on the table, “move! How long did this take you? It must have been ages!” The bird could even peck at your fingers as you petted it. Zandik straightened up, seemingly proud of himself.

“Both you and I have accomplished far more difficult things. This was hardly a challenge for me. And it is a better pet than you could purchase anywhere,” he made sure to mention, which made you raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me… you’ve been thinking about this since I complimented that Fontainian machinery?” You couldn’t help but laugh at his dedication and attention. It was just a passing comment, but he had taken it so seriously. It was adorable. “Thank you. I’ll make sure to play with it every day.”

“You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat as he tried to fight off the oncoming blush. “You may paint or decorate it if you wish. I figured it would be best to leave that part to you.”

“That’s a great idea! Maybe I should paint it blue, like you,” you teased as he merely avoided eye contact.

It was then that you also had an inkling of where he could have gotten the materials to make something like this. It was most likely from the machines you two worked on. To think that he would use his work and research, something he valued above all, to make something silly like this for you spoke for itself, beyond what words could ever convey.

The next gift was more plain. A thick notebook, similar to the ones you already have. Knowing Zandik, it could never be that simple. Flipping to a page, your eyes widened as you noticed the very obvious addition to each of the pages. Pressed flowers were clumsily arranged and taped onto the pages, leaving space to write around them. Sumeru Roses, Nilotpala and Kalpalata Lotuses, Pardisarahs, Mourning Flowers - all flowers native to the nation.

“Since you are fond of these species, I figured you would like to see them more often. And they will last longer than if you planted them,” he explained as if this hadn’t taken him ages to do. You could only imagine it - hands unused to being delicate and gentle, painstakingly dealing with flowers of all things. You always knew he had great patience, but you were surprised he managed to apply it to something like this, just for you.

“For once, I don’t know what to say. It’s very beautiful. And you did all of it behind my back after saying you didn’t care about flowers. I’ll make sure to write our expedition notes on the prettiest pages!” 

“It is nothing special. I imagine you went through similar efforts to procure the gift you gave me. So, we are even,” Zandik continued to act indifferent as though he wasn’t blushing. You decided to take a chance and gently reach out to take his hand. He stiffened, still unaccustomed to touch, even though you hugged him from time to time.

“Silly you. You never owed me anything in the first place. Regardless, I’m very impressed, and I really love it.” ‘And you’, you wanted to add, but you couldn’t. You two were still just friends - roommates that just happened to grow closer than either of you expected to. It was also probably wrong that you felt the urge to kiss Zandik right there, but you had to hold yourself back. 

“I’m glad you like it, then.” You felt the scholar soften and relax, pleased by your words. It was then that a pleasant silence fell over the two of you, gazing at each other’s faces for a few moments before he suddenly realized you were still holding his hand. You quickly released him before things could get awkward. He immediately missed your warmth.

“Anyway!” You tried to make conversation again. “Since it’s my birthday and all, and you’ve already been so kind… maybe we can go out together? Perhaps at our little spot where the grass is the softest? I’ll even help you with your essay!” You looked at him with pleading eyes, which once made him look at you like you were insane, but now it seemed to somewhat work on him.

“Fine, since you’ve offered your labor, I won’t deny it. It would be nice to eat the cake there.”

“Cake? You got cake? Now really, how long have you been planning this?”

Your question went unanswered, but Zandik spent the rest of the day with you without complaints. 

(Love was a scary thing.)

—

From then on, birthdays had turned into a sort of competition of love - who could impress the other more?

On Zandik’s next birthday, you had gifted him a small portrait of himself that you drew, but instead of traditional colors, you used the flower petals he pressed as hues. Nilotpala and Kalpalata Lotuses for the blues in his hair, Mourning Flowers for his red eyes, and a variety of leaves and stems for the green in the uniform. The Harbinger still has it to this day, although the pigment on the flowers has long faded away. 

Then, on your next birthday, he stepped up his game and made a miniature Ruin Guard. He and his machines - as someone who was poor at giving anything conventional, this was his love language. But aside from the present Zandik gave you, you said the biggest thing he could do for you was to make anything in the kitchen that ended successfully. You would even help him! Now, he wasn’t one to be goaded easily, but he couldn’t help but want to impress you from time to time. In the end, he failed miserably, but you looked really happy despite having the dorm admin come and scold you for smoking up the room.

And then on his birthday after that one, he spent it sharing your favorite dessert by your side in a hospital. For your next birthday, he spent it watching you sleep, both of you swept away to a foreign land. And the next. And the next. And the next. In the centuries Dottore had lived, his birthday had only felt special for a few minuscule years, and that was thanks to you. He had become apathetic about it once again. But everything had changed again once you were back in his life.

A part of him was amazed at the effect you had on him, able to change the viewpoint he had set for himself for centuries. Whenever you appeared, it was like a breeze of fresh air that he desperately needed after being tucked away in his lab for too long. Only you could do that. It was only ever you. And as it once was, it was his duty to present you with a suitable birthday, only now it was far easier as a Harbinger rather than a student with paltry resources.

For one, you always insisted on getting a fairly large cake, since the segments needed to get at least a piece too. Dottore remembers the first time he celebrated your birthday after you woke up, you naturally wanted to share the occasion with the segments. The only problem was that he had gotten you a standard-size cake, meaning the segments were left with unsatisfactory slices, both in size and amount. So now, you requested a bigger cake, mostly to let the other scholars indulge in some sweets with a valid excuse.

That poorly put-together robot he made for you, although it seemed revolutionary at the time, now he could make something far better with his eyes closed. Of course, he’s already made you a plethora of fascinating inventions, but you still have the bird he made for you all those years ago. He’s long had to replace the parts with something more modern, though.

And even as a powerful Harbinger, he still pressed flowers for you. Well, it was more so Sigma who grew dozens of varieties solely for you, but he still pressed them and stacked his dozens of books on top. It was a simple task, but it made you happy, and that was his goal. That had always been his goal, just as it was right now, as he let himself be consumed by your love once more.

“You know, I hear there’s a very special birthday tradition in other nations,” you began proposing, as Dottore took your hand and helped you up.

“And that is?” He already knew from the smile on your face that it was going to be silly.

“You have to give the birthday person the number of kisses for how many years they’ve lived,” you said, looking at him expectantly. “I think we should do it.”

“Oh? Even I think you might get annoyed if I had to kiss you that much.” Your lifetime had spanned a few centuries, after all.

“Well, I’ll cut you some slack. You can do a couple each day. And I’ll keep track, you know! If you don’t reach the quota by my next birthday, you’ll have to make up for lost kisses,” you laughed, kissing his cheek as a motivation booster.

“This makes one, then,” Dottore pressed his lips to your hand, the beak of his mask nudging your skin. He then flipped your hand over to kiss your palm. “And that is two.”

“You’re making good progress,” you praised. “Now, put the next one here!” You demanded as you tapped your cheek. Zandik quickly fulfilled your request, being rewarded with your bubbling laughter.

So, what does love do?

It’s been hundreds of years since he first pondered that question. Naturally, Dottore has made a hypothesis since then and supported it with centuries' worth of experiments and experience.

What he has theorized is that if one is loved, then one shall change. The changes may be good, or they may be bad, but one will not remain who they previously were. He had certainly observed both within himself, more of the former, though.

He remembers that when he first started to change, he had the option not to. The choice to remain as he was was an option, one of the infinite possibilities he could have taken.

But he chose to let you lead him, to trust you. He chose to adapt to something so strange and foreign. He chose to see where this experiment of love takes him, to see if his perspective on love changes throughout his long years.

Zandik chose you.

Now, whether this choice would make him better or worse off, he did not know. But what he did know was that no matter the results of the experiment, he would continue to partake in it with pleasure and never regret conducting it.

“Now don’t just stand there. I’m going to take advantage of all your time now that I have you here!” You tugged his arm and began pulling out of the room. “And I’ll make sure you and Zandy have the biggest slice of cake. Oh, but you should probably hide it from Foxttore.”

But that was enough recollection. He had someone very important to tend to.

[soft-like-yuki]

The Only Constant...

Dottore x reader

Genre: fluff, comfort, secret softie dottore.

It was well past midnight in the lab, but you stayed anyway.

You sat on a cold metal counter, legs swinging gently, watching the man in front of you scribble equations with a mechanical precision that defied sleep. His face was lit by a soft blue glow from the machinery behind him—sharp features, silver-blue hair slightly tousled, brow furrowed in deep thought.

“Zandik,” you murmured.

He didn’t look up.

You sighed and held out a cup of tea. “Take a break. Please?”

He paused. That was progress.

Without a word, he took the cup—his gloves briefly brushing your fingers—and studied it like it was an unknown chemical compound. You swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Maybe a smile. Maybe exhaustion. With Dottore, it was hard to tell.

“I don’t need sleep,” he muttered, but he drank anyway.

You hopped off the counter and walked over to him, standing behind his chair, gently threading your fingers through his hair. “I know you don’t. But you’re still human. Somewhere under all the masks.”

He went still.

You knew he didn’t like being touched—didn’t trust people easily, didn’t trust himself. But he let you in. Let you stand so close. Let you see the tired man behind the terrifying Harbinger.

“You are... insufferably persistent,” he said, voice dry but soft.

“And you secretly like it.”

He didn’t answer—but you felt the way he leaned back ever so slightly into your touch.

A moment passed. Then he reached up and took your hand in his, guiding it to rest against his chest.

“Just... stay,” he murmured. “For a little while.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Always.”

A/n: hope you like it! If you have a request feel free to ask!!!

[phoenixblaze1412]

I WROTE A LONG ASK BUT I FORGOT TO SEND IT AND NOW ITS GONE 😭💔AUGHDHDH

Wtv bru💔 i was feeling a bit down lately and wanted to req amusement park date with dotto, going out and playing games with him could heal me augh

Would he like to go to the hunted house?? What would be his fav game? Would he try to win the big prize for reader in one of those pop the balloon stands

U can add other games ofc

Have a nice day/night !! And thank you for your hard work:3

Of course blue!^^

We'll refer to Dottore as Zandik here.

The summer sky was painted in fading gold and streaks of lilac as the neon lights of the amusement park flickered to life. Music and laughter floated on the breeze, mingling with the scent of buttery popcorn and caramel apples.

Beside you stood Zandik—blue hair tousled by the wind, red eyes glinting with amusement and a mischievous curiosity. Even dressed casually—black button-down slightly open at the throat, sleeves rolled down, and dark jeans—he still carried himself with that sharp, calculating confidence that made your heart race.

“Where shall we start?” he asked, tilting his head, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying that he already had plans of his own.

“Let’s just walk around first,” you suggested, wanting to take in everything.

And so you did, hand in hand, your fingers loosely tangled with his. Zandik wasn’t exactly the type to flaunt affection in public, but today was different. He didn’t seem to mind the curious glances from passersby—if anything, he seemed almost proud, his thumb occasionally brushing over your knuckles in absent affection.

You stopped at the ring toss first.

“I wager I can get more rings on than you,” Zandik teased, brows arching, eyes glinting playfully.

“You’re on,” you shot back.

He stepped up, rolling his sleeves up his forearm. With uncharacteristic concentration, he tossed the first ring—and missed.

“Hmm,” he hummed, as though calculating the velocity and angle like a living physics engine. The next toss landed perfectly, and then another. You did your best, managing to get a few, but Zandik ended up with just one more than you.

“Victory,” he purred, low and amused, before letting you choose the prize. You picked a small plush—something silly, a pink octopus that you thought would make him laugh.

He accepted it, staring at it as though trying to understand why anyone would want it. Then, surprisingly, he handed it back to you.

“It suits you better,” he murmured.

-----

Zandik wasn’t exactly a sweet toothed person but when you bought cotton candy, he couldn’t resist stealing a piece, claiming to be “conducting quality control.” You caught the faintest smile tugging at his lips when the sugar melted on his tongue.

Then you dragged him to the carousel. You picked a horse without thinking; Zandik ended up on the horse beside you. It looked hilariously too whimsical for him, yet he played along, resting his forearm on the horse’s neck and giving you an almost bashful glance as the ride began to move.

You laughed softly, and he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered.

“You look adorable,” you teased.

“Blasphemy,” he deadpanned and looked away but his ears turned pink from your words.

-----

When you reached the haunted house, Zandik seemed utterly unimpressed by the cheap exterior.

“This should be entertaining,” he said dryly, as if walking into an experiment rather than an attraction.

Inside, darkness swallowed you both. Cobwebs, sudden shrieks, mannequins painted as zombies—it was all cheesy, but effective in the moment.

You flinched at a sudden loud sound, instinctively grabbing his arm. Zandik immediately shifted, pulling you closer until you were tucked to his side, his arm wrapping protectively around your shoulders.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, voice softer than usual. His heart beat against your side, betraying the calm expression he wore.

Another scare—a ghoul jumping from behind a corner—and you felt Zandik’s muscles tense just slightly, his instincts immediately made him punch the ghoul away. He scowled as the prop fell to the floor as though personally offended it dared frighten you and him.

“You dare,” he muttered under his breath, and you stifled a laugh.

By the end, you were both laughing—your heart pounding from the adrenaline and from being pressed so close to him the whole time.

-----

You dragged him to a shooting gallery next.

Predictably, Zandik was a natural. His aim was almost scarily precise. After knocking down enough metal ducks to earn a big plush toy of a crow, he handed it to you without ceremony.

“It’s inefficient to carry so many prizes,” he complained, but the softness in his eyes betrayed him.

You tried a claw machine together and, surprisingly, Zandik took it very seriously, muttering to himself about angles and weight distribution. The machine still cheated, dropping the prize last second.

“A worthless contraption,” he grumbled, glaring at it as though plotting vengeance.

Then you rode the Ferris wheel, the city lights unfolding beneath you. Halfway up, Zandik turned to look at you, crimson eyes reflecting the glow of the carnival.

“You look… happy,” he murmured, voice unusually gentle.

“I am,” you admitted, heart hammering.

“Good,” he said simply, but the corners of his lips lifted into the rare, genuine smile that made your chest tighten.

-----

After playing whack-a-mole (which you won, surprisingly—Zandik blamed “an inferior mallet”), and winning too many tiny prizes, you both ended the night with ice cream.

You leaned against the railing overlooking the park, the soft night breeze carrying distant laughter and the scent of fried food.

Zandik stood beside you, looking at the view, then back at you. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned closer until your shoulders brushed.

“I enjoyed tonight,” he confessed, almost begrudgingly.

“Me too,” you replied softly.

He was quiet for a moment, then he added, “I wouldn’t object to… doing this again. With you.”

Your heart skipped. “It’s a date, then,” you teased, smiling up at him.

Zandik chuckled, low and genuine, and before you could react, he leaned down to press a soft, almost shy kiss to your lips.

“Indeed,” he whispered.

[sharathos]

head empty, just-

rd in their pov?

[sirenasmodeus]

sex concept

dottore x fem!reader

synopsis: You are a lab assistant to the second Harbinger, who had unwittingly consumed an almost astounding amount of aphrodisiac. You had went to check on him at the request of Delta, a segment of his, who claimed he was sick.

a/n: Look, I love this guy. Yeah, he's kinda fucked up and yeah he did all that, what of it? I know I should be writing my other series but alas, here we are.

word count: 1.4k

content warning: reader has female anatomy, smut, dub-con, sex pollen (idk if that counts), unprotected p in v sex, fingering, allusion to reader being a god (or at least having god-like power), reader is fond of the Segments, takes place 200 years after the Mikage Furnace incident or 200 years before current time.

This wasn't something you had planned for; growing close to the Segments especially the younger ones— unmarked by the cruelty of this world, still filled with a joyous inquisitiveness. You weren't meant to be baking several batches of a variety of desserts just because. You weren't meant to adore the little ones, guide the adolescents or be a dependable figure for the older Segments.

You were a lab assistant, that's all.

You shouldn’t be lingering in his parlour, debating whether or not to knock on his bedroom door. But when Delta had informed you that Dottore had taken ill, you grew concerned. In the past two hundred years that you've known him, not once has he been so ill that he wouldn't even be in his lab.

With a fortifying breath you reached a hand out to knock on the dark wood door of his bedroom, waiting a moment for a response. As the seconds ticked by, you wondered if he was asleep before waving waving off the thought, Dottore was never a heavy sleeper. "My Lord," you call out tentatively only to receive no reply.

A sigh leaves you as you turn to leave, it was best you return to the laboratory— he would want you to continue to work, expected it of you if you were being honest because you have yet to miss a day of work, eager to prove your worth after returning to Kannazuka after escaping to the Dark Sea so many years ago wanting nothing more than to be far away from the savagery of war.

You were almost to the door in his parlour when his bedroom door slammed open, the brass knob hitting the wall with surprising force. You whip around, startled by the noise, only to see him leaned against his doorframe half bent over and out of breath. As you remain frozen in shock, Dottore hobbles over to you and with each step he takes closer to you, you begin to notice the beads of sweat along his brow, taking in his disheveled shirt and unbuttoned trousers.

His knees gives out, he reaches frantically for the back of the sofa to catch himself but in a blink of an eye you are by his side, an arm wrapped his waist holding him up. "Let's get you back to bed," you say, brows furrowed in concern.

Dottore, in a renewed stroke of madness, buries his head in the crook of your neck inhaling deeply the heady scent that seemed to seep out of you with no regard for his state. The cloying sweetness uncut with the woody scent of Adhigama, reminding him with a terrible ache of his birthplace— his home.

A shiver runs down your spine as his breath tickles you just as a bolt of electricity lights up every nerve-ending as he drawls out your name, an edge to it that intrigued you for a brief second. "Don't worry, Doctor," you attempt to ease him. "You'll be right as rain in no time."

A smiled pulled at your lips, amused at the situation you found yourself in; here you were helping an ill Harbinger to bed while he called your name in a way you could scarcely recognize as if you were not once powerful enough to gain the recognition of Gods far above you in every way, but you supposed all's well that ends well, nevermind the loneliness that you had become well acquainted with in your years of isolation with nothing else to do but cultivate the power that had been ripped from you.

You had laid him back down onto his bed, much to his displeasure. Just as you had began pulling up his blankets to properly put him to bed, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist in a vice. You glanced from him to your wrist and back to him, curious as to what he wanted. "Is there-" your question was cut off as he pulled you into bed.

In a surprising show of speed, he had rolled you over so that you laid quite comfortably on your back as he hovered barely a couple inches off you, finding his way back to the the crook of your neck. He hummed, a gravely sound of relief as his hand ghosted over the curve of your body. "Forgive me," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

You had no time to question what exactly he was asking forgiveness for because just as soon as the words left him so did his tongue, darting out to lick a small tentative line along the juncture of your neck and shoulder. A gasp escaped you at the sensation, a shock to your body. "What are you doing?" Your asked softly.

Dottore did not even attempt to answer your question, continuing his ministrations with a fervour that bordered on desperation; the hardness pressing against your hip provided ample enough evidence. Your hand darts out, clutching at his arm in a poor bid to ground yourself lest you lose your composure.

Soft, mewling groans left the Doctor as he ground into you with a steady rhythm as you tried in vain to speak sense into him. He cared little about anything other than your scent and finding some way to get to the warmth between your legs. He reaches down, pulling up the skirt of your dress, his fingers brushing the edge of your rather plain underwear. "Doctor, we shouldn't be doing this," you reasoned, pushing him away with little effect.

"Please," he begged. "I'll be quick. I promise."

And with that he swiftly removed your underwear, his long fingers burying themselves in your wet heat without any fanfare. The ragged exhale brushed against your collarbone as his hips rutted against your hip. Your lips parted with the full intention to berate him for his unbecoming behaviour but just as the words were to leave you they were superseded by a gasping moan as his deft fingers brushed against the wonderfully fleshy spot inside you.

Rational thought steadily slipped away from you as he continued driving his fingers in and out of you; your hips moving in time with his fingers, lifting off his rather large bed, seeking the almost full feeling that his two fingers provided. Just as you neared your climax, he cruelly pulled his fingers away.

Sitting on his haunches he quickly undid his trousers, pushing them off and tossing them aside. His cock wasn't particularly immense in length, and that was all well and good to you because the thickness of it more than made up for it. His tip rosy and leaking, pumping himself once then twice before lining himself up at your entrance as a sweet, delicate scent caught your attention; it was a smell you were certain you knew but much to your frustration you could not place it as Dottore drove himself into you.

The stretch was wonderful if not just a little much especially when you were given no warning and not a moment to adjust as he fucked you with a singular focus, not caring for neither technique nor your pleasure. You could only liken his behaviour to that of an animal in heat.

How odd it was to you that the almost misanthropic doctor who, as far as you knew, put little stock in such baser activities— romance and sex were useless to him and his pursuit of knowledge and the elevation of humans.

His mindless pursuit of pleasure was the antithesis to his norm, and with another sharp thrust into you, you realised you quite liked this version of him. Always so uptight and proper, it delighted you to bear witness to Dottore's unravelling. You reached up, tangling your fingers in his hair as he sucked and nibbled at the neck no doubt leaving a constellation of bruises.

As his thrusts grew uneven, realisation struck you like a bolt of lightning— he smelled distinctly of Nilotpala Lotuses. As gasp left you, Dottore groaned as he came inside you. "Dottore," you began softly, continuing after he hummed in acknowledgement. "Did you consume Nilotpala lotuses."

"I did," he replied breathless as he thrust shallow and slowly.

You sighed deeply. "How much and how long ago?"

"Three buds last night," he said quietly, still buried deep in you.

"Stars above," you groaned. "What were you thinking?"

The next couple of hours, much to your dismay, would be spent in bed with a man who certainly should've known better to consume so much of those lotuses in such a short time. Your work and baking would need to wait until the flower made its way out of his system.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ POV: When you want to smooch the doctor but…

(edit: congratulations to pookie for appearing in the Nod-Krai teaser of the 5.7 Livestream. So proud of our babygirl)

[constellationguy]

Lies the Genshin Men say

*little explicit here and there*

Explicit sections: Childe, Dottore-ish, Kaeya, Baizhu

The Harbingers

Pierro: He says he prefers to see you in his colors, mainly blues and black. Truthfully he adores you in red. He can’t keep his hands off you when you wear red. He also buys you anything that’s red, dresses, shoes, lipstick, flowers, all because the color reminds him of you. For events he prefers you to wear jewelry with darling bright sapphires but your jewelry case is filled with too many rubies to count.

Il Capitano: He says he prefers his hair straight and unrestrained. The truth is he will fall asleep if you play with or style his long back hair. Capitano feels the most loved when you are braiding his hair or giving him a scalp massage. When he misses you he braids his hair but he starts at the nape of his neck because his big fingers can’t braid from the top of his head like you do.

Pantalone: He claims he doesn’t care what perfume you wear. This statement is partly true. During galas and social functions he tells you to wear sents that are known to be pricey but not oppressive, expensive and understated he says. However at home he loves your natural sent, with out shame he will set you on his lap and tuck his face into your neck and take a deep breath, it seems like a sigh but he really is smelling you.

Childe: He tells you he loves everything about you equally, but it’s clear that he adores your boobs the most. Ajax loves to hug you from behind and squeeze or caress your chest while hugging you and will whine and beg to let him if you deny him. He loves to burry his head in your chest after a long day. When you don’t wear a bra you can persuade him to do pretty much anything.

Scaramouche: He tells you that he doesn’t care if you learn Japanese or not. In reality his knees will buckle if you call him “anata”, after you two got married. When you speak with him in Japanese he is so much more animated and emotional. His heart swells with pride when you two speak Japanese in domestic settings. Sing to him in Japanese and he will cry and or fall asleep.

Dottore: He claims to be dominant, which he is, most of the time. He will boss anyone around and make them conform to his will, but he will burn the world for you if you wanted. You tell him to jump and he will ask how high. He will also be extra pliant if you tug on his hair a bit.

Mondstadt

Albedo: He tells you he doesn’t mind not having a “domestic” relationship. In truth he loves seeing you play with Klee. He loves when you cook for him. He loves coming home to you, if he could freeze time to stay in those homey moments he would.

Diluc: He tells everyone that he doesn’t play any instraments. However at home he will play the sweetest melodies for you on the piano. His playing is for your ears only. The only other people he will play for is your future children.

Kaeya: He promises you that he will never hurt you. However, he will bite, scratch, and suck on your skin all day every day if you let him. He adores leaving possessive marks on you as well as giving you painful pleasure, the best kind of pleasure in his book.

Venti: He claims to be chill and not possessive at all. But he will stare and scowl at people being flirty with you. He will place his hands possessively on your waist when anyone gets too close to you. He would keep you locked up at home if he could, he just could never share you with anyone.

Liyue

Baizhu: Baizhu claims to dislike your bossiness, but in fact in almost any scenario it kinda turns him on. He loves when you use him for your own pleasure. He loves when you tell him what to do to make you happy or to get you off.

Xiao: He tells you that he doesn’t want anymore people in his life. However, he truly wants a few kids of his own running about, helping him make breakfast for you every morning. The thing he wants most is a family with you.

Zhongli: Not exactly a lie but Zhongli doesn’t like you eating non home cooked food. Any food that isn’t made by someone he trusts, he won’t let you eat. However whenever you’re feeling down or kind of out of it he will order food and bring it home to make you smile.

Inazuma

Goro: He tells everyone who asks that he hates his ears and tail touched, everyone is too rough with them. On the other hand, you’re so gentile with him, when you play with his hair that he can’t help but enjoy when you gently pet his ears.

Kazuha: He will tell you that the world is inspiration. He tells you his poems stem from the sights he sees and emotions he feels as he travels. But in truth Kazuha has not written one poem without you on his mind, you have been his muse and inspiration since you met.

Ayato: He says he doesn’t mind what you wear. But he can’t help but feel happy when you wear the expensive silk sets he bought you. Silk just fits you for some reason. To him silk complements your soft skin perfectly, the smooth reflective fabric just radiants and amplifies your beauty.

Heizo: Whenever he is tired he will go on and on about how he “isn’t sleepy” or how he’s “just gonna rest his eyes.” This man is stubborn when it comes to going to bed. He just wants to spend more time with you. You might have to make him tea and scratch his back while he lays on you to get him to fall asleep without a fuss.

Thoma: He claims to be neither here or there on who cooks meals. In actuality in his brain he cries and begs for your cooking. It could be any cuisine and he will be happy. He just loves your cooking and your adoration especially after a long day of taking care of others.

Itto: Itto tells anyone and everyone that he’s married to you. He just loves you so much and fantasizes about your wedding to much sometimes he forgets you’re not actually married yet.

Sumeru

Alhaitham: He tells you that you can sleep by yourself. In reality you and him both know you can’t sleep without each other. If you’re angry with him and you sleep on the couch you two will end up making up in the night when he comes to pick you up and take you back to your shared bed.

Cyno: He claims to not get jealous often but truthfully he craves your attention and gets jealous when he doesn’t get it. He knows how his friends don’t favor his humor so he gets a little insecure when you laugh at their jokes sometimes. Just know he will be clingy behind closed doors to make up for being jealous of his own friends.

Kaveh: Everyday he tells you that he won’t overwork himself, he will take breaks today. He doesn’t, no matter how determined he is he will not take a break until you make him. On days when he’s stuck in his head you have to visit him while he’s at work or at home so he can come back down to earth here and there.

Tighnari: He will complain anyone who will listen about how he hates going into Sumeru city for one thing or another. However he will be giddy when he goes onto Sumeru City to visit you. While he doesn’t like the city, it isn’t so bad when you’re with him.

Fontaine

Lyney: He claims to love all the ways you touch him. However he does have a favorite, he loves when you scratch and massage his back. When you work through his back with your skilled hands he is a happy groaning mess. After a massage he will be like a napping pile of jello. Cuddles with a now loose muscled Lyney are so heart warming.

Neuvillette: He hates the taste of coffee, that’s a plain fact. However, he can’t help but enjoy the taste of coffee if it’s from your lips. The quick good morning kiss you give him as you sip on your coffee makes his head dizzy instead of disgusted like he normally is at the taste of coffee.

Wriothesley: He claims he doesn’t mind you going out alone or without him. Truthfully you are never actually without his surveillance. He has a tracker on your phone and he sends one of his coworkers to make sure you are always safe.

[indigoinsheets]

[quimichi]

↳ ❝ [THINGS THEY SAY DURING 'IT'] ¡! ❞ @ - Part 1.

TW: MDNI - NSFW, sexual themes obviously lol

SUMMARY: Title :)

CHARACTERS: Aether Albedo Al-Haitham Ayato Baizhu Capitano Childe Cyno Dainsleif Diluc Dottore Freminet & Gorou x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.044

A/N: idk just a random new idea, watch me get more and more unserious with every character you pass

Aether

❝Agh-...shit...❞ - he holds back his sounds as he moans and curses into his hand

❝ Mh-no, like that, yeah...move like that...good❞ - he bites his lip as his lust drowned eyes stare up at you, holding your thighs tight for stability

❝Slower?...okay❞ - speeds up with a slight laugh, stopping seconds later to slow down again

Albedo

❝This spot? Yeah?...knew it...❞ - it's rare for you to see him smug, but that smirk he will give you when he finds out his guess was right is something else

❝Hold still for me...yes?❞ - he pushes your thighs apart, settling down comfortably between them as he dives in

❝Some interesting sounds you make...❞ - and he will carve them into his mind. When you're away he will remember them, will miss them, miss you and everything about you

Al-Haitham

❝Keep quite...❞ - there's no harshness in his words, just slight desperation as he breaths those words in your ear as he fucks you on the couch in his shared house with Kaveh, while he is asleep in his room

❝Tell me what you want...come on, you can do it. Speak up.❞ - sometimes the way he talks to you is infuriating, like he's talking to a stupid child. It not only embarrasses you when he speaks so teasingly, it makes you angry, frustrated, and maybe a bit turned on

❝If you can't watch your hands i won't watch my teeth.❞ - you tugged on his precious hair, so he can't help but tease you even more as he eats you out

Ayato

❝Mmm...yeah...❞ - he's rather quite, Ayato hums more, right in your ear with such a disgusting smirk because he knows any sound he does will drive you wild

❝Don't overestimate yourself, hm?❞ - he always says the same as you sink down on him. He knows exactly that his tip just puts too much pressure on your cervix. He might tease you, but he doesn't want to hurt you

❝I got you...don't worry, i got you...❞ - while you come down from your high...did he came himself? No, but it's okay. You're his number 1 priority

Baizhu

❝So...warm...❞ - no matter how many times you two have sex, your warmth will always overwhelm him

❝Shh...you don't know who might come in.❞ - he doesn't take many risks but god he can't hold himself back when you help him out in Bubu Pharmacy

❝I'll take care of it...don't worry.❞ - look, he's a doctor, a people pleaser and helper, ofc he only takes care of you and not of himself

Capitano

❝Take it slow, theres no rush.❞ - says the big guy with the prettiest cock and he doesn't even know it

❝Do you need a break? No?...heh...alright then...❞ - proceeds to rearrange your guts

❝What did i tell you?❞ - he means please, tell him please, ask nicely with manners like he taught you

Childe

❝Naww, someones needy huh? It went riiight in, with no problem.❞ - I bet you can practically hear and see the smug look on this abominations face

❝Look baby i don't wanna hurt you, yeah? You need to tell me when i go too hard.❞ - just a little nice check in for him. He wants to make sure you know you are always free to tell him off, he doesn't want to force himself on and in you

❝Good? Hah-ah-...yeah...thought so...❞ - sometimes the smugness will flatter, especially once he's close...you don't know who enjoys it more, him or you

Cyno

❝You hear that?...Thats you...❞ - he pumps his fingers in and out of you, slow and fast, changing pace. But no matter how fast or slow, he absolutely loves when you're as wet as you can get

❝Are you certain that you really want th-! Ouch why'd you slap me-❞ - he always asks the same, over and over again, it's nice that he keeps asking for your consent but at this point it annoys you like...bro you already been between my legs for like 30mins I had enough time thinking about it

❝Where?...ah-quick tell me-❞ - whenever he doesn't wear a condom and realistically...I don't think condoms exist in genshin lol

Dainsleif

❝So desperate...it's almost cute.❞ - he knows it's basically a long distance relationship considering he's almost never there. That's what makes it even "better" for him when you two see each other. He can't help but tease

❝Calm down, we're not in a rush.❞ - basically the first, same vibe, call me lazy lol

❝Still...gh-taking it so well...❞ - uhhh yeah we have a theme here

Diluc

❝You look cold...i could warm you up...❞ - sometimes him being smooth works, sometimes not, and sometimes he just sounds like a cheaper version of himself (Batman)...or sometimes he does what Kaeya says-

❝Where's the 'please'?❞ - he's so well mannered it's scary, so he expects the same for you too. Say please and thank you

❝Maybe if you would've behaved like I told you to, we wouldn't be here right now.❞ - he says it so calm as he fucks you against the cold stone wall behind Angels share in the middle of the night where any drunken idiot could see...or the patrols...that are very much sober (hopefully???)

Dottore

❝Hm? This? Oh, thats just for documentation.❞ - he records your voice...he literally studies your reactions and change in voice.

❝I won't tell you again, hold still.❞ - he isn't scared of tying you up at all so either hold still or be held still

❝...hm...you're too quite...❞ - he literally wants the Tsaritsa to hear like???

Freminet

❝Ngh-h-hey-calm down or else-!❞ - WE LOBE SUB BOYS, I WANNA HEAR YOU SCREAM, WE LOVE SUB BOYS

❝This is...new...yeah...❞ - he's a explorer but he also wants to be explored sksksksksk

❝So-warm-!❞ - uhm...self explanatory. When he enters you it's warm lol

Gorou

❝Wdym I'm in heat AGAIN?!❞ - he can't help but not be horny like?? Have you seen yourself??

❝Agh-...i tried to br gentle but you just-❞ - no self control, smh

❝Right there? See...told you i won't forget.❞ - he's eating you out, and still remembers your most sensitive spots like it's craved in his mind...because it is

[angelfishe]

"𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍"

>> Genshin man x reader

<< characters : diluc, kaeya, ayato, alhaitham, zhongli, neuvillete, wriotsheley, childe, capitano, dottore, pantalone >>

Warnings : MDNI, contain sexual content

⚠️MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE ⚠️

DILUC, very flustered unable to form a sentence after the climax, exhausted to the point you have to serve the customer instead. he's unable to form a sentence, sweat is around his body, his clothes are a mess as well him breathing heavily as if he just went thru a marathon, some Patreon would ask what's wrong with him, and you just replied in his place saying his just tired.

KAEYA, smirking with his clothes disheveled as well as his hair as if someone has been pulling on it, jean asked him what's wrong and he said he just had the best lunch of his life with a satisfied smile and in his office paper are scattered and crinkle as if someone has been sitting on his desk. Jean doesn't question it but the knights that were guarding his office stand with a flustered look as if witnessing and hearing somethings.

AYATO, appears as in his normal self, not a single disheveled or messy hair always appears with a smile and a satisfied look, very dignified the stress on his face disappear after you went into the office bringing him tea and snacks when his working his documents, him leaving the office with a very disheveled you going inside the bedroom, and sometimes during a meeting or a party you and him would leave and go for a "walk".

ALHAITHAM, with a straight face focus on his book as if he didn't spend the last few hours ago having fun with you, the only difference is pink blush that is on his ear, plus in this state he's very emotional in this state, smirking a few times when you were limping next to him, him supporting your entire body. And would order your favorite drink after it. Kaveh would stay with cyno or tighnari if the noise gets too loud.

ZHONGLI, very demure, very mindful. Pink blush appears on his face as well giving you a smile and the eyes full of love. He very much appears as his proper self but more loving. His coat on your shoulder and you guys holding each other's hands together swinging around. His clothes are still in their proper state but his hair is not very messy as if he just let it lose. During his rut you and him would leave going to a mountain to enjoy each other's company.

NEUVILLETE, pretty much blushing the entire time he knows this is an improper way as a judge of Fontaine but he can't hold it in, during trials he looks disheveled and breathing heavily as if he's fantasizing over something, he would send you some looks during trial as if he wants to continue on what's going between you. Once a month he would take a week off of work and the reason for it is by far still a mystery.

WRIOSTHELEY, smirking and winking at you, his shirt button has gone down a few levels revealing his abs with sweat sticking on it, his pants are by far crinkle as if it is on the floor for so long, would whisper on your ear leaving you very much flustered and covering your face with your hands, I'm pretty much sure the entire fortress of meriopede knows you guys business together in his office.

CHILDE, pretty much his happy go looking self with you, smirking, whispering in your ear and sending you the look. Pretty disheveled as if he just won a big battle. Would be very cocky and bragging around, his division would leave his office alone in his request for alone time with you. As well some important documents would have some stains of its weird substance on it.

CAPITANO, appears as if nothing happens to everyone in the fatui in his normal self but very much in a good mood the entire time, his coat is with you sleeping in his tent exhausted after what happened. He will continue on his duties as if normal and nothing happens but plus words of appreciation towards his underlings.

DOTTORE, giggling and smirking the entire time like a school girl, his hair is pulled back by his sweat. Would give you words of admiration and affection towards you and praising you for your accomplishments and would be a little nicer than his usual Impatient self. In this state his much nicer with his experiments and his much older segments are pretty much jealous and wanting to spend time with you.

PANTALONE, sips wine in his very much expensive bath robe while your laying on his bed exhausted, going thru paper works after finishing the equivalent of the meme "he's just nutting inside of me and now he's doing paperwork" would spoil you rotten after it, would go shopping with you and buy you many luxurious gifts, dresses and some expensive lingerie plus new accessories for the next time you guys have a meeting.

[toudan]

Can You Tell Me Who I Am?

You wonder if zealots ever find themselves in the same position as you: lost in a paradox without a clear path. When you look at him, you see salvation, but in that salvation, you also see ruin. The Doctor gives, and the Doctor takes away. You picture yourself kneeling before his feet and feel nothing, yet you can’t see yourself following anyone else but him. Then what are you supposed to be?

PAIRING.⠀Il Dottore x Reader

CONTENT.⠀gender-neutral reader | yandere Dottore, non-consensual body modification, cyborgs, emotional manipulation, religious conflict, dissociation, mutual pining, unhealthy relationships, references to drugging | ~10k words

A/N.⠀reuploading a year later because this fic is my favourite child and i need to find more dottore likers so i sound less insane talking about getting my insides replaced mayuri-style

available on AO3 | reblogs and comments are appreciated!

The people of Sumeru do not dream.

The Akasha terminals harvest it all from them to create a singular massive brain for the collective to take knowledge from. That was what the Doctor told you on your journey from Snezhnaya to the land of wisdom. As expected of him, he figures everything out without batting an eye. He never makes mistakes and he is never wrong, so what he told you can’t possibly be a lie.

A walk through the Akademiya confirms his initial findings as well. The people of Sumeru do not dream. They live in ambition and convenient, unlimited knowledge, far more valuable than a mere dream can be. It’s not your first time meeting such personalities. The longer you work with the Doctor, the more people you meet, including some of the Harbingers he doesn’t seem too particularly fond of. He seems to have a fondness for relying on your ability to judge a person. From their strengths to their weaknesses, he has you remember all of them should they decide to turn against him later.

Even if you don’t understand why he wants your insight (human emotions aren’t your area of expertise—very far from it, in fact), you have no reason not to trust him. It will become useful in the future, he said. You can do that for me, can’t you?

You can, and you will.

They say that dreaming is when the human mind becomes the most vivid. It’s where Sumeru’s knowledge all stems from: a collective mind of sorts, bountiful sciences for the academic mind to pursue. The Doctor was particularly interested in this system, so he’d taken the Akasha terminal you were given to study more closely. It wasn’t a request.

It also wasn’t something you were going to decline. It wouldn’t have made a difference regardless. With or without the terminal, just like the people of Sumeru, you do not dream. Your day ends with a period of nothingness before the new one begins and gives you a mission to complete, as per routine.

Still, you believe it is quite inconsistent with typical human behaviours you’ve observed. Every person has a dream, don’t they? Some dream of travelling the world and getting to adventure much like the golden-haired traveller and their flying companion. Some dream of a happy life for their families, and some dream of exacting revenge on certain people.

But you don’t. You don’t have a dream, though you suppose if you were ever asked about it, you’d say that it’s to serve the Doctor. It’s what you’re made for. You kill anyone he tells you to kill. You guard him from the shadows, ready to slit the throat of whoever dares lie to him. You follow every order and every whim because it is your duty—your ‘happiness,’ you think—to do so.

You always have, and you always will.

Your gaze flits over to the Doctor who stands before the giant automaton, the Shouki no Kami, that looms over him. Thanks to his insistence, the project has been progressing just as he’d like. You remember his crazed words when the idea came to him, his words an epiphany and almost choir-like among the dullness of machinery. Warmth rises to your cheeks as you watch him engrossed in his work, lost in his own world. It’s a sight that’s familiar to you, a constant in each day you spend with him.

How strange, you think. This must be the sensitivity implant he’d put in you. Not too long ago, he had expressed his interest in your responses to foreign stimuli. You weren’t made aware of when he would put it into motion, so this is entirely new. Is this what people refer to as fondness? To feel nothing but a semblance of joy when you watch someone close to you?

You try not to dwell on it and return to the task at hand. The Doctor had stationed you by the entrance to the workshop, close enough to reach when needed and not too close to disturb him. Ready to be at his beck and call, just where he likes you.

It’s quiet in the workshop save for the dull whirring of the cogs and wheels overhead. It almost fascinates you how such dreariness can exist in a lush and vibrant place like Sumeru City. The workshop, despite its hollow grandness, doesn’t seem like an optimal place to be productive. You find that it’s not that different from his laboratory back at Zapolyarny Palace. There, the windows show you nothing but snow and frost. Here, all you see is metal on every corner, drab and colourless unlike the city and its lush outskirts.

You suppose the Doctor is simply not like other people. He doesn’t need to feel the sunlight to have a change of mood. He doesn’t share their composition, either; this much you know thanks to the nights where he’d lay himself bare for your recalibration. It’s one of many secrets you keep for him.

Something hits the floor with a loud clang, making you snap out of your reverie. Right, you have a job to do. He hates it when people zone out. His patience has been running thin to begin with thanks to the ‘tedious and menial’ conversations he’s had to have with other researchers. Aggravating him further is nowhere near the decision you must choose to make.

While you always do as he says without question, doing nothing proves to be possibly the most arduous task you’ve done. You don’t feel anxious or afraid—you can hardly feel anything at all, but you’re lost, so to speak. It’s out of routine and order to only be on standby.

“—Why don’t you escort the grand sage to safety?” His voice breaks the silence and echoes in the chamber, bringing you back to the present. “I unfortunately have my hands full and can’t see to it myself. Could you do that for me?”

There’s a lighthearted tone to his words. He must be excited to finally make use of the puppet he’s been working so hard on. In just a matter of a few seconds, the long-awaited plan is going to come to fruition and as always, you will be there to witness it.

“Of course, Doctor.”

(Anything.)

“Come back to me when you’re done. I’d like you to stay close in case any… complications occur.”

When you return, a couple of mechanics are tinkering away at the automaton. Finishing touches, you assume. You’re not entirely sure what the process entails. The Doctor hasn’t told you much about this project. All you’ve had so far is bits and pieces of information, namely how this is meant to be all for who the Doctor and his fellow Harbingers refer to as Scaramouche.

They’re a total anomaly, nonexistent in your memory, never seen and never known. You wonder if there’s a reason why you’ve never come face-to-face with it. He tends to tell you whatever’s on his mind, not seeking for you to be a conversationalist, but as an echo chamber. Maybe it’s his segments that know of this Scaramouche character.

While it’s not unusual for the Doctor to keep certain things from you, it raises questions that will go unanswered. Trust has always been an unspoken agreement between you and him. As his servant and his guard, his creation, there is nothing you won’t do for him. You’ll figure out a way to cut down every Archon alive if he so wishes it. But does he not share the same sentiment? Are you, ultimately, just another one of his disposables? Does he not trust you after all this time?

(After all the steps he’d taken to keep your lips sealed and you completely, utterly his?)

“I’ve called for the subject,” he says with a chuckle. “He’ll be arriving any moment now—”

“Let’s just get this over with,” comes a new voice you don’t recognise.

“Heh. You’re right on time.”

When you turn, you see a young man dressed in Inazuman clothes and a large hat adorned with gold and red threads. His face is twisted into a scowl that contradicts the softness of his features. His brows are furrowed as he glares at the Doctor in visible disdain. Nevertheless, he reminds you of ice and porcelain statues in Snezhnaya, carved for everlasting beauty and grandeur.

It is now that you realise that he is here—the new god himself in the flesh.

The missing puzzle piece, the sign of a new beginning. If that is who he’s meant to be, you believe that he will be fully revered without fail. If this is the one to worship at the altar, sacred offerings and prayers would be made day and night, pleading for their god’s wisdom.

With your constitution, your priorities do not lie in faith, but elsewhere: in recalibration and maintenance, in servitude and protection. There is much you don’t understand about religion, but is he not the very image of a being worthy of worship? An inexplicably beautiful, powerful being who holds the honour of succeeding their Greater Lord Rukkhadevata? A replacement for the Lesser Lord Kusanali, who is deemed beyond lesser in researchers’ eyes?

Scaramouche is cold and callous, but is that not how gods should be? Domineering, easily able to strike fear into their subjects? The fact holds as he stops beside you and gives you an irritated glance. Already is he regarding you, a stranger, with so much disdain, or something more malicious. You’re suddenly overly aware of your talons—sleek, black metallic, lethal—and the alarms ringing in your head. Accordingly, you deem him a threat to be kept under surveillance.

“This is your new pet project?” Scaramouche scoffs. “You’re declining, Dottore.”

As if he can feel you ready to act, the Doctor dissuades you by blocking you with his arm. A wordless warning. Despite finding it an unwise decision, you let your hands hang limply by your sides and return to your normal posture.

He’s right. He always is. Only he gets to decide who the enemy is. This Scaramouche is not an enemy, but evolution itself; something that transcends science and the mortal realm. You cannot ruin something he worked so hard for.

“I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“Perhaps you should wait for me to give you a command,” he says dryly. Though he appears to be smiling, you know better than to trust that his ire has fully dissipated. Clasping his hand on your shoulder, he nods at the other Harbinger. “This is my assistant, but let’s save the pleasantries for later, shall we? Go on, now.”

Steam rises from the surface as the metal plates of the automaton’s mask slide open. Although the automaton is only at half of its height, it encompasses nearly half of the room and casts a shadow in its wake. Scaramouche climbs into the cockpit with grace and agility, evidently familiar with the standard procedures.

You watch as the mask closes, sealing the sixth Harbinger inside. The Doctor patiently makes his way to the automaton with the Electro Gnosis held between his fingers. You hear chatter from the crowd behind you and murmurs that echo throughout the workshop, all in anticipation of what will take place soon. Not long after, he inserts the Gnosis in its rightful compartment and steps back.

Soon enough, Shouki no Kami comes to life. Electricity bursts in hues of amethyst and violet and sparks run across its surface. The insignia at its centre glows far brighter than anything you’d ever seen. You feel its strength with your eyes alone, as do your fellow witnesses. You realise now that you behold the birth of an almighty being, one ready to take fate into his own hands and overthrow the false god.

(You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.)

—

Dottore doesn’t play favourites, but if he were asked to pick a favourite thing about you, he would say without a doubt that it is your unquestioning compliance.

He’s fully aware that it’s how he encouraged you to be, but he’d be a fool if he didn’t acknowledge it. Trust is not earned so easily, even if years pass and one hasn’t wronged the other yet. Despite having sworn loyalty to the Tsaritsa and by extension Pierro, there isn’t a single member of the Fatui he’d trust with his projects.

But you, the one he made, the one he changed; you stand above them all.

It’s an entertaining sight indeed to see you fall and get back up time and time again with a new life, a new memory and the same ever-present constant: him. No matter what he puts you through, on the operating table or on dangerous missions, you trust him with your being. Your faith and loyalty are in his hands, binding you to him for as long as he’ll need you. Perhaps, in some way, you see him as more than your master. Feelings are fickle things and unimportant to him. Inquisitiveness and uncovering the world’s secrets are all he needs, but you—

You are a different variable.

You put your fragile life in his hands and let him keep you in his possession. You guard him like a loyal hound to the leader of its pack. Even if he can simply use his segments or remake you, it’s quite hard to imagine a life without you behind him. You’ve become a long-withstanding presence he can continue to study and rely on under the guise of diagnostics. No longer are you the meek little thing shyly watching him from the sidelines. No longer are you his benefactor who naïvely believed his lies about medical research and evolution. You’re an entirely new person, but one fact remains true all the same.

You are his, before and after ‘death.’

With you constantly dutifully close by, it hadn’t taken long for some of his fellow Harbingers to take an interest in you. It infuriates him to remember the wicked smile on Pantalone’s lips as he mentioned how much he was willing to spend on you. It’s worse to remember how Childe would tell you anecdotes of his travels in an attempt to convince you to join him. The memory never fails to make him huff in irritation every time it comes up.

How absolutely imbecilic. Is it not clear enough that you cannot be taken from him?

Dottore wasn’t always one to make rash decisions. He’s meticulous and calculated, sharp and precise. But to hear those idiots imply their desire for you made his blood boil for reasons unclear to him. There was no other way he could have dealt with the inexplicable rage surging in his veins or the warmth that bloomed in his chest. As long as you need him to live, and as long as your heart is locked behind a code only he knows, no one can take you away from him.

Since then, he’d given you another strict order. It was admittedly a selfish and conceivably unreasonable one that he made clear. You are not to interact with any of the Harbingers unless he is also present. It seems to have worked well for the most part. They don’t ask about you as much as they used to, as much as they are dying to know of your whereabouts.

It’s satisfactory enough. He can’t have you falling into less-than-capable hands. After tearing you down and putting you back together, there is zero chance he’s letting it all slip away. You know it fully well, too, that there is no other place for you to go except with him.

Unlike the average person, you lack innate desires and greed. With or without an incentive, you’d never leave him in favour of something or someone else. What reason would there be for you to do such a thing?

None.

You have never failed him. You can’t fail him, regardless of if the probability of success is slightly above zero. If you somehow deviate from your chosen path and escape him, finding you won’t be difficult. He has the agents to subdue you if necessary and the concoction to keep you pliant. While he’d prefer not to have a single blemish on you, it may be just the right choice with the right intention.

But there won’t come a day when he’d have to make that decision. You won’t fail him. As long as he has you in his grasp, you will never leave him. As long as he stays the subject of your fealty and the cause of your existence, you will never leave him. The reassurance alone is enough to ground him once again, his anger dissipating out of his mind like smoke in the wind.

Bringing you along to Sumeru was just another part of his routine. As far as he knows, you’ve never stepped foot outside Snezhnaya both in your past and present. He could practically see the cogs and wheels in your mind turning as you observed the horizon for reconnaissance. He wasn’t very keen on letting you become too curious, but for once, he’ll consider allowing it. It was fascinating, he thought, to see you try to mask your awe with apathy.

For the first time in years, you were human, and just a naïve little thing eager for adventure.

Dottore isn’t quite one for the arts. He can appreciate beauty where it’s done, even if the words of an artist matter very little to him. It’s too abstract, he finds. There is freedom in knowledge, but there is also discipline—something that artists lack in his eyes. Yet he wonders if the poets were right to liken their subject to a warm summer day. If seeing the glimmer in your eyes and your parted lips is how his mind interprets art to be.

(Are those worshippers right, in the end, when they swear ‘til death do us part’ to their lovers?)

He saw that wondrous expression again in the Joururi Workshop.

There was a lot to behold in those chambers: Shouki no Kami lighting up to life, the purple lightning streaks running across the surface. In the midst of it, all he could focus on was not the result of his success, but you. The face of an awed spectator, the face he’d see in the devout. He didn’t think too long about it, however. A sudden wave of annoyance crashed over him and so he took his eyes off you and back to his creation. He didn’t care how long you were in that flabbergasted state. He didn’t care for trivial things, he thought, albeit more bitterly than he’d anticipated.

There are a lot of things he could (and has) stripped you of. Your innate curiosity is not one of them. It’s not as if he could’ve stopped the questions in your mind from rising. He didn’t tell you much about the collaboration with the Akademiya. It wasn’t necessarily his intention to leave you in the dark about it, but when he thinks of your reverie again, he decides it was for the best.

Scaramouche is considerably more… sentient than you are, and Dottore is a careful man. The way you stared at that puppet was telling enough. The fewer interactions you have with him, the better. You picking up his opinions and attitude certainly isn’t ideal. Of course, he has a plan in case something like that were to happen, though he’d prefer not to use it.

He’s grown fond of the current you, after all.

Though a natural sceptic of fate and divine intervention, today the heavens have taken the victory. They mock him and laugh in his face, at his expense, as his beloved pet project grows fascinated with something else before his very eyes. As much as he hated to think of it, it was inevitable that you’d meet Scaramouche one day. Despite the other Harbinger having acknowledged you once (just to insult you, he thought indignantly), the more pressing matter at hand isn’t Scaramouche.

It is you.

He figures he’ll have to get you under control soon, if not now. Yet at the same time, the scholar in him questions. What would you think of the new ‘god’ from what you already know of devotion? What would you pray for at the altar in the throes of desperation?

Would you still look at him with the same loyalty and—dare he say it—love if your ‘heart’ lies in someone else’s hands?

He’s never been one to let his emotions take the reins. He leads himself with rationality and logic. Reason is a bigger priority than sentiment, he finds. And yet, he fully resents the implication of you finding someone else to belong to other than him. It is irrational to think of it. Keeping you in his clutches comes as easy as breathing does. With your body inside and out under his control, it leaves little to no reason for you to need somebody else.

As fun as it is to nudge you back in the right direction, he isn’t always as cruel as he seems. You’ve always been an inquisitive thing, which is why he has you record all of his musings and disorganised thoughts. You care about his work and you guard his laboratory in his absence like the perfect guard dog. Letting you wander about is relatively harmless, but he’d prefer to be able to keep his eyes on you.

The snowy mountains and frosted ground of Snezhnaya are all you know. In Sumeru, there is fauna and flora that you’ve never seen. Scaramouche is one of them. With him being a deviation from what little you truly know, it definitely wouldn’t take very long for you to develop some sort of fascination for him.

Were it someone he knew who wasn’t at all a threat, Dottore would’ve let it slide. He doesn’t find Scaramouche a threat per se, but the situation raises concerns regardless. As apathetic as you are to most occurrences, you won’t stay that way for long. What he saw on the journey to Sumeru is proof enough. After so many years, you could feel once more the wind in your hair as you breathed in the scent of the ocean. You could feel the sun’s rays warming your skin in ways Snezhnayan skies never have.

Contrary to what he’d initially told you, he never ‘took away’ your sensitivity or implanted a new one. All it took was small doses of anaesthesia and a new command—subdue anyone who lets their touch linger on you for too long. It worked for a while, but he decided to slowly lessen and eventually stop those doses. That was for your benefit as well. A new research question, one could say. How would someone unfeeling handle new sensations all at once? How touch-starved would you become?

Would you seek him out just like you used to?

Unfamiliar sensations inadvertently affect your mind, and you’ll learn once again what you crave more or desire less. He remembers the night you fully became his, all in mind, body and soul. How pliant you were and how you never ran away even when things became too much. How the most featherlight of touches would have you caving in, melting in his hold. He knows you like the back of his hand. He made sure that he would be the sole one who gets to be this close.

Yet for reasons he just can’t fathom, his plans of keeping you all to himself had gone awry.

Months have passed since the incident, and he finds himself equally infuriated thinking about how flustered you were when Childe dared to touch you. It was a minuscule gesture, not one you were unfamiliar with—a hand on the small of your back gently urging you in the direction you were supposed to go. For some reason unknown to him, it managed to fluster you somehow. Your eyes widened and you stumbled over your words, much to the younger Harbinger’s delight.

Incredibly irksome was what it was.

Dottore never denies that he is a selfish man. He won’t deny that he missed seeing your expressions from torture to bliss, either. Your reactivity was what he liked most about you. Here, he contemplates whether to put you under that treatment again. He doesn’t want to do it so soon, not when he wants to see it all coming back to you. Robotic and unfeeling is what people expect you to be, but what he misses is the vividness of your emotions—your fear, anger, sorrow, and joy.

“Isn’t it fascinating to discover something new? To feel something new?”

Yes, this is for your benefit and his. You’ll get to learn what it’s like to be a being of science, someone who dares to challenge the divine with pure knowledge. You’ll get to feel what you have lost, and he’ll get to watch as it changes you for the worse or the better. It doesn’t matter what the outcome is; you are ultimately his to own, his to toy with. This is just like any other experiment. It should be.

Regardless, it is hard to keep the annoyance at bay. It’s unclear how Scaramouche is going to interact with you. Between your endless patience (sometimes he wishes you’d just snap and show him what he’d missed these past years) and Scaramouche’s lack thereof, there is no clear vision of what will happen. It wouldn’t make sense to send you back to Snezhnaya so hastily, either. As far as he’s concerned, your presence is imperative, and who knows what’ll happen if he isn’t there to watch over you?

“Troublesome little pet,” he mutters. You’ve distracted him from his work again.

—

Pardis Dhyai tends to be a lively place. Scholars walk past each other at the plaza, some sit together on the grass and chat about what is on their minds. Crowds are hardly foreign to the Doctor, but he prefers to have his privacy. The more you visit here, the more you begin to think that you are the same way.

Today, however, the crowd is nowhere to be seen.

The indoor gardens are barren with only you as its visitor. No conversations can be heard in the background. Birds chirp a cheery tune beyond the forest and the running water flows in the fountain endlessly. You barely make a sound as you continue your exploration, observing the flowers you’ve never seen back in Snezhnaya. Hills of ice and snow hardly make a suitable environment for these florae, so it comes as no surprise that botany here surpasses home. It’s pleasing to the eyes, far more colourful than the glow of blue lights and drab walls you typically see.

The Doctor is busy in a meeting back at the Akademiya with the Grand Sage and a couple of other scholars. With the reasoning that it wasn’t something that required your attention, he’d given you permission to wander about as long as you returned before the meeting ended. It wasn’t an unreasonable request. Some of his matters are confidential, even to you who tend to be a witness to most. It doesn’t happen often, and when it does, you don’t find it an abnormality.

Still, much like that day in the workshop, doing nothing proves to be a most difficult task.

Despite the idyllic scenery that surrounds you, you feel hollow. Quite the oddity—you’ve always presumed that this is what romantics seek and what artists hope to immortalise on their canvases. Yet with the unfamiliar things spread throughout the room, nothing particularly strikes your fascination. Flowers are delicate little things and your fingers are razor sharp—you can’t touch them if you wanted to. A part of you is curious about what soft touches to the skin would feel like, touches that aren’t inspection or painful.

You stop yourself before you can reach out for one of the roses. You’d prefer not to end a life without reason. You solely harm and kill those who try to harm the Doctor in one way or another. Sometimes you’d bring them to him yourself and give him a new subject to test on. It depends on what he asks of you.

The bells above the door chime. You rise on alert, razors extending from your fingertips and ready to strike. As you whip your head around, you find that it’s not an assassin, but a subject you had met days prior.

Scaramouche stares at you with an unimpressed look that borders on disgust. “What trash heap did he pick you out of?”

“He did not pick me out of a trash heap,” you reply, suddenly irrationally irked. “I don’t have memories of when we met. All I know is that he saved my life.”

“And you believe him?” His brows knit together in visible annoyance. “The second of the Harbingers, spending his valuable resources on you? Don’t make me laugh.”

“I have no reason to doubt the Doctor.”

He scoffs. “You’re hopeless.”

After deciding that he doesn’t harbour any intention of hurting you, for now, your claws retract on their own. Not a word is spoken as you keep your gaze trained on him. He walks around the garden, seemingly deep in thought and regards you no more than a handful of times. He’s much different up close than he was back in the giant machine. Without the armour, he reminds you of the Doctor’s other segments; built flawlessly with a life to him that you can’t fathom yet.

“Dottore. Is he your god?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re kissing the ground he walks on. Is that how he trained you?”

It’s not something you’ve questioned a lot in your years of servitude. A master is a master and you are his pawn. What is there to be curious about?

“It’s the least I can do for him,” you answer after a pause. “Forgive my rudeness. I don’t see how this is any of your concern.”

His hostility raises your caution and you watch warily as he approaches you. You don’t break eye contact either, blankly staring at him until he speaks up again.

“Don’t you think?”

“I still fail to see why you’re asking me such trivialities.”

Though Scaramouche likely meant the question rhetorically, your curiosity is piqued nonetheless. You are capable of thought. You are capable of judgement, and you can see how someone is feeling just by observing them. What else could you possibly ‘think’ of?

You’ve always followed orders without hesitation. The Doctor’s time is valuable; if there’s anything you wish to know, you learn of it when you’re off duty. It isn’t a regular occurrence. He has you by his side at all times and gets irritable when you wander off. You aim to please him. You aim to be the best weapon in his arsenal, so you’ll follow him for as long as he’ll let you.

(Is that what ████ would have wanted?)

“Hey,” Scaramouche snaps. “I’m talking to you.”

You return the unimpressed look. “I was contemplating your question.”

“So?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you an answer.”

“Figures.” He rolls his eyes, dropping the issue. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be his favourite pet?”

Pretending the jabs were never said, you decide that he’s at least harmless enough for you to be honest. “I’ve been dismissed for the time being.”

It’s hard to predict what he’s thinking. The expression on his features is unreadable and leaves a strange sensation trickling down the length of your spine. Heaviness tugs at where your heart should be. You remember now—this is what you felt when the Doctor expressed his disappointment in you. Scaramouche glowers at you for reasons unknown, arms crossed over his chest much like the petulant children you see on some journeys.

“Is there a problem?”

“A problem?” He huffs a sardonic laugh. “It’s right in front of me.”

This is irregular. You’ve been trained to handle every situation possible, but for the first time in a while, you’re at a standstill. Thousands of possibilities can come from this encounter. Violence is a part of them, but considering Scaramouche’s status, it is the very last on the list.

“I don’t understand you,” he says, exasperated. “You have your own life ahead of you, but you choose to serve someone who doesn’t bat an eye at you. And you can’t tell me why you do it.”

“It’s my purpose.”

“Is it really?” He gives you a once-over head to toe then clicks his tongue, deciding that he’d gotten what he wanted out of you. “Whatever. Don’t tell him you saw me.”

Scaramouche’s words shouldn’t matter. He doesn’t know you inside and out like the Doctor does. He hasn’t repaired you with his own hands. But his questioning continues to leave you unsettled, mind wandering in directions it hasn’t been before.

You’ve never thought much about life without the Doctor. Your soul already lies within him, found itself a home within his ribcage. Your subservience is voluntary. Even if the Doctor wasn’t your saviour, you would still see him as one. Even if you didn’t owe him your submission, you would still give it to him.

He is your saving grace, your maker, your one true companion. He’s all you have. For as long as he’ll allow it, you belong to him. You are his weapon. You are his subject. You are his toy. You are his, just as you’ve always been.

Scaramouche must be doing this to get under your skin, and you are but a fool who’s allowed it to happen. You keep your glare trained on him as he eventually fades into the distance, leaving you with more thoughts than ever.

Several hours pass before you’re back in the Akademiya. The hallways are crowded, much to your dismay, but you dutifully wait at the end for your Doctor to arrive. You’re unnoticed for the most part. Frantic mutterings and crazed discussions become white noise as you lean against the wall. Your eyelids flutter shut and a quiet sigh leaves your nose while restlessness slowly brews within your chest.

“Ah, there you are. Tired?”

You straighten up. “Doctor! I… I’m sorry.”

“Poor thing.” He smiles wryly. “Seems I’ve overworked you.”

“No, I’m alright, I was…”

“I jest,” he chuckles. “Well? Shall we go?”

The walk back to the laboratory is quiet. Your sharp glare scares off curious passers-by and scholars looking for small talk with the Doctor. Meetings with the sages always leave him in a sour mood; it’s for their benefit as much as it is for him, you think.

The lights turn on one by one and machines whir to life, filling the room with low buzzing sounds. You shift your weight from one foot to another, brows furrowing in thought. Your mind tells you to talk to him about Scaramouche, but is it the right time? It’s difficult to gauge his current mood. All you know is that the unease is similar to the last time he’d been in a meeting with the other Harbingers.

“I can hear you fidgeting,” he snaps. “Spit it out.”

As suspected, nothing ever gets past him. You heave out a sigh and regain your composure, not wanting to worsen his disposition. While he’s never had an explicit rule that forbade you from interacting with the other experiments, you wonder if your interaction with Scaramouche would be considered overstepping. The uncertainty of the consequences dawns on you, sending you into a state of inquietude.

“I met Scaramouche again today,” you admit, relenting. If this is forbidden, the Doctor may have mercy on you for the first offence you were unaware of.

Attempting to gauge his mood doesn’t yield much of a result, but there’s something in the air that borders on impatience and anger. His posture, however, is relaxed as he assesses the situation on his own. The atmosphere feels tense—as tense as those pesky Harbinger meetings he’s always complained about. You can’t read him like you can the others. He never lets any vulnerability show, not the smallest tell or twitch.

“I assume he had some things to say.”

You hesitate. “He asked if I had a god.”

The noises from whatever he’s tinkering with abruptly stop.

“And what did you tell him?”

“I couldn’t give him an answer.”

He exhales through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with the heavy breath. “I see. Don’t indulge him next time… I’d prefer it if you stayed close to me or in the laboratory.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“One last thing, my dearest hound. You don’t need a god.” He peers over his shoulder, glancing through you from the corner of his eye. “You need me.”

—

Is he your god?

The question echoes in your head for days. It demands an answer each time the mysterious Balladeer crosses your mind. The books you read in your leisure hold no answer for you, either. Theories upon theories and centuries’ worth of history could not prepare you for the inquiry. As much information as you’ve gained, not a sliver of it helps you. If anything, more questions are raised—those of the mind and soul.

You’re well cognisant of the fact that you’re no longer human by definition, with some of your organs being synthetic. Your arms are not flesh but obsidian and the rarest metals, sharper than blades crafted by the best smiths. Cybernetics have been implanted into your eyes and your ears, enhancing your abilities as a living weapon.

But are you truly living? You follow the Doctor and sing his praises, but do you do it because you want to, or because he trained you to?

Is he your god?

The breathtaking view of the Shouki no Kami flashes before your eyes again. Everything spoken and written by the Doctor about the upcoming project echoes in your mind. Then, the image changes to those with the Doctor—him in your view as you lay pliant on the operating table, him inspecting your hands with a relaxed expression. You hear voices of the past. Voices that belong to him as they say how you were on the brink of death when he’d graciously saved you. You don’t remember anything before your ‘reawakening,’ so you trust him—they must be true.

You think again of the grandeur that resonated as Shouki no Kami stood tall in the chambers of the workshop. The violet sparks and the overwhelming awe you felt upon seeing it. He who wields the Electro Gnosis shall become stronger than anyone, strong enough to replace the previous god, and you may very well understand what the choir sings of.

If this is what Scaramouche can become—the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom himself—he falls under the definition of a god. At the same time, so does your Doctor. His infinite knowledge, his ability to create life, and his outstanding achievements that put him on a pedestal higher than everyone else all make him perfect.

Archons and the Adepti have hymns and ceremonies dedicated to their sanctity. Statues built in their likeness stand tall throughout the lands of Teyvat. Art and literature are made of them and their legendary exploits. You believe Scaramouche will have poems and symphonies in his honour one day, but is the Doctor not worthy of the same? Is the man who bestowed upon you a new life, a new identity, not as great as the divines, if not better?

You stare ahead at the blueprints pinned on the corkboard. Scrawled notes and rough sketches of current and upcoming projects are scattered throughout the surface. If all goes well, he will allow you to witness their creation at his hands and his segments’. Anything he does is always a sight to behold.

You don’t need a god. You need me.

Your loyalty doesn’t lie with the Tsaritsa. It lies with the Doctor himself. Archons don’t have any meaning to you, and thus, they do not have your trust. The one altar you will offer yourself to is not any of theirs; it’s the table where the Doctor fixes you. You need me, he had said. He is right and he never lies—gods are nothing, but he is everything. You believe him wholeheartedly.

“Zoning out? Great job, you just got him killed.”

In a flash, your claws dig into the skin of Scaramouche’s throat as you move to pin him against your chest. He scoffs sarcastically but makes no move to wrangle free, going so far as to lay his head against your shoulder with a smirk.

“That’s better.”

“How did you get in here?” Your voice is stern, levelled. If this was any other person, their throat would already be slit without a second thought, but Scaramouche is important. An essential piece to the puzzle that will be the domination of Sumeru, living evidence that not only Archons can wield a Gnosis. Your jaw clenches. “The Doctor won’t be pleased about this. You need to leave.”

“There it is. The Doctor this, the Doctor that,” he sighs, “I can’t understand you at all.”

“You need to leave,” you repeat. “Or I will cut you down where you stand.”

“You won’t.” Scaramouche chuckles. “You can’t.”

Your hands are trembling and a burning sensation crawls up your neck, engulfing you in the flames of rage. You can feel it—the lightning and the storms, all brewing within the confines of your chest. Irritated, you loosen your grip and shove him away, making it a point to keep your blades unsheathed and pointed at his throat.

“Hm. Are you always this rude?”

“I almost believe you want me to hurt you,” you hiss.

He grins impishly. “Really?”

“Talk.”

“Fine,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. “Tell me, hound, have you ever experienced betrayal?”

Your brows furrow. “I don’t see how this is important.”

He shrugs. The gesture, albeit minuscule, makes visions of violence run through your mind, visions of bloodshed and mercilessness. Your hand does not waver from where it points at his jugular. Unfazed, he continues, “Don’t you think he’ll betray you one day?”

“I trust him,” you cut in. “Without question.”

With a bored expression, one akin to an impatient teacher, he softly swats your hand away from him. You don’t push back, though you stand guarded—using force remains an option.

“Dottore doesn’t need you. He already has his segments,” he drawls, pretending to check the dirt under his nails. ��You’re only there as a toy.”

As irritated as you feel, something in the back of your mind tells you to listen to him.

It’s not that you’re unaware that you are a test subject. Because of your enhanced durability and patience, he often seeks you out for his experiments. You’ve had plenty of substances and chemicals injected into your bloodstream. You’ve been pushed to your limits until he deems it satisfactory. You bear all the pain he inflicts on you and you melt under his touch when he repairs you himself.

Your existence revolves around him. Your body does not belong to you—it belongs to him, and he shall do whatever he pleases with it. This is the life you’ve accepted. This is your pride. This is your ‘dream.’

But it doesn’t explain the weight upon your shoulders. The anxiety lodged in your throat, the numbness spreading across your skin, the chill trickling down your spine. The sense that there is something wrong, very wrong, but nothing points to anything. All the paths ahead of you lead to him. Where are the ones without him?

No matter. You don’t exist to think.

“I’m doing my role,” you say with finality.

It’s a response you have said many times, whether to attempted assassins or lesser agents, yet somehow, the words don’t feel like they’re yours. They’re automated, rehearsed. You shake it off. Routines aren’t out of the ordinary. Following a pattern is merely a part of what you do.

He scoffs. “Fool. You just don’t get it.”

You feel like you should. You feel that there is more weight to his words than he’s letting on, but you simply can’t see this from a new perspective. What you’re doing—how you live now—is enough, and the fulfilment that comes after the Doctor’s praise is something you always aim for.

They can call you whatever they want. His pet, his guard dog, his toy, none of it matters. The only person you listen to is the Doctor. Without him, you are nothing. Without him, you have no purpose.

Then what will you do without him? When he inevitably decides that you are no longer needed, that a replacement would suffice? Every image that comes after is out of your control. The Doctor isn’t afraid of discarding things he deems useless. Would he dismantle you, hide you away until he needs you again? Would he throw you into the same pile as all of his broken segments? Would he decide to dispose of you entirely, shutting down all of your systems and turning your world into a void?

An invisible knot lodges within your throat and your mouth goes dry, uncomfortably so. Sweat beads at the crown of your head and the tremors in your hands are becoming harder to hide. The room spins and renders your vision distorted. You purse your lips, doing your best to keep the instabilities in check. You cannot show weakness. Anyone can turn against you in the blink of an eye.

“Is that all?” you speak up after a beat of silence. The shakiness in your words is more audible than you anticipated. “I will ask you one more time. Leave.”

Scaramouche watches you with an unreadable expression before he thankfully does as demanded without further argument. Your chest feels tight as you glare daggers at the door, keeping your ears trained to hear if the footsteps are going quiet as they should be. The razors on your fingertips retract. It is over.

Shaking your head, you return to the task at hand, unaware of the blinking light in the corner of the room monitoring your every move.

—

The laboratory becomes less of a frequent sight as you are given more tasks to do.

No longer are you needed to wait on the Doctor hand and foot outside the conference room. No longer are you needed to guard him in the workshop. Your time is spent lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportune time to strike. He has you stay so close yet so far away, demanding your presence one moment then dismissing you the next.

The aberration in routine is too drastic to ignore. You’ve begun to analyse him the same way you do with your kill targets, mentally cataloguing his every action in an attempt to discover a common factor. You broke down everything he said, trying to find any hidden meanings behind them, to see if he speaks to you in riddles. Just like the attempt to search for who you were, you found nothing.

Naturally, you concluded that he is hiding something from you. He’s more adamant about being left alone while he works on a little project. His segments are the ones carrying out the tasks you are usually assigned to. When you’re not on reconnaissance, you’re left with the chores. It’s not entirely unusual for him to command you without further explanation. The tasks are simple enough, but the sudden shift brings forth unwanted anxieties.

You wonder if this is a gateway to something worse. The dismissals and growing lack of conversation remind you of someone no longer interested in what they used to love. With the Doctor’s eccentricities to begin with, nothing aids the formation of a relevant hypothesis or predicts a pattern. Some nights you’d find yourself trying to pick out past mistakes, any errors you might’ve missed, only to be met with nothing. You’d feel strangely heated—upset—being reminded of the possibility that he has simply tired of you.

You’ve always given your all in what he asks of you. If he needs someone killed, you do it clean, untraceable and unsuspecting. If he needs you to retrieve something, you make it seem like what you’ve stolen has never left. You lay yourself on the operating table when he demands it, let him inject toxin upon toxin into your vessels. You’ve been the perfect puppet for as long as you can remember, but is it not enough for him? Does he want more from you?

Maybe it’s his current collaboration with the sages of the Akademiya that is making him neglect you. Shouki no Kami is no small feat and the Doctor is meticulous. He could be devoting more of his time to perfecting the project. A burst of jealousy clouds your mind at the thought. Surely a project he’s had for centuries will be more interesting and resourceful than what you can offer him.

And yet, his demeanour every time you come across him contradicts everything you’ve suspected. He hasn’t been behaving particularly strangely. His mood is still quick to change and his temperance with the other scholars is as turbulent as ever. He still wordlessly watches you complete his orders, fingers drumming against his arm as he’s deep in contemplation. There shouldn’t be room for suspicions, but there is, and the lingering unease has started to hinder your progress.

You come to realise that perhaps this is what he’s called you here for.

The room is eerily quiet as the Doctor leers at you from where he leans against the workbench. You’re kneeling before him, eyes cast on the ground while you wait for him to speak. You don’t remember the last time you failed him, much less trigger a change in his temper. Your mind races with possible punishments he could inflict on you. Would he isolate you from the rest of the world? Would he shut you down for days on end, waking you when he decides you’ve learnt your lesson?

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You don’t have to see it to know his features are marred with ire, his lips pressed in a taut frown. The impatient tapping of his foot seems to accelerate your train of thought, sending tremors to your frame. His glare burns into you and suddenly you feel all too exposed, vulnerable, and it is here that you realise that you are afraid.

But the scolding you were preparing yourself for never happens.

Instead, you feel a cold and heavy object wrapping around your neck and locking with an audible click. With a gloved hand, he takes hold of your chin with a disturbingly gentle touch, tilting your head up to meet his. You feel his breaths quickening against your cheeks, excitement bubbling in his blood at the confused expression on your face.

“Just as I suspected,” he whispers, voice tinged in manic delight. “It suits you. But…”

Searing heat rushes around your neck and tears spring forth as you look up at him wide-eyed, lips parted in shock. Words die at the tip of your tongue, dissolving into nothing. Still, you don’t move or ask. You aren’t supposed to. Much like an obedient child, you sit and wait, even as you feel as though you’re going to collapse. The burn on your neck gradually wanes with time, the pain fading away but leaving behind a red trail in its wake.

He crouches down beside you and grazes his fingertips over the fresh wound, causing you to involuntarily wince. His glee is more than evident with how he holds your face in his hands and inspects you with pride.

“Why…”

“Why?” The mirth on his features immediately twists into a scowl. “Are you questioning me, pet?”

Your reply is instant and without a second thought, your mind unable to register the underlying threat in his question. “Is… Is that what I am, Doctor?”

“You are whatever I want you to be. Does that not suffice?” He presses against the wound, visibly overjoyed by the choked noise you let out. “Have you forgotten your place, pet?”

“No!” you gasp, tears streaming down your cheeks in rivulets. You don’t remember the last time you cried—you thought you couldn’t—but they flow on their own, uncontrollable and never-ending. “I’m sorry!”

It hurts. You feel as though you’re being torn apart by the neck, skin burnt and blistered at the Doctor’s will. Is this what he had wanted? Is this the foreign stimulus he needed to see your reaction to? Your pain tolerance was high and allowed you to withstand any trial he put you through. Did he take that away just to see you squirm? Just so he could hurt you himself?

For someone so unfamiliar with feelings now, everything comes back to you in full force. While you knew that the Doctor never saw anyone as his equal, the degrading act hits you harder than anything could ever do. You were proud of your duty of serving him, of being the subject he always looked for, but you are now lost in a void.

“I asked for one simple thing.” Whatever joy he previously had is all gone. The gentleness in his touch becomes harsh, fingers pressing against the collar again to rub your wound. “And my dearest little hound ignores it.”

“It hurts, Doctor, please—”

“Have I not been clear enough?” he continues, ignoring your cries. “Must I spell it out myself?”

The pedestal you put him on crumbles into pieces, surrounded by a cloud of dust and smoke. The holy light is replaced with unbounded darkness and the marble flooring is splattered with blood and broken parts. In the destruction, you see your lifeless body lying among the faceless, and all he does is watch as you wither away with his old selves.

“You treat this as a punishment,” he says with disappointment, breaking you out of the dreamscape you’d found yourself in. “But I implore you to consider it a gift.”

Not waiting for your reply, he continues. “A reminder of sorts. For you and for anyone who looks at you. It was quite the hassle deciding between this or reworking you entirely.” He shoves you away and gets back on his feet, slowly pacing around the room as he speaks. “I’d have to start over from zero again.”

You don’t understand. You don’t know what reworking entails, and you don’t know what he means by starting over. All you can do is stare blankly at the tear-stained ground as your body becomes static and shuts out everything around you. Only he and you exist in this void. Only he is in control.

“I made you myself. Gave you a body when you had nothing.” He stops in his tracks, hands behind his back. “And you repay me with disloyalty.”

It’s been days since you last spoke to Scaramouche. You haven’t seen him since, and here the Doctor is, punishing you for something that was out of your control. A part of you screams at you to fight back, to tell him that he was the one who sought after you, but all you can do is tremble where you stand. You want to apologise, despite your instincts telling you not to. That the Doctor is lying to you, just as he likely did before.

“Please,” is all that leaves you in a broken whisper. Defiance brings nothing. You’ve learnt it the hard way, you know you have, even if you can’t remember what it was. Briefly, you question if he’s ever taken control of your memories, forming a faux story for you to remember. The dreadfulness is enough to answer the question.

He sighs, disinterested. “As thrilling as this is, you are wasting my time. I have duties to attend to.”

“Doctor…”

“Stay here and wait for my return. Do not leave our quarters. Am I clear?”

You feel as though you’ve been through this before. Visions come to mind, but none of the vignettes play; only a sense of familiarity and hurt remain. There is something about his effortless cruelty that hovers just out of your reach and keeps you in a perpetual state of insecurity. Are you not enough? Haven’t you done enough?

Hasn’t he had enough?

Numbly, you nod, your voice wavering as you finally manage to speak, “Yes, Doctor.”

—

As time passes, you come to realise that your punishment was only an interlude for something worse.

The Traveller’s arrival in Sumeru and the failure of the Sabzeruz festival had thrown a wrench into the Doctor’s plans. More disagreements between him and the sages occurred, none of which you knew of, but his mood grew more sour with each passing moment. You haven’t seen Scaramouche since he’d broken into the laboratory that night, and there’s a nagging thought telling you that you won’t see him again, either.

He’d been defeated at the hands of the Traveller with the aid of the Dendro Archon and disappeared, presumably under their custody. Years worth of work had fallen apart in a blink of an eye. The Grand Sage and his underlings were swift to surrender to the Mahamatra himself, forcing the operation to a halt. The people of Sumeru were freed from the influence of the corrupted Akasha terminals, and ‘the good’ began to rebuild what they had lost.

Meanwhile, the ones who had been on the verge of victory were left with the scraps.

The Doctor had returned from his negotiation with the Dendro Archon with more irritation than when he’d left. As per agreement with her, he’d destroyed his remaining segments stationed throughout Sumeru. In return, she gave him her Gnosis. Though it seemed like a fair deal, it did nothing to lift his spirits. He didn’t believe in wasted effort—how could he, when it’s in everything he does?—but there was not a moment of hesitation when he decided to abandon the project entirely.

It was a clear enough sign: he saw it as an utter failure.

A part of you is curious (or worried?) about what will become of Scaramouche now that he’s no longer needed. The Doctor either completely abandons his projects or destroys them. With Scaramouche missing, will he be hunted or presumed dead? Will you come across him again one day? He’d left behind only a husk of what he could’ve been, a being at heights you don’t know he can reach again.

And now, all that is left to do is to salvage what you can from the disaster.

What used to be filled with sounds of whirring cogs and wheels is now completely silent as the machines are no longer in motion. The metallic walls haven’t changed in their dreariness and the lights flicker on and off overhead. The centrepiece lies in ruins, smothered by dust and rubble as the last of its vibrancy begins to dull completely. You can see broken concrete and shards of glass everywhere, a visible mark of what had woefully transpired in the last twenty-four hours.

It’s a stark difference from the first time you’d been here. The chambers are devoid of people and it’s daunting, more so with what remains of Shouki no Kami. The god has died before it can bless its people, leaving behind remnants of its power and godless land. What was meant to be a hall of worship had become a battlefield, a site of devastation and loss. Your gaze drifts back to the Doctor standing before the disaster.

If you had a heart, it would ache for him and weep.

You know he’d chide you for the sympathy you have for him. He’d make you remember that your ‘emotions’ are his, that he’s the sole person who gets to break you and build you back together. Still, you can’t help but feel sorrowful on his behalf. He’ll get back up and come up with a better plan; he’ll never crawl or bow in the face of an obstacle. He will move forward and you will continue to trail behind him, just like the loyal dog he wants you to be.

You’re reminded of the question Scaramouche had posed to you before—the question of whether the Doctor is your god. As it stands, you find that you still don’t have an answer for him. You don’t know what a god is supposed to be. You don’t know how close you can be to a god. You don’t know what makes the perfect god, if it’s benevolence or evil that constitutes their power.

You’ve heard stories of cruel gods: the fall of Khaenri’ah, the Raiden Shogun’s tyranny; stories about Rex Lapis at the height of his time as a warrior and those punished by Celestia. You’ve heard of the kind ones, those who created life and allowed them happiness beyond the waters. The Archons are all worshipped for different reasons: the grant of freedom, the discipline of contracts, the pursuit of wisdom and the like.

You wonder if zealots ever find themselves in the same position as you: lost in a paradox without a clear path. When you look at him, you see salvation, but in that salvation, you also see ruin. The Doctor gives, and the Doctor takes away. You picture yourself kneeling before his feet and feel nothing, yet you can’t see yourself following anyone else but him.

Then what are you supposed to be?

Your existence relies on him. Your life belongs to him. Your purpose is to be at his beck and call, by his side, beneath him, anywhere he needs you. A life without him would lead to nothing—or would it? Would you break free and find a life of your own like Scaramouche has? Your heart sinks into your bowels at the fogged outcome. You don’t know if it’s fear or ‘love’ that holds you back from thinking of freedom. You don’t know if you need it or if you don’t.

Were you to ask him what you are, he’d let the question linger and let it go forgotten. Were you to ask him who you were, he’d tell you a different story from the last, and there’d be no way of finding out what is the truth.

(Do you need to?)

“It’s about time we returned.”

The Doctor stops just by your side and faintly tilts his head towards you. He seems to be staring at something on your face but says nothing. Without another word, he marches forward and you dutifully follow him until you reach the same port you’d first arrived in.

The ship was docked and already filled with the other agents who’d gotten it ready for the long voyage back to Snezhnaya. It softly bobs in the waves as the Doctor boards, ignoring the salutes and greetings he is given. With your head down, you take post on the deck of the ship.

You feel gazes burning on your back. Behind masks, the surrounding agents are undoubtedly staring at the burns around your neck and the collar that lays atop it. A sense of shame washes over you and you instinctively bring your hand up to cover it, your eyes cast on the wooden floors beneath. It makes you overly aware of the collar’s presence, bringing back the tingles on your skin and memories of the pain inflicted by the Doctor.

He may take the collar off of you when his whims call for it in the future, but the scar burnt into your skin will still be visible. Owning you alone wasn’t enough of a tangible claim over you. Keeping your heart locked away in his quarters wasn’t enough proof of his ownership. Breaking you apart and putting you back together wasn’t enough reassurance that he was in total control.

It should all hurt you—it does—but a voice in your head tells you that the Doctor is not an unreasonable man. It’s soft, timid, and nostalgic in a way that makes you think of summer days and toothy smiles. It’s doused in affection akin to a king’s loyal servant feeling for their master. The voice belongs to a person unknown, though you feel that they’re closer to you than you think. Conflicted, you shakily exhale, the sea breeze turning your skin cold and your eyes dry.

Is he your god?

The question sounds once more, and you find that you have an answer this time—the Doctor is not your god, but if he were, then he is one who has forsaken you.