hey guys! this isn’t my first manga coloring but this is definitely the one im most proud of! it literally took me 11 hours so if you could pls pls pls show it some love i would really appreciate it!
oh and i did almost all of it (except the final few finishing touches) with my phone and finger 😭😭
lmk if anyone’s interested in the speed paint! i’m not kidding when i say it took forever 😭😭 it’s at max speed and it’s like seven minutes
edit: okay so no one even asked for it but i wanted to put it so the speed paint is below (it’s only one min don’t worry)
helloooo!! can i please request a f!reader x ada dazai and chuuya(separately) scenario where reader comes back after traveling abroad for a while due to work (being a model + very fem reader) and now they're together at home, talking about things that happened and cuddling each other and it leads to soft/vanilla loving making and then gets slightly rougher w/ praise and aftercare at the end? (also i LOVE your writing♡)
cw: cuddling, fluff to nsfw, smut, soft/vanilla sex turning into slightly rougher sex, nipple play, praising, creampie, jerking DICK, fingering, oral, model & feminine!reader
a/n: hi lovely tysm! enjoy! ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 and y'all.. ooo.. this is looong , so eat up </3
⊹ ꒰🍷꒱ ˖ 𝓒𝓱𝓾𝓾𝔂𝓪. 𝓝.
you slipped through the front door of the apartment just after dusk, the faint click of the lock echoing in the quiet space. the familiar scent of aged leather and faint cologne wrapped around you immediately—home. weeks abroad had stretched longer than either of you liked, but the runway circuits and photoshoots were finally finished. your suitcase thumped softly against the wall as you kicked off your heels.
chuuya was already there, leaning in the doorway to the living room, coat discarded and sleeves rolled up. his eyes—sharp, relieved—dragged over you, taking in the soft waves of your hair, the curve of your figure still hugged by the simple dress you’d traveled in. “took you long enough,” he said, voice low and rough around the edges, but the corner of his mouth lifted.
you crossed the room without answering, letting him pull you in. his arms were solid, one hand pressing at the small of your back while the other slid into your hair. for a long minute you just stood there, breathing each other in.
“missed you,” you murmured, nuzzling into his neck.
“yeah.. me too.” he tilted your chin up, kissing you once—slow, grounding—before guiding you to the couch.
you settled into his lap, your legs draped across his thighs, the soft fabric of your dress riding up slightly, his hand resting on your hip. the apartment lights were low, casting warm shadows across the room. his other arm wrapped around your back, fingers tracing lazy patterns along your spine through the thin material. for several long minutes, neither of you spoke much. you simply just.. existed, foreheads close with the steady beat of his heart under your palm.
“tell me about the last shoot,” he murmured eventually, low and rough like gravel wrapped in velvet. his thumb brushed slow circles on your hip bone, dipping just under the hem of your dress. “you looked incredible in those photos.”
you smiled, tilting your head to press a kiss to the corner of his jaw. “chaotic. the photographer kept changing concepts last minute, and the heels were murder on the cobblestone streets. but the light there… it made everything feel golden. I kept wishing you were there to see it in person.” your fingers played with the collar of his shirt, unbuttoning the top one absently as you spoke.
chuuya hummed in response, his hand sliding higher up your thigh, warm and deliberate. “i saw the ones you sent. nearly lost my mind staring at them. i was lucky i wasn't in a meeting.” he turned his head, capturing your lips in a slow kiss that lingered. It started soft—mouths brushing, tasting, relearning—deepening as you shifted closer to straddle him, your chest pressing against his. when he pulled back, his eyes were darker, pupils blown wide. “missed having you here. this place is too quiet without your voice filling it.”
you let your hand drift down his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath. “i missed this too. missed you touching me like you own every inch.” the words came out hushed, intimate. his grip on your thigh tightened just a fraction in response, and he kissed you again, hungrier this time. tongues met, slow and exploratory, as the conversation faded into soft sounds—your quiet sigh, the faint rustle of fabric.
his fingers slipped fully under your dress now, stroking the bare skin of your thigh, then higher to the curve of your ass. you arched into him, one hand threading into his copper hair. the kiss broke only so he could trail his mouth along your jaw, down the side of your neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot, making you shiver. “been thinking about this for a hot 'minute,” he whispered against your skin. “how you taste... how you sound when ’m inside you..”
heat rushed through your body. you tugged at his shirt until he helped you pull it off, revealing the lean, toned lines of his torso. your palms smoothed over his shoulders and down his arms, rememorizing the strength there. chuuya's hands worked your dress up and over your head in one smooth motion, leaving you in just your lingerie. he took his time looking, eyes tracing the lace that hugged your breasts and hips, the curves he’d missed so much—like he was gonna eat you up right then and there.
“pretty, so so pretty” he said simply, reverently. he leaned in, mouth closing over the lace-covered peak of one breast, tongue teasing through the fabric until you gasped. his free hand cupped the other, thumb brushing in slow circles. you whimpered, rocking against him gently, feeling him harden beneath you through his pants. the friction built gradually, rubbing on the growing wet patch of your pantjes, delicious and unhurried.
eventually, he stood with you in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom. the journey was punctuated by more kisses—deep, consuming ones that left your lips swollen. he laid you down on the bed with care, the sheets cool against your heated skin, stripping off the rest of his clothes before joining you, his body covering yours in a full, grounding press.
he started slow again. kisses trailed from your mouth to your throat, your collarbones, then lower. he peeled your lingerie away piece by piece—unclasping your bra, fingers hooking under the band of your underwear but not quite pulling them down—mouth following every revealed inch. when he reached your thighs, he settled between them, spreading you open with gentle hands. his tongue was warm and thorough—long, slow laps through the fabric that had you moaning softly, fingers tightening in his hair.
he took his time, sliding it down your legs before going back to make out with your pussy with a rough groan, savoring, building you up with precise flicks and sucks until your thighs trembled around his shoulders.
“chuuya…” you breathed, hips lifting toward his mouth.
he hummed in approval, looking up at you with hazy eyes—the vibration sending sparks through your spine. only when you were slick and aching enough, did he pull back, kissing his way up your body once more. he positioned himself between your legs, the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance. he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open with deliberate care. the sensation was overwhelming and new after so long apart—thick, hot, and perfectly filling.
a soft moan escaped your lips as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. he stilled completely, forehead dropping to rest against yours. you could feel his heartbeat thundering where your chests pressed together, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you.
"fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned quietly, eyes fluttering in pure bliss. his free hand slid down your side in a slow caress, tracing the curve of your waist, the flare of your hip, then back up to cup your breast. he rolled your nipple gently between his fingers, drawing another quiet mewl from you. "like we were made for this...”
you moaned in resposne—needy and desperate, wrapping your arms around his back as your fingers traced the sculpted muscles there, pulling him even closer until there wasn’t a breath of space between your bodies. “chuuya… baby.. move,” you pleaded, rolling your hips desperately under him.
he groaned at the movement, then began to rock into you with long, unhurried strokes, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in. he stayed gentle and sensual for a long while. he kissed you through it all—deep, lingering kisses that matched the rhythm of his hips, breath hitching into your mouth with every thrusts. his hands roamed with adoration; one cradling your jaw, the other sliding down to guide you to meet each thrust. sweat began to sheen on your skin, but neither of you rushed—your hands explored his back, nails lightly scoring as he hit that spot inside you that made your lips fall open silently.
ninutes stretched like that, soft slaps and low groans filling the room. you dragged your legs higher around him, pulling him impossibly closer as you lost yourselves in each other. your hands roamed over his body freely, down the dip of his spine, over the firm curve of his ass, encouraging him to press deeper—his back arched under your gentle hands, you whispered his name like a prayer, and he answered with more praise.
"god, you're so beautiful beneath me.." he moaned, head dropping into the dip of your neck. "so tight and perfect.. fuck baby," he intertwined his hand with yoursz, grinding it onto the mattress besides your head, "love this pretty pussy," he thrusted just a bit harder, "love the sounds you make, love all of you.."
your bodies moved as one—the heat of his skin, the scent of him, the way his copper hair fell messily across his forehead as he gazed down at you with dazed, adoring eyes, it was intoxicating. but the weeks apart had left you aching for more. the gentle pace, while intimate and loving, soon turned torturous. your hips began to rock up impatiently, chasing more. chuuya noticed immediately,
“baby…” you exhaled, voice breathier. “please… I need it harder. 'm so horny for you, been waiting too long. fuck me harder...”
a low chuckle vibrated against your throat. “yeah? my sweet girl’s getting impatient?”
you squirmed beneath him, legs tightening around his torso as another slow thrust pulled a sweet, wanton moan from your throat. “harder chuu,” you begged, "don' want slow right now, thought about this for weeks… please, don’t hold back.” he kissed you once more, then gave you exactly what you wanted. one hand pinned both of your hands above your head, while the other slid under your lower back, lifting your hips off the bed completely.
“that’s my girl,” he murmured, voice dropping lower, rougher. he drew back almost fully, then drove in with a sharp snap of his hips. the sudden force punched the air from your lungs, pleasure spiking hard.
“yes! yesyesyes.. fuuck,” you gasped, arching into him, his next thrust came sharper, deeper, the slap of skin on skin louder in the quiet room. you cried out openly, your body jolting with every powerful stroke, your pretty tits bouncing, his skin growing slick with your juices where your bodies met.
“been waiting for you to beg like that,” he breathed against your neck, biting down lightly before soothing it with his tongue hot on your skin. “so fucking needy for me. this what you wanted sweetheart? my cock pounding into you until you can’t think?”
you nodded frantically, too lost in sensation to form full words. “yes, god, yes, feels amazing.. more, moremoremore…” your voice broke on the last words as he obliged, driving into you with bruising force. he released your wrists only to slip his hand between you to rub tight circles over your swollen clit. thumb finding your clit and rubbing firm, quick circles in time with his thrusts.
the heat in your tummy grew every time his cock kissed your throbbing spot. your sweet sounds grew louder, eyes locked on his when you could manage it, not long as your head just lolled back onto the pillow. “that’s it.. let go for me doll, cum on my cock like the good girl you are.”
the combination overwhelmed you—the relentless thrusts, his fingers, the raw edge in his voice in your ear. you came with a sharp cry, walls clamping down on him, pulling a deep groan from his throat as his hips faltered just a bit. the added roughness prolonged it until you were trembling and gasping—chuuya followed moments later, burying himself deep with a throaty grunt, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you.
he stayed there for a long moment, both of you panting. then he eased your legs down gently, pulling out of your fluttering, puffy pussy with care. chuuya gathered you close, rolling onto his back so you could sprawl across his chest. “easy, baby,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, and anywhere his lips reached over and over.
his hands roamed soothingly—long, gentle strokes down your back, over the plush of your ass, squeezing once, then up again. “you did so well.. took everything i gave you so good, you felt like heaven doll.”
you giggled quietly, pressing a kiss to his chest, voice a bit rough from all the moaning and whimpering you just did. he reached for the water on the nightstand first, helping you sit up just enough to drink. his arm stayed wrapped around yours the entire time, steady and warm. after you finished, he laid you back down and slipped out of bed briefly. you heard water running in the bathroom. when he returned, he carried a warm, damp cloth and a small towel.
with infinite tenderness, he cleaned you between your innrr thighs, wiping away the mess with slow, careful strokes. “sore?” he asked softly, glancing up at your face.
“a little,” you admitted, your gaze following his hands and the way he was so gentle after being so hard and rough just minutes before.
he nodded, continuing his work without rushing. once you were clean, he wiped the sweat from your neck, your chest, your tummy—everywhere the intensity had left its mark. then he tossed the cloth aside and climbed back into bed, pulling the covers over both of you. he arranged you against him again, your head tucked under his chin, one leg thrown over his. "wanna sleep chuu.. luv you.. s'much.." his fingers returned to your hair, combing through the strands in slow, repetitive motions.
“me too,” his lips brushed your temple, curling faintly. “my beautiful girl, missed holding you like this more than anything, sleep baby, i've got you.” one hand traced lazy circles on your hip while the other kept stroking your hair. he pressed kiss after kiss to the top of your head, your temples, anywhere he could without pulling back.
you melted into him, the post orgasm haze making everything soft and warm. chuuya kept up the gentle affection for a long time—his touch never stopped. his palm rubbed your lower back, occasionally squeezing your thigh and kneading your ass possessively, but all with love.
when your breathing finally evened out, he tucked the blanket tighter around your shoulders, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your ear.
“rest now,” he whispered, his own lids slowly feeling heavy, as he was also getting tired, the delicious ache already settling into his hips. “’m right here.. not going anywhere..”
.you drifted off like that—wrapped in his arms, skin on skin, completely surrounded by his warmth and quiet devotion.
⊹ ꒰🩹꒱ ˖ 𝓞𝓼𝓪𝓶𝓾. 𝓓.
the apartment door clicked shut behind you with a soft finality that seemed to seal away the noise of airports and foreign cities. your suitcase thumped against the floor, wheels still warm from the terminal floors. before you could even kick off your shoes properly, dazai was there. he appeared in a loose black shirt and sweatpants, hair slightly messy like he’d been lounging on the couch all evening waiting. his eyes lit up in that quiet way reserved only for you.
without a word, he closed the distance and pulled you into his arms, lifting you just enough that your feet left the floor for a second. you let out a small, quiet laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as you buried your face in the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in—hia scent, and the unmistakable comfort of home.
"well hello there 'bella.. long time no see.." he mumbled against your neck, his eyes closed as his chin rested on your hair.
you smiled faintly, leaning into his touch. "hi 'samu.." your voice was low, slightly worn out from weeks of work. “finally,” his hands splayed across your back, one sliding up to cradle the nape of your neck. “three weeks is too long. i was starting to think the fashion world had kidnapped my favorite girl.”
you chuckled softly, the sound muffled against his shirt. “'m all yours now. no more flights for a while.” you pulled back to cup his face, looking at him like you were trying to make up for all the while you hadn't, his eyes carried a mix of relief and longing.
“i missed you,” you whispered, leaning in for a soft kiss. it started slow, almost tentative after the distance, then more, as his fingers tightened on your hips. though you couldn't get carried away—not yet at least. when you pulled back for air, he didn’t let you go far. he took your hand, lacing your fingers tightly, and led you to the bedroom while you left the suitcase forgotten by the door. the room was softly lit by a single lamp, sheets already turned down invitingly.
dazai helped you out of your coat, his touch lingering on your shoulders, your arms, the curve of your waist. ypu returned the favor, sliding his shirt off his shoulders, palms gliding over his skin and the familiar edge of bandages. there was no rush—only clothes pooled on the floor as you both slipped under the sheets.
you settled facing each other in the center of the bed. Dazai pulled you close until your legs tangled and your chests pressed together. one of his arms curled around your back, hand splayed possessively over your spine; the other resting on your nape. the city hummed faintly outside the window, but inside it was just the two of you.
“tell me everything,” he said softly, lips brushing your forehead. “start from the beginning, want to hear it all.”
you smiled, nuzzling closer into his neck. “the flight was long, but I had a window seat and kept thinking about how you’d tease me for taking too many photos of the clouds.” you described the arrival and the bustling airport, dazai listened with quiet hums, occasionally pressing small kisses to your temple or the shell of your ear.
“and the first shoot?” he prompted, fingers now tracing lazy circles on your bare shoulder.
“craaazy, honestly. the creative director wanted this very dramatic, windswept look, but the fan machine kept dying. i was laughing between takes, which they actually loved.” you recounted the way the team had fussed over your hair and makeup, how one of the other models had shared her espresso with you during breaks because you looked jet lagged.
dazai chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, thumb brushing the curve of your waist where your skirt had ridden up.
“sounds exhausting,” he said when you finished. “but you look radiant. travel agrees with you.” his hand slipped under the hem of your top, palm warm against your skin. you shifted closer, pressing your body to his, and the conversation faded into comfortable silence broken only by soft kisses and the rustle of fabric as you helped each other undress the rest of the way.
naked now, you lay facing each other. dazai’s fingers explored you with patience—tracing the line of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, down the dip of your stomach. he watched your face the whole time, loving every hitch in your breath. when he cupped you between your legs, finding you already slick, he let out a low hum of approval.
“missed this,” he whispered, sliding one long finger inside you slowly with a slick squelch. you gasped, grinding into his palm, already chasing his touch. he added a second one, curling them just right, thumb circling your clit with gentle pressure. the rhythm stayed unhurried, intimate. you reached for him too, wrapping your hand around his cock—already hard and leaking. you stroked him in time with his fingers, savoring the way his exhales stuttered against your lips when you thumbed his pretty tip.
dazai guided you onto your back. you were already bare, skin flushed and warm from the earlier kisses and touches. he settled between your legs, cock heavy and hard. “easy, love,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. one hand stroked your thigh, spreading you open a little wider. “I’ve got you.”
he reached down, wrapping his fingers around himself, and guided the head of his cock through your slick folds. you shivered at the contact, your pussy drooled visibly as your hips instinctively started twitching up. he rubbed the tip up and down your clenching hole, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your clit with every slow pass until you were breathing faster, dripping fresh slick onto his cockhead, fingers clutching at his shoulders. only then did he begin to push in.
the first inch stretched you open deliciously, slow and deliberat, stinging a tiny bit from not fucking for so long. you gasped, and he paused. “that’s it… breathe for me. you’re taking me so good already.” he eased forward another inch, then another, murmuring praise the entire time. “look at you baby, opening up so perfectly.” his voice was gentle, almost reverent, each word sinking into your soul like warm honey.
when he finally bottomed out, hips flush against yours, he stilled completely, letting you adjust to the full feeling of him buried deep inside. you moaned sweetly at the sensation, walls fluttering around his length. dazai kissed you deeply, tongue playing with yours lewdly as he held himself there. “good girl,” he mumbled against your mouth. “just like that. feel how deep I am? all for you.”
he started moving then—slow, rolling thrusts that dragged his cock along every sensitive inch inside you. the pace was tender, almost lazy. "so good 'samu, y'feel so good.. mhm.." you arched your chest into his hand, legs loose around his waist, heels resting lightly against the backs of his thighs. one of your hands slid up his back, feeling the subtle shift there with every thrust. the other cupped the nape of his neck, pulling him down for another kiss—slow in the same languid tempo as your bodies. a muffled whinper slipped from your lips as he ground against that sensitive spot inside you, not pounding, but pressing and circling—thick, sweet, and endless.
your pebbled nipples brushed against his chest with every movement, sending little sparks across your skin—,one of his hands slid to cup your breast, thumb brushing over the peaked nipple in slow, teasing rubs, pinching the sensitivie bud lightly just to hear you squeal into his mouth. he angled his hips slightly, finding the exact spot that made your breath hitch sharply, your lashes fluttering. “there?” he murmured, repeating the motion when you nodded fast, a whimper escaping you, eyes rolling back in pure bliss.
your fingers tightened in his hair as the heat between you grew, and he rewarded you with a particularly deep roll of his hips that made your toes curl. “osamu.. more…” you whispered as he kissed along your jaw, down your neck, sucking softly at the soft flesh below your ear—just enough to leave a faint mark.
“yeah? my sweet girl’s that desperate for me?", another slow, full thrust, followed by a gentle grind that rubbed his pelvis against your mound. "i know baby.. buy let me have this a little longer..” you clung tighter, nails pressing into his shoulders, body trembling with the effort of holding back the urge to beg right then.
his free hand slipped between you, not rubbing frantically but pressing firmly against your nub, fondling with it, going side to side, lessening the pressure, the speed whenever you started to spasm more and more around his cock. the dual sensation made your toes curl. your impatience finally spilled over in a needy whine, hips jerking up to meet him with more force.
“please… osamu, i need-”
he hushed you with another deep kiss, swallowing the rest of your plean with a quiet laugh muffled against your lips that showed just how much he enjoyed this. but you felt the shift in his body—he shifted his weight, hooking one of your legs higher over his hip to stretch and opening your clinging pussy wider around him.
the next thrust came sharper, harder—he pulled back almost fully before slamming back in, the thrust hard enough to jolt you up the bed, the sound of skin meeting skin echoed more loudly. a sharp cry of relief tore from your throat at the sudden intensity. “yes- fuck, there, right there,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulder.
dazai’s pace quickened, turning firmer, more relentless, each stroke driving the air from your lungs in sugary mewls while the bed creaked faintly. “that’s it,” he groaned, voice rougher now but still laced with praise. “take it harder for me.. you can handle it, can’t you 'bella?”
“'uh-uh, yeah," you nodded frantically, "so close.. s'close, god..” your head fell back as your nails raked down his back, pulling his bandages down with the red lines he’d feel tomorrow. dazai groaned at the sting, pain mixing with sweet pleasure as he leaned down to bite at the junction of your neck and shoulder, sucking a mark into your skin as he pounded into you.
“come on, baby,” he urged, thrusting harder, his voice climbing higher as his own orgasm creeped up on him. "let go. i want to feel you come all over my cock.. show me how much you missed this.”
"fuckfuckfuck, 'm cumming-" you keeened, high pitched and long—back arching off the bed like a bow, body seizing around him, cunt fluttering, pushing out slick, forming a creamy ring around his shaft as pleasure flooded into every nerve. dazai cursed, hips stuttering as your swollen walls squeezed him, but he fucked you through it, drawing out every last tremor until you were shaking.
only then did he let himself go. with a few final, deep thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, broken moan of your name, pulsing hot inside you. his body shuddered against yours, your arms wrapping tight around his torso as you held him close through the aftershocks.
the moment lingered, both of you breathless and trembling in the aftermath, before he put a hand on the bulge on your tummy, slowly pulling out with a slick pop, you whimpered at the empty feeling, pawing at his chest. but he was already moving, pulling you into his embrace. “shh, I’ve got you,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your closed eyelids, the tip of your nose.
his hands roamed softly over your body—massaging the faint bruises forming on your hips where he’d gripped you, soothing the bite mark on your shoulder with slow, open mouthed kisses.
“you were perfect,” he whispered, voice tender now, all the roughness melted away. “begging so sweetly.. love hearing you say my name like that when you’re falling apart.” he reached for the cloth already ready on the nightstand, cleaning the joint mess between your thighs with even greater care, warm water and gentle strokes that made you sigh in contentment. he wiped the sweat from your skin, then tucked the blanket around you both.
he pressed you flush against his chest, arms encircling you completely. his fingers traced small circles along your spine, then up to your scalp, massaging in slow, rhythmic presses that melted the last tension from your muscles. he pressed kiss after kiss to your hair, your temple, the shell of your ear—soft, lingering ones that spoke of quiet devotion.
“missed every part of you,” he murmured between kisses. “the way you sound, the way you feel… the way you look at me after. stay right here.. i’ve got you.” his hand found yours under the covers, fingers intertwining as he held you close. the city outside faded further into the background. he rubbed your thighs where they ached pleasantly, stroking your hair, whispering quiet praises about how beautiful you were, how strong, how much he adored coming home to you like this.
you hummed, sleepu and satisfied—nestling deeper into him as you mumbled a quiet 'love you' and dozed off, already drooling. the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart lulled you slowly. dazai didn’t stop loving on you even as your breathing evened out—protective arms that never loosened.
in the quiet afterglow, it was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, the distance of weeks finally erased.
You’re curled up on the couch with Dazai. Your head rests against his chest, his long fingers idly trace patterns along your arm. Osamu Dazai, Port Mafia executive, genius, manipulator, and somehow, impossibly, your lover. You cherish all of your moments together, but you want more. You shift, tilting your face up to meet his warm brown eyes. You have been thinking about this for weeks. You don’t want to be on the outside anymore.
“Osamu,” You start softly. “I… I want to join the Port Mafia.” Dazai goes still. The smile on his lips doesn’t fade, but his eyes sharpen. You press on before he can speak. “I want to be with you properly. I could help, simple jobs. Like run messages, handle paperwork, anything. I just… I want to be part of your life. All of it.”
Dazai’s hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over your lower lip. “No, love.”
“But—”
“Shh.” Dazai leans in, kissing you slow and sweet, like he is trying to melt the idea right out of your head. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “You’re too sweet for that world. The Mafia would chew you up and spit you out.”
You whine, pushing up onto your elbows to hover over him. “Osamu, please. I’m not as fragile as you think. I can handle it if it means staying by your side. Don’t you want me there? With you every day?”
Dazai chuckles low, the sound warm and fond, but his arms wrap around your waist. “I want you safe. Beg all you like, my darling. Those pretty whines of yours are adorable, but my answer is still no. I refuse.”
You pout, wriggling in his hold, your voice turning pleading. “But Osamu—”
Before you can launch into another round of begging, his tactics shift. One moment he is all gentle restraint; the next, his hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair as he tugs you down into a deeper kiss. It is hungry, his tongue teasing the seam of your lips until you open for him with a gasp.
“Mmm, so insistent,” Dazai purrs against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. His free hand trails down your side, slipping under your shirt to caress bare skin with feather-light touches. “My stubborn little love. If words won’t convince you… maybe this will.”
Dazai rolls you beneath him on the couch in one smooth motion. Dazai’s lips move to your jaw, then your neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot he knows drives you crazy. His hand ventures lower, fingertips dancing along your waistband. He kisses down your collarbone, pushing your shirt aside with his nose, lips brushing the swell of your breast.
You arch into him with a soft moan, your hands fisting in his shirt. The way he is looking at you now, eyes half-lidded with desire. That playful yet possessive curl to his lips. “Osamu…” you breathe, half-protest, half-plea.
“Still whining?” Dazai grins, but it is wicked now. He pins your wrists gently above your head with one hand, the other slipping between your thighs, rubbing slow circles through your clothes. “Let me change your mind properly, then.”
Dazai’s fingers make quick work of your clothes, peeling them away. “That’s it, belladonna,” he murmurs, voice husky against your ear as he sheds his own shirt and presses his bare chest to yours. “No more arguing. Just feel me.” He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the bedroom. The mattress dips as he lays you down, his body hovering over yours. Dazai takes his time, kissing every inch of exposed skin, whispering praises between each one. “So beautiful… so soft… all mine.” His mouth closes around a nipple, tongue swirling until you whimper, back arching off the bed. One hand slides between your thighs, two long fingers sinking in with practiced ease, curling just right to stroke that spot inside you.
“Osamu—ah!” Dazai works you open, scissoring and thrusting slowly. He watches your face the entire time, eyes dark with adoration and lust.
“Look at you,” Dazai breathes, adding a third finger, thumb circling your clit in lazy spirals. “Falling apart so prettily for me.” He replaces his fingers with his cock soon after, sliding into you in one smooth thrust. The stretch is perfect—filling you completely, his hips flush against yours as he groans low in his throat. “Fuck… you feel like heaven.”
Deep, rolling thrusts that hit every sensitive spot, Dazai’s pelvis grinding against your clit with each movement. He keeps his face buried in your neck, murmuring sweet nothings. While one hand pins your hip, the other laces with yours above your head.
“My sweet girl.”
“Taking me so well.”
“I love you like this, all flushed and needy”
The pleasure builds in waves, higher and higher, until you are sobbing his name, legs wrapped tight around his waist. “Cum for me, belladonna,” Dazai commands softly, biting gently at your collarbone. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
The orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. White-hot pleasure exploding through every nerve. Your walls clench around him, vision blurring as you cry out, body shaking uncontrollably beneath him. Dazai follows right after with a choked moan of your name, spilling deep inside you, hips stuttering as he rides out both your highs.
You float in bliss for long minutes afterward, boneless and sated, Dazai’s weight a comforting blanket as he stays buried inside you. He peppers your face with lazy kisses, brushing damp hair from your forehead. “…I’m hungry,” You mumble eventually, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. The argument feels like a distant dream—silly, even. All you can think about is him, warm and safe and yours.
Dazai chuckles, the sound vibrating through your joined bodies. He nuzzles your neck, clearly pleased he has wiped your mind so thoroughly. “Dinner, hm? My clever girl, already thinking ahead.” He shifts slightly, pulling out before gathering you against his chest. “How about crab? That place by the harbor you like. I’ll order in so we don’t have to move.”
You laugh softly, “Crab sounds perfect. With extra butter sauce. And maybe some of that wine I like?”
“Anything for you.” Dazai kisses the top of your head, arms tightening possessively. “Stay just like this with me a little longer, love.” Just like that, the argument is long forgotten.
~~~
A week has passed in a haze of stolen kisses, late-night cuddles, and Dazai’s relentless spoiling. But your determination hasn’t faded. You march straight into the Port Mafia headquarters. The lower members give you wary glances but know better than to stop the boss’s lover. You push open the door to Dazai’s private office without knocking.
Dazai is lounging behind his desk, long legs propped up, flipping through a report with theatrical boredom. The second he sees you, his eyes light up with that familiar mix of affection and mischief. “Bella~” He drawls, sitting up with a bright smile. “To what do I owe this delightful surprise? Come to drag me away for an early lunch?”
You plant your feet, arms still crossed, chin lifted defiantly. “I want to join the Port Mafia, Osamu. No more dodging.”
Dazai’s smile softens into something gentler. He rises from his chair and circles the desk, stopping just in front of you. “My love… we’ve talked about this.”
“No, you talked. I listened. Then you distracted me.” You narrow your eyes, poking a finger into his chest. “Last week. You knew exactly what you were doing. Earth-shattering orgasm and all that sweet talk just to make me forget the whole argument.”
Dazai blinks innocently, tilting his head like a confused puppy. One hand comes up to cradle your cheek, thumb stroking tenderly. “Distract you? Me? Darling, I would never.” His voice drips with mock sincerity. “I simply couldn’t resist my sweet, irresistible girlfriend. How could I deny myself when you were looking at me like that? All flushed and begging so prettily… for me.”
You scoff, but your cheeks flush despite yourself. “You’re denying it? Really?”
Dazai leans in closer, lips brushing your forehead in a feather-light kiss. His free arm slips around your waist, pulling you against him. “I made love to you because I adore you. You’re my peace, my light. Not another soldier.” His other hand tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet those warm, deceptive eyes. “So no, my belladonna. I won’t let you join. Not today. Not ever. You’re too precious to me.” You open your mouth to protest again, but he is already pressing soft, distracting kisses along your jaw.
Dazai is doing it again! Being all cute and gentle and impossible to stay angry at. But this time, you are determined not to let him win so easily. “No.” You cross your arms.
Dazai’s lips curve into that signature mischievous smile as he ignores your protest entirely. In one fluid motion, he lifts and sets you on the edge of his large oak desk, papers scattering beneath you. “How about that early lunch, my sweet girl,” he purrs, voice low and honeyed, eyes gleaming with hunger. “But I think we should start with dessert first.”
“Osamu, wait—I’m serious about—” Your words cut off in a gasp as Dazai drops smoothly to his knees in front of the desk, pushing your thighs apart. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, sliding your panties down in one swift tug and pocketing them.
“Shhh, love. No talking.” Dazai’s breath ghosts hot against your inner thigh, lips brushing teasingly closer. “Just let me enjoy my favorite treat.”
You try again, gripping the edge of the desk. “This isn’t fair—ah!”
Dazai’s mouth descends on you without warning. Dazai licks a long, slow stripe up your folds. Then seals his lips around your clit and sucks gently. Your hips jerk, a broken moan escapes before you can stop it. “W-we need to talk about—mmh—about what I said earlier—” You try to form the words, but he swirls his tongue in tight circles. Two fingers slide into you effortlessly, curling against that perfect spot. The wet sounds of his mouth fill the office, obscene and impossible to ignore.
Dazai hums in delight against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. “Mmm… so sweet,” he murmurs between languid licks, never once lifting his head. Every time you open your mouth to protest or argue, he doubles down. Sucking harder, fucking you deeper with his fingers, tongue flicking mercilessly until all that comes out are whimpers and gasps. Your hands fly to his hair, tugging desperately as the pleasure builds fast and overwhelming.
“Osamu—fuck—I’m trying to—oh god—” Your thighs tremble around his head. Dazai doesn’t relent, devouring you with single-minded devotion, those beautiful eyes flicking up to watch your face the entire time. The orgasm hits like a freight train. You cum hard on his tongue, crying out his name as your body clenches and shakes, waves of pleasure crashing through you until you are slumped back on the desk, panting and dazed.
Dazai rises gracefully, licking his lips with a satisfied grin. He gathers you into his arms, kissing you deeply so you can taste yourself on his tongue. When he finally pulls back, he nuzzles your cheek, voice soft and affectionate. “You know… I am thinking we should try that new café by the river for actual lunch later. The one you mentioned last week. Sound good, belladonna?”
He brushes a strand of hair from your flushed face, looking utterly innocent.
~~~
A few days later, the two of you are tangled together on the couch. “Osamu, please,” you whine, straddling his lap and gripping his shirt. “Just let me join. I can handle it. I want to be with you all the time, not just like this. I’m begging you—”
Dazai’s hands settle on your hips, as he looks up at you with that soft, adoring gaze. A slow, wicked smile spreads across his lips. “Oh, belladonna…” He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I much prefer you begging for my cock instead of joining the Mafia.”
Your cheeks burn. “That’s not— I’m being serious—”
Dazai cuts you off with a deep, lingering kiss, hands sliding under your shirt to caress bare skin. When he pulls back, his voice is a low, teasing murmur. “Are you? Because right now you look so pretty on my lap, whining so sweetly for me.” One hand dips lower, palming you through your clothes, rubbing slow circles that make your breath hitch. “Go on, love. Beg for something better.”
You try to stay focused, rocking against his hand despite yourself. “Osamu, please—just listen to me about the—”
Dazai slips his fingers inside your panties, stroking your slick folds but deliberately avoiding your clit. “Mmm, not quite. Try again.”
“Fuck—Osamu,” You whimper, grinding down harder. He chuckles softly, pulling his hand away just enough to tease.
“Such a needy girl. ” Dazai’s lips trail along your neck, sucking lightly. Two fingers circling your entrance but never pushing in.
You break after a few more minutes of his relentless teasing, hips twitching desperately in his lap. “Please… Osamu, I need your cock. I want you inside me so badly.”
Dazai’s eyes darken with satisfaction. “There’s my good girl.” He rewards you immediately, freeing himself from his pants and sinking you down onto his cock in one smooth, deep thrust. “See? This is so much better than any other kind of begging.” He rocks up into you slowly, hands guiding your hips in a torturous rhythm. “My sweet, desperate girl,” he whispers lovingly, hands gentle on your hips as he guides you. He groans softly against your neck. “That’s it… take all of me. You feel incredible.” Dazai rocks up into you with slow, deep thrusts, setting a sensual rhythm that makes your toes curl.
Your first orgasm builds quickly from the teasing. Dazai angles his hips just right, grinding against your clit with every thrust, murmuring praises the whole time. “Cum for me, belladonna. Let me feel you.” You shatter around him with a cry, clenching tight as waves of pleasure crash through you. He holds you through it, kissing your forehead, never stopping his gentle rhythm.
“Good girl… so perfect for me,” Dazai coos, slowing just enough to let you catch your breath before picking up again. He shifts you slightly, hitting a new angle that makes stars explode behind your eyes. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, slick circles. “Again, love.”
You whimper, overwhelmed but needy, riding him as he thrusts up to meet you. The second orgasm hits harder. Dazai swallows every sound with kisses, his touch never rough, only reverent and loving. “There you go… my beautiful girl. You’re doing so well.
By the time Dazai coaxes the third one out of you, you are a boneless, whimpering mess in his arms. At one point he managed to carry you to the bed. He has you on your back now.. Buried deep inside, one of your legs hooked over his elbow as he thrusts with long, smooth strokes. “Cum again for me, darling,” he breathes, voice strained but so sweet. “One more. I love watching you fall apart.”
The third orgasm rips through you like lightning. It’s intense, and earth-shattering. You clench around him, crying out as pleasure blinds you. Only then does Dazai let himself go. His thrusts grow a little faster, deeper, but still controlled and gentle. He buries his face in your neck, moaning your name as he finally cums, pulsing hot and deep inside you.
He stays buried inside you afterward, collapsing, careful not to crush you. Soft kisses rain over your face and shoulders as he catches his breath. “I love you,” he whispers, voice hoarse and full of affection. “So much. My perfect girl.”
You are thoroughly spent, mind blissfully empty, body glowing with aftershocks. Dazai pulls the blanket over both of you, holding you close like you are the most precious thing in his world.
Your breathing evens out and your eyes flutter shut. “Sleep, my love,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. You pass out almost instantly, nestled safely against his chest.
Dazai stays awake, one arm wrapped protectively around you while the other traces lazy patterns along your spine. A satisfied little smile plays on his lips as he watches your peaceful face, relaxed, and utterly content. He has done exactly what he set out to do: loved you so thoroughly that all thoughts of the Port Mafia have melted away, at least for tonight.
But a familiar melancholic ache settles deep in his chest. It is always there, lurking beneath the warmth he reserves only for you. How long can I keep you like this?You are too good, too pure for his world of blood and betrayal. Every time you beg to join, a part of him twists painfully. The Mafia would dim your light. It would break you, just like it breaks everything it touches.
Dazai presses a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, inhaling the comforting scent of your hair. “I’m sorry, belladonna,” he murmurs so softly it barely disturbs the air. “I’ll keep distracting you… as many times as it takes.” He holds your sleeping form tighter, guarding the one beautiful thing in his life he refuses to let the darkness claim.
➽──────❥ ❀⊱༺♡༻⊰❀ ➽──────❥
❀ Hope you enjoyed this one! Trying to get through all the requests~ ❣️
❀ As always room for improvement! Sorry about grammar and spelling😬
❀ Requests are open! 💡
❀ Comment, likes and reposts are much appreciated! 🫶
#tags-and-cw ★ NSFW! AFAB!READER DRABBLE. . . intimatacy rules, small banter, he's insatiable, you're both in your late 30's to early 40's, erectile overfunction (he has it BAD), he has body hair 'cause duhhh, established relationship (u guys are married here), i love casual intimacy, this is just sweet vanilla sex (dont expect anything kinky).
another late night where your beloved came home late. stacks upon stacks of paperwork had kept him long past sunset again, and by the time he finally stumbled into your arms he was little more than a walking corpse.
you would often find him passed out on the couch the next morning — an empty mug of beer still loosely clutched in his hand, snoring loud enough it could replace your alarm.
after a hearty meal he’d always claim he was only going to take a short nap.
twenty minutes, he’d say.
those twenty minutes inevitably turned into eight hours.
the next morning he’d whine about it, voice rough with sleep, insisting he had an awful night because your warmth wasn’t beside him.
(as if he hadn’t been drooling all over the damn couch.)
“insufferable,” you’d mutter, an exasperated scowl on your face.
varka would only laugh at that — loud, bright, utterly unashamed, 'cause of course he is, he's varka for archons' sake.
“but still yours, no?”
which was, (un)fortunately, true.
even if he gave you migraines on the daily. even if he was utterly unbearable sometimes.
varka was yours, as much as you're his.
decades of marriage had taught you many things about the man you loved. some grand, some small, some hidden in the quiet habits he didn’t even realize he had.
but you'd see them all, no mattter how miniscule they may seem.
you knew the way exhaustion settled into his shoulders after long days, knew the look of him when he walked through the door.
dim ocean blues, a crooked, tired smile, muscles aching beneath his coat.
these days he would simply press a quick kiss to your forehead before disappearing into the bathroom to wash the grime off his skin then spare a few minutes for mantaining his swords, talking about the day with you as he wipes and polishes them to perfection.
and inevitably, after a meal, he'd end up passing out just about anywhere but your shared bed.
you knew your husband very well.
which is why the moment he steps through the door tonight, you kmow something is different.
his eyes meet yours.
and the fire burning in them — sharp, bright, dangerously familiar — sends a shiver down your spine.
“i’m home,” varka whispers, boots heavy against the wooden floorboards as he crosses the room.
tonight he isn’t wearing his usual coat, nor the small pieces of armor that usually cling to him like a second skin. they’re nowhere to be seen. instead, he’s dressed only in a black shirt — the top buttons carelessly left undone.
half of his chest is exposed through the open buttons — scarred skin, a faint trail of blonde hair, and the familiar wolf-tooth necklace swaying faintly with each step he takes.
yet somehow, tonight, everything about him feels. . . different.
"sorry if i've kept you waiting," he places a light peck on the side of your lips, eyes gazing straight at you as he does.
predatory.
that was the gaze of someone who wanted to devour something — or in this case, someone.
warm, large palms rest just above the side of your hips, and you can feel the way he presses slightly, inching your body closer to his.
"no 'welcome home, honey' for me?" a deep chuckle spilled from him, soft with fondness, "finally got tired of your husband, hm?"
his eyes gleam with a certain hunger, tracing over the shape of your lips to the half-exposed cleavage of your dress.
varka does not lighten his grip, eventually pushing you further and further until your back hits the wall. leaning over until he's got you trapped between his frame and the wood now, faces mere inches apart.
you could hear the sound of his heartbeat, loud yet steady.
gulping the sudden nervousness, you were about to welcome him home as you usually did.
before you could speak, he captures you in a deep kiss, discarding whatever restraint he has. varka places a hand behind your head, softly caressing, before forcing your face closer into his waiting mouth.
he can barely keep it together, chest heaving with every rhythmic dance of his lips on yours.
"welcome—mmph—" kiss. "ahhn, home. . ." kiss.
you whine at his desperation, "varka—"
he groans into your mouth at the mere mention of his name, lips turning even more desperate. the sound rattles your bones, making you squirm against him.
and with how large the knight is, you're practically engulfed in his arms, body pressing onto the flimsy fabric of your dress until you eventually mold into one, until you eventualy feel it —
your face goes red immediately, and you hopelessly try to hold onto his biceps as he grinds the very obvious bulge against you.
you can hear every wet smack of his lips on yours, the lecherous sound bouncing off the sides of your throat into your ear. he's practically devouring you by this point, panting into the wet cavern of your mouth.
there’s a hunger in the way he looks at you, not for anything fleeting, but for the entirety of you — your voice, your laughter, the way you carry yourself
he needs you so bad that it's breaking him apart.
a small yelp escapes you when varka suddenly lifts you into his arms.
the motion pulls your lips from his, the kiss breaking too soon. he doesn’t go far, though — only tilts his head forward until his forehead rests against yours, breath warm against your skin.
your hands fumble to rest at his shoulders, steadying yourself in his arms.
"yeah, much better," he laughs, bright as ever, "my back was killin' me, leaned over too much."
varka's moved the both of you to the living room now, hs probably knocked into a few things on the way but the two of you are much too distracted to care.
"it's not my fault you're built like a hilichurl tower." you quip, looking to the sides so you can avoid his peering eyes.
he flashes you a fond, crooked grin, resting his face on your chest. "hilichurl tower? surely, there are better structures to describe someone like me."
"like what, grandmaster?"
"a guizhong ballista?"
". . . i have no idea what that is."
varka lingers dangerously near your throat, warm breath brushing your skin.
"hah, don't worry, love— you'll find out soon."
you're sitting on his lap now, directly over the twitching bulge of his cock. your thighs flinch at every shift of his hips, feeling it brush over your warmth.
he's nipping at your exposed neck, leaving faint marks that you'll scold him for in the morning. though, varka could care less about the scolding he'll get when he has you exactly how he wants you:
flushed, trembling, and soaking wet.
the strap of your dress starts to fall off your shoulder, revealing the rest of your cleavage for him to stare at. he's mesmerized at how beautiful you look, finding it hard to believe he has you all for himself.
"have i ever told you how beautiful you are?" he rasps, unzipping your dress from behind. maybe it's because of the way he's speaking to you in that tone, looking at you with that gaze, but you suddenly feel like putty in his hands.
"many times, i believe you say it everyday."
he chuckles, "really?" pulling the dress down further until it's bunched at your hips. "s'pose i can't really help it when you make me hard every damn time i walk into this house."
you feel him lick and suck bruises into your skin, each mark blooming red and pink across the canvas of your flesh — a vivid display of his relentless desire for you.
"aren't you embarrassed being this shameless at your big age?"
even well past thirty, there’s still that same restless hunger in the way he looks at you, the same eagerness in the way his hands find yours. time may have carved new lines into his face and scattered scars across his body, but it has never managed to dull the way he wants you.
varka makes a show of caressing your thighs, pushing your skirt along with it, "shameless? i'm just being honest, don't you like an honest man?"
he sneaks a glimpse at the cotton underwear hidden beneath, swallowing the urge to push them aside and take you already.
"maybe if this honest man stopped seducing me everytime he came home, i'll like him better." you huff, carding your fingers through his disheveled hair.
he looks back up at you.
"oh?" varka smiles toothily, amusement rolling off him in waves, "so the lady screamin' for more last night was just a figment of my imagination then? the very same lady who rode me so well she—"
memories of last night started flowing into your head, causing you to fluster.
your hands immediately fly to his mouth, shutting him up for good, "okay! i get it, that's enough!"
you hear his muffled laughter through the gaps of your palms, his eyes crinkling with shameless amusement.
meanwhile you’re left flushed and needy beneath him.
it’s terribly unfair.
for all the years you’ve had this man wrapped around your finger, not once have you felt undesired.
if anything, there were moments you felt too desired.
his appetite for you was relentless — rivaled only by his well-known love for alcohol.
passion has never dimmed in your marriage,. you were in an eternal state of the so-called 'honeymoon phase' where the two of you fucked like rabbits and slobbered over each other anytime you can.
that never changed, even as varka traded the reckless, stubborn youth he once was for the measured, commanding man worthy of the grandmaster’s position.
you actually found it quite funny that the young boy who used to cause a ruckus everyday for valentine would mellow down into this boisterous but dependable leader.
he's changed so much over the years, turning into the pillar of strength in mondstadt — a legend among men.
and even so, he still acted the same with you, as if he was that same bumbling fool who professed his love to anyone who would listen.
varka might have changed — in ways that might seem inconsequential to anyone else — but deep down, he was still the same man you married all those years ago.
even down to that insatiable hunger he always carried for you.
your husband has you laid out on the sofa, legs wrapped around his waist — though they never quite meet around him, his broad frame simply too large, pressing you close in all the ways you’ve grown to know and crave.
"is it too much, hun?" varka asks, combing a hand through his hair to keep it away from his eyes, all so he could stare at the way your face scrunched up for him, kiss-swollen lips trembling from the stretch.
"need me to slow down a li'l?"
you vigorously shake your head, clutching at the large palm softly caressing your cheek, "no, no, keep going, please—"
varka laughs at your desperate cries, pushing a bit further into your warmth. it's always been necessary to prep you for hours before you could take him without much pain, and varka doesn't mind the extra work – he quite enjoys it actually.
but you don't have that patience, too needy and wanting to feel him inside you as soon as possible. he finds it very cute by the way, seeing you beg for it always gets blood rushing to his nether regions in no time.
"taking me so well," he whispers, kissing your forehead, "just a bit more, mhm? be a good girl f'me."
you whimper, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he starts to slowly thrust back and forth, and it immediately makes you even wetter, soaking him in your juices.
varka lets out a lengthy groan, throwing his head back when he feels you clench around him.
“fuck,” his brows pull together, beads of sweat trailing down the hairs of his chest. “relax a bit. . . gonna break me at this rate.”
varka chuckles lowly, an obscene grin curling across his lips.
"s-sorry. . . " you say, clinging to his arms like it's the only thing anchoring you to reality.
his wolf-tooth pendant sway with every delicious roll of his hips, nailing you to the cushion, the metal glinting under the dim-lighting of your home.
your eyes linger on the many scars along his chest and arms, each one waz a testament to the battles he’s survived — a symbol of courage, of years spent facing danger without hesitation for the sake of his lobed ones.
and yet it’s the very same body he uses to carry you to bed, careful hands far gentler than anyone could imagine.
the same arms that once raised a blade now wrap around you with an ease that feels almost tender, as if the weight of war and bloodshed melts away the moment you’re in them.
it always amazes you — how a man built for battle can hold you like something precious.
varka's lips found its way to the dip of your neck, licking anywhere he could while his hips gain a steady rhythm for the both of you.
and soon enough, you start to see blurry white stars along the edges of your vision.
decades may have passed between the two of you, yet varka’s desire has never learned how to calm itself. age has softened many things in life, but not this — not the way his hands still find you with the same urgency, thee same hunger as it did all those years ago.
time may wear down mountains, but it has never managed to wear down the fire he carries for you.
"still, ah, with me?" varka asks, face still buried in the crook of your neck. his voice a soft and warm thing, contrasting the way his hips viciously slam against your soaking heat.
you could barely even garble an answer, moaning and whimpering his name at every hard thrust.
varka gently pushes your knees toward your chest, holding you close as he leans over you, his presence overwhelming in the small space between you.
you could feel every vein and throb of his thick cock, the way he stretches you out sooo good that it leaves you limbless.
he's got an arm under both of knees, locking them together, and pushing them to the side of his waist.
"take a deep breath for me," varka warns you, chuckling at the way your pussy seems to respond instead, pulsing around him with need.
he fucks you roughly, frantically pushing in and pulling out. bright red marks start to form on your ass, his pelvis repeatedly hitting against it.
every loud slap of skin makes you go dizzy, mind turning into mush as you let yourself get lost into the throes of pleasure.
your neighbors could probably hear you by now, moaning so loud that the sound bounces off the walls. varka could care less, more than happy to let you disturb the ones nextdoors — what are they gonna do? complain to the knights of favonius?
plus, hearing you sing his name like this, talking about how good everything feels and how he's 'too big' just pushes him off the edge.
he leans over to lick your lips, fingers brushing onto the side of your face.
"too much, hngh. . . "
varka laughs quietly against your ear, the sound deep and gravelly, “oh, but you love it rough. don’t you, pretty?”
your nearly roll to the back of your head, a line of drool slipping past your parted lips, "yes, i do! love it s'much—"
"really?" varka teases, voice low with desire. he wipes the drool with his thumb before bringing it back to your lips, "tell me how good it is then, c'mon, cry for me."
cry for me.
this is the only time varka would let tears run down your face willingly. he loves seeing how good he makes you feel, especially through the soft cries of his name.
"i love you! i love you!" you wail, feeling him speed up, the sounds of skin against skin getting louder. "ah! varka—"
he’s practically buzzing with adoration, every muscle taut and alive with each “i love you” that slips from your lips. even now, his heart leaps every time you praise him — a feeling that has never waned, no matter how many years have passed.
he bites his lip, letting his hips do the talking.
the sofa shakes with every brutal thrust, wood creaking under his weìght and strength.
he laughs, a low rumbling thing that makes your cunt throb, "fucking gorgeous, could never get tired of this pussy—hah, shit."
"could never, ever, get tired of you."
a mixture of sweat, drool, and cum is splattered across his meaty thighs and sticking to the trail of hair along his navel.
varka loves it when you make a mess — whether it’s around the house or on his cock. to him, it simply means his wife feels comfortable enough to let herself go around him.
and he loves it the most when you arch so beautifully in his arms, cunt clamping hard on him as you cum — you could call it an addiction with the way he groans at the way your eyes cross, whimpering his name.
"i love you too," varka whispers into your ear, leaving small butterfly kisses along the shell of it, "gonna—ugh—cum." he stutters, a low exhale leaving his lips.
your nails scratch down along his shoulders, leaving bright red marks but the pain doesn't register for him, too busy chasing his release.
not that something as small as a scratch could ever faze him.
his eyes never leave yours, following every tremble, every small gasp, as if he could memorize you whole. varka’s expression stays gentle, even as his hands leave indents on your skin — a silent tether, a promise you’re not going anywhere.
even through overestimated tears, you manage to see the silhouette of his face, desperate in a way he shouldn't be. after all, he had you nearly everyday, so why is it that he always fucks you as if it's your last?
varka presses down on you — hard. putting most of his weight onto you while you keen, cumming for a second time.
his hips goes completely still, filling you to the brim with all of his length.
all while he crashes his lips into yours — hungry, desperate, and all consuming, moaning into the kiss while your tears fall from overwhelming pleasure.
"sorry, honey. . . i don't think i'll be able to hold back tonight."
"ugh, maybe i should just go ahead and get married too. . . " one of the junior knight sighs dreamily, looking at the grandmaster's bright grin as he steps into the favonius headquarters.
his partner looks at him with a confused expression, "hah? what brought this on?"
the junior knight, palez, points over to varka, "the grandmaster gets to come home to a sweet, loving wife and a warm meal. . . that's why he's always smiley like that, look at how much he's glowing!"
"are you mentally ill?"
a suave voice cuts in, "oh dear, gossiping about the grandmaster's love life in such an open space, getting a little too chummy are we?"
kaeya and rosaria look at the two knights, and an air of chill sweeps through making them shiver. when put together, these two are no joke (outside of a tavern).
"s-sorry! captain kaeya, sister rosaria! it won't happen again." the two frantically salute, palms already getting sweaty.
kaeya laughs lightly, saluting half-heartedly as he walks away. rosaria follows right behind, her expression as icy as ever.
step.
step.
step.
". . . ."
"you think she's alright?" kaeya whispers, cringing at the thought of you being bedridden again.
rosaria can only scoff, massaging her temples as if talking about it was already giving her a migraine, "likely not. she hasn't gone to good hunter all morning which means she's. . ."
"especially since he's looking so refreshed then she's probably. . . " kaeya trails off, silently praying for your recovery.
speak of the devil.
kaeya straightens up, smiling like normal. rosaria rolls her eyes, wincing at the loud voice.
"oh, hey— it's you two! thank barbatos! mind doin' me a small favor?" varka greets them with an enthusiastic wave, a bright, boyish grin on his face.
and he shall appear.
"jean's gonna tie me to the desk at this rate," varka grumbles, "so i was hoping you two could drop this off for me—"
he shoves them something warm wrapped in cloth, rosaria takes it and perks up at the familiar smell of food — it's your favorite dish from good hunter.
kaeya shares a look with her, looking back up at varka with a sly grin, "of course, leave it to us."
.
.
.
it's just another day at mondstadt.
oddly enough, you woke up that morning with your stomach feeling warmer than usual.
it's probably nothing.
#it's-your-captain-ari-speaking ☆ i was listening to sade while scrolling on twitter dot come when i suddenly came across such a golden tweet that inspired me to immediately open my tumblr drafts to goonwrite.
I KNOWW ITS ASS...im sorry i just wrote this in between other longfics.....just...take rhis for now...ill edit it when i have time
btw just a funny thing i added but he laughs/chuckles a lot in this fic, this is bcs i went through his voicelines and istg — this guy always has to let out a "AHAHAHAHAHA!" or "hahahaha. . . " or even a small "heh." like omg shuuut up....he just be hootin' and hollerin' all over mondstadt bro 😭😭 he is soo happy to be alive.
i asked the gc for a title, and 8 out of 11 people voted for "AITA for fucking my wife too often??" while the rest either voted/recommended "a case of erectile overfunction" or "HOPPIN' DIH DIH DIH" which cracks me up a bit.
anyways brought to you by this #truthnuke of a tweet lol:
Just thinking about a Chuuya x reader where Chuuya thought he lost you forever, but you've been right under his nose this whole time
Nsfw 18+
Based on this request ~
2850 words
CW: Smut but really more love making, oral(f), unprotected, hope I’m not forgetting anything~
➽──────❥ ❀⊱༺♡༻⊰❀ ➽──────❥
The rooftop of the abandoned warehouse was one of the few places that you felt safe. One of the only people who feel safe, Chuuya. You sat with your back against a rusted vent, knees drawn up, while Chuuya paced nearby. “Those Port Mafia bastards think they own everything,” Chuuya muttered, kicking a loose pebble over the edge. “But we’ve got numbers. We stick together, we push back harder next time.”
You tilted your head, watching him with a small smile. “Whatever you say almighty king of the sheep.”
“I’m not their king.” Chuuya mumbled sitting next to you. “No body listens to me, including you. I saw you charging in with that knife today! I told you to stay behind. What if they’d—”
“I’m fine, Chuuya.” You bumped his shoulder deliberately. “We’re all fine because of you.” He huffed, but his ears went faintly pink. For a second, the weight of the world lifted. Up here, it was just the two of you and the endless Yokohama skyline.
Chuuya pulled a slightly squished roll from his coat pocket and split it in half without a word, handing you the bigger piece. Your fingers brushed as you took it. “Eat,” He ordered gruffly. “Can’t have you slowing us down tomorrow.”
You took a bite. “Always so bossy.”
“Only ‘cause you never listen.” Chuuya's smirk was soft. He leaned back, staring at the clouds rolling in. “One day we’ll get out of here. No more scraping by.”
You nodded, letting the comfortable silence settle. Neither of you said it aloud, but in the quiet moments like this, it was there: the small promise that whatever came next, you’d face it together. Little did you know how soon that promise would be tested.
~~~
The rain in Yokohama falls with a soft pitter patter rhythm. Chuuya Nakahara shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat, the brim of his hat low against the downpour. Port Mafia business had dragged him into a rundown area. He should go home, let the night be over. But something about the neon sign buzzing above the dingy bar calls to him. Who is he to pass up a drink?
Chuuya pushes the door open. A handful of patrons hunched over their glasses. Behind the wooden counter, a woman wipes down glasses with mechanical movements, her shoulders tense under the dim lighting. Chuuya froze mid-step.
You.
You look up to welcome the newcomer. The glass slips from your fingers and shatters on the floor. “Fuck!” You look down at the glass, then back to Chuuya. Who is also looking you over. You look… worn. Dark circles shadow your eyes. Your clothes were simple, and your hands trembled as you crouched to clean up the mess. The girl who’d patched up his scrapes, who’d shared stolen bread and whispered dreams of getting out of the slums, now served drinks to men who barely tipped. “Chuuya…?”
Chuuya crossed the room in three strides, ignoring the curious stares from the corners. Up close, the years hit him harder. You were alive. Alive. “I thought you were dead,” he said, voice rough. His gloved hand reaches out, hovering near your arm like he was afraid you’d vanish.
You stood slowly, brushing shards of glass from your apron. “Amlost, but I was always faster than you gave me credit for... By the time I made it out…” Your laugh was bitter, nothing like the bright sound he used to hear. “There was nothing left. I heard rumors you joined up with the Port Mafia. Figured you’d forget all about me with your new fancy life.”
Chuuya’s jaw tightened. “Forget you? You were family, damn it. We survived that hellhole together. And you let me think—”
A customer at the end of the bar banged his empty glass. “Sweetheart! Another round!”
Your shoulders stiffened. You glanced at the clock, shift nowhere near over. The exhaustion in your posture makes something ugly twist in Chuuya’s chest. This wasn’t you. You weren’t supposed to be scraping by in a dive like this, dodging wandering hands. “Time for her break,” Chuuya growled at the bartender. The look in Chuuya’s eye spoke volumes, the man nods quickly and waves you off.
You didn’t protest as Chuuya guided you to a shadowed booth in the back, his hand finally settling on the small of your back. It felt like coming home and arriving in a strange place all at once. He orders a bottle of the best red they had and pours you a glass first. “Talk,” he said simply, hat tipped back now so you could see his eyes. Blue and intense.
Your fingers trace the rim of the glass. “After the incident… I bounced around. Odd jobs. Tried to stay under the radar. Figured it was safer to disappear. I heard rumors you joined. Became an executive. Glad you made it, Chuuya. You always were too stubborn to die.”
Chuuya reaches across the table, covering your hand with his. “Yeah, well, I’m still here. And so are you.” Silence stretches, heavy with unsaid years. Chuuya studies you. The way you held yourself smaller now, the girl who refused to cry even when the slums tried to break her. She looks so small now. “I’ve got resources,” he said finally. “Money. A place that isn’t this shithole. You don’t have to keep grinding here.”
Your eyes meet his, a spark of the old fire returning. “And what? I just fall back into your world? Join the Mafia? After everything? I don’t need a handout, Chuuya.” You stand abruptly, chair scraping against the worn floor.
“Sit. You haven’t even touched your wine.”
“I’m on the clock. I can’t just sit for a drink.”
“Fine. I’ll wait.” And Chuuya waited there through your whole shift. He nurses a single glass of red at the back booth. You feel his eyes on you the entire time. Tracking every forced smile you give customers. Hours later, you wipe down the counter one final time, muscles aching, and clock out with a nod from the wary bartender. Chuuya stands as you approach, coat already slung over his arm. “We’re going to my place,” he says. It is not a question.
You hesitate at the door, the cool night air brushing your face as rain continues to patter outside. “Chuuya… I meant what I said. I’m not some stray dog for you to pitty. I’ve survived this long on my own.”
Chuuya steps closer, close enough that you catch the faint scent of wine and that expensive cologne he must wear now. His hand finds the small of your back again. Gentle but firm, guiding you out under the awning. “You think I see you as a stray?” His voice drops, rough with annoyance. “ You were mine to protect back then, even if I was too young and stupid to say it right. You’re mine to protect now.” His tone was final. You walk beside him in silence for a block, the city lights reflecting off wet pavement. It feels too familiar. Too safe.
Chuuya's apartment looms ahead after a short drive in a black car that definitely belongs to the organization. The elevator ride is quiet. When the door opens to his space, you pause on the threshold. Floor-to-ceiling windows, minimalist furniture that still screams money, a wine rack that could stock a small bar. It is nothing like the rooftops you once shared.
Chuuya shrugs off his coat and hangs it, then turns to you. “Guest room’s yours. You’re staying tonight. No arguments.” He heads to the kitchen, pulling out two fresh glasses and a better bottle than anything from the bar.
“You’ve done well for yourself,” You murmur, eyes tracing the clean lines of the penthouse again. “I see you can afford the good stuff now.” You look at the wine.
Chuuya gives a short, almost self-conscious huff. “Comes with the job. Come on.” He leads you down a short hallway and pushes open the door to a spacious bathroom. Marble tiles, rainfall showerhead. It is absurdly luxurious compared to the lukewarm trickle you are used to at your cramped apartment. “Take as long as you need,” he says, voice quieter now. He lingers in the doorway for a beat, then steps back and closes the door behind him.
You peel off your work clothes. The smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke clinging to them and step under the hot spray. The water is perfect, scalding at first, then soothing as it pounds against your sore shoulders and back. You stand there for a long time, letting it chase away the ache of the shift, the shock of seeing him again, the years of carrying everything alone. Tears mix with the water, but you don’t fight them.
When you finally shut off the tap, your skin is flushed. A folded stack waits neatly on the counter: one of Chuuya’s black button-down shirts and a pair of his boxers. The fabric is soft, you pull them on. The shirt swamps you, hem hitting mid-thigh. The boxers sit low on your hips. The faint scent of his cologne clings to the collar. Barefoot, hair still damp, you pad back out to the living room.
Chuuya sits on the couch, jacket off, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Two glasses of wine rest on the table in front of him. He looks up when you enter, and something flickers across his face. Surprise, heat, a flash of that old protectiveness. His gaze traces the way his shirt drapes over you before he quickly looks back at your face. “Better?” he asks, voice a little rougher than before. He pats the cushion beside him.
You cross the room and sink onto the couch, drawing your legs up under you. The warmth of the shower still clings to your skin, and for the first time in years the tension in your chest eases just a fraction. Chuuya hands you a glass, his gloved fingers brushing yours again. “Yeah,” you whisper. “A lot better.”
He leans back, arm stretching along the back of the couch. Not quite around you, but close enough that you feel the heat of him. “Good. Now drink.” You gladly take the drink and snuggle closer to Chuuya than you mean to. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, his arm drops from the back of the couch to over your shoulder.
For a while, the two of you simply sit like that. Chuuya speaks first, voice low. “The Port Mafia… it’s not what I expected when I first joined. It gave me purpose after the Sheep fell apart.” He takes a sip, jaw tightening. “And then there’s that damn mackerel—Dazai. Partnered with him for too long. Bastard’s always scheming, always one step ahead, driving me insane with his suicide crap I swear he lives to piss me off.”
You let out a soft laugh, the sound loosening something tight in your chest.
Chuuya smirks, but it fades as he looks at you. “Your turn. What the hell have you been dealing with?”
You swirl the wine in your glass, the words spilling out easier than you expect. “The job at the bar is shit. Long hours, shitty tips, handsy customers. My apartment is a tiny studio with mold in the corners. I had a boyfriend, now my ex…” You shrug, voice quieter. “He was just another dead end. Nothing like what we had back then.” Chuuya’s arm tightens around you. You take another sip for courage, then murmur, “I had a crush on you, you know. Back in the day.”
Chuuya goes still beside you. Then Chuuya sets his glass down, turns toward you, and leans in. His hand cups your jaw with surprising gentleness, thumb brushing your cheek. His eyes search yours for only a heartbeat before he closes the distance. The kiss is slow at first, almost careful. His lips are warm, tasting of wine, and the familiar scent of him wraps around you. You kiss him back, one hand fisting lightly in his vest, pulling him closer.
When Chuuya pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath mingling, his voice is rough. “Idiot. I felt the same. Always did.”
You smile against his lips. “You’re an idiot too for never saying anything.”
The words barely leave your mouth before you swing a leg over and climb into his lap, straddling him. Chuuya’s hands settle on your hips instantly. The kiss deepens, hungrier now, years of longing and regret pouring out. Your fingers thread through his hair, knocking his hat aside. He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your mouth as his tongue traces yours.
You make out like that for what feels like forever. His hands roam up your back under the shirt, mapping warm skin, while your hips roll against him instinctively. The wine is forgotten. The city outside disappears. Chuuya breaks the kiss with a sharp breath, eyes dark. Without a word, he stands, hands supporting your thighs as he lifts you effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist, lips finding his neck as he carries you down the hall to his bedroom.
Chuuya sets you down gently on the edge, then steps back just long enough to shrug off his clothes. His gaze never leaves you as he returns, fingers working open the buttons of the shirt you wear. It slides off your shoulders and pools on the floor. Next come his boxers down your legs. Cool air hits your skin, but his warmth chases it away as he climbs over you, caging you in with his body.
Chuuya hovers there, forearms braced on either side of your head, red hair falling messily into his eyes. “Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmurs, voice husky, lips brushing your jaw. “But I’ve waited too damn long for this.”
Chuuya’s mouth finds yours again, slower this time, savoring, while one hand trails down your side, possessive and reverent all at once. Chuuya’s kisses trail lower. Along your jaw, down your neck, leaving faint marks that make you shiver. He cups one of your breasts, kneading it with just the right pressure, thumb brushing over your nipple until it pebbles under his touch. A low groan escapes him as he leans down, lips closing around the sensitive peak. He sucks gently at first, then harder, tongue swirling while his other hand mirrors the attention on your other breast. The dual sensation pulls soft moans from your throat; you arch into his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair. “Fuck Chuuya! Give me more.”
But Chuuya refuses to rush. He plays with you like he has all the time in the world, switching between slow licks and sharp little sucks that send heat straight between your legs. Eventually his hand slides lower, fingers parting your thighs. He strokes your clit in slow, deliberate circles. Two fingers dip lower, teasing your entrance before sliding inside you, curling just right while his thumb keeps working your clit. Your breath comes in gasps, pleasure building fast and sharp.
Then Chuuya shifts down the bed, settling between your legs. He replaces his fingers with his mouth. The first long lick draws a broken sound from you. Chuuya eats you out like a man starved, tongue flicking and circling your clit before plunging inside you, groaning at your taste. He holds your hips down with strong hands, keeping you open for him as he devours you. The coil tightens, tighter, your thighs starting to tremble—
He stops.
You whine in protest, the edge cruelly ripped away. “Chuuya, you bastard—” you start to yell, pushing up on your elbows.
But Chuuya is already moving, crawling back over you, cock hard and leaking as he lines up. In one smooth thrust he pushes inside you, stretching you open. The sudden fullness knocks the breath from your lungs. “Fuck,” he hisses against your neck, hips snapping forward again, setting a deep, punishing rhythm. “Couldn’t wait any longer… needed to feel you.”
Chuuya fucks you hard, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip. Like a true gentleman, he talked you through it.
“So fucking good for me.”
“Worth the wait.”
“You’re so damn beautiful."
“Mine.”
Every thrust hits deep, the wet sound of skin on skin filling the room along with your moans and Chuuya’s rough curses. The earlier teasing has you wound so tight that it does not take long. Pleasure builds again, faster this time, crashing over you without warning. You clench around him, crying out his name as you cum.
Chuuya follows right after, burying himself deep with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as he spills inside you. He collapses over you, careful not to crush you, face tucked into the crook of your neck as you both catch your breath. “I changed my mind. No guest room, you're sleeping next to me for the rest of our lives. And you're quitting your job.”
You giggle; that's a promise you're happy to keep.
➽──────❥ ❀⊱༺♡༻⊰❀ ➽──────❥
❀ It took me some time to get this request done so I apologies. I've also been MIA for a while. Life is a lot and we're all just doing the best we can~ ❣️
❀ As always room for improvement! Sorry about grammar and spelling😬
❀ Requests are open! 💡
❀ Comment, likes and reposts are much appreciated! 🫶
SYNOPSIS: After crossing a line neither of you intended to, The Doctor begins to experience something he cannot categorize. What began as curiosity—a desire to dismantle you piece by piece—shifts into something even science and experiments alone cannot solve. Though, during a particular mission in Nod-Krai, everything soon fractures into betrayal where confrontations arise and honed blades meet, emotions of the past long forgotten.
CONTENT WARNING: tenth harbinger!reader, reader is referred to as lady prevaricator/harbinger, loosely follows nod-krai aq (spoilers!), major character death, angst, yearning dottore, soft dom!dottore, smut (mdni), oral (m & f receiving), face fucking, mutual masturbation, spanking (f receiving), implied cum eating, body worship, semi-public sex (library), clothed sex, p in v, creampie, overstimulation if you squint, reader + pantalone visit fontaine, brief reader/pantalone moments but all platonic, house of the hearth cameo (freminet!), childe is a snitch, OCs mentioned, business jargon, arguing is foreplay, combat, brief mention of blood, reader deals with her feelings, not beta read.
WORD COUNT: 21,684
NOTES: hello! here’s the third and final part of this lil series ^^ aaaaack i’m a bit insecure of this one so please be kind to me. enjoy >< div: @uzmacchiato
“Long day?” You asked.
Not that you were interested—you did not care for small conversations but it felt compulsory.
Like you simply had to because that way, shame would not eat away at your very bones as you sank to your knees and slotted yourself between Dottore’s clothed thighs.
The man above you groaned, deep and passionate as if he’d been waiting for your touch; your right cheek rested on his left thigh, one hand caressed the other leg—you started with his knee then all the way up where he needed you most.
A lone finger traced an invisible path towards the apex of his legs, your hand hovered just above the growing tent in his pants, a ghostly touch enough to make his hips buck upwards in desperation.
“Hmm. Only a two-hour meeting with Her Majesty, and today’s experiment going awry—a complete waste of time.”
Dottore grunted, head tilting far back atop the sofa backrest in response to your hand palming his growing erection.
His gloved fingers dug into the crimson fabric,—velvet against leather—a low moan escaped his parted lips; his cock wasn’t even out yet here he was already trembling like a lone tree braving the harsh, icy winds.
Ugh, today was a drag. Firstly, a subordinate of his had set up the wrong apparatus which led to borrowing extra time to assemble the correct one. m
If there was anything Dottore hated the most, it had to be someone making mistakes over a simple task—it couldn’t get any more straightforward than that, how did one even manage to mess it up? Secondly, the experimental trial was a failure, not only did it explode but it made an annoying mess inside the laboratory, too.
Through lidded eyes, you watched as Dottore’s Adam’s apple stuttered, face contorting beneath the pointed mask he wore while the pressure of your hand gradually increased.
In a weird sense, pride bloomed across your chest at his pathetic behaviour, the mere idea that the Second-ranked Harbinger’s weakness was this, Dottore was eight whole ranks above your own yet when it came to pleasing him, you felt superior.
This . . . exchange between you and The Doctor hadn’t been going on for long.
Despite it starting around a little over two months ago (since the conclusion of the joint research project), you had only visited one another for a total of four times including now, and each time, words were barely exchanged—only carnal desire and the need of release filled all four corners of the room. Neither of you minded because after all, you were only using one another for one’s own pleasure.
Mindless chatter wasn’t needed for something that didn’t involve romance.
You let his response linger in the air, the same way the unspoken energy between you and Dottore did—the push and pull, as if you were the moon and he, the azure tides.
Focused on where the latter needed you most, you shifted to position yourself better before you finally undid his belt and pulled down the zipper of his pants. Dottore sighed in response, relief washed over his feverish body, one less fabric to release his aching cock.
A rather embarrassing wet spot had made itself known on the fabric of his brief and you didn’t waste any time to rub at the spot,—languid and calculated just how Dottore liked it—he let out a forceful grunt, teeth digging into his bottom lip.
Despite not having done this a lot, you’ve already ascertained how his body responded to your touch; anything too light or ghostly had Dottore impatient, he would try to escalate the matters by bucking into your hands or if you were on top, he’d hold your hips in place to thrust upwards.
The Doctor liked it rough, whether it was for him or for you, a touch of roughness never left the scene. It was to be expected, a Harbinger of his caliber only knew of ragged edges and cold nights where softness and comfort did not grow.
Though, it raised a question within you, was Dottore capable of such a thing? A hand that knew nothing but power and violence—stained with endless crimson, you wondered how it would feel.
“Haah. I’ve had a tedious day, Prevaricator. Do not tease me.” He groaned, legs subtly spreading a little wider as if to invite your body further into his.
You’ve been rubbing up and down at the wet spot on his underwear longer than you intended—you didn’t mean to tease Dottore but his low gasps and grunts were simply music to your ears.
Alas, you were here to please him after all, so, without wasting another second further, you freed his cock from its confine. With a lift of his hips and a swift pull of his pants and underwear, his heavy cock slapped against his clothed abdomen—it stood tall, crimson and veiny waiting to be stroked.
Pre-cum from his bulbous tip glistened beneath the dim lighting, its pearlescent sheen beckoned upon your tongue like sinful desire.
One you would willingly fall into, drown in its never ending depths and be saved by no one.
Dottore hissed as you teased his slit and rubbed the pre-cum down the length of his shaft. His chest heaved up and down, each heavy breath he let out in unison with the strokes of your hand.
Up and down, up and down while squeezing just a little tighter as you reached the tip.
More pre-cum oozed out of his slit at your repeated ministrations; you swallowed your saliva, suddenly remembering the way his thick cum felt in your throat the last time you two were intimate.
It felt weird but not enough to have one recoil from its sensation, though, taste was a completely different story. The first time you tasted Dottore on your tongue, you were quite literally met with a coughing fit; the whole scene was beyond embarrassing on your end—it was sloppy, his essence ran down your chin, and tears welled your eyes as you unceremoniously heaved.
His taste sat heavy on your tongue, slightly bitter and salty but you expected nothing else from someone who devoted their time and energy in research and experiments. In other words, Dottore only fuelled himself when absolutely necessary which, of course, led to rather unfavourable tastes.
“Ngh! Good. Yes! Just like that!” A string of shameless groans spilled from his lips like a forbidden prayer. His praise went straight to your core—hot and uncomfortable as it settled—and disappointingly, you clenched around nothing.
Urged by his heavenly sounds and saccharine praises, you brought your head closer to give his tip experimental licks and tried not to think much about the taste.
Dottore’s gloved hands flew to your hair, fingers intertwined with your locks while his cock slowly entered your mouth. Inch by inch, it filled your throat ‘til there was no more room left, you didn’t meet the base of his shaft, a few centimetres remained untouched by your mouth due to his impressive length.
Tears began to form in your eyes as the blunt tip rubbed against the back of your throat, you exhaled through your nose—in and out—trying not to let your gag reflex take over.
The grip on your hair tightened and your hands—that were once flat against his thighs—curled, nails dug into his soft skin, leaving crescent shaped marks behind.
With one hand entangled in your hair and the other resting just below your jaw, Dottore slowly guided your head up the length of his cock ‘til the tip remained before lowering it back down; languid and calculated, he set the pace. With every careful bob of your head, he moaned shamelessly, head permanently thrown back atop the sofa backrest without a single care in the world.
Oh, how your hot mouth deliciously swallowed him over and over again. The sounds it made urged him to fuck your throat even deeper. With trembling hands, you massaged his heavy balls, slightly squeezing and groping them.
Dottore’s cock twitched, followed by a garbled moan of your name that lingered in the thick air; you hated to admit it but your hips involuntarily bucked at his sinful voice. How you desperately wished for some kind of friction—anything. Just to quench the growing thirst between your thighs.
Though, you figured only one individual could do so effortlessly, and it happened to be the Harbinger you were pleasing with your mouth.
“Mhm—haah! I’m close!”
As embarrassing as it was to confess, Dottore neared his impending orgasm; he had been putting off his sexual needs longer than necessary—in short, he was beyond pent up. Simply feeling your tightness dizzied him to the point of weakness. His hips desperately bucked and stuttered as you continued to bob your head with his assistance.
After a few more strokes, you pulled him from your mouth, both hands frantically stroking him while your lips and tongue found his balls.
His scent was simply intoxicating, everything smelled and tasted like Dottore and gods you could not get enough. As if you were a starved madwoman, you messily licked and slurped at his balls with fervour.
Dottore gripped your moving wrist, cursing at the heavens above from the immense pleasure you had him in, and despite his firm hold on, you didn’t let up. Your hands stubbornly stroked him, mouth eagerly sucked him ‘til the coil deep in his stomach violently snapped, white, hot bliss engulfed his feverish body.
Dottore’s legs shook, Adam’s apple bobbing with every whimper he let out. Thick ropes of cum spurted from his tip, painting your hands and face a sinful shade of ivory.
You rode out his high by continuing to stroke his cock and suck on his balls until he was practically pushing you off of him. You gave the base an open-mouthed kiss before pulling away, eyes slightly narrowed as cum dripped down your forehead and brows.
Despite the heaviness of his body, Dottore pushed himself off the backrest, sitting up straight to dig for a handkerchief inside the pocket of his pants and gently wipe away the lewd mess on your face. Obviously, you were more than capable of doing so yourself but you let him—you didn’t move away from his gloved touch.
“That was unnecessary.” You whispered, voice a little hoarse, as he neatly folded the soiled fabric, he made a mental note to wash it later.
“Is that your way of saying ‘thank you’?” He scoffed, tucking himself back in. You stood up—legs a little wobbly—and smoothed your clothes, as if Dottore wasn’t just fucking your face mere moments ago.
You ignored his retort, instead, you turned around and simply headed for the door. This was how it went, once either of you got what you wanted, the next thing to do was leave—no lingering around, no announcements made. Both of you knew of this unspoken rule. If anything, it made things less awkward whenever you’d see one another in the Palace or in the Experimental Bureau.
“Unless you want to get stranded in layers and layers of snow, I suggest you stay the night. Of course, I am not forcing you, I am simply giving advice. You’re free to leave.” At Dottore’s words, you stopped in your tracks.
How strange.
He had never invited you to stay the night, and even if he were telling the truth about the harsh weather, it was still out of character for him. If roles were reversed and Dottore was in your abode instead, you still would’ve sent him on his way. Whether he braved the blizzard outside was none of your concern.
You took a peek outside the window by the door, the sight you were greeted with confirmed Dottore’s words.
A thick blanket of snow completely covered the ground outside which gave absolutely no room for any individual to walk on and considering the fact that Dottore’s residence was just outside Snezhnograd meant it was far from your place and definitely farther from Zapolyarny Palace—the place you were deciding to sleep at tonight since you had a scheduled meeting with Her Majesty first thing in the morning.
The outside world beyond the glass was nothing but white violence—wind howled and frost spiraled in sheets thick enough to swallow entire buildings.
“It would be rude of me to do so.” It seemed like a pain having to navigate through a snowstorm but staying the night in Dottore’s house was even worse.
The place didn’t exactly feel cosy—honestly, you didn’t know what you expected but it definitely wasn’t this; piles and piles of documents and books decorated the entire space, not in a messy way but there was just so much of them that the scent of paper invaded your sense of smell.
As for decorations, there wasn’t much as well, his personality nor taste in design wasn’t present in his home. You concluded the place as an extension of his laboratory, only this time, instead of being equipped with machines and chemicals, it had furniture.
The wind slams against the window and the glass trembles faintly in its frame as if to further counter your reply. You hesitated for a while and turned to face Dottore who now stood a few steps away, back in his proper form, “I’ve navigated worse.”
“Visibility has already collapsed. If you decide to heed my words, there is a spare room located on the right side of the corridor.” He left it at that, calculated footsteps retreating to his study.
You stood in silence for a minute or two, debating on your next move. The risk of getting severe frostbite seemed like a bother and recovery would be an even bigger headache, it would only serve as a hindrance to your routine. Despite your better judgement, you followed Dottore’s advice.
Surprisingly enough, the spare room was . . . okay, it housed a spacious queen bed decorated with crimson sheets, and to its left was a simple wooden night stand with a singular lamp.
On the right was a grand floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that contained a variety of ancient texts and novels—a mix of Snezhnayan and Sumerian books.
Oh, that’s right, you’ve almost forgotten The Doctor was originally from Sumeru.
The next few minutes consisted of you reading titles from book spines, even going as far as skimming the texts inside before ultimately deciding to retire for the night, overcoat long unfastened and draped over the foot of the bed; you didn’t want to spend another minute being aware of where you were right now.
Inside his study, Dottore mindlessly scribbled in his notebook—experimental findings, new hypotheses and errors, he wrote them all down.
The fireplace to his left illuminated the dim room, hues of warm oranges and reds decorated its walls like a fiery painting; the sound of fire cracking, wind howling, and pen to paper was all one could hear. Even though his hand diligently wrote each sentence, Dottore’s mind was elsewhere.
Though, not far off, just down the darkened corridor.
At the thought of you, an inexplicable feeling deep within his chest resurfaced. It wasn’t the first time he felt this way, it's as if a seed had been planted inside him, took root in his veins, and slowly blossomed with every passing day. Every time it grew, it stabbed at his chest as if to tell him it wasn’t supposed to be there.
Inhale. Exhale. Dottore had more pressing matters to deal with than to idly think about the Harbinger a few metres away. The Harbinger who had just pleasured him. The Harbinger who somewhat infuriated him.
The Harbinger who couldn’t seem to escape his thoughts. A prisoner of his mind.
Dottore scribbled some more notes. Then some more ‘til he realised he had started to write something completely different, not your Fatui title nor the name Her Majesty bestowed upon you—your real name.
Dottore had accidentally written your real name amongst countless paragraphs of important information.
His vermillion gaze traced each and every letter of your name, with intent, the same way his hands roamed your body during intimacy. He let his pen clatter against the wooden table, then, his body moved without thought—chair pushed back, its legs scraped against the floor, each hurried step led him closer and closer to the room you resided in.
The door wasn’t closed, a small opening revealed your figure fast asleep on the bed. He stood there for a minute or two just observing the way your chest shallowly rose and fell, a steady rhythm. The snowstorm had subsided a bit but wind persisted against the glass windows, begging to be let in.
Despite his better judgement, Dottore quietly stepped inside and made his way over to your side of the bed.
Moonlight illuminated your face, casting gentle shadows upon your features; he loomed over your sleeping figure akin to monsters children talked about at night—tall and unsettling.
He knelt down to bring himself closer and reached out a hand to brush stray hair away from your face. His own was devoid of any expression, as if he were merely reading an experimental report but Dottore knew something inside him was wrong, deeply wrong.
He gave into greed and let himself linger a while longer, observing the way your tranquil beauty flawlessly shone under the moon; even going as far as ghosting a digit over the slope of your nose, down to the curve of your lips.
Then, as if realisation hit him, Dottore curled his hand into a fist before abruptly returning to his feet to leave.
His mind wandered no further into the foreign sensation within his chest. After all, he had more pressing matters to tend to.
The next morning, you left without announcement, Dottore would understand, you assumed he was still cooped up in his study due to the door being shut. Though, it wasn’t like you were required to tell him, anyway. The journey from Dottore’s place to The Zapolyarny Palace was quiet, too quiet but you appreciated it nonetheless; the opportunity to bask in cold silence wasn’t granted very often.
Though, one exception was when knelt before Her Majesty.
The throne room was quieter than the rest of the Palace; sunlight peeked through tall frosted windows which casted pale reflections across the marble floor. Ice climbed the pillars in slow, crystalline veins. With one leg bent, you knelt before the dais, posture straight, head lowered out of respect. Before you, upon an elevated throne of frost and silver, sat the Tsaritsa.
“Prevaricator,” She began, cold and calm yet weighted with intention. “I require you in Fontaine.”
“For what purpose, Your Majesty?” As if on cue, a lower ranking Fatuus handed you a lone document which contained a map. A shipping network, ports, warehouses and trade routes which stretched from Fontaine’s docks all the way to distant coasts.
“At the center of this is an organisation known as the Commercial Registry Guild. They are not soldiers nor investors—they are regulators.” Upon her words, your eyes narrowed in interest.
“In Fontaine, no large-scale shipment moves without documentation. No mechanical device leaves the harbour without proper certification, and no foreign entity establishes long-term infrastructure without registry approval.”
In simpler terms: the Commercial Registry Guild controlled paperwork and in Fontaine, paperwork was power.
“The Guild oversees import permits, maritime insurance bonds, mechanical patent filings and cross-border tariffs—they decide what is taxed, what is delayed, and what is quietly expedited.” The Tsaritsa explained and you immediately understood her intentions.
“They can slow our operations or accelerate them.” You muttered, Her Majesty nodded, completely delighted at how swiftly you caught on; she always admired that about you—sharpness.
“Indeed. For months, Regrator has attempted to secure a preferential trade agreement with the Guild but they have refused.” Her tone shifted.
“On what grounds, Your Majesty?” “They claim neutrality. They insist they cannot appear politically aligned with Snezhnaya.”
“So, they fear reputational damage? Yet they negotiate with other nations.” It made sense, an organisation that handled important paperwork not only for Fontaine but for the whole of Teyvat, being biased to one nation would stain their reputation which would ultimately lead to decrease in business.
Basically, a losing situation.
The Tsaritsa nodded once more, “But those nations approach them through diplomacy. We approach them through leverage."
You were aware of how Regrator operated, he excelled in numbers, pressure, and long-term financial dominance. He offered investment shares, exclusive contracts, and profit margins too tempting to ignore yet the Guild remained unmoved, stubborn and firm.
“They don’t want to be bought.” You stated. “Precisely. You understand well, Prevaricator.” A faint smile graced upon the Tsaritsa’s lips.
The Commercial Registry Guild thrived on perception, their power lied in appearing impartial. If they openly favoured Snezhnaya and the Fatui, they were at risk of losing the illusion of neutrality and therefore, their influence.
“Regrator has offered them reduced tariffs for Snezhnayan exports and access to northern trade routes.” She continued.
“And they declined?” “Indeed.” “What do they gain by refusing the Fatui?”
The Tsaritsa answered, “Bargaining power to keep the Fatui desperate.”
You nodded, “If we secure their cooperation, what changes?” “Our shipments would pass Fontaine’s ports without delay. Our mechanical imports would clear inspections within hours instead of weeks, and our financial transfers would bypass secondary audits.”
That meant the Fatui operation within Fontaine would be much smoother and harder to trace—no confiscated cargo and absolutely no sudden ‘random inspections’.
The Tsaritsa added, “We would operate as though we belonged there.” That was the true advantage, the idea Regrator had been trying to achieve for months.
“Regrator has become rather . . . impatient. Which is why I believe the Guild should be approached differently.” It made sense, he had attempted to overwhelm the Guild with lucrative proposals and in return, it was interpreted as aggression from the Fatui.
What they required was reassurance—not bribes.
“They fear that aligning with us will compromise their image so we shall offer them something that enhances it instead.” You carefully pondered, already thinking of strategies to approach the organisation. That was what you were good at—enhancements.
Normally, you served the Tsaritsa by working in the backline as a combat medic for injured operatives during elaborate missions, other days you would work on Fatui armoury to enhance its design in battle. It was rare of Her Majesty to assign you in a negotiation deal with Regrator as the latter primarily dealt with it alone
Though, your skills in smooth-talking and winning over clients weren’t unknown to the Fatui, which is why as a last resort for negotiations, they’d turn to you for assistance. After all, persuasion built on lies was your forté.
“You shall depart tomorrow and accompany Regrator to Fontaine. Bring me the Guild’s signatures and Fontaine’s ports become our gateway.” After another round of briefing concerning different matters such as Project Stuzha, the meeting was officially dismissed.
Acquiring cooperation from Fontanian ports? That would be easy enough.
After exiting Her Majesty’s throne room, you rounded a corner—in deep thought about possibilities and approach—before your hasty figure accidentally collided against someone else’s. The impact wasn’t intense but it sure did startle you.
“Columbina! My apologies, I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings.” Your eyes widened at the individual before you. The Third stood there, unsettling as ever, she let your apology linger in the air for a while as if she hadn’t heard the words come from your lips.
Then, she shook her head in a dainty dismissal, “It’s quite alright. I, too, wasn’t paying attention.” Columbina murmured, voice soft and icy.
You shifted your weight from one foot to another; she was kind and quiet yet the inexplicable aura she carried along summoned shivers down your back. Not to mention how her eyes were always closed behind the ivory fabric she donned, even so, one could still feel her ominous gaze.
There were times when Columbina sang down the corridors of Zapolyarny Palace—beyond the door to your quarters—it was an exquisite melody yet it completely lost its beauty during ungodly hours of the morning where you would be reviewing laboratory reports; her voice would suddenly emerge from the silence, akin to a ghostly apparition.
“Are you here to see Her Majesty as well?”
She absentmindedly nodded.
“Well, I won’t keep you for long. I’ll see you around.” You bid her a goodbye and headed your way, important matters awaited you.
Fontaine smelled different from Snezhnaya, the scent of salt and steam invaded your senses. This wasn’t your first time in the Nation of Hydro but you could never get used to its smell.
The Court of Fontaine hummed with motion everywhere—aquabus rails glided across elevated waterways, mechanical lifts ascended and descended between stone terraces, and Fontanians went along their day, busy as ever.
Tucked at the south of the city, inside a high-ceilinged office that overlooked bustling streets below, Regrator stood near the tall windows, gloved hands clasped behind his back. His expression was pleasant—a kind smile painted on his face—but rather strained at the edges.
From where you sat, you could already see the tightness in his jaw, clearly annoyed.
Across from you, sat two representatives of the Guild, they donned tailored fabric which hinted at their seriousness, and polite smiles sharpened by habit, “We have reviewed your tariff concessions. While generous, they do not address our primary concern.” The blond male spoke up, he introduced himself as Monsieur Rochefort during formalities earlier.
“Which is entirely abstract.” Regrator turned to the representatives, a hint of sharpness laced within his indifferent tone. “What do you gain from denying the Fatui? We’ve already offered generous incentives.” The Ninth gestured towards the stack of neatly piled documents placed atop the table.
Next to Monsieur Rochefort, a woman—Madame Moreau—spoke this time, “Which is what entirely makes this whole negotiation worse. If we accept those incentives along with the deal, it would look like we’ve been bought—bribed to be in favour of Snezhnaya and the Fatui.” That was the problem Regrator couldn’t see, in his mind, money and value were everything; he viewed the world around him as assets that could be bought and if that didn’t work, he’d simply increase the price.
But money wasn’t convincing the Guild.
Silence and tension stretched far, just below breaking point. Everyone in the room looked on edge—Regrator appeared as if he were two sentences away from unleashing his temper while the representatives subtly trembled in their seats, afraid of what two Harbingers could do to them if angered. You, who had not said a single word from the start, finally spoke,
“The Guild is afraid of how this will look, and if you sign a deal with the Fatui, it looks like favouritism, correct?”
“Yes.” Monsieur Rochefort sternly nodded, as if to say: ‘Finally! Someone gets it!’ A hint of amusement clouded his gaze, one far too much for your liking.
“So, don’t sign a deal with the Fatui.”
Everyone in the room paused at your words, you could already feel your colleague’s hard gaze on you. If you were to guess, he was most likely thinking you just blew off the negotiation. At the representatives’ confused expressions, you continued,
“This isn’t a trade alliance. It’s a logistics improvement initiative.”
“Located at the heart of Teyvat, Fontaine handles more trade than any other nation. If shipments get stuck in port, the Guild—and Fontaine’s—reputation suffers. The company would look inefficient.” Now, they were listening to your words, interests piqued upon hearing your narrative.
Good. You got them hooked—right into your palm.
“What we’re offering aren’t incentives, think of it as funding to help the Guild process international shipments swiftly. The company remains in control and from the perspective of the public, this is simply a strategy to upgrade Fontaine’s trade system. No bias and therefore no reputation damaged.”
Monsieur Rochefort and Madame Moreau exchanged glances, ones full of consideration and thought. They privately muttered among themselves which you gave them privacy by averting your gaze; your eyes landed on Regrator who returned your stare with partial delight.
Of course, celebration was still out of the table until ink met paper and documents were signed.
“And what does Snezhnaya gain?” Monsieur Rochefort asked. “Faster imports and exports, and predictable timelines for approvals. That’s all.”
“And if we decide this negotiation no longer serves us?”
“The Guild is free to withdraw, agreement renews annually.” Regrator’s brows furrowed at your words. What a bold concession. He thought. Both representatives relaxed at the reassurance. Organisations like the Guild were predictable, they were the type to easily bend once they got their way.
Both of them murmured among themselves once more, full of animated gestures and nodding of their heads, “If this is presented as a Guild-led modernization effort then we can proceed.”
Upon words of confirmation, tension inside the office disappeared instantaneously, as if a deep exhale was let out. Regrator smiled, genuinely, this time, at you and at the Guild representatives.
Without wasting another time, pens were brought forward and documents were finally signed— just like that, Fontaine’s most important trade office had begun working closely with the Fatui.
After necessary formalities, you and Regrator left the building, walking side by side; the late afternoon skies greeted you both, hues of light rose and coral intertwined above your heads. It had been a long day, as soon as you and Regrator reached the docks of Fontaine, you went straight to the Guild’s office.
“Congratulations, Prevaricator. Your value has appreciated.” He chuckled lightly, soft voice weaving its way above the background noise. You shrugged, “I only gave them a story they were comfortable telling the public.”
“Ah, how modest of you. Say, since you’ve managed to single-handedly close the negotiation that has tormented me for months, why don’t we drop by Hotel Debord for dinner? All on me.”
Confusion slowly formed on your face, you looked up at him, brows knitted and eyes narrowed; Regrator? Offering to shoulder dinner expenses? That was new. Not that you were short on mora or any other factor but it was rather rare for him to offer such things.
Furthermore, you weren’t close enough with him to even consider dining out together nor did the two of you work closely; you even have no recollection of past encounters with him—not that you really paid any attention to the Ninth.
Though, you accepted. The day was slowly drawing to a close and you weren’t given the chance to indulge in a full meal since departure.
As the evening rolled in, Hotel Debord shone in elegance. Crystal chandeliers hung high against its pristine glass ceiling, musicians played something light which eased every customer into the mood of luxury as they murmured over wine and Fontanian delicacies. Delicious aroma wafted through the air, bringing nothing but pure delight.
Tonight’s celebration was discreet—a rather trivial one between you and Regrator.
At a table in the upper level of the Hotel, the latter swirled crimson wine in his glass, watching the reflections bend against its surface,
“To efficiency.” He chuckled in delight, lips stretched in a mischievous smile. You sat opposite him, posture straight, hands rested atop the fine tablecloth,
“To efficiency.” You repeated.
The two of you brought your glasses together before taking a sip of wine—it was bitter and bold but it had a rather pleasant aftertaste which lingered on your tongue.
The background noise of the Hotel swelled and softened like a distant tide, not too distracting for conversations but also not too quiet for awkwardness. For a brief moment, you simply observed the room—watched as elite customers animatedly conversed and toasted their drinks over matters worth celebrating, completely unaware that Fontaine’s most powerful regulators fell right into Snezhnaya’s hands.
Regrator sat his glass down, “You realise that this success will not go unnoticed, the Tsaritsa will be pleased.” “She most definitely will be. After all, I did not travel here only to return empty handed in Snezhnaya.” You finished your wine then shifted your attention over to the duck confit.
“And Dottore?” He asked casually, as if it were a mere afterthought. There was a slight pause in your movement at the mention of the Second but Regrator was observant enough to notice—he always noticed everything.
The expression painted on your face remained unchanged, indifferent. Why was he suddenly asking about his friend? His question felt . . . out of place.
“. . . What of him?”
“He will definitely find practical use for expedited shipments, he always does.” There was something knowing in his gaze, you didn’t like the way his eyes lingered. You shifted in your seat slightly, heat slowly crept up your neck and onto your ears, it was uncomfortable, the feeling akin to a thousand needles poking at your skin. Though, not because of Regrator’s stare but at the mention of Dottore.
Calmly, you replied, “Then The Doctor should be grateful.” Regrator’s smile widened, “Oh, I suspect he will be.”
You didn’t speak further. The conversation died down which left both of you to clear your plates. It wasn’t awkward, though, it's as if it was some kind of shared understanding between you and Regrator; you appreciated this side of him, one that did not speak numbers nor value—this way, he was actually quite tolerable.
The soft melody continued in the background, candlelights flickered and danced beneath the diamond chandeliers. Outside, the skies darkened as the sun dipped further and further into the horizon, the two of you took this as a cue to retire for the night. Tomorrow, there was another meeting with the Guild to discuss its funding.
As you and Regrator walked down the streets of Fontaine, for a brief moment, your mind impulsively wondered what Dottore was up to. Last you heard from him, his experiment wasn’t going too well.
Back in Snezhnaya, pure anger engulfed Dottore’s entire body, it seeped into his covered skin and down to his very bones. He was absolutely fuming.
For the second time, his experiment failed miserably—it was the same result as the day before, an explosion of substances which once again covered the floors of his laboratory and therefore needed thorough cleaning. Thorough cleaning meant forced time away from the laboratory, in other words, wasted time.
Dottore muttered a curse under his breath before carefully stepping over spilled liquid; firm, calculated steps echoed throughout the dead silent laboratory, each one of his subordinates didn’t dare utter a word.
One look at his stiff expression beneath the mask and they knew not to cross the thin line. Without another word, Dottore exited the laboratory, his subordinates could clean up that mess.
He crossed the building in a swift manner—legs moved without stopping, feet carrying him down an extramely familiar path within the Experimental Bureau. A corridor that led straight to your laboratory.
As if he owned the space, Dottore swiped his access card; he watched as the heavy metal door hissed, it slowly opened upwards. He impatiently tapped his foot against the ground, and as soon as the gap was big enough, he swiftly ducked down and entered your laboratory—he didn’t want to stand around waiting for the large door to fully open.
The sight he was greeted with was just like any other—a standard laboratory, and inside were your subordinates who diligently worked on Fatui armoury. Except you. Dottore slightly tilted his head in confusion, earring swaying along with the movement. The entire room paused, their attention now directed at the Second Harbinger, confusion on their faces.
“Where is she?”
In all honesty, the reason of his sudden visit was unknown and unclear, its as though his feet had a mind of its own which carried him all the way to the other side of the Experimental Bureau. But what upset him even more was the fact that you weren’t present—he spent all that time walking to your laboratory only to be met with nothing? How inconvenient.
The edge in his tone was noticeable and every person in the room stiffened.
“L-Lord Dottore! What a pleasure to have you here. Unfortunately, our Lady Harbinger isn’t present right now. She is currently away on a mission in Fontaine with Lord Regrator per Her Majesty’s orders. They left yesterday morning.” Someone finally spoke up after a moment of silence.
Dottore stood there, dumbfounded. Mission in Fontaine? With Pantalone? Why was your presence needed in Fontaine? Endless questions plagued his mind, they were all unanswered which irritated him further. In academics, unanswered questions were a scholar’s worst enemy and apparently to him, the same applied when it came to you.
Indeed, he was aware of Pantalone’s departure to Fontaine but the latter didn’t mention your company. There was no time to dwell on this matter inside your laboratory. With a dip of his head—an acknowledgement of your subordinate’s words—he turned around to leave.
Surprisingly, Dottore ended up in Zapolyarny Palace, specifically outside the door to your personal chamber. Yet again, the reason for his visit was unknown, it's as if an invisible rope had somewhat tugged him here.
With a gloved hand, he reached for the knob and stepped inside; the room was tidy and put together, a striking contrast to when the two of you got rather heated in here—Dottore swore he could still hear your breathless moans and grunts even as pure silence greeted him. He closed the door behind him and leaned on it, entire body resting against it as he closed his eyes.
It was dark inside but he did not care. Frankly, the darkness somewhat put him at ease. Strangely enough, despite the lack of your presence, the room held your scent—the sweet, intoxicating aroma that drove him mad.
Dottore let out an exhale, something within him stirred in response to your fragrance clouding his senses; his right hand balled and opened repeatedly, the leather groaned and squeaked at the movement. That sound was the only factor that grounded him because right now, his mind was stained with thoughts of you, and only you.
Akin to morning fog that cleared in the afternoon sun, the failed experiment and today’s worries were long gone—dissipated into thin air as if it never existed. Oh, how you could single handedly wash away all the stress he felt with the use of your mouth . . hands . . cunt.
Dottore swallowed thickly, he tried to ignore the growing heat between his legs but it was rapid—almost like a petty retaliation against his own judgement. What had gotten into him? Sure, he had been intimate with you more than once but what happened inside the room always stayed there, his thoughts never once wandered back to the past to fantasize about you.
This was a first. Was he sick?
Dottore inhaled then exhaled. Once. Twice. Thrice. But the tent in his pants only grew further, embarrassment ate away at his feverish skin. One hand reached down between his legs, he let out a sharp hiss as he palmed his clothed boner, knees buckling at the sudden sensation that shot up his spine.
When . . . was the last time Dottore shamelessly touched himself at the thought of another? Never. He always deemed such matters as immature nor did he ever entertain feelings of lust.
He repeated the motion several times—groping and slightly squeezing at his hard cock but it didn’t feel as intoxicating as your touch, it’s as if Dottore knew his body less than you did and it frustrated him.
Both emotionally and sexually.
For one, you were all the way in Fontaine which meant he had to deal with his carnal needs alone.
Impatient, he undid his belt with trembling hands then pulled both pants and underwear in such haste which caused his hard cock to slap against his lower abdomen.
The fabric pooled around his ankles, icy air met his naked legs, leaving goosebumps; he shuddered at the coldness against his warm skin. With the use of his teeth, Dottore expertly bit at the tip of his right glove, successfully stripping his hand clean of the material.
A wanton moan escaped his lips as he rubbed at the sensitive cockhead, it leaked an embarrassing amount of pre-cum, globs of it rolled down his blunt tip, it gave his cock a pearlescent sheen beneath the faint moonlight that seeped into your room.
From tip to base, Dottore spread his pre-cum all over his cock—several languid strokes that had him cursing into the still silence.
Hearing his moan by itself felt degrading, usually, your sounds would interlace with his own to create a sinful melody that he could bask in but alas, the tune of his immoral song was lonely. With his eyes closed and a vivid imagery of you splayed out on the bed—all in your naked, unholy beauty—Dottore pumped his cock, starting out with a slow pace. He imagined you softly raking your hands through your bare torso, up and down in unison with the stroke of his own; you brought both hands up to your chest, squeezing and groping at your own breasts.
“Mhm—Haah!” Fuck, he could hear how your dainty moans rolled off your tongue perfectly.
As if you were there, Dottore moaned your name in response—not Prevaricator. It fell into the broken silence like an unanswered prayer and hit the cold floor rather intensely, it served as a painful reminder of your absence.
Nonetheless, he tightened his fingers around his cock and stroked himself a little faster. Raw pleasure gnawed at his skin and weakened his legs. He desperately bucked into his hand as you began to touch yourself, a lone digit teasingly rubbed at your wet slit. You inserted a finger and Dottore swallowed thickly, incoherently cursing at the expression painted on your face.
Oh, how insanely exquisite you looked with your eyes rolled back and lips parted to let out the most beautiful whimpers.
Sweat beaded beneath his pointed mask, despite the crisp temperatures, he felt warm and stuffy; the fabric of his clothes around his torso uncomfortably stuck onto his skin. Dottore hated the feeling but the bliss that engulfed his whole body was very addicting—its as if he were experiencing oxytocin for the very first time.
“Ngh! Prevaricator—Ah!” He grunted. You added another finger inside your sopping cunt, this time you thrust your digits with haste and desperation. Pornographic wet sounds echoed within the room and it only fuelled him further.
Dottore followed suit, hand moving at the same pace your fingers did, a forceful groan escaped his parted lips as if he’d been punched in the gut by pleasure itself. At this point, he was quite literally tugging at his cock from how tight he gripped it—his knuckles were painted ivory and jaw hard as stone which meant orgasm loomed dangerously close.
Dottore’s colourful moans turned into short, desperate pants, his arm burned at the repeated movement but he couldn’t bring himself to stop, not when pleasure was mere seconds away. In his mind, your climax was also close—he could hear the way your moans ended in dainty whimpers, a subtle occurrence whenever you neared your orgasm.
“Dottore!” You whimpered, back arching off the mattress, face contorted into the most beautiful pleasure-drunk expression. Tears welled your eyes and your mouth parted in a silent moan as your orgasm came crashing down. Dottore grunted, strokes faltering a bit before reaching his orgasm; hot, white pleasure engulfed his vision—his climax was so intense that he swore he briefly blacked out and if it weren’t for his grip on the door knob next to him, he would’ve met the floor face first with how weak his legs had become.
With a loud moan of your name, hot cum spurted from his cock and spilled onto the floor. Dottore pumped his sensitive cock three more times to ride out his high, primarily focusing on teasing his slit. He let out a low curse, hips stuttering at the overstimulation. Heavy breaths filled the room, it settled into the air the same way shame weighed on Dottore’s sweaty skin—heavy and uncomfortable.
Another curse slipped past his lips. In all honesty, he did not know what to make of this whole situation nor was he willing to address his carnal fantasies. It was normal, right? Dottore had only been having sex with you which meant you would be the only object of his desires—the very concept of stimulus and response; the external stimuli would be engaging in raw intimacy and his natural response would be to seek more.
Yes, desiring for one was all part of human nature. Nothing out of the ordinary. But why did the sensation inside his chest feel the complete opposite? Dottore didn’t dwell on the feeling further, he had more important matters to worry about like tomorrow’s experiment.
Fontanian mornings were chilly but they weren’t as crisp as Snezhnayan ones, the relief of not having to dress for a colder climate was something you absolutely were thankful for—no heavy Fatui overcoat, no thick scarf around your neck, no frostbites.
The meeting with the Guild wasn’t until afternoon which meant you and Regrator had a bit of free time, prompting you to think about the idea of visiting the House of the Hearth and hopefully Arlecchino if she was around. It wasn’t unusual for you to drop by the orphanage when in Fontaine during missions or personal travel but you were rarely in the Nation of Hydro.
The familiar building stood austere among the city’s narrow streets and upon stepping foot inside the orphanage, warmth and the scent of polished wood greeted your senses. There was something nostalgic about the House despite not frequenting it much, you couldn’t place your finger on it, though.
Chaos filled the walls, children laughed and ran around carelessly with genuine smiles plastered on their youthful faces, your echoed footsteps fell silent upon the song of frenzy. The scene before you was a breath of fresh air compared to the stillness of Zapolyarny Palace—in there, it felt suffocating, as if one constantly walked on thin ice.
The main hall was alive as always, cushions were scattered around like a friendly reminder that everyone was welcome in the House. Its walls were adorned with a variety of paintings—landscapes and colourful sketches which told stories of the past.
“O-Oh! Miss Prevaricator, I didn’t expect to see you here today . . . Are you looking for Father?” A familiar quiet voice drew you out of your idle thoughts. Your gaze landed on the timid blonde before you, despite the shyness laced in his soft voice, his eyes never left your own.
“Hello, Freminet. Yes, is Arlecchino around? I’ve come by to drop some gifts.” You briefly looked down at the stacked pastry-filled boxes in your hand, neatly wrapped in an ivory satin bow.
Before he could reply, the sound of heels clicking against the wooden floor cut through the momentary silence inside the House, “Oh? To what do I owe this pleasure?” Arlecchino stood beside Freminet—who subtly gave her space despite the ample amount available—her arms crossed over her chest yet a rather pleased expression was painted on her face.
“I’m here with Regrator per Her Majesty’s orders. Thought I’d drop by and give something to the children.”
The Third nodded at your brief explanation before ordering Freminet to carry the boxes into the dining hall, the latter quickly obliged, excusing himself and quietly retreating further inside the House, pastries in hand.
“Care for some tea? Though, if you’re busy, I won’t hold you back any longer.” Arlecchino proposed. Today wasn’t particularly busy and the meeting was not until afternoon, so there was ample time to spare—a cordial catch up with her wouldn’t hurt.
“I’ll take up on that offer.”
The scent of Bergamot tea and faint woodsmoke embraced your senses. Arlecchino’s office was not a mystery but it always fascinated you whenever you stepped foot inside—tall windows stretched from floor to ceiling, they were decorated with crimson curtains which danced along the morning breeze. Porcelain vases and delicate ornaments decorated her office, adding an exquisite touch to the place.
Near the fireplace, a low round table had been arranged with care, an assortment of sweet Fontanian delicacies decorated the three-tier dessert; from Fontanalia Mousse to Pâte de Fruit, it seemed like every bit of the Nation’s sweets was right there in front of you. Beside it, two fine porcelain cups rested atop gold-lined saucers, steam curled upwards, giving off a pleasant aroma.
“How are you? Anything interesting as of late?” Arlecchino brought the cup to her lips, she blew on the hot beverage a few times before taking a small sip. Through the wisp of steam, her vermillion gaze remained locked on you. There was a hint of something behind it, as if she knew a vital piece of information, even her sentence alone weighed differently.
“I’ve been well. Busy in the laboratory as usual.”
You didn’t react despite your mind revisiting the last two months with Dottore. The slight shift in your seat was all Arlecchino needed to confirm but she was curious, “Childe told me something a few weeks back,” The latter started and you watched as she set her cup down with a faint clink to grab a Pâte de Fruit. Childe . . ? What did he rope himself into this time? Last time you heard of him he was recovering from his wounds. Though, somehow, it felt like what she was about to say next wasn’t about the Eleventh..
Wordlessly, you slightly tilted your head to the side, offering her to finish her sentence. Arlecchino swallowed the sweet, a hand over her mouth out of etiquette before speaking once again, “I’ll spare the . . . details but he mentioned you and The Doctor are quite close.”
Silence followed, faint sounds of joyous children beyond the office walls echoed along with the slow ticking of the grandfather clock tucked in a corner. Childe mentioned what? Pure confusion engulfed your entire body, a hint of panic also arose. What could he possibly mean by that? Did he manage to catch a glimpse of you and Dottore together?
As far as you knew, only The Captain did, on accident. You swallowed the feeling of embarrassment as you momentarily recollected the awkward encounter with The Captain in the balcony—that was a factor you needed to deal with.
“I’m . . not sure I follow.” Playing it safe was the only option you were left with and besides, whatever Childe said to Arlecchino could be a million different things, right? After all, you and Dottore did previously collaborate on an experiment per the Tsaritsa’s orders which and therefore practically saw one another almost everyday of the week.
She met your indifferent gaze with a deadpan expression—one that screamed ‘Do not attempt to lie to me, I know everything.’ If anything, she expected this outcome from you, being a deceitful individual was in your nature so this response was of no surprise. Although, Arlecchino would be lying if she said she didn’t feel a little disappointed, sharing a bond beyond mere colleagues, she would’ve expected you to forego that façade of yours and act truthfully.
Nonetheless, she could clearly decipher the reasoning behind your actions. Very much so. The only individual who didn’t shy away from his close involvement with The Doctor was Regrator.
With a sigh, your posture stuttered, a sign of defeat, “I’m not sure what you want me to say, Arlecchino.”
That was the truth. Yes, you and Dottore engaged in a physical intimate relationship but you were both consenting adults and as far as you were concerned, the ‘arrangement’ was not actively harming the Fatui nor was your private relationship anyone’s business. Her Majesty could not care less about her Harbinger’s personal matters, as long as each Harbinger executed their tasks, she was satisfied.
Therefore, Arlecchino had no place to confront you about Dottore.
Despite your indifferent demeanour, what you felt inside was panic. No one really associated with the Second apart from Regrator which was purely formal and contractual, yours on the other hand . . . was different. Was it embarrassing on your end? Yes and no. Yes, because it was Dottore, everyone knew of his eccentricity—he was a madman; at least with The Captain or even Childe, one’s tastes would not be questioned, besides, The Captain was a highly esteemed individual. And No, because you were an individual free to do whatever you desired even if it meant getting intimate with Dottore.
At the very least, Arlecchino should understand where you were coming from; she was probably the most understanding and sensible in the group after The Captain.
She shifted in her seat, one leg crossing over the other as she contemplated her reply, “I know you must be thinking that it is none of my business and you are right, it isn’t. But from a friend to another, I must warn you, nothing good ever comes from associating yourself with Dottore, even if it is purely . . . physical. You’re a capable individual but just be careful, okay?” Genuinity laced her words, it comforted you like a warm embrace. In all honesty, you were quite thankful Childe ratted you out to Arlecchino instead of Sandrone, the latter would have definitely cursed you in a hundred different ways for developing a ‘relationship’ with Dottore outside forced project collaborations.
Still, you wanted to interrogate Childe once you returned to Snezhnaya. For him to gossip about your affairs like that . . . completely childish.
“But really? Dottore?” She added, a rather distasteful expression painted on her face. You shook your head in response, shame gnawed at your bones—maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to visit the House after all. “Don’t . . . even ask. I’m not sure what I got myself into.” Another sigh escaped your lips, you tried not to think about Dottore.
Tea with Arlecchino went on for an hour, random topics arose and dissipated along with every pour of Bergamot tea, and soon enough, you had to bid goodbye as the meeting with the Guild neared. Both of you parted ways without much formalities nor grand exits, just a simple nod of acknowledgement towards one another. As you walked to the doors of the House, a few of the children accompanied your short journey, thanking you for the sweet treats, and eagerly asking when you’ll be back for another visit.
You didn’t mind visiting in the near future.
The meeting ran smoothly, it primarily consisted of heavy business talk which you had to admit, lost you at some point mainly because it wasn’t your expertise—you only acted as a persuader and a negotiator—so most of the time, Regrator proudly took the lead. You were more than sure he didn’t mind, after all, he liked working alone with the sole reason of having every pawn neatly tucked in his palm.
“Thank you for your time Monsieur Rochefort, Madame Moreau. I assume we will be seeing the two of you in Snezhnaya at our upcoming banquet?” Regrator gently grabbed Madame Moreau’s delicate hand, gently placing a chaste kiss at the back of it. Formalities.
The banquet. You almost forgot.
The upcoming banquet was a grand gathering between the Fatui and its business partners, it was luxurious and far from simple but it held no significance apart from further strengthening Snezhnaya’s relationships with each organisation. Think of it as an annual gathering arranged by the Fatui to maintain their subtle authority over those businesses. If the banquet wasn’t compulsory, you wouldn’t have attended any of it but alas, mingling with important individuals came with the job.
“Ah, I’m afraid Madame Moreau won’t be accompanying me to Snezhnograd. However, Monsieur Valmont will be attending.” Monsieur Rochefort animatedly explained, briefly looking over your way. Thèodore Valmont was the owner of the Commercial Registry Guild, the individual you and Regrator were supposed to meet but after several fruitless meetings your colleague had with him in the past, Monsieur Valmont refused to attend yesterday’s meeting, fully expecting it to advance no further.
Regrator smiled. Even better. He thought; Valmont was absolutely far more valuable than a mere Guild representative, he had no qualms with that. “What delightful news, Monsieur Rochefort. Please, pass on my regards to Monsieur Valmont. I shall give him a warm welcome upon his arrival.” He chuckled.
It didn’t take a detective to piece that Regrator was in a delighted mood—the corners of his lips reached his eyes, it wasn’t the usual cunning smile he wore daily.
After extended formalities and proper goodbyes with the Guild representatives, you and Regrator headed towards Fontaine’s docks, ready to depart for Snezhnaya. Neatly tucked inside the latter’s leather briefcase was a document inked with the signatures Her Majesty sought after.
The trip back to Snezhnaya was peaceful, only the hum of the boat’s engine and its body against the tides could be heard; neither you nor Regrator spoke to one another but you didn’t mind. Conversing for the sake of replacing silence didn’t interest you, besides, ever since he spoke of Dottore’s name, a weird inkling in your chest bloomed.
Returning back home was devoid of anything grand, you and Regrator were immediately summoned to Her Majesty’s throne room upon arrival which consisted of an hour long meeting where future plans with the Guild were discussed. After that, you and Regrator parted ways where you ended up being whisked away by The Jester in an impromptu meeting, much to your dismay.
Though, it didn’t drag on, he had briefed you about urgent tasks assigned such as designing Fatui uniform suited for Nod-Krai’s kuuvahki since operatives were more than susceptible to overexposure, and thus would hinder their performance.
An important project concerning Nod-Krai had long been a topic in several Harbinger meetings—there wasn’t much you knew about it since you weren’t tasked to oversee anything there but you were aware of the fact that a Kuuvahki Experimental Design Bureau was being built on Paha Isle. Considering the long years it had been in discussion, the expansive structure would see its completion soon.
The next week consisted of being locked away inside your laboratory or office in the Experimental Bureau, you were surrounded by mountains of materials ready to be turned into uniform specifically for the Nod-Krai mission; the Director did express the urgency of the project assigned to you so any personal tasks were put on hold, and your subordinates worked over time to help meet the deadline—you even sent some of them to Nod-Krai to test out the first few batches.
Being this busy meant there was no time to rendezvous with Dottore but you didn’t mind, besides, the last you heard of him was before you left for Fontaine. It wasn’t like your arrangement with him held any significance, anyway. But your mind did occasionally wonder what he was up to.
A firm knock against the door to your office jolted you out of your thoughts; you had been reviewing past notes about personal projects you’ve researched about as a way to try and relax for a moment. The document tucked between your fingers consisted of neatly written information about the Moon Marrows.
Despite your interest in the ancient relics, only the location of the Eternal Moon’s Marrow was known and the lack of information regarding the Iridescent Moon Marrow and the absence of the Frost Moon Marrow subsequently led you to abandon the research for good.
It was a shame because you were truly passionate about it, you believed that its powers would greatly benefit the Fatui.
“Come in.”
A subordinate stepped inside, he knelt before you, “Lady Prevaricator, we have received results from the unit you dispatched in Nod-Krai.” At the mention of results, your ears perked up, the document in your hand long forgotten, “Good. Let me take a look at it.” He swiftly got back on his feet and placed a thick brown folder on the desk before exiting your office. The sheer thickness of it was enough to make one dizzy, this was going to be a long day.
After a rather gruelling week, the annual banquet finally rolled around and here you were inside the Palace, wrapped in an exquisite yet daring dress to compliment the Grand Hall’s luxurious aesthetic. The plunging backline of your dress was definitely one for attention.
The Grand Hall gleamed with cold opulence at night, its high arched ceilings were painted in hues of silver and blue which resembled a frozen sky at dawn. Crystalline chandeliers above hung like icicles, they gleamed like everlasting stars. Long banquet tables draped in fine ivory silk stretched the length of the Hall, frosted glass centerpieces faintly sparkled beneath the lights which illuminated the luxury Snezhnayan dishes laid upon the table. The air was crisp, it smelled faintly of aged wine, expensive perfume, and cold marble. To top it all off, a soft, elegant melody weaved its way across the faint chatter of guests, leaving no room for silence.
Important guests from all over Teyvat donned layered furs paired with exorbitant textiles to boast their social status—this was a gathering of elites, after all. And these elites happened to be under the Fatui’s control.
You nursed the Fire-Water in your stemmed glass, watching as the clear liquid swirled and gleamed beneath the crystalline lights. Before you, stood Regrator, Monsieur Valmont and Monsieur Rochefort engaged in a light conversation about the Guild.
Of course, in the name of formalities, there was no option but to mingle with the familiar group, it only made sense after recently securing an agreement with the Guild.
There were times you chimed in the conversation but majority of the time, the three men spoke amongst themselves. Not that you minded; standing idly was enough to pass time. Though, Monsieur Rochefort seemed to notice your lack of participation which led him to open a one-to-one conversation with you. He stepped closer, further reducing the distance between your bodies. You stiffened briefly but didn’t let on, he was too close for your liking.
“I was deeply amazed at how you handled that meeting back in Fontaine. You’re certainly a wonderful woman!” He laughed boisterously, head tipped back with an amused expression, the crimson liquid inside the glass he held swayed vigorously at his animated movements, threatening to spill.
“You are far too kind, Monsieur Rochefort.” A polite smile merely graced your lips yet it was enough to send the man laughing once again. Slightly uncomfortable at his odd behaviour, you looked around in slight embarrassment, afraid that his uncouthness had garnered unwanted attention.
Though, upon your brief scan around the Hall, a familiar masked figure caught your eye. Dottore. He stood in a darkened corner near a tall stained glass window, tucked between his gloved fingers was a stemmed glass devoid of any liquid inside. Your breath hitched. His gaze was already on you. Both of you stood there in silence, locked in a mutual stare where neither one dared to look away.
Dottore watched as the strange man next to you boldly leaned in, even going as far as resting his filthy hand on the small of your bare back. And you didn’t dare step away? His jaw hardened at the sight before him. Something inside his chest grew dangerously—an emotion full of negativity and anger. Dottore gripped his glass a little tighter, the fabric of his gloves squeaking at the subtle action.
You broke the stare, swiftly returning your full attention to Monsieur Rochefort. God, did he need to be so close? The scent of heavy alcohol clouded your senses, you stepped back in response which only pressed your back further into his palm.
“I’d like to get to know you mo—” “Ah,” Dottore cut into the conversation smoothly, tone full of edge, emptied glass long discarded in a servant’s tray.
“You’ve monopolized my colleague long enough.”
Despite the annoyance brewing inside him, he didn’t scowl, instead, he simply stood closely by your side—a little too close—his tall stature loomed over you and Monsieur Rochefort.
How did he get here so quickly?
Dottore’s sudden intrusion gained not only yours and Monsieur Rochefort’s attention but also Regrator’s and Monsieur Valmont’s whose conversation was cut short. It didn’t take much for the Ninth to realise what was about to unfold, and with a subtle smirk, he led the Guild’s owner elsewhere, away from lightning that was about to strike. Regrator had deep respect for his friend but he did not need Dottore’s foolishness tainting the Fatui’s name in front of Théodore Valmont.
“Dottore.” You greeted, calm and collected. The sensation inside his chest briefly stuttered as his name spilled from your lips. For a moment, he had forgotten the sole reason he rushed by your side but alas, it was short lived as the strange man’s infuriating voice pulled him back to reality,
“Oh, hello. We were merely—”
“I’ve no interest in idle chatter. I am simply here to discuss matters with my colleague. Privately.”
Caught off-guard, Monsieur Rochefort wordlessly nodded, excused himself before stammering to sit on one of the tables. Dottore carefully watched as the former walked away, he scoffed before turning to you; the expression on your face was indifferent yet the pierce of your gaze held weight, “You didn’t need to do that.”
He let out an exasperated sigh, it had been a while since you’ve last seen one another and this was how you greeted him? How cold.
“He was enroaching.” “And I was handling it.”
You turned to fully face him, eyes narrowed with annoyance, “Why does it bother you?” It shouldn’t. Logically, it shouldn’t bother Dottore at all yet something convoluted and territorial had been simmering in his chest since the moment that strange man leaned dangerously close. Despite his better judgement, he needed to act on it, simply ignoring it felt . . . wrong.
“You are careless with proximity.” He waved a dismissive hand. You tilted your head slightly, challenging his reasoning, “That’s not what this is about.” In response, Dottore stepped closer, not enough to touch your body but enough for the music and chatter to fade behind the tension brewing between the two of you.
“You allow others into your space without assessment.” “Then why are you standing this close?”
Because I want to. The thought arrives uninvited but he didn’t dare speak it into existence, simply doing so would . . . complicate things.
Instead, he replied with, “Yet you’re not denying me either.” You fell silent at his words. He was right, you weren’t. Why weren’t you? For a moment, you pondered about it ‘til you realised you were displeased with him.
“You’re changing the topic, Doctor. I do not care whether ‘I am careless with proximity’, it still does not give you the right to interrupt my conversation with Mr. Rochefort.” At least Regrator was sensible enough to lead the Guild owner away from what was about to happen.
The partnership with Théodore Valmont was fairly new and if they were met with something they did not like, the Guild could easily withdraw benefits they granted Snezhnaya. Thankfully, Mr. Rochefort was probably drunk enough to overlook Dottore’s sour attitude.
Before he could reply, the Director stepped in—he must have sensed the tension between you and Dottore, “If the two of you are going to start bickering like children, take it elsewhere. You are Her Majesty’s esteemed Harbingers, do not taint her name in her Palace.”
That was how you and Dottore found yourselves away from the Grand Hall, inside the Palace’s expansive library, drinks long forgotten and the liveliness of the banquet faded into nothingness.
“You did not notice his intent. That’s vulnerability.” He sharply uttered into the silence; Dottore stood near the shelves, eyes absentmindedly scanning each spine, back turned to you. A few feet away, near one of the wooden tables, you stood behind him, a slight scowl on your face.
“Whether he had intent or not still doesn’t justify your actions. Unless . . . you’re jealous, Doctor?” Crossing your arms over your chest, you watched as his back stiffened imperceptibly. Clearly, he didn’t like your words but his reaction—as small as it was—amused you.
Dottore scoffed, “Jealousy is an inefficient emotion.” “Inefficient as it may seem yet I do not see you denying, Doctor.”
“Oh, do not make this about me, Prevaricator.” He finally turned to face you, an evident scowl painted beneath his mask. “No, I will make this about you. Would you have reacted the same if it were any other Harbinger? Arlecchino, for example?” You took a step closer, the soles of your heels clicking against the tiled floors.
Silence occupied the space as your words hung in the air. No. Dottore knew he wouldn’t have done the same if it were any other Harbinger. Merely thinking about it exhausted him already.
At his lack of response, you spoke once again, “I know we have an arrangement, Dottore but that doesn’t excuse how you treat individuals I interact with. You do not have authority over me and I certainly do not belong to you.” Dottore’s behaviour was odd, to say the least but just because you’ve been having sex with him—and vice versa—didn’t mean you claimed one another and he knew that. He knew the arrangement between the two of you did not involve any sort of feelings, it was only for the sole purpose of sexual gratification.
Of course, this was all speculation on your end as he had not specified anything yet but from his behaviour, you could conclude that it stemmed from the same root.
“You’re getting rather bold, aren’t you, Prevaricator?”
“Call me every name you wish to, I’m not the one conducting myself to look like a fool.” You were just about fed up with him. First, he had interrupted your conversation with Mr. Rochefort, potentially tainting the newly built partnership between the Commercial Registry Guild and the Fatui, now he was getting mad at your reaction to his uncouthness.
The absolute audacity of him.
“I beg your pardon?” Dottore took three steps closer. More than anything, he loathed being deemed a fool—to others, your insult may not have hit hard but it was a completely different story for him. His voice dipped dangerously low as if urging you to try to challenge him and see what would happen. Fortunately for you, that was exactly what you wanted to do. Just because Dottore outranked and overpowered you didn’t mean you’d submit to him.
“Then beg, Zandik.”
Silence grew thick. Beneath the pointed mask, his brows twitched at your words—you didn’t see it but you sensed the sudden shift in his demeanour. The use of his real name was an . . . interesting choice from you, it definitely caught him off guard, and it wasn’t the pleasant kind.
Something inside Dottore snapped, and within seconds, he was able to close the great distance between you and him. His familiar scent invaded your senses—it was as electrifying as lightning with the way it awakened every single cell inside you, as though your body had programmed a natural response to him. Have you always felt this way? You didn’t know.
“I wonder, has anyone ever taught you the consequences of such careless words? Or has the concept of restraint always eluded you?”
A gloved hand firmly held your chin, tilting your face towards him. Silence stretched between the two of you, only the ticking of the grandfather clock in the far corner could be heard, and despite your proximity, your breaths fell deaf to each other’s ears.
Neither of you knew the reason why—was it because of the closeness? The soles of your shoes rooted to the tiled floors beneath, you didn’t reject Dottore’s touch nor did you invite it.
“You speak so confidently of restraint as if you’re aware of what you’re talking about. Tell me, Doctor, when have you ever exercised restraint, hm? From our past . . . encounters, you were never one to submit to it.” The expression on your face remained unchanged but he could see the way your eyes glimmered with challenge, a sense of superiority within the depths of your gaze.
Dottore leaned in, the pointed tip of his mask mere centimetres away from your lips, “You’re right,”
“Perhaps . . . that’s exactly what is needed right now.” He growled, the grip on your chin tightening just enough to gain control. The tone his words carried made your knees weak—you absolutely knew what would come next. He tilted his head to the side, angling his face so that his mouth hovered over your own; his hot breath fanned the plush of your lips, akin to a ghostly caress.
Dottore’s face was close enough to the point where even breathing felt intimate—far too intimate. A shiver ran down your naked spine and with the way Dottore’s mouth curled at the edges, he noticed your subtle reaction.
Finally, he gave your lips a chaste kiss—innocent and tame, a contrast from his usual kisses. Albeit soft, a hint of hunger lingered behind his action, he pressed into you heavy and with much haste as if to signify his unspoken feelings. Before one could process the whole thing, he swiftly pulled away, leaving you somewhat chasing for more. As embarrassing as it was to admit, Dottore’s lips were far too addicting; they were plush and velvety despite the sharp words it naturally spewed.
“Bend over that table for me. I won’t be taking no for an answer.”
Even if he was, you wouldn’t object. Excitement rushed through your body as you carried yourself to the nearest table within your vicinity. The feeling of shame intertwined with the iciness of the wooden surface beneath your forearms as you positioned yourself over the table. Shame is a part of human emotions and therefore normal. Yes. It certainly is normal.
Sharp and calculated footsteps which echoed within the quiet walls of the library drew you out of your thoughts, each click of a sole was louder than the last. “How exquisite.” You felt Dottore’s presence behind but didn’t dare look back.
The heat his body radiated absolutely drove you mad, it didn’t help how his crotch was only a few inches away from your rear.
The sight before him had his cock twitching—the daring plunge of your dress exposing most of your back was sin itself, it should have been illegal for wandering eyes to lay upon the beauty of your skin so casually, and to think that filthy Fontanian man had the audacity to touch you . . . It had Dottore feeling such unspeakable emotions.
A gloved finger languidly traced the path of your spine—from your shoulder blades down to where fabric met your skin. It moved with fine calculation which roused a violent shiver from you, “Sensitive now, are we?” He let out a deep, amused chuckle, clearly delighted at your involuntary response. You huffed but didn’t reply, though, you didn’t really need to as he swiftly moved on to lift the fabric of your dress.
Goosebumps formed as the crisp air kissed your exposed lower half, Dottore couldn’t help but whisper a curse into the silence. For a brief moment, it sounded dangerously close to a plea, a prayer to whichever heavenly body cared to listen.
He caressed the skin of your ass and gave it a gentle massage—squeezing and groping—which had your cunt greedily tightening around nothing. Your palms balled into fists at Dottore’s ministrations, it was only the start yet you already caught yourself letting out heavy breaths.
Then, leather met skin. Swift and harsh; you shamelessly gasped at the sharp sensation it left behind, it stung hard and spread like wildfire but gods did it feel sinfully delicious. He had spanked you without an ounce of mercy.
“What an interesting reaction you have, Prevaricator. How about we conduct a brief experiment on your cognitive capabilities? What I’m going to ask of you is simple: using your words, count each slap I give you—loud and clear. Surely you can perform such an effortless task?”
“You can’t do it yourself?” You finally looked over your shoulder, gaze filled with lust and a hint of mockery.
Dottore didn’t like the way your lips curled in fierce confidence. Oh, how he wanted to wipe that look off your face. To get a better view, he swiftly removed his pointed mask, mindlessly chucking it somewhere on the table where it landed with a sharp thud. Dottore slapped your rear once again—harder than the last—it had your body jolting against the surface beneath you, arms quivering as it held your weight. A whimper escaped your lips, head facing forward once again, dipping ever so slightly as pain pierced through your skin like a thousand needles.
“Count.”
A brief silence.
“. . . One.” “Good.” His praise went straight to your core, causing you to disappointingly clench around nothing.
Before Dottore proceeded further, an idea presented itself. Without another word, he reached for his leather belt, expertly removing it from his pants in one fell swoop. He bent it in half, his right hand securely wrapped around the ends of his belt—then, with a pull of his arm, he swung it across your rear which drew a jolt of surprise from you.
A sharp hiss escaped through gritted teeth—your face contorted in pure pain—the familiar sensation spread across once more. Fuck. Dottore wasn’t going easy on you.
“T-Two.” You stammered.
In circular motions, he gently rubbed in over the spot he had assaulted; you held back a small whimper between your lips as his fingers ghosted over the clothed entrance of your wet cunt. It lingered there for a while—two long digits caressing up and down your slit but if anything, his ministrations tested your own restraint only because his fingers pressed into you just enough to feel its presence yet it didn’t quench the thirst of your greedy cunt. In other words, you needed hard friction.
“It’s fascinating how your body readily responds to my stimulus.” The growing wet spot on your underwear had Dottore’s cock twitching in his pants. Gods, how gluttonous you were for him; it gave him a sense of pride that only he was capable of bending your façade.
The serpentine and indifferent Prevaricator, the Tenth Harbinger of Snezhnaya, adept at weaving her path with fables and manipulation. Or so the Fatui called you. It was laughable because right this moment, the ‘indifferent Harbinger of Snezhnaya’ was now bent at his mercy.
Impatient, you took the initiative to push back into his fingers but your shameless attempt was futile as it only earned you another harsh slap. The belt swiftly cut through the air with a whistle before it hit you, indicating the strength of Dottore’s swing.
A pathetic whimper decorated your parted lips, “Three.” So far, you’ve only received three strikes but you were already at your limit.
Thankfully, he only gave you seven more—which were all equally painful—totalling to a number of ten slaps but you did manage to say each of them without fail. Though, your sanity slipped with every count.
By the tenth, your rear was undoubtedly inflamed and hot from all the spanking it had taken, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to sit properly tomorrow. Dottore took the time to grope the globes of your ass—palm spread on each cheek—to give a bit of relief from the sting; he didn’t shy away from playing with them.
“You’ve done well, results showed secure cognitive abilities despite being under influence of a stimulus.” Dottore bent down to place open-mouthed kisses between your shoulder blades, pulling a shudder from you. Soft, wet sounds filled your ears with each sloppy kiss that decorated the length of your spine; he slowly moved downwards, savouring the feel of your blazing skin against his velvety lips.
As Dottore reached the end of your spine for one last kiss, his index finger slipped beneath the band of your underwear, he pulled the flimsy fabric down, down, down, causing it to fall on the tiled floor around your heels. Then, his hand circled around your left ankle, he slowly guided it upwards ‘til the entirety of your leg rested atop the smooth surface of the table along with your torso; he didn’t bother slipping your heels, it would only be a waste of time. You bit back a small moan as iciness kissed your hot entrance, eyes momentarily closing from the sensation.
Dottore stayed sitting on his haunches, he observed the way your cunt glistened beneath the warm lighting of the library. Not only was the sight before him intoxicating but so was your sweet, sinful scent; akin to an awakened beast hungry for its prey, he salivated at your unfiltered beauty. At this point, his cock begged to be let out and buried deep within the velvet of your tight walls.
As tempting as it was to just dive in, something in him wanted to savour your body as long as he could. It was a great contrast from usual roughness but nonetheless, he decided to take his time.
Dottore gave your entrance a generous lick—his tongue pressed flat against your slit as he slowly dragged it upwards, successfully gathering your slick on his tastebuds.
Oh, how divine you tasted. You let out a wanton moan, nails digging into the heart of your palms, sensitive was one way to describe your current state. It had been quite a while since Dottore had pleasured your body so any stimulation pulled eager responses from you.
He licked once, twice, thrice, up and down until his senses only knew you, and you alone. The gloved hand which rested on your left ankle pushed your elevated leg further up the table, allowing better access to slot his lips around your cunt.
Dottore sucked at your entrance with fervour—akin to a starved madman, his tongue darted past your folds to explore the sensitive warmth within. The sounds he made were beyond shameful and uncouth, it was sloppy and wet but he didn’t care, the sinful song that slipped past your lips was music to his ears.
Your back curled in pleasure, angling your hips in a position that further exposed your cunt. Dottore took the opportunity to work his free hand on your clit, he rubbed the sensitive nub in fast, tight circles resulting in your body to jolt and thrash around a bit from pleasure. The feel of smooth leather against your clit was foreign but it didn’t hurt given how wet you were, though, it did provide a hint of subtle friction that bare fingers could not.
At his unforgiving pace, you rested your forehead on the surface beneath, panting and whining his name. Balled fists opened and closed, unsure of what to do—where to hold on to—as bliss slowly gnawed its way through your feverish skin.
“D-Dottore! Yes—haah!”
At your words, Dottore curled his tongue the way you liked it, he rubbed the tip along your velvety walls, moaning into your entrance at how it tightened and pulsed around the wet muscle. Your moans filled the space within the library’s walls, it weaved its way between ink-stained pages of ancient books and found home between paragraphs where it wrote a veiled story for none.
As Dottore continued his pleasured torture, it didn’t take long for you to reach climax and come undone on his tongue. A broken grunt of his name forced its way past your lips as you stiffened and unceremoniously convulsed upon your orgasm; shocks of ecstasy ran down your spine and settled on your sensitive entrance. Dottore hummed, clearly pleased at the saccharine taste you’ve generously given him, he eagerly lapped up all your essence, careful not to waste any. The simple act of genuine appreciation had your legs shaking as you began to feel overstimulated.
He briefly pulled away from your quivering cunt—a translucent, sticky string forming which connected his lips to your entrance—before giving it sloppy, open-mouthed kisses with his tongue occasionally darting out to lap at your wetness. A few more messy kisses and Dottore completely pulled away much to his dismay; a light sheen of your essence mixed with his saliva coated the lower half of his face, it wasn’t common to witness The Doctor in such an improper state but heavens did he look strikingly beautiful even with filth on his face.
“Lie on your back and move further up for me.” Dottore stood up.
Slowly, you moved and did what you were told, once your back rested atop the wooden surface, you positioned yourself further up. Now, the entirety of your body lay on the expansive table, the long skirt of your crimson dress hung off to the side like a pair of limp wings.
With a lust-filled gaze, you watched as Dottore—who stood at the foot of the table—took his lengthy cock out of his pants, he pumped it slowly, smooth leather against skin as he spread his pre-cum from tip to base. It stood proudly against his clothed abdomen, a deep shade of blush you were more than familiar with. He groaned silently between breaths, as if pleasuring himself without you was a forbidden act that called for punishment.
Then, Dottore’s crimson gaze lifted to meet your own. Without breaking eye contact, he positioned himself on the table, it rocked beneath his weight but you trusted it enough to hold both you and him. Slowly, Dottore made his way up inch by inch, leaving chaste kisses all over your body—clothed or not—‘til he reached your face where he gave your lips a searing kiss.
It was passionate but it wasn’t rushed nor did he greedily consume what your mouth had to offer—it was deep, full of prisoned emotions. Trembling arms immediately wrapped around his neck, your fingers intertwining with his azure locks as you melted into his lips. After a heartbeat, Dottore slowly pulled away—panting from the lack of oxygen—he gently nudged your nose with the tip of his own before resting his forehead against yours.
The two of you remained in that position for a minute or so, just basking in the closeness of each other while your breaths interlaced. Truth be told, he could stay like this forever, albeit a little uncomfortable but it didn’t compare to the strange emotion he felt.
“I . . .” He trailed off, unsure what came next—he didn’t even know why he had spoken in the first place.
Dottore sat up and with the use of his teeth, he expertly pulled both gloves from each hand and mindlessly tossed them somewhere on the table. He would never admit it out loud but he’d rather feel your skin beneath his palms and right down to the tips of his fingers—raw and true. It was a shame he was too caught up in pleasuring you earlier that he didn’t think to remove them.
He returned to his previous position, one bare hand resting beside your head to support his weight while the other slipped between your bodies and bunched the fabric of your dress at your waist to position his hard cock against your sopping entrance. Dottore’s lust-filled gaze never left your face as he teased his sensitive tip up and down your slit, he watched with hooded eyes as you bit down on the plush of your bottom lip at the feel of his raw cock.
As Dottore slowly slipped inside inch by inch, he took the opportunity to suck on the spot just below your right ear with his tongue occasionally lapping it up. A wanton moan slipped past your lips—you were unsure whether it was because of his mouth or his cock but nonetheless, what you currently felt was pure ecstasy.
Once fully sheathed inside your velvet walls, Dottore dipped down to lick a messy stripe up the column of your neck and at the same time, he languidly pulled his hips back ‘til only the tip remained. As he thrusted back in, his mouth worked on your neck by decorating it with gentle bites.
Dottore’s pace was . . . different. Indeed, it was slow and pleasurable—nothing novel—yet it had meaning behind it, every roll of his hips, every press of his tip against your sweet spot, and every low grunt that resembled your name, it felt foreign. You couldn’t decipher what the meaning was but it was there and made itself known, all you knew was that he had you trembling under him.
Immediately, your legs curled around the dip of his clothed waist and interlocked behind his lower back, your heels clicked at the movement, bumping against one another in the process. “Y-You feel so good . . . Mhm!” Your breathless confession had Dottore’s cock twitching inside your cunt; he grunted in response, followed by a particularly harsh thrust.
His large hand gently cupped your cheek, he met your gaze once more without breaking his measured movements—it was nothing but an endless eerie pit of deep crimson that beckoned you into pleasure. Even just the sight of his rubied pupils was enough to have you tightening for a good few seconds. Dottore cursed, hips stuttering in response, you found it rather amusing how a simple movement could easily bend the Second.
It was a weak spot only you knew of. A spot with your name carved deep.
Every steady stroke forcefully pulled oxygen from your lungs, it left you panting like a desperate common whore and it didn’t help how your limbs clung onto his body which left little to no space between the two of you.
“More—! P-Please, Dottore!” You whined.
Dottore groaned, burying his flushed face in the crook of your neck, the perfume you wore invaded his senses like a sweet plague, it made him dizzy yet for some reason, he wanted more. At your shameless pleas, he altered his movements a bit; the pace he followed remained slow but every time his cockhead neared your sensitive spot, he forcefully thrusted inside so that the tip firmly pressed against it.
“Mine. Mine—Haah! Mine. How dare that Fontanian dog lay his sordid hand on you—on what’s mine.” Dottore growled. Pure venom seeped from his tongue and stained his words, the bitterness of his tone was so evident you almost felt it on your tastebuds.
Too fucked out to even comprehend his words, you absentmindedly nodded along, pleasure completely took over every single cell in your body. Your head lolled to the side as Dottore pressed his face further into your feverish skin, he whispered the same set of words over and over like a madman.
And you responded to each of them, “Yours. Yes . . . I’m yours, D-Dottore—!”
Despite the iciness of the library, the air between you and Dottore turned thick and warm, and housed thousands of unspoken words. Aside from the latter removing his gloves and mask—and your forgotten underwear on the floor—both of you remained clothed which added to the warmth in the air. A light sheen of sweat had already formed along Dottore’s forehead, resulting in his azure locks to stick. It was stuffy to say the least and you were more than certain that you looked a complete mess but you didn’t find yourself caring right this moment for he deliciously ravaged your body to the point where you felt it in your soul.
Each slow drag of Dottore’s heavy cock and each press of his bulbous tip had your half-lidded eyes rolling far back into nothingness. Your nails raked along his scalp which pulled deep groans from him in the shape of your name.
“Say it again—let me hear you speak it into existence once more.” Dottore panted; he stilled his hips deep inside your cunt, cock pressed rather eagerly into your sensitive spot as he awaited your response.
A garbled moan was all you could muster from the amount of pleasure he gave you but he wasn’t having it, “Use your words, Prevaricator. You’re an intelligent individual, surely doing so won’t be much effort?” He pushed his hips further into your own which allowed his cock to sit deeper inside your walls.
“Mhm—ah! ‘M yours, Dottore! All yours . . . no one else’s.” Tears welled in your eyes as you sobbed.
Pleased, Dottore muttered a praise beneath his breath before swallowing your sobs with a messy kiss. He started moving in and out once more, determined to bring you both into an orgasm. Both of you moved in sinful unison, bodies rocking in perfect rhythm as though the two of you were simply . . . meant to be.
Dottore repeated that same mantra of claiming you in between kisses along with every deep roll of his hips, resembling a record in need of dire fixing, though one wasn’t sure if fixing was what he desired. If anything, he seemed rather content in his fragmented state.
After a few more languid thrusts, the two of you simultaneously came. Dottore swallowed your wanton moans with a long kiss, he groaned into your mouth, hips stuttering before they stilled and buried his cock deep inside. Thick ropes of ivory coated your quivering walls and you couldn’t help but whine into his lips at the feel of his hot cum inside your cunt. For a minute or so, Dottore remained sheathed until he shallowly drew his hips back to fuck his cum deeper.
Overstimulated, your legs around his waist tightened in an attempt to halt his torture but only resulted in the opposite as it pushed him further into you. A humourless chuckle slipped past his lips at your futile effort but fortunately enough, he did stop.
“And if I see that Fontanian freak lingering around you outside business-related matters, he shall deal with my hand.” Dottore breathlessly spoke into the growing silence. You let out a breath, “. . . I’m not interested in Mr. Rochefort, Dottore, and I simply cannot control whether he lingers around me or not outside business matters.” Somehow, the mention of his name and that fool’s name in the same breath didn’t sit well with him but he let it go—just this once, he was far too spent for another argument.
The next few minutes consisted of awkwardly making yourselves presentable for the banquet but with your face a mess and hair dishevelled, it took quite a long time to return to your proper state. Dottore, on the other hand had a far easier task for he merely fixed his azure strands and put on his discarded accessories—pointed mask and leather gloves—he didn’t have to worry about unsolicited stares on his face as he hid it behind a mask.
Once ready, you stepped out of the library first, legs trembling with every heavy step taken; the soles of your heels clicked unnecessary loud against the marble floors of the corridor. With the banquet confined to the Grand Hall, the Palace corridors were devoid of any people wandering about which lessened your worries about curious ears that happened to listen in on what happened a moment ago.
As you hurriedly walked down—with Dottore who followed closely behind—a familiar figure came into view at the end of the hallway. His striking auburn hair was enough to tell you who it belonged to.
“Prevaricator? Dottore? What are you two doing out here? I saw how Pierro approached you two earlier in the Grand Hall, is something the ma—” Childe paused mid-sentence as realisation hit.
You. Dottore. Away from everyone else. Alone together. It could only mean one thing based on his previous encounter.
A horrified expression slowly crept its way to his face, the Eleventh tried not to imagine what had transpired between the two of you moments ago but the vivid past stared right at him, begging to be addressed. It was a little over two months ago during the time you and Dottore worked on Cryo experiments tasked by Her Majesty—Childe didn’t mean to pry but the day he paid a visit to your Palace quarters seeking a friendly spar, he was met with . . . unpleasant sounds.
It wasn’t foreign for the Eleventh to ask of his comrades to spar, and with you being a whole rank higher than him, he normally sought you out more than anyone else. There were days you’d accept but most of the time you’d turn him down due to your unending projects; though, constant rejection didn’t seem to discourage him from asking you in the future.
From what Childe could make out, the lewd sounds mostly came from you. Frankly, he couldn’t care less that you were getting laid—it was a normal part of human nature—and like a sane individual, he planned on leaving to give way for privacy but that was until he heard you moan Dottore’s name.
Anyone in their right mind would be confused. Dottore? Really? Was he even capable of sex?
Childe stood there for a good minute or so before ultimately deciding to leave, the idea of sparring with you thrown out the window. He honestly couldn’t believe you’d let Dottore near you—or was the correct term ‘inside you?’ Ah, that didn’t matter right now, he needed to tell someone.
“You know what,” Childe started. “I . . . don’t even want to know.” He raised his gloved hands in defeat and swiftly turned around to escape the growing awkwardness.
“Ajax.” You called out, tone full of ice.
As if on command, he halted mid-step, every muscle in his body froze. You only ever used his real name whenever you confronted him with a matter—which was a rare occurrence. Was Childe afraid? Maybe. It wasn’t like you were one to unleash your wrath over something trivial, right? Ah, maybe he shouldn’t have told Arlecchino! Last he heard, you were in Fontaine with Pantalone which also happened to be where the Fourth was. He was certain she most likely told you about what he’d found out.
“I’d like to speak with you. In private.” A subtle glance back at Dottore was all he needed from you before he continued walking down the corridor, leaving you and Childe behind. The former didn’t pry—not that he wanted to—any matter that involved the Eleventh was out of interest for him, it was probably something trivial, anyway.
Childe wordlessly watched as Dottore left, out of nervousness, his cerulean gaze darted between you and the Second. Maybe if he reasoned that Capitano was looking for him, he’d be able to get out of this—Oh, that’s right . . . Capitano was currently in Natlan. Maybe Pierro, then?
Once Dottore was out of sight, you spoke up, “Arlecchino told me.” Unfortunately for Childe, your words pulled him out of his thoughts which meant no options to run away anymore. He swallowed thickly, eyes fixated on the wall to his left to try and avoid your icy stare; the Eleventh never did enjoy your soulless gaze, looking into it felt like he was inviting something dangerous. So most of the time, he did his best to avoid it. It was nothing against you—in fact, he even looked up to you but he’d just rather . . . not stare into your eyes.
Especially not when it hid anger.
“I-I can explain!”
You sighed, “There is no need to explain. While I understand the reasoning behind your actions, I’m disappointed you didn’t confront me first—you know, the primary person involved in what you witnessed.”
Gossiping wasn’t your habit yet if you heard something as scandalous as Childe had, you might just speak on the topic as well. Maybe even with Arlecchino, too.
The Eleventh briefly met your gaze before he looked away in shame, guilt gnawed at his bones as he realised that he should have confronted you first about it, not Arlecchino, not anyone else. It’s just that he was overcome with shock that he completely forgot his actions might not be the most sensible. Indeed, Childe had a lot to learn when it came to composure.
“Sorry . . .” He scratched the back of his head in shame, a blanket of rose covered his cheeks. Your gaze softened, “Well, what’s done is done. I’m not mad at you, Childe.”
The latter had a sheepish expression painted on his flushed face, “ . . But Dottore? Really, Prevaricator? I’m gonna have to say I’m a little disappointed, Comrade.” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. Even if it seemed like he was a little afraid of you, he considered you a friend; you weren’t one for conversations but he appreciated how intently listened to his ramblings as trivial as they were.
A tired sigh escaped your lips, you shook your head absentmindedly, “Don’t start.”
“All jokes aside though, be careful, okay? I know us Harbingers are colleagues and all . . . but you just can’t trust that guy and I’m sure you’re aware of that too.”
It wasn’t like you trusted Dottore, right? Aside from physical attraction, you felt nothing for him. Yes. Nothing. The arrangement was merely a shallow bond created from lust and nothing else. Everything was going to be fine—in fact, if he were to sever ties with the Fatui, you’d feel indifferent.
Besides, there was nothing Dottore could possibly use you for.
As the banquet came to a formal close, the next event was the opening of the Kuuvahki Experimental Design Bureau where most Harbingers—yourself included—and other high ranking Fatui were present in Nod-Krai to celebrate its launch of operation. The Bureau had been a long-standing project and seeing the grand building in its expansive glory showed how much time had passed since the project was established.
Though, after the brief celebration, you headed back to Snezhnaya along with the rest of the Harbingers excluding Columbina, Sandrone, and Dottore who remained in Nod-Krai for an assigned mission.
That was the last you heard of The Doctor.
It had been two months since you last saw him—which was back in the Bureau opening—and it was safe to say that things had been a little . . . mundane. Meetings and experiments were what made up most of your daily routine; though you didn’t quite mind, Dottore’s absence was a force itself and without his physical help to de-stress you, everything felt rather bland.
But of course, first and foremost, you were a loyal Harbinger of Snezhnaya which meant swallowing your own lewd desires to focus on meetings and assigned projects and with Project Stuzha slowly coming together, there was no room to fall behind. If anything, focusing was your only friend. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise to have Dottore away from you, any more time spent with him in close proximity might have yielded unwanted results.
During the period between the banquet and the preparation for the Bureau opening in Nod-Krai, Dottore frequented your laboratory by occasionally paying brief visits. It was an inconvenience at first since you were certain he had much more important matters to tend to yet he had the time to dilly-dally in your research space—every time, he asked a bunch of trivial questions which were left unanswered. At that point, you knew your subordinates were talking behind your back with how much they encountered him in the laboratory.
The most bizarre one, however, was when you found Dottore inside your office—he lounged comfortably in your chair as if he owned the space. Naturally, you asked him to leave which he—strangely enough—obliged without putting up a petty fight. If it weren’t for exhaustion in your system, you would have asked him a million questions as to why he had invited himself.
Shortly after Dottore left your office, you remembered Arlecchino and Childe’s joint concern: Nothing good ever came from associating oneself with Dottore.
And somehow their words proved to be the truth because right now, you were back in Nod-Krai for an entirely different reason: Dottore was wreaking havoc in the borderlands. The sky burned a pale, unnatural blue, almost as if to say it was sick; citizens hurried along broken streets to safety while Fatui soldiers did their best to aid them.
It doesn’t take an intelligent individual to conclude that the situation was a mess—Dottore’s energy fields quite literally swallowed almost all of Nod-Krai with every passing second. It looked daunting but you weren’t surprised that he was capable of committing such an act.
“. . . He has the tri-lunar authority in his hands! Is he insane?!” You were pulled out from your thoughts at the sound of Childe’s ramblings; the two of you were dispatched to aid all affected individuals caused by Dottore’s actions, and as much as you desired to confront him, you were assigned a task by Her Majesty. Wait. Tri-lunar authority? The three moons? You’ve always known he was interested in kuuvahki but never the three moons. Most importantly, how did he manage to concentrate the tri-lunar authority in his hands?
Was he out of his mind?
Before you could reply, an operative called out to you, “Lady Prevaricator! We need your help! We’ve found some of our people who had recently escaped from The Doctor’s private research institute and one of them is gravely injured!” You nodded and moved with precision, you’ve done this a million times yet the feeling of dread never really left.
“Lay him here.” You instructed.
They quickly obliged and gently set the soldier’s wounded body on the ground but before you could assess his state, the air around you shifted, causing you to pause momentarily. At first, it was subtle—a faint distortion akin to one’s reflection on rippled water. Then, the world bent, sound vanished, and everything blurred.
Instinctively, your hand reached out to summon your blade but the ground beneath your soles folded inward as if space itself had collapsed, and in the blink of an eye, Nod-Krai vanished. No Fatui soldiers, no chaos from citizens trying to flee, nothing.
Silence. Pitch black.
Then, a sea of blinding lights greeted you. No, not lights, a sea of bright ivory clouds underneath your feet which reflected the bright sun above. Where were you? How were you suspended mid-air? You straightened instantaneously, eyes narrowed as you assessed the vast space ahead.
“Prevaricator.” That familiar voice. Dottore.
You quickly turned around and summoned your blade as your gaze landed on him, specifically on the crescent-shaped device that floated behind his head like a false halo, it hummed a soft melody and shone a strange hue of blue. “Drawing your sword already? How hostile of you, I just want to talk.” He stepped closer, completely unfazed at the sharp edge of your blade pointed at him.
Was your sword summoned because you wanted to eliminate him? No. It was summoned to defend yourself. But . . . were you even capable of killing Dottore? The thought alone placed you in a strange predicament—one you did not like.
“Tri-lunar authority? Are you a fool? How did you . . .” You trailed off, a million questions surged through your mind. How was he able to obtain the power of all three moons? As far as you were concerned, only the Eternal Moon Marrow’s location was disclosed and as for the Iridescent Moon Marrow, Arlecchino had explained to you how it came into her possession.
As for the third marrow, you knew it did not exist at all. So, how did he . . .
“How did I synthesise a false moon marrow you ask?” Dottore—who was now only a few metres away—stepped closer. In response, you stepped back, the sword tucked tightly in your right hand still pointed at him. If it were any other day, he would have enjoyed the conflicted look on your face but you gazed at him with such disdain as though he were a monster.
He tilted his head, “My, has the process of teleportation messed with your mind? I assumed you would have pieced everything together.” His cryptic response sent an icy shiver down your spine, somehow, you felt you wouldn’t like the truth. Nonetheless, you wracked your brain for answers—anything, everything. What did Dottore mean by that?
False. Moon Marrow.
“You act as if false creations aren’t your expertise, Prevaricator.” His words landed heavy and you were hit with an intense realisation of what he implied.
No. He couldn’t have . . . but this was Dottore, he would and he most certainly could.
“You . . You stole my research?”
To create a third false marrow, he had stolen your research notes about Moon Marrows which dove into the topics of synthesising a third one using the existence of the original marrows. At best, you were interested in the relics because you deemed it useful for the Fatui, not to concentrate the tri-lunar authority into your own hands as he had done. The thought of your own theoretical calculations contributing to such atrocities caused by Dottore made you sick.
This was never what you intended.
“Stole is a bold accusation. I like to think of it as borrowed. You truly are a genius—using a harmonic field to equilibrate the extracts of kuuvahki so that one would be able to wield it without destabilisation? Only a mind like yours would come up with such a concept. For that, you have my thanks.”
Suddenly the air felt thinner and you couldn’t breathe properly, it was as if the atmosphere had its hand around your neck, slowly choking you with each passing second. Hesitantly, you shook your head, denying every praise that Dottore handed. Panic inside you gradually arose causing your breath to quicken—you had partial responsibility for this and it weighed heavy on your shoulders. How could Dottore use you like this?
A turmoil of emotions was one way to put it, you weren’t sure whether to be angry at his betrayal or feel hurt at the fact that he used you as a mere pawn. Was this the primary reason he had been lingering around you from the start? To use your mind for his atrocities?
“Nod-Krai is in destruction because of you.”
He humourlessly laughed, “Oh, Prevaricator. You speak as if you don’t have blood on your hands. Let me ask you this, exactly how many Inazuman war soldiers perished from your Delusion? Hundreds? Thousands? Condemnation does not make you any more better than I and it certainly does not purify your crimson-stained hands.”
You hated it. You hated how Dottore was completely right—at the end of the day, you were a Harbinger of Snezhnaya who has caused devastation without an ounce of remorse. If anything, you and Dottore were two sides of the same coin.
“I’m not here to purify my hands. I’m here under the Tsaritsa’s orders to—” “To what? To kill me? That would be an interesting performance but it isn’t my task to harm you.”
It was rather vain of you to draw your sword against Dottore, both of you knew doing so would only result in your demise—even without the tri-lunar authority, he greatly overpowered your combat capabilities even with a Delusion. But if doing so asked for your demise then so be it, you were partially responsible for all this and that was the only price worth paying for your foolishness. Even if your entire soul begged not to.
Despite your better judgement, you moved first; your boots cut through the sea of clouds as you lunged forward, blade flashing precisely meant to force Dottore backwards. The strike was fast—perfectly calculated but the latter did not dodge, instead, he raised a gloved hand.
The moment your blade entered striking distance, gravity twisted, air around your sword warped violently, the space in between folded like glass under pressure. Your calculated strike veered sideways as if pulled by an invisible force, it scraped against nothing yet sparks formed.
Swiftly, you pivoted, turning the failed strike into a spinning slash aimed at his ribs. Dottore effortlessly stepped aside, this time it was his turn to strike. The crescent halo behind him hummed as he summoned a weapon out of thin air—a blade much larger than your own. He didn’t hold it with his own hand, no, instead, he manipulated gravity to wield it.
“Is that all you’ve got? Face me with ferocity, Prevaricator.”
You leapt back in defense, the edge of his blade just narrowly missing your stomach. Once again, your sword flashed before the distance between you and Dottore greatly lessened in a split second. Steel met steel as you drove the pointed edge toward his throat, he had swiftly caught it with his own blade.
The impact rang across the expansive space.
For a brief moment, the two of you stood inches apart, two completely contrasting expressions painted on your faces. Then, the air intensified instantly as if the weight of the entire sky slowly suffocated you. Your posture stuttered slightly and Dottore leaned closer, “My, look at you.”
A grunt slipped past your lips as you thrusted your blade forward with heavy force, it slid dangerously close to the edge of his shoulder. For a brief moment, it broke his guard. The space beneath you shattered as it folded violently, a wave of lunar energy exploded outwards causing it to launch you backwards. Your body unceremoniously rolled through the sea of clouds, searing pain shot everywhere.
But you didn’t dare back down, you rose from your spot, sword at your side once again as you dashed forward—this time, much faster. Metal flashed in a storm of precise strikes, each one aimed at a lethal point: throat, ribs, spine; your blade moved like liquid in your hand, forcing Dottore to take several steps back.
For the first time, he had to actually defend. Metal repeatedly rang as he deflected your deadly attacks.
“That’s it! Wield your blade like you mean it! You’ve been holding back, haven’t you? I wonder why . .”
Have you been holding back? You didn’t notice but you were certainly aware how stiff your attacks were, as if your body protested against your mind.
Suddenly, you swiftly twisted, reversing the angle of your sword and driving its edge towards the seam of his mask, the blade stopped a hair’s breadth from his face. Dottore had caught your wrist,
“I think it's time we put an end to this.”
Panicked, you attempted to break free of his firm grip but it proved to be useless. The azure halo behind him hummed as he drew his free hand back, his weapon moved in unison.
A surge of bright light instantly invaded your senses to the point where you couldn’t make out what was ahead of you anymore. Then, darkness grew.
“██ █████!?”
“█ ██ ██!”
“L█ █va██tor!”
“Lady Prevaricator!”
Your eyes shot open, body that was previously thrashing around stilled instantly as you took in your familiar surroundings—judging from the blue fabric above, you were inside a Fatui tent. Your chest heaved as inhaled and exhaled deep breaths, “What . .”
“Lady Prevaricator! You’re finally awake. You’ve been out for almost two weeks.” What? You thought. Two weeks? But mere moments ago you were just fighting Dottore. “Explain.” You rasped.
The soldier before you nodded, “Well, we were back in Nasha Town and when I had called you over to treat a wounded soldier, you suddenly collapsed. We had to quickly rush you into one of the tents and ever since then, you’ve been out cold. We were all worried about you. We had one medic assigned to look after you while the rest helped civilians.”
“I was assigned to clean up the space since troops are slowly returning back to Snezhnaya. You were thrashing around in your sleep and thankfully, you woke up!”
Two weeks. You’ve been sleeping for two weeks. How did that happen? You were certain Dottore was about to land his last strike. Your head couldn’t seem to wrap around it. Unless, he wasn’t meant to kill you and simply teleported you back the same way he teleported you to him. He did confess he wasn’t interested in killing you.
“What . . What of The Doctor?” Slowly, you used every ounce of strength in your body to sit up. At your question, the soldier held a shocked expression beneath his mask but immediately got rid of it.
“The threat has been neutralised but Lady Marionette perished in battle.”
Threat—Dottore, neutralised. Sandrone, perished.
Two Harbingers, dead.
“I’d like to be alone.” “As you wish, Lady Prevaricator.” Silence shortly followed as the soldier stepped out of the tent. Your breathing quickened, they were gone—dead, Sandrone and Dottore were dead and you didn’t know what to make of it. First, it was Rosalyne and now Sandrone . . . Just how many more of your friends would perish?
As for Dottore, you never once considered him as a friend yet your chest hurt at the thought of his demise; you didn’t know how to grieve.
A slow exhale left your chapped lips as realisation settled, it came out uneven and shallow. Your hands began to tremble and that alone was enough to unsettle you. Years and years had been spent mastering control, whether it be over assigned missions, over subordinates or over yourself; sadness was something you watched in other individuals, not something you experienced.
Yet now, the tremor refused to stop. You stared at the wall of azure before you, unfocused. Then, you lowered your face into the heart of your palms—at first, it was skin against skin, just the pressure of your hands pressing against your eyes as though you could physically force the thoughts out of your mind. But pressure didn’t help because every time you closed your eyes, you saw Sandrone and Dottore.
Your breath hitched and almost instantly, you tried to swallow it down, tried to steady yourself the way you always did—indifferent and unfeeling. But what did it mean if you were simply brimming with . . . feelings. A small sound escaped your throat, broken and almost sounded like it didn’t belong to you. From there, everything poured, your tears, emotions and every single feeling you’ve ignored. You hadn’t cried in years.
Was it justifiable to cry over Dottore as well? Closeness was the last thing the two of you had and you weren’t quite aware of what you harboured for him to feel such immense grief.
In the next few days, you were back in Snezhnaya, heavy snowfall poured nonstop and the Palace was emptier than usual when you requested an audience with Her Majesty. You had told her of your indirect involvement with Dottote’s plan and even asked for punishment to atone for the grave destruction caused upon Nod-Krai.
But Her Majesty—the ever benevolent archon she was—pardoned you and deemed your involvement unrelated. Were you thankful you didn’t have to face punishment? Yes. But maybe you desired to be punished because now Sandrone and Dottore were gone. If the latter hadn’t learned of your research notes regarding Moon Marrow then maybe both of them would still be here but then again, Dottore was more than capable of constructing one with or without your research.
After the meeting with Her Majesty, you shortly went on leave to process everything.
Now, you resided in a small cabin near the mountains a long ways away from Snezhnograd—Zapolyarny Palace, the Experimental Bureau, your home. All those places reminded you of him. Albeit only your accommodation for the next few days, being away from everything and everyone greatly helped.
Days were spent cooped up inside the cosy space tending the fireplace and occasionally wild animals that crossed your path, other than that, you were content with watching the snow capped mountains in the far north.
This particular night, nothingness accompanied you once more. The snow had stopped hours ago, leaving the town buried beneath a smooth, ivory silence; even the song of wind had withdrawn, leaving you completely alone. Inside the cabin, you sat at a small wooden desk by the window, a lamp casting a muted circle of light across scattered papers—they weren’t reports nor important documents, instead, the pages contained your thoughts and feelings. Sandrone once told you that she recorded a handful of matters on a notebook, kind of like a diary, so you decided to try for yourself.
Halfway through a sentence, your pen paused against the paper. Something shifted outside. Even though it was dark out and only illuminated by a singular lamp on the porch, you noticed instantly. It was subtle—a movement in the corner of your vision, just beyond where light from the lamp thinned.
You lifted your gaze. At first, there was nothing, only the quietness of the mountains ahead and bare trees which stood rigid beneath Snezhnayan frost. But as your eyes settled, you could make out a figure standing beneath the black branches. The distance and darkness hid every detail but there was no mistaking the silhouette. Tall. Composed. And most importantly, the faint outline of a mask caught beneath the pale moonlight.
Your chest tightened. Dottore . . ?
No, this must be a mere hallucination, after all, sleep barely visited you at night. Unless . . he wasn’t a hallucination but a phantom. Unlikely. Were you finally going mad?
The figure didn’t approach the door nor did it move—it just stood there amidst the trees as if to merely observe. Curious, you rose slowly from the desk, crossing the room without haste in your steps. As you reached the door, you opened it with caution—one hand on the knob while the other summoned your blade. Wood creaked beneath your feet as you stepped onto the porch, you felt like a fool for going outside, Dottore was dead, there was no logical reason for him to be outside the cabin at an ungodly hour of the morning.
Despite your better judgement, you called out to him, tone full of hesitation, “. . . Dottore . .?” Even uttering his name sounded idiotic, it was like praying to a god who wouldn’t answer.
The blackened figure moved and your fingers instinctively wrapped tighter around the hilt of your sword. You watched carefully as it moved closer with the same familiar gait The Doctor had. As the figure moved closer to the light, it slowly revealed Dottore; your breath quickened, heart rate spiking at the sight of the all-too-familiar man before you.
A million questions surged through your mind. What? He was proclaimed dead.
You raised your blade, the sharp edge pointed at him, it trembled a little, “I do not know if this is some kind of sick caper but I am not amused.” Yes, this had to be an elaborate cruel joke—that was the only way to explain it, right?
“Prevaricator.” He sang your name the same way he did back in Nod-Krai yet only this time, it was softer around the edges. No. No. No. It couldn’t be. A big part of you didn’t want the figure to be Dottore, not after what he did in the borderlands and how he used your research. But a small, twisted part of you—specifically inside your chest—hoped it was him, even if it did not make sense at all.
As much as the truth hurt, you spoke up, “You’re . . supposed to be dead.”
“Indeed.” Your eyes narrowed at his brief reply, “Explain or you will meet the end of my blade once more.”
“The ‘me’ you encountered and ultimately fought in Nod-Krai was my last remaining segment.”
“Segment? I do not seem to follow?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten my crowning achievement, Prevaricator? I synthesised eight segments of myself. Unfortunately, seven of them had to be destroyed.”
Crowning achievement? Your eyes narrowed. Eight segments? Oh, it sounded like Dottore alright—only he would create segments of himself. After a while of trying to fit pieces together, broken memories started coming back to you.
Indeed, someone—you couldn’t remember who but you were certain it was from a long time ago—had told you of Dottore’s eight different segments, he built them after years and years of research into puppet-making techniques.
As for what the foundational blueprint was, you couldn’t recall at all.
How could you have forgotten about his segments? Well, it wasn’t like you ran into The Doctor frequently back then nor did you bat an eye at his successful projects. If anything, you mainly kept to yourself. But now that segments were part of the equation, it raised a question,
“Then . . which of you was it?” Despite your vague question, Dottore knew exactly what you meant: Between the real him and the segment, which one shared intimate moments with you.
He answered almost instantly, “Every single encounter was with me only, I never allowed him near you. The Omega build may be the most selfish out of all segments but he cannot—and will not—surpass my own selfishness when it comes to you. After all, I am the original.”
Something inside your chest stuttered.
You swallowed thickly, “Why are you here? Why show yourself before me? I can easily alert Her Majesty of your whereabouts—”
“Would you, Prevaricator? Would you really? Your words seem to differ from what you truly feel . . . I sense a hint of hope in them.”
The blade in your hand lowered and your grip loosened a little, “I mourned a colleague. Despite it all we . . I lost a colleague.” You couldn’t quite speak for everyone on your behalf since you were more than certain Dottore’s death did not sadden them at all. As for you, foreign feelings arose—violent ones that could not be ignored.
“Oh but you seemed rather eager fighting my segment did you not?”
“Because I knew I had no chances of surviving against you—your segment. Killing . . you was something I was aware I could not accomplish alone.”
“A death wish, then?”
“Could you blame my actions? On top of causing chaos in Nod-Krai, you stole my research for your own selfishness. I am well aware our physical relationship was transactional but it does not invite you to use me as a pawn.” You took several steps closer, the tip of your sword dragging against the wooden boards beneath.
Dottore mirrored your actions, he stood at the opening of the porch, right before the wooden steps, “Are your feelings hurt, Prevaricator? Did our physical relationship mean something to you?”
Using your own words against you. That was the same question you asked him months ago in the Palace.
“You’re changing the topic.”
“And you haven’t answered my question.”
“I am of no obligation to do so.”
“Then, I will take that as a ‘Yes’.”
Oh, he was infuriating as ever. “Why are you here? To rub in everyone’s faces that you’re still alive and everything that happened in Nod-Krai was all a lie?”
“I’m here with a proposal. Our recent collaboration—well, albeit out of your own will—made me realise how two minds alike can achieve great power rivalling those with divinity.”
“What makes you think I’ll work with you?”
“Why not? Limiting your intellect under the authority of the Cryo Archon is a waste. Tell me Prevaricator, are you content with slaving away despite being aware your mind can do much more than what she asks of you?” Dottore slowly climbed the steps, wood creaking beneath his weight.
The thought of doing much more beyond the Fatui has never once crossed your mind. From what you can recall of the past, it has only ever been the Fatui for you; countless experiments, projects and meetings—all for the betterment of Snezhnaya and never for yourself. There wasn’t anything personal going on in your life apart from your role as a Harbinger.
You could never admit to it but you envied Childe and how he was able to live a normal life outside of being in the Fatui—from Sandrone’s tea parties, you heard countless stories from him about his younger siblings and family. It was foreign to say the least, he was the only Harbinger who had family and engaged in mundane human tasks.
“Take your place by my side, Prevaricator and we shall accomplish great feats with our intellect.” You watched him outstretched a gloved hand.
If Dottore had been talking to your past self, the answer would have been quick and sharp—no—yet after your entanglement with him, the decision didn’t come easy. An invisible force beckoned you towards him and the mere thought of being apart from him gnawed at your very bones.
They never mentioned it to your face but you could tell Arlecchino and Childe had become wary of you ever since they learned of your involvement with Dottore, Rosalyne and Sandrone were gone for good, and Columbina had retired which meant there was nothing else that tied you to the Fatui except your loyalty to Her Majesty.
You didn’t notice snow had begun falling once again ‘til you saw Dottore’s palm decorated in ivory, you watched as they fell from the skies and found home in his hand.
“You could easily refuse and walk away right this moment yet you have made no effort to do so, it seems inefficient to pretend you do not see me by your side, and if someone intends to claim your time and attention, it may as well be me. Don’t you see? I’m sure everyone around you has already kept their distance . . Childe, Arlecchino, and maybe even Her Majesty hold a hint of disdain towards you for aiding my plan in Nod-Krai.”
“If you were a truly valuable asset for the Tsaritsa, she wouldn’t have granted you leave—aren’t you supposed to be involved in Project Stuzha? From what I recall, its launch draws near yet they don’t need your help? It’s only a matter of time the Fatui kicks you off to the side.”
Dottore was correct. Project Stuzha was set to launch soon and Harbingers involved in such projects are prohibited from taking personal leave unless absolutely necessary. With Her Majesty approving your leave amidst the start of Project Stuzha, it almost seemed like an indirect message that she, in fact, did not need you anymore.
Yes, that was what it all meant.
Silence stretched briefly before you took his hand in yours.
With quiet certainty, you understood that whatever existed between you and Dottore was not loyalty, not trust and certainly not romance—it was something far less stable. Two minds too sharp to deceive themselves. Yet somewhere within the cold silence of the outside, you realised the most unsettling truth of all.
That you and Dottore would ruin each other eventually, and neither of you intended to stop it.
SYNOPSIS: With Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa assigning you and The Doctor to an important research project, the two of you are forced to set aside the not-so-distant past and collaborate with one another. However, after a particular experimental trial, you and The Doctor get into a nasty argument which compels you to finally address the elephant in the room: the lewd incident that happened in his laboratory.
CONTENT WARNING: tenth harbinger!reader, reader is referred to as prevaricator/lady harbinger, slow burn-ish, smut (mdni), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, slight dom!dottore, degradation (if you squint), arguing while having sex, their foreplay is arguing, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, p with plot-ish, other harbinger cameo, brief mention of death, reader & dottore don’t know how to deal with feelings, very elaborate lab stuff, scientific jargon but you’ll be fine, not beta read.
WORD COUNT: 11,469
SONG RECOMMENDATION: haunted by beyoncé
NOTES: happy vday heres dottore to light up ur valentine’s day hehe !! i’ve been asked a lot about a second part so i said fuck it and wrote one :3 hope you all enjoy! peep the song rec >< i don’t usually do those but these fics were heavily inspired by ‘haunted’! div: cursed-carmine
The Zapolyarny Palace was unusually quiet, stillness lingered in the air as the Harbingers patiently sat along the long table. Candles burned low which illuminated everyone’s stoic faces, an expression each Harbinger wore whenever around one another, careful not to lay out all their cards.
Frost blanketed the stained glass windows, obstructing sunlight from seeping through. All Harbingers in Snezhnaya had been summoned by Her Majesty to discuss current reports and future missions to be assigned. Right now, everyone—even Pierro—except one Harbinger sat on their chair—one that seemed to not care about his colleagues’ precious time.
Annoyance bubbled in your stomach. The Doctor was always like this even if he was summoned by the Tsaritsa herself, he always took his sweet, sweet time. What could possibly be more important than Her Majesty’s orders? You were irritated at his slight tardiness, yes but you complained no further as it meant not having to face him for a longer amount of time.
After the . . . exchange in Dottore’s laboratory yesterday, you were not looking forward to facing him at all which was why you weren’t thrilled when a subordinate had let you know about the Harbinger meeting. Nonetheless, you sat in your chair, composed with your hands folded, and an unreadable expression.
Two minutes had passed before the doors opened to reveal the person you dreaded to see the most.
Dottore strode in, unhurried and calm as though he controlled time itself. Slung over his left arm was a fabric with an all too familiar shade of ivory, it bore the Fatui insignia. Your eyebrow twitched imperceptibly, tension heightened and engulfed the whole room—or maybe that was just on your end? Whatever it was, you did not like it one bit.
It felt like the occurrence at Sandrone’s tea party all over again.
“Ugh, Dottore! Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for you?!” Sandrone broke the thick silence that lingered in the air, voice full of annoyance.
“Ah. Just in time, I see,” The Doctor mused pleasantly, flat out ignoring the Seventh Harbinger. The tone made your gut churn but you didn’t let on; whenever he spoke with such delight, whatever followed was usually the opposite. Just in time? Inconsiderate as always. You thought.
“Prevaricator, you seem to have left your coat in my laboratory.” He stopped just before your chair, his tall stature loomed over your sitting figure as he stood behind. You didn’t turn to face him just yet but his invasive aura was enough to alert you of his presence. Your heart stammered. Dottore could not be serious right now, out of the endless opportunities to return your coat, he chose today? In a Harbinger meeting? Really?
Though, that concern was immediately overridden by the unsolicited stares from not only Sandrone’s piercing gaze but from everyone else who sat on the table—from Pierro all the way to The Balladeer who rarely cared about such trivial matters. All their attention suddenly shifted over to you and Dottore. You hated to admit it but it almost felt like you were cornered by a pack of wolves who had found their dinner for tonight; interest and curiosity lingered in their eyes.
Uncomfortable, you shifted in your chair just a bit. What were you supposed to say? Thank you? Over your dead body, that was the last thing you’d ever utter to Dottore. To make matters even worse and the others’ curiosity to grow, he spoke up once again,
“We had a rather . . . heated exchange.”
You wanted to kill him. Rip his body into shreds until nothing remained.
Dottore was smart, academically smart but in all the years you’ve been with him in the Fatui, this was the most idiotic thing you’ve seen him do. Utterly foolish. What was the relevance of this explanation? Nothing! There was no other implication that could have meant anything else besides what you and him had done yesterday.
The word heated settled into the silence that followed, like a dropped blade.
Sandrone—who sat on your left—slowly turned to face you, azure eyes wide with confusion and laced with something dangerously close to horror. You didn’t dare meet her gaze. Her eyes flickered to your shoulders—no coat—then back to the fabric on Dottore’s arm. Ugh, she didn’t even want to think about what he meant by that, whatever it was, she wanted nothing to do with it.
Why is Dottore even causing a scene?! Sandrone rolled her eyes.
Clearly, there was no denying that the article of clothing The Doctor had was yours, the biggest hint being your coat missing around your shoulders. Naturally, everyone donned theirs whenever they were back in Snezhnaya—apart from the coat being an unwritten uniform within the Harbingers, it helped immensely with braving the harsh icy winds, and heavy snowfall. Today, you managed to layer enough clothing to face the low temperatures.
Heat crept up to your cheeks, you were embarrassed; to think that Dottore heavily implied you and him had sex in his laboratory in front of all the Harbingers was beyond shameful. Oh, how you wanted the marbled floors to open a rift and swallow your body whole only to never return again. Surely, none would have caught on, right? The more you thought about it, the more your mind calculated the possibility that it was impossible for any Harbinger to not understand the implication. Everyone in this room was smart in their own way.
You cleared your throat, attempting to slice through the growing awkwardness inside the hall, “An experiment,”
“We had an escalated disagreement regarding an experiment of mine. I had simply asked for his perspective which I soon realised was a mistake considering our opposing opinions.” You lied, though it was believable enough how natural it sounded—no uncertainty, no hesitation, after all, lying came to you as easy as breathing fresh air. But, the spiteful tone at the end of your sentence was nothing but the truth.
A beat followed then a handful of nods around the long table. Either no one was foolish enough to entertain the matters or they simply could not care less. Sandrone, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes briefly before shifting her gaze elsewhere.
The Seventh Harbinger tried not to think about the fact that you always sought her perspective when it came to obtaining a second opinion for your experiments, not Dottore, not anyone else, her. Nonetheless, Sandrone ignored the pressing thought; as long as it didn’t affect her nor her projects, she didn’t see any reasoning to further investigate the matter.
The only thing that bothered her was your terrible taste. Dottore? Really? Hm, maybe all those chemical fumes you’ve inhaled these past years have finally affected your cognitive ability.
You twisted your torso, finally facing Dottore—who wore a sly smirk—to grab your coat off his arm, “Apologies for my forgetfulness.” You coldly muttered before once again turning to face the table.
Without another word, Dottore strutted to his seat between Regrator and The Balladeer which was situated right across from your own. Now that every Harbinger was here, the only figure to wait for was Her Majesty. You took a quiet deep breath as The Doctor finally sat in his seat, you didn’t lift your gaze to look at him but you already knew his crimson eyes were on you. You shifted in your seat uncomfortably, heat that settled into your skin now burning deeper despite the subzero temperature.
Dottore noticed the slight shift in your mood, like a faint crack in a panel of glass, subtle yet enough to shatter the whole thing once pushed to its breaking point, “Is the hall overheated again, Prevaricator?” He asked, referring to the events of Sandrone’s tea party. You had said the same thing back then after the effects of the aphrodisiac had started to settle in, looking back at it now, Dottore most likely knew you were lying then.
Of course, this was his way of further provoking you under the guise of concern.
You stared at him. Hard. Which only pulled an amused smile.
Too focused on trying to split apart the Second Harbinger with your stare, you didn’t notice the way Regrator’s gaze shifted between you and his friend, the corners of his mouth curling upwards in pure amusement. Oh, he absolutely knew the deal between you and Dottore, and the best part? He found out all by himself.
Regrator had been meaning to pay Dottore a visit sometime to tell the latter that funding for his research project had been approved, which he found himself doing yesterday. As usual, he made the effort of paying a visit to the Experimental Bureau, specifically to Dottore’s laboratory.
Everything was normal until Regrator had made it to the hallway outside his friend’s lab; at first, he thought his ears simply betrayed him or that the metal walls creaked unusually loud but the more time he spent at the deserted hallway, the clearer those sounds became.
Sounds that screamed anything but appropriate.
For a moment, Regrator listened, brows furrowed with curiosity—either a pair was idiotic enough to fool around inside Dottore’s laboratory or it was Dottore himself who fooled around with someone.
His question was soon answered as lewd moans turned into coherent words, “Ngh! Dottore! Right there!” He froze upon hearing his friend’s name uttered by an extremely familiar voice. Was it one of Dottore’s subordinates? No, there was a certain tone laced in those words; despite this mystery woman’s strained voice, it held some sort of iciness to it.
A face flashed into Regrator’s mind.
Prevaricator?
No, it couldn’t be. Seeing as how you treated Dottore like he was a mere fly on the wall made this assumption impossible; you ignored the latter with every chance you got so it did not make sense at all. But the woman sounded just like you.
Before Regrator could delve deeper into his thoughts, the sound of Dottore’s voice breathlessly moaned out not your title but your name. That alone answered every question in his mind—so, it was you. Regrator could only chuckle in pure amusement. Dottore had opened up to him about your rather annoying characteristics, and how the former wanted to break that façade of yours.
He didn’t ask for a reason and simply nodded along at his words; in all honesty, Regrator did not deem you worthy of his time, you had nothing interesting going on except for your projects—which he also deemed unworthy of funding—so he didn’t understand why you had suddenly piqued his friend’s interest.
To each their own, I guess. He thought to himself before deciding to finally walk away and give the two of you some much needed privacy.
Regrator watched as the scene unfolded before him, amusement gleamed in his eyes as he observed your rigid posture and Dottore’s mischievous demeanour, a second any longer and you might’ve just wielded your Delusion right then and there but alas, tension between you and the Second Harbinger faded as quickly as it rose upon Her Majesty’s arrival.
All Harbingers shifted their attention to the Cryo Archon, each stood from their chairs with appropriate haste and bowed their heads as she walked in, icy heels clicking with each calculated step; a slight shiver ran down your spine, you never really got used to Her Majesty’s presence despite all the years you have served her.
The Tsaritsa took her seat at the head of the table and the Harbingers followed suit, sitting back down to finally commence.
“Let us proceed.” She announced.
As if on cue, Pierro slid over a couple of stacked files to Her Majesty. This was going to be a long meeting. Reports were delivered, assignments were confirmed, and future campaigns were outlined in heavy detail. Each Harbinger listened keenly and answered when addressed, yourself included. Though, most of the files concerned either Regrator or The Rooster, and even The Balladeer and Rosalyne who were once more briefed of their upcoming assignment in Inazuma.
Though, surprisingly enough, she had called out your name along with Dottore’s. The two of you looked up in unison, awaiting for Her Majesty’s next words as she flipped through the documents,
“Reports indicate certain Cryo-saturated environments have produced a consistent effect: emotional dampening without loss of cognition. This certain phenomenon is able to dull fear, recede pain, and dampen any emotional hindrance which ultimately improves efficiency—assets we need for our operatives, however, the side effect is deemed unstable.”
Your brows furrowed. Cryo-saturated environments? You assumed it was influenced by Cryo energy instead of its physical form such as ice and snow—a simple example of this would be a poisonous chemical gas emitted from a volatile experiment. When a person is exposed to poisonous gas for an extended amount of time, it would be fatal, you guessed it was the same for this phenomenon.
“Once Cryo exposure ends, suppressed emotions rebound, it is volatile and unpredictable, a Fatui weakness. Sudden emotional changes, heightened physical sensitivity and loss of emotional regulation are the most common rebounds as reported by operatives.”
The Tsaritsa continued to explain how a certain Fatui operative violently lashed out at his comrades which ultimately led to a physical confrontation. Thankfully, the operative had been subdued, and under intense monitoring for further behavioural tests; though, this wasn’t the only occurrence.
“This can cause catastrophic failures on our end. I want this understood, refined, and controlled. If emotional suppression can be enforced without such rebounds, it would be an outstanding weapon for the Fatui.”
The Tsaritsa’s icy gaze settled on The Doctor, “You will lead this research,” Then, it shifted on to you, “You will assist as a regulator; your natural restraint deems you an ideal threshold for this experiment.”
Her Majesty was correct, you prided yourself on restraint and emotional distance—a defense mechanism you learned and bore upon being bestowed your title. Your natural emotional restraint paired with Cryo-induced restraint made you the ideal threshold; it wasn’t out of the ordinary for the Tsaritsa to assign you on this project, and you particularly had no qualms with it but the mere thought of Dottore overseeing the entire experiment did not sound pleasant at all.
“Prevaricator is not to be treated as a subject but as a threshold at which immense emotional suppression becomes dangerous instability. Am I clear, Doctor?”
Dottore smiled behind his pointed mask, “As you command, your Majesty.” Somehow, you didn’t believe a single word of it. The Tsaritsa nodded before closing the file, “Immediate results are to be discussed with me. I expect no less from the two of you.”
With that, the meeting finally came to an end, tension in the room lifted as Her Majesty left without another word—as if the hall itself let out a breath of relief. As everyone piled out of the room, your mind began to ponder over certain protocols and boundaries for the upcoming experiment, something needed written on the experimental contract.
A week had passed before the initial trial of the experiment, this was primarily due to the lack of apparatus needed to simulate a Cryo-saturated environment. Meanwhile, you had used that time to gather further information by observing and running common tests on affected Fatui operatives which gave rather fruitful results. Fortunately, Dottore was too busy designing a suitable apparatus for the experiment to accompany your rounds.
A handful of findings seemed to all state the same rebound effect—violence, which were primarily from Fatui operatives. Thus, you hypothesized that one’s rebound effect was heavily influenced by their environment. Fatui operatives were trained soldiers, experienced combatants capable of committing heinous crimes; in short, when an individual was used to a ‘violent’ environment, they would commit the same act of violence under the influence of a rebound effect.
This would also be true for an individual with a ‘depressing’ environment which would result in unpredictable sorrowful behaviour as a rebound effect.
Another thing you hypothesized was that the degree of Cryo exposure was proportional to the degree of rebound effect. Thus, a high concentration of Cryo exposure led to a stronger rebound effect.
You were fully convinced of this hypothesis, even Dottore himself seemed to be on the same page as well. But of course, whether this was true or not solely depended on the trials.
The laboratory was cold—deliberately so.
Cryo conduits lined the walls of a vertical glass chamber—a space large enough to house a human. A faint layer of frost lined its seams as the engine whirred to life, it glowed faintly as energy surged through it. You watched from inside the chamber as Dottore adjusted the control panel just a few feet away. Composed and quiet, your hands remained behind your back, coat long discarded due to potential false readings.
“Baseline readings first. This is simply to establish what ‘normal’ looks like for you.” Dottore calmly stated before pressing a button.
With that, a thin metal band slid into place around your wrist, it was icy against your skin. Another rested lightly at your throat. “Do not be alarmed, these aren’t restraints. They monitor pulse, skin temperature, muscle tension and any changes in breath rhythm.”
“In other words,” You started. “You’ll be notified of any slight changes, even as miniscule as a flinch.”
He smiled, “Precisely.”
The monitors against your skin flickered to life, a faint glow of red tainted your vision as it measured your baseline readings. “Heart rate is steady. Respiration controlled. Emotional markers?” Dottore monotonously asked as he read the panel screen before him.
“Neutral.” You replied.
“As expected, you are an excellent control subject.”
Your eyes narrowed at his words, annoyance bubbled in your chest, “I am not a subject.” He paused his ministrations, “Ah, right. My apologies. Force of habit.” A low chuckle escaped his lips which further fuelled the negative emotion inside you.
“Relax, Prevaricator. False readings on the first trial are not acceptable.” You took a deep breath and calmed yourself. As much as you hated to admit it, Dottore was right; Her Majesty had entrusted you to an important task and it was your duty to fulfill it even if it meant having to push your disdain for Dottore aside.
Though, there was a much, much bigger matter to be addressed concerning the two of you but neither you nor Dottore dared to even speak a word of it. The last it was addressed was during the Harbinger meeting, you absolutely have not forgotten about the humiliation you felt. You reminded yourself to confront him about his idiocy in the future.
Silence followed before the Cryo field activated.
The temperature didn’t drop instantaneously, it slid downwards, akin to the feeling of sinking into cold water inch by inch. You felt it first in your lungs, the air grew sharper, it mimicked the feeling of thin oxygen in higher altitudes. Faint clouds of steam formed as you breathed.
“This exposure mimics the amount of Cryo energy our operatives were exposed to. It isn’t capable of freezing tissue but it is capable of influencing one’s nervous system. Cold slows things down, including cognitive signals sent to one’s body; pain, fear—emotional spikes, they all rely on speed.”
Dottore made another adjustment as your readings remained neutral, this time, the cold deepened, you assumed the exposure was about one and a half times more than the previous amount by how much your skin began to react.
“Report.” Dottore said.
“I feel . . . Slightly detached. As if reactions are optional.” Dottore nodded at your words, he jotted down a handful of observations, “Good. That means suppression is finally working for you.” As per your findings, this result was expected—soldiers had reported that they felt detached from reality, as though they watched themselves from outside their body.
On the monitors, your vitals remained stable, no signs of fluctuation nor distress, everything seemed to be in place. Dottore was pleased, very much so, that meant he could probably push this a little further.
The Cryo field intensified slightly.
The laboratory grew quieter not due to the lack of sound but because it felt simply unimportant to you, your cognition no longer registered the hum of the machines nor the words that Dottore absentmindedly uttered to himself. Your consciousness remained intact but the emotional weight of thought simply vanished as if it weren’t there in the first place; even Dottore’s presence felt like an afterthought.
“Pain test.” He stated, pressing another control. Immediately, a brief, controlled electrified pulse shot through your wrist and neck. You felt it vibrate against your skin but pain was absent.
His pen paused mid-sentence, brows lifting imperceptibly as he looked up at your figure, “How remarkable.” Dottore pondered to himself, this was still only the first phase of the project, and he had yet to be presented with much results but he wanted to see where your painless state took you. He amped the pulse a little higher than before, now, its current level was enough to at least knock out a human. Dottore wasn’t worried at all, you were a Harbinger after all, what harm could a mere shock do?
He pressed the same control button as before, “Another one. Response?” “Registered. Sensation still absent.”
He nodded at your words once again, jotting down every response in his notebook. A few more minutes passed before Dottore ultimately lowered the Cryo field in a manner where your body could appropriately adjust to the temperature changes until the chamber itself powered off. Heat slowly embraced your icy skin once again, it felt akin to standing next to a fireplace on a snowy night. You staggered a little, hands immediately coming up to stabilise your body.
“You did exceptionally well. That’s all for today. We shall resume again tomorrow once your rebound effect has calmed.” Pure delight laced his words as he watched you step out from the chamber. Your mind felt hazy and the last couple of minutes felt distant but other than that, there was nothing out of the ordinary. At least not yet.
Dottore walked around the console, moving closer to where you stood just outside the chamber, “Per Her Majesty’s order, you are to be monitored closely until this project has officially concluded. In other words, you will be staying in the palace quarters.” You had no qualms with that, it only made sense to be monitored closely especially during the rebound effect period which was now.
A rebound effect for normal humans can be easily controlled and contained but as for a Harbinger like yourself, it would be a completely different topic. You had no doubts in The Doctor’s capabilities of subduing your imminent side effect, he was more than capable of doing so. But if your personal feelings were to come into play, you’d rather have someone else. Anyone but Dottore.
“As head researcher, I will personally monitor your conditions. Should you have any queries, I am only down the corridor from your quarters.”
“One more thing. Do not, under any circumstances, remove those bands around your neck and wrist. They are there to indicate any behavioural changes.”
You wordlessly nodded, too tired to ask any questions. Her Majesty may have clearly stated not to treat you as a subject but you sure did feel like one.
Upon returning to your quarters, you felt nothing but pure irritation, you concluded that it was the rebound effect happening. Though, in your case, it wasn’t enough to get violent nor involuntarily lash out at subordinates. You only managed to control it since you were exposed to Cryo energy levels which weren’t potent enough to significantly alter your cognition nor induce the effect.
Despite that, you still tried to calm yourself down by going over your notes, eyes tracing each and every sentence to the point where they would be engraved in your mind.
Hypothesis #1: An individual’s environment directly influences their rebound effect.
Hypothesis #2: The amount of Cryo energy exposure is directly proportional to the degree of an individual’s rebound effect. For example, the stronger the exposure, the stronger the rebound effect.
Rebound effect: An unpredictable effect induced by prolonged Cryo energy exposure in Cryo-saturated environments.
Cryo-saturated environments: Certain areas where Cryo energy is concentrated. (Civilians and Operatives are at risk)
The next day, everything felt normal, the feeling of irritation was long gone and your vital signs were stable—devoid of any significant fluctuations. Just like yesterday, Dottore read your baseline readings out loud before the experiment officially commenced for the day.
Back inside the glass chamber, you shifted your weight from one foot to another as he pressed a set of buttons on the console, “We will continue where we left off yesterday. As per protocol, I will gradually increase the Cryo field to avoid sudden exposure in cold temperatures.” He stated.
The experiment went on for a couple more hours, a repeat process of being exposed to increased levels of Cryo energy then tested for pain. Dottore may be devoted to his experiments but at least he was human enough to incorporate breaks in between which allowed your body to recuperate for the next test. During breaks, you merely sat on one of the metal stools while Dottore wordlessly reviewed data, it was silent but that was what you needed. Though, you couldn’t help but feel the nagging feeling that he was somewhat on edge about something.
Despite only standing inside the chamber, the energy exposure was definitely a weight on your body, you could hold off far better than a human could but even Harbingers had their limits.
And today, Dottore seemed eager to test that limit.
With you back inside the chamber, he increased the Cryo tenfold which was a significant jump from the first exposure yesterday. At first, everything felt fine until several seconds passed where the cold turned into hard pressure. Something inside you resisted, akin to a muscle tightening inside a cast. Your frozen fingers curled involuntarily, nails marked your palms, and your jaw tightened.
“Dottore, something’s pushing back.” You let out a heavy exhale. He looked up instantaneously, “That must be the instability. What you’re feeling is your suppressed emotional response attempting to reassert itself—think of it like holding a spring down,”
“The longer it’s held down, the more force it stores. Consequently, the more force it stores, the harder the rebound.” Dottore continued, his crimson gaze shifted between the monitor that displayed your vital signs and your figure inside the chamber.
You inhaled sharply. Your pulse spiked not out of fear but something dangerously close to frustration. Irritation. A need to move. He took a mental note of your increased pulse but didn’t dare to stop the experiment.
“Disengage it. Now.” You gritted your teeth. Weight pressed further into your body; it came from a million different directions and felt like it had trapped you in place.
“One moment longer. This is the critical threshold.” Dottore replied, eyes fixed on the readings.
Ten seconds had passed, you were at your absolute limit. Pressure from the Cryo energy felt too heavy to bear and your mind constantly slipped in and out a haze, “Dottore!” You yelled, sharp and icy. A split second. Then, the Cryo field cut, the pressure against your skin instantly shattered which allowed sensation to rush in. Your skin prickled, heart pounding harder than it should have.
You staggered half a step, catching yourself before your weakened body could kiss the metal floor. Exiting the chamber, your blood boiled, it didn’t matter if the cold lingered on your skin, you were absolutely seething. Anger engulfed every crevice of your body, it encased you in a dangerous slurry of negative emotions—ones you could not simply ignore.
Really, there was only one person to receive the sharp end of your rare temper—Il Dottore.
The latter immediately noticed the look on your face, it was pure anger, something he had never seen from you before. Despite your clearly irritated mood, he hastily wrote down this observation: ‘Tenfold Cryo exposure resulted in an on-set rebound effect for Prevaricator.’ There was no doubt the surge of your emotions was under the influence of a rebound effect.
“You pushed it further than you said you would.” Sharp fury laced your accusatory words, gaze solely focused on the man before you. Technically, Dottore did push the experiment beyond what was agreed for today’s trial but could you really blame him? Previous tests yielded insignificant results, how could he present little to no experimental outcomes to Her Majesty? How could he synthesize something to combat the phenomenon if results showed a plateau?
In crucial experiments like these, unpredictable adjustments have to be made or one will end up repeating an experiment a million times with the same set of results.
Dottore inhaled, “Indeed. Because I needed to know where you would break.”
Your eyes narrowed at his words, the blazing fire in your chest burning a deep blue, “I didn’t break.”
“No,” He started, watching you very carefully. “But you bent.”
“You deviated from the protocol. You don’t get to do that.” “As a matter of fact, I do—if the subject continues to function, there is no need to halt the experiment.”
The words landed wrong. Subject.
You forced a breath, a chance at trying to calm yourself but irritation leaked through anyway, stubborn and unwelcome. “You are tasked to find the threshold, not to test its limit. Was that order not simplified enough for you? Or do you lack the cognitive capacity to understand?” Your heart pounded hard against your chest, as if you were in fight or flight mode.
Normally, you didn’t dare speak this way to any Harbinger even if all you had for them was disdain but today, your tongue did not seem to hold back its serrated insults.
Dottore’s jaw tightened, how dare you question his intellect over such trivial matters? Still, he was well aware that you were experiencing a rebound effect and thus decided not to entertain the argument any further, “Is this your attempt at getting me mad? I understand your complaint but I am not running these experiments to simply waste time with plateaued results.” Without another word, he returned to his notes like nothing.
That did it for you. If Dottore was going to give you the cold shoulder then fine, you’d cut today’s experiment short. He noticed as you grabbed your belongings with haste and anger before heading to the door.
“And where do you think you’re going, Prevaricator?” You didn’t bother replying.
Yes, you were fully aware that your current behaviour was a side effect of concentrated Cryo exposure—every negative expression and petty insult—but your body seemed to have a mind of its own because no matter how much you tried to hold back, it seemed to push further and it was only getting worse.
Dottore wasn’t the type to concern himself with such petty behaviour, nor was he an individual who goes after someone but you were a liability, and the Tsaritsa had specifically ordered him to monitor you. So, with a deep exhale, Dottore carefully piled his notes on the table before tailing after you. He’d be responsible for any damages caused by his subject, simply thinking about it gave him a headache.
Luckily, the afternoon skies were clear and devoid of any snowfall, it made your walk back to the Zapolyarny Palace much, much easier. The Experimental Bureau wasn’t far from the Palace but it did require a bit of walking which you didn’t really mind, maybe by the time you’ve reached its grand doors, at least half of the anger inside you would’ve dissipated into the air. Maybe.
With the thick layers of snow swallowing all sound from your surroundings, all you could hear was your own laboured breathing and the crunch of your heavy steps against the icy pavement. Puffs of thick, ivory smoke formed with every exhale. Who the hell did Dottore think he was?! Sure, he was assigned as head researcher but that did not give him the right to deviate experimental protocols! And he dared call himself a scholar?
After a few minutes of grumbling to yourself about a certain Harbinger, you finally reached the Palace doors. On either side of the doors, two guards who were stationed dipped their heads in respect upon your presence. Though, you didn’t catch the way their gaze met as if they were having a telepathic conversation about something interesting.
“Lady Prevaricator. Lord Dottore.”
You stopped in your tracks, just before you could step foot inside the Palace. Were your ears deceiving you? Dottore? Out of pure instinct, you looked over your coat only to find the last person you wanted to see.
Unbelievable. He was like a pest.
You kept on walking until your feet led you all the way to the upper corridors where your quarters resided. “Are you finally done behaving like a child?” Dottore called out from behind, clearly annoyed. “I did not order you to follow me, Doctor.” Before you could close the door, he crossed the corridor in large strides and held it open with a gloved hand.
“Leave.” “No.” Dottore countered, instead, he took the initiative to step inside the room causing you to take three steps back. You watched carefully as he closed the door behind him.
“What, then? Are you here to witness me come undone so you can finally see what’s underneath all these ‘false layers’?” You spat, every accusatory word laced with nothing but venom. Oh, you absolutely have not forgotten about his words—how he wanted to strip you of your façade. “Or are you here to simply humiliate me the same way you did in the Harbinger meeting?”
Dottore tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence, you noticed how his lips curled into a half smile, “Humiliate you? My, that is an accusation I cannot seem to follow.” The fucker knew exactly what you were speaking of and apparently, he had the audacity to find it all too amusing.
You, on the other hand, were absolutely seething to the point where you thought of a million ways to rip him apart bit by bit. You bit the inside of your cheeks, jaw tight and face hardened, “It was novel of you to return one’s belongings to its owner. Why did you do it, huh? To humiliate me in front of all our colleagues and imply we had sex in your laboratory?” You scoffed, the scowl on your face deepened; you’ve held off confronting him about this for the sake of professionalism but now seemed like the perfect time.
He wasn’t willing to admit it but Dottore was rather caught off guard by your boldness, it was interesting to say the least. He did not expect you to bring up the not-so-distant past with him as these last few days, you’ve acted like what happened between the two of you was a mere hallucination.
“Is that the type of person you are, Doctor? Do you get off on humiliating others?” You took a step closer, a hint of dangerous confidence in your gaze. Of course, the Second Harbinger wasn’t one to back down, “You’re rather crude aren’t you, Prevaricator?”
“Call me names all you want, Doctor but let me remind you one thing, I’ve never laced anyone’s drink with an aphrodisiac. And for what reason?” Dottore stood there, the soles of his feet rooted to the ground. He couldn’t quite decipher it but there was a strange sensation in him—amusement? Anger? He didn’t know. A beat of silence stretched after your words so you took the opportunity to press even further.
“Sexual gratification?” You took a step forward.
“Or to simply feel the touch of a woman?” Another step.
Dottore’s jaw tightened. His gaze landed on your lips—how they curled into a sly smile as if you had the upper hand. Oh, how much the look on your face infuriated him.
“You spoke to me of release while I was under the aphrodisiac’s effects yet maybe you were the one who needed release.”
He closed the remaining distance between your bodies with a singular step, “From what I recall, you were the one begging for it. Have you forgotten, Prevaricator or did you need me to remind you?” Before you could reply, Dottore spoke up once again, “Tch. Though, I won’t be surprised if you had forgotten. You always act like nothing matters to you, do you not?’ His voice was low, and was that . . . a hint of disappointment in his tone?
Confusion flickered in your chest. Wait. Was The Doctor upset at the fact that you had been acting as though nothing happened between the two of you? Bitterness was more than evident in his words—so evident you could almost taste it on your tongue. It sat heavy and uncomfortable.
“Are your feelings hurt, Doctor? Why? Did it mean something to you?”
It was a genuine question but somehow your delivery made it seem like you were mocking him—maybe you were but your curiosity remained. Dottore’s attitude shifted instantaneously, your words must have struck a nerve; his lips curled into a nasty snarl, gaze hardened beneath his pointed mask, “You know, Prevaricator, I was quite delighted mere moments ago to have your façade stripped clean but now you’re just being a brat.”
Before you could fully process his words, a gloved hand cupped either side of your jaw. The cool fabric dug into your soft skin as his grip tightened firmly, holding your head in place. Your breath quickened but your face remained unchanged, brows tightly knitted together. From underneath his pointed mask, Dottore’s crimson gaze studied the interesting expression painted on your face.
How amusing, excitement sparked within his chest—it burned his ribcage into a thousand flames. Silence stretched for what felt like eons, only your bated breath could be heard in the room. Your body felt completely numb, the only sensation felt was his gloved hand pressed on your face as though it belonged there. Despite your body practically screaming at you to push him away, you didn’t, instead, you waited for his next move.
“You infuriate me.” Dottore’s words were sharp but his tone completely betrayed him—it was low, soft around the edges and held something much more.
The air shifted as his words lingered like an undying smoke. Then, Dottore pulled your face into his, closing the remaining distance between as he completely devoured your lips, a garbled sound was all you could let out. Your body did not deny him, instead, it mirrored his ferocity which further invited Dottore to firmly cup your face with both hands and deepen the kiss. It was sloppy and heated, the same way he had kissed you back then in his laboratory—with fervour, as if to release all pent up anger.
Dottore briefly pulled away eliciting a pained whimper from you—embarrassingly enough but your whole body was in a state of pure haze that you simply didn’t care. With a swift move, he took off his pointed mask and merely discarded it on the ground with a soft thud.
Tsk, what a hindrance. He thought.
Swollen lips parted, you watched in slight awe as Dottore revealed the mystery beneath the mask.
This was the first time you’ve seen him without his mask despite all the years you’ve been in the Fatui together. Without the mask, you could see how crimson blanketed his cheeks, and how his carmine coloured eyes were lust-filled—full of hunger, the need to devour. You hated to admit it but he was simply exquisite.
Once again, Dottore pulled you in with urgency but this time, he shoved his tongue deep into your mouth until your tastebuds remembered only him. Wet sounds and occasional grunts from Dottore filled the entire space, it made you dizzy. Everything. Everything was him—from the tongue inside your mouth all the way to the intoxicating scent that filled your senses.
You found your idle hands undoing the azure scarf secured around his neck, revealing his collarbones. After the fabric was mindlessly discarded, your hands wandered down the expanse of his chest, attempting to loosen and remove the harness that wrapped around his torso to no avail due to your clouded state. It also didn’t help how Dottore roughly handled you while kissing which allowed little space to work around.
Annoyed, you pulled away with a click of your tongue, eyes set on the leather material that encased his torso. Dottore watched, panting heavily, as you wrapped your hands around the fabric and tore it apart one by one until it slid off his body like a limp snake.
It fell with a loud clink as it hit the floor. It wasn’t really novel for a Harbinger to rip apart a mere fabric but witnessing you use your strength on something other than combat absolutely had Dottore’s pants tightening to the point where he had to physically suppress a pained groan. Though, his heavy breathing and lust-filled gaze gave it all away.
With the restraints long gone, Dottore took the initiative to remove the remaining pieces of clothing from his torso—from his gloves all the way to his cerulean button up beneath which revealed his bare physique. He wasn’t too bulky nor was he too thin, subtle muscle definition was visible from underneath his skin.
As if he were a magnet, you hastily marked his exposed neck, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses down, down, down ‘til your lips reached his chest. You sucked on a spot just above his sensitive nipple which drew a sharp hiss from him, bare hands flying to your ivory coat to remove it.
Then, you moved a few centimetres downwards, giving attention to his pebbled nipple by swirling your tongue around it a few times before giving it a gentle bite. Caught off guard, Dottore let out a low groan, his hands rested on your hips tightening ever so slightly.
The two of you continued this game of undressing and marking one another until there was no article of clothing left to remove, and no skin untouched by one’s lips. Lovebites were scattered across Dottore’s chest and abdomen while your marks were mostly down the column of your neck and the top of your breasts.
Somehow, you both ended up on the foot of the bed—Dottore with his back against the ivory sheets, feet planted on the floor, and your knees on either side of his hips, bare cunt hovering just a few inches above his hard cock.
“Tell me, Doctor, is this all part of your plan, too? To rile me up with help of the rebound effect so you can manipulate the situation into bedding me?”
“Tsk. You speak as if you’re not willingly lowering yourself on my cock—Haah! You have the freedom to walk out this room, Prevaricator, so why haven’t you? I’m guessing we both want the same thing, no?” Dottore hissed as your wet cunt greedily swallowed every inch of him. Hands that rested on the flesh of your hips squeezed the spot to ground himself from the overwhelming warmth of your cunt. Oh, how shamelessly you took him in, so eager, so wet. You attempted to scoff at his words but miserably failed due to the feeling of Dottore’s cock nestled deep inside your hot cunt.
Fuck, he was long. Obviously, this wasn’t the first time he had been inside but you still needed time to get used to his length, especially with the blunt tip flush against your sweet spot. Your hands found comfort atop his bare chest, palms flat against his feverish skin while your nails shamelessly dug into it, leaving crescent-shaped indentations.
“Quit acting like you know me.” You grunted as he adjusted his hips, causing his tip to briefly rub against your g-spot. You keened over as an electrifying shock shot up your spine at the stimulation. Dottore wore a smug expression on his flushed face to which you only replied with a glare and a subtle squeeze around his hard cock, pulling a low groan from him.
For a moment, you took the opportunity to really drink in the sight before you—Dottore’s pale blue locks scattered around his head like a faux halo, his glassy crimson eyes locked onto yours, his swollen lips parted to let out heavy breaths. You were one hundred percent sure no one had ever seen him in such a scandalous state.
Without a warning, you began to move, a slow yet steady ascend with the push of your knees against the soft mattress. The languid drag of your tight walls had Dottore gripping your hips even tighter, the knot between his brows deepening with increased pleasure. You sat up with the blunt tip remaining inside your cunt before steadily dragging yourself down his entire shaft ‘til your ass met his heavy balls.
You repeated the slow process a few more times to get used to his length, pulling low moans and groans from both you and Dottore, “Haah—Ngh! Is this all you’ve got? Considering how wet you are, I would’ve assumed you to be a bit more . . . desperate.” Dottore grunted, expertly thrusting upwards to meet your hips as they came down. A moan of his name was all you could respond with, toes curling from the sudden sensation.
Red ribbons decorated his skin as you dragged your nails across his bare chest, “Dottore! Mhm!” You doubled over, your naked skin met his own as you nestled your face between his neck and shoulder. Despite your limp torso, your lower half desperately worked itself to ride Dottore’s cock at a faster pace; up and down, up and down, up and down until all one could hear was the lewd squelching sounds of your wet cunt repeatedly swallowing him.
Along with the smell of sex, shameless moans filled the air and names were chanted like sacred prayers. Impatient, Dottore began to meet your movements by thrusting his hips upward once again, intensifying the pleasure for both of you.
In the back of your lust-filled mind, you felt relieved you didn’t have to do all the work as your quads were starting to burn from the repetitive movement. Loud sounds of skin slapping echoed within your quarters as you and Dottore moved in unison.
“Ngh—Where’d all that ferocity from earlier go—Haah—Prevaricator?” He angled his head to slot his mouth just above your ear to nibble the top of it, hot breath fanning across the side of your face leaving a trail of goosebumps. You shuddered at his ministrations and cursed him in your mind, how could Dottore be this smug while being able to handle the burden of pleasure? Truth be told, it pressed into your feverish skin like a stubborn force.
Beads of sweat lined your forehead as you rode him, the painful burn in your legs slowly disappeared as ecstasy took hold of your body. Your body shook, colourful moans and dainty whimpers left your parted lips which further fuelled Dottore’s merciless thrusts. Oh, how he missed hearing your beautiful song. Knowing it was his sole doing, pride bloomed across his chest for such a rare feat.
The heavy slap of his balls stung like a hundred needles but god did it heighten the pleasure you felt in your wet cunt. It made your head spin.
“R-Right there—Ngh! More, please!” At your desperate pleas, Dottore’s cock twitched and whether you had noticed or not, you didn’t let on simply because you only sought out one thing—an orgasm.
He picked up his pace, every hard thrust pulled out oxygen from your lungs and it absolutely had you gasping, and panting for air like a shameless dog devoid of any decorum. Though, you did not care for how you looked, not when Dottore’s cock pistoned in and out of you as if it was its only purpose. You stiffened with pure pleasure, a familiar knot deep in your stomach slowly unraveling as ecstasy engulfed both your bodies.
The sharp sting of your nails fuelled each drive of Dottore’s hips which caused your limp body to jolt with every upward thrust he gave. At this point, your hips no longer moved as he held them in place with a firm grip, they remained elevated in the air as Dottore fucked himself into you. With the soles of his feet fully planted on the floor, he used every bit of strength left in his body to bring the both of you into an orgasm. He found it a little hard to thrust inside your sopping cunt with how tightly you clenched around his cock; though, he was not complaining.
“Please don’t stop, Dottore! Mhm!” You sounded so vulnerable it almost made Dottore cum right then and there.
He clicked his tongue, “Only a fool would do such a thing.”
By the sound of his breathless response and the slight stutter of his hips, you could tell he, too, was close. After a few more deep thrusts, Dottore stilled inside you, cock buried to the hilt as you both came together. White, hot pleasure surged within your body as the knot inside your stomach harshly unravelled, you clenched around his hard cock and bit into the bare skin of his shoulder, muffling your moans.
You rode out your orgasm by desperately fucking yourself onto him which earned a low grown from Dottore, followed by a harsh slap of your ass that had you biting harder into his shoulder. The two of you remained entangled with one another for a minute or two, unspeaking and unmoving, only letting out heavy pants as you both came down from your highs.
You slumped against his sweat-covered body, full weight resting on top of Dottore, every fibre of your being had practically given up on you not only from sex but from the experiment earlier as well.
Heavy exhaustion gnawed its way through your skin and into your very bones, you would have let it carry you into slumber if it weren’t for the Harbinger beneath you manhandling your limp body. With his cock still buried deep inside and arms around your naked body, he expertly manoeuvred both of you so that you were positioned higher up into the mattress.
You found yourself facing the ivory sheets beneath, hands and knees firmly planted atop them while Dottore slotted himself just behind your ass. The entire process had his blunt tip teasing into your sweet spot and you swore you saw stars from overstimulation.
“Dottore—! Fuck, stop moving, will you?” You hissed, reaching a hand behind your back to push his hips away only for him to take hold of your wrist and pin it against your skin. He let out a low chuckle, “Only a few minutes ago you were begging me not to stop. I am merely fulfilling your wish, am I not?”
With one hand on your hip and the other secured around your wrist, Dottore pulled all the way back before slamming his hips against your ass causing your whole body to jolt forward, your arms wobbling as they fully gave up on you which left your torso flush against the mattress. You moaned the shape of his name, pleasure once again bloomed inside your stomach as he slammed in and out repeatedly.
Having not given enough time to come down from your orgasm earlier, you were far too sensitive for the merciless thrusts Dottore gave you—it had your body uncontrollably shaking like a branch braving the city’s harsh winds. Hot tears lined your eyes and rolled down your heated cheeks.
You fisted the mattress beneath you, pounding the soft material the same way Dottore did to your cunt, the pleasure you felt was simply too much to handle and you knew he wasn’t about to make it any easier for you.
The bed creaked under the weight of his harsh thrusts, the headboard repeatedly slamming against the wall behind it. None of you cared, these halls were empty anyway and any cleaning personnel were prohibited from stepping into these corridors unless they were scheduled to clean.
In short, you could make as much sinful noise as you wanted. The palace was vast and its walls were thick enough to swallow any sounds within it.
Dottore briefly bent down, his arms wrapping around your torso to swiftly haul up the entirety of your body so that only your knees remained planted in the sheets. With your back secured against his chest, he snaked one arm around your waist while the other lightly gripped your neck to hold your head in place.
The new angle had his cock reaching a little deeper than before, causing you to arch your back and pathetically whimper his name into the damp air, “D-Dottore! Mhm—haah! Please!” He continued fucking into you with the same pace he set earlier, his lips finding its way on the spot just below your ear to nip and suck.
Your eyes rolled back at the feel of teeth and tongue, hands coming up to claw at the hand around your neck, there really wasn’t anything else you could do but scratch and scream his name like your life depended on it but Dottore didn’t mind at all. If anything, he was more than pleased you were taking him so, so well and oh, the sounds you made.
They were heavenly.
“Well, aren’t you obedient—haah! You act as if you’re tough and defiant when all along, you’re just someone who wants to be fucked and pounded, no?” You clenched at his filthy words, god, you were so close. No thoughts apart from pleasure ran through your mind, all you could think of was your impending orgasm and Dottore who oh, so deliciously fucked your cunt with such fervour.
“Close! ‘M close—ngh!” It didn’t take long for you to reach a second orgasm but this time, it hit harder. Your body convulsed from raw pleasure as you wantonly moaned out Dottore’s name loud enough for it to echo down the corridors outside. He followed suit, letting out a drawled grunt as your walls clenched around his hard cock. Another round of his hot load painted your walls ivory and stuffed you to the brim, you whimpered as it dripped out of your cunt and down your inner thighs.
Dottore gave a few shallow thrusts to fuck his cum deep inside before letting both your bodies fall flat atop the mattress, “Surely, you can give me another one?” His tone was laced with mockery, you didn’t have to see his face to confirm he wore a smug expression.
He didn’t wait for an answer before moving his hips once again, you screamed from oversensitivity, a new wave of hot tears ran down your tear-stained cheeks as Dottore moved without an ounce of mercy in his bones. With his full weight on top of your own, there was no option but to take every powerful thrust he gave and each time his blunt cockhead bullied your sweet spot, your eyes rolled back further and further, swollen lips locked in a permanent part—saliva unceremoniously dripping down the corner of your mouth.
You looked a mess. Utterly inappropriate. The ever composed Lady Harbinger reduced to nothing but a lust-driven fool, oh, how Snezhnaya would deem you a laughing stock with the state you were in.
Dottore moaned and grunted dangerously close to your ear, incoherent sentences spilled from his mouth as raw bliss took control over his body. The skin of your ass burned from the repeated slap of his heavy balls, you were absolutely sure it would be inflamed by tomorrow. Your fingers curled around the sheets, knuckles turning white as you gripped them hard to keep yourself grounded from pleasure, there was nothing else you could feel but Dottore’s cock pistoning in and out of your sopping cunt.
“Are you—ngh!—close? Come on, cum for me. Let it all go.” He purred into your ear. You nodded vigorously at his words, too fucked and cockdrunk to even form a coherent response.
With that, Dottore changed the pace of his hips to deep, languid thrusts, and with every inward thrust, he made sure to press into your sweet spot for a few seconds before pulling out. Each time, you let out a gasp, voice long gone from all the screaming earlier. You could feel every dip and curve of his cock, and it drove you absolutely mad.
Without warning, you came with a silent moan. Hard. Your body shook with raw pleasure, back arching as you creamed around Dottore’s cock for the third time.
“That’s it. Mhm—ngh! Good girl.” The latter stilled deep inside you and released yet another heavy load with a broken moan of your name—something more intimate this time. His cock twitched as you clenched around him in response; his sweaty forehead rested against the back of your head, trying to catch his breath.
Pleasure and exhaustion weighed heavily on Dottore’s naked body, with the little strength he had in him, he pulled out—earning a painful hiss from both of you—and rolled over to your side, chest heaving up and down. A muffled whimper escaped your lips as his cum spilled out of your hole and onto the sheets beneath.
Nothing but silence and heavy breathing filled the room, and once again, realisation dawned upon you. Akin to morning fog clearing as the afternoon rolled around, your lust-driven mind slowly faded and was replaced by rational thoughts. Thoughts that made you want to sink into the ground, only to be never found again.
“You still haven’t answered my question from earlier.” You whispered, your throat burned with every word spoken, as though it were a clear sign you weren’t supposed to pry.
‘Are your feelings hurt, Doctor? Why? Did it mean something to you?’
For some reason, Dottore couldn’t come up with an answer. For the first time, his mind blanked. It was a mere yes or no but somehow, either of the two options did not seem like an appropriate answer.
“I may be full of knowledge, Prevaricator but there are matters I do not hold the answers to.”
That was that.
The next few weeks weren’t any different from before except for the passing of your dear friend Rosalyne—which definitely took a toll on you—and the fact that The Balladeer had gone rogue after his mission in Inazuma. Tensions within the Palace walls were high especially with the latter’s disappearance and despite Her Majesty’s cold composure, you could feel the edge in her tone during your meetings with her.
Furthermore, you and Dottore remained working with one another to construct a device to counter the Cryo-induced phenomenon. It was awkward at first, being back in the laboratory together after having sex but he had acted as if nothing ever happened between the two of you, so you did the same—professional and indifferent, just how you always were.
Though, you noticed he was snappier than usual. Yes, Dottore never shied away from giving his subordinates a lecture when needed but he didn’t waste his time and breath giving them an earful over something trivial. You weren’t sure if he had always been this way and you’ve just noticed now or there was a significant shift in his behaviour.
“The Cryo Resonance Regulator is a compact, wearable device designed to interfere with Cryo energy in concentrated areas to prevent rebound effects in operatives. This device doesn’t necessarily cancel the effects of Cryo energy, instead, it only nullifies the after effect. In other words, fear, pain, and other unwanted matters are dampened without the Cryo-induced side effects.”
Dottore slid the small device across the table to Her Majesty and you watched as her icy gaze inspected it with mere curiosity, “This seems rather promising. I will set up a meeting with Regrator for the device’s funding for mass production. This would be of great help to the Fatui.”
“Indeed, your Majesty. The device has been tested and undergone through countless changes and trials.” He smiled at her approval. After a few more minutes of formalities, the meeting was officially dismissed and the Tsaritsa was the first to excuse herself, leaving you and Dottore all alone in the room.
“You should give yourself a pat on the back, Prevaricator. You did well. We’ve only collaborated twice yet the results we’ve gotten were beyond astounding, don’t you think? If we set our differences aside, we could collaborate more often. With two great minds alike, we could do much, much more.”
Dottore didn’t wait for your response before heading out which left you alone in the room with your thoughts.
Somehow, you got the gist that he wasn’t particularly talking about experiments.
You didn’t hear much from Dottore beyond the words he left with you, after all, the joint collaboration had formally ended which meant there were no further reasons for you and Dottore to be seeing one another—not that it bothered you but you felt a little . . . foreign.
Last you heard of The Doctor was from a conversation you happened to overhear from your subordinates, he was apparently in Sumeru and Her Majesty had ordered him for his immediate return in Snezhnaya. The reasoning behind his visit to Sumeru was a mystery to you and frankly, you weren’t much interested.
The next time you saw Dottore was during a Harbinger banquet. During these types of gatherings, you usually found yourself downing Fire-Water diluted with some kind of Spirit and picking at your plate here and there. It was nothing special, really, just an overglorified Harbinger event for everyone to act civilized as if they aren’t plotting something behind their backs.
Back then, Rosalyne would always try to include you in conversation but now that she was gone, you sat there and watched as the others conversed with unsettling smiles on their faces.
Though, one you liked watching interact was The Rooster and Regrator—everyone knew of their nasty rivalry behind one another’s back yet they had the audacity to act like good friends in front of each other. It was simply laughable.
“You’re looking rather well, Prevaricator.” Ah. You had almost forgotten about the Harbinger seated to your right, he was the reason you kept yourself busy with alcohol and food—so that you didn’t have the time to engage in idle conversations.
“Dottore,” You greeted. “I could say the same thing to you.”
Taking a sip of your Fire-Water, all you gave Dottore was a side eye before returning your gaze to your colleagues. He shifted in his seat a little—an unusual behaviour but you didn’t dwell on it—as though he wanted to address something more. He wasn’t one to initiate small conversations unless he wanted something out of it. No, scratch that, unless he was sure he was going to get something out of it. Your instincts told you to move, to get out of there.
So, you did. You excused yourself from the table and headed for the doors that led to the balcony. Cool air met your body in an icy embrace as you stepped out, Snezhnograd’s late afternoon winds greeted you like an old friend, it was cold yet oddly felt warm at the same time. Maybe it was the countless rounds of Fire-Water in your system. Or maybe it was the fact that Dottore had been tailing you like some kind of dog.
Earlier, you were met with a rather foreign view just outside your laboratory—Dottore stood outside the metal door as you retired for the day, headed to the banquet. It was strange, he had invited himself to walk with you to the gathering—something he didn’t naturally do. It should have deeply bothered you but instead, you sighed and wordlessly nodded. You chalked it up to a long day at the laboratory, too exhausted to complain.
“Interestingly enough, you’ve been on my mind as of late.”
Speaking of the devil.
You didn’t turn around at the familiar voice behind you, instead, your gaze locked onto the snowy mountains far north, as if doing so would make Dottore disappear. You’ve been on his mind? What was that supposed to mean? A threat?
“I don’t see how it’s of any relevance.” Dottore laughed at your icy words, “Ah. Feisty as ever. I’ve always liked that about you.”
You turned around only to be met with his looming stature, just mere inches away from you. Dottore effectively trapped you between his body and the balustrade, a gloved hand coming up to rest atop the cemented railing.
“What are you playing at?” You whispered, eyes narrowed but didn’t dare back down. He wordlessly brought his free hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before resting it on your jaw. “You wound me, Prevaricator. I bear no ill intent.” His voice was hushed, it almost sounded sincere. You couldn’t decipher whether his tone was genuine or pure mockery but despite your better judgement, you didn’t shy away from his touch. You hated to admit it but your body no longer registered
You waited for his next move.
Everything was silent, the icy winds, the Palace grounds below, the noise coming from other Harbingers inside. It was just you and Dottore. With a bated breath, you stared at his pointed mask, anticipating—if there was even something to anticipate.
A beat passed, Dottore leaned in, head angled, to press his lips against yours. The kiss started off slow—tame—just his lips against your own, unmoving as if to solely feel all of you against him. You didn’t pull back. Then, Dottore started to move, he parted his mouth to invite more of you, naturally, you responded with the same urgency.
His gloved hand that rested on your jaw tightened just a bit, it kept your head in place as he deepened the kiss. Dottore groaned, shoving his tongue past your lips and you let him in without any resistance. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, nails digging at the ivory fabric to ground your body from the dizzied state you were entering. Dottore gave your lips one last hard kiss before moving down the column of your neck, he sucked and nipped at your heated skin, pulling a whimper from you.
“Prevaricator? Are you here? I have something I’d like to discuss—”
Panicked, you pushed away Dottore with much haste, resulting in the latter to stumble backwards in shock. There stood The Captain, just at the doorway of the balcony, you couldn’t see the expression behind his mask yet you could tell awkwardness engulfed him by how his body stiffened. Silence stretched between the three of you, no one dared to address the elephant in the room—at least not with all of you in shock.
“Captain!” You feigned a cough, trying to hide your uneven breaths, as if Dottore wasn’t sucking your soul out just mere moments ago.
“I . . . think I should take my leave.” Without another word, The Captain turned to leave, heavy boots swiftly receding away from you and Dottore. You closed your eyes, panic arose in your chest. Great. Now, The Captain had witnessed something he wasn’t supposed to. Sure, he wasn’t one to gossip but it didn’t make you feel any better. If anything, he sounded rather horrified.
“I should do the same . . .” You muttered, walking back inside which left Dottore all alone.
As awkward as the incident was with The Captain during the Harbinger banquet, you and Dottore found yourselves orbiting around one another—like two dancing celestial bodies in a constant push and pull. Strangely, fate always brought you to where Dottore was and vice versa. Before, you would barely see him in the auxiliary lounges but nowadays your run-ins were frequent.
Too frequent.
You still held some kind of dislike for The Doctor but somehow you didn’t mind getting intimate with him—having sex. It wasn’t making love nor did it have any romance to it, it was just sex. The two of you treated it as a beneficial transaction between two participating parties, simply for the sole purpose of release.
Fulfilling the role of a Harbinger was taxing enough as is and the stress which came with the role piled up. Each Harbinger dealt with stress differently, you and Dottore happened to do so by exploring each other’s bodies.
As shameful and embarrassing as it was, there was really nothing wrong about two adults engaging in consensual sex, as long as it didn’t occur in professional work spaces. Therefore, sex always happened in either your’s or Dottore’s place, far, far away from the ears and eyes of the Fatui.
As long as no feelings were involved, you would be fine. Detachment was your forte, after all.
SYNOPSIS: You—The Tenth Fatui Harbinger—pride yourself on cold composure and distance, a trait of yours that has always irked The Doctor. Upon curiosity, he sets out the perfect experiment with the help of an aphrodisiac to break your cold façade. That will surely reveal your most vulnerable state.
CONTENT WARNING: DUBCON, non-consensual drugging, smut (mdni), use of aphrodisiac, p in v, fingering, edging (if you squint), unprotected sex, creampie, porn without plot, tenth fatui harbinger!reader, slow burn-ish, sexual tension, reader is referred as her fatui title—prevaricator, other harbinger cameo, a bit of scientific jargon but you’ll be fine, dottore is an ass, not beta read.
WORD COUNT: 7.6k
NOTES: EEEEP it’s finally finished! my first piece of writing after a couple of long months >< i’m so excited to be writing again !! apologies if the smut is a bit awkward, i haven’t written smut since 2024 so i’m a bit rusty. nonetheless, do enjoy !! div: @uzmacchiato
The grand hall of Zapolyarny Palace gleamed with cold opulence—crystal chandeliers and polished marble floors. The hall’s high arched stained windows revealed the quiet chaos of the snowstorm outside; snowflakes painted the palace with its icy elegance. Today’s agenda was rather bleak, no new missions from Her Majesty had been tasked, nor was there anything of pure interest beyond the palace walls.
Naturally, with a dull day like this, Sandrone held her tea parties to combat idle bodies within the palace. Her parties were far from formal, more so a casual gathering between friends and people alike—if the Harbingers even considered each other friends. Nonetheless, the get-together was always immaculate—every pristine teacup was aligned and every mechanical attendant moved with flawless precision. As expected from the Seventh Harbinger herself.
Amongst the group sat you with your usual stillness—calm like the ocean yet as mysterious as its azure depths. What lay beneath its tranquil surface was nothing but a façade of lies. It wasn’t a surprise you lived up to your title—Prevaricator.
Sandrone presided at the head of the table, she sat with precision, back pin-straight as she nursed the freshly brewed beverage. Straight across from her, sat Columbina, and Arlecchino on a vermillion sofa; you and Rosalyne to her right, leaving two empty chairs across from you. On some days, The Captain and Childe would occupy those seats.
“When do you leave for Inazuma, Rosalyne?” Sandrone peeked through the steam that rose from her cup, cerulean eyes piercing yet held no ill intent.
The blonde swallowed down a piece of biscuit before replying, a sharp hand covered her crimson-stained lips out of etiquette, “In three days’ time. I’ll make sure to get you Inazuman tea once I get back.” Rosalyne laughed which pulled an eye roll from Sandrone.
Before the latter could entertain the banter, Columbina spoke up, her dainty voice just enough for all to hear, “Inazuma? I’ve heard The Balladeer is also assigned there.” Rosalyne nodded, despite her quiet response, her displeased face conveyed all emotions needed to conclude how she felt about the Inazuman puppet.
As for you, your feelings toward The Balladeer were nothing but neutral. Sure, you’ve previously exchanged disagreements on several occasions but that was all there was to your ‘relationship’. Though, his mannerisms and sharp words awfully reminded you of a certain Harbinger—one you could barely stand even if your life depended on it.
You weren’t alone in that opinion.
As you spiraled into pure disdain for your colleague, a set of icy footsteps against the marbled floors halted all conversation—your thoughts included. For a mere second, it was as though time had stopped and the snowfall outside was suspended mid-air. Oxygen grew thin within the palace and you swore the temperature dipped below necessary. Even Sandrone’s automatons seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat.
Dottore stepped inside. Uninvited. Unannounced. Unwelcomed. As if your unkind thoughts had somewhat summoned the devil himself.
With pure mockery and amusement, Dottore tilted his head slightly, taking in the frozen expressions of his colleagues. His pointed mask shone beneath the crystal chandeliers.
“Is this how you welcome a guest?” The Doctor drawled. “How cold. You should all be delighted I’m even attending this . . . get-together.” He ended the sentence with absolute scorn, obviously looking down at his fellow Harbingers.
Sandrone’s fingers tightened around the porcelain cup, “You weren’t invited.” She said flatly.
“Ah.” Dottore started, already headed towards the mahogany table, “Details.” He ignored the Seventh entirely and claimed an empty seat, a seat reserved for anyone but him—directly across from you.
You did not react. Nor did you acknowledge his presence beyond the faint clink of porcelain as you set your cup down as if it were any other tea party. Unlike Sandrone who wore her negative emotions proudly, you remained expressionless—cool, unreadable, and infuriatingly indifferent.
Dottore watched your calm figure from beneath his mask.
Of course you would pretend he didn’t exist. That was what fascinated him the most.
Nothing but a lowly ranked Harbinger yet you carried yourself like someone who had already surpassed every soul in the room. And that’s what made Dottore’s skin itch.
Oh, how badly he wanted to break that false persona of yours, and reveal the weak, poor human you were beneath all those layers. After all, your very existence was built on lies—delusions, just like your genius invention.
Being the Tenth Harbinger meant that your physical prowess wasn’t as refined as the others but your intellect was a different story, and admittedly, it utterly amazed Dottore more than anything.
Who could’ve come up with such a brilliant idea of manufacturing Delusions? Even though the entire process was a joint project between you and Dottore—much to your dismay—he had to give you credit. Not only did your invention further aid each Harbinger with their combat skills but it was also being mass produced in Inazuma right this very moment.
Such a feat a lowly Harbinger could obtain.
Which is why you have piqued his very interest. Dottore wanted to study you, to dissect each and every neuron, and learn how your action potentials differed from the rest—was it your synapses? Or maybe your neurotransmitters? Maybe that’s where your blind arrogance came from.
“Well, don’t mind me. Do carry on with your trivial matters.” The Doctor dismissively waved a gloved hand, a smirk curled at the end of his carmine lips.
Silence remained for a beat or two before Sandrone cleared her throat and resumed conversation with Rosalyne in hopes to drown out a certain parasite amongst the group, “This tea is from Liyue, huh? Quite different from Fontaine, I must say . . . but I’m not complaining.”
Naturally, you followed suit by bringing your cup to your lips to finally get a taste of Liyuean tea—your sip earlier had been abruptly interrupted by The Doctor. The fresh brew tasted of intense floral notes . . Was it apricot and peach? Nonetheless, the flavour was right up your alley. You had to hand it to Rosalyne for having such an exquisite taste.
It had already been a couple of minutes since Dottore crashed the tea party and you were two cups in, having taken a liking to this particular brew. Huh, maybe you might just visit Liyue for yourself. Though, this second round felt a little off—not the taste, no, it was still as lovely as before—something to do with how it made you feel. Sure, the heater was on and around your shoulders was a thick ivory Fatui coat you regularly wore in Snezhnaya but they didn’t usually leave you extremely warm—blazing, even.
You frowned.
Dottore noticed instantaneously.
How your posture shifted imperceptibly—one leg crossing over the other, shoulders rising with a much deeper breath than before. A faint warmth kissed its way down to your collar, even extending as far as to your chest. The slight shift was invisible to most in the room, except Dottore.
Ah. There it is. He thought.
Your fingers lingered at the rim of the porcelain piece as you set it down once again; you weren’t clumsy, nor weak, just a tad slower than your usual movement. Annoyed, you exhaled through your nose, absolutely oblivious to the reason as to why your body was somewhat disobeying you. Was it the long term effects of your Delusion finally catching up?
Dottore leaned back into the plush vermillion chair, fingers intertwined atop his crossed legs. Oh, how utterly delighted he was. Patience really is a virtue! His little experiment of the day had finally fallen into its rightful place; now, he shall sit and watch how you would handle the independent variable given. Of course, with this experiment of his, you were the controlled variable.
Upon instinct, your gaze finally lifted to meet Dottore’s—albeit behind a mask, there was no denying he had his crimson gaze set upon you. He responded with a mere head tilt, as if he were studying a rare specimen who finally gave him some kind of result.
A sly smile spread across his lips, “Are you unwell, Prevaricator?” Dottore asked pleasantly, voice full of concern yet you knew it was all mockery and amusement; that’s all the Harbingers were to him, a group of people convenient enough for him to play with, unfortunately for The Balladeer, he bore most of Dottore’s little games.
It seemed like you were next in line, though.
The Doctor had easily rerouted Sandrone’s automatons earlier before the tea party—a few adjustments just enough to programme her machinery to serve one cup differently from the rest with a diluted compound, a compound barely enough for your body to register. It wasn’t as potent as the final product but it was sure to disrupt your system even by a smidge.
And that’s where Dottore thrived the most, on small differences.
His question drew unwanted attention from the rest, their curious gaze now upon you. It was more so the fact that no one else wanted to engage in a conversation with Dottore.
Your eyes narrowed a fraction, “No,” A small pause.
“Just . . . warm.” Curt and icy, a response only he deserved. “Oh?” The Second Harbinger pressed further.
“This hall is simply overheated.” At your clipped response, his smile stretched even further behind his pointed mask. What an unsettling sight.
Liar. The Doctor thought.
You shifted in your seat once again, this time, your jaw tightened, fully irritated by your own body. Aside from the sharp heat that clung to every corner of your skin, you felt . . . Sensitive; the distinct contrast of the frost bitten air that ghosted your cheeks once in a while against feverish skin formed goosebumps all over your body. Even your chest ached with slight sensitivity as it rubbed against your undergarment. You weren’t utterly uncomfortable but it was enough to fuel your budding annoyance.
That, alone, fascinated Dottore.
He leaned forward slightly as if to study you closer for a brief moment before getting up from his seat, “How disappointing,” Dottore murmured lowly to himself but it was certainly loud enough for everyone to hear.
“I was hoping for something . . . More telling.” He gave you one last look which was met with a cold glare from you. Ah, he adored that look on you, that expression of pure defiance and hatred; you could bury your innermost feelings with such expressions yet it didn’t deny the fact that your pupils were a touch wider now, breathing a fraction slower—heavier.
This was only a tiny crack on the surface but it was more than enough to prove Dottore’s hypothesis—that beneath your seemingly unbreakable façade, you were susceptible to breaking.
Now, he only needed to calculate your breaking point.
How far were you willing to endure? Would you fold after the next experiment? Or would you stick to your stubborn façade and refuse to give in while you suffered in silence? Dottore could barely wait to write his next hypothesis.
Without another word, The Doctor turned to leave.
Confusion amongst you and your colleagues lingered in the air but soon dissipated upon conversations of shared dislike for the Second Harbinger; you could only nod along, heat that simmered beneath your skin needed your attention far more than the conversation at hand. Even your head began to spin. You wanted to call it a day but Rosalyne was bound for Inazuma for an unknown period of time in a few days and you wanted to spend today with her since she had just gotten back from Liyue regarding a previous task.
The get-together rolled on for a couple more hours until conversations ran dry and tea turned cold and it was time to finally call it a day. Everyone excused themselves without ceremony and returned to their respective homes—thankfully, the snowstorm had died down. On another day, you would have done the same but your body proved to be more disoriented than you had assumed, thus, the best option was to reside within the Zapolyarny Palace for the night.
Each Harbinger was assigned personalised quarters by the Tsaritsa for the purpose of convenience such as summonings before lengthy meetings and other matters but of course, no one was obligated to stay in those quarters during other times. Though, Sandrone and Columbina did frequent their respective spaces; you assumed for the former’s case, it was for pure convenience since it was nearer to the Fatui’s Experimental Bureau.
By the time you had reached the upper corridors of the Palace, the cold marble beneath your boots felt wrong; the hear of your skin also hadn’t faded, if anything, it had deepened into something more unbearable: a persistent awareness which you resented with every step.
You hated this. Hated the way your mind slipped when it should’ve been sharp and precise, hated the dull tension your lower spine housed, and the irritation that came with not knowing why. You knew your body far better than anyone else, so why hasn’t your mind come up with a concise conclusion?
As you rounded the corner, you reached out a hand against the wall to steady yourself, just a few more steps and you’d reach your quarters. Pull it together.
“Are you sure you’re well?”
At the familiar voice, you stopped in your tracks, body swaying ever so slightly as if calm tides of the ocean lulled you back and forth. You hadn't even heard footsteps trailing behind you nor did you sense anyone else’s presence, was this because of your cognitive decline?
Dottore stood behind you, half-shadowed by the dimly lit corridor, posture relaxed as if he had every reason to be outside your quarters so late in the afternoon. You didn’t own the entire hallway, of course but he rarely presented himself in the Palace unless he was summoned by the Tsaritsa, let alone step foot on the upper corridors.
His voice was smooth, almost considerate, “You look like you need . . .” He paused for a heartbeat, “Help.” Whether it was your soiled mind talking or simply the tone of Dottore’s voice, the implication sat heavy in the air like an unpleasant smoke, and it wasn’t innocent either. Just the thought of it coming from The Doctor had you shuddering.
“I’m fine.” You straightened, not even bothering to turn around. “Whatever you’re implying, save it for someone who cares.” Before you could continue your step, Dottore swiftly crossed the distance between the two of you, grabbing a firm hold of your wrist. There was no skin to skin contact yet his touch burned, almost enough to let out an embarrassing gasp.
“Implying? What a bold conclusion. What could you possibly mean by that?” Your pulse jumped at his words, utterly betraying your entire soul. “Let go.” You spun to face him, eyes flashing with raw fury.
Dottore ignored your protest, instead, he stepped forward, ultimately caging you between himself and the icy wall behind your back. An arm braced beside your head, body close enough to feel the heat radiating off him; the faint scent of antiseptics and a few more chemicals you couldn’t name invaded your senses. It made you nauseous.
“There it is. That look.” He murmured, positively amused at your reaction. Your breath came a fraction faster and you despised the thought of Dottore being able to notice the slight difference.
Huh, who knew dosing you a diluted version of the independent variable would incite such a mix of reactions, if only The Doctor had known he’d obtain a variety of results from this simple experiment, he would’ve gone all the way and given you the undiluted compound. But alas, he was nice enough to ease you into the drug.
“Do you have any idea how insufferable you are?”
You scoffed, "You're blocking my way, I think you’re the more insufferable one here.”
Dottore leaned in, only slightly—not to invade your space but just enough to threaten it.
“You walk into rooms like you’re already above everyone in them. You don’t beg for relevance, nor do you perform—it’s as if you believe you’re untouchable.” His voice dipped, much sharper this time.
Your jaw tightened, “Move.”
“That arrogance,” Dottore retorted. “Is precisely what irks me.”
Refusing to look away and lose the fight, you met his gaze head-on through his mask, ignoring the fact that your skin now burned a thousand flames, and you were hyperaware of every inch of space between yourself and The Doctor.
“Yet here you are. Following me—cornering me. If I’m beneath you then why bother tailing after some lowly Harbinger?” Dottore’s amusement completely vanished at your words, and something much, much colder took its place.
“People who think they’re superior are usually just hiding something.” The grip around your wrist tightened, it wasn’t painful but it was deliberate. “And I am very good at uncovering what lies beneath façades.”
“Seems like you’re projecting. Let go of me before you regret it.” Obviously, you were no match for The Doctor when it came to physical combat but at least with your Delusion, you could hold him off for a bit until Her Majesty finally notices two of her Harbingers are at each other’s throats.
Dottore chuckled, “How fascinating. Even compromised, you still bare your teeth.” That was another result for him, he made a mental note of it so he could jot all his findings down later.
At least, Dottore released your wrist and stepped back, allowing some of your senses to finally return, “For now, get some rest, Prevaricator. I’d hate for you to collapse before I’ve satisfied my curiosity.” Without another word, he turned and disappeared down the corridor, akin to a ghostly apparition.
You stood there for a good minute, trying to process the whole situation despite your impaired cognitive ability. Fury and unease twisted in your gut, creating a ball of mixed emotions, it sat heavy and absolutely uncomfortable but that wasn’t the worst part. It was the fact that whatever you were experiencing right now, Dottore had somewhat gotten his bloodstained hands involved.
On purpose, too, and all the while a sly smile plastered upon his masked face.
You felt sick.
With Dottore, there was never really an end in things, he was like a parasitic species—stubborn and hard to get rid of once they got a hold of their host. With this in mind, you stumbled into tomorrow with your defenses up, walls built higher this time.
At 10 AM, you found yourself in one of the auxiliary research lounges in the Experimental Bureau, the symptoms of yesterday long gone but not forgotten. The auxiliary served as an informal space within the building, an area for research staff and people alike to collaborate and discuss findings over a hot cup. Even though these rooms were built for relaxation, they certainly didn’t look the part—just like any other experimental building under the Fatui, it was all metal and cold; sound travelled far and beyond within these walls.
Safe to say you rarely bumped into your fellow Harbingers in spaces like these—especially Sandrone and Dottore who were frequent users of the facilities at the Bureau.
Just like the two, you conducted experiments and built items but your focus was on physical enhancement, mainly in combat. Human experiments weren’t ruled out of the list but you weren’t like The Doctor—unethical trials weren’t your cup of tea. Your research focused on enhancing what has already existed, not creating something that didn’t exist. Sure, there were times unwanted adverse effects spiraled out of control but that was all part of the process. Not every experiment was perfect.
“Prevaricator. You look well rested.” Unbelievable.
Now, even your coffee break was interrupted? Dottore’s laboratory was on the other side of the building, how could he have possibly ended up in your territory?
He walked in with confidence that had your eye twitching; you hadn’t even noticed the sound of the large metallic door hissing open—were you really that out of it today?
“You tampered with my tea.” You replied flatly, gaze locked onto the hot beverage resting on the table before you.
“An accusation. How unlike you.” Dottore placed a gloved hand atop his chest, feigning offense.
You crossed your arms over your chest, “You don’t attend social gatherings outside banquets, you don’t follow people to their quarters, and I don’t experience unexplained physiological changes unless someone interferes.”
Dottore stood there for a moment before breaking into an unsettling smile, “Very good. You finally noticed.” He praised you. You frowned, seething at the fact that he had treated you like one of his test subjects—they were always unwilling to participate in his experiments yet he proceeded nonetheless without a care, every single time. Their bone-chilling screams haunted your late night projects and you had no choice but to ignore them.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” Dottore made his way over to the table you sat on. “About how resilient you were yesterday. Sure, it was only a diluted compound but any other subject would have pathetically . . . Given in.” He reached into his pocket and took out a tiny vial filled with an iridescent liquid, it glimmered beneath the warm lights of the auxiliary.
“This is more refined.” “If you think I’m going to drink that, you are wholly mistaken.”
“Of course you will.” Dottore placed the vial on the table with a clink, right next to your steaming coffee. “Because you’re curious, and you hate unanswered questions more than you hate me.” In truth, the hatred you harboured for both were equal; unanswered questions in research were your biggest enemy and it drove you absolutely mad.
At your indifference, he spoke up once again, “Or because you want to prove that you’re still in control. You’d want that, wouldn’t you?”
Silence stretched longer than Dottore had wanted but he was a patient man, perfect results took time and with the gears turning in your head, he would conclude he’s not far off.
The thought of Dottore being in control of even a sliver of your life had you fuming, no one wanted that. Surely the effect of this substance wouldn’t be as bad, right? If anything went horrendously wrong, you could always trust in your expertise but would your cognitive abilities even pull through under a more potent chemical?
Despite your better judgement, you reached for the small vial, unscrewed its metal top off, and drank it all in one gulp. As expected, the taste was absolutely horrid; it stung your throat like you’d swallowed a thousand needles. You let out a cough, tears lining your eyes.
Dottore smirked. Right into the lion’s den.
Due to its higher potency, the substance acted a lot faster this time. The liquid sat heavy on your stomach, as if your gastric acid itself directly rejected it, not only did it make you nauseous but it also left an uncomfortable feeling. He noticed the way your breath hitched or how your brows furrowed in realisation that this chemical was much, much stronger.
He moved closer, one, two, three steps to close the distance, “Do you feel it? The way your body is betraying your discipline?”
You sat there for a while, wordlessly assessing the substance’s onset effects—increased heart rate, increased body temperature, vasodilation, cognitive fog, slowed motor skills, and slowed breathing. Your hearing became sensitive, both sharp and muffled at the same time, even Dottore’s sentence sounded almost incoherent but not quite.
“I think . .” You started, trying to catch your breath. “I think you should leave.”
Suspiciously enough, Dottore didn’t push any further, instead, he took a step back, “Rest. This dosage shall pass . . . Eventually.” The click clack of his shoes echoed in your ears as Dottore left the auxiliary.
You’ll be back in no time. He thought to himself.
You sighed a breath of relief, his presence was suffocating to say the least, and being under the influence of some substance didn’t help. Taking a few controlled, deep breaths, you tried to calm yourself; suddenly drinking coffee didn’t feel like the right thing to do. So, with a hazy mind and light feet, you left the auxiliary and headed to your own laboratory.
As you walked in, your subordinates greeted you, they immediately sensed something was wrong but didn’t dare pry—after all, it wasn’t their position to question their Lady Harbinger even if it meant concern. You tried your best to oversee experiments and discuss results but as each minute passed, your body began to feel even stranger.
Indecent thoughts slipped in and out of your mind, your skin yearned to be touched, and not to mention the uncomfortable heat that pooled between your legs. The flu-like symptoms from earlier you could handle but this was something else, it drove you to the borders of insanity; with the absence of another’s touch, your cunt ached.
You tried to hold it out—to let the effects pass but you only lasted about an hour or two before you ultimately kicked out every single soul inside the laboratory out of embarrassment. There was no way in hell you’d let your subordinates see you in such a state; gossip amongst lower ranked Fatui spread like wildfire and you weren’t about to become the topic of the month.
This compound didn’t simmer like the last, instead, it demanded immediate attention.
The laboratory now fell silent, only the constant hum of machines and ventilation accompanied your ragged breaths. You leaned over your desk, fists curling against the smooth surface as you cursed Dottore with every unpleasant word your impaired mind could think of. The period of effect was unknown, so basically you were just playing a waiting game, a dangerous one at that.
But you weren’t about to settle for this—no, you demanded answers from The Doctor.
Right now. Your patience had been exhausted and could feel a reckless storm brewing within you—one that abandoned rationality.
Without a second thought, you crossed the entire building from one side to the other, it was probably the fastest you’ve walked despite slightly limping from discomfort between your legs. Archons, you could only imagine how crazed you looked.
The door to Dottore’s laboratory screeched upon opening, gaining the attention of all staff inside it, including the Harbinger himself. He didn’t have to wait for the door to fully open to conclude it was you, according to his calculations, he expected you to show up right about now.
Before the staff could murmur amongst themselves, Dottore spoke a singular word—loud, clear and icy.
“Out.”
His subordinates didn’t have to be told twice. They shuffled to their feet rather quickly, immediately dropping whatever task they had at hand before squeezing out the door as if some madman were chasing them. Something in their mind whispered they wouldn’t want to witness what was going to happen next.
As the last person rushed out, the heavy door behind you hissed as it closed, leaving you and Dottore alone in his laboratory.
“Well, this is highly unexpected.”
“You’re going to give me a counteragent.” You demanded immediately.
Dottore momentarily paused before laughing at your retort, it wasn’t a cruel laugh, it was pure amusement. “My, this drug has really done its job, hasn’t it? Your mind is a mess!” Your furrowed brows and downturned lips only fuelled his delight. “You speak of a counteragent yet aphrodisiacs aren’t poisonous—they don’t harm the body, they heighten one’s senses and increase libido. Indeed, anaphrodisiacs exist but they don’t serve as a counteragent. In short, there is no ‘cure’.”
“The effects dissipate only after . . . release.” Dottore added.
An aphrodisiac? How could you have not come to that conclusion? You were so caught up in Dottore’s scheme that you completely forgot to account for the use of a common drug. Everything about him screamed complex so it was only right to assume he had synthesized a rather intricate substance.
“You’re well-versed in medicine and human physiology. You should know exactly how these types of compounds function.” Dottore slowly circled your unstable figure as if he were a predator sizing up its prey.
“Tell me, Prevaricator. If you rely on this counteragent you speak of, why didn’t you just synthesize your own instead of barging into my territory like a lunatic? I was in the middle of an experimental breakthrough.”
As much as you hated to admit it, Dottore was right you should have known. Now, you felt like an utter fool standing in his laboratory demanding for something that didn’t exist.
“Unless . . . You’re already aware that there is no counteragent. Which raises a far more interesting question,” He stood directly behind you, his tall stature loomed over your own, voice dangerously close to your ear.
“Why did you come to me?”
Your heart pounded violently against your chest, not because of fear but because of the humiliating reality that The Doctor pointed out. Why did you come to him? He was the last person you should’ve sought when it came to human physiology. What happened to relying on your own expertise?
“I came to you for answers. Why are you doing all this? I’m not your test subject!”
“That’s precisely the problem—you’re not. So, I took matters into my own hands, whether you liked it or not.”
“Why?”
“Your façade infuriates me. And I will use every resource I have to strip you of your false layers.”
You were dumbfounded. Why was Dottore so adamant? Both of you were Harbingers for gods sake!—your identities were built on lies. Every Harbinger was granted a false identity by the Tsaritsa, everyone knew that.
“Tell me, Prevaricator. Is it the aphrodisiac driving you mad or the fact that you know exactly what you want but refuse to admit it?”
“I . . .” Your sentence faded into thin air.
The aphrodisiac had you on a chokehold; you couldn’t think properly, any rational thoughts were forgotten, and left behind for your future self to pick up. You couldn’t even refute any of Dottore’s arguments even if you badly wanted to—your brain simply just wasn’t working because right now, all you wanted was one thing, release. The heat your body radiated became unbearable and the painful ache between your legs intensified with every passing second.
Dottore stood right before you, he wordlessly studied your unstable, flustered state; this was only the first layer he had stripped off—the tip of the iceberg—and he was more than ready to find out where it ended.
Dottore took a step forward. You took a step back in response.
“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.” He hummed lowly, reaching out a gloved finger to trace the edge of your collar, it was slow and deliberate, cutting you off from what you needed most right this moment, contact. Embarrassingly enough, you shuddered at the sensation of his finger against your clothing, the small vibrations of the friction it created was enough to push you further into insanity.
“Oh. Well, that answers my question from earlier.” Dottore wrapped a gloved hand around your throat, not too tight, not too loose, just enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing. You whimpered at his touch, your sensitive skin finally receiving the contact it has yearned for. His leather gloves felt electric against your feverish skin and you’d be lying if you didn’t want more.
“. . . Please.” You whispered, lips parted to draw shallow breaths in and out.
“My, what a mess you are and we haven’t even begun the third phase of the experiment.”
Without wasting another second, Dottore pulled you by the neck and pressed his lips against your own. The kiss knocked out all the oxygen in your lungs, it was sloppy, heated, and passionate.
The tip of Dottore’s mask harshly dug into your cheek as he pressed even further, shoving his tongue inside your mouth. Your head spun, the kiss was intoxicating—he was intoxicating. At this point, with how desperately Dottore kissed you, you wondered if you were truly the one under the influence because it seemed like he was more lust driven than you were. Hungrier.
Wet sounds of aggressive lip smacking and the occasional pants you and Dottore let out filled the entire laboratory. If anyone were to walk in right this moment, they’d probably be crimson-cheeked at how lewd and pornographic you both sounded.
Dottore growled into your mouth as he gripped your jaw and tilted your head for better access. Oh, how well you were taking him; you were so obedient and amazing for him to the point where it immensely turned him on. A minute later, he pulled away, flushed and panting, a thin string of saliva connected both your lips.
“How fascinating.” Dottore stated, breathless.
His tongue swiped on his bottom lip, collecting the saliva that pooled there. Your state wasn’t any better, as a matter of fact, the kiss was so messy to the point where saliva was smeared all over your mouth and chin but you didn’t care, you needed him.
Dottore unclipped your ivory Fatui coat, throwing the heavy fabric across the lab, it fell with a distinct thud. With that out of the way, he pushed you to the nearest wall which was right next to the entrance. You stumbled on your feet at his urgency but didn’t bother complaining.
He unbuttoned your blouse, first, second, third, until the fabric revealed skin beneath it. A quiet gasp escaped his kiss-bitten lips, “You’re truly magnificent.” You didn’t know whether Dottore praised you as a human being or as a mere test subject but nonetheless his saccharine words had your cunt pulsing.
Gloved hands momentarily ghosted your feverish skin, as though you were a fragile relic he refused to touch for you were far too precious and pristine to taint. He slipped off your blouse and the cool air of the laboratory kissed your skin, you shuddered at the significant contrast of temperatures.
“Hmm. Sensitive. I wonder what would happen if I press . . . here.” Your body curled in pleasure as Dottore cupped a clothed breast, palms sensually rubbing against your covered nipple. How exquisite you were, he had barely gotten started yet you already seemed like you’ve reached your limit.
“Ngh—Dottore!” Your own hands shot up to your face to cover your mouth, the last thing you wanted was to moan his name embarrassingly loud but it seemed like even your body couldn’t resist.
The Doctor let out a low growl, “Do not tamper with my experiment. This is all part of the result. Uncover your mouth.”
Humiliation engulfed your almost bare body as you heeded his words. He clicked his tongue and pinned both your wrists with a hand, “Any unwanted changes to my experiment will result in a second trial. Do not test me, Prevaricator.” The only thing you could do was wordlessly nod.
“Good.”
With his free hand, Dottore expertly unclasped your bra, causing it to swiftly fall onto the metal floor. There, he marveled at your hardened nipples, how it seemed to immediately react to external stimuli. He groped a breast, this time squeezing and massaging it, pulling a string of breathless moans from your lips.
“Now that’s what I like to hear.”
Dottore continued to give each breast his undivided attention ‘til you thrashed your sensitive body from overstimulation, “Dottore . . !” This time his name came out as a plea and he immediately understood what you were begging for, “Tsk. How impatient. We shall then move onto the next phase.” He scoffed.
Within the next minute, you were stripped of your remaining clothing, leaving you vulnerable in front of Dottore. Before you could even try to swallow down the embarrassment, his hand was already on you, toying with your sopping cunt. His gloved finger sensually traced your slit—up and down, up and down ‘til it slowly your clit, then did he only rub tight, hasty circles.
“F-Fuck! Haah!” Your back arched at the electric sensation that kissed down your spine. You weren’t a virgin but it has been a long while since you were touched so lewdly like this, moreover, he seemed to really know what he was doing. Dottore watched as your flustered face contorted in pure pleasure—swollen lips parted, brows knitted together, glassy eyes rolled back, just the result he wanted.
But he was greedy, he wanted more. He wanted to see you absolutely fucked up.
Dottore plunged two long fingers inside your wet cunt, causing you to resist his firm hold on your wrists. He curled his digits upward to meet the spongy patch of nerves there, “Mmf—! That feels good—Ah!” You could only moan in response as he picked up the pace.
Each harsh thrust of his fingers had your abdomen squeezing with pleasure, attempting to bear the force of his hand. Loud squelches coming from your cunt reverberated throughout the laboratory’s metallic walls and you could only hope no one would walk by to hear such sinful sounds.
Dottore grunted as he felt you squeeze around his fingers, he could feel the growing tent in his pants, cock aching to be freed from its restraint. He watched as your entrance greedily took him in, your sweet essence oozing out every time he pumped inside.
His crimson eyes beneath the mask glimmered at the way your slick messily coated not only his palm but as well as your inner thighs; he had never seen anything quite like this before. What spectacular results he was given!
It didn’t take long to feel the coil deep inside your stomach to start unravelling slowly. Dottore noticed it too, how your breath quickened and eyes tightly shut. He kept going, in and out, in and out steadily guiding you closer and closer to the sweet release you yearned for.
But just before you were pushed over the edge, he abruptly pulled his fingers out, causing you to shamelessly whine in protest. Confused, our eyes shot open, vision blurred with tears of pleasure, “Wha-What . . ? Why did you stop?”
Pleasure slowly faded away from your body, the high that once engulfed you now felt farther and farther away. Dottore brought his slick-stained fingers up, casually examining it under the laboratory’s fluorescent lights like he didn’t just almost fingerfuck you to an orgasm.
“We’re simply moving on to the final phase.”
Final phase?
At the sound of metal clinking, you were pulled out of your thoughts. Before you, Dottore hastily undid his ebony-coloured pants, he pulled the fabric down with his underwear just enough to free his aching cock. Your eyes widened as it stood proudly against his abdomen; he wasn’t as girthy but his length definitely made up for it, his blunt tip was a deep shade of blush, and a prominent vein ran along the underside of his cock. More interestingly, it curved a little to the left.
You could almost drool at the sight.
Dottore let out a low hiss as he wrapped a gloved hand around his sensitive cock to spread his pre-cum all over it, he gave it three languid pumps before stepping closer to your naked body. With one swift movement, he nudged your legs apart—resulting in you briefly losing balance—before slotting himself between them.
You whimpered at the sensation of Dottore’s cock rubbing against your slit, you could already feel how hot and heavy it was from the simple contact alone. Without warning he slowly pushed in, its blunt tip separating your wet folds apart. Your arms immediately flew to his clothed shoulders, nails digging into the expensive fabric as he inched deeper and deeper.
Dottore muttered a curse, lips slightly quivering. The sensation of your warm walls around his cock drove him absolutely insane and he wasn’t even all the way in yet; your cunt hugged him oh, so tightly and greedily sucked him in he could almost come right then and there as embarrassing as it sounded.
It had been quite a while since Dottore engaged in sex since he had more important matters to attend to so this feeling of being inside someone was closer to foreign than not.
Soon enough, he bottomed out with ease. The two of you took a moment to steady your breaths and adjust to each other’s body, though, you did try your best to stand as still as possible as the tip of his cock gently nudged your sweet spot—any hasty movements would cause it to press further inside.
“You’re so—Haah!—Tight!” Dottore let out an amused chuckle, a smirk plastered on his lips.
“S-Shut up.” You flushed.
Without another word, Dottore hooked a hand beneath your right knee and forced it up to rest on his shoulder. That movement alone brought your hips closer to his, allowing his cock to slip deeper; you involuntarily squeezed around him in response, back arching off the icy wall which earned a low growl from him.
Faint wet sounds echoed in your ears as Dottore pulled out all the way until only his tip remained, your cunt sucked him in so much that merely drawing his hips back was met with such resistance. He wasted no time thrusting back in, this time, with the entire length of his cock, it made your knee buckle, and your lips immediately parted to let out a garbled moan.
Dottore started off with an experimental pace—he studied how your expressions differed with each push and pull.. When met with shallow, hasty thrusts, your breathing seemed to mimic the rhythm of his hips, whereas with deep, slower thrusts, you seemed to bite down on your bottom lip while your eyes slightly rolled back.
How interesting. What about deep, swift thrusts?
Dottore picked up the pace to test his next experimental question, blunt tip bullying your sweet spot, and heavy balls slapping against your skin.
“Fuck! Fuck! Ngh—! Dottore!” You mercilessly clawed at his back. The expression you gave him was simply exquisite, your whole face contorted in raw pleasure. Hot tears rolled down your flushed cheeks and he took the opportunity to lick it off your face.
Using a free hand, Dottore reached for one of your breasts, teasing and massaging it while he watched the other bounce with each thrust.
Earlier, the laboratory faintly smelled of chemicals, now, the air smelled of sinful sex—your’s and Dottore’s scent entangled with one another, a completely volatile pair.
“That’s it—Mhm!—Let me hear your pathetic whimpers as I push you further and further into insanity.” He growled in your ear and bit the column of your neck.
Dottore unhooked your leg from his shoulder before securing both arms around to lift you up, “Jump.” He didn’t have to repeat his word for you to do so. As you jumped, he supported your weight with his hands which allowed you to wrap your legs around his waist.
With his hands planted on your ass, Dottore began to expertly bounce you on his cock; this position left you more vulnerable since there was nothing you could do but take each and every thrust. Since gravity also came into play, his thrusts were far deeper than before and you swore you could feel him on your throat.
“Right there! Ah! Right there, Dottore! Please don’t stop—Fuck!” The tight coil inside your stomach began to unravel once again and the high you experienced earlier came flooding back. It was an overwhelming pressure, it pressed on every part of your sensitive body, sending waves of shock up and down your spine.
Dottore observed your cock drunk state—head lolled to the side, hair a complete mess, face flushed with lust, lips locked in a permanent part to let out moans, tear-stained cheeks, and eyes rolled far back enough you could probably see your own skull. This. This was precisely what Dottore wanted from you—an expression so raw, so vulnerable it was an unbelievable contrast from the usual one you wore.
You looked absolutely broken and helpless like he was the only one who could save you. And The Doctor loved everything about it.
He moaned your name as you clamped on his cock—not your title, but the name bestowed upon you by Her Majesty. The name only your female colleagues used to express closeness.
“I’m close,” Dottore panted. “Open your eyes and look at me while you come. Surely you can perform this simple task, right?” You responded with an incoherent sentence but nonetheless used your remaining energy to open your eyes, your body felt absolutely limp as pleasure weighed down on you, and you were positive you’d have trouble walking tomorrow.
He praised you for your obedience and you could only respond with a pathetic whine.
Dottore did his best to keep up the brutal pace but with his impending orgasm looming over, his movements began to falter, he could only hold out for a certain amount of time.
“Ngh! Cumming! Ah! Ah!” The coil inside you violently snapped and your vision flashed white as you creamed around his cock. Dottore let out a deep grunt and followed suit, hips stuttering before fully sheathing his cock inside and shooting a heavy load. Thick ribbons of his cum painted your walls white, he made sure it remained inside of you by thrusting a few more times.
The two of you stilled for a moment to catch your breaths before Dottore pulled out to gently get you back on your feet. As expected, your legs have turned weak and embarrassingly enough, you held onto him for support—not because you wanted to but you needed to.
As you came down from your high, this allowed the haunting reality to finally settle in for you. You just fucked your colleague. And not just any colleague but the one you absolutely despised most. Were you insane? Regret gnawed at your feverish skin.
Out of instinct, you weakly pushed Dottore away, a familiar expression painted on your face—the one you always wore, the one he loathed—cold and indifferent, “This . . This doesn’t change anything. At all.”
The Doctor could only half-heartedly laugh at your declaration because you both knew it was a complete lie, after all, you were the Prevaricator.
In which a fisher girl takes the bait – hook line and sinker!
Merman!Neuvilette x reader
wordcount: ~8200
TWs: manipulation, power Imbalance (god/devotee dynamics), possessive behavior, drowning/asphyxiation, size difference, forced transformation, forced mating, Neuvi breaking corals (DO NOT DO IT).
NSFW: dub-con elements, PiV, come marking, belly bulge, he has 2 monster cocks so double penetration (in one hole), oral sex (m and f receiving), overstimulation, cervix fucking, face-fucking, wet and messy, eggpreg, breeding.
As usual, thank you all, my dear sweethearts, for your support!
NOT SUITED FOR MINORS. Not proofread. Author does not endorse or condone any of the actions depicted in real life. Also, English is not the author's first language, so there might be some mistakes.
Please remember that you are responsible for your own media consumption.
“You can keep your husbands.”
You muttered under your breath as you walked away from the laughter, your bare feet kicking up warm dust from the village path.
“I would rather belong to the sea.”
Your peers heard enough to laugh louder.
They were always like this when it came to you, because you were of an age where a girl should have already chosen a husband, woven a sleeping mat for him, borne him children, bent her back over cooking fires and other endless duties that stitched a woman to the life laid out for her. You had refused all of it, and refusal made people cruel. In your village, a woman who didn’t wish to be chosen was seen as a woman who believed herself above her place.
But it was not pride that kept you apart.
In truth, it was hunger. Not the hunger that gnawed at your belly now and sent you down toward the shore with coiled nets over one shoulder and your knife tucked into the cloth at your waist. It was another kind entirely, one that opened inside your chest each time traders arrived on their tall foreign ships with painted hulls and bright banners that snapped in the wind.
You had seen them only a few times, from very far away, but that had been enough. Those big ships came from lands beyond the reach of village gossip and marriage bargains. When you thought of them, something inside you stretched toward the horizon until it hurt. You wanted to know what lay across the water. However, as a simple village girl, you could only dream of freedom.
That evening, the storm had only just passed. The clouds were breaking apart in long bruised ribbons, and the beach still shone dark and wet under the fading gold of dusk. The palms behind you hissed softly as the wind moved through them, and everywhere there was that clean smell that followed heavy rain.
Your secret cove lay hidden behind a crooked wall of black stone where the surf broke gentler than anywhere else along the coast. The old fishermen knew of it, perhaps, but the boys who mocked you didn’t, and so it had become yours.
You set your things down there, checked the knots of your nets, and began making your way toward the place where you would anchor them for the night.
Your peaceful walk was interrupted by a rough sound, torn low from a throat that didn’t belong to any beast you knew. Your hand found the knife at your waist before thought could catch up. Every tale about sea demons told by firelight came rushing back at once. Your pulse kicked hard in your neck as you stepped around the outcropping, slow and silent, with a blade ready in your shaking hand.
Something lay tangled in the shallows where the storm had thrown up driftwood and torn weeds. The fading sky poured its last blue light over alabaster skin and the powerful lines of his shoulders and chest, over the elegant arch of collarbones beneath hair pale as moonlit foam, threaded through with blue. Beneath his pectorals, along the sides of his torso, you saw the slits of gills fluttering weakly. There were delicate gills at his neck as well, and his forearms deepened from pearlescent skin into blue at the hands, as though the sea itself still clung to him there. From his hair rose two blue horns, smooth but deadly.
From that magnificent human form downward, his body changed. His hips gave way to a long tail, dark as the deep ocean. When it moved, even faintly, the fins along it flashed with submerged purples, teals, indigo, glimmering like oil over water. Tiny points of bioluminescent light shimmered over the scales as if a piece of the night sea had been laid bare upon the shore.
The Sovereign of the Firstborn Waters.
The oldest villagers sometimes spoke of such a being when children lost to the tide were found sleeping safely among the rocks, rather than being drowned by the will of the merciless sea. They touched their foreheads, lowered their eyes, and quietly spoke of a benevolent guardian.
Your eyes wanted to drift to his face, but yet another thing about him made you gasp. There was a wound torn across his lower abdomen, wide and ugly, as if some monstrous thing beneath the waves had caught him and opened his perfect skin for the precious crimson to leak down onto the sand.
Then his eyes opened.
You stumbled backward so violently that your feet slipped out from under you, and you landed on your butt rather awkwardly. He was looking at you with awareness sharpened by pain. His pupils were narrow at first, then widened slightly. Those eyes, as everything about him, were magical, holding the colors of blue and soft rose. They pinned you where you sat, trembling, knife fallen useless from your hand.
“M-my Lord,” you whispered before you even realized you had spoken. “Are you the one from the stories?”
A strained moan of pain escaped him, and his lashes lowered for a moment as if even that had cost him dearly.
You found yourself scrambling to your feet in fear, snatching up your knife with clumsy hands.
“W-wait for me!” you sobbed absurdly, as if a God of the Sea might obey a village girl with salt in her hair and a patched fishing skirt. “Please just hold on!”
The path home was treacherous in the dark after rain. Stones bit into your soles, and one jagged edge tore open the side of your foot so sharply that your vision flashed blood-red for an instant. You cried out, but didn’t stop, bursting into your hut, ignoring the sting of blood trailing behind you, and gathering what you could with frantic hands. Dried healing algae your grandma once taught you to grind. Bowls. Clean cloth. You snatched up your water gourd, hesitated, then filled another vessel with rainwater from the barrel where you kept it for drinking.
Your Lord was still there when you returned, and relief nearly brought you to your knees. He had collapsed onto his side, his expression gone pale and distant in the darkening light, but those beautiful eyes slid to you the moment you kneeled beside him.
Up close he was even more unreal. His lashes were silver at the tips. His mouth was finely shaped, lips naturally tinged blue, like the edge of a shell. There was no ugliness in him anywhere except the wound, and that wound was ghastly enough to twist your stomach.
“Forgive me,” you murmured, because you didn’t know what else one said while touching a deity. “I know this must be clumsy, but I am only me.”
With shaking fingers, you crushed the dried sea herbs with rainwater, made a rough paste, and leaned over him. When you pressed the medicine to the torn flesh, his whole body tightened under your hands. The great tail jerked, fins quivering, and a low sound rumbled through his chest.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered immediately. “I’m so sorry, my Lord.”
He stayed silent, watching you as though every smallest thing mattered. When you rinsed sand from his skin with careful handfuls of seawater, skirting the wound and wiping blood from the curve of his side, his stare never left your face. By the time the bandage was tied, your own breathing had grown unsteady.
“I can’t carry you back,” you admitted, sitting back on your heels, paying no attention to the wound of your own that has reopened. “But I’ll stay and keep watch.”
The words sounded foolish the instant they left you. Keep watch over him. Guard the Lord of Waters with your little knife and your bleeding foot.
When you finally leaned back against a warm black rock, exhaustion dragging at your bones, you could’ve sworn something gentled in his face. You fell asleep to the sound of the surf.
So much for keeping watch
When you woke up at dawn, he was gone. For one second, your heart plunged so hard you thought it might stop. The place where he had lain was empty save for smoothed sand, a dark stain the tide had nearly taken, and the broken remains of your little work. You pushed yourself upright with a gasp and looked wildly toward the sea when something vast moved beyond the rocks.
The surface swelled, and your breath caught. You climbed onto the stone and shaded your eyes against the newborn sun.
“My Lord?”
The shape came nearer. Then he emerged from the water in a wash of blue and white, bracing one hand against the rock to steady himself. Droplets ran over his horns and bare shoulders. His expression gave nothing away.
Without taking his gaze from yours, he lifted one hand and set his offering on the stone beside you: a dozen pink shells, a piece of delicate coral, one perfect sea star, sunset-orange and glistening with fresh seawater.
You stared at them, then at him.
“F-for me?”
He stared at them, then at you.
Reverently, you knelled and gathered the treasures. “Thank you,” you whispered. “Thank you, my Lord.”
In the days that followed, you returned to the cove whenever you could. He would already be there in the shallows or just beyond them, dark tail cutting through clear water, silver hair spilling over his shoulders like ocean foam itself. As his wound slowly closed, he kept close to the shore, and you sat on the rocks nearby, monologuing about different stuff.
Your Lord never answered, but the silence made room for honesty.
That's why another day you found yourself telling him of your village and its smallness, of your mother’s tired sighs, of the young men who boasted loudly and feared the deep water they claimed to command. You also told him how marriage felt like being sealed inside a clay jar and buried in the earth while still breathing. Then, almost immediately, you confessed your shame at wanting more than the life you had been offered. Then your anger at feeling shame for it at all.
Through it all, he listened with a stillness so profound it felt holy. His eyes never wandered, but sometimes they lowered when your voice trembled, as though he would grant you a bit of privacy.
Another problem was that your injured foot hadn’t healed properly. The cut split again, and walking had opened it enough for each step to sting nastily. When you hissed in the middle of yet another monologue, his head turned at once. He was before you in a moment, one hand on the stone, eyes narrowed in focus.
“It’s nothing, my Lord,” you said automatically, then laughed weakly. “I’m fine.”
He looked at you with quiet gravity, and somehow that was more respectful than any question. You gave a tiny nod and extended the injured foot toward him.
Cool fingers gently cupped your heel, lifted your foot as though it were a thing made of flower petals, and turned it to the light. His pupils widened, then thinned, and his expression grew unreadably dark. He looked up at you once, long and searching, then slipped soundlessly beneath the water.
However, your Lord wasn’t absent for long. In fact, he returned merely ten minutes later with strands of algae you had never seen before, pale blue and silver-veined, shining faintly in his hands. With precise movements, he wound them around your cut, letting the soothing coolness seep into your skin at once, taking the pain with it.
“Thank you, my Lord,” you whispered, grateful beyond measure.
His hand lingered on your foot just a bit. Then, with an almost scholarly curiosity that would’ve made you laugh if it were anyone else, he took your healthy foot in his palm, turning it gently, studying the shape. When you flexed your toes, his pupils flared wide, something akin to excitement gracing his features. At that, a helpless laugh escaped you.
The sound, apparently, startled him, and a faint flush rose on his high cheekbones. Before you could hide your delight, he vanished beneath the surface in one smooth motion that left ripples fanning out around your knees.
The next day, you had stolen mangoes and small golden guavas from a grove near the village edge. When you sat by the cove and held one out, he regarded it with open suspicion. You smiled, split it with your knife, and tasted it first. Only then did he accept the piece from your hand, biting it like a tamed animal. He closed his eyes for one suspended moment while the sweetness dissolved on his tongue, then opened them and fixed you with an intense gaze.
After that, your Lord ate every piece you brought him, and you took wicked joy in discovering favorites. Mango made his gaze soften. Guava sharpened it with keen delight. Sea grapes pleased him less than you expected.
What was interesting, however, was that he repaid every gift. Fish, always the finest, laid neatly on the stone where the tide would not spoil them. Pearls trapped in rough shells. Twisted glass worn smooth by the sea. A length of red coral so bright it looked aflame underwater.
Then, one evening beneath a sky painted pink and violet, he came to you bearing something cradled carefully in both hands. Shells polished to moon-glow. Fragments of coral. beads of green-blue stone. Tiny silver fish bones worked into a pattern that caught the light like woven water. He held the necklace up with solemn ceremony.
“For me?” you asked, though by then already knowing the answer. You slipped into the water, and the sea rose to your throat. His gaze dipped once to the column of your neck, to your mouth, then back to your neck. Slowly, he placed the necklace around you, and when the sovereign was done, he let his hands fall, but didn’t swim away.
That night, words spilled from you like tidewater through rocks.
You told him everything you had never dared say aloud. Most of it was about how you wanted to stand on the deck of one of those enormous ships and watch your island become a green blur behind you. You spoke until the sky darkened and the first stars appeared. He listened from the water, still as an idol. In his listening, there was such ferocious attention that you no longer felt foolish for dreaming.
A few days later, he hovered just beyond the shallows and extended one elegant hand toward you, offering. The ocean was warm from the day’s heat, clear enough to see sunlight shattering over his scales.
You walked into the water until it reached your waist, then your ribs, then your shoulders. When you were close enough, his arm slid around your waist. With ease, the Sea Sovereign took you beyond the black rocks, into a world hidden under the skin of the water.
Coral gardens spread below in impossible colors. Shoals of colorful fish turned together. Forests of swaying sea fans glowed in filtered light. He pointed things out to you with a quiet pride that made your heart ache, and when you reached for a pale coral branch in wonder, he broke off a small piece and tucked it carefully behind your ear. Each time your lungs burned, God of the Sea gathered you close and rose with you, one hand firm at your waist, swimming up before you could panic.
At sunset, Sovereign floated onto his back in a sheltered pool where the sea was as calm. Gently, he drew you with him until you rested along the length of his torso, your cheek against his chest, careful of the gills beneath. His skin was cool and smooth under your hands.
The place where the wound had been was healing cleanly. You traced that faint scar with gentle fingers and whispered, “My Lord, thank you. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Even if I live to be old, I think I will carry this day under the skin. I will remember you forever.”
A melodic vocalization rose from him, rich and resonant, carrying through his chest into your cheek. It was unlike birdsong or whale-call. In fact, it was unlike anything you had ever known. The melody curled around you like water around stone, mournful and lovely. It made your body tingle, and you lifted your head to look at his handsome face.
The sky behind him was a blaze of gold sinking into rose. Light poured over his face, caught in wet lashes and on the line of his horns, softening the planes of his cheeks. He was already looking back at you.
Slowly, as if giving you time to flee, he raised one hand and touched your face. His fingertips grazed your cheekbone, then your jaw, then settled at the back of your neck. The hold was careful, but there was no mistaking its intensity. With a steady hand, he drew you upward until your faces hovered a breath apart and you could feel the coolness of seawater on his lips. Your hands, of their own accord, came to rest against his shoulders.
“My Lord,” you whispered longingly, letting him close the final distance.
He kissed you slowly and carefully, and when you shuddered and kissed him back, something like relief vibrated through his whole body. The hand at your neck tightened just enough to keep you there, while the other came to your waist and held you with devastating gentleness. On his lips, you tasted salt, fruit, and the last warmth of the day.
Your Lord drew back, only a little, his forehead rested against yours. His cheeks were tenderly pink, and there was something slick pressing against your thigh, not like a moss type of slick or a seaweed cream slick, but… slick.
Now what exactly was that?
Your fingers traced the place where human form gave way to the powerful tail, and there, you found a vertical slit. It parted slightly under your curious touch, yielding like the petals of some deep-sea flower. Directly from it, seeped a fluid that coated your fingers instantly, cool and slippery.
You looked up at him and found him already watching you, his cheeks flushed that same tender pink, his pupils blown so wide the rose and blue of his irises had nearly vanished into black. His breathing had gone shallow and ragged, those gills at his neck fluttering with each quick inhale.
You stroked along the length of the slit, gentle, questioning, and his moan shattered the quiet.
His hand flew to his mouth as if he could catch the sound and stuff it back inside, but his hips betrayed him, pressing forward into your touch. His tail curled and flexed beneath the water, sending ripples fanning out around you both, muscles clenching and releasing as he fought for control.
Then, out of the blue, his arms were around you, gathering you close, and he was swimming backward with you held against his chest. The Sovereign carried you past the coral gardens you had marveled at before, past forests of waving kelp that brushed your ankles like ghostly fingers, past shoals of sleeping fish that scattered like silver thoughts at your passing.
He brought you to a place you had never seen.
A hidden beach ringed by black cliffs that rose like ancient sentinels against the stars, accessible only from the sea. The moon hung fat and silver overhead, so close you felt you could reach up and cup it in your palms, painting the whole world in shades of deepest indigo.
Your Lord backed against one of the smooth boulders that dotted the shoreline, its surface worn glassy by millennia of tides. He settled himself so that his upper body rested against the sun-warmed stone while the lower half of his magnificent tail remained submerged, its fins fanning out in the dark water like the robes of a king.
Then, with a gentleness that belied the power thrumming in his very being, he took your hand, guiding yours down. Past the firm plane of his stomach, past the place where human skin would have given way to hip and thigh, to the intimate seam of his. It pulsed against your fingertips, leaking a bioluminescent blue fluid that shimmered faintly in the moonlight.
You slid one slick finger along its entire length, and you felt the coiled power of his body shudder against you like a seismic wave breaking against the shore.
"My Lord," you whispered, your voice a fragile thing against the immensity of the sea. "Do you want me to–"
He answered by surging his hips forward, driving your slick fingers deeper into the molten heat of his slit, and the raw moan that was torn from his throat was all the answer the universe required.
You pushed inside, and the entrance was a tight vise, drenched with that endless blue fluid. The heat of him was staggering, a living furnace so much warmer than the cool night water, and the inner walls of him were soft, textured like the underside of a mushroom. They clutched and released at you with each pass, and the involuntary milking motion made your own neglected core clench with sympathetic desire.
You watched his face the entire time. A deep flush spread down from his sharp cheekbones, across his elegant neck, and bloomed across his pale chest. His head fell back against the rock with a heavy thud that would’ve fractured a human skull, but he didn't even notice. His ancient composure was stripped away, leaving only a raw creature beneath, and it was the most breathtaking thing you had ever witnessed.
But then you felt a new pressure. A welling presence pushing against your fingertips from deep inside him. It was strange and demanding, and before you could fully register the sensation, it forced your fingers out. Your slick fingers slipped from his slit with a wet pop that made you both gasp. The bioluminescent fluid clung to your hand in thick strands, stretching from your fingertips to his pulsing slit like spun moonlight before finally breaking and dripping down your wrist.
You looked down, and your breath caught in your throat, a sound of pure awe.
Two heads had peeked from the opening. They pushed past the swollen lips of his slit, one positioned above the other, emerging like some alien bloom. They were the color of the deep blue sea, tapered to pointed tips like the unfurling petals of a calla lily. Their surfaces were textured with a subtle networkk of faint ridges and nubs that caught the light and made your mouth water. They leaked that same shimmering blue fluid from tiny slits at their tips, twitching and pulsing with a life of their own, swelling and relaxing in a hypnotic rhythm.
You stared, dumbstruck.
The Sea Soverein made a questioning hum that vibrated in his chest. And you realized, with a jolt that went straight to your core, that he, the being who had witnessed the birth and death of civilizations, was anxious about what a simple village girl would think of the monstrous beauty between his hips.
That realization was an aphrodisiac more potent than any wine. Empowered, you reached out without thinking, and your fingers brushed the delicate tip of the lower shaft. He jerked as if struck by lightning, sending a splash of water cascading around you both.
You wrapped your hand around the shaft experimentally, marveling at the texture. It was hot, and the ridges shifted and flexed under your palm as if greeting you. Your thumb found the weeping tip, circling it slowly, spreading the slick pre-cum.
The upper cock bumped insistently against your wrist, smearing a trail of glowing fluid across your skin. It seemed almost jealous of the attention you were lavishing on its twin. Your breath hitched, and with a surge of bold desire, you took that one in your other hand, wrapping your fingers around its heat.
Your Lord let out a muffled moan, and a glistening flow of blue fluid ran down your fingers in warm rivulets, dripping onto the sculpted planes of his stomach, onto his powerful tail, and into the dark water where it dispersed in shimmering clouds. His gills heaved with each ragged breath he took. His hands gripped the edges of the boulder on either side of him with such desperate force that you saw his knuckles fade to the pale blue of stressed sea-glass.
Still pumping both shafts, you leaned in and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the delicate frills of his gills, tasting salt. You dragged your tongue lower, licking a slow, sloppy trail over the hard ridges of his stomach, feeling every toned muscle jump and quiver beneath your mouth. When you finally reached his cocks, you rubbed your cheek against them like a needy animal, smearing the glowing pre-cum all over your face in shiny streaks.
"My Lord… I-if you will allow me, I want to give you pleasure…" you faltered, your cheeks burning with a heat that rivaled his own, "...with my mouth."
To prove your words, you nuzzled harder, letting the leaking tips drag across your lips, your nose, your forehead, painting your face in his slick.
His pupils suddenly flared so wide they nearly swallowed the luminous silver of his irises entirely. A sound rumbled deep in his chest, and then he was shifting, pulling himself higher onto the rock, arranging his body so that he sat half-reclined, his magnificent lower half still in the water, both of his weeping cocks rising before you. You looked up at him with glassy eyes.
"P-please be merciful," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of nervousness and raw want. "I may not be good at this, my Lord, but… I'll try my best to please you."
His finger traced your cheek, following the path his own essence had made, tracing your lips and the line of your jaw. And the hum he gave you was so slight it was almost imperceptible, but the desperate plea in his eyes was a roaring command. You opened your mouth obediently and wrapped your lips around the lower tip.
The taste of him was sweet, with a creamy undertone that was purely the essence of the ocean itself. The ridges and velvety nubs on his shaft caught and dragged against your tongue and the roof of your mouth in ways that should’ve been disgusting, but only made you crave more.
You sank lower, your jaw stretching to accommodate his sheer girth, your tongue lapping awkwardly but eagerly at the bumpy underside of his shaft. His hand found your hair, and his long fingers tangled in the wet strands. When you hollowed your cheeks and pulled back, a broken groan vibrated through his chest, begging you to take more in.
You sank down again, taking him deeper this time. The head of his cock nudged the entrance to your throat, and you had to consciously relax your jaw, fight the instinct to gag, and breathe slowly through your nose. He was thicker than anything you had ever attempted, and the sensation of your throat stretched around his ridged heat was overwhelming. But the low moans and coos he made, while his tail thrashed in the water, were worth any discomfort.
The upper cock bumped and smeared against your face as you worked. Its weeping tip dragged across your cheek, leaving a trail of cool slick. It nudged against your eyebrow, then slid up to your forehead, leaving more of that shimmering fluid in its wake. You reached up blindly and wrapped your hand around the neglected shaft, stroking it in rhythm with your bobbing head, matching each wet pull of your lips with a firm pull of your fist.
The Sea Lord moaned, and you felt his hand tighten in your hair, guiding your head, as his hips began to move. You let him use your mouth, surrendering control, your eyes watering as the ridged head of his cock hit the back of your throat with each thrust.
Your own neglected pussy ached and clenched, so empty, so desperate for friction. But you didn't dare move a hand to touch yourself. In this moment, his pleasure was the most urgent task. You could take care of yourself later, alone on your mat, with the phantom taste of him still in your throat and the memory of his sounds echoing in your ears.
When he thrust in deep and elicited the filthy gluck from you, the muscles of his abdomen went rigid, and his hand in your hair tightened, trying to pull you away gently. You resisted, humming an encouraging sound around his thick cock. In response, the powerful length of his tail whipped up from the water and coiled around you. It wrapped around your ankles, then your calves, then your knees, holding you firmly in place so you couldn’t have moved even if you had wanted to.
Then he thrust deep, and the tip of his lower cock hit the very back of your throat. You gagged, and a full-body spasm rippled through you, bringing fresh tears to your eyes, but he didn't stop. You felt the ridges along his shaft flex and swell, felt the entire tip thicken and pulse.
And then he was coming, so much more than any human man could produce.
Hot seed spilled past your lips, running down your chin in glowing rivers, dripping down onto your heaving chest. At the same moment, the upper cock pulsed violently in your grip, releasing across your face in thick ropes. His come painted your cheek, splashed across the bridge of your nose, and matted into your hair. You choked and sputtered, swallowing convulsively, but the flood was endless, leaving you no solution but to drink everything he was feeding you, filling your belly with his seed.
When your Lord finally stiled, you were a gasping, debauched mess. His tail unwound from your legs reluctantly, as if the very appendage didn’t want to let you go. His gentle hands came up to your face, his thumbs wiping away his own cooling cum with a reverence that made your sensitive body shiver. He cleaned your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, and then, very tenderly, he wiped the fluid from your swollen lips. You leaned into his touch, utterly spent and trembling with the aftershocks.
But the peaceful moment was a fleeting thing. The Sea God slid from the rock, the water accepting him back with a soft sigh, and gathered you in his arms. He lifted you as though you weighed nothing and deposited you gently onto the very same sun-warmed stone where he had just lain.
You blinked in confusion, your mind still hazy with lust and wonder. He pushed himself up in the water, so the gentle waves lapped at his wide chest. His gaze, sharp and hungry again, traveled down your body with predatory focus. He looked at the simple cloth that served as your only garment. It was plastered to your skin, rendered almost transparent, and it was not entirely with seawater.
Two of his claws hooked into the flimsy fabric at your hip, the tips cool against your heated skin. He tugged lightly, those luminous eyes rising to meet yours.
You nodded, the understanding of what was to come finally settling into your bones.
The cloth gave way with a soft rrrip, torn down your legs in a single motion. It floated in the dark water for a moment before sinking, forgotten.
Your Lord stared blatantly, with an intensity that made your skin prickle, at the place between your legs. The place no man had truly seen or touched since a clumsy, hurried, and rather disappointing encounter in your village years ago.
His pupils flared wide again, devouring the sight of your bare pussy, and he moved closer, leveling his face with your tummy. The moonlight painted everything in stark relief of silver and deep blue shadow, and you felt more exposed, more vulnerable, and more desired than you had ever felt in your life.
Slowly, the Water Lord leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the soft skin of your stomach, right above where your womb lay hidden. Then, with a rumbling groan of pure pleasure, he rubbed his whole face against that spot. His eyes fluttered half-closed, the silver lashes casting faint shadows on his sharp cheekbones. His nose nuzzled against the soft thatch of curls on your mound, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. The great curve of his horns brushed against your belly as he pressed closer.
His forked tongue, long and surprisingly warm, came out and licked a slow stripe across your belly. The unique sensation made your hips twitch involuntarily. Your Lord didn’t pay any attention to that, kissing the same spot again, and again, seemingly driven mad by the simple taste of you.
Then, with an impatient growl, he began working his way lower.
He pressed sloppy kisses along your hip bones, down the crease where your thigh met your body, sucking gently at the sensitive flesh until you were whimpering. His nose brushed against your swollen outer lips, and your cunt clenched visibly, pushing out a fresh trickle of clear slick that dripped down toward your ass.
His elegant fingers joined the worship. With feather-light precision, he traced the shape of your puffy outer lips before gently parting them, spreading you wide open with his thumbs. The cool night air kissed your exposed core, making you shiver.
His thumbs spread you wider.
You gasped at the way the air touched places that had never felt air before, at the way his gaze seemed to burn into you. Your Lord traced the outer edges of your folds first, learning their shape, the way they swelled under his attention. When his finger brushed your clit you moaned, and he stilled, mesmerised by the sound.
His finger returned to the spot that made you sound so prettily, circling it slowly, learning the exact pressure that made you moan, the exact rhythm that made your hips buck against his hand. He watched your face the entire time as he tortured your sensitive little pearl, lavishing it with his attention, massaging it.
Then he lowered his head, and his tongue finally joined his digits.
From the shock of it, the impossible sensation, you screamed. His tongue slid through your folds like the gentlest silk, like water made into flesh. He tasted you slowly learning you with that same focus, and when he reached your entrance, he pressed inside without hesitation.
You clawed at the rock beneath you, nails scraping stone, back arching off the surface.
His tongue pushed deeper. And deeper still. Farther than any human tongue could reach, farther than you had known it was possible to be reached. The forked tip curled and explored, stroking places you had never known existed, finding spots that made stars burst behind your eyes. He made a sound against you, and the vibration traveled through his tongue into your core and made your vision white out.
You realized it through the haze of pleasure, your Lord was searching for something inside you. His tongue questing deeper and deeper until it reached its final destination, making your whole body convulse.
Your cervix.
The Sea Sovereign had reached it with that endless tongue and was now pressing gently, learning the shape of your deepest place. The sensation was overwhelming – too much and not enough, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
“M-my Lord!” You sobbed his title, not knowing what you were begging for.
He groaned against you, and his tongue fucked you with long strokes, each one pressing against your cervix in a way that made your whole body shudder. His nose bumped your clit with each thrust, and the dual stimulation built something inside you that you had never felt before.
With another deep stroke, your legs thrashed. Your Lord hooked them over his shoulders without missing a beat, opening you further, taking you deeper, his hands gripping your thighs with possessive strength, and you came across his face.
Even as you came down from your high and lay limp against the stone, his tongue continued its work. Gentle now, softer, cleaning every drop of your release, pressing inside you just to feel you clench around him, pulling back to circle your clit until you whimpered with oversensitivity. He worshiped you with his mouth for long minutes, until you finally pushed weakly at his head.
But it seemed the Sea God’s feast was far from over.
You realized this when he took both of his cocks in one hand. They were fully hard again, twin lengths glistening and twitching with renewed need. He held them together, base to tip, and stared directly into your eyes. A single, questioning hum filled the air between you.
The overwhelming intensity of being looked at like that… like you were the most precious, desirable, lovable thing in any world, made a sob catch in your throat. You nodded desperately, even as your exhausted body tensed at the thought of taking them both.
"Please," you whispered, your voice hoarse from screaming. "Please, my Lord– be gentle. I don't know if I can–"
The Sovereign leaned closer and tenderly kissed your sweaty forehead, his other hand coming up to cup the soft curve of your lower belly, silencing your fears with a touch so reassuring it made your eyes sting. When he pulled back, his eyes promised a gentleness and care that you could never expect from the selfish men of your village.
Despite the coiling fear in your gut, you parted your trembling legs wider, accommodating the broad expanse of his tail and hips as he moved between them. He positioned both flared heads at your swollen entrance, rubbing them slowly against your labia, coating them in the mingled essence of both your arousals.
And, you had to admit, the feeling was already shocking. Two thick cocks, both crowned with those inhuman tips, pressing together against a hole that had only ever taken one. You felt the promise of the impossible stretch and whimpered, your hands flying up to grip his broad shoulders, your nails digging into his cool skin.
Then, with slow pressure and a gentle hum, he pushed slowly, his eyes locked on your face with unwavering attention, his body trembling with the effort of restraint, ready to stop at the first flicker of true pain.
But you just didn't want him to stop. You felt each and every ridge and nub dragging against your inner walls, until both cocks were fully seated inside you, their tips pressed firmly against the entrance to your womb. You felt so full that tears of pure, overwhelming sensation leaked from your eyes and ran down your cheeks.
But then your Lord withdrew slightly and thrust again, and both tips pressed against your cervix at once. The sensation made your head tilt back, and if he hadn't slipped his palm between the hard stone and your nape with such inhuman speed, your skull would have cracked against it.
He froze immediately, his eyes wide with profound concern, his big palm cradling your head as if it were made of spun glass. But you were already pulling him closer with your legs locked around his tail, ravenous for more.
"Please," you sobbed, your voice a needy plea. "Please, move! I need– I need–!"
He thrusted again, just once, gently, letting your inner walls adjust to the incredible fullness of being impaled by both of his magnificent cocks. Then, with a squelching sound, he started rocking his hips, watching your face the entire time, his ancient mind cataloging flinch, adjusting his pace and angle to match your every response, playing your body like some kind of instrument.
Drool leaked shamelessly from the corner of your mouth as you stared up at him. His usually composed face was starting to crack – eyes half-lidded and clouded with lust, sharp teeth clenched, remnants of your earlier release still glistening on his nose and chin. The sight of the ancient Sea Sovereign losing himself in the sloppy heat of your cunt made you clench violently around him.
He groaned deeply, the sound low and animalistic, and drove himself harder, fucking you with both cocks in long, powerful strokes. Your back arched off the stone as sweet, high-pitched moans spilled from your lips. One large hand splayed across your waist, pressing your lower stomach firmly against his hard abdomen. The new angle made everything more intense.
Every time he bottomed out, a clear, obscene bulge appeared on your lower belly – the distinct shape of both his thick cocks stretching you from the inside. You could literally watch yourself getting fucked, the bump rising and falling with every thrust.
His gaze dropped to your breasts, presented so prettily to him, still covered by your top. With a low growl, he tore the fabric away completely, exposing you fully to the night air.
His long, forked tongue snaked out, curling around your breast before the dual tips latched onto your hard nipple. He sucked and flicked the sensitive bud while pounding into you, the wet sounds of his cocks destroying your pussy growing louder and nastier.
And then you felt it.
Something thicker, heavier, and far more solid than cum began traveling down the length of his lower cock. One of his shafts expanded noticeably, the ridges flaring as it stretched you even wider.
“H-huh…?” you gasped, eyes flying open in shock.
Your own body couldn't fathom it, spasming and clenching in a confused mix of pleasure and shock against the strange thing that was stretching your channel further.
Your Lord stared back at you, and there was something impossibly ancient and knowing in his gaze. An ageless intent that you couldn't decipher, no matter how hard you tried. His hips pressed forward one final time, driving both tips as deep into your womb.
The exact same moment, the horrible realization settled over you like a warm wave.
"W-wait, my Lord, p-please, I–" You were interrupted by his hands, which came up to circle your body, pressing your arms to your sides. Before you could try to push him back with your trembling legs, the thinner end of his tail wrapped around your ankles, locking you in the same tight leglock you'd had him in moments before.
The first egg slipped from the tip of his lower cock and into your waiting womb, shocking you. The second made you moan as it joined the first. The third made you sob. By the fifth, you were crying openly, your face a mess of tears and slick fluids. One of his eggs stopped at the tight, spasming mouth of your womb, didn't quite make it through the clenched muscle.
The Lord of the Sea leaned down and pressed his cool forehead to your feverish one, humming a resonant melody. The wordless sounds rumbled from his chest and washed over you like a gentle tide, a lullaby older than human memory. It made you go limp in his arms, your resistance melting away, and in that boneless surrender, the next egg slipped past the barrier, and he was able to deposit the rest of his precious brood into the safe cradle of your body.
One of his hands unwrapped from your body and came down to rest on your stomach, pressing gently, feeling the distinct bulge of his eggs inside you.
Then came the flood.
A hot torrent of thick cum erupted from both cocks at once. It was far more voluminous than before, flooding every remaining space around the eggs, cushioning them, warming them, and pressurizing your stuffed womb. The excess gushed out around his cocks in creamy rivers, squirting and bubbling messily from your overstretched pussy with every shallow thrust.
Your belly swelled even further, becoming tight, round, and gravid under his palm. You looked down through tear-blurred eyes at the prominent bulge, feeling impossibly full.
The Sea Sovereign stayed inside you long after his release had ended, holding you, cooing those ancient sounds with his hand massaging your gravid belly. He pressed soft, reverent kisses to your face, your neck, your shoulders, and when his cocks finally softened and slipped from your body, you felt the loss as an acute emptiness. But he immediately gathered you close, his powerful tail curling protectively around your weak legs, and you felt him exhale a contented sigh through his fluttering gills.
You looked up and saw stars scattered across the unfamiliar constellations wheeling overhead, strange and beautiful. And with the sight came realization.
"M-my Lord," you said softly, your voice hoarse, "I need to go back. It is late."
He went still beside you.
Then, for the first time, the melodic baritone of his voice cut through the silence.
"Why?"
The pronunciation of it was strange, as though language itself was foreign to his tongue, but it was unmistakably speech. You stared at him, shock stealing your breath.
"You– you can speak?"
He inclined his head in confirmation.
"Call me Neuvillette from now on, my dearest. Answering your question, yes, I just prefer not to." His voice was strikingly resonant, with a cadence that belonged to the deep places of the world, to currents and tides and the slow turning of centuries. "The words of your kin are... too much and too fast." He paused, his hand pressing gently against your swollen belly. "But I will gladly speak to you in... your language."
"Neuvillette,” you started, shocked upon hearing his statement, “Please! My family will worry! I have to go back!"
"No."
You tried to pull away immediately, and his arm tightened around you. Panic began to thread through your confusion, sharp and cold.
"My Lord, I can’t stay–"
"Open your mouth."
"What? No! Let me go, ple–!"
Before you could react, his tail wrapped around your ankle and pulled. You slid from the rock into the sea, scraping your backside in the process. Your scream became a gurgle as water closed over your head, while Neuvillette dragged you under.
You thrashed, pushing at his chest, clawing at his arms, but he was inexorable. He held you beneath the surface with the patience of something that had waited five hundred years and wouldn’t be denied now. When you tried to kick for air, he pulled you up.
You broke the surface, gasping, coughing, choking, sucking in air with desperate heaves, but you barely filled your lungs before he pulled you under again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Each time Neuvillette let you rise just long enough to hope before dragging you back into the crushing dark.
The tenth time, he didn’t let you rise even when black crept in at the edges of your vision. And through it all, you saw him floating before you, his face calm. His lips parted, and a stream of bubbles escaped.
You fought longer than you thought possible. Your pride, your fear, your desperate need to protest – all of them screaming against surrender. But your body betrayed you, and in your final moment of consciousness, you lunged forward and pressed your mouth to his.
Air flooded your lungs, along with something else.
A hard object, hard and cool, pushed past your lips by his tongue, forced down your throat before you could spit it out. You swallowed reflexively, and pain exploded through your body, and then you knew no more.
You woke to singing, lying on something soft, and above you, the sea surface shimmered with moonlight. Strong arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close to a firm chest with a heartbeat that matched the rhythm of the waves.
Then a voice stopped humming, and human speech rang against your ear, filled with relief so profound it hurt to hear. You jolted and noticed the way your body felt… different.
You looked down at yourself in horror, and where your legs should’ve been, there was something completely different.
Scales covered you from the waist down, catching the moonlight with soft iridescence, shimmering with every small movement. You could feel the way the water moved over your gills, the way your eyes adjusted to the dark without effort, the way your new tail twitched and curled with instincts you didn’t yet understand.
You tried to thrash, and Neuvilette only held you tighter, pressing you against his chest with gentle firmness.
"Quiet, love," he murmured. "Your tail is still weak. You need rest. The transformation takes time."
Tears burned in your eyes, hot and strange in this new body, mixing with the sea around you. You wept, and he held you through it, his lips pressing soft kisses to your temple.
"Do not grieve, my pearl," he said softly, rubbing soft circles onto the skin of your swollen belly. "You wished to see the beauties of this world, did you not?" He pressed his lips to your temple again, lingering. "Now you will. With me."
As his tail twined around yours in the moonlit water, you thought that perhaps belonging to him was not so different from belonging to the sea after all.
Perhaps it was the same thing.
.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!
Series Masterlist: Creatures Features
You: helping him, feeding him fruits, enjoying his company...
Neuvi:
Anyways.
Tbh, I don't really like this chapter. I spent a veeeery long time rewriting and editing it, trying to make it more sensual and kinda poetic, but I feel like I've only made it worse :c
I apologize if there are any mistakes, but I just can't muster up any strength to proofread it for the hundredth time... Still, I hope it not too disappointing.
natural selection | lohen x reader | NSFW | oneshot
summary: your mother told you that a good bunny never trusts a hare. you're sorry, but you can't be the good girl she wanted you to be.
themes: hybrid-canonverse!AU, hybrid-hare!lohen, hybrid-bunny!reader, breeding kink, teasing, bunny mannerisms, dry humping, mating press, standing sex, light humor, porn with feelings, smut and angst, they're in love your honor ♡
word count: 2.7k
It had been approximately seven days since you made accidental eye contact with a hare. Coincidentally, it had been approximately seven days since you were last able to catch a break.
“Too slow!” Lohen exclaimed. “Seriously, Bunny, try a little harder, won’t you?”
Your head whipped around desperately, trying to find the inconspicuous hare’s voice within the dense woods surrounding you. The floppy set of bunny ears on your head were no match for those of Lohen’s—a pair of hare ears that stood straight and were able to detect sound like no other. Feeling your heart pound against your ribcage, you were entrapped by the dire sensation of fight or flight. To run meant to invite him to chase, but to fight was certainly going to end in disaster. What was there for you to do other than to stand paralyzed, unsure of when or how Lohen was going to torment you this time?
“Boo!”
You screamed when you heard his voice, and with a maniacal laugh, he barreled into you. The momentum of your collision sent you both tumbling across the earthen ground, snapping branches and crushing fallen leaves in your wake. Your head was spinning by the time you stopped, that frustrating hare pinning you to the ground beneath him with a cocky grin on his face. You could already feel the bulge in his trousers, pressing into you as he leaned closer.
“You’re terrible at this,” he said, laughing. “Can’t you make the hunt a little more fun?”
“No!” you replied in a sputter. “I didn’t agree to it in the first place!”
“You think you’re gonna be agreeing to it if some other hare catches a whiff of you? If anything, you should be thanking me. It’s great training.”
Your chest heaved with erratic breaths. Staring up into his crimson eyes, your legs squirmed around his hips, heels digging into the mossy ground. Lohen watched you with his shiteating grin, letting you rut against him as your instincts overwhelmed your sensibilities. Rather whiny about it, you wailed, “What kind of mate are you?!”
“Oh, so now I’m your mate.”
“You’re the one who went and decided it!” you sputtered. “Be responsible for your actions!”
“I didn’t decide anything. All I said was that you’re a bunny and I’m a hare. It’s literally in our nature to fuck like crazy, so why not fuck each other?” His teeth peeked through his grin, one of his tall hare ears twitching as if it were nodding in agreement. “Less risky that way, yeah?”
You fervently shook your head. “Don’t talk to me about risk! You’ve put my life in danger for your ego ten times already!”
“Hey, hey—I’d never put you in danger,” he replied stubbornly. “I just use you to attract danger. I love messing with those horny rabbits that come running after you. It’s great entertainment. But,” he said, eyes twinkling, “I’d never let them touch a hair on your pretty little head, Bunny.”
“So then why do I have to train for it?!” you whined. “If you’re going to handle them anyway, then cut the theatrics and fuck me when I ask you to!”
“Jeez,” Lohen said, wincing. “Someone’s needy. To think just yesterday you smacked me for grabbing your ass.”
“You grabbed my ass in public!” you growled. “At work! In front of so many knights!”
“So? How else are they gonna know you’re mine?”
“You are so irritating!”
Your nails clambered for purchase along his shoulders, your hips humping against the curve of his lap. Wetness spread through your undergarments, soaking into the crotch of his pants as you repeatedly mashed yourself into him. Lohen watched you struggle, snickering as he saw fit.
How did you even end up like this? You were simply a new addition to the Knights of Favonius’s ranks, and not even as a member of the militia force. Your role was one that was both simple and safe, a career path that your parents had always desired for you. Your mother had warned you time and time again that a good bunny remained out of the line of fire, kept her head down, and did not get entangled with hares.
“Lohen,” you were whining, tears streaming down your cheeks. Your cunt throbbed, your hips flailing up against his. “Please, I need you.”
“Oh? ‘Need’s a strong word, Bunny.”
“You motherfucker,” you gasped, nails digging into his coat. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it?”
He snorted. “I think you’re begging plenty already, Bun. I’m just taking in the view, you know?”
“Ngh,” you grunted, hinging your knee forward, then back. Again, you pressed your crotch to his, and your leg moved with a mind of its own, your foot stomping into the ground beneath you. You pressed your eyes shut, feeling a shamed heat spread through your neck and into the tops of your cheeks. Your leg jerked repeatedly, and as your stomping grew faster, Lohen only laughed. Leaning his mouth down to your jaw, his voice ghosted hot across your chin.
“You’re so cute when you start thumping, Bun,” he purred in a low, rumbling voice. “Almost makes me wanna fuck you.”
You thumped your foot again, your heart pounding ten times as hard. Letting out a series of embarrassing, dissatisfied grunts, you wriggled beneath Lohen, your animal instincts flaring through your core. Slick upon slick upon slick—you were far too ready for him, but just like a troublesome hare, Lohen did not abide you. Your nails clawed at the fabric of his cape, tears budding the corners of your eyes when your angered grunts mixed with needy whimpers.
What would your parents think if they could see you now? What would your mother; the woman who warned you about hares since you were a child; say, were she privy to how attached you had become to one? You were supposed to be your parents’ golden bunny, yet here you were—laying on the forest floor with a hare on top of you, pleading for him to fulfill your carnal desires.
The worst part was that you didn’t care. Let your parents weep over their disappointment of a daughter. Whenever this hare set his hands on you, you felt alive.
“Please,” you were whispering, high-pitched and breathy. “Lohen, please, I—ngh.” Another involuntary thump of your foot. “I want you.”
He chuckled against the soft of your floppy ear. Giving you a playful nibble, he whispered, “Good job, Bun. I think I like the sound of that a little better.”
You exhaled, your breath shaking as it exited your throat. Lohen reached down to his hip, and when you heard the unmistakable sound of his zipper, you whined his name. He glanced at you with those gorgeous red eyes of his, the ones that had gotten you so whipped for him in the first place, and gave you a smirk so coy, you could die for him right then and there.
It wasn’t the fact that he was a hare that had you so entranced by him. It was the fact that that hare was Lohen.
“Lift up for me?” he asked, giving your legs the lightest of touches. You moved in accordance with him, and as he guided you through it, he said, “Uh-huh, like that.”
His teeth poked through his charming smile. Eyes roaming the length of your body, Lohen purred, “Good girl…you’re so flexible.”
Your knees quivered by your head. Truly, you weren’t built to bend or twist like this, but for Lohen, you would try.
“So pretty,” he murmured, his hands stroking the backs of your upturned thighs. His eyes were trained on your cunt, a flush of red decorating his grinning face. “Are you as wet as I think you are, Bun?”
Desperately, you nodded.
He relinquished a close-lipped laugh. “Guess I’ll have to be the judge of that.”
The sensation of his hot glans against your slick folds sent you curving back into the moss. You reached for your knees, keeping them held back for him, even though your body burned from the strain of it. Making sounds that you’d rather die than hear when you weren’t in a mating state, your toes curled into your flailing feet.
“You’re thumping the air, Bun,” Lohen said, like it wasn’t already obvious. He continued to smear himself up and down the length of your cunt, providing barely enough stimulation to suppress your feral urges. You recalled how full he made you feel, every single night over the past seven days of knowing him, and grunted pitifully.
Hares were generally larger than bunnies—faster and far more powerful, too. Maybe that was why you were so attracted to Lohen, who was lithe like a bunny on the surface, yet so unmistakably hare below the belt. The stretch of his tip against your hole, teasing you, had you sobbing.
“Fuck—me,” you choked out, trying to thump, thump, thump. “Lohen, please. Do something useful, please.”
His sly grin fell from his face. Staring down at you with an open mouth, he began to pant into the air, his ears twitching erratically. Watching your face still, he rubbed his beading head against your sensitive clit, and in a murmur, said, “I wanna breed you so bad.”
That was the thing about hares and bunnies—they both had an insatiable desire to fuck, fuck, fuck—but they weren’t compatible for breeding. That was why bunnies like you were taught to be wary of hares like Lohen, with their silver tongues and promises of sweet nothings. Your whole life, you had been taught that a hare only wanted one thing from a bunny, and that was to use her as he saw fit.
“Bun,” Lohen said, red-faced and gasping. “I wanna breed.”
You couldn’t, and yet—.
“Put it in,” you gasped back. “Lohen, if you want to breed, you have to put it in.”
He let out an odd, strangled noise. Maybe he appreciated the fact that you didn’t point out the obvious, or maybe he was getting influenced by your own state of need. Whatever the case, Lohen’s thick head sank right into your dripping hole, and with a gradual push of his hips, you were full of him.
Were you crying? Were you calling his name? Or were you praying to the Archons above for forgiveness?
“How do you—,” Lohen’s breath hitched. “How do you want me, Bun?”
“Hard,” you slurred. “Hard, Lohen, hard.”
His boots shuffled across the grassy forest floor. Half-squatting over you, Lohen placed his hands to the back of yours, helping you keep yourself ever so delicately folded in half for him. After a glance at you, assessing your comfort level no doubt, he quickly smacked his pelvis to yours.
You were flailing again, your throat hoarse from your cries. Slowly, Lohen’s girth retreated within you, and right when you were just a touch from empty, it shoved into you all at once all over again.
“Lohen,” you were sobbing, your nails digging into your own flesh. “Lohen.”
“Bun,” he panted back. “You’re…so fuckin’ tight.”
The slam of his hips punctuated his sentence. This was almost too much for you.
“Fuck, I…” Lohen hissed aloud. “I want to breed so bad, Bun. Fuck a bunny right…into you.”
With each final word, came another forceful pound of his dick inside of you. Your lower lip was quivering from your sobs and whines, and when Lohen noticed, he squeezed his hands around yours, hesitating.
“How do you want me?” he asked tenderly.
“Harder,” you choked. “Even harder.”
Lohen held you midair. It was unfathomable, how quickly he could fuck you while also supporting all of your body weight in those lean arms of his. You had never doubted Lohen’s strength, but it was times like these that reminded you just how lucky you were to have a hare like him.
Your back was pressed to a nearby tree trunk, giving Lohen the leverage to grunt by your ear. The way he chuffed and whined, nuzzling against your floppy ear with lustful fervor all the while, made your mind feel fuzzier than the ears atop his head. The pound of his hips was relentless, reminiscent of a hare in rut, and as the wet slaps of his body against yours filled the air around you, you worried for a moment that you may attract the attention of any keen-nosed rabbits who happened to wander by.
“Bunny,” Lohen was gasping. “Your pussy feels so good.”
What could you do in response to that, other than grab a fistful of his hair and wail? His breath hitched against your sensitive ear, and in a growling voice, he asked, “You gonna take it?”
Yes, yes, yes—of course you would.
“How much?”
All of it. All of it.
Lohen laughed, that giggle slowly turning into a hot moan. Pounding you so fast that you weren’t sure your womb would make it through this, he dug his teeth into your neck and groaned.
“Bunny,” he mumbled through mouthfuls of your skin, sharp pain mixing with sweet pleasure. “I wanna give you a hare that looks just like you.”
Why did your eyes bud with tears, when you thought about the impossibility of it?
“Fuck, Bun,” Lohen gasped, fucking you so hard your back shifted up the tree with each thrust. “You’d be such a good mom.”
“Please stop,” you sobbed, your nails clambering for purchase in the flesh of his shoulders. “Lohen.”
“You’re gonna give me what I want,” he whispered, the bridge of his nose ghosting against yours, “won’t you, Bun?”
You biologically couldn’t. You knew you couldn’t.
“Yes,” you whined anyway, throbbing and clenching around his plunging dick. “I will.”
His eyes widened. A shadow of darkness cast across his face, and in a soft, tiny whisper, he said, “Thank you.”
His mouth was on yours before you could think to respond. He kissed you hard, filling your mouth with the taste of mint bubblegum, a silly habit of his that you had found quite bunny-like for a hare, but was quickly becoming one of your favorite parts of him. Stretching your arms around his neck, you pulled him in close, the taste of your salty tears dancing between your clashing mouths. There was euphoria, there was longing, and there was a gnawing ache within you—the pain spurred from your inability to meet your mate’s needs.
If only you were a hare, like him. Strong like him, fast like him, able to keep up with his every move the way he was able to keep up with yours. Maybe then things wouldn’t be so hard for you. Maybe Lohen would be happier.
“I love you,” he said when your lips parted, his cheeks as crimson as those sweet eyes of his.
Your lower lip trembled.
“Fuck,” he spat, his eyes fluttering shut. “Here you go, Bunny.”
Dear Gods, this was what you needed. To feel him pumping you full, filling your womb with every last drop of his love for you. To cum from the pure stimulation of his affections; gasping, hot, and blinding; knowing that even if his seed would never take, he loved you.
“Good girl,” Lohen whispered fiercely, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Really good girl.”
“I love you,” you whined back, hiccuping through your sobs. “I wish I could be a mom for you.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Don’t cry over it, Bun.” He smiled, his eyes softening. “You know I was just saying things, right? I don’t want you to stress over it.”
“I just,” you croaked, “want to give you what you want.”
“…You really do love me.”
You nodded. Lohen chuckled.
“Well. I’m glad you picked me, Bun.”
Your hands smoothed out around his shoulders. He leaned in so close, his smiling lips brushed yours.
“You can do it,” he crooned. “I’ll just fuck you until you can. Sound good?”
You smiled, laughing in spite of your tears. Nodding, you said, “That sounds wonderful, Lohen.”
“One more time then?”
“One more—time!”
Leaning your head against the pine-scented bark, you offered your prayers to Celestia. Once more, your favorite hare began another passionate attempt to complete you, and you couldn’t have been more enamored with him if you tried.
Sure, you may have been a bad daughter. Disobedient and unwise. But whenever Lohen touched you, you never felt anything but the love between you. If that was so wrong, then you didn’t mind being bad at all.
a/n: as soon as i did more research into bunnies vs hares and realized they couldn't mate... i was like shiet lets turn this a lil angsty. p.s. did yall know bunnies thump and grunt when mad? teehee.
this is a oneshot that is tumblr-exclusive (for now)! if you liked it, please consider leaving a heart! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡ might crosspost it to AO3, but im not sure if i might want to continue this hybrid!AU so i'd rather wait and see first.
if you would like to be tagged for my genshin x reader content, please check my rules post! ♡
🩵⊹ lohen's bunnies Ი𐑼🩵
@windsgasp, @hk-library, @pandasandcreampuffs, @swansloves, @captaintucki,
@fionnalovesanimeboys, @konzumeken, @jiaennie, @loonytunesmith, @darealsubreposter,
@orphicmasterpeace, @h1ghscore, @narumichii, @lohensn1wifey, @zhongloml,
@curiouslilbeast, @thatoneem0kid, @julie0444, @illegalseaweed, @rinsowangiy,
@solluxyuriblast, @irrelevant-kermit, @ang3lfall, @kithewanderingme, @thimiko,
@prettysweet02, @arisaturn, @agathawells, @kirbykirbx, @aoi-schoenheit,
@heavyonsloth, @thatoneem0kid, @s-shsh, @soonette, @rioceanid
masterlist | ask | ao3 | more of this pair
coming back with another request heh.. I LOVE YOUR WRITING OOMFIE(´ ˘ `)
perchance another chuuya x fem!reader who's in the pm and theyve known each other since 15(again gulp....) and theyve always been inseparable since 16 and constantly paired up for missions and hanging out after said missons with chuuya being more productive of reader, and now at 22, theyre on a mission where reader has to flirt w/ the person for info and chuuya gets jealous which leads to smut and fluff / aftercare (ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ)
Thanks for the request, mootie! ❤️
FINALLY one that's not too short and not rushed 🥹❤️🩹
Enjoy!
Gravity holds us together
Pairing: Chuuya Nakahara x Fem!Pm!Reader
WARNING: Smut!
CW: Years of pining, love confessions, unprotected sex, French Chuuya and French words just because.
Also, here's the translation of some French words that appear: Ay, merde/merde = Oh, shit/shit; Zut = Damn.
The first time you met Chuuya Nakahara, he knocked you flat on your ass in a back alley behind a shipping container.
You were 15, scrawny, and fresh off the streets of the slums — Mori had picked you up the same week he'd picked up Chuuya, and someone in personnel thought it'd be funny to throw two feral kids into a training ring together and see who came out breathing. Chuuya had pinned you in under four seconds, his knee digging into your sternum and those blue eyes — the kind of blue that looked like they'd been weathered by salt and wind — staring down at you with something between contempt and grudging interest.
"You telegraph your right hook." He said, and then he offered you his hand.
You took it.
By 16, you were inseparable. The kind of inseparable that made the older mafia members roll their eyes and mutter about puppies in heat. You and Chuuya ate together, trained together, got dispatched together. Mori stopped assigning you separate partners because neither of you would shut up about it — "I work better with her." Chuuya would say, arms crossed, the same stubborn set to his jaw that meant he'd die on this hill. And you'd stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder, saying nothing because you didn't need to.
He taught you how to fight dirty. You taught him how to pick a lock. He showed you which wines were worth the price and which were overpriced vinegar. You showed him the roof of the Port Mafia headquarters — the one with the perfect view of the harbor at sunset — and claimed it as yours, and he never once went up there without you.The first time he killed someone in front of you, you threw up behind a dumpster. He stood guard, hand on your back, and didn't say a word about it. Not then. Not ever. That night he brought you warm sake and sat with you on your shitty apartment floor until four in the morning, talking about nothing — the weather, the times Dazai had annoyed him (a big list btw). And slowly, you fell asleep against his shoulder, and he didn't move until your alarm went off five hours later.
The first time you killed someone in front of him, his hand found yours in the aftermath. Squeezed once. Let go.
At 22, you and Chuuya were the Port Mafia's most effective pair — a reputation that preceded you through every negotiation, every raid, every assassination. He was gravity and violence given human form, a god in a tailored suit. You were the reason the information dried up, the witness recanted, the enemy's second-in-command developed a sudden, convenient case of amnesia. You worked in the spaces between his destruction, and you fit together like two halves of a broken coin.
So when Mori called you both into his office at ten in the morning, you assumed it was another routine cleanup.
It was not.
"There's a dealer operating out of the Golden Dragon." Mori said, hands folded on his desk, that quiet smile on his face that meant he was enjoying himself more than he should. "He's been stepping on our distribution lines for three months. We need to know who's backing him before we move."
Chuuya leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "So we grab him, bring him in, make him talk."
"Normally, yes." Mori's eyes slid to you. "However, our intel suggests the dealer has a particular weakness. He frequents a private lounge in the Diamond District — members only, very exclusive. He's known to respond well to... feminine attention."
The silence that followed was loud enough to bruise.
"No." Chuuya said it flat. Final. Like Mori had suggested something absurd, like selling the headquarters to the Armed Detective Agency.
"I wasn't asking, Chuuya."
"She's not some — some bait you can dress up and—"
"Mori." You cut in, stepping forward before Chuuya could detonate completely. "You want me to work him for information."
"Yes. The lounge is monitored — he'd recognize any known Port Mafia faces. Chuuya will be stationed outside as backup. You'll wear a wire. Standard extraction protocol if things go sideways."
"Things won't go sideways." You said, and you meant it.
Beside you, Chuuya made a sound like a pressure valve about to blow.
The dress was black. Short. Backless. The kind of thing that made you look expensive and dangerous in equal measure. You'd checked your reflection in the mirror three times before leaving, adjusted your hair, tested the wire taped to your ribs.
Chuuya hadn't said a word to you since the briefing.
He drove and the silence in the car was thick enough to cut with a knife. His hands were white-knuckled on the wheel. His jaw was a hard line of tension. He'd left the hat at the safe house, which meant he was in full mission mode, which meant he was furious. (Chuuya on a mission without his hat? That guy is cooked 😭)
"It's just a job, Chuuya."
"I know what it is."
"Then why are you acting like I'm walking into a warzone?"
He didn't answer. The streetlights slid across his face in intervals, catching the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the dark concentration in his eyes. He pulled up two blocks from the Diamond District, killed the engine, and finally turned to look at you.
His gaze went down your body once. Slow. Measured. Then he looked away like it hurt.
"Two hours." He said. "You're in and out in two hours. If you're not out, I'm coming in."
"Chuuya."
"If the wire goes dead, I'm coming in."
"Chuuya."
"If he touches you somewhere I can't see on the camera feed, I'm—"
"Hey." You reached across the console and grabbed his wrist. His pulse was hammering under your fingers. Fast. Rabbit-fast. "Look at me."
He did. Those blue eyes, still the same color as the harbor in winter, flickered over your face like he was trying to memorize it.
"I've got this." You said. "I've had this since we were sixteen. Remember the Hattori job? The casino heist? I talked my way through both of those with my hands literally tied behind my back. A drunk dealer in a velvet room isn't going to be the thing that breaks me."
"I know." His voice was rough. "That's not— I know you can handle it. That's not what I'm—"He stopped. Swore under his breath. Pulled his hand free of yours and ran it through his hair, messing up the careful ginger waves. "Just— be careful." He finished, and it sounded like it cost him something.
The dealer's name was Nishikawa. He was 35, with slicked-back gray hair and rings on every finger. He smelled like expensive cologne and cheaper whiskey, and he bought you a drink within thirty seconds of you settling onto the barstool beside him.
You turned on the charm like a faucet.
It was a skill you'd perfected over years — the art of becoming whoever the mission needed you to be. Tonight you were a bored heiress, slumming it in the Diamond District, looking for a little danger to spice up your week. You laughed at his jokes. You touched his arm when he made a point. You let your dress ride up just a fraction of an inch when you crossed your legs.
Nishikawa ate it up. Leaned closer. Ordered another round.
Behind you, somewhere in the dark, you knew Chuuya was watching through the camera feed in the car. You could feel his attention like a pressure between your shoulder blades.
Stop thinking about him. Focus.
"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" Nishikawa asked, his breath hot against your ear.
Forty-five minutes of this. Forty-five minutes of laughing at bad jokes, letting his hand graze your knee, tilting your head back to expose your throat when you drank. Forty-five minutes of feeding him cues and watching him talk, the information trickling out a piece at a time: his supplier, their routes, the name of the man who held the leash.
You got everything you needed by the time your drink was empty.
"I'd love to continue this somewhere more private." You said, sliding off the stool, letting your fingers trail across his chest. "But I'm afraid I have an early morning."
"Same time tomorrow?"
You gave him a smile that didn't reach your eyes. "We'll see."
The walk back to the car felt like stepping off a stage. The heels were killing you. The dress was getting itchy. And somewhere in your chest, a knot of tension you hadn't realized you'd been holding started to unwind.
You opened the passenger door and slid in.
The silence that greeted you was cold.
Chuuya was staring straight ahead, both hands on the wheel, his knuckles white. The engine was running. The camera feed was dark on the dashboard screen. He'd turned it off — or he'd watched until he couldn't anymore and then shut it down.
"Got the intel." You said, keeping your voice light. "Supplier's name is—"
"Not now."
The words came out clipped. Sharp. His accent was thicker than usual, the French creeping in at the edges the way it always did when he was losing control of something. (I headcanon that Verlaine teaches Chuuya French ❤️🩹).
You opened your mouth to push, then closed it.
He pulled away from the curb without another word.
The safe house was a fifteen-minute drive. He made it in nine. The apartment was spare — one bedroom, a kitchenette, a couch you'd crashed on a dozen times over the years. Standard Port Mafia property, the kind of place you rotated through when a mission required proximity.
Chuuya walked in ahead of you, threw his coat over the back of a chair, and stood in the middle of the living room with his back to you. His shoulders were tight. His hands were fists at his sides.
"Chuuya."
He didn't turn around.
"You're being weird. Talk to me."
"I'm not being weird." The word came out bitten-off, spat like a curse. "I'm being reasonable. Which is more than I can say for whatever the hell that was back there."
"That was a job. I did my job. We have the intel. We can move on the supplier in—"
"I know what it was." He turned then, and the look on his face stopped you mid-sentence. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, jaw tight enough that you could see the muscle jumping in his cheek. "I watched you let him touch you for forty-five minutes. I watched you smile at him. I watched you—"
"He didn't touch me any more than I—"
"He put his hand on your knee."
"He put his hand on my knee, Chuuya. That's nothing. I've had worse on—"
"You've had worse on missions, yeah, I know." He stepped closer. Then closer. Then he was right in front of you, close enough that you could smell the leather of his black gloves, the faint trace of his cologne. "I've been watching you do this for years. Smile at men. Flirt with men. Use that face, that voice, to get what we need and walk away like it didn't cost you anything."
"It doesn't cost me anything."
"Don't lie to me."
His hand came up and caught your chin. Not hard. Not gentle, either. Firm, insistent, tilting your face up so you had to meet his eyes.
"I know you better than anyone on this earth." He said, low and rough. "I've known you since we were kids throwing punches in a back alley. I know when you're performing and when you're not. And I know—" His voice cracked, just barely. "—I know that tonight cost you something. And I couldn't do a goddamn thing about it."
"Chuuya..."
"I was sitting in that car wanting to kill him." The words tumbled out, raw and unguarded. "Wanting to walk in there and put my hand through his chest and take you out of there. And I couldn't. Because it was a job. Because you're a professional. Because I don't—" He stopped. Swallowed. "I don't have a right to feel like this."
That last part came out quiet. Almost too quiet to hear.
Your heart was pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat.
"You have every right." You said.
His eyes searched yours. "What?"
"To feel like that." You lifted your hand and covered his where it still held your chin. "You've had the right for six years, Chuuya. You've always had the right."
The silence that followed was the kind that changed things.
He stared at you like you'd just told him the world was flat. Like the ground had shifted under his feet and he hadn't learned how to balance yet.
"What?"
"Are you really this dense?" Your voice came out half-laugh, half-sob. "We've been partners for seven years. We've slept in the same bed after bad missions. You bring me wine when I've had a rough week. You taught me how to fight and I taught you how to feel and you're standing here telling me you don't have the right to be jealous?"
"I'm not—"
"You're jealous."
"I'm protective."
"You're jealous."
His mouth snapped shut. The muscle in his jaw jumped again. And then — slowly, like he was afraid of breaking something — his hand slid from your chin to your jaw, from your jaw to the curve of your neck, his thumb resting against your pulse point.
"Say it again." He said, and his voice had dropped an octave. "Say I have the right."
"You have the right."
"Fuck."
He kissed you like a man who'd been drowning for seven years and just broke the surface.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was hungry — his mouth on yours, his other hand coming up to fist in the back of your dress, pulling you flush against him. You made a sound against his lips — surprise, want, relief — and he swallowed it like he was starving.
"Chuuya—"
"I've wanted this for so long."
His confession hit your mouth between kisses, ragged and desperate. His hands were everywhere — your waist, your hip, the bare skin of your back where the dress dipped low. He touched you like he was trying to memorize every curve, every line, every inch of skin he'd spent years pretending he didn't want.
"Bedroom." You managed.
He picked you up like you weighed nothing — which, with his ability, you basically did — and carried you through the door, depositing you on the mattress with surprising gentleness before his body covered yours. "Tell me if you want me to stop." He said against your throat, and you could feel the tremor in his voice. The fear. The aching, desperate need for this to be real. "Tell me if—"
"Chuuya Nakahara, if you stop I will actually kill you."
He laughed — a broken, relieved sound — and then his mouth found yours again.
The dress ended up on the floor. His shirt followed. Your bra went somewhere between the second kiss and the third, and by the time his mouth found your breast, you were already arching into him, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.
"Ay, merde..." He murmured against your skin, the French slipping out when you gasped. "I've thought about this. I've dreamed about this. You have no idea."
"Show me."
He did.
His mouth traced a path down your body — your throat, the hollow of your collarbone, the space between your breasts, the sensitive skin of your stomach. He took his time. He lingered. Every touch was a question, every kiss an answer, and by the time his fingers found the waistband of your underwear, you were shaking.
"Look at me."
You did. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, a flush of red across his cheekbones. He looked wrecked and reverent all at once.
"I'm going to take care of you." He said. "I'm going to make you forget every man who's ever touched you. I'm going to make sure you know who you belong to."
"I don't belong to—"
"Yes, you do." He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear. "And I belong to you. Have since we were sixteen. Just took me six years to say it out loud."
He pulled your underwear down. His mouth found you a moment later, and you stopped thinking entirely.
He learned your body the way he'd learned to fight — with focus, with precision, with an almost violent dedication to getting it right. His tongue found the places that made you gasp and stayed there. His fingers found the places that made you arch and pressed deeper. He learned the rhythm of your hips, the catch in your breath, the way your hands fisted in the sheets when you were close.
"Chuuya—"
"I've got you." His voice was rough, muffled against your thigh. "Come for me. I've got you."
You did, and it shattered you.
He didn't stop. He worked you through it, drawing out every last tremor, every aftershock, until you were pulling at his hair — too much, too sensitive — and he finally relented, crawling up your body to kiss you again. You tasted yourself on his lips. It should have been embarrassing. It wasn't.
"My turn." You said, reaching for his belt.
He caught your wrist. "Not yet."
"Chuuya—"
"I need to be inside you." The words came out raw, stripped of pretense. "I need to feel you. I've waited too long to— please."
Please.
The word from Chuuya Nakahara was almost unheard of. You nodded.
He opened the bedside drawer with his ability — a flicker of red, a drawer sliding open, a foil packet finding his hand — and you watched him roll the condom on with hands that shook just slightly. The sight of him like this — undone, desperate, his hair a mess, his chest heaving — was something you wanted to burn into memory.
He settled between your legs. The head of his cock pressed against you, and he stopped, his forehead dropping to yours.
"Tell me it's okay."
"It's okay."
"Tell me you want this."
"I've wanted this since forever, Chuuya. Please."
He pushed in.
The stretch was perfect — a fullness that pushed the breath out of your lungs, a pressure that made your eyes roll back. He filled you completely, inch by inch, and when he was finally in — buried to the hilt, his hips flush against yours — he let out a sound that was almost broken.
"Zut!" he breathed. "You feel— I can't—"
"Move."
He did.
The first few thrusts were slow, almost testing. He watched your face like he was looking for cues, reading your pleasure in the way your mouth fell open, the way your nails dug into his shoulders. And when you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him deeper, something in him snapped.
"Merde—" He fucked into you harder, faster, his rhythm falling apart as he chased the edge. "I'm not going to last. I'm sorry, I can't— it's been so long— too long, I've wanted this for—"
"Then come."
You pulled his mouth down to yours. "Screw that condom. Come inside me, Chuuya. I want to feel it."
He did. He pulled out just enough to pull the condom off, then thrusted back into you, the new sensation sending your eyes backwars.
He came with a groan that was almost a sob, his hips stuttering, his body pressing yours into the mattress. You felt him pulse inside you, felt the way his whole body went rigid and then soft, felt the weight of him collapsing against you like a man who'd finally, finally set down a burden he'd been carrying for years.
Afterward, you lay tangled together in sheets that smelled like both of you, the window cracked open to let in the cool night air. Chuuya's head was on your chest, your hand in his hair, his arm wrapped around your waist so tightly it was almost possessive.
"Tell me it wasn't just the jealousy." He said, his voice muffled against your skin.
"It wasn't just the jealousy."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." You combed your fingers through his hair. "I've loved you for a long time, Chuuya. I just didn't think you'd ever want—"
He lifted his head and kissed you, soft and slow, the kind of kiss that said more than words ever could.
"I've wanted you since the first time you fell asleep on my shoulder." He said when he pulled back. "I've wanted you since you held my hand after my first kill. I've wanted you since—" He laughed, a little breathless. "Since the beginning. It was always you."
You felt your throat tighten. "It was always you too."
He settled back against your chest, his ear over your heart, and you felt him smile.
"Good." He said. "Because I'm not letting you go now that I've got you."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
The night settled around you like a blanket, warm and safe. Outside, the city hummed its endless song. Inside, for the first time in six years, neither of you was alone.
