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breakup/makeup where there’s angst during a mission, reader and tams fight and breakup. Tams is beat up about it and talks to delmon about how to fix it. Delmon tells him to talk it out/communicate or talk her through why he’s upset, which Tamsy translates to “talking her through it” wink wink nudge nudge
“I know it's over,”
"Still I cling on."
I know it's over ~The smiths
Tamsy x Fem!Reader
Tags : Praise kink, porn with PLOT?!, angst, hurt/comfort, ambiguous rls, toxic, unhealthy coping mechanisms, exes who aren't over each other, not that freaky, no use of y/n, not proofread (it's like rlly obv tho)
A/n : I'm SO SORRY this took wayyy too long oh em gee also I kept re writing this like 3 separate times bc l did not like my past iterations (son) but I jst ended up going to the overly angsty route hope ydm :(
Wc : 1613
‘No matter how much you change. I'll still know it's you by the imprint of your spine.’
Tamsy presses his chest against your back, like holding you tighter will keep you from slipping past his grasp. “C’mon, I'm still here.” He reassures.
He kisses the nape of your neck and you hiss, it's like you want to run away and stay simultaneously.
‘I just want you to be good and right at the same time.’
What sucks the most is that you don't feel guilty. You don't feel guilty being held by the same person you said nights ago you wanted better from.
Neither of you do.
Delmon casts a worried and solemn look towards Tamsy, his arms folded over his front.
Tamsy—Of all people. It wasn't surprising how Delmon was a worrywart to everyone. Constantly triple checking no one gets left behind, trying to hype up the squad before a mission, you name it.
But Tamsy? The man known for his smooth demeanor and charm, is looking the complete opposite as of this moment.
His tie is undone, his brows knitted, and his foot is tapping absentmindedly on the hard wooden floor. His hands unable to sit still as he constantly tries to push back his stray hairs, only for them to fall out of place in mere seconds.
“What're you looking so down in the mouth for?”
“Ew?” His nose scrunches in surprise. “First of all, don't even describe a frown like that ever again.”
“So you admit you're frown—”
“Second of all,” he interjects, closing his eyes in irritation. “I'm not.” He says. But the hand on his chin is saying everything but that.
It's a rare sight to see Tamsy even act like this. He only ever gets this pissy and arrogant in private while he opts to keep his oh so angelic persona and flaunts like a prize while secretly planning a “harmless” prank or two.
And now there's a massive gaping hole in his plans. Or the contrary—he has no plans.
He still remembers you pulling away from him, telling him that maybe if he wants to control someone so badly he should just date a puppet with a pretty face.
“I just want what's best for you.” Followed by “You never listen to me.” And “I’m just looking out for your safety.”
It's as if you're the one at fault for having boundaries and wishes you don't want to be ignored. Like you're wrong for even feeling angry and doubting him because, quote—“I do everything I do for you.”
Bullshit.
The argument escalates and eventually it ends with a swift “we're over.” and a half-hearted attempt of reconciliation by telling each other to find better.
And now he's left for the vultures to pick apart his insides and figure out what the hell is wrong with him, because over his dead body would he ever try to march into something without a solid, concrete plan.
“Ya listenin’?”
“Yeah yeah,” he scoffs. Delmon is one of the few people that Tamsy can let loose for a little. “I'll catch up with the mission later.” Keyword—little.
He's a passionate person who's earnest and cares a lot. While he does get a tad too loud, it's good to drown out your thoughts every once in a while…or every millisecond at this point.
For every grueling day without you he might just get on his clutch his hands together and start believing in a miracle as much as he'd hate to admit that.
The sphereites above probably made you just to bring a man like him to his knees.
“As I was saying,” Delmon clears his throat after realizing Tamsy is starting to stare into space with a blank expression, his incessant foot tapping still not easing. “You…wanna talk about it?”
He rolls his eyes and resumes trying to fix his hair like it'll make him magically forget the heart sinking realization that he's the only one still hoping.
“It's ‘bout her ain't it?”
His hands freeze mid air for a split second, his ego—which had been hurt before—is currently being beaten fully into the ground.
“What makes you say that?”
“You make it obvious.”
“That…?”
“You're clueless.” He sits down, his larger frame forcing Tamsy to—begrudgedly—make space. “Plus you're overthinking it. It's simple really.”
“Everything is simple to you, Delmon.” He refuses to make eye contact, choosing to deliberately ignore what's in front of him. “It's complicated.”
“Correction, you're making it complicated.” Delmon crosses his arms over his chest with a smug look on his face while Tamsy rolls his eyes in irritation.
“Then tell me what to do.”
He closes his eyes in faux focus, then tapping the bottom of his fist into his open hand like he's revealed some grand scheme from the universe itself. “What's stopping you from talking to her and dunno… explaining how you feel?”
“I want her to find better.” Tamsy scoffs, exhausted at everything. “...but I also don't want to think that what we had was replaceable.” He mumbles, ashamed to even be feeling the way that he is.
“Being loved again doesn't erase the fact that you were loved once.” He grins, his heart a little heavy. “I'm sure whatever you two had still weighs on her. Just… tell her about it.”
Tamsy drags a hand across his face with loud sigh. “I'm having a hard time even talking about it.” Seriously, what's wrong with this guy?
Delmon laugs. “Just talk her through it, I'm sure it'll be fine.” Probably.
“You can do this.” He presses a sweet kiss to your temple, breath half sure and half content.
The familiar nickname he gave you fills the empty silence, he wasn't quick to stop himself and you bit your tongue in frustration. Hearing him say your name feels way too good for it to be wrong.
Whiny pleas fill the room, you move your hips against his for more friction. “I'm so close…” You gasp, your hand trying to snake in between where the two of you are connected only for him to swat it away.
“Mhmm…” he mumbles close to your ear. “I can get you there.” He always did. There was no doubt about that.
You and Tamsy never had a stable relationship, and it was to no surprise, really.
He was calculative, he held you at arms length in fear that you'll get too close and realize who he is. But at the same time he wanted you isolated and to keep you all to himself.
You were the complete opposite. You didn't want to be bound down to one person and the idea of being perceived scared you. Tamsy wanted to strip down the walls you've built up to see you vulnerable, beneath him, beautiful but in pain.
Is his love really good if it has to hurt first?
His thrusts slow down, his eyes search for closed ones in desperation. Like his devotion to controlling you disguised as love and safety can change his actions.
His hands find your clit, soothing circles while murmuring sweet praises in your ears.
You bite down on the pillow to not let any sounds escape you, the last thing you'd need right now is for your neighbors to realize what you're doing with Tamsy—of all people.
Pressure starts building more and more on your lower stomach and you start meeting him halfway through his thrust. A gargled, choked sound spilling past your lips as you try to reach your climax.
“I love you.” Tamsy breathes out, hands shaking. He's held dying people in his arms time and time again, but compared to this moment—somehow—he's felt less.
Just how many I love you’s does it take for it to finally have an effect?
You reach your climax, legs shaking and sweat dripping from your forehead. You keep your face hidden from him, head hung low between your shoulders and hovering over the pillow.
At the same time you hear labored breathing, with a drawn out high pitched sound followed by the feeling of warm liquid on your back. “Wasn't so hard now was it?” He chuckles, and your heart drops at the sound. “I'll take care of you now.”
Why does his lips on your neck feel so intimate? He could feel your pulse jump by the contact of his lips, his teeth lightly grazing it. The fear of him sinking his canines on your flesh flash before your eyes.
But instead of him tasting the red of your blood, stabbing your neck with his teeth and making you bleed out, he chose to kiss.
He learnt to be gentler with his love from you. But a love as gentle as yours could never cure Tamsy.
Tamsy wiped off his release on your back with a damp towel, letting you come down from you high in soft breaths.
Unmoving moments pass before any of you say a word, talking now of all times would break the temporary spell you've casted to one another. Your chest rises and falls peacefully before—
“Do you think we can still love each other?”
The air feels tense. Seconds pass but it feels like an eternity as you mull it over. You turn away from him, already picking up your discarded clothes from the floor.
He's silent for a few seconds. Staring at your back and the way your hair brushes and falls on your shoulder blades. You're so close that he could trace the outline of your spine with his hands like he once did with his lips. “I can't tell you ‘we can’ and mean it, Tamsy.”
You finally turn to face him for the first time since the sun set. He moves closer, hands cupping the side of your face in fear of repeating what happened the other night.
“Then just act like it.” And you bring your lips together as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
I hate my writing sm I'm gonna rip my hair out 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 tamsy give me that tongue tongue tongue 😂😂😂😂😂 distract me😂😂😂
The specific humiliation of sharing your writing with someone and then watching them read it in front of you in real time. they pause. why did they pause. that was a bad pause. now they're nodding but what does the nod mean. now they look up and say "wow" and you need to know IMMEDIATELY what kind of wow that was. there are at least six different wows and only one of them is good and you have aged fourteen years waiting to find out which one.
Something nobody prepares you for is that the better you get at writing the harder it becomes. beginners write freely because they don't know enough to know what's wrong. then you learn. and suddenly you can see every single flaw in real time as you're making it and you have to write anyway while your own brain is in the corner going "that's a weak verb. that transition is lazy. you've used that word three times." getting good at this is mostly just getting better at ignoring yourself.
SYNOPSIS: Seeking to deepen his understanding of the human mind, The Doctor offers a ‘special’ experiment to his favourite subordinate—you—and his dear friend, Regrator. Amidst the heat of the study, the fine line between scientific curiosity and personal intrusion blurs as the Second Harbinger finds himself joining in on the fun.
CONTENT WARNING: DUBCON, fatui!reader, reader is dottore’s subordinate, reader is referred to as ‘miss’, petty bickering between the old men, slight scientific jargon, prob inaccurate science stuff (sorry), slight pervert pantalone, smut (mdni), nipple play (?), pantalone-centric in first half of smut, p*rn w/o plot, exhibitionism, dottore gets FOMO lowkey, implied use of aphrodisiac (m), p in v, protected sex but eventual unprotected sex, threesome, double penetration, anal sex (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, not beta read.
WORD COUNT: 8.2k
NOTES: happy june :”3 !! i hope you enjoy this very self indulgent piece! i haven’t written a threesome in ages so apologies if its a bit clunky </3. div: babyg4rlhelps
The hallway leading to The Doctor’s laboratory was eerily quiet, his subordinates—like yourself—were currently on break at the cafeteria indulging in much needed fuel to power through yet another hectic day. The soles of your shoes echoed throughout the metallic floors, it served as a reminder at how deserted the corridor was; even though you’ve walked down this same path for years, the atmosphere never once failed to lick an icy shiver down your spine. It didn’t help how lifeless and dull these hallways were. As for the purpose of your early return in The Doctor’s laboratory, one of your colleagues had told you that the Harbinger required your presence urgently, and given your colleagues' words, it seemed to be a matter of importance.
Though, you wondered why The Doctor had specifically asked for you; as far as you were aware, your ranking as his subordinate wasn’t anything special—merely conducting experiments and quality control were your tasks, just like all the other subordinates under his authority. Ah, you didn’t mess up anything, did you? You always always followed protocols and it wasn’t like The Doctor had previously given you an earful for messing up an experiment.
In fact, he had been nothing but full of praise towards you; there was one instance where the Harbinger gleefully praised your intellect. Although to others, he never held back on his dissatisfaction whenever a colleague of yours messed up certain experimental procedures. The Doctor always spoke to them of the importance of materials as they were not easily obtainable, and to always carefully read the protocols. Unfortunately, his rather strange bias towards you made you the butt of the jokes amongst your colleagues in cafeteria conversations, and you were more than certain they were currently laughing at you behind your back.
“Hah! She’s like a teacher’s pet but instead of a teacher it's Lord Dottore! Hahahahahaha!” One of your colleagues started right after you were told The Doctor needed you back at the laboratory.
Of course, it was all light hearted but you wished they were a bit more mature about the situation because sometimes you couldn’t help but feel . . . weird around Lord Dottore at times—especially at times where he’d lean over your shoulder to inspect your task for the day. Maybe he simply needed a closer look but the way his chest ghosted against your back had you biting the inside of your cheeks.
Stepping inside the laboratory, you were greeted with an empty space, devoid of the man you were looking for. The room was how everyone left it before heading to the cafeteria—powered equipment turned off, hazardous chemicals stored away, and several documents sprawled across counters. For a supposedly urgent matter, you expected him to be at least present in his own laboratory.
Confused, you called out, “. . Lord Dottore?”
Silence stretched for a few moments before you received a response, “I am in my office. It would be preferable if you joined me.”
At the sound of his familiar voice, you followed its origin where it led you to the slightly ajar door to his office. Your heart pounded against your chest, you’ve only been inside there once to drop off research notes because the person who usually did it was absent that day, The Doctor also wasn’t inside when you had entered previously so this was your first time in his office with him.
Something about that unnerved you. Sure, he was somewhat ‘nicer’ to you but there wasn’t denying the fact that he was an interesting individual but you were under the same organisation, so it wasn’t your place to question the Harbinger nor his motives.
As you walked inside, you quietly closed the door behind out of politeness before turning around to get on one knee and bow your head. During the brief movement, you caught a familiar tall figure standing just off to the side of The Doctor’s desk.
“Lord Dottore, Lord Regrator.” But what was he doing here?
There wasn’t much you knew about Lord Regrator other than he was the Ninth Harbinger who was in charge of economic policies in the nation.
“There’s no need for formalities. Sit. I called you here to discuss a special experiment.” Dottore gestured a gloved hand at the empty seat before his desk, the corners of his lips slightly curled.
A special experiment? At the mention of an experiment, your heart calmed a little—it was your expertise after all, so there was no point fretting over it but the strange tension in the room seemed to scream otherwise. It also didn’t explain why Regrator was present, it wasn’t like they were about to start discussing finance with you.
You nodded, standing up to quietly make your way to the empty seat, “Of course. May I ask what this experiment is about?”
As you sat down, Dottore spoke up once more, both elbows atop the wooden desk, leaning a little closer, “Recently, I have been expanding my research on the human brain and its connection to the body regarding its response to bodily sensations such as touch. I have appropriate non-invasive equipment in my personal laboratory, however, the procedure is rather . . invasive.”
Invasive? What could Dottore possibly mean by that?
“Naturally, such an experiment necessitates a suitable candidate and their willing consent.”
A participant—you assumed that was your supposed role, the reason why Dottore required your presence. Once more, your heart thrummed out of nervousness, you weren’t going to conduct an experiment, you were going to be experimented on. The mention of an invasive procedure already had your mind spinning in a million different scenarios; he wasn’t going to cut you open, was he . . ?
“Your intelligence precedes your colleagues which is why I have found you to be the suitable candidate. Of course, it all comes down to your decision but it would be a delight to have your involvement.”
You sucked in a small breath, “May I . . read over the research proposal, Lord Dottore?” He wordlessly nodded, opening a drawer on his desk before sliding a neat stack of papers over.
Written in bold letters was the title: ‘Sensory cortex activation by stimulation’
The human mind remains an imperfectly understood mechanism. This study aims to document and analyze cerebral activity in response to external stimuli such as touch and pressure in order to better identify the relations between the human brain and body. The implications of this experimental research extend beyond mere academic curiosity, a more complex understanding of neurological behaviour under euphoric conditions may provide valuable insight into artificial human enhancement procedures. Experimentation of this nature requires a fully informed and consenting participant.
Methodology: The participant will be situated within a controlled laboratory environment under my supervision to maintain consistency of neurological readings throughout the duration of the experiment. Neurological activity will be monitored and recorded through the use of neural-imaging apparatus for high resolution cerebral observation. The participant will be gradually exposed to sexual stimuli in certain body areas as follows: nipple, clitoral and vaginal (penile penetration) leading up to orgasm which is the expected peak readings.
To ensure authenticity of collected data, the participant must remain aware and capable of providing continuous informed consent during all stages of experimentation and contraception will be used. Furthermore, a second participant (assigned to Pantalone) is set to carry out sexual stimuli mentioned above and is considered a controlled variable along with the primary participant. Collected findings will subsequently be analyzed for potential applications in the fields of cognitive enhancement and artificial synchronisation of human neural patterns.
In simpler terms, Dottore wanted to observe human neural activity during a euphoric state to better understand the connection between the brain and body? In all honesty, you were speechless. Not only was the former supervising the entire experiment but Lord Regrator was also a participant, at this point you were convinced this was some kind of humiliation ritual. There was no denying that The Doctor was extremely professional when it came to research, and you were more than certain it wasn’t going to be his first time seeing a naked human body—he had even written a formal proposal which further confirms that this experiment wasn’t some kind of perverted shenanigan.
“Do I, uh—Does the experiment require the primary participant to be . . fully naked?” You feigned a cough, flipping a page as you tried your best to avoid eye contact with Dottore. Though he wore a pointed mask, you were certain his eyes remained solely on you.
“It is not a necessity. Only stated areas in the proposal are required to be exposed for efficiency. I’d also like to mention that a generous compensation will be given once the experiment concludes.”
At the mention of compensation, your ears perked up. Even though the Fatui was an influential organization in Teyvat, the pay you received was fairly enough to get by but if you were being honest, you could use a bit more mora especially with this month’s bills rolling around. Without another word, you nodded, finally looking up at the Second Harbinger.
“Alright. I will participate in the experiment, Lord Dottore.”
Beneath the pointed mask, his rosy lips stretched into a wider smile, “Excellent. I require you to sign this contract then I shall conduct a pre-experiment interview to obtain better understanding of the participant.” Reaching over the desk, he flipped over to the last page of the proposal and slid a fountain pen over, silently tapping his gloved fingers against the wooden surface as he watched you sign.
With your participation officially sealed with a signature, The Doctor carefully placed the document inside the drawer and fixed his attention on you, gloved hands loosely clasped around one another, “Are you sexually active?” His question settled into the thick silence awkwardly, it stuck out like a sore thumb—all too sudden and personal yet your commander had simply asked it as if he were asking about today’s weather.
You were aware this was part of the protocol but having Regrator present in the office seemed a bit much for you; what was he even here for? Surely, he wasn’t about to start asking you medical related questions, he didn’t even work in the field. Discomfort enveloped your warmed skin, a thousand kisses akin to small prickles—hot and itchy.
Shifting ever so slightly in your seat, you spoke, “N-No . . but I have had intercourse before.” Archons, if you were given the option between Her Majesty unleashing her unforgiving ice on you or to explain your sex life to The Doctor, without hesitation you’d pick the former. Dottore was still your boss, after all but thankfully, he was as professional as you expected, keenly listening to your reply while nodding—nothing more, nothing less. If he had any reaction to your answers, he didn’t let on.
“And when was the last time?”
God, when was the last time you had sex? You simply couldn’t remember. Being a Fatui wasn’t a walk down the park, days in The Doctor’s laboratory were long and tedious, by the time you return home late in the afternoon, you’d only have the strength to eat and wash up before welcoming the night. The routine was monotonous, yes but there wasn’t room to mope around and complain.
“I cannot accurately say but most likely a month ago.” With your boyfriend then but The Doctor didn’t need to know about your past relationship.
The Second Harbinger’s questions continued for a couple more minutes, he asked about every single medical related question you could think of—medical history, current medications, prior injuries, and existing neurological conditions. Naturally, you tried your best to answer as accurately as advised by The Doctor and each response was recorded with meticulous precision.
“Good.” The word sounded less like praise and more like a conclusion. “If at any point you wish to withdraw from the study, you will retain your right to do so.”
Silence stretched inside the cold room.
You stared at Dottore. Through his pointed mask, he stared back. Neither of you spoke as his words lingered in the icy atmosphere like wisps of smoke, light and airy yet it held a bitter taste. A beat passed, then, very slowly, one corner of his mouth curved upward.
“I assume you’re wondering whether I genuinely mean that.”
So The Doctor was aware of your growing suspicion regarding his previous statement; you knew well enough how he worked, his experimental endeavours weren’t obtained through ethical and considerate experiments, and for him to state something like that was clearly out of character. Or maybe he actually housed an ounce of decency in him.
“Pardon my brazenness but yes, a little.”
The smile on his lips widened, “Reasonable.”
“Coerced participation produces unreliable results, especially neurological results.”
It wasn’t concern nor ethics but merely data quality, you didn’t know whether to applaud him for being such a dedicated scholar. Surprisingly, his reasoning was sound, emotions can and will affect neurological scans; factors such as stress can create physiological ‘noise’ which would increase variability in data.
At the lack of your reply, The Doctor merely dismissed your silence as acknowledgement and spoke up once more, “As you’re already aware, this study requires two participants. The reliability of the data is dependent upon minimising external variables and, unfamiliarity constitutes as such.”
“In other words, you’re making us socialize.” Lord Regrator finally spoke up, his dulcet voice curling around your body like a serpentine predator.
Well, it wasn’t entirely odd to familiarise oneself with a fellow study participant, especially if intimacy was on the table but the whole situation felt rather awkward. Under more casual circumstances, you’d feel at ease but being confined in your commander’s office with another Harbinger felt nothing but forced; you felt nothing less than a puppet being forced to interact with another toy at the hands of a naïve child.
“Call it whatever you prefer. Participants exhibit measurably different neurological responses when interacting with unfamiliar individuals.” A gloved finger tapped the wooden desk, “Trust levels, social comfort, perceived predictability—they all introduce inconsistencies. Unless, of course, you want me to find another willing participant. After all, you do have the right to withdraw from the study, Pantalone.”
Hidden beneath Dottore’s words was provocation but to Pantalone, the taunt was clear as day. From where he stood, he could see the way the former’s lips curled into a smug smile—a silent challenge between both of them. But Regrator didn’t bite, no, instead, he shifted his attention toward you.
“Well.” He smiled pleasantly, “It seems we’ve been assigned homework. If Dottore wishes us to become familiar with one another, I suppose introductions are in order.”
Satisfied that events were proceeding according to plan, the Second Harbinger immediately returned to his notes. Lord Regrator watched his companion for a brief moment, “He’s actually taking notes. How amusing.” A gentle laugh escaped his lips, he moved a tad closer to get a better view and the scent of tobacco faintly invaded your senses.
For the next hour, conversation between you and Regrator drifted from formal introductions to declassified Fatui affairs to Snezhnayan politics, and for the entirety of it, Dottore wordlessly sat in his seat, taking notes of everything. The conversation started off stiff as expected—Pantalone may be a participant but he was still a Harbinger, and with it came formality but as words flowed, you eased slightly. You learned about his role as a high ranking Fatuus and despite your lack of interest in his field, you simply nodded along.
Lord Regrator differed from Lord Dottore, and whether that observation was positive or not, you were uncertain. Different in a way that the former was clearly built for conversations, he gave flattery when needed, smiled at your words, and gave colourful responses; you assumed he obtained his mannerisms through his role but even with his authority, he was easier to converse with.
“Alright, that is all for today. I shall require both your presence next week once I have the appropriate equipment set up.”
With that, you excused yourself first and headed back to the cafeteria with a racing heart. On the way over, you questioned whether what you were getting yourself into was something you’d regret in the future but all your mind could think about was the coming week. The mere idea of Lord Regrator intimately touching you shouldn’t have invited heat between your legs but with every step taken closer to the cafeteria, the more it grew. It didn’t help how obscene visuals of you and him flashed in your mind every second or so.
The new week rolled around with slight anticipation; it was embarrassing, really, the slight excitement buried in the depths of your core pulsing with expectation. It was weird to anticipate such an erotic experiment but pure lust fogged your mind primarily due to the fact that you simply haven’t had sex in a month. Weeks of pent up stress and emotions? You were definitely overdue for release. Though, you did have to constantly remind yourself that it was a formal study within a controlled environment, and not some kind of one night stand with your commander’s colleague.
“I trust you’re both well rested?”
The three of you were back inside The Doctor’s office, it was late afternoon, the warm glow of the sun spilled through the frostbitten windows, painting the rather dull room in a mellow hue. The rest of your colleagues had already left the laboratory which meant you, along with the two Harbingers were the only ones present. It made you a little nervous—being alone in a room with two of Snezhnaya’s influential individuals.
Pantalone hummed and you replied with a small nod, already feeling your skin starting to prick.
Dottore led you both into another room connected to his office, it wasn’t as vast and you assumed this was strictly out of bounds to everyone but him. The room felt unnervingly sterile, its walls were constructed from smooth metal panels with narrow seams, and bright white lighting illuminated the space.
At the centre of the room stood the experiment’s primary apparatus—a reclining examination chair surrounded by an intricate arrangement of cables, a machine, and polished metallic arms suspended from the ceiling. The most striking feature of the room was the wall opposite the entrance—a single pane of reinforced observation glass stretched nearly from floor to ceiling; beyond the glass you assumed was the control room, housing machinery responsible for operating the experiment.
“For the entire duration of the experiment, I shall remain inside the control room to oversee the study and note down all results. Remove any unnecessary layers of clothing such as overcoats and gloves, and meet me by the apparatus.”
Left in your blouse and pants, you headed to the center of the room where Dottore stood with Pantalone just a step behind. The former tinkered around the apparatus, pressing a few buttons and flipping switches with a gloved finger, causing the machine to whirr to life; it hummed a low, almost quiet tune that somewhat settled your nerves.
“Lie down.”
The Doctor looked over his feathered shoulder, pointed mask gleaming beneath the harsh lighting before turning his attention to the suspended metallic arms for inspection. You did as you were told, positioning the entirety of your body along the examination chair, the leather was cool against the fabric of your clothes which left tiny goosebumps from the difference in temperature. Wordlessly, you watched as he positioned the metallic arms near your head, several inches away from contact; its tips were equipped with a semi-circle that encased your head. So, this was what The Doctor meant about non-invasive equipment.
“Once I operate the machine, you may feel a slight sensation but do not fret, it is simply the apparatus emitting pulses of energy to record neural activity. And as for you, I require complete obedience—every single word.”
“Hah, you act as if I’m some kind of disobedient mutt. I’m wounded.” Regrator pressed a hand over his chest, a mocking smile directed at his colleague.
The latter didn’t bother replying and instead walked off to the control room, the soles of his boots clicking with every calculated step. Pantalone softly shook his head, muttering a faint “Lovely as ever.” beneath his breath, full of sarcasm.
“Any command given will be spoken through this intercom.”
Your attention quickly moved from Regrator to the mounted speakers on the corners of the room as Dottore’s amplified voice filled the space. Gaze darting over to the foot of the examination chair, just past the Ninth Harbinger’s torso, you watched your commander on the other side of the observation glass. Heat warmed your cheeks at the realisation that you directly faced the latter which meant he’d be able to see everything you exposed.
“Base readings first. In the meantime, Pantalone, I trust you have already taken the concoction I made prior?”
With the metallic arms whirring to life, you could barely hear The Doctor’s words over the pulsing of the machine. Just as he mentioned, there was a slight foreign sensation in your head, it felt like pressure but also not at the same time, though, it wasn’t painful. You could only watch as the two conversed over the observation glass.
“Indeed.” Regrator nodded.
Two days ago, Dottore had given him a curated substance meant to increase one’s libido, thus concentrating blood flow to the genitalia. He had no qualms consuming it but it was foreign, indeed, he had never taken such a drug before and it took all his willpower not to take you right then and there. It didn’t help how his semi-hardened cock twitched inside his pants, involuntarily rubbing against the fabric of his underwear.
Dottore jotted down a few notes as the monitors displayed your real-time cerebral activity; so far, everything looked good, “Commencing the first phase of the experiment: nipple stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. For the entire duration—without stopping—the nipples are to be stimulated via gently pinching or twisting.”
Thirty seconds didn’t seem too long, right? With that, you slightly lifted yourself off the examination chair, bringing your blouse over your chest before attempting to unclip your brassiere. Seeing your struggle, Pantalone brought himself closer, a faint whiff of tobacco following, “May I?”
Despite his chivalrous offer, his amethyst gaze kept darting at your clothed breasts and the smoothness of your skin—he knew it was impolite to do so but being under the influence of Dottore’s concoction had him acting a tad out of character. He cleared his throat as his cock twitched at the sight before him, swallowing down the low moan he almost let out. Could you really blame him? The garment was a black lace adorned with intricate patterns, not to mention the fabric being slightly see-through—a feature he found rather brazen. Pantalone could almost assume you wore this specific garment today for him to see. And maybe for your commander, as well.
“Thank you . .” You nodded and allowed Regrator to help.
“Pardon the intrusion.” He laced an arm through the narrow space between your back and the chair, lithe fingers expertly unclasping your brassiere with one hand.
Your heart may or may not have skipped a beat.
In one swift movement, the garment loosened around your torso, threatening to slip off. With slight hesitation and a burning face, you removed the fabric and shyly placed it on the chair right by your thigh. Almost immediately, icy air kissed your warmed skin which caused your nipples to harden, a small hiss almost slipping past your lips. While you were occupied with embarrassment, Pantalone’s gaze traced the curves of your chest, each mound sinfully beckoning his large hands—maybe even his mouth too. Obviously, it wasn’t his first seeing a naked woman but how his mind reeled with selfish fantasies was beyond childish.
In the control room, Dottore was unfazed—he had seen many nude bodies before and yours weren’t any different. It was nothing special, really but your cerebral activity on the other hand . . . That was more interesting.
“Whenever you’re ready.” He spoke into the intercom.
“I’ll be starting now, Miss.” Regrator sat on the narrow space of the chair, his clothed thigh brushing against your own; you tried not to think of the warmth which radiated from his body or how your name effortlessly rolled off his tongue like it was meant to be.
A silent nod was all you could muster—not even a split second eye contact to acknowledge his presence out of politeness but from the looks of it, Regrator didn’t mind at all as he proceeded to bring both hands up to your chest. If only you’d look his way you’d see a shy hue of crimson dusting his pale cheeks and ears but alas, your gaze fixated on the ceiling above.
A small yelp forced its way past your lips; Regrator used both index fingers to gently trace your areolas a couple of times, mere centimetres shy from your pebbled nipples, the tips of his fingers were cold—not icy but enough to send a strong shiver down your spine. You missed the way the corners of his lips subtly curled upwards in utter amusement—who would’ve thought Dottore’s lovely subordinate hid quite melodious tunes? There was no doubt his Harbinger colleague thought of the same thing.
As a matter of fact, despite being behind an observation glass, Dottore heard the sound you made all too clearly. The door to the control room was slightly ajar which caused any noise—minute or not—to spill through. It wasn’t foreign for his experimental subjects to create any noise but today differed, what was usually tunes of pain turned into hums of pleasure, and he couldn’t decide between the two which he preferred.
Maybe, just maybe by a tad bit—from how his core twisted with delight—it was probably the latter.
But Dottore had no room to ponder over that, not when your neurological activity displayed exquisite images on his monitor. As expected, a small cluster of highlights illuminated the somatosensory cortex which indicated its activation; he quickly jotted down notes, eyes trained on the screen before him, trying not to let your saccharine noises get to his head.
Another twitch of his now fully hardened cock had him letting out a low groan beneath his shaky breaths. The sight before him was simply exquisite; Pantalone may not have the best eyesight but he didn’t need a perfect vision to deduce the divine beauty—breasts splayed flat, torso arching ever so slightly, your head turned to the side, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, and brows furrowed in embarrassment.
Oh, what a shy little thing you were.
“Lord R-Regrator—!” He gently pinched your nipples which spread a sharp, quick shock across your chest. Another arch of your back pressed your skin closer to Regrator’s digits, he experimented with a slight twist, turning them between his index fingers and thumbs.
Archons, how embarrassing! You tried. You truly tried to hold back any unwanted sounds but the Lord Harbinger seemed to know what he was doing—how to please a woman—you couldn’t help but moan out his name from how amazing his hands felt against your feverish skin. Save for the low hum of machinery, the room was filled with complete silence and any noise made stuck out like crimson ink on a blank ivory canvas.
“Do let me know if my actions hurt you at some point.” Pantalone mindlessly murmured, mind completely fogged with lust, and senses drowned in your muffled moans.
You finally looked up at him through glassy eyes and wet lashes, it didn’t help how the bright lights above drew sparkles in your irises. He almost missed the wordless nod you responded with, too focused on the growing haze painted on your face. As Regrator continued his stimulation, shallow pants filled the space above your face and by this point, your face was as warm as it could get. Occasionally, your body shuddered beneath his expert touch, slowly and steadily driving you over the edge as each second passed.
Before another embarrassing moan could spill from your lips, The Doctor’s voice flooded the room via intercom, “First phase has concluded. Moving on to the second phase: clitoral stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. As previously mentioned, stimulation has to be continuous for the entire duration.”
Even though embarrassment had slightly subsided, you hesitantly reached for the button of your pants, undoing them with trembling hands. Once more, the Ninth Harbinger offered assistance to which you thankfully accepted—there was no reason getting shy now, he had already played with your nipples earlier. Driving the soles of your shoes onto the cushioned examination chair, you lifted your hips and pulled your pants down along with your underwear with the Harbinger’s help—just enough to expose your cunt.
His eyes zeroed in on your glistening entrance. All for him? Oh, he was being spoiled, indeed. The sight of your cunt fanned the blazing flames of Pantalone’s ego—all this just from mere nipple play? How adorable. You must’ve been really touch starved.
“Before we commence the second phase, Pantalone, I trust you can find the clitoris, right? Perhaps you need my assistance?”
“I am not ignorant, Dottore.”
“I am simply making sure. No reason to get snappy.”
You wanted to laugh. Two Harbingers bickering should not have amused you but the pettiness behind your commander’s voice and the slight annoyance laced with Lord Regrator’s words was all too amusing. If you were to tell a fellow colleague about them two bickering whether one could find the clitoris or not, they would not believe a single word that’d come out of your mouth. Who knew they could talk about trivial matters, too, how interesting.
Lord Regrator returned his rightful attention to you, his dull expression immediately shifted into the soft smile he always wore, “Ready, Miss?” Meek, you nodded. The Harbinger repositioned himself, right knee slotted between your parted legs to get a better view of your wet cunt.
He gathered the slick coating your cunt, spreading it on the pads of his fingers before pushing back your clitoral hood to reveal the swollen nub of flesh all in its needy glory. Embarrassingly enough, a simple ghostly touch on your clitoris had your entire body jerking against the leather of the chair, followed by a wanton moan of the Harbinger’s title. You quickly turned your head to the side and pressed the skin of your forearm against your lips—a futile attempt as the moment you obstructed your face, Lord Regrator’s digit began rubbing your clitoris in tight circles, as though a wordless protest against muffling the sounds you made.
His fingers were good—amazing, even, to the point where you wished thirty seconds went as quickly as a single second. In your head, clitoral stimulation of that duration was doable but you wholly underestimated yourself and the Lord Harbinger’s skills, on top of that, you were still trying to recover from earlier. You weren’t supposed to orgasm on this phase of the experiment otherwise it would ruin it entirely but it seemed like he had a goal: to drive you over the edge before the thirty seconds were up.
“L-Lord Regrator, I think—Mhm!”
“Hm? Were you saying something?”
The arm slung over your face immediately flew downwards to grasp his wrist, attempting to slow down his actions. Your free hand gripped on the side of the examination chair, nails digging crescents into the leather to ground and steer yourself from the impending orgasm. You arched your back and moaned aloud once more, earning a satisfied smile from the Lord Harbinger.
Dottore’s gaze ripped away from the monitors and landed at the centre of the room where you and Pantalone where, he carefully watched as your body pathetically writhed under the latter’s eager touch. He could barely see your lust-bitten face but judging from the moans you let out, his friend was doing exceptionally well at pleasing you—even the activity displayed on the monitors could back that fact; more regions of the brain were now highlighted indicating an increase in activity,
It was indeed fascinating to observe how one’s brain lit up from mere stimulation.
The tune of shallow, soft pants filled Regrator’s ears, it was amusing to watch you scramble and gather the threads of sanity in your palms, refusing to let pleasure take control of your body. Did he feel bad? A little but he was no saint. He switched from tight circles to figure eights, pressing onto your sensitive nub with a little more pressure. Your legs shook with bliss, fingers wrapped around his wrist tightening as you teetered to the brink of an orgasm.
“Ngh—ah! Lord Re—Haah!”
“I suggest you use your words otherwise I cannot understand you.” Mockery laced his dulcet voice but with the hum of machinery mixed with your shameless moans, you didn’t pick up on it.
When did Pantalone last have fun like this? Sure, he was powerful enough to control the nation’s economic state with a mere snap of his fingers but being able to control the pleasure you felt? Beyond satisfying. Not only was he rewarded with your lust-fogged expressions but also how your body squirmed beneath his touch—desperate and pathetic.
Your core tightened, it stretched and stretched further waiting for the recoil called climax but before you could reach it, your commander’s cold voice filled the room once more, “Second phase has concluded. We’ll be moving on to the final phase after a short interval.”
With that, Regrator pulled away his hand which elicited an embarrassing whine of protest from you. In a daze, you stared up at the ceiling and silently thanked Lord Dottore for the short interval because you knew well enough you’d be a complete mess once the third phase began. Though, the Second Harbinger’s reasoning was most certainly experiment-related rather than pure concern for the subject.
The tight knot deep in your core disappointingly dissipated as each second passed without stimulation—it was beyond frustrating to say the least, especially after weeks without sex. Despite the cool air inside, a sheen of sweat lightly coated your entire body and you felt stuffy; suddenly, the fabric pulled halfway down your legs felt too restricting, the blouse pooled around your neck didn’t help either. At this point, you just wanted one thing, and judging by the crimson blush on Lord Regrator’s cheeks, he wanted it too—release.
Dottore simply wasn’t being nice with the interval, the main reason for it was to let your cerebral activity return to baseline, otherwise readings from the second phase would carry on to the third phase and mess with the experiment. But he did have a more selfish reason that didn’t need disclosing—the growing tent between his legs.
He only needed a few moments to recollect himself. His bodily response to the scene before him was normal—he was still a man, after all— but in a professional setting, it was undesirable. Dottore knew what he was getting into when he first wrote the proposal for this serendipitous experiment but he didn’t expect to be aroused by it. He leaned back in his seat, a subtle glance at the prominent bulge before letting out a soft sigh.
How truly inconvenient.
After a couple moments of recollecting himself—or simply trying to—Dottore spoke into the intercom to commence the final phase, “The third will be slightly different, there will be no set duration as the end goal of this phase is an orgasm but restrictions will be in order. That means strictly no touching aside from vaginal penetration, this would count as kissing, groping or holding one another. Doing so would interfere with results.”
Since Dottore observed the sensory cortex, other forms of stimulation besides penetration would also be recorded, lowering authenticity of the results.
“Contraception is located above the machinery.” He added.
Pantalone reached for the smooth surface of the machinery next to the examination chair where he grabbed a sealed packet. Lithe fingers curled around the waistband of his pants, you watched as he unbuttoned and pulled it down just enough to reveal his hardened, leaking cock. It slapped against his clothed abdomen, donning a crimson blush that mirrored the hues on his pale cheeks. The pearlescent glob of pre-cum coating his slit had you salivating a little, tongue subtly swiping over your bottom lip.
Wide eyed and lips slightly parted, you could only wordlessly stare at the foreign sight before you, he was decently thick and merely looking at it had you clenching around nothing—eager to have all of the Lord Harbinger inside you.
Pantalone let out a low hiss, expertly rolling the latex down his shaft, “Ready?” Amethyst eyes clouded with lust found your gaze. Lord Regrator’s expression was different from what he usually wore, the cunning, unreadable smile was gone, leaving room for a flustered one.
With a wordless nod from you, the Harbinger fully situated himself between your legs, both hands each circling around the back of your knees to push them to your bare chest, “Hold your legs open for me, will you, dear?” You did as you were told, hooking an arm on each knee, keeping your legs in place and eagerly waiting for his next move.
Knees digging on leather, Pantalone placed a hand on the wide headrest of the chair while the other curled around his base, slowly guiding his cock inside your sopping entrance. A mix of your moans lingered in the air as he bottomed out, the entirety of his shaft sat inside you—heavy and hard. The stretch was delicious, it almost felt purely sinful, you’ve never taken a cock that stretched you this good before and it was dangerous because you might just get addicted to it.
Pantalone leaned over you, free hand now joining the other on holding the headrest. The silvery chain of his glasses dangled mere centimetres from your face, teasing and ghosting over your feverish skin. He sat still for a moment to relish inside your tight, velvety walls, he felt like a boyish virgin all over again with how stimulated he was, and he hasn’t even started thrusting yet.
But Pantalone had a job to do: to bring you to an orgasm because that’s what he agreed to upon signing the contract of this study—to put your pleasure before his own.
A beat or two passed ‘til he slowly drew his hips back—with only the bulbous tip remaining inside—and languidly thrusted, your nails dug into your soft skin, leaving small crescent-shaped indents. You could really only hold on to your legs and take the steady yet forceful pace Lord Regrator had set which caused your body to jolt repeatedly with every smack of his hips against your own.
It was pure torture for Pantalone, you looked absolutely divine yet he wasn’t allowed to hold you—to grope and squeeze at your bouncing breasts, to rub at your clit, to suck on every part of your exposed skin and finally taste you for himself. Alas, he could only rake his gaze up and down your semi-naked form and fantasize how you’d react beneath his palms.
The examination chair groaned underneath the weight of Pantalone’s thrusts, high pitched squeaks interlaced with the string of moans and whimpers filling the entire space. Pantalone carefully shifted his weight to his upper body, anchoring his hands on the headrest to piston his hips into your own.
“O-Oh, god! Lord Regrator!”
“God? H-Haah! Ngh—‘M no god, my dear.”
Bitterness laced his trembling words, it's almost as though he took offense and now he expressed his disdain by merely picking up the pace, rendering you a babbling mess to shut you up. Skin slapping and the smell of sex dangerously danced in the air, one Dottore couldn’t simply ignore—especially the former.
The Second Harbinger messily jotted down notes, fingers tightening around the pen every now and then whenever you let out a loud moan. He didn’t stop his gaze from wandering to where you and Pantalone were, crimson gaze locked onto your jolting form while his friend eagerly pounded you like a starved man. How your legs vigorously bounced in the air was enough to let him know how roughly Pantalone went on you.
The problem between his legs worsened and Dottore may or may not have rubbed his hard on a few times beneath the desk. Just to get a small taste of friction his hardened cock desperately wanted. Childish? Perhaps but fuck he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of trading places with Pantalone—even for a mere second or two. He was more than curious what you’d feel like around him.
“Lord Regrator! I’m—aah! I’m close—ngh!” Legs burning from holding the position, you let go and opted to wrap them around the Harbinger’s waist, locking him in a rather intimate distance. Pantalone let out a breathless chuckle and changed his pace into deep, short thrusts, he grinded into you every few strokes or so, allowing you to see the stars.
A few more sharp thrusts and the knot inside your stomach snapped violently as pure bliss engulfed the entirety of your body. Pantalone, unable to move due to your legs tightening around him, sheathed his cock deep inside and grinded on you, his fat tip rubbing against your sweet, sweet spot. He watched your limp body convulsed beneath him as shocks of pleasure came crashing into you.
He followed suit, spilling his warm seed into the latex while relishing in the tightness of your walls, a loud grunt forced from his rosy lips.
The two of you stayed still for a moment, individuals merely reduced to a heaving mess as the fog of orgasm slowly dissipated from your bodies. As if on cue, Dottore spoke through the intercom,
“The final phase of the study has concluded. Your cooperation is appreciated.”
A breathless laugh from the Harbinger above you, “I sure hope you managed to collect ample findings, Dottore.”
The latter could only scoff, of course he was able to do so. As opposed to his hypothesis—where he had only hypothesized two regions would be active—a handful of regions were active during an orgasm. It gave him a better understanding of how to map the human brain.
At the latter’s silence, Pantalone spoke once more, “Though, I am rather curious,” He let out a small hiss while pulling out. “Why did you need a second participant? Surely you’re more than capable of executing this task yourself, no? Unless . .”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you simply can’t do it.” To please a woman, he wanted to add.
There was only one way to interpret the Ninth’s words and despite it being ‘friendly’ banter, annoyance bubbled in Dottore’s chest, “Obviously, I would need to record findings hence my lack of participation in the study. But if you ask me, I would have done a better job.”
“Really?”
Silence followed.
Solely due to their brief exchange—or was argument a better word?—you found yourself sandwiched between Lord Dottore and Lord Regrator; every article of your clothing long discarded on the cold tiles, and machinery turned off, long forgotten. With the former laying on the examination chair, you straddled him, trembling legs on either side of his waist while the other Harbinger pressed his clothed chest against your back.
“Lord Dottore . .” You bit your lip.
In a haste, he had unzipped his pants and pulled out his leaking cock, rubbing the bare tip up and down your sensitive slit. Behind you, Pantalone’s hands mindlessly wandered all over your naked form—from the plush of your breasts to the fat of your ass, he left no skin untouched. But it wasn’t his hands alone, his lips trailed open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, leaving a few small bites in between.
Pantalone gently ushered you forward, one hand splayed across your back to bring you closer to Dottore ‘til your breasts squished against the latter’s chest. Both Harbingers lined their cocks to your entrances and slowly pushed inside. Slumped against the Second, you trembled violently as they stretched your holes out—one wrong move and you were sure to come undone.
With both cocks fully sheathed inside, all you could do at that point was pant like a mere mutt in heat, you haven’t had proper time to come down from your previous orgasm so any form of stimulation quite literally melted your brain and brought tears to your eyes.
Dottore cupped your jaw with a large, gloved hand and angled your face, he examined your fucked out expression momentarily before closing the distance. Messy and desperate, the Lord Harbinger’s kiss simply knocked oxygen from your lungs, he eagerly plunged his tongue past your lips and explored the inside of your mouth.
The kiss and the sting of his pointed mask digging into your cheek was enough to briefly distract you from their experimental thrusts. Shameless, you wailed into your commander’s mouth, knuckles turning into a lovely shade of ivory as you gripped the collar of his coat.
The examination chair groaned beneath the weight of the Harbingers’ merciless thrusts and one could only hope it was sturdy enough to last an entire round. Creaks of the chair mixed with the sinful harmony of your moans filled all four corners of the room, thankfully this space was a bit more secluded in comparison to your commander’s laboratory which meant anyone else walking down the corridors wouldn’t be able to hear the lewd sounds as much.
Despite the eagerness behind their thrusts, it was certainly surprising to have their movements coordinate with one another—an unspoken rhythm with the sole purpose of bringing you and themselves to release.
Dottore pulled away to catch his breath, leaving a thin translucent string of saliva connecting his kiss-bitten lips to your own, hot breaths mingling together through rough pants. The corner of the Harbinger’s lips curled upwards upon seeing your drunken expression—who knew you looked utterly divine stuffed with two cocks? It made him twitch.
Pantalone’s gaze fixated on your lower half—how your ass bounced and jolted with every powerful thrust he gave. The mere sight of his wet cock appearing and disappearing between the globes of your ass had him heaving a little harder. Maybe it was also due to the tightness of your rear, or the fact that having another cock inside you intensified the pleasurable friction he felt.
A few more harsh thrusts, the coil inside you finally snapped once more, bringing you to a rather earth shattering orgasm. Your body violently trembled in pure bliss as you tried to moan their names to no avail. With the sensation being too much, you fisted Dottore’s clothed chest as if doing so would somewhat ease the pleasurable pain your entire body felt.
The Second soon followed suit, a couple of desperate thrusts into your sopping cunt—ones that had you wailing in overstimulation—before sheathing himself deep inside and releasing thick, warm ribbons of cum. A string of colourful curses in his mother tongue slipped past his kiss-bitten lips as he came inside. Dottore filled you all the way to the brim ‘til his seed slowly seeped out of your greedy hole and onto the leather cushion beneath.
Ah, he’d have to get it cleaned now.
This left Pantalone who greedily hauled your limp body against his chest; one hand expertly rubbed your swollen clit while the other held your jaw to angle your face upwards so he could plunge his tongue inside your mouth. You choked on the messy kiss as the new angle invited him deeper inside. Dottore’s cock slipped out from the change in position but he didn’t mind, instead, he sat up and took it upon himself to plunge two long digits in your cunt.
His fingers were already long enough to reach far but the added thickness of his gloves had you arching your back. If it wasn’t for Lord Regrator’s firm hold, you would’ve already been slumped against the chair long ago. The former’s fingers moved in a ‘come hither’ motion which allowed him to brush against your sweet spot. Surely you could handle another one, right?
“Oh—hng! Close! Ah—haah!” Hands flew down to circle around Dottore’s wrist, you attempted to pathetically remove his fingers from your cunt which shortly proved futile as he remained unmoved.
You came once more, another blinding orgasm ripping through your orgasm but this time, you could barely even muster a whimper—only a soundless cry and fresh tears streaming down your face. Pantalone grunted and bit your shoulder as orgasm hit him, hot cum painting the walls of your rear; he grinded his hips against your ass to ride out his orgasm before releasing your skin from his bite.
Nothing but the sound of harsh breathing filled the walls and for a long moment, the three of you remained still to catch your breaths with reality slowly seeping in to replace what was once lust. You wanted to sleep right then and there, exhaustion weighed heavy on your body from how hard they both worked you—too tired to even think of the consequences.
None of this was supposed to happen—at least not the unexpected threesome but now that both Harbingers have had a taste of you, they might just come back for seconds.
Should I apologize to my younger self for not being who she dreamed of being?
It's as if years have passed. At some point in time, my reflection ceased to be mine; my life flashed before my eyes, and I saw myself failing at the first steps towards achieving my dreams.
For a second, everything seemed to make sense, where bills didn't scream "due today!", traumas took vacations, and the future... fluctuated between being promising or just another hangover.
That's when it hit me: today I turn twenty. One step closer to adulthood. A whirlwind of tiredness, demotivation, and uncertainty. No glitzy parties, no emotional speeches, or fireworks in the sky. Just the uncomfortable feeling that I should be at a different point in my journey.
I remember my childhood with a kind of fondness that almost hurts.
When I was little, I would put glitter on my eye, wear a pink dress, and blow out the candles, but I'm not the same anymore. The makeup looks dirty on my face, the pink dress seems to conceal all my flaws, and the candles are blown out with empty wishes. Because at the same time that I no longer knew who I was, I didn't know what wishes I should make.
They say "there's no time more beautiful than youth," but I have nightmares about it every night, while at the same time fearing its departure. What if all those years were days I threw away with my wrong choices, with my fears that seeped into my skin, and with the forced smiles I gave to the wrong people?
They say, "You'll never shine as brightly as you did in your youth," but what if I feel like a dim, flawed light in a universe of bright constellations? When older people look at you like a diamond and everyone your age looks at you like just another pebble, the whole world is confused by questions.
I miss that time immensely. The sound of the old television on, showing cartoons early in the morning, the sound of water in the tub while my mother hummed, the afternoons spent inventing worlds with the drawings I made. Life was different then. Lighter, more sincere, easier to understand.
I don't feel interesting for my age, while at the same time I'm afraid of getting older and knowing that I'll never be as interesting as I am now.
I should be drinking and celebrating my birthday, but all I do is cry secretly in my room as I count down to the big day. And then they say "happy birthday," and I blow out the candles once more, filled with noisy thoughts and silent wishes.
Where is that girl who swore that, when she became an adult, everything would be in order: a defined career, emotional stability, a minimally clear life plan? She's gone. Just like so many people who were once part of my story. They disappeared, like extras in a canceled soap opera, leaving only silence and scattered memories.
And the choices? They once seemed like open windows, now they are dimly lit labyrinths. Comfort has become just a memory—blurred, sweet—of a time when life was simple and the future didn't hurt.
I'm pretending I know what I'm doing. It would be easier if life came with an instruction manual. But it doesn't. I can't go back in time, but this growing-up process feels like a road without signs, full of tasks that weigh me down as if even the toughest aliens from fiction couldn't handle them.
Speaking of them… I have a weakness for crazy theories, documentaries, sci-fi, and any content about extraterrestrial life. Sometimes I think that if they ever take me away, maybe I'll finally feel at home.
But writing... writing is my oxygen. It's what keeps me going in this chaos. When I transform ideas into words, I am—at least there—who I want to be. And yes, I digress.
I jump from one thought to another without warning, mixing topics like someone adding seasoning to rice without measuring—because with me, the conversation never ends. Perhaps this is my way of existing and resisting.
What was I talking about again? Oh, my birthday. Confused feelings. Twenty years old. Missing my childhood. Happy birthday to me.
I don't try to force an answer to the questions that surround me. Perhaps I don't need to have everything resolved—perhaps the very act of continuing, even without knowing the exact direction, is already enough.
Here's the moral of the story: do all stories need one? No. Not every story needs a moral. But at least, that's my attempt.
Two decades of life and doubt remains by my side, not as a burden, but as a call to grow — to make mistakes, understand, and start over as many times as necessary.
Ultimately, growing up is about finding the courage to keep going, even when the path isn't clear, with a crooked smile, a coffee in hand, and the will, however timid, to not give up on being who I am.
Happy birthday to me.
Note: As the title says, today is my 20th birthday, and since I don't know what to think about on this day, I simply put everything into a little text that I loved writing.
Y/n always found it strange to be born near a day when 'love' was being celebrated. As a child, she didn't understand why, in a few more days, she would be receiving chocolates and roses, but as she grew older, she began to find the situation charming. It was as if time was playing with her, granting her one day to celebrate her birth and another day to celebrate her love for her friends and her romantic interest.
And now, at 22 years old — y/n wanted something special. Nothing grand, just something that wouldn't require her to pour her feelings into the next Valentine's Day holiday.
That's how Tamsy entered the story.
Tamsy, her best friend since adolescence, always knew that y/n didn't like huge parties, but she also knew that this year was different. Because y/n wanted to celebrate for real.
So, without the other knowing, Tamsy took control of the situation.
y/n was surprised by the silence when she woke up. No noisy messages from Tamsy calling her "love baby." No jokes about how she was Cupid herself.
"Strange," She murmured, looking at his cell phone.
There were messages from other friends, but Tamsy, who used to be the first to respond, wasn't showing up.
She left the room and found the apartment empty. It was still nine in the morning, but y/n expected, at the very least, to find Tamsy sprawled on the sofa, complaining about the cold and asking for coffee.
After a quick shower, y/n decided to ignore the unease. Maybe tamsy was busy with work. But something didn't seem right.
Around noon, she received a short message: tamsy: Meet me at 7pm at our meeting point, in our coffee shop.
Our cafeteria.
Y/n smiled. They had many places they called "ours," but this one was special. It was where they went after school, where they shared their first real secrets, where Y/n confessed she was afraid she would never find something that would make her feel complete.
She took a deep breath, feeling her heart beat a little faster.
At precisely 7:00 p.m., y/n arrived at the coffee shop. The lights were off, and the sign indicated it was closed. She frowned, about to text Tamsy, when the door opened.
"I thought you were going to be late," said Tamsy, pulling her inside.
The cafeteria was different. Small and cozy as always, but with candles on the tables, soft lighting, and instrumental music playing in the background.
Y/n blinked, confused.
"What is that?"
Tamsy smiled, her eyes sparkling as if she were up to something.
"Your birthday"
Y/n looked around, feeling an unexpected warmth in her chest.
"Did you close the coffee shop?"
"For normal people, yes. For you, it's open."
Y/n laughed, shaking her head.
"That's ridiculous."
"You love it."
Tamsy pulled up a chair and made her sit down.
"You always say you've never had a birthday that felt truly special. So, I thought I'd do something just for you."
Y/n felt a tightness in her throat.
"tamsy…"
"I'm not finished," Tamsy interrupted, pointing a finger at Y/N. "You didn't want a noisy party, so I made something more intimate. Just the two of us."
Y/n looked away, feeling her cheeks heat up. She wasn't good with this sort of thing—with feelings being thrown so clearly in her face.
"Is there food?"
Tamsy snorted
"Of course there's food."
He went to the counter and brought back a small box of cake.
"I did."
"You? Cooking?" Y/n raised her eyebrows.
"I know how to cook, you ungrateful wretch"
Y/n opened the box and found a small but pretty cake, covered with whipped cream and some strawberries on top.
"It's not as pretty as the ones from the bakery, but I made it with love," Tamsy murmured, crossing her arms.
Y/n looked at him, seeing something beyond the playful banter. There was a hesitant glint in Tamsy's eyes, as if she were waiting for some specific reaction.
And y/n understood.
It was a simple cake, but perfect. Because Tamsy knew her. She knew that y/n didn't like extravagance, that she preferred small moments, but full of meaning.
"It's the best cake I've ever seen."
Tamsy smiled.
"You haven't even tried it yet."
Y/n took a candle that Tamsy held out, placed it in the center of the cake, and lit it.
"And now?" Tamsy asked.
Y/n looked at the flickering flame.
"Now, I have a request."
"Okay."
But when y/n closed her eyes, she realized she didn't need to ask for anything. Because what she wanted was already there.
She blew out the candle and opened her eyes, finding Tamsy watching her closely.
"Did you place an order?"
Y/n nodded, smiling slightly.
"I'm not going to tell."
"That's great. Now I have a reason to give you another cake next year."
Y/n laughed, feeling a different kind of warmth in her chest.
"Thank you, Tamsy."
Tamsy shrugged.
"For you, always."
Note: As the title indicates, today is my 20th birthday, and I thought a lot about what to write on this day. So, since it's a "special" day, I decided to write two fanfics: one with the character who inspired me to start writing here on Tumblr, and the other using a little thought I had today.
A fun fact: in my country, Valentine's Day is celebrated in June, and I was born just a few days before Valentine's Day.
Pantalone looks up immediately, checking his surroundings with keen observation. How dare someone trespass and interrupt a harbingers' business with fatui guards stationed outside. No one should be in the area unless a fatui agent who would identify themselves after entering to report something. For a couple of minutes, he confirmed no one entered and it could only mean...
"Are you somehow hurt, Dottore?" He asked, facing the air as if there was a person in front of him. A scoff followed, blue and red particles appearing out of nowhere. A bizarre thing to see to a normal person. "Me? Hurt? How laughable."
All Pantalone can do was shrug, eyes closed and with his signature banker smile. Ah, his colleague is still prideful and stubborn despite his situation being a Data in Irminsul. But he still has time to settle a matter himself. "I'm just concerned that's all."
"...How have you been keeping?"
He chuckled in response, "How have I been keeping? You say?" Crossing his legs and leaning back with elegance, his gloved hands intertwined with ease. Purple gem rings glinted as if they were mocking. "I should be the one asking you that."
He could imagine the other man frowning, being thrown back his own question instead. All the pride, intelligence and experiments, behind all that, there's a single thing that hasn't been addressed. Pantalone tends to do it now before it's too late. After all, he is a person who honors another agreement.
"..."
"Don't go silent on me now. You know what I'm talking about." Oh how Pantalone wished to say it with contempt, however, it would be too obvious. Too early for showing a grudge.
"..."
The silence stretched felt like an eternity. Omega couldn't help but stood still on the platform inside the depths of Irminsul. This conversation is going astray, he quietly regret asking Pantalone about his wellbeing. In this situation, If he were to ignore this, the latter would've definitely won't fulfill his tasks completely.
With a defeated sigh, his dull purple eyes had already opened. Pantalone already expected this outcome, quite disappointed knowing that this segment is the lone and selfish survivor that wouldn't budge. Of course, he is that selfish enough to bury the past into the void and forget that it even existed. Then, a low tone of a growl only Pantalone could hear.
Zandik could not help but laugh in disbelief. This foolish world and these segments... Maybe he had not expected this outcome, several eyes that are exactly like his are just gazing down at his pitiful self. After all, knowing himself, he is too prideful to get help from others. Why would they do that?
"Hah– waiting for me to die?"
'What a foolish bunch of crows, indeed.' He instantly thought. But what was the term again? It was something like... Wait– Zandik saw how Omega smile with his gloved hand coming towards his face. His dull eyes shaking with instinctive fear, the first time he felt since decades.
Closer and closer. His eyes reflected the gloves until he was unable to see. All he could see was pure darkness, a void, the nothingness. Something he loathe since birth.
The last moment in Zandik's life was Omega laughing with no remorse.
Ah, 'Murder.'
.....
....
...
..
.
Zandik is no longer in this world.
"Zandik!"
Before Omega could look up, he was pushed away and fell down on the sterile tiled floor. Shock and disbelief written on his face, as well as other segments nearby. What just happened? Why didn't he and others notice your presence right away?
"Zandik!" You shouted again towards the Main, carefully nudging his cold and wrinkled hand. You wanted to deny, that he just passed out from exhaustion. But no, it was cruel to see Omega had just killed the Original. At the exact moment you entered.
"Dear, we tried to resuscitate–" Omega said while standing up but he was cut off by a harsh slap of yours. It echoed throughout the laboratory, the silence felt worse as others stared at you, bewildered by your action.
Then, in an instant, he saw red.
"Ack-!"
You were already on the floor, struggling as his hands wrapped around your throat with such force. Squeezing as you desperately gasp for air. You tried to claw his hands but it was futile when he was wearing modified gloves. Suitable for such situations like this. The back of your head hurts so bad due to the fall impact.
Feeling something pooling behind your head, you were totally sure you weren't gonna make it. Ridiculous, you wanted to laugh. Is this really your fate? To be killed by the hands of his selfish segment? Maybe, Karma caught up to you.
You could've saved Zandik if you weren't so distracted by something. Then here's the result of your ignorance.
You felt your life slipping away.
With all your strength left, you reach out to hold his mask. Other segments tried to pull Omega away after sensing your fading life but he was too strong and too absorbed to realize what he was doing. With a smile, you let your vision activate, as well as something you kept to yourself since the day you were born. Cold permeates the air as the frost covers the entire laboratory. Something sinister began to emerge from your touch.
Segments' legs now chained with Ice, not letting them move freely as they felt the biting cold temperature through the fabric. As similar as Snezhnaya's winter storm, something not their system and synthetic flesh can endure.
Finally, you begin to chant, the cold wind carries your voice all around the room, equally as carrying your will, "May you all suffer under my embrace of terror. Wither in fear and be in agonizing pain.",
Omega woke up drenched in sweat, gasping for air as he clutched his chest. Right where his synthetic heart beat wildly. How foolish. The nth time he's experiencing terrible nightmares after the... Incident. Unable him to recharge to full extent. Even others experience the same thing, complaining and 6.7777% inefficient to their tasks. Beyond the acceptable percentage.
He couldn't find the better solution after trying the erasure method or any type of medicine to cure or at least lessen. By day, something would whisper in their ears, appearing and disappearing. 25 flinched when he heard a whisper during an experiment and caused a failed result, leading to creating another request for another batch of materials to the banker. By night, hearing footsteps or a hum when no one was present in the area. 65 kept looking behind his back anxiously after hearing someone singing and even giggling as it came closer and closer until he tripped.
18 and 45 became agitated, turning heated arguments to breaking everying within the reach while being each other's throat. Vials spilled, ruin guards beyond repair, hurting everyone in their vicinity. 8 couldn't continue his aranara research anymore.
It all because of your curse. A parasite that couldn't be removed.
Out of all the segments that are willing to love you, giving you what you wanted. Yet you chose to love the Main, the one who's human and aged. Wrinkly and out of his prime. Why him when they can offer you everything without them aging? Why him when he killed his creator? Why still him when you weakly hold that wretched cold hand of their creator while being strangled. Why not giving them more love and attention than him? Why, why, why, why,
Why?
"WHY?!"
Pantalone look up to see Omega had his fists on the table, creating a ruckus on the confections and tea sets. He almost thought he was angry about the choice of sweets, but no, this is more than that. His purple eyes gleam over his agitated expression as Omega would stare at the vacant seat between them.
'he could not replicate that moment.'
He sips his tea with a calm expression as he quietly observed. Omega wasn't he used to be, a calm and all-knowing segment. Very much different than the others. But now, he looks rather much human. It doesn't affect much on duties, it more of a... internal problem. Yes. What a mess, he thought.
'A mess he created, indeed.'
But he knew. Of course he does. Pantalone witnessed the incident back then. Behind those metal doors leading the laboratory, through the gaps, he saw who Omega killed. His closed eyes wasn't closed anymore as his signature smile fell. Eyes shaking as he saw your lifeless body beside the Main, the laboratory was covered in ice. Evident that it came from your vision.
He knew you well since you were introduced by Zandik. Quite a genius and knew about accountancy as well, a gem discovered. Pantalone and you clicked instantly, becoming friends that would do friendly debates and sharing views towards certain things. Even as creating a private tea party for just the three of you. Him, you and Zandik. You would even offer to create your own confections, high quality and beyond what every best confectioners can do. Even Zandik denied that he ate almost everything you put on the three tiered stand.
Yet something doesn't feel right at that time. He sworn he felt a stare behind them, so he looked back and saw one of Zandik's segment behind the door of the glasshouse where the three of them was present. It was Omega. Pantalone was about to call Zandik but he observed closer. Then he instantly knew. That Omega wasn't staring at his creator, instead,
He was staring at you with unreadable expression.
Perhaps that was the stare of yearning, Pantalone realized.
Zandik's hands weren't what they used to be. You find a different way to comfort him.
Established OldZandik/reader. Reader wears dresses. Inspired by a post on twitter from psychxbby about nail painting and old Zandik wanting to be useful again.
On AO3 here.
It was almost done. Weeks of studies, months of pain.
His joints never cooperated anymore.
Trembling, he inhaled and exhaled slow as a single grain of sand through an hourglass before gliding the thin brush over the canvas. The brush jittered, as it always did, and he cursed in old Sumerian as he tried to scrap off the excess with his knife, leaving a scar on your dress.
The lighting that day had been perfect. Deep red satin shining in the afternoon. A perfect, shining gem coveted for its luster and cut.
His days were numbered. So many patients said they felt their body failing them. Feofan had confessed as such over the decades.
His hands had always been so steady, so capable. Surgery was nothing more than child’s play. Fine motor work that was second nature, honed and refined in long hours few ever bothered with. Painting was your forte, your second love, but you’d taught him with patience that almost outpaced his own.
How did someone barely in their third decade be so willing to wait? At that age, he was only patient when it mattered, but you?
You felt at ease in this world. He didn’t so much envy you as he did long to capture it, understand it, so he too could feel it, one day.
Zandik stepped back from the canvas, brow furrowed as he forced his bad eye to focus. Depth perception was difficult and his heart sank.
Nothing but a shadow. Colors stood too sharp against one another, his fingers having been too sore for longer blending periods. It was obvious he’d had more energy for your face, the finest part of the entire masterpiece. Ten years ago, this would have been so easy.
Useless.
Old.
Decrepit.
Why did you bother with him, he wondered. This was meant to be your birthday present, the way he saw you and what you meant to him.
Would you feel compelled to fix it? Straighten the lines, smooth the colors, make quick work of his shaky splatters?
He couldn’t hold a wrench anymore, nor were his eyes good for small mechanisms. With all of the major projects outsourced to the better and more capable parts of himself, this was all he had left. How else did one capture their world visually?
He sat down, palette knife in hand, contemplating just slashing the thing to pieces.
“Zandik?”
Your voice, a melody.
One he didn’t deserve, not right now. The sentiment must have shown or you would not have hesitated as you said, “I can come back.”
He held out a hand, dropping the knife and beckoning you. You took it upon reaching him, fingers finding the sore joints you always worked. So warm, like morning sun on dewed grass.
Your appraising silence was a strange comfort to the voice in his head.
“You are unhappy with it, I take it?” you asked, nestling onto his leg, skirts rustling as you pulled the palette knife from his other hand.
“I can’t do anything anymore,” Zandik whispered. “What good am I, when parts of me are so much more efficient, quicker witted, not prone to failure? What do you see in me?”
You pressed a hand to his cheek and he turned to look at you, still barely halfway through life and full of vigor. Eyes that spoke far beyond their years. Those were always his favorite part of you, so expressive, vibrant.
“I see a man determined,” you started. “Who sacrifices himself in hopes of breaking a wheel he may not be around to see shatter.”
You picked up a brush and without breaking your thought, mixed colors nearby.
“Who looks at the world and understands he still has much to learn, even now.”
Skilled hands filled in the space above your shoulder, painting hands, a jacket, red eyes.
“Who looks at me as if I am a marvel despite having experienced every cruelty this world has to offer. Who has let me chip away at the rational transitional walls that stood between us for many years and given me a treasure unimaginable.”
His eyes stung but through a fog, he saw a soft expression, watched as you turned your pose from a stoic mirror into a dynamic, private moment. Your pose originally involved looking off to the side, away from the viewer, but now you looked at the new figure.
Him.
Two styles, not quite clashing but not blending together, either. Faces the only parts in focus.
“I see a man who loves me, Zandik. And that has always been enough.”
He pulled you closer once you put the tools aside, burrowing his head against you. Other parts might say he grew sentimental in his old age despite ripping apart his soul. Perhaps he had. What else was there for the world to teach him?
It was a lesson he was grateful to have finally learned.
Was listening to the anniversary version of "He's My Man" by luvcat and thought that this song really suited Zandik !! late 2am drabble, I fell asleep writing it so uhh yeah!! You can tell I really wanted to write an evil reader /silly
6.6 major spoilers, Established relationship (You and Zandik are married), I suppose this counts as Yandere!Reader(?), Reader is an adult, Reader Insert is not Traveler, mentions of poisoning, Unhealthy Possessive/Obsessive behavior (from Reader), Zandik is too inlove with you to care lmfao. lmk if I missed any warnings, and dont forget to leave a reblog !!
Imagine 85 year old Zandik with his beloved deranged house spouse. Within your comfortable home away in the countryside of Snezhnaya, you happily play the part of a loving spouse who takes care of their old husband.
Always so kind and devoted.. ignoring the definitely-not-threatening letters you wrote to one of his colleagues behind his back and your unwavering possessiveness over him. To the outside world? No one would comment. With how your eyes seem to look almost dead while you wait in the cozy living room, staring aimlessly at the cold clock ticking on the wall.
The adult segments hold some affection for you, but it's so painfully obvious that you are poisoning their human counterpart. But does Zandik heed their warnings? Unfortunately, no. He loves you too much to ever resist you. He already knows what you always put in his breakfast before He leaves for work, how stressed he mysteriously becomes while running tests in his cold lonely laboratory, and how all of his troubles wither away as He comes back home to you.
The Elixir of Immortality has frozen you in time, making you appear forever as a young adult while He aged like any other human, yet you still continue to cherish and shower him with affection. You could've gone chasing after his younger segments, probably the cool and clinical 25 year old segment (only from 18 did you hear that 25 was popular with the female staff… yikes) or the Zandik in his prime , the 35 year old segment "Omega." Even so, you still willingly chose the original over the segments.
Speaking of segments, 65 was the only segment who you interacted much with. He's closer in age to the original, He handles your possessiveness with ease and He's practically the stand-in for when Zandik is too busy to visit his darling spouse. Omega is second place mostly because He finds you interesting but He was too.. social and charismatic for your liking, and Zandik was afraid that your interactions would end up in a messy quarrel. "Why is he contacting the Regrator so much? And why is he so interested in his little experiments?" He could almost hear your sweet voice in his ears, nagging to him about Omega.
His frail health is declining thanks to the definitely-not-poisonous powder you laced his tea with, even to the point that He's bedridden for almost a week. Yet almost always, he comes back from the Palace as healthy and unaffected as ever. Zandik only laughs at your pushy questions and that panicked look in your eyes, only looking at you with adoration as you try to figure what's going on. The segments don't seem to care much, and his colleagues prefer not to look in your direction.
With AI on the rise we need to support our fellow writers in the community and show them that we care.
Adult writers, your job is to comment under/reblog this with your favorite fic you’ve written(or share someone’s fic you love) and I’ll try to reblog them all!
Fanfic readers, your job is to recommend your favorite writers and give them some love in the comments. Read any fics that catch your interest, comment, and follow some new writers!
This way both the writers and readers can do something to help and get something in return!
Let’s spread some love and show the community that human writing is still important and wanted!
I have my fav writers here namely @hanafubukki @berriblossom @lunedebleuwrites @cursedcola asterravae and dearestdelilah on ao3 and many more who kept feeding me with their content:3
There he was, Muzan, staring intently at his only friend, with little desire to tear his gaze away from that figure with curly locks the color of gold, like rays of the sun. Not to mention they looked like jewels bathed in gold.
The man lay comfortably on his futon, right in the middle of the room, his eyes fixed on y/n. He was captivated by the older man and his almost obsessive passion for music.
And that was exactly what made Muzan admire him so much. Y/n’s intelligence made him irresistibly attractive. To the point of leaving Muzan dazed, completely won over by that man’s charisma and talent.
Muzan watched in silence. The man’s slender, tall frame moved slowly in front of the large door leading to the garden. With each gesture, his wavy strands danced in the wind, and the soft sound of the gaku-biwa filled the air.
He played some classical melody—Muzan didn’t bother to remember the name. It was likely something Chinese, from a well-known piece. But in that moment, the music mattered less than the scene before him
The man’s eyes were closed, his full attention given to the instrument balanced between his fingers. Each movement drew out a soft melody that spread slowly through the room, filling the silence.
He watched as the curls moved slowly, swayed by the light breeze that came through the open door of the room and brushed gently against the man’s face.
That man truly had an intense beauty, and a rather profound one. He was like the personification of the most beautiful painting ever made of Amaterasu in male form throughout so many years of existence.
And Muzan wanted to see, until the very end, all the beauty that Y/n held within his being.
I wanted to possess and touch y/n's slender, pale body, but not just in a simple or carnal way; I wanted to have it, from an intimate and somewhat profane way, to the most tender way possible, even though y/n didn't engage in any kind of intimate contact between beings, much less body-to-body contact before marriage; her conservative nature sometimes confused Muzan.
"What it was?"
He was soon snapped out of his reverie when he heard the curly-haired man's voice ring in his ears and the sweet melody of the gaku-biwa ceased in that spot.
"You've been staring at me for more than 7 minutes."
It wasn’t hard to tell that the older man had noticed Muzan’s gaze fixed on him. Even without showing it, Y/n was still a god — and gods don’t let anything go unnoticed
"I'm just thinking about something..." wasn't a well-crafted lie, nor exactly a lie at all. So who was he trying to fool?
"Thinking about something, Muzan?"
Y/n turned his attention to Muzan, and something about his eyes seemed different. The color changed over time, and in that moment it was a shade that held Muzan’s attention completely. It was hard not to notice how his mere presence drew everything toward him.
In the golden light of late afternoon, Y/n’s eyes looked lighter. The sunlight gave them a shade like molten gold.
That color had a hypnotic effect on Muzan. For a moment it felt like the world was spinning around the man’s eyes in front of him, as if he’d fallen into an involuntary trance. And he didn’t want it to end. But it did.
"Muzan?" Y/n's voice echoed in the ears of the bedridden man.
"Huh??" He responded , confused.
"You started looking at me like I was psychotic after I talked to you about—... What are you staring at?"
The young god asked after waiting for a response and only getting the other’s gaze fixed on a specific spot on his face.
"Fascinating..." Muzan murmured, as if it were a mantra meant only for the older man.
"What?" Y/n asked him.
"As the light rests on your eyes, it changes, just like the direction of her gaze," Muzan replied, still staring into the man's eyes. The man’s cheeks flushed red after the words.
"Your eyes look even prettier with the blush on your cheeks. Actually, your skin has more contrast with that reddish color now... it looks more alive, you know? Something like that."
The bedridden man spoke as if he were voicing a thought that had only existed as a mental note until that moment.
"Well, the change in the eyes has a specific explanation," the man replied. The blush still colored his face, his left hand resting against his cheek while his right pressed against the bow of the gaku-biwa, nearly forgotten against his body.
"Tell me what it is, Mr. y/n," said Muzan. Anything coming from y/n was enough to pull him out of boredom.
"It's simple. When the eyes have different colors, it's because their color changed. The healers call this _heterochromia_, but to us it's just a difference that nature made."
"It happens when there's a lack of the tint that gives color to the eyes. That's why sometimes the difference appears stronger, and sometimes it almost fades away."
"It can be from birth, run in the family, or appear later because of a spot on the eye. And what is born this way, does not go away."
"Only a part of the eye changes color. That's my case. That's why my eyes seem to change with the light, the position of the sun, and even with my spirit in the moment."
He explained each word slowly. It was clear how interested he was in explaining it to Muzan. And how good it was for Muzan to hear Y/N’s velvety voice echoing only for him, and no one else.
Muzan wanted to confess how much those words made him feel good. To him, it carried something unique in certain moments — and at the same time, it was a constant presence that never faded.
Now y/n's eyes were fixed on Muzan's silly face, and the young Kibutsuji's smile was impossible to hide.
"And now, why are you staring at me so much, Muzan?" he asked, approaching like a predatory feline. It was hard to stay quiet under that gaze fixed on him — it was too tempting.
"I—" Muzan froze almost completely at the sight of the slender silhouette of the man in front of him, as if he were entirely at the mercy of his best friend.
'Damn him' — that's what was going through Muzan's fertile mind... "Why?"
"What?" asked the curly-haired man, tilting his head to the side as he stared at the man sitting on the futon. It was an almost mediocre provocation, but there was something about it that really got to him.
"Why did your eyes change when you started looking at me, y/n?" he asked, sliding the palm of his right hand to the apple of the blond man's cheek. It felt like a potion of mutual love — Benzaiten seemed to smile from the temple paintings.
"Maybe it's because you're too tempting for Lust to hold back and not take over my body... and consequently, my eyes, Mr. Kibutsuji." That was the final straw for Muzan's limits.
He threw his self-control to the wind and grabbed the nape of the man's neck, pressing their lips together in a tempting kiss, bathed in his own desire. The kiss was reciprocated by y/n's movements over his body as y/n's palm guided itself to Muzan's face. His face flushed with the internal sensations of his body; his chest burned, and euphoria was already beginning to build. Holy shit, it felt fucking good.
Both bodies felt each other's shared warmth; Muzan Kibutsuji's room was ablaze that afternoon, and the heat was followed by genuine lust; it was like a representation of infernal marble—it was wonderful.
If this were hell, Muzan felt the urge to lose himself even further in the dwelling of the dreaded oni. To him, it was a sin—but he had always been a sinner. And it was also a blessing.
Perhaps Muzan was right to compare y/n to Amaterasu, because now he already felt the pleasure and the desire to be Hyacinth himself.
Note: same universe as the fanfic: Muzan x male reader - "You are the end of my search"
(It's literally a continuation of the fanfic that I didn't finish; I decided to leave this fanfic separated into one-shots.)
A continuation of this post. This will detail the relationship between the old man Zandik and the Reader.
The days spent with Zandik, the original, were mostly silent. He just wasn't quite as talkative as he once was, but he somehow had a lot to say.
You wake in the morning, getting something to drink for the two of you, ran some errands, and ended up at his doorstep at around 11 on a good day. Technically, your work hours were from 1-9, but it wasn't like you had much going on in your life. Just tasks for the Fatui.
Intelligence was something you could easily accumulate, remember, but the trouble is getting people who can explain it all from before even the first step. If you were to be asked to cook an egg, you'd end up asking if the pan was metal, and what type of metal it was. Per the metal, what temperature was optimal? Per the temperature, what's the length of the handle? Per the length of the handle, how large should the flame be? Things like this.
It was just instinct. You were curious about the fundamentals of everything, and the bigger picture was often swallowed.
Likely, this was the reason you came to like Zandik. He wasn't a heretic or mad man to you, he was just a crazy smart scholar with worries about human things like life. He was reduced to a basic, human, man.
As for the segments, you had different thoughts. You didn't see anything to gain from digging into the hearts of sub-human clones. They didn't have all these complex human emotions to you that you could boil down, they were just frozen in time.
People forget, even though you were a bottom of the barrel scholar, you are still a scholar.
Complex pieces have been written by you, for personal use, about how Zandik developed, as observed through segments and conversation.
The younger you go, the more intense they are. The youngest could be pardoned as just childish, but behind that forced composure and effort to match his colleagues (himself), was a child in constant tantrum over all the unfair treatment he endured. To want to capture such a rough time for him… you didn't get it.
Wisdom came to the old, at least, as the more years Zandik got, he was able to reflect more. His cruelty had time to seep into his head as I realized that perhaps the reason he was this terrible was because his hatred was vastly complicated. Obviously, he'd already known this, but the idea that he didnt actually like harming others was… foreign.
Refraining from intruding on his thoughts, you had furiously written something regarding this in your essays.
How could anyone in this world expect to give when they themselves have never been given anything? Part of being kind is doing so because personal experience reveals that receiving kindness feels good. Spreading positivity, or whatever the hell. Zandik knew that something was missing, but he mistook the missing parts for an abject belief that he was just horrible. He must've known in his older years that what he was missing was environment. Kindness.
Evenly spread, the worst segment was definitely 35. Young enough to be sardonic and cocky, old enough to recognize he's being a douche. The worst one, by far.
Optimism is your thing though, and people are just paintings, each brush stroke is a day. The earlier layers being stained in red means less to you in face of the current Zandik’s efforts in self improvement. It was an investment you found worthy. He knows, you know he knows.
Papers on people weren't the only things you wrote. Currently, you were rather invested in early to mid-tyvat development. Geography wise, not historical. You didn't know much history, truthfully.
Zandik was old. You knew you didn't have much time and it hurt. He was… a friend, you believed. Yet, his hands weren't like yours, nor his eyes, nor his speech. Despite issues with the brain as one ages, Zandik has done well to fight off such problems.
Yet when you see he holds his pen differently to alleviate the pains in his hands, you get worried. Ocular vision has degredated to a surely aggravating degree as well. On rare occasion, Zandik will hand you things to read aloud for him. When he asks, his speech is more melded than his segments, what with their youthful articulation.
Zandik is facing old age, and both you and he knew it. It was a fact of life, but facts are often pushed to the brink by scientists.
“This essay… you've been thinking of some dark things haven't you?”
Zandik expressed his opinion on your latest piece, using the deceased and artificial wombs to renew a person body, with a tired concern. You loved that concern.
Death was the worst of it, but witnessing Zandik change like this was the payoff you were looking for, in a way. He seemed worried about you. The same as you worried about him.
You mentioned it at the beginning of the essay, you relay, but most of your biological works ought to just be science fiction. Blame it on inexperience, but you were unable to see a reality where such work came to fruition. You just didn't have the wits.
“It’s possible. Elixirs for life rely on finer pieces, but starting the body from scratch would be effective too. You do realize that no one would comply with this study, though?”
Letting the conversation fall for a moment, you went silent.
…
It would depend on the person, you reply. A mother would do it for her child, a spouse for a spouse… a friend for a friend.
At that, Zandik fell silent too.
Recent years has produced a more reserved Zandik, but even he was still just as curious as his younger years.
“I see… and what of a person's ambitions? Everyone has things they wish to do.”
Catching in between the lines, you smiled gently, keeping your eyes on your work. Zandik has never cared of other peoples ambitions, but he wasn't talking about other people, was he? He was asking you directly.
Perhaps, you reply. If you were in the shoes of one such sacrifice, you say, you'd just ask the recipient to do a few things. Plant a few trees, donate to charity. Some bullshit like that.
“And what if it didn't work? The deaths would have been for nothing.”
Correction, your death would have been for nothing.
You didn't see it that way, you spoke. Plus… the person you have in mind is definitely going to hell. The procedure takes two of the deceased, so if it came to it, you’d be willing to take the life of another if it meant you'd stay with them when they inevitably died.
“Hmph… a real wolf in sheep's clothing, you…”
Short laughter and a smile was the only response you could muster.
“So, what sort of person would it take for you to do such a thing?”
Zandik had turned in his rotating chair to ask you, he was being direct, and in you'd repay the favor.
Meeting him face to face, you gave your response.
A really great friend…
For a brief moment, there was a light in Zandik’s eyes. Following it…
“Too bad you have none of those!” before whipping around to face his desk once again.
You burst into laughter, no, you insisted, don't be like that!!
Zandik was just so shy, you had the giggles for almost an hour. He almost kicked you out!
This was the kind of man Zandik was. His many years left him quite some time to reflect on his life. With this reflection came a more gentle heart. Perhaps it went from obsidian to granite, still a hard rock, but you were proud of him regardless.
All in creation deserves to be loved, and there was no one person more deprived of any affections than Zandik himself.
Even if you never got him to say it back… you loved Zandik, and hoped full heartedly that he understood that in his final moments…
A little authors note, all the comments on my previous post made me so joyous. I like being reminded and encouraged, since I have pretty bad memory loss issues. I only lock in when I’m really happy, so I was quite pleased.
There will be writing for all the segments as well, if I retain my head for that long.
What is it like dating the second Fatui Harbinger?
Synopsis - People pity you the moment they hear you are dating the Il Dottore. How terrible it must be! Little do they know, Dottore treated you like you hung the damn stars
Tags - OOC Dottore/ Golden retriever energy/ lots of praise/ Dottore and his clones are obsessed with you/ Obsessive Dottore/ But not gross obsessive
Eli note! Dottore is SUPER ooc in this, not cannon at all, so don't come for me!! This is because I played the new Archon quest...no spoilers but im sobbing. ENJOY
People feared Il Dottore.
No — fear wasn’t a strong enough word for it.
People dreaded him.
The Second Harbinger carried a reputation soaked in blood and whispered rumors, spoken carefully behind closed doors and only in hushed voices.
Mad scientist. Monster. Inhuman.
A man so brilliant that even fellow scholars regarded him with unease.
The kind of man mothers warned their children about.
The kind of man soldiers straightened for the second his footsteps echoed down a hall.
And somehow—She was dating him.
Not trapped.
Not threatened.
Dating.
The realization alone always earned the same reactions from people unfortunate enough to learn about it.
Wide eyes.
Careful sympathy.
Concern disguised as politeness.
“Oh…”
“That must be difficult.”
“Are you…safe with him?”
As if she were some poor thing being held captive in his laboratory.
If only they knew.
If only they saw the way Dottore looked at her when nobody else was around.
The way his sharp crimson eyes softened the second she entered a room.
The way his gloved fingers immediately sought her waist, her hand, the sleeve of her shirt—anything to establish contact.
The way his voice lost that cold clinical edge and melted into something quieter.
Warmer.
Possessive, yes.
Obsessive, absolutely.
But cruel?
Never.
Not with her.
The first time she’d visited one of his laboratories, she’d expected something intimidating.
Complicated machinery.
Guards.
Security measures she wouldn’t understand.
Instead, Dottore had calmly taken her hand and pressed it against a glowing mechanism near the entrance.
The machine whirred softly.
“Biometric authorization accepted.”
She blinked. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he answered smoothly, “you may enter any of my laboratories whenever you please.”
“…Any?”
“Yes.”
“And everyone else?”
Dottore tilted his head slightly.
“If an unauthorized individual attempts entry, the defense system will eliminate them.”
Silence.
Then—“
You said that *way* too casually.”
“I fail to see the issue.”
“Zandik.”
His lips twitched beneath the edge of his mask at the sound of his real name.
That stupid, tiny reaction nearly always happened when she used it.
A terrifying Harbinger capable of unspeakable things, and his composure still cracked over hearing his name from her mouth.
“It is important that you are protected,” he said simply, as though he hadn’t just informed her his laboratory would kill intruders on sight. “You will never be denied access to anything that belongs to me.”
And that was the problem, really.
Dottore cherished her with the same frightening intensity he applied to everything else in his life.
Every emotion he possessed existed in extremes.
His ambition.
His anger.
His curiosity.
His devotion.
Especially his devotion.
It manifested constantly in little things that left her flustered beyond belief.
A passing comment about cold hands resulted in him redesigning the lining of her gloves himself.
One mention of struggling to sleep earned her an entire absurdly expensive mattress specifically engineered for “optimal spinal support and temperature regulation.”
When she admired a dress in passing, he bought it before she’d even finished the sentence.
And the praise—Archons, the praise.
It never ended.
Sometimes she genuinely suspected he enjoyed embarrassing her.
She’d stepped out wearing a new dress once, smoothing down the fabric nervously.
The silence from Dottore had been immediate.
Intense.
His gaze traveled over her so slowly she could physically feel herself heating up.
“…What?” she’d asked cautiously.
He approached without a word, resting both hands on her waist before turning her gently.
“Again.”
“What?”
“Turn again.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“And you are beautiful. Humor me.”
Her face burned, but she spun once more anyway.
Dottore watched her with undisguised fascination, like she was the most extraordinary thing he’d ever seen.
“There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”
She groaned and covered her face while he leaned down, clearly delighted, pressing kisses against her knuckles despite her complaints.
Another time, she’d made the mistake of criticizing herself aloud after a particularly exhausting day.
“I look awful.”
Dottore had gone still.
Slowly, dangerously still.
“What,” he asked carefully, “did you just say?”
She immediately regretted it.
“It’s not a big deal—”
“You,” he interrupted, stepping closer, “are attempting to call my partner ugly.”
“…Maybe a little?”
His expression turned almost offended.
“Absurd.”
“Zandik—”
“No. Absolutely not.” He cupped her face firmly in both hands, forcing her to look at him. “Do you have any idea how frequently I am distracted by you?”
She stared at him.
He continued without hesitation.
“You are beautiful when you wake up. Beautiful when you are angry. Beautiful when you are speaking. Beautiful when you are silent.” His thumbs brushed warmly over her cheeks. “You are quite possibly the loveliest creature I have ever encountered, and I am growing increasingly irritated by your inability to comprehend this.”
By the end of it, she could barely form coherent thoughts.
Which, unfortunately, seemed to amuse him greatly.
“There,” Dottore murmured, smug satisfaction bleeding into his voice as he watched her turn red. “Much better.”
------
There was one major problem with dating Il Dottore.
Actually, several problems.
But the *main* one?
The segments.
At first, she’d assumed they would ignore her.
Perhaps tolerate her at best.
After all, each segment possessed different objectives, personalities, and levels of patience. They were all Dottore, technically, but fragmented into different versions of himself across various ages and mindsets.
Which meant, unfortunately for her—Every single one of them inherited the obsession.
The moment she stepped into the laboratory halls, it began.
Every.
Single.
Time.
The heavy laboratory doors hissed open, and instantly heads turned.
Conversation stopped.
Pens paused.
Mechanical limbs froze mid-adjustment.
And then—
“There she is.”
“Good afternoon, beautiful.”
“You visited later than usual today.”
“She braided her hair differently.”
“Oh, she did.”
“It suits you.”
“Very pretty.”
Heat flooded her face instantly.
“Oh no,” she muttered under her breath.
One of the younger segments leaned halfway over a worktable just to wave enthusiastically at her.
Another abandoned whatever horrifying experiment he’d been working on entirely.
The eldest among them merely looked up from his notes, eyes narrowing thoughtfully before speaking in that calm, intelligent voice that somehow made everything worse.
“You appear fatigued. Did you sleep poorly again?”
“She definitely slept poorly,” another chimed in immediately. “Look at her eyes.”
“She is still adorable.”
“Agreed.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“Would you all stop—”
But they never did.
That was the problem.
Dottore’s mind, regardless of age or fragmentation, apparently reached the collective conclusion that she was the most fascinating creature alive.
Which meant traversing the laboratory hallways felt less like walking and more like enduring an onslaught of affection from dangerously intelligent men who all shared one consciousness.
“You should stay longer today.”
“You smell nice.”
“That color is pleasing on you.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Your heartbeat increased the second we noticed you.”
“Oh, don’t tell her that. You’re embarrassing her.”
“I believe she’s already embarrassed.”
She kept her head down and walked faster.
Which only made them more entertained.
“There she goes again.”
“She’s hiding her face.”
“Her ears turned red first.”
“Cute.”
“Extremely.”
By the time she finally reached the main laboratory, she was fully flustered beyond recovery.
Dottore himself barely had time to look up before she marched directly toward him and buried her burning face into his chest.
Silence.
Then his hand settled automatically against the back of her head.
“…What did they say this time?” he asked, sounding entirely too unsurprised.
She groaned.
“That does not answer the question.”
“They’re horrible.”
A pause.
“They are technically me.”
“You know what I mean.”
She could feel the faint vibration of amusement in his chest.
Traitor.
“They seem fond of you,” he said smoothly.
“‘Fond’ is not the word I’d use.”
Dottore hummed thoughtfully while stroking a hand slowly through her hair.
“They *are* behaving more tolerably than usual today.”
Her head snapped upward in disbelief.
“More tolerably?!”
“Yes.”
“Zandik, one of them analyzed my heartbeat!”
“That narrows it down very little.”
“Another one told me I smelled nice!”
“That was likely an observational statement rather than flirtation.”
She stared at him.
He stared back.
Then, slowly—The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
“You’re enjoying this.” She huffed.
“A little.”
“Unbelievable.”
Truthfully, though?
She suspected he liked seeing her flustered because he caused it just as often himself.
Especially whenever he made things for her.
Dottore approached care with terrifying thoroughness.
Nothing involving her was ever rushed.
A passing complaint about restless sleep had resulted in nearly three straight weeks of research.
Not because he wanted to sedate her.
Quite the opposite.
He refused to make anything habit-forming or harmful.
“It would be irresponsible,” he’d said flatly when she suggested ordinary sleep medication. “Most solutions merely force unconsciousness rather than improving sleep quality itself. Inefficient.”
So naturally, he made his own.
When she arrived at the lab that evening, he was already waiting near his desk holding a small glass vial filled with pale lavender liquid.
“I have completed it,” he announced.
She immediately reached for it.
Dottore lifted it slightly out of reach.
“Before you drink unidentified substances, perhaps allow me to explain what they are.”
“You wouldn’t poison me.”
“Correct. But your confidence remains concerning.”
She held out her hand expectantly instead.
Without missing a beat, Dottore glanced around the laboratory.
Then, with complete seriousness, opened a drawer and retrieved a glass straw.
He handed it over like this was a perfectly normal interaction.
Which, unfortunately, for them?
It was.
Satisfied, she took the vial back and waited patiently while he adjusted his gloves and picked up a notebook.
“It should encourage natural sleep onset by calming excessive neural activity,” he explained, already slipping into lecture mode. “Non-addictive. Mild herbal base. No dependency formation during trials.”
She took a sip through the straw.
“…Sour.”
Dottore stopped speaking immediately.
“Sour?”
“Mhm.”
He picked up his pen instantly.
“Noted.”
“It’s fine.”
“You dislike sour flavors.”
“I said it’s fine.”
“The formulation can be improved.”
“Zandik.”
He was already writing.
“Reduced acidity. Possible floral sweetener addition—”
She laughed softly, reaching over to push the notebook down slightly.
“You do not have to optimize every single thing for me.”
Dottore looked genuinely confused by that statement.
“Why would I not?”
“Because normal people don’t completely redesign medicine over flavor.”
“I am not normal people.”
“…Fair point.”
He looked oddly pleased by her concession.
Then his gaze flicked toward the vial still in her hands.
“Continue drinking it.”
“Yes, doctor.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“You are mocking me.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Hm.”
Despite the dry response, he stepped closer anyway, one hand settling against her waist while he watched carefully for any sign of discomfort.
Not clinical.
Not detached.
Just attentive.
Careful.Like every tiny reaction she had mattered.
-----
I hope you guys enjoyed!! I made a little book on Ao3 with my upcoming Dottore oneshots! You can commission or request stories there!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/85298991?view_full_work=true
contains: hurt/little comfort, character death | based off 6.6 spoilers | 1.7k wc
There was little to do in the hour left you had to mourn. To mourn the life that was destined to end, were it not for fate then it most certainty would’ve been nature itself. This had to be fate playing a cruel hand to you and your lover. The one who’s bedside you sat besides, much older and frailer than you remember. Zandik, the only love of your life, the one you would’ve been laying with were it not for his insistence on your life to extend past that of his own. You, ageless and forever in your prime. You once stood together like that, in the prime of both of your lives. Oh, just where had the time gone? It felt like only yesterday you two were mapping out the laboratory granted to Zandik- or rather, Dottore as a Fatui Harbinger. If only time had been kinder, then maybe your partner wouldn’t be breathing as if he was expected to rather than with ease.
The decline began when the back aches began. These weren’t the usual pains Dottore would feel when stretching after a long night spent filing paperwork away, researching, and working at his desk. No, this pain was lasting. A gentle reminder for him to take care of his health better; you lectured him until he’d eventually come to rest with you. You seemed more aware of his health than he ever was, almost ironic considering he was supposed to be the doctor here. He was fifty years old at that point. Plenty of time for Dottore to consider his health seriously.
“It’s rather late, don’t you think? I’m quite tired myself.” As if you were the harbinger himself, you simply waltzed inside at some point. If you had just arrived, he wouldn’t have known, as his work kept his attention occupied to the point of extreme focus. Most of the work given could only be oversaw by The Doctor himself. The paperwork that covered his desk spoke enough in its own sheer volume.
“Which begs the question as to why you are here yourself, my dear.” Your retort came quickly, as expected of someone of your diligence. “Don’t turn this around on me, Zandik. I expect you to be in bed at least twice a week.” The faintest sound of a hum emitted from the Harbinger. “You would rather have me tonight than tomorrow?” Never had he outright declined you regarding this arrangement you had set for the two of you. It had begun as more of a compromise, now it had turned into its own rule.
Your approach came from behind, arms wrapped around his neck as if to pull him into a rest just with your touch alone. If only you’d stay like this for a bit longer, he quite liked the feeling.
It wasn’t long before the Doctor would be in bed with you.
Now, was seeing Zandik with gray hairs common? Of course, he was often stressed due to his responsibilities as a Harbinger. It was no surprise to you or him, it was however a notable sight to see his light locks begin turning less blue and more muted. You acknowledged then exactly what it told, it was his age showing. After decades, it seems his age was becoming more obvious by the years that passed in handful. Neither of you lamented on this, it would be unnecessarily consuming for the time you two had left.
Initially you had been insistent on aging on with him. It felt disturbing to know your beloved Zandik was going to eventually leave you sooner rather than later. The endless march of death seemed more of a bother than an inevitability, you would’ve been just fine to die right with him. As sad as it may sound, you did not have anyone but him. Zandik, likewise, had nobody else other than you. Though Pantalone was a good friend, his closest, there was only one person like you who fit into the slot of his organic heart.
You two only had each other, which worked now and especially back in the akademiya. To lose him would be losing a part of yourself you had never learned to let go, regardless of his actions and deeds you never once planned to abandon him. Yet now you were faced with the difficult decision of needing to live on for him. Eventually you would find the will to live on for yourself, but that would take a while, maybe forever if you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge your own pains.
It was within your best interest to focus on other matters that would not cause you stress or headaches. Omega had said, almost insisted really, while attempting to console you. You chose to not bring the topic up to him thereafter.
The sight of Zandik, now so frail, so utterly aged. He looked too human to resemble the monster his village swore him to be, laid like this. Eighty years old, much older now. He didn’t quite resemble the Doctor you knew, it almost seemed as if that rigid scholar you knew back in the akademiya had returned in a way, though not with the energy and youth. It was more so his overall behavior.
He was far less reserved with his mannerism, though he needed assistance to get around now, which you happily aided him in. There was a light that wasn’t there before, a flickering one at that, still there, nonetheless. When he began using a wheelchair was when you’d take him on walks throughout the lab or around Zapolyarny Palace. Those walks were nice, you’d like to think he enjoyed them as much as you did. Though you weren’t quite sure he enjoyed the walks for himself, he seemed to always be looking your way. As if there was a view he just couldn’t miss, not even for the dimming world around him.
You, ever unchanging even after so many years. Even if you had chosen to leave this world alongside him, the odds of you changing then were almost close to none. You truly were a constant, the variable he never foresaw. A variable he’d never trade not even for the world.
“I think it’s time we head to your room. I’ll have Eta visit you later, he has a lot of drawings to show you.” Though he didn’t respond, he nodded his head at your words. A smile dawned your expression at that, you needn’t for a response anyway.
Then came the day you had to say goodbye to Zandik, for the last time.
His health began to rapidly decline around a year ago, the segments showed no outward care for the old man’s health, only the status of his being. While you did adore the segments, you couldn’t help but feel a certain type of way at their apathy. It was almost staggering how little they did for Zandik, their own creator, in his time of need. Your spouse was dying, yet not even the versions of himself could bring themselves to care unless there was a new change to observe.
Truly, you loved them. You really did, but right now it was hard to bring yourself around them, especially the younger segments. They were less reserved than their older counterparts, which made their crude comments all the more hurtful. While their efforts to keep quiet when you were around were appreciated, it was blatantly obvious when the room would fall silent when you entered that they were talking about him. Just what plans did they have for his body after he was gone? Did they even care enough to think about that? The thought of burying Zandik made you feel nauseous. Could you even bring yourself to remove his body?
Those thoughts rummaged through your head, burying themselves within the deepest cracks of your mind, all while you walked beside Omega. Your distress may have been too prevalent throughout your walk to Zandik’s room, you really couldn’t hide your pain anymore.
“The option to turn back now would bear no consequences, I will have you aware, █████.” Neither of you stopped, simply slowed the pace of which you walked. His tone was as easy as his words, which sounded far too hard for you to even consider. Much less think about, just how could he say such a thing? “His conscious is hardly there.” “Even so, Zandik still needs me, Omega.” Nothing changed in the segment's expression, his face as unreadable as his intention. Loyalty was a trait of which you wore like a badge and extended to those you cared for so eagerly. Your loyalty or care was not a question. “If that is your decision, my dear.”
Now you were here, by his side as you always had been. He wasn’t awake, he needed as much rest as possible these days. Though he was not awake or could hear your words, his hearing was also one of the many things his decline had tainted, you still spoke. “It’s just... not fair.” then it began, the downpour of your emotions rushing in all at once, like a crashing current forcing you to let it out. The heat to your face and blurring of your eyes were overwhelming, as was the breaking of your heart. Taking ahold of his hand felt nice, despite how brittle and unfamiliar they were now. His hands were the only ones you would ever want to feel in the palm of your own. “...I'm sorry, I’m so sorry-” Apologies came as if they were owed and, in a way, they were, just not from you.
There would be no goodbyes left unsaid. Stories came so naturally through broken cords. The squeezes to his hand were the most you could do to let him know even in his rest that you were here, that you would not leave his side until it was necessary. If only the world had been kinder, then maybe you two would have been happier. The future had never looked so bleak until now.
Unfortunately, by the time you’d return to his room by morning to see him, just one more time. Omega would have already told you he was gone.
𝒮ℴ𝓁𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓈 𝒜𝓅ℴ𝓁𝓁ℴ @solarisapollo - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
