HELIOTROPES

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, theta hurts reader but only a little, this was not edited sorry for mistakes 😭

notes: alrighty guys, this is officially the last chapter of the regular schedule—after this one, updates are going to be sporadic but they will at the very least be monthly. wish i could keep up the schedule but its not going to be feasible considering i start law school this upcoming wednesday </3 i'll update the masterlist to reflect the change too

SPIT IN MY FACE

“Excuse me?”

The masked man—had Gamma called him Theta?—kept a tight grip on your wrist, holding it up in front of you so he could look at it himself. He was stronger than he looked, you tried to rip your wrist out of his hold but failed. His nails dug into your skin in response to the attempt, drawing blood. You grimaced as you watched a thin line of red seep down your forearm. 

“You heard me.” Theta’s smile didn’t budge as his other hand came up to grab your chin, turning your head away from where Kappa was still buried in the crook of your neck to face him. “Was he trying to keep you hidden away or were you trying to hide from us?”

He wasn’t looking at your hand. He was looking at your finger or more specifically… where your thread was hanging from it, leading off somewhere to the left of you wherever Dottore was. You remembered how Kappa had looked down at your hand curiously before deciding to come over to you, the way he was so at ease with you for no reason. And Gamma. Gamma had looked at your hand before he started panicking and ran off.

Could they… see it?

“Hm?” Theta’s nails dug into your cheeks now, just like how he had with the aristocrat—you didn’t even know where they went, if they had taken the opportunity to flee or if he had done something to immobilize them, you couldn’t turn your head to check. You grimaced as you felt his nails break skin again. “Answer me.”

How was that possible?

You could all but taste the poison in his words, the impatience and the frustration. You were at a loss as to how to proceed—your arms were tied up with Kappa, one of your hands was stuck in his and he was forcing you to look at him, and that unhinged look in his red eyes was causing your brain to fog with fear.

Think. You had to think. You had to free your wrist from his hand. You had to get back to your room, or to Pantalone’s. 

Where was Pantalone? Livid, you realized that the man was probably still listening in on the show, not getting involved, leaving you to deal with this unstable bastard. 

Think. What did he want to hear? What would make him settle down at least enough to loosen his grip on you?

But how the hell were you supposed to know what he wanted you to hear? Even with just the way he spat out those two questions, you knew both answers were wrong and would set him off more. But you had to say something, the longer you went without answering his question, the more his eyes flamed with impatience—you didn’t want to know what would happen when that thin thread of patience snapped.

“I came here, didn’t I?” you asked quietly. You tried to relax your shoulders and upper body, exuding a type of faux-comfort with the man. “I came looking for you.”

Theta’s red eyes narrowed with suspicion, watching you carefully—his grip did not waver, much to your distress. 

“You don’t even know who I am,” he said coldly, speaking the one truth you’d hoped he wouldn’t. His grip on your wrist tightened and his nails dug deeper into your cheeks. “I hate liars.”

“I’m not lying,” you told him, grimacing as his nail dragged against your skin. Kappa shifted in your arms, bristling, you couldn’t tell if he was watching or not. “You can see the thread, no? I may not fully understand how you can see it but the fact that you can speaks enough.”

Theta hesitated, the corner of his lip dipping in doubt as he tried to decide whether or not he thought you were lying. You watched with bated breath, tongue kissing the inside of your teeth, as a flurry of emotions rushed through his eyes ranging from anger to hesitancy and hope. Then his eyes hardened, decision made, and your heart sunk to your stomach.

“Liar.”

Again, his grip tightened but it was painful now and your body begged you to pull away or do something but he was stronger than you. He forced you closer to him, turning you so that if Kappa wasn’t between you, you would’ve been chest-to-chest with him. You wondered if you should let him go, let him flee somewhere safe, but he was still clutching your shirt.

Theta leaned in close, you could feel his breath hot against your cheek and the cool ceramic of his mask nudging against your skin where his nose would have been. You grit your teeth together as you felt something warm and wet press against the skin of your cheek where his nails had broken through, lapping at the blood.

Your face felt hot, anger and humiliation curdling your blood as Theta let out a puff of amused laughter against your skin.

“You taste like a liar too,” Theta crooned. “Lambda thinks you’re a fake sent to distract us. Are you a fake, little liar?”

Us. He kept saying us but you don’t know what that meant or how it was possible—they could see the thread but as far as you could tell, they did not have a connecting one. You had never seen anything like that before, nor had you ever read about anything like that. 

You thought you should say something but your mind was reeling as you tried to piece together the puzzle and figure out what was going on.

But before you could do or say anything, Kappa squirmed and twisted in your arms, hanging over you to whack his small fist hard against Theta’s mask—with more strength than you expected from the boy. 

Theta grunted stumbling back—he wasn’t hurt but the force of Kappa’s swing had partially knocked his mask off, revealing thick scars similar to the ones you had seen on Gamma. He fumbled trying to straighten out the mask and as he did, you whirled around to rush to your room.

You didn’t get far. 

Not because of Theta, who was cursing as he fastened the mask back on, but because you slammed right into someone else’s chest, broad and dressed in dark clothes. You glanced up as a pair of gloved hands grabbed your waist, irritation rising at Pantalone’s thin, close-eyed smile. You wondered if you had passed or failed whatever test he expected from this situation. 

The pads of his fingers pressed into your waist as he shifted you over to the side and behind him, leveling his attention on Theta as the man straightened back, narrowed eyes still trained on you instead of the Harbinger. 

“Theta.” Venom dripped from Pantalone’s words as he spoke his name. “I suggest you make your way back to the Doctor’s labs instead of bothering my guest.”

“Your?” Theta spat out, taking a step forward. His eyes were wild again now, far gone from the hardened look he had directed toward you after he made his decision. You stiffened, watching as Pantalone lifted his chin, raising his eyebrows, challenging Theta. “She is not your anything, banker. Go back to counting your coins and sucking noble cock to get further in the world, stay out of our business.”

Pantalone, to his credit, did not look bothered by the dig—the only sign of anger was the way his lip twitched before he spoke: “Take it up with your maker, fraud. You have no authority here, you are not the Doctor.”

“I am-” 

Sharp and loud, Theta’s voice rang up and down the hall as he took two long steps forward as if to attack Pantalone but the Harbinger only let out a huff of amusement as he cut Theta off mid-shout.

“I am not one of the subordinates who you can fool into believing you are him. You are a rabid dog running a thin line between life and death. It is only a matter of time before you’re put down, I again suggest you leave before I make that day come sooner.” 

You thought that you shouldn’t feel anything for the man standing a few paces away but something deep in you clenched when Theta drew back as if he’d been physically slapped, red eyes wide with shock. The feeling did not last long though because as quick as the hurt appeared, it was gone, twisting into something far more sinister as a wide smile spread across his lips, teeth bared much like the rabid dog Pantalone claimed him to be. 

“You think you can kill me?” 

Something manic stained his words, deranged and challenging as if he meant for Pantalone to back his words right then and there. Theta did not have a vision, not one that you could see or feel at least, but you knew in your bones that he was far, far more dangerous than he looked—he was strong and he moved faster than any visionless human you’d ever seen. Briefly, you wondered if he even was hu-

Pantalone stepped forward and the air around the four of you crackled with an energy that made your skin crawl. You let out a shaky breath, eyes widening as you took a step away from the man, unconsciously trying to get away from the source of the energy, an unnatural and uncomfortable feeling spreading through you. 

What is that? 

It felt sick. Corrupted. The air tasted stale and rotted as it seeped down the halls like poison. Your vision was reacting in response to it, the purity of the hydro energy trying to repel the new, malefic energy but it was curling all around you, trying to find chinks in the thin shield your vision was providing you from the decay. 

You had to get away from it but your feet were rooted to the ground, watching the scene play out before you. Neither Theta nor Pantalone looked bothered by the energy—in fact, Theta looked thrilled, eyes alight as his impossibly wide smile widened even more, a giggle slipping from his lips as he raised his hand as if to summon something, but before he could snap his fingers, his eyes dulled and his knees hit the ground hard. Almost like he had been turned off, just like that.

What-

At once, the energy around Pantalone dissipated and you could move, confusion riddling your mind as you tried to figure out what happened to Theta and what that disgusting energy was. You took a step forward, eyes wide and trained on Theta first—was that Pantalone’s doing? But as you turned to look at him, your gaze caught sight of a figure down the hall. 

Dottore. 

You were bleeding. 

Dottore could feel his cheeks stinging but he hadn’t been sure what it was until he got to the hall in Pantalone’s wing where Gamma had left you. Theta was on the ground, empty-eyed and still, turned off courtesy of Dottore, and Pantalone was standing to the side of you, seemingly unimpressed by the whole situation. 

But you were looking at him, and only him, and he could only focus on you, eyes tracing the blood as it dripped down your cheeks to your neck, dribbling down your skin. With creased brows and lips pressed together tightly, he couldn’t tell if the look you were directing toward him was suspicion or anger or something else entirely. The only thing he could feel from you was what he assumed were the remnants of the confrontation with Theta: fear, anxiety, skepticism, confusion, disgust. 

Disgust, was that directed toward him or Theta or both of them? It didn’t sit well with him. He wondered how much Theta had told you, and he wondered how much you’d been able to piece together from what he had. Dottore had been hoping to keep the existence of the segments a secret from you. 

The last thing he wanted to have to do was get into depth about what they were because if he knew you even half as well as he thought he did, he knew it would turn into an interrogation of all that he’d been up to with his research. Even when you were young, when the third phase of the bond had first manifested, he had to be careful about what he was thinking about so that it wasn’t transcribed to you. Countless times he received words from you that could have only been originally given by him: the names of the segments, residue, deactivate, and Dottore knew that you must be taking every word he sent you to relentlessly research into them. 

“Doctor,” Pantalone finally drawled as Dottore came to a stop in front of them, forcing his attention away from you just for a second. “It’s about time that you’ve leashed your mad dog, I’m quite tired of dealing with him.”

Dottore didn’t acknowledge his words. Instead, he focused his attention back onto you—the only apparent wounds were the deep scratch marks on your cheek and wrist, painful but mostly superficial. It would heal in a few days at most, he would pass along an ointment to Pantalone so he could give it to you to speed along the healing process. 

The issue for Dottore laid in the boy tucked neatly in your arms, hiding his face against your skin.

The Kappa segment. 

Dottore exhaled. That would be trouble trying to handle. The Kappa segment was skittish and nervous. He usually only stuck around Epsilon, Iota or Gamma, he even tried to avoid the other segments if he could. Dottore had a feeling that it was because they reminded him of their father but he couldn’t be sure. 

Either way, he had never latched onto someone like this before and Dottore had a feeling it would be an issue trying to get him away from you. He didn’t like shutting down the younger segments—or any of the segments for that matter because it tended to mess with their wiring—but he thought he might have to in order to get the kid back to the estate without alerting the entire palace to your presence and relationship to him. 

His eyes lingered on you, only for a few more moments, watching the way you held Kappa close, arms wrapped around him tightly as if to shield him from danger. Kappa seemed like he was on the verge of dozing off, his shoulders rising and falling steadily—he’d never seen him so comfortable with someone that wasn’t Epsilon before. Something unfamiliar tightened his chest. Longing? Desire? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. 

He looked away sharply, finally turning his attention to Pantalone. 

“Regrator, don’t act as if you spend all of your free time reluctantly handling my segments. You are usually asking for them, in fact,” Dottore said dryly. He barely spared you another look as he said: “I’ll handle this. Go back to your room and rest.”

Your face twisted and Dottore bit back a sigh, realizing that round three of his war of words with you was about to begin.

“I am not a child,” you shot back, voice tight. “You can’t just send me to my room. I have questions and you will give me answers now. I’ve waited long enough.”

Dottore had a feeling that you were not just talking about the past few hours. You were talking about the decade he had spent ignoring your existence. Unfortunately for you, he had no interest in answering your questions, not now or ever. 

He turned his attention back to Pantalone, ignoring the furious look that spread across your face at being blatantly ignored. Luckily—or unluckily, time would tell—Epsilon stepped in. He watched as your brows dipped in suspicion, looking between Epsilon and Dottore warily. If you hadn’t put together something was very, very wrong with the existence of Kappa, Gamma and Theta already, he had a feeling that Epsilon’s appearance just sealed it. 

Dottore turned away as Epsilon took your hand in his to press his lips to your knuckles before he gently led you in the direction of the door on the left. Gamma and Iota followed behind, the latter far more excited than the former. Gamma cast one last pleading look in Dottore’s direction just as Iota slammed the door shut behind them. 

Dottore, as he turned his attention to Theta’s still body, thought this might just be the worst case scenario. All three of the children. Theta. Epsilon. The last segments Dottore wanted meeting you all somehow managed to do just that within hours of you being in Zapolyarny. This would spread to all of the rest of the segments in no time and then he would have Zeta demanding to see proof of your existence and Rho lurking about curious; he’d have Delta bashing down the palace door to get Iota away from you, convinced by Lambda that you were only here to deceive them. And he’d have Lambda doing god knows what to try to remove your existence from their lives so they could continue their research without distraction. 

He needed a plan of action and he needed it fast but first, he had to deal with this. 

“What happened?” 

“Two aristocrats came up looking for the Kappa segment,” Pantalone said off-handedly. “Your soulmate interfered.”

“Interfered?” Dottore demanded. “What was she doing wandering around?”

Pantalone raised his eyebrows. “Was I meant to lock her in her room?”

Dottore looked at him coldly, silently telling him yes, he should have. They could not afford to have any of their subordinates run into you, much less any of the Harbingers and he knew that some of them would be searching for you. He remembered Columbina’s cryptic comment about you a few months ago, Sandrone’s fury at your presence in Snezhnaya, Arlecchino’s odd interest in you—and if Arlecchino was interested, it was only a matter of time before she sent her attack dog after you to find out whatever she wanted to know. Keeping you isolated from the rest of the Fatui was paramount.

“What happened with Theta?” Dottore asked after Pantalone let out an exaggerated sigh of agreement. 

“What always happens with Theta,” Pantalone said dismissively. “He gets set off and lashes out. Was going on about her faking the bond, apparently Lambda is going around convincing them she’s lying.”

Of course, Dottore thought bitterly. He knew that Lambda had been talking to Zeta, Delta and Rho but he thought the segment knew better than to get Theta wound up about this. 

He took a deep breath, taking a step away to calm himself down. Well, that made that decision: the first thing he had to do was talk to Lambda, he couldn’t have him turning the segments against you, least of all Theta, who was very liable to attack those that he thinks did him wrong. After that, he would figure out what to do with the rest of the segments because in stopping Lambda, he would have to admit to them all that you were his soulmate, that this was all real. 

That this was all real. 

Dottore shut his eyes briefly, unconsciously looking in the direction of where you, Epsilon and the kids had disappeared behind the dark door that led to your room. His body itched to follow them in there—the bond in work, surely, but he could feel it was getting stronger. It was stronger than it was while he had been dancing with you, and even stronger than it had been while talking to you outside of the washroom. He should just grab Theta and drag him back down to his lab, leaving Epsilon to deal with your interrogation, but his feet weren’t cooperating.

“You should speak to her,” Pantalone said as he turned to go back to his own room. “If you’re going to have me confine her to this wretched place, you should at the very least, explain to her why… lest you have a very unhappy soulmate on your hands. I doubt that would be conducive to productivity.” 

Dottore hummed dismissively, glancing back at the door once. He supposed should, he didn’t want to deal with your turbulent emotions, especially when he was going to be dealing with the segments. 

Distantly, a part of him wondered if he was just using that as a logical excuse to give in to the pull of the bond. 

“And Doctor, do get me that prototype by the morning as promised.”

You felt overwhelmed. The older boy, Gamma, was sitting in the corner of your room, knees tucked to his chest as he watched you with the younger two. Kappa was fast asleep now, tiny arms slung around your neck as he slept—you had tried to place him down on your bed but whenever you tried to pull him away from you, his arms tightened and he started stirring awake. The other one, you didn’t know his name yet, was kneeling on the floor next to the bed where you were sitting, big red eyes peeked above the comforter, watching you with varying degrees of suspicion and distrust and longing.

He had the same scar on the upper half of his face that Gamma did, you couldn’t help but notice, down to the burn patterns and wrinkles. And they were identical, if Gamma was a few years younger, he’d be the spitting image of the kid. It was impossible. Not even brothers can be so similar as to be identical down to the wrinkles and patterns in scars. 

So, what were they?

You had to have been onto something when you thought it was some sort of experiment—Kappa was too young to have been born eight years ago, Gamma and the new kid were too similar in appearances, if you saw correctly when Kappa partially knocked off the mask even Theta seemed to have some scars on his face, and Theta and Kappa both showed a strength that did not reflect in their body.

A throat being cleared knocked you out of your thoughts, your eyes drew up from the kids to where the man was standing near the door. He gave you a small, apologetic smile as his eyes met yours—red and gentle. 

Who was this?

You watched the man with thinly veiled suspicion. He looked just like Dottore, silvery blue hair styled the same way and even wearing a similar dark button-up that he did. 

Except unlike Dottore, he was not wearing a mask. 

His skin was smooth compared to the scars of the children and instead of the ever-present frown of Dottore, the corner of his lips were turned up. You had grown used to the cold aloofness of your soulmate over the years, it unnerved you how someone could look so much like him and yet feel entirely different. 

You raised your chin as Epsilon came to sit on the edge of the bed next to you, keeping your expression stony, studying him to try to figure out what he wanted from you.

“Peace,” he murmured. “I’d just like to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” 

He had a white handkerchief between his fingers and you were acutely aware of the blood still dripping down your cheeks and arm. He raised his eyebrows, but sighed when he realized you weren’t going to budge, placing the handkerchief back in his pocket. 

“Very well,” he said quietly. “I’m sure you have questions. I can answer them if you’d like.”

Of course you had questions, but could you trust him to answer them? 

He didn’t appear as if he was trying to deceive you, his eyes were warm and his lips were lax, he had none of that tightness that Dottore usually had. Was he faking it? Or was he wanting to help you? You couldn’t tell, his demeanor was throwing you off.

“You’re really her?” a new, young voice said softly, voice hesitant but tinged with the slightest bit of hope that had your heart aching. You looked back toward the kid as he peered up at you through thick curls of hair cautiously. “Our soulmate?”

Our.

Your ears rang, distantly watching as the boy reached out for your hand, thin fingers playing with yours until he reached the one your thread was looped around. From the corner of your eye, you looked at the older man, who was watching you with a knowing expression.

Our.

How was that possible? He could clearly see your thread, trying to play with it and tug at it in the same way you used to as a child, but he had no connecting one, like the Doctor did. Did that make you his soulmate but he was not yours? Was there such a thing as unrequited soulmates? But you didn’t think it was that simple, there was a critical piece of information you were still missing.

But the kid was looking at you again, anxiously awaiting your response, and you didn’t have the heart to deny him. Even if you weren’t sure what was going on, he could undeniably see your thread.

“Yes,” you finally said, watching as he lit up, red eyes pooling with tears and lips trembling as he flung himself forward, burying his face into your lap. He jostled Kappa, who kicked his foot out instinctively, but the kid was unbothered.

“I knew you were real.” His voice was muffled into the cloths of your dress. “Everyone said you weren’t but I knew you were.”

Your throat tightened and your now free hand twitched from where it was laying on the comforter of your bed, coming up to pat his head.

You let out a shaky breath, lifting your gaze to focus on the man still sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you with an indecipherable expression.

“I’ve never seen them take to someone like this before,” he said softly. “I suppose it’s just further proof that you are who you claim to be. Some of the others thought it might be a ploy.”

Others, you wondered distantly but you were more focused on the last thing he said, face twisting.

“I would not fake a soul bond,” you said tightly, mind turning to your stepfather and your mother, your dead father and your destroyed family.

“I insulted you,” he realized. “My apologies, it was not my intention. I was not one of the ones that thought that way but I figured it was best for you to know and prepare, some of them might doubt you when they meet you.”

“How many of you are there?” you asked, but the more important question that you just couldn’t push out was what are you?

“Excluding the Doctor, there are nine of us. I’m called Epsilon. Kappa is the youngest, then Iota, who is on your lap, and then Gamma, who’s sitting over there,” he explained.

You looked back over to where Gamma was sitting. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, staring out the window into the dark night… or maybe he was. Amused, you realized that he was still watching you carefully through the reflection of the window. As soon as he realized that you noticed what he was doing, he turned his head away quickly.

“He’ll warm up,” Epsilon said quietly. You looked back toward him, watching as his lips turned up, red eyes glittering, as if sharing some secret with you. “He’s nervous.”

You couldn’t help the way you let out a puff of amusement, studying Gamma and the way he was digging his nails into the palm of his hand and tapping his foot against the wood of the window nook incessantly. 

“I don’t… really understand all of this,” you finally admitted, relaxing a bit with Epsilon. You let yourself lean back against the large, decorative pillows set up on the bed, watching the man that looked eerily similar to Dottore, wondering if this was what he looked like beneath the mask as well.

“This is new for all of us too,” Epsilon told you, “so I can’t really explain to you what all of the bonds might be or mean… but I’m sure that is not what you’re asking right now, is it?”

“Not entirely, at least. First I’d like to understand…”

What you are. What they are. Why you can see the thread and why the children think that I’m their soulmate too.

“Well, I’ll do my best at explaining then. You deserve that much at least.”

The heavy weight on your chest lifted, if only a little. You thought that this might be the first time in weeks, months, that someone was actually giving you answers. Your father passed and left you with only questions, the masked person from the inn gave you even more questions and not a single answer, and now even Dottore refused to answer your questions, he just sent you away for Pantalone to deal with. 

“Thanks,” you said softly, eyes meeting his again.

Epsilon gave you a small smile, lips parting to speak but before he could say anything, the door to your room opened again. Your gaze shot up, eyes falling upon a familiar masked figure standing in the frame, lips pressed together tightly. 

“Epsilon,” Dottore said coldly. “Bring Theta down to the lab.”

Epsilon sighed heavily, shooting you an apologetic look before rising to his feet. “Another time,” he offered, and you nodded, disappointed, ignoring how Dottore’s lips turned downward.

Epsilon made his way out of the room, slipping past Dottore, and Gamma threw himself off the nook and scampered after Epsilon, fleeing the room without another look toward you. 

The door slam shut behind them, an eerie silence sweeping over the room as he left you with Dottore.

Dottore’s already sour mood worsened when Epsilon flung him a triumphant look as soon as his back was turned to you. He wondered what he said to you in those few minutes he was in here alone with you but for some reason, he doubted that you would tell him and he by no means wanted to add more fuel to the fire by appearing interested in you. Narrowed eyes followed Epsilon as he left the room, shutting the door harshly behind him and the Gamma segment so he could speak to you without unwelcome ears listening in.

The Kappa and Iota segments made no move to leave—one being fast asleep and the other now watching Dottore suspiciously, shifting behind you to peek over your shoulder at him. Dottore could see the boy clutching something in his hand, knuckles white around the object and arms tensed as if ready to throw it. Dottore raised his eyebrows, albeit knowing neither of you could see the action anyway. 

He ignored Iota and drew closer to the bed, taking a seat on the opposite side of the mattress that Epsilon had been sitting on as he observed you. You looked exhausted—your eyes looked heavy and tired, they didn’t have the same spark in them that they had earlier in the night, and the blood from the scratch marks on your was smeared messily, staining your skin and dress. 

Irritated, Dottore wondered why Epsilon hadn’t cleaned it up, pulling out a cloth from his jacket pocket and shifting a little closer. He grabbed your arm first, ignoring that tingling sensation as it reappeared as soon as the pads of his fingers were pressed against your bare skin, and especially ignoring the red thread tied around your finger. 

He could feel your eyes on him as he carefully wiped away the blood, distantly noting that Iota had shimmied out from behind you and was darting to the opposite side of the room. 

“He will not bother you again,” Dottore finally said, sparing a look to the side as Iota approached from the side, this time with bandages. He eyed the boy curiously, wondering if this room was one of the places he fled to those rare times he was stuck in the palace and got overwhelmed by the amount of people. Iota turned his head away pointedly and Dottore just shook his head, taking the bandages and wrapping them neatly around your wrist and forearm. 

You didn’t respond to him and Dottore glanced up at you, waiting for you to say something. You looked away, Dottore bit back an irritated sigh, tying off the bandage and moving a bit closer to look at your face.

“Thought they just called you a doctor for the irony,” you snipped half-heartedly, keeping your eyes averted as his fingers grabbed your jaw, turning your head to the side to see just how deep Theta had cut you.

Dottore let out an amused puff of air. “They do,” he drawled, “but I’m usually presented as one to acquire more willing test subjects. I must at least know the basics.” 

You gave him a withering look from the corner of your eye, bottom lip pushed out. He was grateful for his mask hiding the way his gaze lingered on it, focusing back on the scratch marks. They weren’t too deep but he didn’t have an ointment with him to spread over them, so instead he just pressed the handkerchief to the skin, cleaning up the blood.

“What are they?” you asked, eyes steeled for an argument. 

Dottore sighed heavily, considering briefly trying to avoid the subject but you did not seem keen on letting this slide and he was not in the mood for an argument. He wanted to get this done and get out of your room as soon as possible, even if his body was betraying him by allowing his fingers to linger on your cheek as he wiped away the blood. 

“They are me.”

Concise and to the point, as he always was, Dottore waited for the explosion of questions and demands to come from you but you only stared at him, studying him. Again, Dottore was grateful for his mask because he did not like the way he felt beneath your gaze.

“How?” you finally questioned. 

“Experimentation,” Dottore said dryly, your eyes narrowed as if that was an obvious answer. His lip unconsciously pulled up into a smirk. “I was able to isolate and extract my consciousness at specific periods of my life after years of study into-”

“Irminsul,” you finished for him, voice little over a breath and eyes darting down to your forearm. 

Dottore’s lips pressed into a thin line, watching you carefully—he did not like that, or did he? A part of him was impressed that you’d managed to put it together so easily just from the little he said and the words that had been transcribed to you through the bond. But on the same note, he thought that the fact that the bond had given you enough words to so easily string together how he had gone about his research was unnerving. 

Not for the first time since the bond appeared, Dottore felt distinctly violated. 

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Study into Irminsul. All I had to do was create vessels for the consciousnesses after extracting them.”

“And they are… you?” 

You were looking at Kappa with a different expression now, Dottore couldn’t figure out what it was but it made him uncomfortable, vulnerable. There was a reason why he made sure to keep all of the younger segments far, far away from people. Dottore let his hand drop back to his lap, folding the handkerchief and placing it back in his pocket. 

“Yes.” His voice came out colder and sharper, and you caught the change in tone, looking up at him quickly with furrowed brows. “I’ll be taking them back to the labs.”

You didn’t look pleased, frowning as you looked down at Kappa, who was still fast asleep. Behind Dottore, Iota let out a noise of protest but Dottore only had to turn his head to the side to stop the boy from speaking his complaint out loud. 

“So what? You’re just going to leave again?” you asked harshly.

“Did you think I was going to stay?” he quipped back, sarcasm dripping from his words. “That you and the younger segments and I were just going to be one happy family?” 

To your credit, you didn’t look too perturbed by the harsh words but he knew it affected you, if the way your grip tightened on Kappa had anything to say about it.

“You can’t just keep me here,” you spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m not-”

“You’ll find that I can do whatever I want,” Dottore corrected, rising to his feet. 

You didn’t hesitate, shifting Kappa down to lay on the bed next to you as you moved forward, fingers wrapping around his wrist to hold him in place. A commendable effort, but all it would take was one quick snap of his wrist to free it from your hold…

But he did not snap away his wrist. As easy as it would have been, instead he just stood there, staring down at you, waiting for you to say whatever you wanted to say. He tensed as if to pull away but his body didn’t cooperate—he blamed it on the bond but he wasn’t so sure that was the case.

“I’m not done,” you said. “I have more questions.”

“Another time,” he dismissed, finally forcing himself to pull his wrist back. Again, he felt a strange void as soon as the pressure of your fingers was removed from him. “I’ve wasted enough time tonight.”

Wasted?

“Wasted?” you echoed his very thought, scoffing loudly before shaking your head. “You know what, I don’t really care. What I do care about is knowing what that energy was around Pantalone—what was that?”

Dottore looked at her steadily from beneath his mask. “That is none of your business,” he said coolly. “Do not go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong lest you find yourself a guest here forever.”

The look you gave him was nothing short of murderous. “As if I won’t be already,” you spat, rising to your feet to take a few steps closer to him after he moved away. Dottore remained rooted in place, looking down at you. “I will not be kept here like a caged animal.”

“Then maybe you should not act like one.”

“Excuse me?” Dottore’s words held no weight, but he did very much enjoy goading reactions out of you, watching as your face twisted in fury at the insult. “I came here for a reason, Doctor, and that reason was not to be imprisoned by you. I have information I need to find and one way or another, I will acquire it. You can either-”

“You will do as I say so long as you’re in this palace,” Dottore said, cutting you off by pinching your cheeks between his fingers and tilting your face up to look at him. “Just because we have a bond forced on us by Celestia does not make you untouchable, control that tongue of yours before it lashes at the wrong person. Once I get the information I want, I will consider getting you what you want. Then, we will never have to see each other again. Until then, you have reaped what you sowed and it is no one’s fault but your own that you were not adequately prepared for the consequences of your actions, do you understand?”

Just for a second, he watched as a helpless expression spread across your face, eyes glassy and lips pressed together tight as you stared up at him. His tongue itched to say something else but no words formed on it before you snapped your face out of his hold, looking away. 

“Get out.”

A part of him wanted to refuse just to be spiteful—was it spite? Or was it something else, that heavy feeling weighing at his chest? That was a question he was not ready to answer, so instead, he smiled thinly:

“Gladly.”

i promise they’re going to start warming up to each other soon more than just in their internal narration <.< soon as in very soon wait til you see the scene i have planned

RBS APPRECIATED!

HELIOTROPES: A SIDE STORY

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding, brief mention of alcoholism and implied child abuse (not to reader), totally unedited (didn't have time! sorry!) reminder that segment list is on the masterlist if needed!

notes: THE BDAY SIDE STORY IS HERE, sorry i couldn't get it out on time i've been so busy i literally did not have the time to format or do anything sobs but i hope u guys enjoy because i had so much fun writing it. i originally came up with the idea for milk's bday a few weeks ago hehe. i rlly love it because it gives more background into reader and some of my fav segments (minus theta </3 he didn't make it in this one. but perhaps i shall do a christmas side story and make him the star).

THREE TIMES THE SEGMENTS MET YOU WITHOUT REALIZING IT,  AND ONE TIME THEY DID.

I. THE KAPPA SEGMENT & THE EPSILON SEGMENT; READER, AGE 6

You were cold. Soft puffs of air left your lips, shaky and weak. You were curled up in a ball on the ground, and a part of you knew that you needed to move but you couldn’t bring yourself to, your limbs felt as if they were iced to the ground—maybe they were, you could barely even pry your eyes open to check. 

The storm had died down, brief and brutal as they usually were, but you had been unable to find shelter before it hit. The town had to be close, you could hear people leaving their homes to fix up their properties from destruction of the harsh winds. It was only a matter of time before someone spotted you curled up on the ground, you were wearing a bright purple cloak. Your mother would find you, she would come to your rescue, she’d bring you home and make some hot cocoa for you just like you guys used to do during the bad storms before your father left for Fontaine City. 

It felt like an eternity. It might’ve been an eternity, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that everything was cold, and you felt sluggish and slow, and you were starting to struggle to breathe because the air felt like icicles scraping at your lungs. You were tired, you could feel yourself falling asleep but living on the northern border, you knew better—you had to make it somewhere warm before you fell asleep, otherwise you might not wake up. 

But you couldn’t move, you thought you should feel scared and you thought you should definitely be crying but you couldn’t even do that. And as the minutes passed, slow and agonizing, you began to question whether or not someone would find you in time. The more those doubts began to surface, the more appealing the relief of sleep became—at least if you slept, you wouldn’t have to wait out these freezing and harrowing minutes alone. You could dream of your mother and father, of Sylvie and Elliot, maybe you would even dream of your soulmate. You heard that some people who were favored by the gods had dreams of their soulmate well before they ever met. 

Your weak breaths began to even out as you gave into the lull, but just as you were on the verge of falling asleep, you heard it—the crunching of snow, fast and loud heading in your direction. You forced your eyes open now, whimpering as the ice and snow caked on your face ripped at your skin painfully, and through little slits, you watched a figure dashing toward you.

At first, you thought it was your mother, wishing you could cry in relief because of course she found you, she would always find you. She would always come to your rescue. She would wrap you up in her arms and cry at you for being such a fool, but you knew she would just be happy you were okay. 

But as the figure drew closer, you realized that it was far too small to be your mother—you thought maybe it was Sylvie or Elliot, rushing ahead to get to you and maybe your mother was right behind them, but again, you were proven wrong as an unfamiliar boy knelt at your side, red eyes wide and silvery-blue curls hanging in his eyes as he peered down at you. 

He pressed his hands against both of your cheeks, as if to warm you up, but you thought it might’ve made it worse, because with the small bit of warmth against your skin and the feeling of someone else’s touch after being alone so long in the blizzard, you found your eyes drooping shut again, being lulled to sleep far faster this time. 

At once, the boy ripped his hands away and you could hear him pulling off his own cloak. He wrapped it around you tightly tucking one of your arms inside the thick material but hesitated before stuffing your other arm in there too. You forced your eyes back open, watching as he stared at your hand in confusion, and you parted your lips to ask what he was doing but no noise left them besides a wheeze of cold air that had ice slicing down your windpipe and your body shuddering in pain. 

Noticing your reaction, he put your arm into the cloak. He stood up, and you wondered if he was going to try to lift you himself, or leave you, but then another voice reached your ears, loud and tired, calling a name that you couldn’t quite make out but it had the boy lifting his arms and waving them frantically. 

A few moments later, there was a new figure kneeling next to you, brows furrowed as he looked down at you. “How did you get out here all on your own in this weather?” he murmured more to himself than you, and careful to keep you wrapped up in the small one’s cloak, he took his own off and wrapped you in that one too, easily lifting you up into his arms.

He was a stranger, and you knew you shouldn’t feel so comfortable in his arms, but you couldn’t help the way you leaned into his chest, basking in the warmth and relief of having been found, even if it wasn’t by the person you wanted it to be. You started to doze off again but found yourself disrupted as he jostled you in his arms suddenly, eyes blearily reopening to give him a confused look. 

“No sleeping,” he warned, giving you a steady look before motioning for the boy to follow him as he brought you into the town.

He took you to the inn, bustling with people who had taken refuge from the sudden storm, and immediately the innkeeper recognized you, gasping as she hobbled over to the man and led him in the direction of the fireplace, shouting for people to go fetch your mother or stepfather. He placed you down on the ratty couch of the inn, keeping you nestled inside both cloaks before pushing it as close as possible to the fireplace. 

He stepped away and at once you felt cold again—not physically, but mentally. Empty in a way that you’d never experienced before. You wanted to tell him to come back but you still couldn’t speak, your throat hurt and your lips still felt numb. 

The boy lingered for a moment, standing in front of the couch and staring at you as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t—much like you.

“Come, Kappa,” the man who saved you said just as you finally began to drift off to sleep with the warmth of the fireplace next to you and the weight of their cloaks pressing down on you. “She will be fine. Delta is waiting, you know how he feels about wasting time.”

You could only watch them leave, confused as to the warmth you felt when you were wrapped up in his arms—you knew it was different than normal but didn’t know why—and Epsilon never noticed the thread tied neatly around your finger, which was hidden by his and Kappa’s cloak. Kappa, mute and anxious, was unable to force the words out of his mouth as Epsilon held his wrist and led him from the tavern away from you. 

II. THE IOTA SEGMENT; READER, AGE 11

You shuffled through the streets, sniffling and wiping at your eyes with baggy sleeves. You were getting odd looks from all around, wondering why an eleven-year-old was wandering around the streets alone wearing clothes that were far too big for her body. You had stolen Wriothesley’s jacket and gloves to cover your nice dress and the rings adorning your fingers, you probably should have taken them off before leaving the palace—the last thing you needed was for your mother to yell at you for losing her grandmother’s pearl ring and the city was out of control with pickpockets the past few months. 

It had already started raining, much to your displeasure, you remembered the prophecy that spoke of the day Fontaine City would be drowned by the gods and not for the first time, you wished that the day would just come already. You were so tired of dealing with your stepfather, and you hated the way he looked at you, and you hated how now he was even turning people against you and your father. 

You were supposed to have joined your mother and siblings in visiting your uncle for dinner, but instead, your mother had made an off-handed comment about how you should go spend some time with your father and grandfather instead, and you knew it was because your stepfather must have said something to your uncle. You didn’t know what, you had never been close to your uncle but you’d thought that since he was still family, he wouldn’t care for the words of an outsider.

But you should have expected this, in Fontaine, nothing came above the word of a person’s soulmate, Celestia’s gift to humanity. Of course he would believe your stepfather, because your stepfather was his sister’s gift from the gods—he only ever wanted the best for her, and he had somehow convinced your uncle that you, her own daughter, were not the best for her. 

Another sob bubbled at your lips, you pressed the sleeves of Wriothesley’s jacket to your mouth to muffle it. You wondered if your mother thought you were stupid, that you wouldn’t know what she really meant, but of course you knew. You spent too much time just observing people to not know. You didn’t have any friends to talk to besides Wriothesley, and Wriothesley was always busy. All you could do was sit around and observe until you got bored. 

Maybe you should have just gone to your father or grandfather and tell them what happened, but you knew if you did that, they would be livid and it would escalate things even more, and you were the one that would deal with the backlash of that, not them. So instead you went to Wriothesley, and stole his jacket and gloves, and refused to tell him what happened before you fled from the room to leave the palace. 

Just as you were about to turn the corner, you slammed into a figure and hit the ground hard, crying even more when mud splattered all over your face and into your mouth. You tried to wipe the mud off of your face through choked sobs but now the gloves were covered in mud too from you trying to catch yourself, and you only smeared it even worse.

“Oh.” 

It was a young boy who you had slammed into you but you couldn’t make out his facial features through your blurred vision. You were caught off guard when he was suddenly pressing his cloak against your face, using it as a rag to try to wipe off the mud. It didn’t help much, all he did was smear it around more because his cloak was drenched, but it had at least cleared your vision. 

“... Better?” he said hesitantly, looking down at you.

You sniffled a bit, using the clean part of Wriothesley’s jacket to wipe at your eyes before you nodded, but you didn’t stand up from where you were sitting on the ground. You didn’t want to. The boy leaned in a bit closer, frowning, “Are you… crying?” 

“I am not,” you denied immediately, but your voice betrayed you, cracking and breath shuddering over another sob. The boy looked suspicious. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not!”

“You are.”

“Not!”

“Yes, you are!”

“I am not!”

You glared at him. 

He glared back. 

Then he sat down in the mud next to you, plopping down hard and splattering mud all over you again. 

“Are you crying because you fell because of me?” the boy asked.

“‘m not crying,” you muttered, but with far less vigor this time. When he only stared at you, red eyes wide and earnest as he waited for an actual response, you finally said: “My stepfather is mean to me.”

“Oh,” the boy said in response, and the two of you just sat there for a moment, ignoring the way people kept giving you strange looks. Then, he reached up and patted your head, getting mud in your hair and on your forehead. Your brows furrowed as you stared at him, trying to figure out what he was doing, but he looked just as confused as you. “The Doctor pats my head when I get sad sometimes. It makes me feel better. Do you feel better?”

He drew his hand back swiftly into his lap, as if the single touch had poisoned him, and then you noticed how he was sitting with a large space between the two of you, the hand that had touched your head trembling and his body stiff. You wondered if he was like Wriothesley, Wriothesley used to get scared whenever people touched him, even just a kiss on the cheek or a pat on the head, and he never initiated contact with anyone else—you were pretty sure it was because his grandfather drank a lot, and when he drank a lot, he hurt people but whenever you asked your father, he said it was none of your business. But your father didn’t like Wriothesley’s grandfather, and you supposed that said enough, your father liked pretty much everyone. And then, realizing he might be like Wriothesley, you felt sad because he still tried to make you feel better even though he was scared. 

“I feel better,” you said quietly.

He smiled, brightening up a bit, but just as he was about to say something, you heard your name being called, loud and panicked. Your eyes turned up to where Wriothesley’s father was rushing through the rain in your direction, a few of his men following close behind. 

At his side, Wriothesley was with him, looking guilty as he refused to meet your eyes.

“Traitor!” you cried at Wriothesley as his father gently hauled you out of the mud to your feet. “I don’t want to go back there!” 

“He was worried, little one,” Wriothesley’s father patted your head, voice quiet as he spoke. “We all were. The city has been dangerous lately, you cannot go running off on your own. Your father just about had a heart attack when Wriothesley came to us and told us that you took his jacket and left the palace grounds.”

Wriothesley’s father pulled off the muddy gloves and coat to drape his own cleaner one over your shoulders—if he had been a second faster, maybe Iota would have caught sight of the thread tied to your finger before he ran off to get back to Delta. 

III. THE GAMMA SEGMENT; READER, AGE 16

You had made it your goal to attend every festival you possibly could across all of Teyvat. The music festivals of Fontaine were an easy tick to your list, but it had taken a lot of convincing to get your mother to agree to the Lantern Rite Festival of Liyue. With you, Sylvie and Elliot combined though, it was impossible for her to say no. 

It was all you’d been thinking about for days now, and as you walked over the bridge to enter Liyue Harbor, you thought the city might’ve been the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen, eyes drawing upon all of the decorations and stands—it was dark out already, but somehow the city was still completely lit up and alive. People were singing and dancing, chatting loudly and laughing.

It reminded you of Fontaine City before the curfews were set and you were confined to the palace. 

“Look at all of the lights,” Sylvie whispered excitedly, tugging at your arm as she pointed to the lanterns decorating each corner of every building. 

“They say that they release thousands of lanterns at the end of the festival into the air,” Elliot said, squinting as he dipped his head down to see the words of the book he was reading. “They send their soldiers traveling throughout Liyue to collect all of them after Lantern Rite ends.” 

“Do you think we’ll be able to release one?” Sylvie asked, bouncing in her feet as she turned to look at Elliot, who just shrugged. “Can we go explore? Please, mother.”

Your mother looked tired from all of the traveling, sharing a look with your stepfather before nodding. “We’re going to go check in at the inn we’re staying at. Be sure to meet back here before nightfall, we have reservations at the Xinyue Kiosk tonight.”

Delighted, you lit up, watching as your stepfather told Elliot and Sylvie to go buy themselves a kite from the Toy Shop before handing them each a pouch of mora. You should’ve known better, but still, you glanced at him after Elliot and Sylvie ran off in opposite directions. His eyes glazed right over you as he held your tired mother by the waist and led her off in the direction of the inn. 

Your smile faltered but you refused to let it ruin your mood—you were in Liyue Harbor during Lantern Rite. You weren’t going to let him make you sad, you had your own coins anyway that you got from tutoring the Beaumont kids. Instead, you rushed off across the bridge and down the street, in the direction of the main area of the city. 

There were people everywhere, all of the shops stayed open, your smile widened as you watched a bunch of kids Elliot and Sylvie’s age run around with kites in their hands, ignoring how the adults were chiding them for doing it while the streets were so busy. 

You peeked around at some of the market stands, tempted to try some of the food but you figured that you’d get yelled at if you filled yourself up before the reservation, knowing that your mother spent a lot of time and mora getting someone down to Liyue a few months ago to make sure you guys were put on the waitlist. 

Instead, you found yourself in front of a jewelry shop, looking through the glass windows at the gemstones perched up on pretty purple cushions. They were already sold out of Emeralds, Topazes and Agates, but they had a full stock of Turquoises, Jades, and Diamonds. Distantly, you wondered who the hell was going to buy Diamonds from the jeweler, knowing that the rest would at least be bought by people with a vision. 

Your eyes narrowed, and just as disappointment was about to hit you, you caught sight of what you were looking for:

Varunada Lazurite. 

Your gaze shot open in surprise—the gemstone was always sold out in the Land of Hydro with so many people who had hydro visions living within the city. You had managed to get your hands on three chunks the last time the shop near the palace restocked, even though you had to wait in a line for nearly twelve hours to make sure you were the first one there after the restock. You had thought you’d have to wait another month or two for a chance at obtaining the other three you needed. 

But right there were the three brilliant and shiny chunks of Lazurite you needed tucked in the corner of the glass box. Excited, you realized that you wouldn’t have to wait as long as you thought—once you got home, you’d be able to grab the three you already had and crush them down into dust with your father for the second-to-last vision ceremony, to give you the increased connection with your hydro energy that you needed to finally start learning your family’s passed down hydro art. 

Then, you would start the long process of trying to acquire the full gemstones, which were far more expensive and rarer than the chunks. 

“Unless you’re going to buy something, I suggest you move on. You’re holding up my customers,” the woman behind the stand said boredly.

“How much for the three chunks of Lazurite?” you asked, raising your chin. 

She only quirked her brow upward. “Forty geo sigils each.”

“Geo sigils?” you gasped, eyes wide and lips parted as your elation immediately disappeared. 

How were you supposed to get geo sigils? You weren’t a Liyue native, you had no way of knowing how to find them. You barely even had any Hydro sigils and you were from Fontaine. 

“You’re a foreigner?” the woman asked, squinting her eyes a bit as she looked you over. You nodded, and she sighed heavily. “Very well, seventy-five thousand mora. Each.”

You blanched, knowing in your heart that she was ripping you off. Forty geo sigils was worth closer to sixty-thousand than seventy-five thousand but you weren’t going to argue that when she was doing you a favor by taking the common currency for you already. 

Defeated, you asked: “Do you take bank checks?” 

The woman nodded, and you pulled out one of the Northland Bank check slips that your mother had given you a few months back—it was your stepfather’s, he was the only one that had a bank account with the Northland Bank, and you figured that he would be mad when he realized you’d spent over two-hundred thousand of his mora on your Lazurite chunks but you thought that he deserved it, and signed the check happily after making it out to Mingxing Jewelry. 

She handed you the bag with the Lazurite chunks and thanked you for the business. Smiling to yourself, you made your way down the street again, this time looking for Sylvie or Elliot.

You got no further than a few yards before someone slammed into you, sending you both sprawling out to the ground. 

All the air left your lungs as a heavy weight dropped onto your stomach, scrambling off of you almost immediately, panicked. Your eyes met a pair of red ones and a face flushed pink in embarrassment, burn scars decorated the upper half of his face and for a moment, you thought he was familiar from somewhere. He was around your age, you couldn’t help but notice.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “Sorry, I was just-I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m looking for someone and-”

“It’s-” You began to say ‘it’s fine’ but the words died on your tongue when you realized that the bag you were holding was significantly lighter. You shot an accusing look at him, thinking that he had pickpocketed you but as you did that, your eyes caught a glimmer from the corner of your eye. 

The Lazurite.

You rushed toward it, but not fast enough, only able to watch as a small child darted through the crowd to steal the shiny object.

“Hey!” you shouted angrily, glaring back furiously at the boy who had bumped into you, who looked even more humiliated now, pressing his knuckles against his mouth as if refraining the urge to gnaw at them. “Look at what you did!”

You didn’t even spare him another glance, ignoring his apologies and his offers to help you get it back as you gave chase to the child who had stolen your seventy-five thousand mora gem. 

You hadn’t noticed the warm feeling that had swept through you when he had crashed into you, nor had Gamma noticed the thin red thread wrapped around your finger in his panic.

IV. THE ZETA SEGMENT; READER, AGE 19

The Windblume Festival.

You smiled as you stepped into Mondstadt City, the beams of the sun washing over you and a gentle breeze sweeping through the city. You had heard that Anemo Archon makes the days of the Festival the most beautiful that the city sees all year—you had doubted it, partially because the Hydro Archon thought it was the greatest entertainment to douse the city in rain and storms whenever the music festivals were taking place. It never deterred them, the musicians would always play on even through the rain and thunder, but you had never quite experienced a festival like this, even during Lantern Rite, you had been unlucky with dreary clouds draped over the harbor. 

You didn’t even know where to go first, you were so overwhelmed with all of the colors and all of the people and you thought you shouldn’t be, you should be used to crowds by now, but you’d spent so much time locked up in the palace after your father’s death that you were getting anxiety just being in the vicinity of so many people. 

Your father. Your throat felt tight just as the reminder of him. He was supposed to be at Windblume with you—he had promised to bring you last year knowing how excited you were to see all of the nations’ different festivals, but he’d died before he could. You hadn’t even been able to bring yourself to go without him, but you forced yourself to go this year, to enjoy it for the both of you. 

And you couldn’t enjoy it with such a cloud of gloom hanging over you, so you squared off your shoulders and pushed away all of the dark feelings, forcing the small smile back onto your face as you made your way into the city, although it wasn’t quite as bright as before. 

You sighed as you made your way up the steps to the city’s main square. There were kids dancing to the music of a bard and flower stands set up all around the fountain in the center of the square. You wanted to buy one to give to someone, as per the Windblume tradition, but you didn’t have anyone to give it to. Sylvie and Elliot were supposed to have joined you for the festival, but their stepfather forbade them at the last minute, forcing you to attend the festival alone.

You looked around, eyes falling upon where a pretty woman with brown hair and green eyes was leaning into a tall blonde woman, and next to them, where a shorter blonde man was being dragged to the center of the square by a little girl dressed in red, who was pointing excitedly to a stand somewhere behind you. 

“Are you waiting on someone?”

You jumped at the unfamiliar voice, turning to the side only for your eyes to fall upon a handsome man with dark skin and blue hair. His lip ticked up a bit as you studied him, and a bit embarrassed, he added: “Sorry. I was just wondering, you’re not from Mondstadt, are you?”

“Is it that obvious?” you asked dryly, glancing down at yourself. You wondered if it was the way you were dressed or if it was the way you looked like a lost duckling trying to figure out where to go. Disappointed, you thought you had made sure to wear an outfit that leaned more toward Mondstadt’s typical fashion than Fontaine’s but either way, it was a bit embarrassing. 

“No,” the man said immediately. “I was just throwing it out there for a conversation starter, I’ve found it works wonders.”

“Does it?” you asked curiously, peering around the pavilion as more people began to wander around.

He hummed in agreement. “Usually, they start asking me why I think that because they are from Mondstadt,” you laughed a bit and the corner of his lip pulled up, “and if they aren’t, I explain to them why I asked, and then they laugh, kind of like how you are now.”

“You’ve got it all figured it out, don’t you?” you asked, letting the tease slip into your tone as you relaxed against the stone wall behind you, glancing up at him.

“Not at all,” he corrected. You gave him a questioning look and his grin widened a bit as he leaned in, as if to whisper to you in conspiracy. “I just made all of that up.”

You laughed louder this time, more in surprise than humor, but he seemed to take it as a positive regardless, straightening back up and looking down on you. “I’m Kaeya,” he greeted. “Cavalry Captain of the Knight’s of Favonius.”

“I’m…” you began, but found yourself trailing off as you caught sight of a figure ducking into an alleyway. All you caught was a head of silvery-blue hair, but somehow you could feel yourself drawn in that direction as if something was pulling you and were a puppet on a string that could only follow along. “Excuse me for a second.”

You didn’t hear his response and though you felt a bit bad about leaving him hanging like that, you were more focused on trying to figure out whatever the pull to this person was. You took off in that direction, relief hitting you when you realized he was still lingering at the mouth of the alley, fiddling with something in his hands.

“Excuse me,” you called, trying to get his attention. He didn’t respond, he didn’t even look up, so you repeated yourself as you drew closer, reaching out to touch his arm but he jerked away, dropping whatever was in his hands and your eyes widened as it hit the ground hard, shattering. 

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him, you could feel the cold and harsh gaze set on you as he waited for you to say whatever you wanted to say, but now you were at a loss for words because you didn’t even know why you came after him and you didn’t know what you wanted. 

“Did you need something?” Clipped and icy, the thin smile on his lips did not meet the red of his eyes, and any words that you might’ve been trying to say to excuse your actions died on your tongue. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally said, grateful that your voice remained steady even under his severe look. “You looked familiar. I thought we might’ve met before.”

He looked ridiculously familiar, in fact. You swore that you’d seen him before—the red eyes, silvery-blue hair and the scarred upper half of his face—it was all so familiar but you just couldn’t place from where. He looked taken aback a bit by your words, examining you for just a second before his lips twisted down again. 

“We have not,” he said, voice frigid as he knelt down to pick up the broken pieces of the object that he had been holding. It was a dismissal if you’d ever heard one, but instead of leaving, you knelt down next to him.

“Here, let me help-” you tried to say, but at once, he grabbed your forearm, fingers pressing deep into your skin to stop you.

At once, a jolt shot through you and he seemed to feel it too, if the way he drew back as if he had slapped had anything to say about it. He stared at your hand as if he had just seen a ghost, lips parted in shock and eyes wide, and just as you were about to ask if he was okay, he spluttered something out about being late for something and then he was moving, disappearing around the corner before you even knew what was happening. 

You sat there for a moment, stunned, and completely oblivious as to what he had seen.

Zeta’s heart was racing and his head was pounding, red eyes wide with disbelief as he leaned against a wall around the corner, far away from you. A part of him was embarrassed at the way he had run, he couldn’t even remember what excuse he had given—something along the lines of having to go because something important came up, a load of bullshit of course, but he thought it was better than what would have happened if he stayed there any longer after seeing that thread. 

The thread.

Zeta didn’t know what to think. He had known of your existence—he knew because the moment the Iota segment found out years ago, the boy went running to every segment to tell them how a thread showed up on the Doctor’s finger, how they finally had their soulmate. He never expected to meet you though, much less before any of the other segments, and even then, a part of him had been convinced by Lambda’s persistence that this was all just a ploy for them to drop their guards, a fake, a means to destroy them in a way they had yet to be destroyed. 

But you were there. You were right there. Zeta couldn’t help the way he peeked back around the corner, eyes immediately drawn to where he had left you in the middle of the alley. You looked upset, expression downcast as you glanced around, still trying to find him. A part of Zeta wanted to walk back over to you—talk to you, study you, try to figure out just who you were and why you were tied to them, there had to be something unique about you that made you their soulmate, that made them have to wait five hundred years just to meet you. 

But he knew better. 

The Doctor would already be suspicious. 

It wasn’t unlike Zeta to have bursts of emotion when dealing with too many people—he got overwhelmed quickly after spending years having to keep up a friendly mask at the Akademiya. No matter how hard he tried to keep himself calm and learn new methods for not exhausting his thin tolerance of social situations, he never seemed to be able to do anything to fix it, an unfortunate side-effect of having been created with this mindset, because he would always revert back to the one in which he was originally made in.

But it was not the sudden outburst that was the issue. It was that shock that spread through him when your hand brushed his arm. The warm feeling. The familiarity with someone who should not be familiar. The Doctor would have noticed it, and he would have questions.

Zeta sighed heavily, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose as he leaned his head back against the wall. He cast one last long look backward, eyes lingering on you, memorizing your face and your body, the outfit you wore and the gems that donned your fingers and neck. 

With a tight feeling in his throat, he pushed himself off the wall and head in the opposite direction of where you were standing, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the Doctor reached out demanding to know what had happened and Zeta needed to figure out what he was going to say before that happened, wanting to keep this little encounter a secret to himself because he knew that Lambda would inevitably find out through the Doctor and then he would try to hunt you down. 

One last look, he told himself, again. He glanced back as he reached another corner, the alley where he left you only barely visible from the distance, but you were already gone.  

Courted by a… Hero?

synopsis: Diluc has feelings for you, but is under the impression that you do not reciprocate - his courting attempts show as much. But he comes to find out, that you are at ease around his alter ago… 

It won’t hurt to try and court you as the Darknight Hero. Right?

pairing: Diluc x fem!reader

tw: fluff, pining, courting, seemingly unreciprocated feelings, Darknight Hero!Diluc

word count: 3k words

a/n: this was suggested by a lovely anon~

Diluc Ragnvindr is enamored with you.

Diluc Ragnvindr thinks he is not that subtle about his affections. But it seems that he actually is, because otherwise the Master of the Dawn Winery does not understand how you manage to miss all the clues, all the longing gazes, all the small compliments and acts he does for you in attempts to hint that he’d like to court you.

Аpparently the longing in his eyes is lost in his regular stoic and a bit mournful expression, small compliments are so polite that it’s not hard to mistake them for his gentlemanly antics, and his other actions are just a thread away from acts of service and help, which, given his сhivalry nature, do not stand out too.

Diluc doesn’t get many opportunities to see you, since you do not visit the tavern often, but he tries so hard to make the meetings more numerous. An invitation to play cards at the Cat’s Tail here and there, an insistence to walk you home, an offer to accompany you through the market as you go grocery shopping, always coming with an excuse of checking on the goods to tell Elzer later what purchases they should change for the Winery and its workers. Adelinde always smiles at him knowingly whenever some new dishes are added to his menu.

He is trying to show his affections to you, he really does, but he is too dense for that to come out exactly as he pictured it in his head. However, when you smile at him softly, accepting his offers, when you vent a little to him about a stupid coworker, when you stop at the Good Hunter to have supper with him - he thinks that the long process is worth it.

It’s a great surprise, but the first time he gets an opportunity to hold you close is not a part of you dating him. No, your relationship is far from that, and his persona is hidden under the mask and a hooded cape, as he carries you bridal style. He is well aware of you staring up at him, but he can’t make himself lower his gaze and meet with yours. He is just bringing you to a safe place after you twisted your ankle on a late evening run to catch a cat for your neighbor - a sweet old woman, whose pet seems to love escaping on an almost daily basis.

Keep reading

Certain words can change your brain forever and ever so you do have to be very careful about it.

[M4F] Husband Catches You Listening to Audio P*rn, Teaches You a Lesson [Soft Mdom] [Established Relationship] [Mild Degradation] [Praise] [Overstimulation] [Multiple Orgasms] [Creampie]

Pairing: husband!Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

cw: established relationship, p*rn no plot, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl), sex toys, mutual masturbation, fingering, cunnilingus, sex without a condom, creampie, overstimulation, soft dom!Nanami, breeding kink, mild degradation (use of slut and whore), praise, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, pet names (honey, sweetie, sweetheart, princess, baby)

Summary: Nanami comes home early from his business trip and catches you doing something naughty in your bedroom. Author’s Note: Inspired by all the audio porn VAs that I listen to! Special shoutout to @mrsackermannx for raving about AugustInTheWinter with me. If you have not listened to him yet, PLEASE check him out, he’s incredible. Also, I’m clearly very delulu for Nanami currently, considering this is the third piece I’ve written for him within a week, but hey, this is my outlet! So I hope you enjoy! MDNI divider created by @/cafekitsune. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading!

Your skin is sweltering against the sheets, sweat damp on your forehead and neck. Thighs are apart, vibrator buzzing on your clit, sleek with lube and arousal. You’re home alone; Nanami doesn’t return until tomorrow morning. Still, the thought of the audio porn playing on speaker makes you shy, so you have both earbuds in, listening to the sultry tones of your favorite voice actor moaning expletives directly into your ear. Such a good girl, oh fuck. You feel so good, sweetheart. Take that cock for me. You are so fucking tight, holy shit. The added sound effects of thwapping and wet squelches in the background immerse you into a state of erotic bliss, gushing for the second time tonight from the sensation of the toy pulsing on your throbbing bud.

“What do we have here?”

You jolt up when you hear your husband’s voice from the doorway, startled to see him standing there, leaning against the frame with a serious look on his face. His spectacles are on, covering his eyes, which you can tell are boring into you in this lewd position. 

Popping your headphones off, you hide the vibrator under the pillow, as if he hasn’t already caught you red-handed. Closing your legs, you bat your eyelashes, feigning an innocent expression. “Honey! What are you doing here?” More heat rushes into your cheeks, scorching hot from your recent orgasm and current embarrassment.  

He steps forward, sitting at the far edge of the bed, avoiding your gaze by staring at the floor, acting disappointed. “I managed to catch an earlier flight. Wanted to surprise you.” Dramatic, he turns to face you, eyes narrowed through his tinted lenses. “It appears that I am the one being surprised.” 

Biting your lip to hold back your laughter, you crawl towards him, naked from the waist down, your panties discarded on the floor near his feet. He’s not actually upset; having been together long enough and in tune with each other’s emotions, you can tell that he isn’t seriously mad at you. This is a role he indulges in occasionally: stoic, strict husband with a mean streak when things don’t go his way. And you know exactlywhere this will lead to, so naturally, you play along. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t think you would be coming home tonight. I just thought I’d have a little bit of fun.” You massage his shoulders, nuzzling your face to his nape, giving him a loud smooch. 

He shifts around in the bed, confronting you. “What were you listening to?” There’s legitimate curiosity in his voice, and now genuine guilt builds in your chest upon his question. 

You swallow hard, anxious to admit the truth, too ashamed to lie to him. “Um, I was listening to porn. Audio porn.”

He raises a brow at you, confused. Then, he says, “Let me hear it.”

Reluctantly, you reach for your phone on the nightstand, resuming from where you paused. Wet slaps blare through the speaker, then a man’s voice, moaning, “Ah fuck, let me hear you. Let me hear you moan on my cock. Let me hear you take this cock. Yeah, like that baby, take it just like that.” 

You bury your head in your hands, absolutely mortified as the pornographic dialogue continues. The audio comes to a halt when Nanami stops it, silently tapping at the screen. You’re still hiding in disgrace, squeezing your legs together tightly to conceal the evidence of your supposed sin. The tension is palpable, with neither of you speaking or making any sudden movements. You’re dying to know what he’s thinking, simultaneously terrified of his judgement. 

He clears his throat; you peek through your fingers to catch him loosening his tie around his collar, removing the glasses from his face. He’s blushing, brows tight with contemplation. “Did you come to this?” he asks, almost breathless. 

You lower your hands, fisting them into the sheets beneath you, nodding. Anticipating. 

“Show me,” he demands, eyes at your lap. Too eagerly do you spread your legs, displaying your sopping cunt to him, staring at his lips part slightly, a barely audible growl resounding within his throat. Your uneasiness gradually slips into arousal, aching to be touched, even punished, by your formidable husband. He bows, licking his mouth, inspecting you like prey he’s about to devour. Flicking his eyes to yours, he mutters, “You’re a dirty slut for listening to this filth. Have you no shame?” He kneels before you, unbuttoning his dress shirt, exposing the white tee underneath. Chiseled chest and abs carved into the fabric like fucking marble. 

Losing composure, you blurt out, “No shame, absolutely none. I’m fucking filthy.” Your pussy aches, toes clenched, thrilled. 

“I can’t stand you listening to another man’s voice while you get off. It makes me sick thinking about it. Makes my blood fucking boil.” His tone is menacing in way that titillates every inch of your skin, has you shuddering from the low growl at the end of each sentence. 

“Are you going to punish me?” you goad, saliva collecting on your tongue, heavy with lust.

“I can think of something better.” Reaching for your phone, he navigates through it, finding your voice recorder app. He taps on the big red button, setting it beside you. “From now on, you only come to my voice. Got it?”

You swallow hard, almost chocking on your spit when you respond, “Yes. Yes, baby.”

He grins, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he cups your cheek tenderly. “Good girl.” His thumb traces the outline of your parted lips, your mouth inviting him in. But he doesn’t, leaning back on his wrists, observing you with the obvious bulge protruding from his slacks. “Get that vibrator. Show me how you do it.”

Obeying, you search for it under the pillow, retrieving it to rub the tip up and down your folds, finger on the trigger. “There you go,” he encourages, a cocky smirk on his face, slowly unbuckling the belt around his waist, sliding it from the loops and tossing it aside. “Tease it a little before you turn it on. Make sure it’s exactly where you want it.” 

You tap the toy on your swollen bud, already sensitive from your earlier climax. You meet his gaze, waiting for a signal. He slides out of his pants and briefs, revealing his erection sprung against his belly. Before he does anything else, he grabs your phone and sets it on the bed between you. Palming his length, he grins. “Go ahead.” 

What a fucking menace he can be.

Pushing the button, the vibrator immediately pulsates on you, causing you to twitch from the intense sensation. He watches, fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking himself, thumb grazing the slit. “Look at you. My gorgeous girl,” he purrs. “My perfect angel with the prettiest pussy. Can’t wait to stretch you open with this cock. Bury myself deep inside you. Fill you up with my cum.”

“Fuck, Kento,” you whimper, pressing the fluttering tip firmer, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead. You’ve always loved his hands; how pristine they are with his knuckles tight on his skin. Large, strong, then rough on the pads of his fingers from hard work and constant use. They’re even prettier in a fist surrounding his cock, wrist jerking hastily, precum glistening at the tip. Your entire focus is on him touching himself while he watches you do the same, the toy’s low hum enhanced when it’s snugly nestled to your clit. 

“You like it when I talk nasty to you, huh?” he huffs, readjusting himself nearer to you. He’s so close, you can practically feel the tip of his cock at your quivering pussy. “Is it better than listening to your ridiculous pornography?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whine, jutting your hips out, attempting to close the gap. 

“Unlike them, I can actually touch you,” he muses, his tip teasing your entrance. “I can do whatever I want, whatever you want. They don’t get to fuck this sweet cunt like I get to. They don’t get to taste you the way I do.” 

Suddenly, he grabs the vibrator from your grasp, shutting it off and setting it back under the pillow. He shifts down the bed, positioning his head between your thighs, diving in tongue first onto your puffy clit. Pleasure resonates from your core throughout your limbs, legs shaky and mind hazy as he slobbers all over you, covering your bud in his frothy spit. It’s sloppy, salacious, straight up nasty. After only a few strokes of his tongue, it’s already enough to send you into your third orgasm of the night, more powerful than the first two combined when you were alone. 

You’d be a fool to expect him to let up after coming once with him; still, it shocks you when he doesn’t stop. He latches to you harder, suckling on your sensitive clit until it’s plump between his glossy lips and you’re crying out, “Too much!” overstimulated and spasming above him. Sometimes, when he’s in one of these moods, he forgets his own virility, always so keen on making you orgasm multiple times in one go. Tonight, he forgets that you had already been prepping yourself since earlier. With a gentle kiss, he relents, indulging in his work by running his tongue along your gushing pussy, drinking up your cum. He reaches for his cock, stiff between his stomach and the bedsheets under him. On his knees, he returns to his spot from earlier, stroking his cock with the tip just barely in your entrance. 

You’re absolutely spent, but you yearn for him inside you, desperate to be filled with his load. “Come in me, baby,” you beg, gripping his wrist to pull him closer. “Fuck me.” 

He lets out a disapproving tsk, shaking his head. “Not yet, princess. You have to be patient. We’re just getting started,” he smirks, stroking himself faster. “Are you just so fucking needy for my cum?” You nod erratically, tempted to thrust yourself onto him. 

“Then beg for it,” he orders, sliding his cock the slightest bit further inside you. “Convince me that you deserve it.”

Understanding what he wants, you retrieve your little toy again, rubbing small circles with it on your bud, smearing whatever is left of your orgasm around it. “Please, Kento. Please. I need it. I need it.”

The sight of you like this has him dangling on the very edge, so close to climax. “Turn it on,” he demands. You do, the buzz electrifying all the nerves in your body yet again. You chant his name over and over until he shoots insides you, spurts of opaque cum flooding your pussy. “Yes, yes. Good girl. Take that fucking cum. Take all of it. Fuck.” His voice is hushed, breathy and trembling from the high. 

You stop the vibrator, tossing it to the floor carelessly. Nanami crawls next to you, cradling you in his arms. With a kiss to your forehead, he whispers, “Are you okay?” 

You smile, turning to face him, nuzzling his chest. “Of course.”

He caresses your face, trailing down your body to rest his hand at your waist. He glances at your phone beside you. “We’re still recording, you know.”

You giggle. “And…?”

He kisses you softly, tongue flitting past your lips, guiding you flat on your back, spreading your legs apart. “I’m not done with you yet.” His hand glides to your loins, toying with your swollen clit before teasing your entrance, brimming with his creampie. “Can you still take it, sweetheart?”

You nod, breath hitching, cuddling closer to him. Smiling sweetly at you, he eases a finger in, cum overflowing your pussy and trickling out from your slit. He slides in another easily, stretching you open, a whine escaping you. His mouth is hot on your ear. “You love this, don’t you? Me finger fucking my cum deeper inside you. Taking it like an obedient whore.” He picks up the pace, your cunt clenching his digits. “I’m going to get you pregnant tonight. Breed you, make you mine. You want that, sweetie?” His fingers writhe inside you, hitting that sweet spot repeatedly until you’re tight around him, ready for another orgasm. At this point, you’ve stopped keeping count, lost in a sex-fueled craze instigated by your husband. 

“Yes, Kento. Give it to me. I want it. I want it so bad.” You notice he’s hard again, his erection stiffening against your leg. Reaching for him, you rub your hand on his length, feeling it twitch from your touch.

“Fuck,” he groans, pulling out from you. He sits up, back to the headboard, beckoning. “Get on my lap. Hurry,” he urges, hoisting you towards him. You straddle him, guiding his cock to your entrance. “Sink down on it. There we go,” he instructs, eyes wide, desperation etched in his tone. He needs this just as much as you do, and it drives you wild. You follow his command, lowering yourself onto him, his dick sliding in smoothly, bottoming out. “That’s my good girl. Fuck. You’re so good to me. So fucking good to me.”

You start riding him the way he likes, your ass slapping loudly on his thighs. He’s moaning endlessly, throwing in the occasional fuck and pet name as he grips your hips, bouncing you on his cock. You wrap your arms around his neck to keep steady, holding him tightly. “Want your cum,” you manage to utter, enraptured in the scorching pleasure he surrounds you in. 

He's fucking up into you, feet planted at the end of the bed. The mattress creaks with every thrust of his cock. In a huffy breath, he says, “Milk it out of me, honey. Milk me fucking dry. You can do it sweetheart; I know you can.” The praise encourages you to ride him faster, rougher, your bodies in tandem, springing on the bed, moaning into each other’s mouth with a passionate kiss. 

Soon, he pulsates inside you, stuffing you even fuller with his cum. You climax once more, gripping his cock with your fluttering pussy. He cradles you in a cozy embrace, catching his breath, nuzzling his nose to your chest. You giggle, running you fingers through his hair, smooching the top of his head. “You okay?” you ask, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.

He nods, exhaling deeply. “Just let me hold you. Need to calm down.”

You laugh, amused by his current state of post-coital euphoria. Fetching the phone teetering precariously at the edge of the bed now, you tap on the red button to stop the recording. Seeing this, he mentions, “You know I don’t actually mind you listening to that kind of stuff, right?” 

You smile, noticing the guilt in his voice, massaging his back. “I know, honey. I know you don’t.”

He squeezes you, taking a deep breath. “Okay, good. Just want to make that clear.”

You cup his cheek, thumb caressing the stress lines along his face, gradually relaxing to your touch. “If it makes you feel any better, I’d much rather listen to this than some stranger on the Internet.”

Chuckling, he replies. “Maybe it makes me feel a little bit better.” He snuggles closer to you, hugging you tight, reluctant to let you go. Eventually, the two of you slip beneath the covers, getting comfortable with Nanami spooning you from behind.  

You glance at the screen, showing the several minute long recording and the play button adjacent to it, ready to be tapped. “So,” you start, craning your neck to smirk at him. “Should we give it a listen?”

He returns your grin, shifting beside you, cock growing hard between your ass cheeks. “Absolutely.”

7:02pm — gojo satoru ;

part two to this gojo imagine

"gojo, your hair is in my mouth."

"you're lucky i washed it a few days ago."

you peer up at him over your phone. "a few days? how many? gojo, tell me."

gojo hums to himself and you hate that it might be serious consideration that he's under. "like maybe seven?"

you gag, flailing at your mouth and spitting out the few strands. you faintly hear gojo complain but it's overridden as you deal with your dilemma.

the two of you were curled inside the stomach of one of getou's curses as it flew across the ocean to arrive back at jujutsu high. the cramped space and gooey flesh makes you shiver, effectively increasing your poor mood, but perhaps the biggest detriment was the person you were stuck with.

sure, public transport was a viable option but yaga had specifically emphasised on the "top-secret" and "classified" written in big bold red letters on the mission file. this meant no one was to know, not ordinary people, not curses and not even other sorcerers.

granted, the school had access to one private jet which they were willing to offer, but that jet only had space for one.

the three of you had sat down and played a game of scissors paper rock to determine who takes it, and while you were lucky to win it for the trip forward, getou ends up victorious for the way back.

and now, you were stuck in close proximity with gojo inside the gut of a flying dragon.

"why are you in such a bad mood anyway?" gojo has the audacity to ask, as if he wasn't the sole reason why you were uncomfortable. you keep your mouth shut though, nothing good will come out of admitting your undying, and unfortunately unrequited, love for him.

"i'm in a perfectly fine mood."

"why do you look like that then, all constipated and everything? did you not go to the bathroom before we left?"

you curl your fingers into a fist and punch him in the chest. it hits his uniform, smearing some of the curses' stomach juice. "of course i did! i'm not a newbie sorcerer."

"ouch!"

"that didn't hurt you."

"how are you going to tell me how i feel?" gojo jabs back. "because it did hurt, it hurt my feelings."

"oh boohoo."

"so you are mad."

you bite your lip and turn away, finding the abdominal wall of the beast easier on the eyes than your own friend. "i'm not."

"you're sulking."

"i'm not." you hiss before taking in a deep breath. "look gojo, can we just stay quiet until we get there?"

gojo keeps staring at you through his glasses and his face fails to give his thoughts away. the suspense is killing you, but before you can relent and ask what he has to say, he clears his throat.

"i have something to tell you."

you sigh, rubbing at your head. "what is it?"

"wait, don't turn around and keeping looking at the wall. hey, what did i just say?"

"gojo, the view isn't really the best to sightsee. why can't i look at you?"

"because if you do, i don't think i can tell you after all."

you close your mouth. "is it that serious?"

"yeah." he clears his throat again, adjusting the collar of his uniform. "look, i know you've been weird around me the past few days and i don’t think it’s because i stretched out your uniform when i wore it last weekend. i don't know why you’re being mean to me, and shoko and getou won't tell me either."

you resist the urge to look at him. "you're having this kind of talk with me now? here? seriously?"

"you won't even stay in the same room as me for more than a few minutes! getou may call this curse his bad-luck curse but for me right now it's the only way to get you to listen to me." he stays quiet for a few seconds. "this is really serious, okay, so don't make any comments. i know you're practically brimming with them."

it was true you had a lot to say, but gojo's serious attitude was putting you off. still, having him call you out made you more aggravated and you let one slip. "well, this is really bad-luck for me."

gojo clicks his tongue and you can see the irritation on his face before his words are even coloured with it. "i'm not telling you this so you can feel the same way but—"

the curse suddenly tilts to the side, throwing you into gojo as the four walls of its stomach becomes a wheel, rotating you around. you yelp as your forehead hits him hard in the chest, tears springing to your eyes at the pain.

“what’s going on?”

the two of you spin round and round, and you can't distinguish your screams from gojo's as gravity plays you like a toy, throwing you around.

the movement makes you sick. "gojo, do something! blast it!"

"getou'll get mad if i kill another one of his curses!"

"are you kidding, we're going to die!"

gojo swears, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you into his chest. with his other arm, he holds out his hand and presses it on the flesh.

you tuck your chin in, squeezing your eyes shut when you realise he hadn't started chanting his technique. "what are you doing?" you look up at him and find him staring at the exit of the stomach through all the goo and chaos.

with a trembling finger, he points to it. you stare into the abyss, squinting your eyes to make out its indistinct shapes. what was that pulsing thing, attached to the side? and was it just you, but was it getting bigger?

with a start, you realise that the curse was about to throw up. and coincidentally, so were you.

"it's going to throw us up!" you share your realisation with gojo but the look on his face tells you he already arrived at the same thought.

he opens his mouth to say something, or scream you're not too sure as the walls of the stomach contracts. distantly, you feel gojo slide his other arm around you and his infinity takes over, shielding the two of you as you're forcefully ejected from the curse's mouth.

a scream escapes your throat as you escape the curse's, wind rushing through your ears. gojo swears again, bringing his arm up to protect your head.

you only know you're safe when you feel air again, the real kind, not the gas built up in the curse's stomach. a thud tells you gojo has landed on solid ground again and you've never felt more grateful to be alive, your entire body relaxing as your soul leaves.

gojo sighs with you, his hold slightly loosening.

getou watches as you're spat out, stepping out of the private jet with a big smile on his face. "you guys look rough."

you feel gojo tense his jaw rather than see it. "what was that for?"

getou shrugs, throwing a bag over his shoulder. he starts digging through it. "i told you that curse is some serious bad-luck. at least you both arrived in one piece.” he looks up and raises an eyebrow at you. “literally in one piece, are you guys going to stay like that forever?"

your mind slowly pieces together your position, still curled up in gojo's arms as he is sat on the pavement, before you leapt out. gojo makes no move to stop you, though you think he might have tsked.

"here, this is for you." getou finally pulls out what he was searching for from his bag and throws it at the two of you.

you catch it instinctively, studying the object in your hand. "a can of soda?"

"for surviving."

"that curse of yours is a safety hazard." you mutter, but accept the can. you crack open the lid and tilt your head back, taking a long, cool sip.

gojo stares down at the drink. "i told you i don't like this flavour!" he complains and you roll your eyes at his antics.

"then don't drink it."

"no. give me your one instead."

getou pauses, halfway to opening his own iced coffee. "huh? i got this for me. and you don't even like coffee! you should be glad i even got one for you in the first place."

"let's play a game of rock paper scissors to decide who gets it."

"no. i just told you i got this for me."

gojo stands up, taking a step forward menacingly. "huh? after what you put me through, you think i'm just going to take no for an answer?"

getou's eyes flicker to yours before he takes up gojo's challenge, activating his cursed technique. black liquid opens up the air beside him, a peering red eye on the other side. "can't handle rejection, gojo? because you better get used to it."

you take another sip as you watch the boys, absentmindedly wiping at a stain on your sleeve. you remember the feeling of gojo's arm around your body and you blush despite yourself.

"are you feeling sick?"

you look up to see that gojo had stopped fighting with getou, his entire attention on you.

"huh?"

"you're red in the face. you look like a tomato."

ignoring the last part, you hide your face behind your drink. "i'm fine."

getou looks between the two of you and there's a glint in his eyes that you've seen before, one that you've grown to dread.

he throws back the rest of his coffee, grimacing as it gives him a slight brain freeze, before crushing the can in his hand. gojo mutters a quick, "show off" that he ignores, instead chucking the can into a bin a few metres away.

"what a time." he starts saying, the words static. "that was great. well, now that i've finished my drink, i should head back inside."

“i should head in too. i smell real bad.” you sigh and give gojo a glare when he agrees.

“actually, can the two of you stay here? i think my curse isn’t feeling too well after eating you two. just until i come back, okay?”

you think there might be an ulterior motive but glancing over at the curse, you find that it did look greener than before.

"where are you going, and for how long?" you ask and hope the look in your eyes will make him stay.

"i need to tell yaga we finished the mission. you guys can just stay here, i've got it." then to you, he says, clenching his fist in support, "you got this."

you want to break his arm.

getou hurries away despite your silent plea, leaving you in an awkward silence with the one person you wanted to avoid most. you take multiple quick sips to busy yourself, but you can’t ignore the person standing by your side.

gojo shifts his balance to his other foot and the sound of his shoe against the pavement breaks the silence. "so."

"so."

"it's really bright, huh."

"you're wearing sunglasses."

"and do they completely cover my eyes? no they don't. i can still complain about the sun."

"just push your glasses up then."

"no." gojo huffs. "i look cooler this way."

"who told you that? because i know for a fact it wasn't anyone whose opinion actually matters." you jab back.

"your mum said that, actually."

"are you a child?"

"what, are you too cool for old jokes? they're iconic for a reason."

"and there's a reason why 'your mum jokes' died and should stay that way."

the natural way in which you banter with gojo gives you confidence. maybe it didn't matter that you liked him, or that he didn't like you back. it was enough that he was here with you now, joking around. perhaps you could even live with knowing that your unrequited love had come to an end, perhaps you could even pair them up yourself without a sense of bitter jealousy.

"i know you like getou." gojo says in one breath.

the peace you had come to, shatters.

"what?" you say in an inhale, and it comes out sounding weird.

gojo pouts, crossing his arms. "i'm right, aren't i? you like getou. i heard what you were saying to shoko that one time."

"don't eavesdrop on other people's conversations!"

"you were saying it pretty loudly, what was i meant to do? shut my ears?"

you wave away his whining. "stop, hold on. you think i like getou?"

gojo nods. "i don't think you do, i know. you said you like people like him."

"when did i ever say that? also, i'm not the one who likes getou, you are!"

"what?"

"what, what? you do, don't you? you told me yesterday that you liked getou."

"i never said that!"

"then who were you talking about?"

"who were you thinking about?" gojo shoots back. "because you didn't even hesitate when you explained your type to shoko. you were thinking of someone, weren't you?"

you gulp. "i asked first."

he looks at you long and hard and you stare back at your reflection through his glasses. his mouth opens and there's a mixed sense of dread and anticipation brewing in your stomach.

"tch."

"did you just click your tongue at me?"

gojo faces away. his jaw is tense as he blatantly ignores your question. "you're really annoying."

"huh? speak for yourself!"

"you have a problem with me?"

"i have a problem with your stupid attitude."

when gojo closes the distance between the two of you, you take a step back out of instinct. it doesn't matter though because gojo steps forward again, pushing you up against the curse getou had left behind. he slams a hand into the flesh of the curse and it makes a startled sound. the both of you ignore it. "it's you, idiot, i like—"

the force behind his slam is frightening, but the thought is torn from you when the sound of regurgitation grabs your attention. with a start, you turn around at the curse and find your phone on the ground at the entrance of the curse's mouth, covered in goo.

"my phone!" you exclaim, bending down to pick it up.

gojo backs up and groans loudly, but you don't care, wincing instead when the item is sticky.

"i didn't even know i lost this! thanks gojo, i think." your voice trails off wearily, holding up the phone and watching as viscous liquid slowly drips off it.

gojo rubs his face with his palm and you wonder why he looks so distressed. "that curse is seriously bad luck." meeting your eye, he points a finger at you. "listen to what i have to say!"

you raise your eyebrow at him. "damn okay, gojo's arrived." you mutter, wiping down the phone and pocketing it.

the clouds overhead parts, sunlight shining down in rays. the trees whistle in the summer breeze and light filters through the gaps in the leaves and branches. it hits gojo perfectly, adorning him in a golden light and you've never seen him so beautiful. guilt fills you at the thought and you hold your soda tighter.

he breathes in one more time. "i don't care that you like getou." he says. "because it doesn't matter to me. it just means i have to work harder to change your mind and get you to notice me instead."

"it's kind of hard to not notice you." you say. "i mean, look at what you're wearing."

gojo hisses. "don't ruin the mood, you're throwing me off. like i was saying, it's not your fault you like getou but i had to tell you this anyway, because it's been making my heart feel all prickly and stuff. so shut up and just stand there looking pretty, or whatever." his last few words trail off uncertainly, as if he never intended to say them at all.

"what are you even saying?" your heart picks up. was he about to confess?

"i'm saying that i think i like—"

"there you guys are!"

your head whips around at the voice, scanning the familiar landscape before settling on a single person. shoko stands metres away, waving a hand to grab your attention. "over here!"

"shoko!" a grin splits across your face. "i haven't seen you all day!"

"am i interrupting something?" she yells to get her voice across the distance.

you don't even look over at gojo as you shake your head. you had a feeling he was just going to tell you something you already knew, that he liked getou, anyway. “no! hold on, i'm coming over."

before you can run up to her, gojo grabs your arm, a deep frown etched on his face. "wait, you still haven't—!"

without another thought, you hand him your half-finished can of soda and wriggle out of his hold. "you can have the rest of that. i'll hear you out later, okay?"

"but the mood was so right!"

"look after the curse until getou’s back, later!"

gojo stands there in front of the bad-luck curse, one arm limp by his side and the other holding a can of blue soda. he watches as you fling yourself into shoko's arm, already listing all the things you've been saving up to tell her.

there's that prickly feeling again, gojo realises, noting the way the sun lightens the shade of your hair, the way your eyes curve up as you smile, and the way you hold onto shoko's hand, wishing that he had enough courage to hold yours.

defeated, battered and drained, gojo looks down at the can in his hand, and notes the slight lipstick stain on the rim.

with a red on his cheeks that didn't come from the sun, he presses the aluminium to his lips and takes a sip. it tastes sweet.

gojo decides that he'll just have to settle for this.

i hope this was okay considering i had no intentions of writing a part two. sorry for all the descriptions of stomachs and throw up, i was studying the digestive system 👎 if this isn’t what u guys expected feel free to leave a request !!