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yandere-wishes · 1 year

Text

◃◃◃ Comedic Tragedy▹▹▹

Synopsis: The reader is a burnt-out Akademiya student that has the misfortune of bumping into Dottore while he's working on his Scaramouche-god project. After learning of her peculiar interests Dottore makes her an offer. One she very soon regrets accepting.

Note: There is like one reference to the Sumeru archon quest so spoilers, but in this universe, Lumine was taken captive by Dottore a while ago and the residents of Sumeru were able to foil the mad doctor's plans and free Nahida without the traveler's help. Also, Paimon is dead.

Warnings: ANGST, GORE, extreme body horror, Dottore has feelings and that ain't a good thing. Lumine is the traveler. Dottore x Lumine is mentioned a lot but never really shown until the end. Death. the reader is suicidal but she defiantly didn't want this. non-con but no smut if that makes sense.

Requested by: The lovely @nasidibakar

Back then you had romanticized dying. Dreamed of having your arteries nicked by the person you loved. It had all come so naturally to you, the desperation to fall in love with the macabre.

The thrill you got as you slid your palm across the jagged end of your desk. The rapid beat of your heart as you drove your fist into your dormitory wall. Gleefully staring as crimson beads slipped from your purpling knuckles.

It had been so fun back then. So exhilarating, so enticing.

But then you met him.

Fell in love with him actually.

A slight run-in during the second-period rush.

A light brush of his freezing blue lips to your bruised hand.

That had been all it took really. The next thing you knew the grand sage had awarded you the position of assistant to the "most benevolent scholar of Snezhnaya ."

Of course back then the scholar from Snezhnaya had looked every bit the glacious prince from a foreign land. He'd been gentle and sweet...

Permitting you to watch as he performed another thoracotomy on the humanoid robot. Pulling you close as he observed the harvested dreams from the grand Akasha terminal. Sat under the blazing moon with you. Ever so gently crabling your hand in his, as he traced skin-deep hearts into your palm with his scalpel.

You'd been so utterly in love back then. Too blinded by bleeding hearts and gory love poems to notice the distant look in his eyes. The way he'd pause so irregularly when he was about to speak your name. In hindsight maybe you should have known his heart was with another.

Then one night, one gloriously blurry night. As you both sat on the Akadimiya's roof. Your head laying tiredly in his lap. You'd uttered those damned words. Those jarring, life-altering words

"I want to die"

Words spoken so softly from chapped lips as your eyes closed and you fell into a sweet, sweet, sleep.

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Dottore finds it quite odd how he'd fallen so deeply, so consumingly, so manically in love with you in such a short time.

You'd simply fallen right out of the sky. Straight in his path. A miracle granted by whichever archon was doltish and self-righteous enough to still acknowledges his existence. Celestia knows he's made an enemy of every self-proclaimed God in Teyvat. Even the Tsaritsa was weary of him on good days. Downright loathed him on bad ones.

Yet this time divinity had pulled through and led you straight to him. Such a blessed thing, he'd surely take great joy in ravaging.

Sacred marvel or not, Dottore had admittingly taken a wholly interest in you. Your vision had haunted him. Plaguing him for endless nights as he succumbed to finish building the Archon of arcane wisdom. He found it rather silly how he'd secretly seek out your hand during meetings with the grand sage. Constantly pinning to be in your obsolete presence.

It had been fun, or failing that, insightful at the very least. He knew he had conjured feelings towards you and couldn't so easily permit you to leave. Even when his work in Sumeru had been cut short, all due to that meddling team of ignorant vision wielders and their pesky archon.

Yet the night before he left, he knew you had to come with him.

He'd paid great attention to your love of the macabre. Enjoyed indulging you in his temporary laboratory. Drawing little doodles on your flawless flesh with his medical instruments. You would only giggle, blush and glance away timidly. So endearing, so foolish.

You were accustomed to agony - albeit self-inflicted he postulated-Treating it as nothing more than a guilty pleasure. Nevertheless, Dottore knew it would take time for you to adjust to his ruthlessness. His variation of pain was utterly appalling. He'd be sure to turn your previous wounds into child's play.

Surely you'd love it.

looking back on it all you'd most definitely been burnt out. Unable to string together logical thoughts outside the realm of your chosen field. Yet another scholar so caught up in their research and studies that they'd forgotten how the real world actually works.

The academic world is like an all-consuming fire.

At least that's what Dottore has concluded, since his expulsion from the Akademiya.

Taking and taking, from those who all so willing worship its perpetual light. Blooming their dermises with blisters and decaying nerves. So greedy, yet every ardent scholar welcomes the mental anguish and self-loss as one would welcome spring with open arms. You, little dove, his little dove, were no better. Foolish and blessed all at the same time. You'd played the only role you'd ever known. Perfected the part of the scholar to be, all while hiding the only outlet you had. The only waypoint to what might just be your undisputed self. Hiding razors between pages of quadratic equations and simultaneous equations. Hiding the swelling galaxies of bruises you'd painted on your thighs. It's all quite forgivable really. Admirable if nothing else. You'd found your true self in the mists of academic misery. Taken the reign and decided to welcome the aches and stings.

Oh, how he'd generously taken you away from your tormentors.

How graciously he'd shown you what true pain was really like.

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You never truly understood it, never have, and never will. Can't comprehend this desperate mesmeric feeling whenever he's near. You're ever so utterly infatuated with him. You love him, your tormentor, your capturer, the doctor, Dottre, with all that's left of your beating heart. Although now that it's been months since you departed to Snezhnaya with him. You've come to realize that love, for all its hypnotic trances and rose-tinted terms, is rather over-glorified. For you may love someone with every fiber of your body, yet they may be well engrossed with someone else.

Does he even love you?

It's the question of the hour, the day, the month, the millennia...

Does Dottore truly love you?

Your eyes trace over the severed limbs littering the pristine floor. Connecting them like stars in a constellation. This particular operating room was always in shambles. Very much like how you'd turned out...

He'd been taking you apart, ripping away appendages and giving them to her. The Traveler. The eldritch being of light who'd been forced into a mortal's body. He's been patching up wherever her primordial glow was seeping through the cracks of such a weak body. with your ever-so-human corpse.

How Dottore had ever managed to tame and capture a primordial

creature such as she was beyond you. Although you liked to ponder the possibility that infusing the two of you meant that part of her divinity would be substituted for humanity thus rendering her more submissive. More malleable. Easier for the mad doctor to control.

And yet, despite all this, you can't seem to let go of those horrid feelings you have for him.

Maybe you'd never even been lovers. Just a fool and a scientist

trapped in fate's webs.

No, that wasn't quite right either. Instead, the two of you were more akin to desperate souls who needed each other more than the earth needed the sun. It's rather humorous to consider that Dottore would ever need someone. To think of him as anything less than a natural cataclysm sent by the Tsaritsa herself to destroy everything that is good and holy.

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You lay motionless on the cold metal slap, eyes unfocused as you try a process which limb has gone missing now. Or maybe it's an organ this time. It's always all so hard to recall what it is exactly that he took, in the hours following the operation.

Phantom pain pounds in your right eye, or rather the right socket that used to house your right eye. You stare up at the ceiling trying to tune out the pain and the numbness all at once.

Has he ever loved you?

You can't help but circle back to the heart wrenching question every so often.

Has he ever said he loves you? You're not sure, brain too cluttered from the last operation to fully recall anything specific. Too damaged to be conscious enough to tell the difference between reality and fantasies.

"Let's make a deal, my dear. You help me with my research and in return, I shall grant your ghastly fantasy as best I can"

You remember that conversation despite your mangled mind. Remember it was his perfect response that night when the two of you lay in the moonlight. You'd told him you wanted to die. How naive you'd been back then. You had started this whole mess and that madman you had so easily given your heart to had been all too eager to oblige.

Not like this.

This hadn't been what you'd meant.

You didn't want any of this.

The severed body, the other women, the cold empty lab.

You didn't want this.

"Oh, I see you're awake" His voice is chilling. Analytical rather than affectionate. "Maybe you're body is beginning to build up a form of resistance to the anesthesia." He sighs, an unnerving noise that hints at the permanent exhaustion he always seems to feel. "I'll have to start upping your doses, although I figure it'd be better to invest my time in fabricating some new suppressants altogether." His steps reverberate through the air as he saunters over to where you lie. gloved hands running through your matted locks, curling strands around his fingers as he mutters gleefully. "Look at all the trouble I go to for you darling. You really are quite lucky, that I'm so fond of you." his words hit deep, reopening the old wounds you clumsily stitched close with strings of denial.

He lays down next to you, unbothered by the sharp cold of the metal table. His eyes melt into yours, looking at you like you are the love of his life. A bitter lie and you know it and yet you still relish in the fictitious proclivity of it all. His fingers trace open lacerations. His mouth busied itself with nipping at raw scar tissue adorning your neck. Working around to kiss at the stumps of amputated appendages. You lay there enjoying the kisses and empty promises. It feels like he loves you. In the end, isn't that all that matters?

"You know I'm only doing this because I care about you, right?" You wonder if that lie tastes bitter on his tongue. You fight the urge to scream that it's evident he loves her more. Adores her. Worshipers her

Dottore carries on disregarding the pain so clearly plastered on your face. "The traveler will live for much longer than you ever could. By taking you apart and sewing you into her, I'm doing you both a favor. Although I'll admit the true victor in this little experiment is I.

I'll have both my lovers at my side forevermore." You hate how his statement makes your heart beat ever quicker and your cheeks darken in color. You turn, catching his lips in an uncharacteristically bold kiss. Hoping it'll shut him up for now.

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There's a code red. Even from your isolated room, you can tell that something's going on with the Traveler. That's what a code red is in this hellish place. Anytime the darling Traveler goes through something more major than a headache, the whole medical bay is on emergency standby. Clones running left and right fetching medical equipment and pain suppressants.

You see the state Dottore is in over her. Hate how he risks his own well-being over her. Or rather, failing that, you're jealous over how much he cares about her. Dottore is naturally destructive, to those around him, to himself, to any and everything. It's not a particularly hard thing to take note of. He's not exactly a gentle lover or even a good one at that. Yet as of late, he's gone even further - if that's even possible- tearing himself to shreds trying to squeeze out the last bits of divinity still plaguing his ever-precious Traveler.

Deep in your bones you just know he's ever more forbearing with her. never "forgetting" to administer her anesthetics to see how "well" she'd take the pain. Always putting in the extra time to make sure her wounds were thoroughly sterilized. With you it's different he'll cut where ever he pleases, tear off anything and everything. He'll cut and cut and you fear that one day there'll be nothing left to cut.

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As of late, the Doctor has been more present. Visiting you daily -or at least you think. It's hard to tell time in a windowless, clockless room- his advances have been sweeter, bordering on loving if that was even possible. His lips linger where ever he kisses and he's even taken to spending the night.

There's trouble in the air, you can feel it.

It's on one of these particular nights that his clones are tasked with taking you to a new operating room. One with a window that permits the moon's rays to sweep in. His clones release you onto the plush operation table, a stark contrast to the metal slab you've grown accustomed to.

Something's not right.

Minutes later Dottore walks in. He discards his mask on a nearby table revealing bloodshot eyes with deep black bags underneath. "Too many late nights" you jab, prying for any reaction, anything that feels normal. He hovers above you, arms placed firmly on either side of your head. He let out a loud breath, followed by an onslaught of mirthless giggles. "It's time" he mutters. "Time for what?" you ask, searching his eyes for any clue as to what's going on. Dottore gulps curls a strand of pale blue hair around his finger and pulls. "Tonight I'll be taking your heart..." He pauses for a minute and you wonder if he hears the irony as you do. "I'll merge it with the Traveler's. Half and half, sounds fair right?"

"no"

"From then on you and her will be one. A single entity meant to serve me and only me. I told you I was the luckiest man in all of Teyvat."

You think you detect a sliver of sadness in his hoarse voice.

Wonder if all this insanity has finally caught up with him...

Improbable.

It's funny how now when you're all so close to getting what you've dreamed of for so long, reality decides to kick in. How regret settles deep in your gut as warm tears begin to flow freely.

"Please don't do this.."

"I have to"

"Dottore plea-"

"Shhh"

He settles himself on the bed, straddling your hips. "I want you to be awake for this one." He reaches over for the scalpel and goes straight for the cut. A thoracotomy, just like the ones you used to watch him perform on Scaramouch. You scream out in pain, begging him to stop. All too soon everything goes numb and you're left hanging between the borders of life and death.

Dottore leans down and kisses your heart. Laughing at how the blood mares his lips. A delighted shiver runs down his spine as he feels the rhythmical beats under his tongue. He looks so happy you note in your delirious state. It fills your heart with warmth as you bask in his excited, handsome face. Observing complacently as he watches you bleed out.

"Dottore?"

"Yes my dove"

"Please just say it...say it just once..."

You're not sure if it's the blood loss or a cruel joke by fate. But for a fraction of a second, you think you see his lips turn downwards and a single tear falls from his eye.

"I love you" He finally says.

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Bonus:

Sometimes the Traveler is shaken from her slumber by a blazing ache in her heart and in her right eye and her left leg, right thigh, left arm... Sometimes she's reminded that there was another girl. A poor soul who loved Dottore and paid for it with her body and her life. Tears fall freely from her eyes before she's pulled back into the mattress by her "lover". The mad doctor, Dottore. He kisses her, right on the border of her scars. Right where she ends and the other starts. He got his wish, he created some perfect hybrid of the only two things he's ever loved.

Damn him.

Damn him to Celestia and back

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