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kaznejis · 11 months

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Love is lost on you- Bucky Barnes x Reader

Sam hummed, eyeing you as he nodded slowly, “He’s been to therapy, gone on a date with some girl apparently.”

Your heart stuttered, eyebrows shooting up as you failed to hide your expression from Sam- the shock and subsequent heartbreak present in your features. “Oh,” you spoke slowly, refusing to meet Sam’s eye, “Yeah, well, good for him.”

A/N- I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing! Please feel free to send any requests for Bucky- I have a lot of free time right now. :)

Word count: 3,862

Read it on AO3!

“Have you seen Bucky recently?”

Your lips twisted at Sam’s question, a lump forming in your throat at the name. Whilst you loved spending time with Sam- breakfasts, jogging together, late night drinks; the topic of your relationship with the Winter Soldier remained a taboo, an unspoken topic that lingered within every etched line of your conversations. You tended to skirt around his questions, opting to forget the time in which Y/N L/N and Bucky Barnes had been the pinnacle of a dynamic duo; both inside and outside of the battlefield. Constant speculation surrounding your relationship made you popular within the public eye, even as active fugitives- the perfect, star-studded friends-to-lovers trope, the bad boy and the good girl next door. Natasha had joked about the two of you being a couple- just to appease the general public who had kept up with any of your appearances.

Bucky had laughed in her face, mocking the idea of even being seen with you, ridiculing the idea of recognising what you believed to be true. You had laughed too, as sincerely as you could with the swirl of rejection in the pit of your stomach. You had realised then that despite your prayers, your wishes, you and Bucky Barnes would never be more than friends.

Sam was the only avenger you were constantly in contact with, having both opted to remain in Washington- you would join him in visiting Steve every now and then; now a dwindling old man, a shadow of the former super-soldier you had looked up to. He remembered very little of his time with the Avengers, the wide span of time his life had consisted throughout caused memories to intertwine and muddle together. But he still laughed, still carried that jovial optimism he carried towards life; you could only smile along, holding his hand as he lived out his final days. You envied Steve at times, he had known exactly where he belonged and had taken the chance to go there.

You hadn’t quite worked out your place in the world post-Avengers, post superhero glory.

Maybe that was why you had clung to Sam, meeting with him regularly and joining him on outings to his hometown; he felt the same way. You couldn’t blame him when he gave away the shield- it was too much of a responsibility, a burden to hold for the rest of his life as he would constantly live in Steve’s shadow. You understood, you couldn’t fault him for it- but part of you knew it would have landed in the wrong hands.

“No,” you shook your head, running a finger along the rim of your beer bottle as the new ‘Captain America’ pranced around on the bar’s television above you. “Why, have you?”

Sam hummed, eyeing you as he nodded slowly, “He’s been to therapy, gone on a date with some girl apparently.”

Sam hummed again, a blatant smirk upon his lips as he drank from his beer bottle, “There’s something else.”

“Go on.”

“He’s coming down here, to help confront the flag smashers issue,” his voice faded out as your heart thudded, “And to probably cuss me out for letting the shield go.”

“He’s coming here? Bucky’s coming here?” your voice wobbled slightly, your facade of strength instantly fading at the thought of being in the same room as him, seeing his face, smelling his scent. It was a feeling you’d once been accustomed to, seeing him everyday- sparring with him in the gym, fighting alongside him, collapsing into his arms as the both of you had faded back into existence- gripping the sides of his face, foreheads connected as you’d cried. Your lips had collided on that fateful day, tears mingling together as you’d gripped at each other, holding fistfuls of his long hair in that Wakandan jungle. You had thought that was it, it was finally happening. But then the portals had opened, the fight had ended and the clarity of the situation had become all too real- Tony and Natasha were dead, Steve was no longer the young super-soldier he had been only seconds earlier. Bucky had left then, disappeared without a trace leaving the kiss you had shared merely adding up to the heat of the moment.

It had broken your heart, more so than the day Bucky had laughed at the thought of a relationship. You had finally grasped it, everything you had ever wanted- you were alive, you had won, you had Bucky. But within minutes it was over, rendering you helpless, empty, alone. You had been left with nothing post-blip, no family to return to, no home to return to. You joined the billions that simply rode the wave of life, unable to return to their previous selves; unable to gain back the years upon years lost to Thanos.

Sam had continued to eye you, pity sitting deep within his eyes, “You know, maybe now could be the time to discuss what happened between you two.”

You shook your head once again, a sardonic chuckle erupting from your gut, “I don’t wanna do that to him, Sam.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You literally just said that he’s been on a date, I don’t want to disrupt his life now with reminders of the past. He’s put it all behind him and I respect that.” You continued to work in favour of America, utilising your skills in order to aid the government. You and Sam had co-ran multiple military focused missions- threats were ever prevalent, so at least you could be occupied on that front.

Sam sighed, rubbing at his forehead, exhaustion prevalent within the crease of his brow, “Well, the two of you better not be awkward as hell the whole time, we have a mission to complete.”

Smiling, you raised your beer bottle to clink it against his, a toast to whatever was to come. “Can’t make any promises.”

You pitied Sam, sitting on the other side of the plane, grasping at any semblance of a coherent conversation in order to escape the thick tension within the air. It was awkward as hell.

Bucky had stormed over to the two of you, opting to ignore you entirely and cuss Sam out for losing the shield. You had been too stunned to acknowledge him- his once long locks had been chopped, replaced by cropped, buzzed hair with the slightest fluff on top. Your body practically yearned for him as you took in the tight leather, light stubble and dominant demeanour he now wore- the quiet, isolated Bucky that you had rescued and harboured was no longer present; he had been replaced by a real soldier- all hard muscle and perfected accuracy. You had stood to the side of Sam, switching between avoiding Bucky’s gaze and gawking at his new appearance. Upon the chance that he had taken to try and acknowledge you, you had already walked away- much to Sam’s dismay as he side eyed the both of you the entire walk towards the plane. Despite Sam’s endearing attempts to include you in the conversation, you had merely hummed and nodded- too nervous to engage with this new Bucky Barnes.

So, now, you sat side by side in the back of the plane- waiting, begging, for the instruction to jump. As soon as it did come, Sam was gone- practically leaping from the plane as he flew towards the target. Bucky had faltered, glancing back at you momentarily as you had remained stoic; refusing to meet his gaze as you checked your weapons.

He cleared his throat, glancing downwards from the exit of the plane, “We got any chutes?”

“It’s too low.” Joaquin replied from the opening, gripping the handle as he remained stable. Bucky glanced back at you once again, a tinge of worry present in his features as he calculated the expanse of the drop before you. You rolled your eyes back, crossing your arms as you waited for him to jump. Clicking his tongue, he nodded- before throwing himself from the plane.

“Impressive,” you snorted as he screamed, grinning at Joaquin who attempted to stifle his laugh, “Good thing I thought to install gliders in my stealth suit instead of opting for a leather jacket.” At that you swan-dived from the entrance, allowing your suit to expand and form makeshift gliders. With feline-like precision, you landed on your two feet beside Bucky, splayed along the grass.

“Well, that was majestic.”

You scoffed, turning to jog after Red Wing as it began to lead the way to Sam’s location. Though, before you could; a weighted hand grasped at your sleeve, “Whoa, whoa. Hold on.” Bucky gasped, presumably exasperated from the fall, “Are you gonna talk to me or are you giving an old friend the silent treatment right now?”

Scoffing, you snatched your hands from the metal arm- an action only possible with his allowance, “What do we have to talk about, James?”

“Oh- come on Doll, James, seriously?” your heart sped at the nickname, your cheeks filling with heat as you turned your face away from Bucky, beginning the long run through the forest. You heard a sigh behind you, to which you ignored, you had nothing to discuss with him. He had obviously moved on, with no intention of using this meet up as a chance to potentially rekindle what had about to have been- right person, wrong time and all. But instead he had gone on a date. He had probably bought her flowers, drinks, and put on a nice outfit for her. The thought made your stomach churn, the polar opposite of butterflies swarming in your stomach. Jealousy. Out of curiosity, you just wanted to know who she was- check that she was a viable replacement, made him happy, was good looking and all. Though you couldn’t ask Bucky about it- why should you care anyway? The two of you had kissed once. Bucky probably didn’t even remember it, you thought to yourself.

The two of you jogged in silence; the heavy weight of what lay between you creating a dark cast upon your conscience. You well and truly pitied Sam. The Falcon came into view within the warehouse, crouched behind a shelf and watching the targets. As him and Bucky argued petulantly, you observed the group ahead- they were just kids. All young, fighting for what they believed was right; you saw a mirror image of your own young self. You watched as they entered the trucks- Sam scanned the trucks before realising that a hostage was potentially present within one of the vehicles. You swore, sprinting after Sam and Bucky.

“Wait!” you shouted, causing the others to come to a halt; both sharing confused looks, “Sam I need you to lift me so we can get extra eyes from the sky- I’m not as fast as the two of you on foot and I’m definitely not about to make James give me a piggyback.” Sam nodded, ensuring that he could lift you and fly at the same time- but not before sharing a confused look with Bucky, mouthing ‘James?’ to which Bucky only shook his head, shrugging. The two of you flew off, allowing you the opportunity to unholster your handguns and deliver a number of shots to the top of the truck.

“Drop me off on top!” you yelled up to Sam as you watched Bucky be thrown from one van and dragged to the top of another. His super-soldier strength inflicting damage upon each vehicle.

“Are you serious?” Sam shouted from above, “You’ll get yourself killed, look at them holding Bucky back right now.”

“Do it Sam.” you ordered, squirming in his arms until he deposited you on top of the trucks to which you instantly unclipped your throwing knives, depositing two into the necks of the two soldiers holding Bucky back. Though- it only angered them, allowing them to turn their attention to your human form. You swore, your hair whipping in the wind as they advanced towards you.

“Y/N!” Bucky yelled, fighting against the men holding him down, “Y/N, no!”

Delivering a fatal kick, the soldier finally reached you, grabbing you by the hair and slamming you into the top of the truck. Screaming, you mustered every tactic you’d ever been taught: elbows, legs, arms- any brutal bone was thrown against the soldier pinning you down. The man tutted, his anonymity within the mask only increasing your terror as cold eyes glared down at you. You realized that you had become used to fighting alongside super soldiers instead of against them.

You heard Bucky’s yell before you felt the impact of the floor- the trucks speeding away as you laid at the side of the road; each breath hitching with the intense pain within your body. Gritting your teeth, you rolled to your knees and crawled to the roadside; only to lose momentum and roll into a ditch. The fall would have been fatal if not for the protection of your suit- but the high velocity impact had still broken a number of bones. Licking your lips, the taste of acrid copper prevailed as you began to cough up flecks of blood; turning only to see that the grass around you was stained red.

“Shit.” your vision blurred dangerously- the pain merged into an unfocused haze, rendering your ability to identify your injuries useless. Fading in and out of consciousness, you listened to the wildlife around you and thought of Bucky. He would never know the origin of your anger- only remembering the cold mirage you had enacted towards him; opting to ignore him instead. Sobbing, you prayed for anyone, anything to find you; for Sam and Bucky to break free from the soldiers and come and find you, save you. You would apologise then- talk to Bucky, talk to him about whatever he wanted to say to you. It didn’t matter if you were just friends, if you met his new girlfriend- you just wanted to see him again.

Blood stained your chin at that point; the coughing and choking a constant motion as you couldn’t muster the strength to sit up; to allow your throat some reprieve. Your leg felt wrong, broken in different places and bent backwards at the knee. As your vision faded, you only thought of Bucky.

“Shit, shit Y/N,” a gust of wind hit you as the whoosh of wings closing sounded above, “Buck! I’ve found her, she’s over here.”

The sound of knees hitting the ground beside your head could be heard next, the impact causing your head to jostle, “Doll? Y/N, can you hear me, tell me you can hear me.” warmth surrounded you as you felt your head being lifted into a lap, a rough sleeve gently wiped the blood staining your chin, “Come on Y/N, don’t do this to me. Wake up.”

“Get her in the truck.” A foreign voice sounded, deep and arrogant in its timber.

“Get away from her,” the voice above you snapped, “we don’t know the extent to her injuries yet- we may not be able to lift her.”

“We need to get her to a hospital, Buck,” a voice that sounded like Sam’s spoke, “there’s still a heartbeat, we’ve got a chance.” Throughout the conversation above you, a trembling hand had caressed your face; smoothing the blood-matted hair away from your face and distracting you from the pain throughout your body. The hand was calloused but gentle- the feeling of it against your cheek vaguely familiar in your unconscious state. You faded in-and-out of consciousness from there, an ache resounding throughout your body as you were lifted and held against a firm chest; warmth radiating through the harsh material. Sweet nothings and comforts were whispered into your ear as the body stayed close, the hand firm against the side of your face; creating a comforting pressure. Reminding you that you could still be alive.

Eventually, you woke- the harsh lights of a hospital room blinding as your eyes adjusted; the last thing you had seen being the country roadside. Coughing, you retched at the sandpaper texture to your throat. A straw was quickly coaxed towards your mouth, Sam’s worrisome eyes staring down at you. You sipped from the straw, blinking as you truly adjusted to being conscious.

“Hey there,” Sam spoke as he gave you a watery smile, his eyes filling with tears, “We thought we’d lost you for a minute there.”

“Can’t lose me that easily,” you croaked, smiling at your best friend and reaching for his hand; to which he obliged.

“Thankfully not,” Sam laughed shakily, his gaze still clouded with emotion, “Y/N, I was the one to see you first and- we really didn’t know if you were going to make it. I mean there was so much blood and your leg-” you squeezed his hand tighter, you were alive, you were okay. Sam’s vision darkened suddenly, his hold on yours tightening. “You should have seen him Y/N.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you cocked your head at Sam, “Who?”

“Buck, he- the soldiers held him up so he watched as you were thrown. The scream he let out I- I’ve not seen him lose it like that during a fight in years, not since-”

“The Winter Soldier.” you finished, turning your gaze to your hands. Sam could only nod.

“He cares about you, Y/N. So much. He held you to his chest the entire journey here and we practically had to tear you from his arms when we arrived.”

“Why isn’t he here now then?

Sam’s face took a different cast then, one of confusion. “I- I’m not sure actually, he said he wanted to give us some space?” You reflected his look of confusion.

“Is he still in the hospital?”

“I assume so, it wasn’t too long ago that he left,” Sam stood then, giving you a kiss on the cheek and jogging towards the door- still in full Falcon gear, “I’m gonna send him in.”

It was only a number of moments later that Bucky rounded the entrance to the doorway, his expression stricken as he froze- staring at your opened eyes, at your steady breaths. A beat passed and he sighed, moving to occupy the vacant seat that Sam had been sitting in only moments earlier. “Hey, Doll.”

“Buck,” you sighed, reaching for his twitching hand that lay at the edge of your bed, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, a glint of anger and confusion in his eyes, “I’m okay? Y/N I watched you fall from a moving truck.”

Rolling your eyes, you sat straight; wincing slightly at the pain, “I was just say-”

“No, Y/N,” Bucky snapped, “you shouldn’t even have been there in the first place, I mean what were you thinking, jumping onto a truck and taking on super soldiers that were holding me down.”

“Wow, thanks-”

“Seriously. This easily could have been prevented if your boyfriend hadn’t agreed to carry you 100 feet into the air.”

“My what-”

“I mean, come on, surely he should have your best interests in mind. The whole thing was reckless from the beginning, if I was in his position I wouldn’t have brought you.”

You sat, shell shocked, Bucky thought you and Sam were together, “Is that why you weren’t here when I woke up?”

Bucky nodded then, hurt in his eyes as he scrubbed at his stubble, “Yeah- I mean, I wanted to, you know, give you space. Let you work things out I don’t know-”

You cackled, laughing right in his face- leading to an entirely unattractive coughing fit to which Bucky was forced to clap you on the back. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you chuckled, wiping at the tears rolling down your cheeks as you stared at the silly man before you, “Bucky, me and Sam aren’t together.”

Bucky paused, seemingly halting in his tracks as he gaped at you, “What?”

“We aren’t together.”

“But-” he shook his head, having seemingly lived a lie for however long he’d believed this, “but you two have been so close I mean- every time I talk to Sam he mentions things the two of you have been doing and you’re just so close and in tune with each other I thought-”

“We’re just friends Buck,” your mouth twisted, the clarity of the situation hitting you, “Why do you even care anyway? You have a girlfriend.”

“Oh for goodness sake.” Bucky was laughing now, standing and opting to pace the room, his face filled with mirth as he continued to scrub at his stubble, “I do not have a girlfriend.”

“Sam told me you went on a date.”

“Sam told you- yeah and he conveniently missed the part where I did that in an attempt to get over you.” Bucky threw his arms up then, his expression defeated as he spoke. You could only stare back, lips pursed, eyes wide.

“Get over me?”

“Yes.”

“But, I thought-” you shook your head, “after the battle, you-you left and we never spoke again. I thought you regretted what happened. I thought-”

“Every waking moment is spent thinking about that kiss, Doll,” Bucky sighed, circling the bed to sit back at your side, taking your hand in his, “I was mourning, my best friend was gone and I knew he was going to do it but I just- I would never be ready for it, you know. Sam found me later and he was telling me all of these stories about you and- God, I’m so stupid- I presumed that the two of you had gotten together so I kept my distance. I mean, I was so in love with you that I didn’t want to ruin that for you even despite what had happened between us and- I’m so sorry Y/N.”

Tears trickled down your cheeks as you stared at the ridiculous, gorgeous man before you; you laughed again, softer and tearier this time as you reached to grab Bucky’s face, mirroring the action that he had done to you during your unconscious state, “We are so ridiculous.”

Bucky laughed too then, moving to sit at the edge of your bed and tuck the loose hair behind your ears- his cheeks were crumpled; red with embarrassment and love and longing. He leaned forward then, careful in respect of your injuries, in order to capture your lips between his. This kiss was different from your first, it was slower, less urgent- your thumbs tracing figure-of-eights into his cheeks as you didn’t carry that same weight of uncertainty as you had last time. You smiled against each other's mouths, hands trailing each other’s bodies- the back of his head, his cheeks, his back, his neck, the brass of his metal arm.

You finally felt complete, like you knew where you belonged.

#bucky barnes x reader #mcu #mcu fanfiction #bucky barnes #falcon and the winter soldier #extremely self indulgent #sam wilson #marvel #thunderbolts #use of the doll nickname iktrrrr

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eluxcastar · 1 month

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Dottore giving child reader a check up

── ୨୧：il dottore & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: nobody scares you more than the Doctor, and that's why you're wholly betrayed by Father tricking you into getting a check up right under your nose, but perhaps your worries are exaggerated by rumours

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, child reader, he's a lil soft (cause if he's not poor kid might explode on site), reader is mute, reader is also autistic (but tbh you don't have to read it that way), not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 2.9k

idk what possessed me to write this I just has the thought and decided it had to be done. I got in the zone and wrote it in a few hours 😭 this is kinda loosely based off one of my characters but ambiguous enough I think to be read as a reader insert. little ball of anxiety with legs reader hehe. they come from the house of the hearth so every instance of father refers to arle

You can't think of a single person able to scare you nearly as much as the Doctor can, whether it's the daunting trip to find him wherever he hid this time or the fear of knowing he tried to bargain with Father to have the more unimpressive children—as some would call you—shipped off to him to become experiments.

Father won't allow him to get his hands on any of you, but it hardly eases the fear that he may disregard Father's warning and decide to pluck the first child he comes across up and feign ignorance when she realises they've disappeared.

Father personally entrusted you with this letter, so you cannot turn back as you make your way to where she said he should be.

The sleepiness might manage to numb you to the danger by the time you arrive and make it easier to stomach his presence, but most likely, he will only frighten you awake, and it will worsen with the shock to your system.

There's no turning back now and no declining when Father asks you to take letters, which she says are of great importance. You can't treat letters like this lightly, even if you fear the recipient.

Knowing who is behind it makes the door all the more daunting. Doors that separate you from Harbingers always make you nervous as it's not every day you find yourself faced with one armed only with a letter and shaking hands. If it were anyone else, you could've knocked in a heartbeat, but you pause to gather your bearings before raising your hand to knock.

One two, three…four. Spaced just as Columbina taught you to, and then you wait.

Several seconds pass in silence before you hear footsteps from inside, then a voice calling out to you. "The door is unlocked."

You reach for the handle, cautiously cracking open the door just enough to peek inside. Your eyes travel across the room from your left to your right until you spy Dottore seated in a chair facing away from you. He hears you, evident in the way he turns to look at you as you work up the courage to step inside and leave the door ajar behind you.

"It's you," he remarks, the closest to acknowledgment you expect to receive. You are about to make your way to hand him the letter when he interrupts you. "Close the door."

The door is always closed here like it's trying to keep someone out, but there's no one here that he would dread seeing who would knock and accept that the door is locked. He must not be trying to convince anyone of that, and if he was, maybe he'd lock the door for real and leave everyone stranded outside instead of talking.

Dottore makes you nervous. You don't know what he thinks or why, but you probably don't like it. It's the only reason why he would be here right now. Normal doctoring wouldn't get him far as a Harbinger, and the sounds you've heard coming from his lab are enough to deter you from wondering too much.

Instead, you quietly spin yourself around to push the door closed before returning to your endeavour of handing him this letter from Father she entrusted you with.

"Who is it from?" he asks, a question you remember him asking before too. You concluded that he's trying to gauge how eager he is to read it, and your answer will set his mood for the remainder of your stay.

You turn the envelope over to show him the seal on the back, which you hold out to him. The mark of the House of the Hearth—Father's seal—is displayed so that Dottore can glean the answer from wordless actions. He accepts it from your hand with a stifled eagerness, the hopes of something he'll enjoy written there held back by the knowledge that, in all likelihood, it's a trivial matter.

The moment the letter leaves your hands, you retreat to the safety of the door, where you stand beside the frame to await a half-hearted reaction or collect his response. Father is always happy when you return to the House to inform her that Dottore sighed when he read her letter, even if she regards the news with her usual stoicism. She despises when he bothers to send something back to her, but she never tells you why, as usual.

He collects something off his desk just out of your sight, hidden behind him, and the sound of paper tearing follows. He drops the twice-folded paper into his hand, then unfurls it to read the contents.

You wait in silence, nerves evening out as you rub the sleep from your eyes with the back of your hand. Sleepiness does help you occupy yourself if nothing else.

Then, you are interrupted by a snap of his fingers and a motion of his hand to usher you closer.

Keeping him waiting will only make him mad, though you're sure not enough time has passed for him to pen any cohesive message in the minute or two you spent waiting.

You look up in anticipation nonetheless, expecting him to hand you something or tell you something so when he reaches toward you, it doesn't alarm you.

Not until he grabs you beneath your arms, picks you up, and sits you down on the table, much closer to eye level with him.

"Arlecchino has her concerns about your sleeping habits and your seeming lack of will to speak," he begins, reaching behind you to grab something you barely follow before he has it in his hands. It's only a light, small and thinner than the torches at the House.

Your mind races with every question you can think of as you try to find a way off this table back to the floor, but the only way out is blocked by Dottore sitting in front of you, unsympathetic to the fear in your eyes when you stare at him. You could swear you hear your heartbeat thrumming in your ears in a quickened rhythm.

What was written in that letter? Was it about you? It takes only a brief glance down in search of the open letter to realise exactly what makes this delivery so important. Father tricked you into coming here to see the Doctor after you so eagerly declined her previous offer to go willingly. You catch glimpses of your name in Father's handwriting and little else as it blurs into a messy sea of details, but you always recognise how Father writes your name.

You know better than to assume this is punishment but rather the manifestation of Father's worry as you keep oversleeping lately and need one of the older children to fetch you from the comfort of your bed. The idea that habit would land you here, presumably getting a check-up, might've inspired you to prize yourself out of bed a little earlier had you known.

Dottore seems to gauge your trembling as an obvious sign of fear, though a twitch at the corner of his lips is your only indicator, as you can't see his eyes beneath the mask. "Her explicit concern was whether or not you're ill." He rests his hand against your knee— they're cold, yet you almost expect it. It doesn't mean you especially like it. You can only interpret the action as a skewed attempt to comfort you. "As long as you're healthy, I see no reason to keep you longer than a simple check up."

He's not a real doctor, is all you can think, and he doesn't know what he's doing.

You have no choice but to steel yourself for whatever pain you're about to be subjected to. It might hurt, but you have no way out, no way back to Father, so you can curl up in a ball at her feet and ask why she would subject you to this torture—

"Don't tense your jaw," you suddenly hear, realising his finger taps your knee to grab your attention back from dreamland. "Open your mouth," he instructs you, and rather simply at that. It's something you can follow without getting scared he'll hurt you somehow.

He shines that light at you, inspecting something, though you can't say what. A slight tilt of his hand and, by proxy, the light he's holding is your only sign he's looking at anything.

The light is off before you know it. There was no pain at all, not even a hint of discomfort beyond what naturally arises from your ever-present anxiousness.

Dottore moves to set the light beside you, then appears to change his mind as he offers it to you. You take it from his hand and click it just as he had, the light coming on again. Another click, and it's off. Holding it just like that, an object of clicks and ridges and a light you can play with, is enough to give you something to at least take your mind off the fear of getting hurt.

"Lift your head."

This time, compliance comes easier as you tilt your head up until the point his hand stops nudging you, and instead, he presses his fingers against your throat. It's light enough to feel only slight pressure; it doesn't hurt, but you don't like that feeling. Your thumb brushes over the exterior of the light, smooth against the pads of your fingers and satisfying to touch. You pull away before you can come to your senses and stop yourself, but he lets go the moment your discomfort flares, and you do the closest you can to telling him no.

Your breathing begins to even back out seeing his hands so clearly in the air in front of you, away from you, not touching you. It's silent reassurance that what you just did counts enough as revoking his permission to touch you as anything can.

Dottore doesn't feel like dealing with the fussy child that trying to force it would invoke for a mere favour to the Knave.

Instead, simply asking you like the fully grown child you are seems much more efficient. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, all yes or no," he begins. "They're all simple enough you can answer without speaking."

You interpret the ensuing silence as Dottore waiting, expecting you to nod or shake your head, and you quickly offer a nod in agreement.

"Do you know if you're able to speak?"

You consider his question carefully, unsure of the answer. Your hesitation prompts him to rephrase the question.

"Are you able to make any noises at all?"

You nod. You know the answer to that.

"But not speak in full words?"

Not words. Words don't work. You shake your head.

"Would that be because you're physically unable to?"

You shake your head. You've spoken before, but each time you try, especially here, something robs you of your voice before you get the chance. You know you can talk, just not here like this.

"If not physical, then there's nothing wrong with you," he concludes. It feels sudden like there should be more, but he stops so quickly. "Nothing that I can fix," he promptly adds. That explains it.

Why not? He doesn't answer, unable to hear the things you don't say. To him, you remain as starkly silent as ever and as difficult to treat as you have been the past few minutes. You suspect he came to some greater conclusion between when you first walked in and now but neglects to share with you what it is.

You must look unsatisfied or just confused as he pauses to stare at you. You look away first, eyes drifting back to the light in your hands.

"Arlecchino only wanted to know if something was physically wrong with you," he says, briefly looking down at the letter as he skims a particular section again. "Your poor sleep may be the result of insomnia, or whatever is causing the mental block that also prevents you from speaking."

Mental block? Nobody ever told you about anything like that.

You eye him curiously, though you again remain silent, watching him while you think he isn't looking back. It's easy to look at him as long as you don't consciously think of the fact that he's staring at you behind that mask.

Dottore holds his hand out expectantly, a motion of his fingers telling you he wants you to return what you have in your hands to him. You do so, but not without a sadness-driven hesitance to accompany it.

"None of the things you're describing imply a physical problem, but a paranoid 'parent' overattentive to the wrong facets of what could be wrong with an orphan." You don't like the way he says that as if he's speaking ill of Father, but like always, you keep your mouth shut. "If you couldn't speak because of a physical injury, you would have presented with one when you arrived at the House of the Hearth—not now. Trouble sleeping and an elevated heart rate, shortness of breath, intense panic and your tremors are more likely the symptoms of anxiety."

That's a lot of words, but as he quickly lists every example, you seem to become conscious of it. Mental block, anxiety. Those are the two things you've been told that sound like explanations. You look down as if on instinct, hands held in front of you to investigate his claims that you're shaking. You are. Before your eyes, your hands are trembling, though you can't say why. You look back at him to see if he has anything else to say.

You thought your sleep troubles weren't the same, the result of bad dreams, but supposedly not. Dottore doesn't know anything about that, does he? No, he can't. You never told him, so he can't know. He knows lots of things he shouldn't, like your heart racing when you're scared or how you feel like you can't breathe at times.

Dottore clicks the light on again, shining it down at your hands resting in your lap. He circles it in place, and your eyes follow. It clicks off again after a few seconds. "Distraction helps anxiety," he says, then sets it down on the desk beside you. "Do you know why you can't sleep?" he asks.

Yes. You nod. Dreams. On nights when they're at their worst, they keep you awake long past bedtime when all others have gone to sleep. By breakfast, you can be so tired and sleep-deprived that dozing off over your food is the only thing you can manage.

You half expect to sit through another round of questioning before Dottore finds the one that clicks the pieces perfectly together in his head, just as he did in the first round.

Instead, Dottore stands, and his hands find your sides to hook you under your arms. Your feet are back on the ground before you can fuss any more about how much you do or do not like it. With you out of his way, he flips the paper Father wrote her request to him on.

"If you know the answer, then you're free to go."

That's it?

You stare up at him for a moment, perplexed by the surprising lack of pain compared to the abundance of fear you felt. It should have hurt, but it didn't, and now you don't know why you were so against coming here in the first place. Dottore spared five or ten minutes of his time, which he already didn't want to give you, and is sending you on your way without injury,

You can't see his face as he's turned away, writing something down that you can't make out. If you took a guess what it is, it's probably about you, just like the first one was. Still, you can tell why Father is so annoyed to receive letters from him. You don't recognise your name when he writes it. You don't recognise anything he writes. His handwriting is awful.

He folds it and slips it back into the envelope it was given to him in. That's not proper etiquette, but something in the way he practically shoves it into your hands tells you that he doesn't particularly care. So long as it gets from him to Father, it doesn't matter how it gets there in his eyes.

"Give that to the Knave." That is his final instruction. You're very used to following those kinds of instructions by now, having heard and executed them many times. They're second nature to your mind.

You nod, pinching it between your fingers to keep the paper from falling out of the open envelope. If Father's was critical, so is this one, and you'll get it back to her quickly—more importantly, safely.

You can't help wondering why it felt so much easier to have someone briefly look at you and ask a few questions. The older children make it sound torturous and barbaric, like being used as a lab rat to spite Father for her refusal with his only opportunity to access the children of the House.

Perhaps seeing a doctor to ease Father's worries isn't as scary as you believed.

#✦ — scenarios.#✦ — fluff.#for anyone wondering #yes this is extremely self-indulgent #because the little doctor-fearing child in me needs to be soothed #by a scarier doctor LMAO #dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

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