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sir-tuitsum · 2 days ago

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Heir. [Al Haitham X Reader]

Warnings: slavery, pregnancy, birthing is implied, somewhat loss of bodily autonomy?, unedited.

Notes: I'm sorry if I mischaracterized him in anyway. This was also unedited, if it sounds disjointed and sounds like word vomit, I'm also sorry for that.

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You had been with Alina since birth, the daughter of a slave who had served Alina’s mother. It was simply how things were, how they had always been. You were bound by blood, by law, and by custom to serve Alina as her personal maidservant. The years blurred by, one after the other, until it felt like there was no distinction between them. Alina, bright eyed and full of laughter, and You, quiet and watchful, their lives intertwined in a twisted fashion.

The royal estate was a sprawling grandeur built on generations of unyielding wealth. Alina had been raised here, swaddled in luxury from the moment she took her first breath. It was a life that glittered on the surface, but beneath that gleaming light, there was a steady, unspoken shadow and it was one that kept You in constant service.

And then Alina would reach the marriageable age, your service would not end. Unlike transported goods, noble brides had the chance of choosing certain parts of the dowry, like handmaidens or a few pieces of jewelry from their home to take with them to their new household. Unsurprisingly, your work will be continuing in a foreign land. To serve your mistress until death is an honor anyhow.

The wedding was a spectacle of formality, a show for guests, and Alina stood in the center of it, hands trembling in the silk of her gown, but her gaze always drawn to Haitham. The man she was to marry stood tall, his face unreadable, his eyes were distant. Alina spoke little to him during the ceremony, and Haitham barely seemed to notice her at all. It was clear to her that he was a man bound by duty, just as she was. His gaze flitted between the guests, his attention scattered, until the moment finally arrived for them to retire to their shared chambers.

That night, as both women stood in front of the vanity, the new bride spoke of her newly wed, “He looked not at me but at that book, in the middle of celebrations.” She said in her brittle tone, “he does not want me.”

“Mayhaps, he felt the shy of chastity?” You responded.

“He has claimed he mourns the death of his dear mother, I see this as no proper attitude of the head of a family like this.” Alina sneered, “pushing back proper duties like this for personal feelings is something you do not see in men. Aye, this marriage is already off to a bad start. I should write to my father already that he has married me to a dwindling woman and not a man of status.” She followed up after.

You remained silent, you did not have a right to voice so many opinions in one night.

Unfortunately the mourning period is over, so his next excuse was workload. Sometimes he will say he is tired, other times he must spend half the night inside his study then he will sleep there. The point is, the newlyweds did not speak, face to face.

There are natural acts of communication that have always happened between man and wife, as in the woman asking the husband for his opinion before proceeding or the act of reporting to him her latest household activities. Silly trivialities Alina did not feel like doing, for she would not beg for the words of a man married to ink and paper instead of her own self. It is only sensible she sends a lowly slave to report to him.

The banquet was to be a grand affair, a celebration of her union with Haitham as the wife of the new household head but Alina had sent You with a specific task to make sure the details were in Haitham’s hands, swiftly and precisely. To let him know and have his permission to carry it through, as if she hadn't started planning the event and was almost finished, of course. Haitham sat at a large, polished desk, hunched over a large book, his sharp features concentrated in the glow of a candle. He didn’t look up when you entered. Your eyes flickered over him for just a moment, noting the hard lines of his jaw, as though whatever lay before him had far more weight than anything you might carry.

“Lord Haitham.” You announced quietly, your face slightly lowered in respect.

Haitham’s eyes lifted up from the book, they had the sharpness of that bird, you cannot remember the name of the vulture as of now. It was a look you didn't feel used to, it was hard but it did not remind you to not look into the eyes of what's above you. It seemed to study your worth instead of judging it.

“What is it?” A tone steady with no warmth. It was like a liberating feeling to hear the mouth of a silent man like him. For the first time.

“My lady requests your thoughts on her banquet, my lord.”

His eyes shifted to the scroll in your hands and he studied it too, then looked back at you again, “She wants to create a spectacle I'm guessing?”

“My lady said it is necessary for families to see the strength of the alliance and to introduce herself into this society’s heart.”

“It is a spectacle, then.”

You didn't know what that word meant, to be honest. You only stood there waiting for his next order on the project.

He sighed, leaning back into his chair. He seemed to gather on his own that this meant he might have to grace the banquet with his presence to strengthen her idea, though it worked with his wife on her own. You guessed he did not have cared for it, his reaction gave you the intel of his thoughts on the matter.

“I see,” He began, “leave the scroll there.” He gestured to the open spots on his desk.

You made your way to his desk, stopping in front of it with careful steps taken. You laid the scroll at the front of his table, seeking an object to lay on it so passing winds of the open window would not cause it to blow away from his reach. In your reach for his comfort, you ruined your own. Your hand had managed to knock over his freshly grinded ink, spilling the contents onto the large book of contents you did not even understand. Picking it up in haste would never be enough, after doing this you dropped in front of him with a lowered head and clasped hands.

You remembered now when you dropped a head cloth for Alina in the mud at a younger age and they made sure you bled enough to replicate the mess you made with mud on your mistress’ shirt.

What you looked for did not come.

“I'm going to need you to grind more ink.” His voice sounded uncomfortable, “you cannot grind my ink if you cannot reach the desk.”

You did not get a lash or warning so you looked up at him, slowly at that. Your mistress’ husband’s eyes were narrowed but there was an error in his face, it didn't have the same indifferent studying features you saw when you first entered. It felt a bit odd in a man like himself. It reminded you of Alina when a suitor would approach her but not suit her fancy so she gave them a weird look and it made the situation uncomfortable all the time.

Uncomfortable you were, the silent response wasn't what you were used to so you gazed up at him in silence. His face became more strange, “Were you born slow minded?” He sneered at her, “I need that ink for work, you are delaying me.”

Neither of you spoke as you stood at a side table, for the safety of his other documents, close by his side, grinding the new ink you sought.

You did not mean to linger. In truth, you were meant to return back to your mistress’ quarters and sleep by her bedside now that the work is finished and she had been tucked in for bed by yourself. It is just that, on your way back from going to get snacks for the lady, in the case of her waking up at late hours, you had stopped to admire the clear, crisp air you felt on your face while passing an open door. You assumed a maid must've been finishing up some laundry or some other chore to be out this late. You wouldn't blame them, the calm of this time compared to the hustle of servant work in the daytime must have been something.

You stood on the veranda, your fingers brushing over the smooth, chilled small walls that separates you from the dirt of the other side as you gazed up at the sky. The stars were scattered, faint behind thin clouds, and for a brief moment, you let herself forget where you were, who you were. Your mind seemed to separate itself from your body and you wondered if other people could fall asleep when conscious.

The crisp night air filled your lungs as you stood beneath the sky, lingering in the fleeting moment of peace. It was rare to find time unclaimed by duty, where you could simply exist without the weight of expectation pressing upon you. The stars above, distant and unconcerned, shimmered with an indifference that you envied.

But peace was a fragile thing.

“Lingering outside at such an hour?”

The voice, steady yet sharp, cut through the silence like a blade. You stiffened before turning your head slightly, eyes catching the silhouette of Haitham standing a few paces away. Even in the dim light, his presence was unmistakable, rigid yet unreadable. You lowered your head quickly, fingers curling against the chilled stone of the railing.

“My lord,” you murmured, lowering into a quick bow. “I did not mean to idle. I was merely returning to my lady’s chambers.”

There was a pause, as if he were assessing whether your answer was sufficient. Then, in a tone lacking both warmth and irritation, he said, “By standing out here?”

You swallowed, choosing your words carefully. “It is a quiet night, my lord. The air is clear.”

Another pause. Then, to your quiet surprise, he stepped closer, gaze shifting from you to the sky above. His arms remained folded behind his back, his posture composed but strangely at ease. He stood beside you in silence, and for the first time since your arrival, you were not entirely certain what he was thinking.

“You find comfort in such things?” he asked at last, his tone carrying something lighter, something more contemplative than before.

You hesitated before answering. “It is not my place to seek comfort, my lord.”

“Then, you were seeking it?”

“... the air felt comforting and I forgot my duty.”

His gaze flickered toward you then, though you did not meet it. He did not speak immediately, and you wondered if you had overstepped, if you had spoken too freely. But when he did reply, it was not in reprimand.

“That is a way to look at it.”

You glanced at him now, just briefly. His expression was still unreadable, but something about the way he regarded the stars—as if weighing their worth against his own burdens—made your stomach twist in an unfamiliar way. He was a man whose thoughts you could never presume to know, but in this moment, he seemed less distant, less untouchable.

“You should return,” he said finally, his voice resuming its usual steadiness. “It would not do for Alina to wake and find you absent.”

You bowed again, murmuring an obedient, “Yes, my lord.” But as you stepped away, retreating back into the quiet halls of the estate, you felt his gaze linger on your back.

And for reasons you could not name, that thought unsettled you more than anything else.

You were the vessel of words between Haitham and Alina, and though he never spoke more than necessary, the weight of his scrutiny had lessened. He had grown used to your presence, and you had grown used to his silences. What once felt like an obligation now became routine—expected, unspoken.

The grand banquet hall gleamed under the light of hundreds of flickering candles, their glow reflecting off the polished gold filigree of the vaulted ceiling. Perfume clung to the air, a mix of roses, jasmine, and the faintest trace of incense. Laughter bubbled through the room in elegant waves, conversations flowing like fine wine poured into goblets that never seemed to empty.

Alina sat among the noblewomen, her gown shimmering with intricate embroidery, her fingers elegantly curled around the stem of her cup. She was poised, polite, as she always was, but you could see the slight tension in her brow. Across from her, a group of newly wedded young women spoke animatedly, their hands resting gently upon their stomachs as they shared knowing smiles. Their voices carried just enough to be overheard, but not so much as to be considered impolite.

"Oh, the first months were difficult," one of them, Lady Inesse, sighed with a theatrical tilt of her head. "But we are stronger for it. Lord Adrien has been so attentive. He hardly lets me lift a finger."

"Yes, my husband is the same," another woman chimed in, resting a delicate hand on her belly. "The moment he found out, he insisted I rest more. He says a strong heir must be nurtured from the very beginning."

Alina smiled, lips pressed together in a thin, unreadable line. "How fortunate," she murmured, tilting her goblet slightly so the wine swirled within. "Not all marriages bear fruit so soon."

The women's smiles remained, but there was an unmistakable air of self-satisfaction in the glances they exchanged. "Indeed," one of them said, her voice sweet as honey, "but I suppose when a man is devoted to his wife, things progress naturally."

Alina did not respond, merely taking a slow sip of her wine. You knew that look, her patience was thinning.

"My lady," you murmured quietly at her side, a message relayed from her husband, who sat further down the hall amongst the other noblemen. "Lord Haitham wishes to know if you are comfortable."

Her fingers tapped lightly against the table before she nodded. "Tell him I am enjoying the conversation immensely," she said, her tone smooth, betraying nothing.

You turned, walking the measured steps toward where Haitham sat among his peers. He looked up as you approached, his expression as unreadable as ever, though his gaze flicked briefly over your face, as if measuring the weight of what you carried.

"She says she is enjoying the conversation immensely, my lord."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "A lie, then," he muttered, before shifting his attention back to his plate. "Tell her to be gracious."

You nodded and made your way back, relaying his words softly into Alina’s ear. She exhaled sharply, the only sign of her annoyance, before plastering on a pleasant smile. "Of course."

As the night stretched on, the subtle exchanges continued. Alina, the picture of noble grace, smiled through the arrogance of the other wives, while Haitham remained at a distance, speaking only through you.

A servant approached you quietly, murmuring Haitham’s request for his wife’s presence. Alina’s lips pursed, but she did not refuse. Instead, she took a deliberate sip of her wine before gesturing for you to handle the matter first, as always. With a nod, you stepped away from the table, making your way toward Haitham’s usual spot at the far end of the hall.

You found him standing slightly apart from the main festivities, engaged in conversation with a few older noblemen. He caught sight of you before you even spoke, dismissing the men with a short nod before turning his attention to you.

“She wishes to remain,” you informed him.

He exhaled slowly, as if he had expected as much. “Of course she does.”

You hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “There are women speaking of their early pregnancies.”

His gaze sharpened slightly at that, though his face betrayed nothing else. “And?”

You chose your words carefully. “They are… boastful.”

A dry smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “I imagine my wife is displeased.”

You nodded once.

He took a sip of his wine, his eyes flicking toward the banquet table where Alina remained. “I see,” he mused, though there was no urgency in his tone. Then, shifting his gaze back to you, he asked, “And you? Are you displeased as your mistress is?”

The question was unexpected. You blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before lowering your gaze once more. “It is not my place to be.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, with a soft scoff, he shook his head. “Always so careful.”

You said nothing. After all, it was not your place to respond to such things.

He turned away first, moving to return to his wife’s side, and you followed, as you always did.

It was an odd thing, you thought, being caught between them, between a woman scorned by her husband's indifference and a man too removed from the expectations set upon him. And yet, you had grown so accustomed to it that you no longer questioned it.

You were their voice when they had none for each other.

And you would be more.

Alina’s marriage, a strategic alliance, had borne no fruit. No physical connection between her and Haitham, nor the child that society expected to see from the union of their houses. In her heart, she knew this was more than a personal desire. A child wasn’t merely a sign of intimacy; it was a symbol of power, security, and legitimacy.

It was not uncommon in the aristocratic circles for heirs to be born outside the confines of their marriage bed. History, as it had always been, had seen many such acts carried out in silence, and in some cases, even with the consent of the husband. The purpose was simple: the creation of a legitimate heir without the social complications of a wife’s infidelity or public scandal. Alina, sharp-minded and always calculating, knew the importance of this. Her father, a man of vast influence, had married her off to Haitham to secure their family’s political future, and there would be no room for failure. A child, especially a male heir, would solidify her place and make her indispensable to her husband’s claim.

But where Haitham was distant and emotionally detached, Alina found an inconvenient truth: he had yet to sleep with her, and thus, no child had come of it. The initial excuses; mourning, workload, personal affairs, had grown thinner with each passing week, yet his indifference remained. If she were to have an heir, it seemed clear that she would not be the one to provide him with it.

Alina’s solution was neither swift nor easy, but it was the only option left that she could control. She had, after all, a willing participant in her service: you. Her maidservant, loyal and quiet, had always been there, a constant presence in the background of her life. Alina knew you were devoted to her, perhaps even more than your duty required, and in a strange way, she had come to trust you in the most unusual ways.

One evening, when the estate was quiet, and the scent of incense drifted lazily through the air, Alina summoned you to her chambers. Her voice was soft but firm, and she dismissed the others with a swift motion of her hand before pulling you aside. She regarded you with a calculated look that betrayed little of the storm within her.

“You understand, don’t you?” she asked, her eyes hard and unwavering. “The importance of an heir. Of securing our place, our future. It is what we need to maintain our power and solidify this alliance. The alliance is everything, and the heir must come. Without it, we are nothing.”

You lowered your gaze, unsure of what she meant but not daring to ask. Alina continued, her words sharp, like a blade, but her tone controlled.

“I have made many considerations, and the most sensible, the most logical path forward is for you to carry Haitham’s child.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a long moment, silence followed. You had been trained to remain calm, to serve without question, but this request was one that felt different. Your breath caught in your throat, though you said nothing. This was a decision of magnitude, one that carried the weight of not only your life but the future of the entire household.

“You are… willing to bear his child, to ensure the survival of this house, to make certain we are not forgotten? I trust you, more than any other.”

Alina’s voice softened, but there was an undercurrent of command in her tone. This was not a mere request; it was a calculated demand, and in some twisted way, it was the only way forward if she was to have the power she desired.

The weight of her words settled upon you, and for the first time, you found yourself at a loss for how to respond. To carry a child that would never be yours, to act as a vessel for the ambitions of a woman who had shown little kindness to you in recent months, was not a simple task. And yet, you knew the reality of your situation. You were bound by duty, by a system that left you with few options.

You had been taught to serve, and this was a service unlike any other. Alina was offering you a choice, but in truth, there was no choice. You could not refuse without risking everything you had built up to this point.

With a slow breath, you lowered your head, your voice barely a whisper as you responded, “Yes, my lady. I will do what is necessary.”

Was it necessary anyway? You asked this to yourself loudly in your head.

Alina nodded, as if she had expected this answer, though a flicker of something unspoken passed through her eyes. She had known you would comply, as you always did. The plan was set in motion, and despite the unease that curled in your stomach, you understood what must be done.

“You are my personal maidservant. You belong to me. Therefore, your child by my husband is as good as mine.”

And she had planned it all well. The next few days were perfectly arranged. Her tear jogging and the summon of the doctor, at the feet of Haitham’s beloved old grandmother who treated Alina like her own, she whimpered of her body’s inabilities despite efforts of Haitham and herself. The sweet woman could only feel pity for another woman and for her only grandchild, what would be the future of this household, if only.

It did not take a fortune to convince this sweet old lady, not with Alina’s planning and waterworks. Haitham, ever indifferent, supposedly remained unaware of the intricacies unfolding around him.

The night of conception came like a quiet storm. Alina had ensured that Haitham would be present in the chamber, though there was no discussion between them about the task at hand. It was simply a matter of circumstance, a duty that needed to be fulfilled. You would be the one to bear the heir, to ensure the continuity of the house’s bloodline, and Alina’s power.

As if, this was Al Haitham. In some ways, you had gotten to know him over the course of months. A man of his caliber would only come to distrust and distance himself from such a wife, perhaps away from you as well knowing your part in it if he were to ever find out they had planned for you to do this with him without his knowledge.

The room felt unnaturally still, as though the air itself had frozen in time. The soft flicker of candlelight cast shadows that danced across the walls, shifting with every slight movement. The faint scent of incense filled the room, mingling with the heaviness of the moment. Your heart raced in your chest, the rhythmic thudding a sharp contrast to the oppressive silence that hung between you both.

You had expected this to be different. Perhaps not in the way you had imagined– no, that would have been far too simple. But the tension, the weight of what was happening now, felt too real, too immediate. There was a strange pulse to the air, a magnetic tension that made your skin crawl with a mix of fear, something else. Something you couldn’t name.

Your eyes were on him, Haitham, who lay there, a stark contrast to his usual reserved, controlled demeanor. This wasn’t the same man you had observed from the corners of the room, the distant ruler whose every move was calculated, every glance deliberate. No, this man was almost too present. His actions were methodical, but there was no hesitation in them. He was going through the motions, but his eyes held a depth that left you uneasy, as if he could see you for who you truly were in this vulnerable moment.

You had always known your place, always understood the dynamics of your position. You were a servant, an unseen presence, a quiet fixture in the grand scheme of things. But now, here, in this moment, with him on top of you, there was no illusion of distance. The line between mistress and servant, between ruler and subject, blurred in a way you had never anticipated.

The room was silent, save for the faint sounds of your breath, as the plan played out as it had been orchestrated.

The sensation of his body against yours was jarring, foreign. The coldness in his touch unsettled you, but there was something more, a sense of inevitability. You had been chosen for this. But why? The confusion gnawed at you. You had never been part of any plan like this before, not one so personal, so… intimate. Why had he agreed to this? Why had he, of all people, allowed himself to fall into the role you had orchestrated? It was out of character. Here he was, doing exactly what was needed, exactly what Alina wanted, without question or protest.

If you listened to your foolish thoughts anymore, it would tell you his movements felt almost passionate. It was too out of character so you blamed the wine for ruining your common sense.

The moment the physicians confirmed it, you could feel the weight of the change settling in your chest, the flutter of the tiny life inside you somehow more real than anything you had ever known.

You walked with your head held high, side by side with your mistress, despite the deep, twisting confusion that churned in your stomach. Why had Haitham agreed? Why had he allowed this to happen? The question still echoed in your mind, unanswered and impossible to forget. Yet, as the days stretched into weeks, your questions became more focused on the now: the child growing inside you.

The weight of your pregnancy seemed to follow and burden you everywhere. When you were in the gardens, the sunlight no longer seemed as warm. The birds no longer sang as sweetly. The air itself felt like it was watching you, waiting for something. You could no longer escape the fact that this child, the product of a choice made for your mistress’ own interests, was the key to your future, your place within the palace, and possibly even your survival.

It was impossible to ignore now. The signs were clear, undeniable. Your abdomen had begun to round ever so slightly, a gentle curve that only seemed to grow with time. The subtle shifts in your body, a slight swell here, the soft tenderness of your skin were constant reminders of the child you carried, the child that had begun this entire chain of events.

The pregnancy, the child, had become a symbol, a weapon, and a future all in one. And for all that it was supposed to bring, it had already begun to take so much from you. It was not just your body that had changed, but your entire existence.

You were no longer just a maid. You were the vessel of an heir. You were a cornerstone of a household's future. And as the days passed, the walls of the manor seemed to close in tighter, each step you took echoing with the gravity of the choice you had never made, but had been forced to accept.

That old woman was happy too but you did not care.

Alina was happy too, the sense of completeness you felt when her wants were fulfilled weren't there. You can't describe your feelings right now and you didn't want to.

But Haitham..

The pregnancy, your growing belly, the fact that he had been part of the very act that had led to this point—none of it was discussed. His presence in your life hadn’t changed much on the surface. He still avoided your gaze in private, keeping a calm and collected demeanor, his mask of stoicism firmly in place. But there was something there. Something that lingered in his eyes when they flickered toward your belly, a subtle moment of discomfort, of something unreadable.

At first, Haitham kept his distance. His attention was always elsewhere, his mind consumed with matters of state, but there was an unspoken understanding that now you were irrevocably linked. He had made his choice, whether out of obligation, duty, or some other reasoning you could not grasp, and now you carried the consequence of that choice.

His visits to your chambers were scarce, but when they came, they were filled with a politeness you were not used to. You wouldn't call it cold, though. The tension that hung between you was palpable. He would glance at your growing belly, his face unreadable, and then turn away. You could feel the subtle discomfort in the air whenever he stood near you, as though he too was struggling to comprehend what was unfolding.

You caught it sometimes, fleeting glances when he thought you weren’t paying attention. In the quiet moments when you passed him in the hallways or when you stood in his presence during the day’s events, you could feel him watching, but never looking too long. As if he feared that if he stared for even a moment, the reality of the situation would be too much for him to bear.

It was as though the whole thing was a shadow between you, this pregnancy, this child, looming over every interaction.

The memory lingered in your mind, playing in your thoughts when silence enveloped your chambers. How he had agreed, how he had acted without hesitation, despite everything you had tried to seduce him. You knew he was a man of logic, of control, of reason. Why would he break his own rules for you? He hadn’t even been drunk; he hadn’t been swayed by emotions or intoxication. And somehow, you were now pregnant with his child.

You tried to focus on the child. There was little room in your mind for anything else. The weight of the future now rested on this unborn life. And yet as your pregnancy progressed, you found it harder and harder to look at him without feeling a mix of frustration and confusion. You had thought he would keep his distance, remain cold, as he always did, but there was something different now. He no longer avoided you with the same clear indifference he once did. His gaze lingered for just a moment too long when he saw you. He would pretend to be lost in his thoughts but would always glance back at you, his expression unreadable, as though unsure how to handle you now.

The birth came quickly, much faster than you anticipated. The days leading up to it had been filled with a quiet dread, an anxiety that hung over you like a thick fog. Despite everything that had led to this moment, you could not shake the feeling of unease. The manor had become a blur of whispers and well-meaning visits, but in those final days, all that mattered was the quiet urgency of labor.

Haitham was nowhere to be found during the most excruciating hours. You hadn’t expected his presence; after all, you weren’t sure if he would even acknowledge the child once it was born but his absence felt heavier than it should have. The room was filled with the sounds of your breathing, the anxious murmurs of the attendants, the rustling of linens. The only thing that mattered in that moment was the child, the child you had carried in silence, the child that would change the course of everything.

When the time came, it was not like you had imagined. There were no comforting words, no hand to hold. They assured you had the best midwives, but there was something detached about it all. It was business, almost. Everything felt calculated, as though the child’s arrival was as much a political event as a personal one.

You could feel the child moving, every contraction a reminder that your body was no longer your own. The pain was intense, but you pushed through it, through the moments of sharp discomfort, through the quiet exhaustion that gnawed at you.

And then, finally, there was silence. For a brief moment, all of the noise, the world, the palace, the turmoil, fell away. The child, your child, had arrived. It cried out, its tiny voice piercing the quiet, demanding attention.

The attendants moved quickly, wrapping the child in soft blankets and handing it to you, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were still unfocused, the lingering pain of childbirth pulling you under. You only registered the weight of the child in your arms, the warmth of its small body, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of something other than confusion. Was it a relief? Or just a momentary lapse in the fog that had clouded your mind since the conception?

You looked down at the child, a tiny life so fragile and innocent. Its features were too young to distinguish fully, but you could already feel the pull of something strong inside of you. This child, though born of necessity, now seemed to be more than just a pawn. It was real. It was here.

As the attendants filed out of the room, you were left alone with the child, the soft sound of its breathing filling the space between you and the empty room. A strange emptiness settled over you as you sat there, unsure of what to feel. There was no joy, at least, not the way you imagined it should be. There was no overwhelming love that flooded your chest, no tearful happiness. Instead, you felt… trapped. The responsibility of it all was suddenly clearer than it had ever been.

If Alina was in the manor today, she would've grabbed this bundle and paraded it around as her proud work. For once, you felt yourself wishing she was here to do that. She only knew to take all from you but responsibility.

Then, unexpectedly, the door to your chambers opened.

Haitham stood in the doorway, his figure outlined by the soft glow of candlelight. His gaze landed immediately on the child, his face unreadable. The silence between the two of you stretched for what felt like an eternity. You watched him, unable to look away, waiting for some sort of acknowledgment.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. His eyes flicked to you, then back to the child. Then, almost imperceptibly, he took a step forward, the sound of his boots muted on the stone floor.

He didn’t speak at first, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything either. His gaze was fixed on the child, his eyes narrow but not unkind. You could almost see the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the realization of everything that had transpired in this room.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low, almost as if testing the words before he allowed them to escape.

“It’s… done,” he said, the words simple, but heavy.

You nodded slowly, uncertain of how to respond. “Yes.”

Haitham stepped closer, his eyes never leaving the child. He paused for a long moment, and for the first time since the pregnancy began, you wondered if he was truly seeing the reality of it all. Was he finally understanding the gravity of what had been set in motion? Or was this just another task to him—something he had no choice but to accept?

He reached out, just slightly, as though unsure how to touch the fragile, new life. His fingers hovered near the child’s blanket, but he did not touch it.

For a moment, the room seemed impossibly still, the tension thick. And then, without warning, Haitham’s voice broke through the silence again, softer this time, as if speaking to himself.

“It’s… ours,” he murmured, the words barely a whisper, but they landed heavy in the space between you both.

You looked at him, studying his face, trying to make sense of what had just passed between you. He didn’t meet your gaze, his eyes lingering instead on the child, his hand now gently brushing against the soft fabric of the blanket.

There was something deeper in his tone—something more than just himself, something raw and unspoken.

For a moment, you thought you saw something, something fleeting in his eyes. A flicker of doubt? Regret? Was it something else? You weren't used to different emotions from him so it was impossible to tell. But in that brief moment, you wondered if the child, the very thing that had bound you together in a web of politics, might also be the thing that changed everything between you.

But for now, there was only silence. Only the child in your arms, and the strange tension that hung between you and Haitham.

**************************************

Notes: this is a second apology if this sounded like word vomit.

AO3 link

#alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #al haitham #genshin impact #genshin x reader #alhaitham x you #Genshin impact x reader #pregnancy #pregnant reader #genshin x you #genshin fanfic #genshin x y/n

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mrpenguinpants · 2 years ago

Text

Low Battery Warning - Touch Starved HCs

— If he goes too long without you by his side, he starts to get irritable and too frustrating for anyone to deal with. For the sake of everyone, please remember to recharge your battery before leaving for extended periods of time.

— Tartaglia, Kaveh, Ayato, Alhaitham, and Dottore

Semi Part 2 For Dottore: Ttorschlusspanik [Masterlist]

I JUST WANT TO WRITE WHIPPED MEN OKAY? What do you mean I have to write a part 2 for two different fics??? I'm honestly surprised I managed to finish this. Also, ALHAITHAM NATION REJOICE, YOUR BOY IS HERE AND I CAN FINALLY MAKE A BANNER. I wasn't going to write him (I'm a kaveh stan) but now that he's here...

Tartaglia

While Tartaglia is the most favored to work with compared to the other Harbingers, that's only by a very slim margin. The closest you'll get to death is when the man gets bored and randomly picks someone to fight, but they usually make it out alive. Maybe a couple weeks in the medical bay and a few broken bones but they aren't dead for the most part. He's also the youngest and therefore the most easy-going even if he's a bit childish. He's a soldier first so he knows the pain of listening to someone verbally beat you down and not having the power to do anything back. But he's still a person at the end of the day and after so many people messing up and delaying his work, he's starting to get irritated. First, it was someone spilling tea onto important documents that he just finished signing, then the Fatui agents stationed near Jueyun Karst being defeated by some no-named treasure hoarders, and then finally being held hostage in his own office because the Liyue Qixing wouldn't leave him alone. God, he slumps over his desk, he just wants to go home and see you!

By the time he finally stumbles through the door, you're already passed out on the couch. He can't blame you, it's very late into the night and he would probably be more upset if you forced yourself to stay awake just to welcome him home. But he can still pout that he was taken away from you for so long, he didn't even get to see you all day. That's borderline torture. But he supposes he can forgive you since you look so cute bundled up in his red shirt. If he happens to take a picture or two that's for his knowledge and eyes only. So he easily scoops you up into his arms, taking a couple seconds to just stand there as he basks in the comfortable weight before he takes you to bed. Just for tonight. This will be the last time work takes him away from home for so long.

It lasts for two weeks. Usually, Childe could hold himself together, he's been away for far longer, but the fact that you're right there and he can't hold you is driving him insane. By the 14th day, Childe is ready to snap his pen in half and hurl it at the next person that comes through that cursed door. He doesn't though because it's usually Ekaterina, the only one that has the balls to talk to him right now, and she deserves far more than she's paid to deal with. But he's touch-deprived and tired. Even Zhongli with his infinite amount of patience advises him to sort himself out before inviting him out to lunch next time. He tried to deal with it on his own, this isn't the first time he's felt claustrophobic, but after the fifth Hilichurl camp he doesn't feel any better which only makes his mood sour further. He might even beat Scaramouche in how short-tempered he is right now. There's heavy air wherever he goes and whatever carefree persona he usually has on is thrown out the window.

It's Zhongli who clues you into how bad Childe's demeanor has gotten, the rascal looks horrible both physically and mentally. Despite the consultant and Childe being on friendly terms, you don't really know the man that well. But he doesn't seem like the type of person to lie so you thank him for the information and make your way to the Northland Bank. To be honest, you've been feeling the effects of not seeing Childe as often as you usually do. You know his work can get so hectic that it keeps him cooped up in his office but it's been a while since you've even seen that fluff of ginger hair. He usually doesn't want you near his work considering how it might put you in danger, but if he isn't taking care of himself then what kind of partner would you be if you didn't help?

Even outside the building, you can feel the effects of what Zhongli talked about. All the agents look like they're on their last legs, there's a gloomy atmosphere surrounding the building even though the sun shines brightly across Liyue harbor, and you can vaguely hear an annoyed Harbinger scolding someone. As soon as you set foot into the building Ekaterina nearly tackles you off your feet. Desperately thanking you for coming and looking at you as if you're the Tsaritsa herself.

As soon as Ekaterina says your name, Childe whips his head around at such a speed that you're afraid his head might fling off as his eyes lock onto yours. You know Childe wouldn't hurt you, never you, but he's looking at you like he's about to devour you and you're suddenly very glad you've never been on the receiving end of his anger. He shoves the papers in his hands into the agent's chest he was probably reprimanding and marches over to where you are.

"C-Childe?" "S-Sir?"

Ekaterina mirrors the wary call of his name until he's finally in front of you and without a word, throws his arms around you. You stumble a bit under his weight but you quickly circle your arms around his back and hold on tight so you don't trip over your own feet. You can only imagine what it looks like for Ekaterina to see her stiff boss suddenly deflate in your arms. A pleased groan escapes from him as he basically lifts you off your feet just so he can hug you closer to him. You almost feel like a child's teddy bear with your legs dangling in the air trapped in a crushing hug. You know that your relationship with Childe isn't a secret but you both don't show any displays of affection, you don't even really interact in public in general, so this is pretty open for the two of you. Well, for you at least. You don't even think Childe is registering anything around him except that you're here.

"Are you okay милый?" you whisper into his ear, nuzzling into the side of his head that's nestled into your shoulder. Your snezhnaya is a little rough around the edges but from how he seems to purr you think he enjoys it nonetheless. "Although I'm happy to see you too, don't you think we should move so we aren't blocking the main entrance?"

He sleepily blinks awake and slowly starts to acknowledge that you're both very much standing at the bank's entrance with everyone shamelessly staring. He frankly looks like he doesn't care, people have working legs, they can walk around you both. But he also doesn't want anyone to find another reason to take him away when he's very comfortable.

"If you need me, don't," is the clipped order that rings out through the bank. You know he's heavily censoring what he actually wants to say but from how everyone cowers away, they can probably tell what would happen if they disobey him. They all give him a nod and a salute before he's picking you up, cradles you into your arms, and swiftly walks upstairs. With a kick of his boot, the door slams shut and he sinks into his chair, you seated pretty on his lap.

"Please never leave me, I think I might die," he groans, re-wrapping his arms tight around your waist. You can only sigh fondly as you gently run your fingers through his hair, rubbing small circles into his scalp and he melts into goo. As if you would want to leave.

Kaveh

You know Kaveh is a bit...eccentric to say the least. He always says what's on his mind and most of the time his thoughts are things he should keep to himself. Even you're not totally immune to his blunt honesty despite the fact he tries to watch how he phrases things when directed to you. He doesn't want to accidentally hurt your feelings, regardless if you know he means no harm. It's rather cute that for someone who doesn't care about what others think of him, he's a bit insecure around you. He likes you, really likes you, and he often finds himself plotting out what he's going to say hours before your lunch date with him. But as soon as you greet him with that charming smile and a brief hug, he turns into putty and whatever flowery language he conjured in his mind is swept away. The confident architect that graduated with honors is reduced to a red-faced mess of stumbling words. It doesn't help that you find it adorable enough to press a chaste kiss to his red cheek and he swears that he's going to pass out from a heat stroke.

He's both extremely glad and terribly conflicted that your love language seems to be touch. He loves it when you brush your fingers through his hair but it always lulls him into sleep so he doesn't get any work done. He loves it when you hug him tightly but then he never wants to leave so he doesn't get any work done. He loves it when you cup his cheeks and pull him into a kiss but then he goes in for seconds, then thirds, and so on that he doesn't get any work done. If he went into alchemy rather than architecture he would dedicate his life work to studying why you have the touch of an Archon that compels him so. But he didn't and now that he's drowning in debt, he really needs to concentrate and finish his work before the deadline.

So now he has the painful task of trying to find an extremely polite way of asking you to leave him alone without you taking offense and breaking up with him. He would be devastated if he couldn't see your loving gaze on him again. But the situation is dire because as soon as he sees you, all he wants to do is curl up in bed with you in his arms. Preferably forever but he'll cross that bridge when he gets there. But every time he tries to bring it up it only takes one look from you for him to stutter and wave off his words. He tries to pep talk himself and every single time he claims that this will be the day that he, very politely, pushes you off, it ends with him melting into goo and waking up the next day with all his untouched work judging him from the table.

It gets to the point that he begins to air his grievances to Alhaitham of all people. To be fair, he doesn't expect the scribe to listen to a word he says and if he did, it would only be because Kaveh needed to pay his share of the rent. But he's pleasantly surprised when you pop up with a guilty smile and that Alhaitham explained his circumstances to you. He tries to clear up the situation, he has no idea what Alhaitham said specifically but it must have been put in the worst way possible, but you take his hands and he shuts up immediately. You give him a light giggle that melts his heart and you tell him to call for you once he's completed his work.

It was the worst decision he's ever made. Second to moving in with Alhaitham. Maybe his judgment of you being an angel was a lie and you were secretly the devil from how often his thoughts were plagued by you. He could draw a circle and think of your eyes. He knows that he's smitten in your presence but he didn't expect that to double when he's suddenly alone. His only motivation is that as soon as he's finished, he'll be able to see you again. But his mind and his work bleed together and he ends up drawing your face instead of buildings and pipes.

He ends up locking himself in his studio and slowly deforming into slime with how awful he's taking care of himself. Alhaitham has to pry him from the table only for Kaveh to flop in his arms that the scribe gives up and hauls the corpse over his shoulder and makes his way to your home. Kaveh still needs to pay his share of the rent so he's not allowed to die before then.

When you opened the door you weren't expecting Alhaitham at your doorstep with Kaveh over his shoulder. He doesn't seem to want to be in this situation either because it looks like he's two seconds away from throwing your boyfriend across the room. But he manages to reign everything in front of you and quickly explains Kaveh's situation, dumping said man into your arms, and telling you to fix it. You shoot him an apologetic smile that he waves off, it's not like it's your fault, before turning around and making his way back to his own home.

"Kaveh?" you whisper gently against his ear to not startle him. It only takes him a second to register your voice before he's perking up and beaming at you. He easily shifts positions so you're in his arms instead. Twirling you around and using the momentum to tuck an arm under your knees and smoothly picking you up, somehow supporting your entire weight in one arm while the other closes the door. Sometimes you forget that Kaveh is really strong despite his lean stature. He is a claymore user after all.

"Darling! What are you doing here?" Kaveh questions while he makes himself at home. If only your living space was big enough for him to store all his work otherwise he would have moved in with you by now.

"Alhaitham mentioned that your recent commission was taking up all your time and you weren't taking care of yourself. Are you alright?" you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck to steady yourself while Kaveh takes his shoes and coat off. In these types of moments, no matter what you do or say he'll refuse to let you out of his arms. If he has to live with one arm then he'll gladly do so just so long as his other hand is wrapped around you.

"Never better," he replies with a smile. He's obviously lying given the dark circles under his pretty red eyes but the soft look he sends you is enough to tell you that right now, he's never been more comfortable. It makes you a bit flustered to have such an intense gaze on you but Kaveh is always forward with his affections and this isn't any different. With you in his arms, there's nowhere for you to run to when he tilts your chin down and brushes his lips against yours.

"Be still for me..." he whispers, the vibrations of his voice tingling against your skin as both of your eyes slowly close. Only for the moment to shatter by loud knocks on your door. You both jerk apart and turn to the disturbance with varying expressions. You're a flustered mess while Kaveh scowls as if the door offended his entire life's work. He finally sets you down on your feet and gives you a quick peck on the cheek. Before marching to the door, flinging it open, and telling the man on the other side to shoo before slamming the door in his face. Unless the world is ending, don't knock.

Ayato

To say Ayato works hard is an understatement. There are several nights when he's glued to his desk rather than resting in bed. Such are the woes of him being forever dedicated to his duties as the Yashiro Commissioner. On days when there are big events and everything needs to be perfect, he's nearly inconsolable that Thoma weighs how much he can get away with if he knocks Ayato out with a frying pan. His pondering doesn't go far because even though Ayato looks like a corpse from the lack of sleep, he'd probably knock Thoma off his feet before the housekeeper could even raise his arms. Ayaka has better luck but she's only able to drag him away for a few minutes before he points in a random direction to divert her attention before disappearing as soon as she turns back. It's just something everyone is aware of and they try their best to support Lord Kamisato. But if it starts to look really bad, like Ayato might drop dead at any second, then you're called in. The last defense and their ace up the sleeve. Not to brag or anything but you have a spotless record and you intend to keep it that way.

It only takes one word from you to have the dignified and cunning Ayato turn into a scared rabbit. His name. None of the wary calls of Lord Kamisato, a dismissal of his titles, and certainly not your affectionate terms of endearment. It always brings the temperature of the room to zero and Ayaka has to double-check that her cyro vision didn't accidentally activate. Unlike Thoma and Ayaka, you're not soft on him and you set your foot down when it comes to his extremes. One of the many reasons he fell in love with you but it's coming back to bite him now. He hates seeing you unhappy, doing anything possible to wipe that frown off your face, but when it's him that's making you so displeased he can't help but look like a scolded puppy.

It doesn't take much for you to know that Ayato has overworked himself to the breaking point again. You understand his duties mean that he's going to be riddled with work but you're his partner first and foremost. You're there to care about Ayato, not the Yashiro Commissioner. And Ayato looks like he's falling apart at the seams. Heavy eye bags, pale complexion, and his body swaying back and forth before he catches himself from falling over. It pains your heart to see him like this and yet still push himself to keep going. So you take one, two, and three steps towards him to delicately take his hand in yours, rubbing soothing circles into his palm before intertwining your fingers together.

Unlike Thoma and Ayaka, he doesn't disappear as soon as you take your eyes off him. Just stands there and stares dopily at you while you issue orders to take over his work. God, you look so attractive when you're in control. It's been a while since he's seen anything but paper and ink but did you always look this beautiful? He's so glad he's going to marry you. Maybe he can force the elders to move the ceremony date up. Everyone in the room politely ignores the fact that Ayato is saying these thoughts out loud and how red your face has gotten.

He doesn't object when you pull him out of the room with you, blindly following you wherever you happen to lead him by the hand. As long as your hand is in his, he'll follow you to the ends of the earth if you'll allow it. It's a bit comical how the dignified Yashiro Commissioner recedes into himself and crumbles away into a love-sick man just by a simple touch. At much as it makes you feel a bit shy, it's nice to know that Ayato won't try and weasel his way out of your grasp and return to his work.

If anything he clings to you like an onikabuto on a tree. You have to waddle your way to the baths with an oversized blue-haired man refusing to let go and draping himself over your back. You know he's making this as hard as possible on purpose, just do you can dote and pamper him a bit longer before he succumbs to slumber and has to return to work. It dampens his mood thinking of the future but it's quickly ushered away by the warm water poured over his head. It's fitting that his vision is hydro because he fits himself into the space you provide as you begin to scrub his hair clean.

There's something meditative about having his hair washed by your hands that no one else can replicate. It's a luxury that he only receives when he works hard enough that his arms hang uselessly at his sides and his body slumps into itself. Soft and malleable, completely willing to bend and mold in whatever shape you wish. But your hands scrub through his hair gently, rubbing all the stress out of his body and never complaining. Right now there's nothing else that matters more than being here with you and you with him.

"I'm going to rinse your hair out. Close your eyes now," you softly say and he follows your instructions. The rush of warm water is soothing to his ears although it sparks something in his memory that momentarily takes him out of this romantic moment. He reaches blindly behind him to take your hand, rubbing circles into your palm to halt your actions.

"It's just occurred to me but aren't you supposed to be on a trip to Watatsumi island?" he opens his eyes to peer up at you, his long eyelashes tipped with water droplets reminding you of just how pretty Ayato is. It's almost a good enough distraction for you to forget why exactly you're here rather than speaking with Kokomi right now. Almost.

"I was but someone had to go and work himself to death again. You need to take better care of yourself Ayato. I don't want to see Thoma running across all of Inazuma just to drag me back because you can't seem to sit still for a few seconds," your frown deepens with each sentence. Your free hand that's not in his grasp is knocking against his forehead, albeit not hard enough to cause any actual pain. He only chuckles before pulling you into the water with him until you're sitting on the edge of the bathtub. His head lay comfortably against your thighs.

"Apologies." He's not sorry at all. "When you're not beside me I have to throw myself into my work or else I may go insane."

"Oh so now all of this is my fault," you huff exasperated but he can hear the undertones of how happy that sentence makes you. "Come on, you'll catch a cold if we stay here any longer."

"Mmm, indulge me," he mumbles into your skin, his eyes closing once again with a content smile on his face. He doesn't need to see to know that you have an equally fond expression.

"Oh, so now my lord wishes to relax?"

"Only because you're here."

Alhaitham

You know that your relationship with Alhaitham is unusual to onlookers. You're both polar opposites and yet somehow stumbled into a rather healthy and committed relationship. To others, Alhaitham is a talented and intelligent man. The perfect bachelor if it wasn't for his "extraordinary sense of individualism" that he doesn't pay attention to people around him. He's notorious for being hard to get along with that not even his handsome face is enough for people to sit around for too long. Meanwhile, there's you. A wandering traveler who takes work whenever anyone needs an extra pair of hands. You're a bit well-known for accepting any job that pays well regardless of how dangerous or weird it might be. But unlike Alhaitham, you're more than happy to make conversation and you're often seen conversing with scholars from every one of the Six Darshans.

To everyone's knowledge, it's you that's the clingy one. You always have a hand around his arm or throw yourself at him shamelessly. Everyone assumes that Alhaitham tolerates it because he never pushes you off but he doesn't reciprocate affection to the degree that you do. If only those nosy scholars could see him now. Your newest job has you traveling to the Chasm to help collect and study the newly opened area. While the Chasm is close to Sumeru, a series of mysterious accidents led the entire mine to be closed. With the Liyue Qizing gradually reopening the area there's a lot of ground to cover. Alhaitham doesn't care much for the details except that this means you'll be away from him for a few years rather than a few weeks. As soon as you told him the expected date you'll return his face instantly soured. It was so cute that you couldn't help but press kisses to the corners of his mouth until they lifted. But one thing led to another and you're now trapped underneath his strong figure for the past couple of hours with no signs of him letting go. Every day you're gone equates to one minute he gets to keep you here.

No matter how much Alhaitham wishes to make you stay, even going so far as to bribe you, you eventually gather your things, press one last kiss to his lips, and leave him in his too-quiet house. He doesn't want to admit it but as soon as he closes the door he already feels lonely. But he'll learn to cope and continue with his life. He's been through more challenging obstacles and made it through. It's only two years, 3 months, 14 minutes, and 58 seconds. Alhaitham sighs and leans against the door. He's not going to make it.

Everyone else is content to whisper behind their hands about how the scribe seems to be more hostile. While Alhaitham doesn't have the most friendly personality, he's still somewhat polite until someone gives him a reason to exit the conversation. But now Alhaitham can barely get two sentences in before insulting someone. He doesn't even mean to do it on purpose, it just slips out. A girl who happens to share your eye color is met with a backhanded compliment that she should eat more fish. A man whose skin color is just a shade lighter than yours is met with an irritated scowl before he could even say anything. It's only now that people start to miss your presence because anything is better than a walking warning sign.

It only takes a few weeks for him to crack. He's not usually this starved of attention but the knowledge that he won't see you for another two years has him itching at his wrists. While on the outside there doesn't seem to be any changes, he's perfectly calm and collected, but his facade breaks when he starts making rash decisions. When he heard that his senior Kaveh needed a place to stay due to his financial situation, he offered to live with him much to everyone and his own surprise. Even Kaveh suspiciously asks why Alhaitham is being so generous. He doesn't dignify it with a proper answer, only that he better get his situation fixed within the next two years or the scribe is kicking him out.

As the second year rolls past, it's Kaveh who brings up Alhaitham's sudden mood change. He seems...excited. Kaveh chalks it up to Alhaitham being happy that Kaveh is finally moving out but that'd be kind of low even for someone like Alhaitham. As someone who cares about the arts and romance, there's a certain care in how Alhaitham cleans the house. Every systematic movement is laced with a longing gaze. His wrists are rubbed raw that Kaveh has to physically step in or he might rub so hard he reaches the bone. But above all the dangerous aura around Alhaitham is replaced with something Kaveh can only describe as restless patience.

"Honey, I'm home!" your happy voice is accompanied by the loud slam of the door crashing against the wall. Kaveh is startled by a random stranger entering their house but mostly at the term of endearment. Alhaitham only lowers his book at your voice before going back to reading. A bit rude in Kaveh's opinion but he can see the small smile that Alhaitham tries to hide behind the pages of his book. It's not like you aren't a bit devious yourself. So you retaliate by plucking the book out of his hands, taking a quick glance at his page number before placing it on the desk.

"Welcome back. I assume your job went well?" Alhaitham sighs as you kick his legs apart, plop yourself down into his lap, and rest your head against his chest. If you weren't so enthralled by the masterpiece that was Alhaitham's physique, you would have laughed at how the blond-haired man seemed to stare owlishly at the scene. His eyes almost fall out of their heads when Alhaitham doesn't push you off, doesn't throw you over his shoulder, or even make the slightest hint of being irritated or embarrassed. He just places his hands around your waist, rests his chin on your head, and sends an icy glare to which the blond-haired man scoffs before excusing himself. It's not anything different from what he usually does to onlookers although this is you and you can tell just how weary he is. How deeply he relaxes in your hold as the tension melts from his shoulders. How his eyes search over your body for any injuries that you might have gotten. It does look like you got a bit roughed up during your stay at the Chasm. Your hair is cut shorter than he remembers, you've put on some muscle, and there are a few nicks and cuts running along parts of your skin that are visible. But none of that matters because you're here. You're finally here.

"Aww, Haitham did you miss me?" you tease only to quickly eat your words when he manuever's you sideways so he can pin your back against the couch. You're hit with a sense of deja vu back to two years ago when you were about to leave for this trip.

"The next time you take a commission that lasts longer than two weeks, I'm coming with you or you're not going at all," he grumbles as he tucks himself into the crook of your neck with no signs of leaving. You laugh now but he's dead serious.

Dottore

You aren't sure when it started but at some point, you've been labeled as "Dottore's Favourite". He always seems to be the slightest bit nicer if you happen to be there, his voice a smidge less aggressive, and a lot more touchy. He's a Doctor first so he doesn't want to be contaminated by whatever bacteria people have gathered. But with you, he always seems to have a hand on you. Either harshly pinching your cheeks like a child with a crazed grin whenever you mumble something he deems stupid or pulling your arm of out its socket as he yanks you through the hallways of his lab. You act almost as his shadow, permanently glued to his feet and forced to follow wherever he goes.

You wouldn't consider yourself exceptional at your job but you did know how to listen. Perhaps it was your blatant disregard for your lack of safety since your head was always in the clouds that let you do your job with a steady hand. You don't blame your college's, it's hard to work under so much stress. If you had to do quantum physics and whatever the hell smart people do with someone who could, and would, kill you on the spot if you couldn't tell him what 3567 x 438 was on the spot, you think you could have exploded and crumbled on the spot. But you were just the ditzy receptionist who twirled a pencil on her nose more than on a paper. The only thing you were required to do was make sure Dottore was never bothered and let him know if anyone important needed his attention.

You've seen the Regrator the most compared to the rest of the Harbingers. You don't know what a banker needs from a doctor but you're not about to ask. It's not your business and you aren't paid enough to care about what your boss does. Besides, for such a handsome face his presence creeps you out which is saying something considering there's a maniacal doctor that treats human lives like numbers on a stats page. But since you are his "receptionist" you have to make conversation with him. Most of your interaction extends to him asking if the Doctor is in and you politely saying that he's out. You both pointedly ignore the loud crashes and angry yelling from one of his segments behind the closed steel door.

Once again, you don't consider yourself exceptional at your job. You're just a lousy receptionist at a place that doesn't require it and who spends all their time spinning in the office chair than doing actual work. You're just as replaceable as any grunt in this hell hole. So when Tartaglia waltzes through the doors, blinking at you with his dead fish eyes, before nodding to himself and hauling you out of your chair you can only hope that Dottore manages to remember that he has a meeting with Pantalone at noon.

You're hardly gone for an hour. Tartaglia was just bored, bored enough to come to Dottore of all people, that he happened to spot you who looked equally as bored. He just roughed you up a little before he deemed you completely useless and a horrible fighter before sending you back on your way. Seriously, if he wanted a fight he should have just picked one of the skirmishers instead of a damn receptionist. Although you may have to reconsider your position because as soon as you walk back into the lab, a girl is throwing herself at you and demanding where you've been.

You don't get the chance to answer before she's hurriedly running down twisting hallways, down the stairs, and punching in codes so complicated it looked like she was trying to make music out of them. Whatever questions you have are ignored in favor of getting you somewhere as fast as possible. It begins to make sense when you're finally shoved into a room, the girl who dragged you all this way throwing herself onto her knees and begging for forgiveness for letting you wander off.

The lab is an absolute disaster. This isn't the organized chaos you're acquainted with but the aftermath of a manic episode you're familiar with. Glass shards dripping with fluorescent liquid, research notes torn apart that flutter around the room as faux snow, and one mad doctor in the middle.

"Where have you been?"

For someone who destroyed years worth of progress, he sounds oddly calm and collected. His deep voice is firm while he fiddles with a test tube of blue liquid, watching it slosh around before placing it onto a broken table. He barely pays any mind to the girl currently on her hands and knees, forehead pressed to the ground while she glares at you to say something.

"Out," is your reply. A casual shrug of your shoulders even though the Dottore's back is to you. He's not wearing his usual white coat. That's too bad, you think it looks kinda cool. Really goes with his bird aesthetic.

"Out...out you say. Out. Out. Out," he mumbles softly, each time he say's the word "out", he taps the test tube harder onto the table. The lull in conversation only makes the pressure of the room drop lower before the tension snaps and he hurls the test tube at the girl still on her knees. It's only thanks to your reflexes that you manage to grab the collar of her uniform and throw her back just as the test tube collides with the floor, the liquid melting away the concrete where her head was. You can only give her a nudge and a look towards the door for her to scramble to her feet and flee as far away as she can. The slam of the door behind her acting as the nail in the coffin as Dottore's body seems to slump in on itself.

"Where have you been?" he asks again, running a hand through his messy hair. He sounds and looks far more tired, his fingers twitching to reach out and hold you but his pride stopping him. So you push yourself and step forward into his space, reaching your hands out to cup his face and rubbing soothing circles into his porcelain skin. He doesn't lean into your touch but he doesn't push you away either.

"Getting tossed around by Tartaglia. He came by saying he was bored and I just so happened to be there," you say absentmindedly, twirling the long lock of blue hair that hangs off the sides of his mask. He responds by snatching your wrist, squeezing hard enough until your bones creak. "Were you worried? Did you think I ran away?"

He doesn't dignify your question with a response. Simply shrugging your hands off his face before he reaches up to pinch your cheeks, a familiar cackle vibrating from his chest.

"As if you would have anywhere to go."

———

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