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fatuismooches · 1 year

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so i had this conversation with my friend about dottore and fragile!reader and i just wanna share it to you because like, your account has a lot of fragile!reader and i enjoy them a lot :3 sorry not sorry btw lmao, you're the one who started the fragile!reader agenda and i live for the angst. i had this music in my mind while writing this (just imagine it matches the ending i put lmao). have a good day/night :3

cw: yeah so reader dies lol, pure angst

my friend said "what if dottore knows how to play the piano" and quickly it went to dottore and reader playing duets together. dottore being the pianist and reader being the violinist.

throughout their lives, when dottore isn't too busy or too tired, you would play a duet together, because it's one of your ways to bond. since you were young, you've played the violin. it was your passion, a piece of art you have dedicated yourself to. dottore wanted to be part of that, so he meticulously learned how to play the piano, just for you.

the music you play always resonated deeply in your hearts. sometimes, you'd pick up your violin and play whatever comes to your mind, each note you play with your bow purely improvised, and dottore would stop whatever he was doing and go to his piano. he would tap his foot along with the imaginary tempo you've created, humming along with your tune, before straightening his back and let his fingers dance along the keys.

it was beautiful, majestic. music that has bonded two people so strong and will continue to unite the souls that play the music endlessly with their instruments.

but alas, not all love stories end happily.

your back, shoulders, arms, and fingers have grown weak. the callouses that graced your fingertips, scars that you were so proud of, has long faded, returning to the smooth, and unblemished surface of your skin. you could barely remember how to properly hold your beloved bow, nor lift your violin. the weight was too heavy for you now.

it was only as if it was yesterday when he saw you so lively and happy, smiling so tenderly as you sway your body to the rhythm he has set with his piano. the way you'd oh so passionately move your fingers across the fingerboard, the slight tilt of your head onto the chin rest as you close your eyes to feel the music throughout your mind and soul.

and yet it has been years since you've held your violin. it could only bring you unbearable pain once you lay your eyes on your most prized possession.

he has taken care of your violin in your stead. he waxed the bow, tuned the strings and polished it, keeping it pristine, as if it's owner still adored their beloved instrument.

he could cure you. he most certainly will. he will bring back the joy you once had in life before you were forever trapped in the confines of your room. chained to the bed that you have known almost a huge fraction of your withering life.

he continued to play for you. to let his fingers gloss over the keys of his dearest piano, the play tunes that you once loved so much, to see the sparkle of joy in your eyes. and yet when you smile at him when he finishes a piece he knew was your favorite, he could only see sadness. miserable and gnawing sadness that only worsened whatever godforsaken sickness you had.

he could cure you. he will make a cure, no matter how long it will take. but you're now begging him for a duet. to play together like you once had. normally, dottore would've been delighted seeing the spark of love you had with music light up once more, but all he felt was dread.

it wasn't passion, nor joy, nor love that he could see in your eyes. it was only resignation.

was it a sign? that you were ready to pass on? but he could cure you! he will cure you! you just have to be patient, please. he's begging you to just lay down and let him work. let him make a cure. let him help you- he cannot lose the one thing that has given him life. the one person who has loved him more than the universe ever had...

but you begged him. pleaded him. you cried and pulled on his coat, you caressed and cooed at his skin, you kissed and whispered sweet nothing in his ears. you persuaded him. reassured him. comforted him.

he knew.

you knew.

so he handed you your precious violin. he helped you hold your violin like you used to, to position your fingers on the bow. you lay your head onto the chin rest, and bear the pain of the hard wood against your fragile skin.

dottore walks towards his piano, slow and steady. he didn't want to keep you waiting, it would be rude of him. but he couldn't help it. he was in denial. he wanted to walk outside your room and never return, to smash his piano to just keep him from playing that dreaded duet you wanted to play in hopes that you'd wait for the cure instead of accepting your death so easily.

but he couldn't say no to you. oh, how easy for you, a weak, dying, fragile person, having so much power against il dottore, the 2nd of the fatui harbingers.

and so he sat down, lifted the lid of the keyboard, and hesitantly hovers his fingers on the keys.

your voice, so faint and raspy, but so gentle and warm.

"one, two, three, and-"

you were horrible at the violin. it was a given since you're too weak to even properly hold it, and you haven't had practice since you've gotten sick. the scratching of the hairs against the metallic strings ground your ears, and the notes weren't even in tune with the piece. but you managed to follow through with dottore's rhythm, the tap of his foot at each beat serving as your metronome to keep up, no matter how your music sounded in contrast with his.

his eyes were only focused on his fingers. he dared not to look at you. if he did, he will lose all his control. each hitched breath you had, he could hear. each groan of pain, each silent curse, each hiss, each sob, he could hear them. but he pretended that he didn't. that it was just another simple duet that you've always done together. that perhaps tomorrow, you'll nag him to stop working so hard and play this piece you've been dying to play.

dottore's fingers continued to press on the keys, each note bringing nothing but grief into his heart. he pretended not to hear your gasps, the faint 'i love you's and the shattering, horrifying, sound of your violin falling onto the cold tiled floor. he pretends he doesn't hear it all. only his music, your music.

he could hear your perfect pitch, somewhere deep into his memories, each drag of the bow, up and down the strings, then the playful staccato as you poke your tongue at him.

he played the piece until the very end. he ignored the burning in his eyes. the bile rising up his throat. the trembling of his fingers. the quivering of his bottom lip.

his fingers were slipping (he could hear you playing your violin like you used to), he was messing up. he was pressing the wrong keys, and he was growing frustrated, blinking away the blurriness of his eyes.

(he wishes, he prays, that after this piece, you'd be smiling at him)

then, he slams his hands against the keyboard, a vile, heart-wrenching scream leaving his lips. the piece has turned into a disaster. chaos. despair. he wanted to destroy his piano. he wanted to destroy everything. he wanted to destroy himself.

but you wouldn't want that, won't you?

he straightened his back, fingers back onto the keys where he left off, as he chocked back a sob. he dared not to look at you. not yet, not after he finished the duet like you wanted to.

soft, gentle tunes reverberated throughout your cold, and empty room. full of love, devotion, grief, melancholy, and anguish, but dottore played and played. his music sounding like it once had when you were near his side, playing along his tune.

it was the first ever duet you've played together. a piece that was so dear to his heart. he was grateful that you chose it to be your last.

and just like the piece, it started with the violin, and ended with the piano.

OH MY GOSH NOT YOU DROPPING THIS MASTERPIECE ON ME AND LEAVING?? IM TEARING UP WTF YOU AND YOUR FRIEND ATE😭😭😭

One would think that the Doctor wouldn’t be interested in the arts and such, but it was the opposite, mostly thanks to you. He may be a scientist obsessed with his research, but even someone like him could appreciate a honed talent, especially one by his own lover. Admiring your skill he too took it upon himself to teach himself an instrument, first to understand your grind, and second to be able to match with you. It was amusing at first to see him try to play in sync with your violin, but as time went on, you two sounded absolutely wonderful. Both of you heavily enjoyed it. Especially Dottore. It felt as though he could say things without actually verbally saying things. Many times he failed at expressing himself with words but he felt as if you could understand him this way instead.

But then came your illness. The one that rendered you unable to do many things, made you unable to play your beloved violin again. You fought it at first, refusing to give up your favorite thing, but to no avail. No longer did you have the health or energy to even hold it, much less play it, sending a great blow to your soul. And Dottore realized it immediately. No longer would you smile that one particular smile, one that said much more than words could, one that showed your utmost emotion and happiness. No longer did your eyes hold that certain glint, the one that held such a fondness for your craft, and for him, when you played together. No longer could you saunter over to him after an especially satisfying duet.

At the beginning of your illness, you would hover over him and carefully watch as he took care of your instrument. After all it was hard for you to let go of it and give someone else the responsibility. But as the years went by with only a downward progression in your illness, you succumbed to it and simply let your lover handle it. If you saw it now you’d probably have a break down. And he did. He took care of it just as well as you would have. He would never disappoint you.

But everything would end out fine, Dottore told himself. He shall cure you, and the first thing you would do together is play a duet once again. And then you could take care of your own instrument again like you used to and he could see the lovely smile return to your face. It would end out right in the end, he was the genius doctor after all. That’s what he tells himself, but he finds himself saying that a lot more these days. Because these days are the days when despite him playing the songs you love so much, the pretend smiles are all you can smile and the light does not reach your eyes. You pretend you are okay but he’s not stupid, you are far from okay. The sickness wasn’t the only thing eating you up inside.

And it all boils over one day, when he sees that look in your eye. The one that he wanted to convince himself was just an illusion, that surely you were just playing a prank on him, because no, there’s no way you could feel that way right? Why would you want to give up? He can do it, he can do anything - he can build Gods with no effort and create things beyond the human imagination - just let him continue to work on this. He’ll work until the world ends if he has to, hell even if another war comes and goes, if Teyvat is rebuilt again, just believe in him like you always used to since back then, as his assistant, as his fellow scholar, as his lover, as his one and only.

Zandik feels panic, something that only seems to pop up with you. The first time was when you suddenly collapsed in front of him, and he just found out about the illness. The other times were related to your various health scares as well. And this time… it seems like it would be the last. Because he can’t say no to your request, not while you’re clinging onto him showing the most raw emotion you have in days. He doesn’t want to do it. He doesn’t want to play his final duet with you. But alas, the world had never been kind to him.

When the Doctor has something to do, he gets it done. He doesn't waste time, as he has far more important things to do. But this wasn't the Doctor, or Dottore. This was Zandik. The same Zandik who promised you all those years ago to cure you, who swore one day you would suffer no longer. He’s lived for ages, but for some reason giving you your violin with that defeated expression on your face feels so much longer than a few seconds. It feels like ages when he slowly helps you adjust your violin the right way. It feels like ages as he walks over to take a seat at the piano. It feels like ages when his hands open the lid, and settle over the keys. He debates trying to convince you once again, but deep down he knows there’s nothing he can do. You were the only one who could ever win in an argument against him anyway. Everything was over. The least he could do, was to fulfill your last wish.

You knew you did not sound good. Your posture was all off, it sounded more like a horrible screeching than the lovely tune that you once produced all those years ago, you were panting and aching just at the mere act but you persisted, following your lover’s lead. He didn’t look at you, and you knew why, and you couldn’t help but get choked up too. It was surprising to see how much Zandik was alerted to your pain. He saw pain and inflicted pain on others every day but when it came to you, he hated it. He hated it so much that he knew if he looked at you, he would lose his mind. But he focused on the black and white keys in front of him.

The sound of the music is not enough to block his ears from hearing your apologetic whispers and final words of love, nor your violin falling to the floor with a terrible sound. Zandik keeps going regardless. It’s okay, he thinks, as he plays the lovely sounds you once made from many years ago. You’re still playing right besides him. You’re still going, so he shall as well. Then he realizes that a liquid is staining the keys and messing him up. And then he genuinely can’t remember the last time he cried, if he’s cried at all. He thinks it may have been as a child, shunned and alone. But even though it’s such a foreign thing for him it doesn’t surprise him. Nor does the unpleasant racket from the keys surprise him either.

He wonders if you’ll forgive him for the terrible performance he put on. He wonders if you’ll forgive him for failing you. Forgiveness, he almost laughs cruelly. Forgiveness. Something he never sought or cared about. He nearly destroys the piano with his bare hands but finds a tiny bit of control left in him, one created just for you. You’d want him to continue. And almost unnaturally he returns to his keys with the utmost concentration. For you. The final song. The final duet. The final everything.

Zandik always liked playing music with you for the things he could not express physically or verbally. He wondered if you could understand his final message, too. Even if you weren’t here anymore.

Oh no... the music really ties it all together... crying and screaming man omg 😭 IT JUST KEPT GETTING SADDER AND SADDER THIS IS AMAZING- BRO I DONT EVEN HAVE MUCH TO ADD- THIS HAS TO BE THE BEST ANGST DOTTORE PIECE IVE EVER READ.

I love the way you wrote his emotions here, him trying to hold it back but ultimately failing in the end because you really meant that much to him. You really portrayed how much he loved reader so well! I love that sm. It makes me wonder if he would keep the piano, since it's one of his core memories with you but it also brings him an indescribable amount of pain... Same with your violin. I think he would probably lock them up and never go into the room again because seeing them again would send him into a rage of sadness and anger.

Welp, I went through the five stages of grief with this😭🚶‍♀️Thank you for this absolute meal omg

#smooches talks #fragile reader <3 #dottore love notes <3 #moots: kai <3 #i am not musically inclined at all BUT THIS HAD ME ROCKING BACK AT FORTH JAW DROPPED 😭😭#AND OMG THANK U FOR ENJOYING MY FRAGILE READER STUFF THAT MEANS ALOTTT 🥺🫶#thanks this is all imma think abt for a while... my heart #IM REREADING IT OVER AND OVER AND JUST IMAGINING IT INSIDE MY HEAD 😭😭😭 DOTTORE BB NOOO

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