A Pinch of Sugar | ( unita speciale x Fem!Reader)

21- Morte Nascosta

Breathless, though not in awesome struck you heave, in fear as the door opens.

"You're terrible at this, Carne!" Tiziano shrieks. "Look, she looks like some dick from the corner, what are you thinking?"

There is a burning shame that slow-cooks you. Eyes eat the clothes off your body; you are seized by a choking feeling of apprehension.

A grey tshirt that fits as well as a potato sack, two sizes too big. Loose jeans with an unflattering, singular gash around the calf on your left leg. A baseball cap stained with age. Your reflection stares back from the window opposite to the door, you can see the faint mirror of your image staring back at you with a face you do not recognize, struck with an unfamiliar caution.

"Seriously, let's get you out of this, it looks abhorred." Tiziano says, getting up from his seat. 

"No! No, it's my turn! Mine!" Cioccolata yelled. "I waited long enough! You can stand to entertain yourselves- I swear if I'm not given a turn, I'll turn you both into coats!"

Carne steels behind you, taking in a sharp shot of air through his gashed nose. There is memory in the threat. 

In some act of twisted chivalry Carne does not force you inside the room, he can sense the very thing lifting your hairs on end, and if anything at all, he steps a pace back, and allows you room to step with him.

"(Y/n), I had a really good idea!" Doppio said, through the screaming that has erupted between Tiziano and Cioccolata, his voice is the scraping of small leaves during a tornado.

At this, Carne moves away entirely, and to a length perhaps you should have followed suit with him, disappeared and gotten pizza somewhere but Doppio had leapt, leapt from his position to his feet to be at your side, hand hooking your arm and pulling you to his office area where you would be thrown behind closed doors. 

Carne watches with a forlorn look as the crack of the door seals shut, his wide, cartoonish eyes calling prayer to you, as the splitting sound of the violent hurricane of screaming silenced all at once to a mere mumble. 

Doppio scurries from the locked door over to an out-of-place dresser stuck to the wall just beside a bed very obviously unused. At the very least, it was cleaned well enough to seem so.

"I didn't mean to pull you away like that, just then." Doppio says. His nimble fingers flick an assortment of fabrics from his drawers, they fly to the bed in an array of colors with a few you recognize as your own you had "lost."

"It's fine with me!" You say. The knife Carne gave you sits uncomfortably in your bra, reminding you it's there. 

"They were like that the entire time you were gone, and when they weren't arguing, they were staring at each other like they were waiting for the perfect chance to rip heads!" He cried. "So, we can draw this out as long as you want."

The image of Carne's face flashes behind your eyes, the dreadful horror his voice dripped with as he warned you, so kindly warned you; you remember it is Doppio, too, you must practice caution with.

And there it was, that burning feeling of guilt and shame. It erupted colored through you, much like a female chameleon will explode in colors before death. 

Your neck is a raw orange, your hips down sink into a shaking pale green, blue freckles spot you, a dead brown-ish-green will eventually overtake. Your body is—A painting— the rise and fall of day. a chameleons scales primarily indicate their emotions just as they conceal, and you burn with all of them exposed.

Doppio makes the effort to ignore your bra and panties, but similarly, his face drowns in a heavy red as you change, he too will paint himself in every emotion as he watches, but of course does not watch at all, you shift into a shape he designed.