⏳ Goddess of Victory: Nikke x Reader

[Biscuit] Sweet Love of Mine 💕🦴

And as I watch the ticking time,
I yearn for you,
sweet love of mine.

I want it.

Your eyes and ears worked in perfect harmony to piece every word together, every word that Biscuit had conjured up. You had to admit, you felt a little guilty to be doing this, like you were breaking her trust, but curiosity was something you just couldn't help.

Especially upon learning Biscuit was somewhat of a poet. You dove back into her thoughts and feelings, slouched down into your cozy chair.

I want it so bad, Biscuit's words continued, I want it to the point I don't even feel sane anymore. It's been days. Exactly fifteen-and-a-half days since I had it. My responsibilities keep getting in the way. So much stress and pressure and longing. Is it so wrong to want just one little thing?

Your eyes pulled away from the diary for just a moment, numerous thoughts bouncing back and forth on the walls of your mind. It seemed odd to you that Biscuit was the journaling type. And furthermore, it wasn't just any typical kind of journal. Every word in there was heartfelt. Whatever she yearned for, she must have really wanted it.

Your fingers pulled on the flimsy page, flipping to the next. Biscuit's second journal entry began.

Nineteen. Nineteen days now since I've had it. My mouth feels numb. I still have an appetite, but there's this primal feeling in me that craves more than just the desserts and rations we get. I need it.

The shortest entry thus far. You didn't know how to feel about this. This diary was raising more questions than it had answered and it was bothering you — so much so that you decided to skip a few entries, skimming only over the titles and nothing else to find the end of her cryptic messages.

One title read: Day 22 - Stomachache.

Another: Day 26 - Am I Not a Good Girl?

You didn't bother to read the bulk of them, but one thing you did notice was that the twenty-sixth entry was written recently. Yesterday, in fact. Sometime before Biscuit left her diary in your room after a brief visit. Your eyes were drawn to it now, your body crawling with a tingly urge to unravel Biscuit's wishful mystery.

Day 26:

I'm actually going to lose it. How haven't I lost it already? The others get their treats, but since our supply is running low, I'm told I'm not allowed to get one myself. It's not fair! I deserve a treat, too! Don't I? Don't I...? I'm good, just like the other dogs... right...?

Small damp stains dotted this page. You might have assumed they were dried droplets of water, perhaps a drink Biscuit had while writing this entry, but judging from the contents of the page...

They must be tears.

Your heart ached a little when you put two and two together. This whole diary was about the thing Biscuit loved the most — treats. You nodded to yourself and flipped a few more pages to see if there was anything else she had added beyond entry 26. There was nothing, so you closed the diary and set it on your desk. What a pain, you wondered, to be in her shoes, selflessly tending to those around her and the animals at the park, receiving nothing but praise in the end.

Apparently praise wasn't good enough for her. It had to be the canine genes in her — although mostly shrouded by human ones, she definitely maintained the fundamental desires of any normal dog.

Which begged the question: how much longer could she go without a dog treat?

You stopped. No, the real question was, how long were you willing to let her suffer without a dog treat to reward her hard work?

Not very long, that was for sure. You made a choice in the blink of an eye.

Once the next day rolled around and you had been in the middle of tidying up the Commander Center, you were stopped to find Biscuit strolling into the door, twiddling her thumbs.

With her head lowered, she made a rather timid appearance. "Um, hi, Trainer, I... I left something here. The last time I visited."

You looked over at her after throwing a few empty food wrappers into the garbage can. "You mean your diary?"

Biscuit's ears perked up. Her face flushed a soft pink at your words and her eyes refused to make contact with yours. She stood there in the center of the room, nervously fidgeting as reality set in. "You didn't read it, did you?"

At first you were gonna play off her question, but instead you mustered up the courage to be honest. You started on your way over to your desk, Biscuit's shy glances following you.

"Would you hate me if I did?" You attempted to sound as casual as possible to ease the consequences of breaking her trust. Diaries normally weren't just free game and yet you'd taken it upon yourself to read into her deepest desires.

Biscuit's voice came down to a whisper. "So you did..."

"Here," you said, retrieving the diary from within your desk and handing it to her. She took it, scanned over it, continued to avoid eye contact.

"Thanks," Biscuit said, a deadpan voice. You could tell she was severely embarrassed, and even more so angry at you for invading her privacy. Luckily this dog didn't bite.

"See you. I guess." Before she could turn around, you quickly snatched something else up from your desk: a small ziplock baggie full of snacks in the shape of grainy tan bones.

Biscuit's eyes went wide, the realization hitting her. Those weren't just any old snacks, they were the dog treats she'd been craving for almost four weeks now. With a smile, you urged her to take them.

"Trainer..." Biscuit's voice wavered with emotion. She stepped closer to you, holding the baggie in one hand and her diary in the other.

"Enjoy them," you told her. She didn't utter anything else at first; she simply took another step toward you, got on her tiptoes, and planted a little peck on your cheek.

"You're the best."

Your smile broadened at her fuzzy words. After that, you were unable to resist petting her head, a gesture in which Biscuit melted and leaned into your comforting touch.

You both said your goodbyes, the two of you returning to work. Now that she was gone, you found time to wonder about her and her diary.

It crossed your mind that she would never question herself again.

Never again would there be a diary entry where she asked herself if she was worthy of a treat, as any good dog would be.