#doctor dottore

[nesryn-x]

hundred lessons to fall in love / w.i.p.

Dottore x Reader

do you want this fic in multiple parts or just a big-ass post? ps. yes it will have smut in it

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This. This is what he was.  

All the emotions he had ever shown you – were just merely a reflection, a detailed scheme to guard the high walls he had built around him. He had always chosen what emotions to show – never really being in the moment. 

“I must bid good night, little one.” He effortlessly slid off the table, already turning to leave. Upon not receiving an answer from you – which you always did, thanking him for his time and such; he turned to look at you. 

“You... actually care about me...” He said, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the table, right next to you. 

You didn’t look at him, hands in your lap, picking at your nails. He stared at you in silence, waiting for a response from you. 

“Oh, Celestia...” he started with a sigh, looking at the high shelves behind you. Then he reached for your chin, making you look up: 

“Help the fool who falls in love...” a small chuckle escaped him. Out of shame you kept your eyes closed and did not dare to look up. 

“Now you won't look at me? Oh, don’t be so pathetic.” He rolled his eyes at you, slightly shaking your head to make you look at him. 

“Listen-” He started, sitting on the table once again, crossing his legs and leaning his elbow on his knee and glancing at you. Yet, you still didn't look at him. 

“Look at me when I speak to you!” he barked as his foot collided with your chair, making you look at him in slight fear. 

“There we go, as I was saying, before you so rudely ignored me. You will never be my equal. I will destroy you if you step in my way. I will tear you down and I will build you up once again if I’ll feel lenient. But you will never be my downfall.” 

With teary eyes you were staring at him. 

“Zandik...” you whispered; tongue heavy in your mouth. 

“Pleading never looked good on you, dear.” he clicked his tongue and tiled your head to the side. Flashes of his last bloody romantic encounter flickered behind his eyes. 

“You know what happened to the last woman that tried to bed me?” He leaned closer to your face, his nose gently bumping against yours. You bit your lip, trying to stifle the pathetic whimper that was about to leave your mouth. 

“Her body has long gone rotten in the Dunes of Sumeru.” He whispered, his tongue darting to wet his lip. 

“I rather not see your blood on my hands, little one.” he gently pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth. At last, that pathetic whimper resurfaced as new tears rolled down your cheeks. 

[electricsimpp]

Working on a new cosplay. 👀💉

[wolxoltl]

By (un)popular demand, here’s every victim that I know of ensnared by the cycle of selfcest.

[lvnesart]

Discovering Khaenri'ahs secrets together!

Bonus pissed off big brother:

[lospaziobianco]

Spider-Man Vs. Doctor Octopus by Yusuke Murata

[odlnus]

Priest ♱

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Credit reposts

[tojistip]

The Doctor's Little Assistant.

ft. dottore !

sypnosis ; dottore rewards you for your hard efforts.

warnings ; top ! dottore , dottore is a warning himself , face fucking , power dynamics , boss n assistant relationships , degradation , slight praise , facials , light face slapping , lowkey rushed no bullying :'3

wc ; 1.6k. enjoy !!

Dottore's personal assistant. 

You're the only one allowed inside his lab, outside of his clones and his disgusting little lab-rats of course. You're one of the only ones he actually tolerates. You're always so good for him, tidying up his mess of an office when he doesn't ask and always bringing him extra coffee when you know he's running low on it.

He's almost certain he's not gonna kill you off like the others, he likes you.

He likes the way you immediately oblige like you even had a choice when he asks to experiment on you. "I'd be happy to, my lord." You say, giving him a smile and a nod. He knows that you're scared beneath your little act, he can just sense it, and he loves it. He gets off on your pain and fear, and he finds it amusing when you try to hold back your wails of pain. 

Dottore especially loves when you start to let tears run down your face because of how much it hurts. You're left trembling, sniffling every couple seconds as he unstraps you from the vivisection table, but you would be lying if you said there wasn't a part of you that secretly enjoys it. He's a sick and twisted sadist, and you like it.

He thinks you're so pretty with your tear stained face and ruined makeup. He just shakes his head when you complain about it as if you weren't the one crying.

Maybe if you had let him remove your tear glands and ducts it wouldn't be an issue.

Dottore brings you to the fatui meetings too, he knows it's not allowed but he could care less. when Pierro reminds him that, "Anyone who isn't apart of the ranks, is strictly not allowed into the meetings." Dottore ignores him, and he keeps you right by his side, and when he can see your legs getting tired, he orders you to sit on his lap. He doesn't care when you get embarrassed, and he certainly doesn't care that his co-workers look at you two either, his sadistic smile only grows larger.

"You've been a very obedient girl as of recent, haven't you." It was an observation, but you still nod your head as if he just asked you a question while you try to avoid looking at his face. "Stupid little thing. Look at me when I talk to you." Dottore growls. He grabs your jaw with a vice like grip to make you look up at him and even though you can't see his eyes, you can still feel them on you. It feels like all the air has been knocked out of your lungs and you're quick to mutter out an apology. "Of course, my lord.. 'm sorry." 

"Good girl." He praises as he pulls his gloved hand away from your jaw. "I'd say an award is in order, hm?" He says as he starts walking over to a swivel chair that's behind you. You want to follow him but in fear of being disobedient, you stay frozen in place. As he sits down, he calls out your name and you're quick to turn around to face him. 

"Crawl to me."

You stand there for a moment, processing his words, feeling the heat slowly creeping into your cheeks. "Yes, my lord," you manage to spit out. Despite the embarrassment, you comply, dropping to your knees and then shifting onto all fours, moving toward him as instructed. Each movement is deliberate, the anticipation building with every inch closer to him. Finally, you find yourself between his legs, facing him on your knees, your heart pounding in your chest.

As you settle between Dottore's legs, your heart begins to race due to anticipation. You can feel his gaze piercing through you and it sends shivers down your entire body as you wait for his next command.

Dottore smirks, relishing in the control he holds over you. "Always so good," he murmurs, his voice laced with dark amusement. "You know exactly how to please me." You lower your gaze, feeling the weight of his words like chains around your neck. "Thank you, my lord," you mumble obediently, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smirk only widens as he looks down at you, reveling in the power he holds. His gloved hand reaches out, fingers curling under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The leather feels cold and unyielding against your skin. "You look good on your knees," he muses, his tone dripping with sadistic undertones. "Maybe I should make you my desk pet."

You whine and swallow hard at the suggestion, feeling a mix of fear and excitement coil in your belly. "Please," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly and truthfully you don't even know what you're asking for. The way he looks down upon you, like he knows you're inferior to him, sends shivers down your spine.

He releases your chin and leans back in his chair, spreading his legs slightly to give you more room. "You know what to do," he commands, his voice cold and demanding. "Show me how compliant you really are, love."

Oh fuck.

The pet name almost kills you and it makes your breath hitch. You nod anyway, reaching up with shaky hands to unbuckle his belt. You can feel Dottore watching you as you do so and you can feel your face burning with embarrassment. But you push through, determined to please him.

As you pull down his trousers, you're met with the sight of his cock straining against his boxers. it sends a jolt of arousal through you, and you can't let out a soft moan at the sight. Dottore's chuckle is low and menacing, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head. "Come on," he urges, his voice low and almost taunting. "You know better than to keep me waiting."

You comply and pulling down his boxers, freeing his cock and you can't take your eyes off of it. You lean in, pressing a tentative kiss to the tip and licking a long stripe up the side. Dottore's grip on your hair tightens, and he lets out a breath of approval. "Good girl," he murmurs. "Now take me in your mouth,"

You comply almost instantly. You open your mouth, taking his cock in slowly with your tongue swirling around the tip. Him in general but especially the taste of him is intoxicating, and you can feel the heat between your legs growing with each passing second. You hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, and his low groan of pleasure spurs you on.

Dottore's other hand joins the first, holding your head steady as you bob up and down. "Such a whore," he degrades, his voice laced with arousal. "You take me so well. You were made for this, weren't you?"

You moan around his cock, the vibrations making him hiss. His voice and his words a thrill through you, and you try taking him deeper into your mouth, wanting nothing more than to please him. Your pace quickens, your movements becoming more desperate as you lose yourself in the task.

Dottore's grip tightens painfully, and he thrusts his hips up, forcing himself deeper into your throat. "This is what you wanted, hm." He says, and though it was a statement, you still try to nod your head stupidly. In the process you gag, tears springing to your eyes, but you don't stop and neither does he. "That's right, gag on it." His groans grow louder, his breathing becoming more ragged. "You're so pathetic."

Your eyes water as you look up at him, the tears only serving to heighten his pleasure as he loves to see you cry. He smirks down at you, his thumb brushing away a tear that escapes down your cheek. "Pretty little thing.." He murmurs. "Take it, take it deeper."

He holds you there for a moment longer before finally releasing your head. You pull back, gasping for air, your lips swollen and wet with saliva. His chest is heaving up and down while you wrap your hands around the length of his cock. "I'm gonna cum," he groans, "Gonna paint your pretty face."

 Dottore pries your hands away from his cock and begins to stroke himself. You whine at the sight in front of you. "Please," you breathe out. He scoffs in amusement before slapping the tip of his cock on your cheek. "Open your mouth."

You instantly obey, looking up at him and sticking your tongue out. You're gross and messy right now but you know he likes seeing you ruined, especially if he's the cause. You're watching him stroke his cock from above you, pressing his thumb to the swollen and leaking tip. 

Your needy whines must've been just what Dottore needed to drive him over the edge. He groans as he reaches his climax and his free hand reaches for your jaw with a tight grip to hold you in place. Thick ropes of cum soon cover not only your chest, but your face and tongue as well. You keep your mouth open in an attempt and in hope to catch more of his cum on your tongue.

As soon as he comes down from his high, his hand comes down to slap your cheek and command you to swallow the bits that landed in your mouth. You oblige. He takes one more good look at you before tucking himself back into his boxers and pulling his pants up. "Clean yourself up." He spits coldly, and you nod. "Yes, my lord."

"When you're done, there's some paperwork I need you to get from The Regrator's office. Once you get it, bring it back here and I'll reward you once more."

[miqoting]

they mentioned Dottore in the new patch so now he lives in my head for another 6 months

[lavandulawrites]

Can you give us some Yandere Dottore please ☺️

Hurry Before The Dinner Gets Cold

Yandere Dottore x reader

Dinner with Dottore is never pleasant.

Masterlist

Word count: 794

The silver wear clinked against the porcelain plates. The room were dimly lit, making it a almost cozy atmosphere. A butler and a maid were standing against the east wall, almost like they were apart of the decoration. The wind howled outside.

In front of you sat Dottore. His gaze fixed on the beef on his plate. Blood was oozing from the rare steak as he cut into it with precision. Like a surgeon.

His eyes met yours. “Are you not going to touch your food dear?” his deep voice thick like honey. His expression one of concern. “I know that you do not trust me, but you need nutrition.”

Your mouth a tin line “I am not hungry”.

His stare unyielding. His eyes a replica of the dark blood in the many test tubes inside if lab. “Really?”

“Yes” you nodded trying your best to remain expressionless.

He hummed as his gaze bore through you. “Why do I find that hard to believe?” he tilted his head. He sighed and snapped his fingers. The butler hurried to him and bowed his head in an almost inhuman way. “Bring me the chef” he ordered. The butler nodded and hurried out. Not too long after the chef was standing beside Dottore.

“Is it perhaps that the food wasn’t to your liking?” Dottore raised a brow and nodded towards your untouched food.

You quickly caught onto his scheme and shook your head. “N-no! It’s not that at all!” you waved your hands and forced your lips into a tight smile.

The Harbinger’s eyes wandered over your features. “Are you sure darling? If your meal is not good enough, I will have to punish the chef. After all your happiness and comfort is the most important thing for me” his face twisted in concern.

Your eyes flickered to the chef who’s face was drenched in sweat. He was shaking. You gulped “I assure you the meal is not the issue”.

Dottore hummed. “Are you perhaps not feeling well?” his expression unreadable. “Everyone get out” he ordered. The servants and the chef all exited in a hurry leaving you alone with the blue haired man. “Let’s make a deal” he leaned forward and folds his hands hand rests his head on them. “You eat up all the food on your plate and I will spare the chef. Sounds good doesn’t it?” he said with a unsettling grin.

You looked down in your plate. With a shivering hand you lifted the fork to your lips. You closed your eyes to calm your nerves. A hum could be heard from opposite of the table “You better hurry for the dinner gets cold”.

You held your breath and shoved the fork into your mouth. The meat was tender and cooked after your preference.

“See? That wasn’t so hard was it now?”. You opens your eyes and were met with a sharp teethed smile. “You were afraid I drugged the food.”

You swallowed. “I have my rights to be suspicious”

“Of course my love” his voice melodic. “You were indeed right with your suspicion.”

You dropped your fork. You entire frame shaking. “What…?”

“Oh come now. It’s not dangerous. It’s just a way to get you a little more relaxed. I am starting to get sick of your small riots, so I came up with a solution. This drug will make your mind slowly but surely more submissive. I really do love you you know, but u can’t have you keep hurting yourself” he smirked. “Though it seems that I have to find a new way…” he sighed. “But worry not… I will have your memory of this dinner wiped. Just like last time…” his red eyes gleaming with something sinister.

Your eyes widened. The hair on the back of your neck raising. “Last time?” your voice shaky.

Dottore smiled “Yes darling. Wiping someone’s memory so mere child play for a man of my calibre”. He chuckled and rose to his feet. The chair scraping against the carpet. Like a animal he stalked towards you. He stopped behind your chair and leaned down. Much to your dismay you had to admit the doctor smelled good. Really good. His smell always bringing you a sense of comfort.

He leaned hand on the arm rest of your chair. His lips mere centimetres away from your ear. “Relax darling. This is for your own good you know?” his lips kissing your neck. He pulled away and placed a device against your right temple. When did he get that? The device glowed blue and it hummed slightly.

“Rest now…”

Darkness swallowed your senses and you fell into a deep slumber.

Dottore stroked your hair with a living expression. “A pity… I have to start over it seems.”

[lifetrimmed]

※ suggestive theme (R-15)

[eluxcastar]

Dottore giving child reader a check up

─�� ୨୧：il dottore & reader

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

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

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

୨୧﹑words :: 2.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lift your head." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. You know the answer to that.

"But not speak in full words?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[nyanyakoto]

Could I request reader who always spends time with dottore’s segments and not Dottore himself so he gets jealous and punishes the reader nsfw please 🤭

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

╔══════╗

✦𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃: Il Dottore; Fem! Reader

✦𝐓𝐖: NSFW; Absolutely downright filthy smut bc it's our favourite doctor. Breeding, CNC if you squint. Reader being a brat and ignoring Dottore.

✦𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: This is such a brainrot.. Thank you for requesting anon 😇

✦𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍: 2nd November 2023

✦𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: (◉⁠‿⁠◉)

╚══════╝

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

At first it was his fault, Dottore was a man of science, a rather busy one at that so he didn't spend much time with you personally.

He didn't mind how you spent your time with his segments, after all you wanted some attention so if it wasn't from him directly then his clones would do, right?

However over time he noticed that you continued to spend time with them even if he wasn't busy.

That's exactly when he began to feel possessive over you, watching how you lingered around the segments, leaning into them, laughing with them and treating them as if you weren't in a relationship with him.

He began to to notice his own irritability rather quickly, he was a man that prided himself in his ability to stay calm and collected even in the worst situations.

However his imposing stature began to crumble little by little, chipping away and disintegrating into nothing but dust as he continued to watch you from afar.

And that's exactly how you found yourself in this situation.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

"Dottore- What's gotten into you?" You asked, almost as if you didn't know what you were doing to him by ignoring him.

His hands had a bruising grip on your hips, tugging on the soft flesh as he drilled into your sopping wet entrance.

"What's gotten into me?" He would ask, calmly despite what he was doing to you right now, as if the way he slammed his hipbones into the plush of your ass was not getting him even slightly breathless.

"What's gotten into you? You're the one trading me for some cheap copies, isn't that right beloved?"

Your were bent over his adjustable height desk, one that he often used for various experiments and always had some sort of chemical bubbling in the delicate glass bottles.. but the desk was cleared of any chemicals, only scattered paperwork decorating it as well as your body that was pressed down onto it. Your feet couldn't even reach the ground especially when his hands kept pulling your lower back upwards, creating more of an angle to your already arched back.

Your own shoes stepped on his ones, standing on your tippy toes so you had at least some resemblance of support while he rendered you senseless.

"You got- oh god- did you get jealous?" You tried to mock him even now, a victorious smirk tugging on your lips before his one hand firmly pressed your head back down onto the desk.

"You're gonna talk back now? Is that it?" His tone was condescending, cold almost without even an ounce of the usual teasing lilt that he had in his voice. He was dead serious and he was pissed off by your shenanigans.

He's been going on for at least fifteen minutes by now, the rhythm of his hips showing no mercy even if you begged for it and sobbed for it. You fucked up, you knew that much to not do that again.

"'umming- cumming!" You squeaked out as your walls spasmed around him, gripping him like a vice before eventually he was fucking you through the orgasmic wave. Soon after he too managed to climax, filling you up to the brim.

There was no need to fuss over him cumming inside, he'd figure out something for you tomorrow, a pill that wouldn't let you get actually knocked up by him. He was a man of science after all.

His hands let go of you, watching in delight at how you nearly slid down from the desk from how weak you felt. If not for his hips that were firmly pressed up against you, you would have fell to the cold floor of the laboratory.

And just as you thought that your punishment was over he leaned in and whispered.

"Fuck around and find out, isn't that what they say?"

You were definitely not walking in the foreseeable future.

[i-bakkhos]

[odlnus]

Past - Present

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Credit reposts

[whalemoo]

[sakurabraches]

think my new favorite theory is that the fatui harbingers all have some corrupted idea of love, which shows how the tsartisa's ideal has been damaged

childe loves combat and constantly seeks to grow stonger, no matter what

signora was in such grief from losing rostam that she tried to burn the world away

dottore only loves gaining knowledge, to the point that he'll do anything to aquire it, no matter who it hurts

scaramouche was essentially obsesed with obtaining a heart (gnosis)

arlecchino clearly loves those close to her, but is ruthless towards anyone she deems a "traitor"

pantalone is obsessed with wealth, and thinks it's like "the beating heart of the world" and wants to control it

idk what everyone else's would be, but it's just an interesting thought