#i havent done requests in a lonnnng time haha

[randomrosewrites]

Dottore with prompt “To say I ‘tolerate you’ is a vast overstatement.”

Ty!

A/n: Anon, how did you know I have a weak spot for Dottore...

Overstepping boundaries

Pairing: Dottore X GN reader.  Word Count: ~830 Warnings: Swearing, mentions of killing, Dottore hates the reader lol. 

Dottore is going to murder someone. 

His fists clench tightly, the squelch of leather loud enough to be heard over the rushing of blood in his head. He’s one of the oldest of the Harbingers, but you assumed that made him more patient, you’d be dead wrong.

He runs his life on a tight schedule. Certain procedures must be done at specific moments, he eats his meals at specific times, his days are meticulously planned so that everything occurs as it should. Tardiness is unacceptable. Every one of his subordinates knows this very well. For those that are a minute late, or who don’t perform to their standards are immediately disposed of.

Her majesty, the Tsaritsa, knows and understands this, and - within certain limits - allows him the freedom to run things his own way. She’s one of the few he respects, one that he’ll gladly bow his head to.

But right now, he wants nothing more than to storm up to her palace and slap some sense into her.

He inhales through his nose, closes his eyes, and counts to ten. When he opens them, he doesn’t feel any better, and the nuisance is still in his lab. 

He’d just returned from a long day out. Per the rules of the Fatui, he was forced to indoctrinate the new recruits that just arrived. Normally he’d leave that up to another Harbinger, but seeing as he was the only one in Mondstadt, (and that air-head Childe was on a boat back to Sheznaya) he’d spent hours in the sun, baking under his suit, supervising wet-eyed recruits. 

The only thing he was looking forward to this day was to go back to his lab, and enjoy a few hours of experimentation, but when he opened the door and stepped through the threshold, that idea was promptly shut down.

You’re perched on top of his desk, reading one of his reports that he had nicely organized. You look up when you hear him enter. “Oh, hello.”

A vein in his head throbs. It’s like he’s the one invading your personal space and not the other way around. 

“Get out of my lab,” he grits through clenched teeth. 

“No ‘hello, how are you’?” you frown. Dottore resists the urge to throttle your neck. 

“Never. You’re not welcome here. Out,” he points to the door. 

You lay the report back on his desk, incorrectly on the left side. “Well, that’ll be a problem. Her majesty has sent me here to help you.” 

“I don’t need any help. Especially not from you.”

You shrug, his harsh words like water off a duck’s back. “Well if you have a problem with it, take it up with her.”

He wants to scream. Ever since you first wormed your way up in the ranks of the Fatui, you’ve been nothing but a thorn in his side. Waltzing into his lab during experiments, not caring what you were disturbing nor the profanities he’d shout at you occasionally, and meddling in his affairs with no care or concern.

The only reason he hasn’t taken you out himself is because you’re a harbinger. And while small spats are fine, the Tsaritsa has a no tolerance policy for harbingers killing other harbingers.  

So, instead of pulling his hair out or calling upon his delusion, he crosses the room and settles into work, trying to ignore you as best as possible. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you, the silence is filled by the mechanical clicks and whirs from his experiment. His work calms him down somewhat. If he doesn’t think too hard, he can almost forget that you’re in the room with him. 

Not even ten minutes go by before you get bored. 

He hears shuffling first, but thinks nothing of it. Then it happens again. Gradually, he feels you coming closer, and sends a sharp glare that stops you in your tracks. He goes back to work. 

Then he feels something touch his earring, swinging it back and forth like a pendulum. 

He whips around, knife in hand, and lashes out. You gracefully jump back, out of his reach. The two of you stare at each other from across the room. There’s a pleased grin on your face. Dottore’s blood is boiling.

“You’re abhorrent,” he snarls. “An insufferable buffoon.” 

“I’d say you tolerate me pretty well.” 

“To say I ‘tolerate you’ is a vast overstatement.” 

Your eyes crinkle in delight. “Is it? Then what do you think of me?”

“Scum.”

“It’s alright, you can say you love me, I won't tell-” you duck just as his knife flies over your head, sinking into the wall with a thunk. “-Childe. Or Scara.” 

“The only time I’ll love you is a thousand years from now when you’re six feet under the ground and buried.” 

Something stirs in your eyes, dark and exciting. It makes Dottore shiver unconsciously. 

“Interesting challenge, doctor,” you hum. “I think I’ll hold you to that.”