What could possibly go wrong when a deranged doctor and Sumeru's most merciless hitwoman strike a mutually beneficial arrangement to collude? It all starts with an unexpected twist when lethal secrets are revealed.
dottore x fem!reader
cover art : c...
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The agreement you struck with the clone was straightforward: get as close to Prime Dottore as possible and strike when he was least expecting it. Now, reflecting on his request, you weren't sure if you were granted the freedom to execute the plan in your own way or if there was a potential misunderstanding regarding the plan's finer specifics.
Several alternatives could have been taken, but you chose the most convenient, albeit most entertaining, route.
See, the thing about Prime Dottore was that he was an individual driven by lust, not love. That was not to be mistaken. To get closer to him, he needed to be exposed to something novel and exhilarating. There was no path into his heart's devotion; the only means of entering was through his craven desires.
That was how you landed yourself in this situation—with your back firmly pressed against the wall, his mask slightly askew, while he fervently planted kisses on your exposed neck. Although this was ostensibly part of your act, you couldn't deny the unexpected enjoyment it brought. It was a revelation that a man who was normally preoccupied with disturbing experiments and inflicting pain could also excel at giving pleasure.
With your eyes closed, you surrendered to the sweet sensation of his fingers caressing you. His gloved touch glided slowly over your entire body, grazing every inch and never allowing any part of your skin to go untouched. You tipped your head back, allowing the ecstasy to wash over you.
Dottore's hand held yours and moved it to an obvious bulge forming under his pants. You took the hint and began to knead it softly, feeling the erection grow harder with each motion. He ceased the kisses on your skin as the pleasure became too intense for him to handle and pressed his head against the frigid surface of the wall, letting out hitched breaths in the process. All he could think about was releasing the growing tent inside his boxers.
"Tell me that you want me." He practically begged, in a whisper so soft it was almost like he was seeking reassurance.
Shifting his head to align directly with yours, his eyes—concealed behind the mask—locked onto your own with a weight that radiated seriousness. In his convoluted mind, this would signify some pledge of loyalty. Despite the twisted context, you responded by nodding your head in confirmation, your submission accentuated by the simple yet powerful declaration.
