“Shh. It’s okay.”

Dottore never cared for the unfortunate souls who became his test subjects. He’d conduct any experiment that helped his research, unethical or not. They should’ve been honoured to be his lab rats.

“I’ll make it all better.”

You were still sat on the experiment table, with him between your legs. Dottore liked this. He wanted you to depend on him. To seek his comfort and help.

His hand moved through your hair in a way that could almost be mistaken as affectionate. As you sobbed against his chest, he placed a bandage over the new injection wound on your arm.

Dottore didn’t feel guilty. This was a win-win for him. It benefitted his research, and it made you so dependent.

His adoration for you was the only reason you had survived in his laboratory for so long. He was gentle, even sweet with you.