Experimental (Junkenstein X reader)(Lemonz)

Part 2, Act.1, Scene.2=scrutiny

When the sun rose over the horizon on the next morning you were already sitting beside the door that belonged to the lad, and you had taken the liberty to robe yourself in your old attire that consisted of the far too large lab coat and that purposefully slinky skirt your old friend had given you when you first came here. Yes, you had kept the entire attire, for reasons you yourself would only pinpoint as the sweet ache of nostalgia when you looked at them; or when you buried your face in the textile in the hopes of fleetly catching thats sweet scent that belonged to the doctor.

You knew full well what you were doing, and that it was distasteful as well as cheap in a way, but if it served your cause it would do. Or as Jamie used to muse to you when you got languid in the long, laborious hours you spent working that Autumn two years back:' Any means are to be taken to fulfill one's revenge are a necessary step that is to be taken with no regards for whom it may revolte. No time t' rest, no time t' sleep, time doesn't wait around for ya t' make decision.', or as you had prefered the saying; all is fair in love and war.

So you waited there, legs crossed over one another, a smug smile on your pale lips, absently fiddling with the fabric of your coat in an attempt to roll back the sleeves which hung way past your hands. As expected, and as you had grown accustomed to, the doctor came up the stairs at six a.m sharp, after probably falling asleep at his desk judging by the tangled mess his hair was in and the deep shadows carved under his wide eyes; as he tended to do nearly every night. He was too sleepdrunk to notice you sitting by the door until his hand had reached for the doorknob, almost dropping the seemingly burdensome stack of papers that he had perched upon his arms, his tired eyes abruptly widening behind the azure-tinted glasses as if you had eminently startled him.

"Good morning sir, your vigor seems to have deteriorate overnight. Are you even fit to work with all your wits in a shamble?" You greet the with a cheeky chirp, swiftly rising to you feet to perform a over exaggerated bow. In the past if days as such accrued, you would have slipped a few sleeping pills into his drink to force this stubborn nutcase to get some rest out of the fear he'd faint from exhaustion, but you had decided against taking any such old liberties; he probably wouldn't take too kindly to that, not if it was a stranger.

The doctor meanwhile looked you over silently whilst reordering the stack of papers and plans absentmindedly, a sly grin creeping to his expression as he glimpses over your ostentatious attire, which you notice with a hint of gratification. You wanted him to gawk after all. "My, my, that garment is a tab prurient for an assistant. Don't ya think little lady?" The willowy man cooes knowingly, tilting his head in order to better observe your frame, making your bratty smirk widen at the notice, brushing the dark fabric of the skirt, whomes ruffels barely peeked out from under the labcoat, straight again.

When he had first given you this thing, you wouldn't ever have even thought of the possibility that it was for his own sick delight that your body could provide, but now you were fully aware that you may have been infinitesimally naive back then. "Well, now that you say it, I suppose one could think it to be a bit obscene, but I prefer it, and I'm sure you don't mind either." You note, before slyly adding: " After all, you have a beauteous betrothed who I am sure takes good care of you." You purr wittingly, taking a long, elegant stride towards to your seemingly tongue-tied friend in order to courteous take the rather heavy stack of paper from him without a hint of protest, just to purposely push the cluster of sheets against your chest with the sole, devious intent to squeeze the tender domes of your breasts up to your cleavage mockingly.

You didn't need to await a reply, the mild hue of red finding its way to his bony cheeks together with the wide eyes gawking down at you, and slightly staggered countenance accompanying both, spoke volumes for itself; so you skittishly hum a smug tune and victoriously turn on your heels towards the lab with your chin turned up vainly. Once inside, the first thing that constantly sticks out as odd to you is the interior. Not that too much had changed, it was still as mess of droning tesla coils with their accompanying, intricate machinery, glass falcons filled with semi transparent, turquoise (and oddly enough, a few lilac ones, too.) liquid, blueprints, loos papers, books all strewn about heedlessly, and shelf after shelf rowed up against the wall filled with bizarre equipment and spare parts. But the key difference was the second operation table.