#regrator x you

[dottores]

A WINTER NIGHT'S LAZZO | PANTALONE & DOTTORE

summary: a peaceful night in bed is interrupted when dottore returns to you your drunken lover, now you must spend the night taking care of him... and perhaps having a serious conversation with the second too.

warnings: none rlly, poly relationship (meaning dottore x pantalone too), pantalone had been drinking and you're taking care of him, implied past smut between you dottore and pantalone, extremely self-ship

notes: i luv them ur honor sobs this was so indulgent i literally wrote it in like an hour -- @snezhnayans @mxnjiros @dxlucs @hanmas @manjiroscum @suyacho @alucrds @tokyometronetwork

wordcount: between 1.5 and 2k

even before he spoke, you could tell that he had been drinking. the regrator usually walked with a sort of confidence that would have even the most powerful men taking a second glance. it was a mask, yes, but a mask that he wore well—one that he rarely let drop even around you. 

he was not the sort of man that stumbled over his feet and he was not the sort of man that ever would ask for help. so when the door to your room slammed open and pantalone floundered in, being steadied by dottore, you couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows.

“i thought he said he wasn’t drinking tonight,” you said, amused, as you placed your book down on your nightstand and sat up from where you were lounging against fluffy pillows.

“i thought so too,” dottore agreed, eyes lit up in a sort of way that they only did when he was with you and pantalone. “found him slumped against a wall complaining about the floor moving beneath him.”

always one to point blame at something other than him, you thought to yourself, biting back a giggle as your eyes traced over pantalone’s flushed face and red-stained lips.

“come here,” you said to the older man, whose hazy eyes drifted in your direction as dottore’s grip tightened on his waist, preventing him from swaying on his feet again.

“when did you get here?” your eyes widened a bit at the heavy slur to pantalone’s voice, strong enough so that you could barely even make out what he was saying. your eyes drifted behind him to dottore, who looked thoroughly amused at your reaction.

“oh my,” you said quietly, unable to muffle the next giggle that rose to your lips. “help him to me.” 

“i don’t need help,” pantalone said, offended, batting dottore away and nearly careening right to the ground. “‘m perfectly fine.” 

“of course you are,” you placated him as dottore guided him closer to the bed. you smiled as pantalone collapsed right into your lap, face buried in the crook of your neck.

you let out a soft ‘oof’, adjusting yourself to the added weight as you wrapped one arm around his waist, rubbing circles against his back, while the other held the back of his head. he reeked of cabernet and the faint scent of that perfume he enjoyed so much. 

“how much did you drink?” you asked, kissing as close as you could get to his temple as pantalone hiccuped against your skin. he was never this docile unless he was sick or all but blacked out. you wondered if he would even remember this in the morning… perhaps it would be better if he didn’t. 

“two glasses,” he had the audacity to lie blatantly as you held him. you withheld the urge to jab your fingers into his side, knowing he would probably just throw up on you.

“how much did you drink?” you asked again, after a moment of silence. 

“two bottles,” he said, and you shook your head, forcing yourself not to smile.

“oh, i hope you don’t remember this tomorrow morning, you’ll be absolutely despicable if you do,” you murmured, kissing the top of his head again as you felt his eyes droop shut, lashes tickling your skin.

he had been dining with some of the less antagonistic aristocrats, if you remembered correct. he would be livid if he humiliated himself in front of them… you wondered if you could slip out to find pulcinella before pantalone woke in the morning, he would likely know how the meeting went down.

as your thoughts ran amok, your gaze snapped up as you heard your door creek open again.

dottore was trying to sneak out, you realized.

“where are you going?” you asked, frowning deeply as the masked man paused, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“back to my lab,” he said. “i have research to finish up before the meeting tomorrow.” 

“you’re going to leave me with him?” you asked, aghast. “i can’t handle him alone while he’s like this.”

you knew very well that he would wake up midway through the night sick and complaining—not able to make it to the bathroom before he was heaving up the food and alcohol he had consumed at dinner. 

“he’s your lover, no?” dottore asked, leaning against the doorframe as he stared at the two of you with an unreadable expression. “i’m sure you can deal with him perfectly fine.”

that’s right, you thought to yourself, barely holding back a sigh. the three of you had never explicitly stated what… this was. you and pantalone had been together long before dottore had ever wormed his way into your relationship but even then, he was usually just… there. joining you in bed occasionally, lingering around the two of you in his rare bits of free time, never anything too intimate… and this was intimate, more than just a use of release, you were asking him to spend the night with the two of you.

“must you be so difficult,” you murmured, carding your fingers through pantalone’s hair as the man drifted to sleep on top of you. you would have to shift him off at some point otherwise your body would be numb by morning… but he looked more at peace now than he ever had before, so you decided to leave him for now.

… plus you wanted to take advantage of the rare show of docility from the harbinger.

“don’t be daft, dottore,” you finally sighed loudly, looking back up at the man. his lips were pressed together tight at the comment—you should feel proud, not many were able to insult the second harbinger and live to see the next morning. “he is my lover, you are my lover, and you are each other’s. and you are not going to leave me here to deal with him alone. he’s absolutely miserable when he’s sick. you will suffer through it with me.”

dottore did not look moved by your speech. your eyes narrowed.

“either you stay and help me tonight or i’ll sic him on you tomorrow when he’s hungover and even more miserable,” you threatened and the doctor simply shook his head, closing the door and making his way back over to the bed. 

“and you have the audacity to call me the difficult one,” dottore said flatly, taking a seat hesitantly on the bed next to you, watching pantalone with a fond expression on his face… or as fond as he could get with the mask on, you supposed. “does he agree with what you said? or was it just a way to delegate some of the work to me?”

you turned your head to the side to look at him. you didn’t say anything for a moment, just observing him. he still had that wretched mask covering half of his face and you realized, dully, that you had never seen him without it. your body moved before your mind could reconsider, reaching up to pull the mask off.

long, thin fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist in an instant, stopping you just as the pads of your fingers brushed the cool metal. you didn’t pull away, you supposed you took it as a challenge—another thing that you should be proud of, because no one challenged the second and lived to tell… much less get him to back down.

it took a few moments of tense silence but dottore eventually released your wrist, reluctantly, if the way his lips were pressed together tight had anything to say about it. 

you held your breath as you slipped the mask off of his face, eyes tracing what was finally exposed to you. rough, jagged skin over both of his eyes—burn scars, it seemed. you reached up to cup his cheek, he tensed but only for a second.

you leaned in just a bit so that you didn’t disturb pantalone, smiling as you spoke quietly. “as intelligent as he may be, our lovely, drunken princess has the emotional awareness of a rock… just like someone else in this room.”

“i hope you’re referring to yourself,” dottore said dryly, but he didn’t move your hand away as your thumb brushed over his cheekbone.

“i am not,” you replied, an amused lilt to your tone as dottore visibly forced himself from rolling his eyes.

“you have some nerve,” he murmured.

“i do,” you agreed. shifting carefully as pantalone let out a soft groan on top of you. you brought your hand to his hair, hushing him softly and running your fingers through the dark locks as you tried to get him to settle down and go back to sleep. 

you watched, amused, as his arm dropped to the bed next to you, hand landing right on top of where dottore was resting his. the older man stiffened, eyes darting down to where their hands were connected. you smiled to yourself. 

“give him time,” you said quietly, eyeing dottore from the corner of your eye as you finally rested back against the pillows, ready for whatever little sleep you would have before pantalone inevitably disrupted it when he woke up sick. “it’ll take a bit for him to process and verbalize what he feels for you. it took him months with me… but you’ll find he’ll be very pleased when you start hanging around more… actually spending the night instead of leaving as soon as you’re finished.”

dottore sounded irritated as he sighed but he was making himself comfortable next to you, so you considered it a win. 

“and if you’re wrong?” he asked.

“i’m never wrong,” you said proudly, scowling as dottore scoffed. you side-eyed him heavily. “now go to sleep, you have to deal with him first.”

--

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐎𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐏𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairings: dom!Pantalone x sub!fem!reader

Warnings: no fluff, unhealthy relationships, sexual tension.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. bülow - Own Me

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

What about unconditional submission without sexual overtones? Although it's still present here, because i'm only trying to understand these boundaries, where the simple relationship of the dom and sub ends and something obscene begins. Perhaps i'll return to sketches of this genre more than once, since dom men are the best men in the world (ง ื▿ ื)ว

art: @jianrou

Have you ever heard of a wolf that decided to tame a hare? The poor fluffy little animal shivers day by day, not knowing at what second the thread of life can be irreversibly cut off, but the wolf takes care of tamed food, not allowing the hare to breathe its last breath before the whim of its owner. The little animal sees its defender in the wolf, leaving its own fate in its paws, and the hare's gaze is always permeated with devotion when its owner comes into view.

It's so wrong. Unnatural.

But what if the wolf became infatuated with the one he tamed?

You think about it every time your gaze meets blue eyes hidden under the glass of exquisite and fabulously expensive glasses. Your whole being screams that a wolf cannot love its prey, but your heart continues to beat faster every time you hear your own name spoken by your master.

— Y/N, — Pantalone smiles softly, pointing with his palm to his own knees, and you shyly put your hands behind your back, feeling the weight of the gazes of the other Harbingers sitting at a huge luxurious table.

Pantalone never needed a leash for you to blindly follow him. Your body and soul are drawn to this man by themselves, like a moth lost in the darkness, finally meeting a light. Only your fire exudes a chilling cold.

You awkwardly take a step forward, carefully settling into Pantalone's lap, and burrow into his fur coat. It looks soft, but for some reason it tingles so unpleasantly on the skin of your face.

One of the Regrator's palms rests on your hip, as it should. There's not a single place on your body that he can't touch, and you shouldn't care if outsiders are present.

You just have to stay diligent, pure, innocent, devoted. Obedient. You must behave the way he likes. Be humble, silent, and accommodating. Otherwise, how else will you please your master?

You raise your head uncertainly, casting a brief glance at Pantalone, which he ignores, continuing in his stoically calm manner to discuss something with other Harbingers. How stupid of you to think that he would pay attention to you. He's busy right now, and you have to be nothing more than an ornament sitting silently on his lap, otherwise without your presence he will simply die of boredom. The Regrator likes to sometimes just squeeze your hips or stroke your knee while he is busy with exhausting conversations, which he tries to avoid as much as possible.

You may blush, you may feel aroused by his touch, but you must not make a sound until both of you leave the hall or the other Harbingers vacate the room, leaving you alone. Even if his fingers thoughtlessly fiddle with the fabric of your underwear, even if they stroke the inside of your thighs, casually touching your crotch, even if the heat in the bottom of your stomach is so unbearable that you feel suffocating moans getting stuck in your throat, you must be quiet and obedient.

The owner can have fun with his toy as he wishes, and the toy should only remain sitting on his lap until he allows it to become human again.

You'll die for him if he asks you to. You'll let him kill you if he has to. No questions, no objections. Isn't that true love? Doesn't the fact that he allows someone like you to even be around prove his feelings? No, no, you're not even worthy of his feelings.

The blood is pumping so furiously through your burning veins, and your hips involuntarily clench around Pantalone's wrist as he roughly, possessively squeezes the elastic flesh of your thigh, and you almost crumble into pieces on his lap, desperately clutching the prickly fur of his robe. It's so embarrassing. You have to be stronger, you have to overcome with dignity the irresistible desire to just bury yourself in the curve of his neck, inhaling the tart scent of cologne, whispering his name over and over again, because if you can stand it…

— Good girl, — the Regrator's lips press against the top of your head as he whispers softly into your hair, continuing to maintain a strained smile on his face.

It's so warm.

The poor muscle in your chest is ready to burst apart. Just two words, but they always sound just for you.

You smile, barely restraining the urge to burst into tears, tightening your lips and nodding briefly, hiding your flushed face in the spikes of black fur again.

…if you can stand the bone-piercing cold, stand the way your heart bleeds, one day a wolf will be able to love his little animal, right?

[satinroses]

Night Time Routines

How the harbingers and their darlings ready for bed

Yan! Harbingers x reader (separate)

Feat: Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone and Scaramouche

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: “honk shoooo honk shoooo” - capitano, “zzzzz zzzz” - Pantalone, “honk mi mi mi” - Scaramouche, dottore’s doesn’t snore but he does speak in fluent sentences in his sleep and it’s terrifying. thank you for coming to my ted talk. also yes i made scaras pretty purple eyes light up like ei’s when she’s using her skill, the more raiden parallels the better in my opinion

Warnings: 5.3 archon quest spoilers, Yandere behaviours, i have likely not proof read this as well as i should have so i apologise for any mistakes, dark themes, some mentions of NSFW themes but no actual smut, being robbed of making choices, they all have serious control issues

Capitano:

Capitano has struggled with sleep for centuries now, he hopes you take no offence when he doesn’t join you at night however he would never wish to make you feel neglected. The primary reason he stole you away was to could ensure that you are treated with the dignity and adoration that befits someone of your character.

If your hair is long enough then he takes great care in braiding it every night. You’re surprised that a man of his stature is able to manoeuvre his fingers so nimbly through your hair. If braids aren’t your style or they simply wouldn’t work with your hair then he patiently awaits your instruction. Whether you want a bun, a ponytail or simply for your hair to flow freely he will diligently do as you command.

Although some aspects of your night routine may resemble that of Pantalone’s darling, Capitano doesn’t force you to abide by any particular routines. As long as you get enough rest he doesn’t mind if you spend every evening huddled in the library, just please allow him to sit with you as you read, nothing would bring him greater pleasure.

Despite the first harbinger being unable to sleep due to the constant burden of the tormented souls upon him, he does find comfort in the domesticity partaking in your nightly routines affords him. Watching your eyes flutter shut, hearing the words that slip out of your mouth leaving him to guess what you could possibly be dreaming about, watching over you when you are at your most defenceless.

He finds it utterly endearing to see you in this state. His heart feels much lighter the first night you fall asleep in his presence. He understands you may hold some resentment towards him for stealing you away from your home and the life you knew yet he is able to find hope in the vulnerability your behaviour shows. Being in your most docile and helpless form around him must surely mean you hold some form of trust for him. Trust is something he can work with, he’s certain now that he can cultivate this small piece of trust that you’ve extended to him from a sapling into a flourishing bloom and in time, perhaps you’ll forgive him for the selfish decision he made. He was utterly mindless and inconsiderate when he took you with him, against your will. Every day he lives with the shame of stealing you and yet... watching over you as you lay in his sheets, he cannot bring himself to regret it.

He shuts his eyes and listens to the rhythm of your breaths, a symphony that brings him nothing but relief. The knowledge that you were resting peacefully by his side invigorates him far more than slumber ever could.

After some time passes and he truly believes you are warming up to him in spite of everything, he might slip into your bed (with your permission of course). He’s unsure what to do at first, so overwhelmed with your closeness and warmth but as you begin to drift into a dreamscape, he allows his hands to wander slightly (but never anywhere inappropriate, despite how desperately he might crave your body he would never force you to do anything that might dishonour you). The body heat that emanates from you brings him immeasurable comfort as he forgets about the pain of the abyssal rot ravaging his body, instead focusing on the softness of your skin on his.

To feel you against him, your body tucked against his, it brings comfort that settles deep in his bones, not even the heavenly principles nor the curse that eats away at his flesh could strip it from him. For the first time in 500 years he remembers what its like to have a home.

Dottore:

You have the misfortune of having spent more time alone with Dottore than anyone else in Teyvat. In spite of his near constant presence, you had never once see him or any of his clones go to sleep. Once every few months you’ll catch him with his eyes shut and hunched over his desk, you assume he has finally drifted off but then mere seconds later his eyes will shoot open and his hands resume tinkering with whatever (or whoever) has had the misfortune of piquing his interest.

Prior to eliminating his clones he often used them as lab assistants, citing that the only person who he could trust to fulfil his work to the measure of perfection he demanded was himself. As the sun began to set whichever of his clones had the least to do would be charged with escorting you from his laboratory in the cellars of Zapolyarny palace to your shared estate. Much to Dottore’s annoyance, he swears that as the moon begins to rise, the segments begins to rush to finish their tasks in hopes of being the one to escort you home.

From early morning to night time you are forced to remain wherever Dottore is however he understands you are only human (for the time being, however he has plans to change that) and you require rest so he allows you to go home and sleep with the caveat that a segment remains by your side as he repeats a similar sentiment as he did earlier, that being the only man he would ever trust with your safety is himself.

Upon prime having to destroy the clones he is visibly on edge despite his dismissals when you try to enquire about it. It’s evident to you that without having the security of his segments watching over you he is tense. He now forbids you from going home, even with a platoon of Fatui guarding you, he has made far too many enemies to count over the years, he isn’t foolish enough to entrust your safety to some lackeys that even the eleventh could carve through with ease.

Much to your dismay he also states that he cannot take so much time away from his experiments to tend to your slumber and that from now on you will be sleeping in the laboratory.

It doesn’t take much exertion for his brilliant mind for him to deduce that you are not thrilled at this development.

After a few days of complaining he finally cracks. You seem to find a fault with every aspect of his laboratory.

”I’m uncomfortable”

”My back hurts”

”It’s too loud”

”It’s too bright”

”It’s too hot”

“It’s too cold”

”This pillow is lumpy”

”I can feel you staring at me”

It drives him mad. His next experiment will be on your voice, he has to test his hypothesis that there is something particular about your voice, perhaps it’s the tone or the pitch but whenever you speak he can’t help but grant you his full attention.

He prides himself on his resilience but for you he has always been quick to crack. Seeing you in such a bad mood puts him in a bad mood. Suddenly his patience has been shortened exponentially, the screams of his patients grind on his nerves far too quickly, leading to many experiments being cut short.

The following morning you will see two anemo skirmishers setting down a large object covered in a dust sheet in the far corner of the laboratory. You raise your question to Dottore, asking what it is. Only then does he set down his tools, a tiny smirk blooms across his face as he takes your hand in his and leads you across the room before lifting the sheet off the object and looking at you expectantly.

It was a single bed with plain white sheets and a single pillow. It was hardly exuberant but for Dottore to even show any form of regard for the discomfort of any living being was nothing short of a miracle.

If you ask him what prompted this his voice will grow venomous as he bites out that your endless complaints were a hindrance to his experiments but you see the self-satisfied sneer on his face as he soaks in your gratitude.

Admittedly you do still have to endure the screams of those unfortunate enough to end up strapped to the operating table as he refuses to allow you any form of noise cancellation lest he needs you for something (he never has but you’re sure he just doesn’t want to give you any avenues for ignoring him), at least you can keep your head staunchly under your pillow for whatever small form of muting the cries that it's able to provide.

Pantalone:

In spite of your resentment for Pantalone you could not deny the morbid interest you had in watching him go about his day. As an outsider you couldn’t shrug the pervasive feeling that had settled in your mind that his whole day seemed to be more of an elaborate routine rather than a man naturally progressing through the day.

Every paper, painting and plate had a specific place in his life and that was how Pantalone preferred it. One night at dinner you had made note of it and he had let out a rare chuckle as he gazed at you from across the grand mahogany dinner table. He put down his utensils before taking a moment to stare down at his hands, twisting the rings back into place so that the gemstones on them rested perfectly on his fingers, glimmering just right in the light before he acknowledged that perhaps some people might agree that he can be a little particular.

From the moment he had taken you into his home, he made sure that you too fit into his routine as flawlessly as everything else. He had expectations that you would meet if you knew what was good for you. Throughout the day his routine never once relaxed and as such, neither did yours. From the moment dinner ends he has you on a schedule that he had devoted hours to ensure it would allow you to fit into his schedule as perfectly as he wants you to. Like a ballerina wound up in a jewellery box, you would pirouette seamlessly to whichever melody he desired and you only move when he winds your cogs, never before.

Once you rise from the dinner table and he returns to his study, you are taken directly to your shared chambers with Pantalone by your ladies maids. In the porcelain tub within the en-suite sits a pool of hot water, still steaming with heat. Standing there awkwardly with only a silk robe wrapped around you as maids flutter in and out of the room. You stay rocking on the balls of your feet until at last the head maid returns, with her she carries a silver tray upon which rests several different bottles of fragrant oils and soaps to add to your bath.

Perhaps if you had been a little less perceptive you would believe this to be one of the areas in your life in which he allows some leniency but that is not the case. You are certain beyond all measure that each and every scent has gotten his approval before being presented to you. Maybe you should be thankful for this small illusion of choice but it only makes the reality of you situation sting in your tear ducts.

As you smell each one the head maid takes great enthusiasm in telling you the elaborate backstory for each and every bottle. Although its her voice speaking, you can hear his words.

The violet grass scent that had been acquired from the very highest point of Liyue’s immense mountain scape lending to it’s powdery floral notes being far more potent that before.

The sakura bloom oil had been extracted from a handful of petals that had been struck by the Shogun’s own divine lightning lending to it’s typical sweet smell having a bright undertone. You couldn’t stand that oil, you swore every time you applied it, it tingled.

The glaze Lilly that this oil had been diffused from had allegedly only bloomed when an adeptus descended from her abode in Jueyun Karst to serenade the flower and coaxing it into opening its petals. Supposedly its scent was so delicate and intoxicating that everyone who smelt it wept tears of joy. You didn’t think it smelt much different than any other glaze Lilly.

After a dozen more being presented to you, each with its own elaborate origins you simply grabbed the bottle closest to you on the tray, not caring which. They all smelt far too similar to care.

Since the day you were taken he had insisted that there was no price too high for his beloved. Perhaps he thinks you find his gifts romantic, instead you can’t help but laugh bitterly at the irony of your bathing products being better travelled than you are.

After nearly an hour of several maids scrubbing you from head to toe (when you had originally arrived you had refused their help however once Pantalone caught wind of this he had punished the maids for it. You had pleaded with him that it was your own fault for refusing their help and to please not punish them for your actions. He smiled gently, thanking you for your honesty before pressing a gently kiss to your forehead yet he said nothing about pardoning the maids, dismissing you at every mention of it. You had an entirely different group of maids tending to you the following morning and every subsequent morning after that).

After leaving the bath and drying off, you were dressed in a night gown. They were undoubtedly the worst part of the night, although they were beautiful they were also covered in itchy lace with necklines too deep and hems too short for the Snezhnayan winter.

After being dressed you would sit down at your vanity and methodically brush your hair with the gifts he had gotten you from Mondstadt: a boar bristle brush with a silver handle (he claimed the bristles were from a mighty bore sovereign native to Dragonspine) and a Dragon bone comb (he also had this made in Dragonspine, the bone acquired from the skeleton of Durin, the comb was a sturdy bone that no matter what always stayed warm).

Finally you would lie in bed and wait for your husband. If he decides to join you then you can slip gently into your dreams, the one place where you can forget about the heavy arm latched around your waist and the fingers tangled in your hair. On more unfortunate nights, he would not join you in your shared chambers, instead he would expect you to come to him. Shuffling sleepily through dark corridors until you finally reached the tall doors of his study. Your knuckle barely grazes the wood before the door swings open and he offers you a gentle smile before wrapping his arm around your waist and coaxing you in.

If you were lucky a few well-placed tender kisses to his neck would persuade him to abandon his work and join you in bed however some nights he would have you sat on his lap until the sun rose. Those nights you rarely slept well as you had to deal with his mutterings, the candle light illuminating the room and the way he adjusted you on his lap. If you were lucky you could shut your eyes and feign sleep when you felt something hard growing beneath you, other nights he was insistent on your participation.

Scaramouche:

Throughout the countless waking hours you’ve spent in unwilling solitude with the sixth harbinger you were hardly surprised at the revelation that his sour attitude persists far past the sunset and well into the moonlit hours. If anything his annoyance only grew the closer you crept to retiring for the night.

Having no knowledge of his marionette body’s ability to endure without sleep, you couldn’t disguise your discomfort the first night you shared his bed and his lilac eyes stayed glued to you all night, their vibrant hue glowing in the dark of your chambers. You could see the dim purple light in the room, even through your eyelids. His illuminated eyes wouldn’t move from your face as you rested. It doesn’t matter how often you late in the night you might wake up or how often you squint through your half-closed eyes at him, Scaramouche’s gaze stays fixed intently on you from the moment you pull the blankets over your shoulders.

Should you somehow develop a fondness for your captor you will quickly learn that in spite of his feelings for you, he is not an attentive or affectionate man. Scaramouche scoffs at the proposal of ‘cuddling’. He spits out that he will not entertain such pathetic displays of fondness, not even for you. The firm tenor in his voice makes you believe that there is no room for negotiation on the matter, however from that night onwards, his hand remains fixed tightly around your wrist the moment you retire under the covers with him.

One particularly irritating trait about Scaramouche is his insistence that you never turn away from him, many times your awoken by a set of firm hands clamped down on your shoulders as they turn you around in the bed, back to facing him. While you are both waking and sleeping he refuses to allow you to turn your back to him, you’re unsure as to why and frankly you’re not certain you wish to know. There are aspects of your captor's past that you're undoubtedly influence his current actions yet you do not wish to learn such things, not yet.

On exceptionally rare occasions, oftentimes after an intimate night of gently unwinding with him, removing his clothing with all the attentiveness he has expected to be synonymous with being the wife of the sixth harbinger. Brush your lips gently over his skin with a tenderness in your touch he hasn’t felt since… he can’t recall. After several hours in each others passionate embrace, Scaramouche may fall into a restless slumber. You may initially find this rare period of sleep from him to be enjoyable however it opens the gateway to a version of Scaramouche you may find yourself unfamiliar with.

The first night Scaramouche falls asleep in your presence, you soon understand his disdain for sleep. The whimpers and cries that escape the balladeer are completely uncharacteristic for him. You had never heard his voice assume any tone beyond a haughty drawl or an intimidating bark, you almost didn’t recognise it was Scaramouche speaking until a familiar word escaped his throat.

”Y/N...”

It was undoubtedly the balladeer speaking however his voice had been fragile and light as he spoke your name, as though saying it too harshly would cause it to shatter.

”Y/N… come back, please…”

“please...” he had whispered out and the word sounded almost foreign on his tongue. Until now you had assumed the word didn’t even exist in the harbingers vocabulary. His sleep only seemed to worsen. You sat up, unsure whether you should wake him or not. His gentle murmurs were slowly growing louder and more desperate. You watched as his sleeping form writhed across the bed, his arms fully extended as his fingers clenched and unclenched, grasping and pawing at the bedsheets.

You slowly nudged yourself closer to him, preparing to wake him from whatever nightmares was plaguing him until his hand brushed against your night clothes. Suddenly his fist clenched tightly around your waist as he yanked your body impossibly closer, curling around you.

The following morning he untangled his limbs from yours before quickly scurrying out of the room. His gaze never met yours but from the chaste kiss and the way his eyes refused to look up from the ground… you swore he almost seemed embarrassed, his demeanour suiting that of a pouting child rather than an agent of destruction.

As you opened the bedroom doors not long after his departure, the stench of sizzled flesh wafted through the corridors. Some poor Fatuus were now paying the price in blood for Scaramouche’s humiliation as they were demoted from subordinates to the punching bags for him to unleash his rage on. The part of himself that he had buried so deeply, shrouded in layer and layer of bitterness and rage, had exposed itself to your discerning gaze and his mortification was suffocating him.

If he were a weaker man perhaps the humiliation would have brought tears to his eyes but he was stronger than the mewling little wretch he used to be. Like forging a sword, he had beaten the impurities out one by one in the heat of his own hatred and the boiling of his blood until only the perfect blade remained. cold. lethal. merciless. He is no quivering weakling that can simply be thrown away. Not anymore. Never again. In spite of his pathetic display last night he would make certain you and everyone else remembers it.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ It happens to the best of us 👓

[madamemachikonew]

Hello, if you don't mind me asking, how do you think Pantalone would feel about his partner receiving a Vision?

HMMMMM.

Your mouth is agape as you look at the sparkling vision in your palm, its cold virgin glossy surface shining like crystal. Your stomach is in knots, your heart a mess of complicated feelings; what should be the happiest and most exciting day of your life is muffled in a shroud of abject dread. The trinket weighs heavily in your palm, like a tainted heart in the scales of Anubis.  

How will you be able to break the news to him?

The glowing core represented everything that he despised in the world; the recognition that had eluded him for all of his life. In spite of all of his efforts and ambition. And yet, it had tumbled, seemingly effortlessly and unbidden, into your hand of all places.

As you falteringly break the news to him, staring down at your empty hands, wringing them with shame, he forces a diplomatic smile that does not reach his eyes. The two of you are now different. And a fissure has now cracked through your relationship – one which threatens to bring down the whole edifice. Until now, the balance of power had always been in his favour. But now you hold something that his whole lifetime of wealth cannot buy.

His smile unwavering, he shakes his head in the face of your promises that you won’t use it – you won’t even wear it.

“I’m happy for you,” he says mechanically, rubbing your cheek with a gloved thumb, “You deserve it.”

Rising to his feet, he presses a strong, paternal palm to your head in congratulation - or perhaps reassurance – before planting a light kiss and then leaving, retreating to his study.

He replays the conversation in his mind. It seemed that your well-intended words had wounded him deeply. You had left the Vision in your room lest the sight hurt his feelings in some way. And yet, part of him wanted to know how such divine craftsmanship felt to hold and look at. Your pleading protestations with apologetic wide eyes that you had never actively sought such a thing and had no idea why a Vision would suddenly turn up only rubbed salt into his grieved heart; They had chosen you nonetheless, even when you had had no apparent desire to. And now you have more power than you know what to do with. It seemed almost malicious on their part to toss a trinket so close to his feet.

So why not him?

As much as he loves you, your achievements, though respectable, are quite simply not on the same scale as his own. Who could possibly be his equal? It was squandered on you. No! No, he doesn’t mean that and you must never know that such a jealous thought has crossed his mind in anger, even if you would understand and be sympathetic to his rage. Your merits are what he admires and loves. It is the very fact that you are not ordinary that attracts him to you. So why does his heart feel torn with thorns that the contemptible gods he abhors so much have bestowed this gift on you?

And what sort of deep-seated ambition have you harbouring that They had felt worthy of recognition?

That you have been holding in your heart in secret all this time.

He knows, deep down, that it was not a deliberate action on your part and that if anything, you’d give him your gift in a heartbeat. Or give it back if you could. And yet, a bitter taste fills his mouth at the idea that in spite of your best intentions, he will no doubt watch you grow increasingly at ease with wielding it, to the point that it will never leave your side.

He knows that he should be happy for you.

So why does he feel so utterly betrayed and resentful?

As the rational thoughts vie for his attention in the maelstrom of envy swirling inside, he thinks that perhaps your newfound talent could be of use to him somehow; knowing your unselfish nature, he knows you would feel too guilty not to share it. But it is not quite the same as wielding such a tool of his own, as meaningless as he keeps trying to convince himself that it is. All those times you had resolved together to go to war with Celestia now feel desperately hollow. Had you even meant it?

Perhaps the sting will dull with time, as well as the guilt for feeling this way. But for now, he will allow himself to wallow for the evening.

It’s not that he hates you.

It’s not that he isn’t proud of you or feels that you were somehow undeserving of this honour.

Just…why couldn’t it have been him?

[m1d-45]

mundane extravagance

summary: there’s a dinner tonight, and you’re not leaving looking anything less than your best.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: none :3 petnames dear + darling are used for reader

-> gn!reader (implied to be in formal wear but none is described except a buttoned shirt + one ring)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

dating a harbinger had many perks. living in zapolyarny palace was one, kept safe from the howling storms and the many, many people that had a vendetta against your lover. a guard accompanied you whenever you went off on your own in case they’d managed to infiltrate the fatui, though they were rarely called upon. the regrator’s work was not half as violent as, say, tartaglia’s, so you rarely had want or reason to leave his side.

now, however, you were considering making an exception.

you could handle visits to the northland bank, you could sit in his office and listen as he ranted about some business proposal or another and rather enjoyed doing so, but this… by far, the largest downside to dating the ninth harbinger was the socializing.

parties. galas. anniversary dinners and celebration dinners and grand opening dinners and dinners just because the sun had risen that morning. it was, quite frankly, beyond excessive and more than teetering into exorbitant. he explains them all to you, of course, detailing who will be where and why he doesn’t think another will show while carefully attaching another sparkling chain to his glasses, but it doesn’t help to curb the sheer quantity of events.

but with an event comes a dress code, and with a dress code comes actually getting dressed, and with getting dressed comes your current predicament.

fitted clothes. your first thought was that someone had spilled their drink on him when he told you to come with him for measuring, but he’d been too happy for that. he took you by the hand down a winding pathway in his wing of the palace, landing at unfamiliar plain doors. you were led onto a pedestal with a smile to be still, where you’d stay for the next hour.

he was the one that had actually taken your measurements, of course. why he had led you all the way to the actual fitting room was anybody’s guess, though you suspected it had more to do with theatrics than actual need. he didn’t so much as glance at either the chart of required measurements or the notepad beside it, seemingly memorizing everything. he led you down with a kiss on the cheek and a whispered well done, and it’s like it never happened. any further questions about it were met with a knowing smile and deflection.

by the end of the week, he’d presented you with a nondescript black bag with a hanger sticking out of the top, making you promise not to open it. you hadn’t, and now you wished you did if only to practice putting it on.

he—who else?—knocked at your door, the sound slightly dampened by his gloves. “is everything alright, darling? you’ve been in there for quite a while.”

and who’s fault was it, exactly, that you were struggling to button up a shirt with diamond shaped buttons? none other than him, the man inviting himself in without a word, permanent smile wider than usual.

“is there a problem?”

you let your hands fall, not bothering to try and keep your shirt closed. “were these necessary?”

he closes the door, “everything has its purpose, dear.”

you don’t bother asking him to explain, letting him step closer and tug and smooth your shirt until there’s not a single wrinkle. he’s dressed as perfect as always, done up in black and purple. no matter what he wears, he always manages to slip in *purple*, and today is no exception. amethyst dangles from the corner of his glasses, matching the thick ring wrapped around his thumb. your shirt is a similar color, the black buttons melding with his gloves, each slipped through effortlessly.

one finger nudges your chin up, your collar pulled into perfect shape. he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a thin silver band and slipping it on your pinky finger.

“is this necessary?”

he brings your hand up, pressing a kiss to your knuckles with a smile. “any other issues you need my help with?”

ah, if you weren’t in love with him you’d surely have broken his nose by now. “you picked these intentionally.”

“forget already?” he pulls your hand back, your body following, his hand slipping around your waist. “everything has its purpose, whether you know it or not.”

you don’t bother pointing out that he’s definitely introduced new wrinkles into your clothes, or that your perfectly fitted shirt now feels a bit too tight, or a myriad of other symptoms that assuredly make you unpresentable for tonight’s dinner.

you bite your tongue, because he already knows. his nose just barely brushes yours, breath puffing over your lips and making your heart race.

he smiles, and then he’s gone. his hand leaves yours and he doesn’t even fix your shirt as he steps away, leaving back through the same door with a flash of gems and expensive cologne. “now that you’re all in order, i expect to be leaving soon. any objections?”

your head falls back and your hands flex at your sides, trying and somewhat failing to calm your racing thoughts. the knowledge that he does this on purpose doesn’t make it any easier to brush off. arguably, his easy amusement makes it worse.

“none at all, lonnie.”

you do your best to neaten your shirt, fiddling with the cuff as you leave your room. hes put on his coat, and you swear there’s another ring on one of his hands. he turns as you come in and clicks his tongue, taking your coat off its rack and sweeping it around your shoulders. it’s more of a ceremonial cloak than something that actually keeps you warm, but that doesn’t matter. even in snezhnaya, you can count the number of times you’ve been cold while dating him on half of one hand. money can buy just about everything you could possibly ever want or need.

he pulls your shirt down and chin up, smile never once wavering. “look sharp, dear, and stay close. i’d hate to lose you in the crowd.”

you swear he slips something in your pocket when he pulls away, but don’t bother checking. as conniving as the fatui are, and as slippery as his words can be, you trust him with your life.

and if that includes a definitely not at all suspicious item tucked into your coat pocket, then who are you to question the regrator’s judgement?

[mondaymelon]

actually... im fine with it. (yandere!pantalone x gn!reader)

warnings! yandere implications, mentions of kidnapping and being tied up (not sexually), fluff

(a/n) requested by an anon!! tysm for requesting ♡ reminder that requests are open!!

˚*ੈ���‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"Are you awake?" A gloved hand reached out and grasped you chin lifting it up to give the holder a closer look of your expression.

Slowly blinking open your eyes, you surveyed the room quietly, noting that there were chains on the wall, along with a bed, and there were no windows. Your wrists burned, too, from where they were tied up behind you on the chair you were sitting on. The only source of light in the dimly-lit room was the small, singular chandelier that hung on the ceiling, seeming oddly out of place considering how grim the entire scene looked.

Finally, you focused your gaze at the man in front of you, still holding your chin and giving you a close-eyed smile. "Where am I?"

The black-haired man in front of you didn't skip a beat, only taking his hand of your chin and instead gesturing to the area. "A special place I prepared just for you."

"Why am I here?"

The man laughed. "My, you're taking this awfully calmly. You're here because I brought you here, of course."

well no shit. even i could make out that much.

"Who are you?" You questioned, although almost immediately regretted it after seeing the man's expression darken.

"Hahah... of course." Laughing, he stood up, from which he had originally been bending down to match your height. "You never even noticed me."

Thoughts ran through your head as you tried to put his face to names, but none matched until something lit up in your brain. "Pantalone?"

"Yes, that is my name." Pantalone sighed sorrowfully, his gaze never leaving your face. "But to you, I was just the kind man who you helped give directions to."

"How- Why-"

"Because I love you, my angel. More than you will ever realize."

You stayed silent at the sudden confession, although considering that you were the one that was restrained in some unknown place, it would be unwise of you to decline. Archons know what he would do to you.

"I've been watching you for weeks. Not through my underlings... I can't trust them. You're too lovely, they'd fall in love with you too, and then I'd have another problem to deal with. No... I watched you out of my own love, saving you from whatever trouble you had encountered behind the scenes and always making sure that you would be okay." Pantalone didn't seem to care whether you were listening or not, but rambled on anyway, his voice only becoming more and more desperate.

"But then some guy came to your house and saw me, and then began asking for you. Who does he think he is, asking to see you so casually??" The man's voice broke off into a low growl as his expression contorted into one of rage. "So I took care of him."

"You... killed him??"

"Darling, come on now, don't be mad at me. It was for your own good. After that, I knew it was much too dangerous to be living alone in a world of predators, so I generously took you in. This is where you'll be staying from now on. With me until the end of time."

"..."

"You answer? You can't refuse, but I'd still like another opportunity to hear your beautiful voice again."

"...Actually... I'm fine with it." You had come to the conclusion in the matter of seconds, but from what little knowledge you knew, you concluded that Pantalone had to have been powerful in status, careful with his plans, and also dangerous enough to have anyone look the other way to what he was doing. And considering the jeweled chandelier that dangled about five feet away from you, you also concluded that Pantalone was considerably wealthy. Not only that, but during his speech, you couldn't help but feel... moved. He had gone to such lengths just to make sure that you'd rest easy.

Not only that, he was also quite the looker himself. With that curly, soft black locks and fair face, every time you looked at him, you could feel your heart skip a beat. And if you really were to live here, then wouldn't that mean you wouldn't have to pay rent? And you'd get free meals everyday?

If he was shocked, he hid it well. Nevertheless, he wasn't able to stop the utterly confused expression flitting across his face. "You're... okay with it? I mean- that's good- but I expected at least a little resistance." He didn't seem disappointed per say, more just startled that you had actually agreed from what free will you had.

"Well... yeah. I mean... sure, you're a pretty dangerous person, but you do seem to actually care for me. Not only that, I wouldn't have to pay rent, get free food... not to mention that you're quite handsome yourself." Attempting to explain yourself, you winced as the tight ropes cut into your skin. Immediately, Pantalone rushed forward, uttering you quiet apologies as he cut the ropes off your hands with a knife that he had hidden in his sleeve.

He cleared his throat as you watched you settle into a more comfortable position, remorsefully noting the reddened bruises on your wrists. "I'm... handsome to you?"

As you nodded, he turned away, but you were able to spot his flushing ears that his hair was tucked behind.

"Aha... You really are too kind." The black-haired man smiled at you. "This is for the better. If you really are agreeing this steadily, then it means you won't try to run away. And if that doesn't happen, we can live together. Happily for the rest of our lives." And just like that, he swiftly leaned forward, holding your chin up with both hands as his soft lips met yours and engulfed you into a kiss. You felt your face burn warm, but you didn't resist, nor did you want to. Sensational fireworks seemed to light off from every inch of your skin, diving your consciousness in a sea of warmth. When Pantalone finished, he pulled away only slightly, giving you a smirk that played on his lips.

"You can expect more of that later."

masterlist ✩

[burnedwriter]

i was listening to the song salvatore by lana del rey and i got this image in my my head of going at a fatui ball and having pantalone and dottore fighting over you👀, so here it is:

Warnings:slight suggestive,gender-neutral reader.

You  were invited to a fatui celebration and as a higher up of your nation you were obligated to go.The guards greeting you as they open the door for you as you step in the huge ball room with hundreds of guest dancing to the sound of music with their partners but unlike you,you were all alone and with no date,so what better way to drown your sorrow and jealousy than to go to the bar ,you always wanted to try snesznaya’s special drink,firewater,as it was a strong beverege as some have described it,so it would do you just perfect in your case.

walking  slowly to the bar,you noticed someone, a man marching towards your direction as he came closer to your field of view,immediatly realizing who it was,number nine of the fatui harbingers also know as pantalone.

‘‘Greetings....you must be Mr/Mrs Y/n,i’m glad you were able to join us,im pantalone,its truly a pleasure meeting you up close’‘leaning down a bit and taking a hold of your hand,pressing his lips against the front of it to kiss it,introducing himself in the process.

‘‘would you like to have this dance with me’‘he said,you nod in agreement as he went behind you,guiding you to the dance floor,his hands barely touching you,one hand touching  your own while the other touched your waist,a bushful expression started to form on your face,as you felt like you were being set on fire as you looked up at the tall man that you were now dancing with.

As you enjoy your dance with pantalone,all of a sudden a man approached the two of you,now both you and pantalone turned to look at said man,from what you saw ,pantalone’s mouth twitched a bit in annoyance upon seeing who it was but immediatly returning to his usual soft smile not wanting to show that it bothered him.

‘‘Dottore,dont you have research to attend to?’‘pantalone said looking at the man,annoyance still in his voice.

‘‘I heard we have an important guest from another nation and of course,it would be rude not to introduce myself’‘he said,pulling you swiftly out of pantalone’s embrace to shake your hand.

‘‘Ah~You must be Mr/Mrs Y/n!im glad we are able to meet up close finally’‘dottore said now taking you all to himself and away from pantalone completly.

‘‘Did no one taught you how to share Dottore’‘pantalone exclaimed,even though he was smiling his annoyed tone said everything that needed to be said.You were squeezed between the two men as their silent rivaly became more obvious as both of them started to fight over you in subtle way on who deserves to take your hand to dance.

‘’how about this Dottore we take our ‘’guest’’ somewhere else.....and finish our rivaly once and for all hmm~,what do you think?’’pantalone asked turning to look at you for approval,his usual soft smile turning into a mischievious one,giving you small hints of what he had in mind.

With both you and Dottore nodding in agreement,the two men guiding you to a room the was upstairs,you really didnt know what you just got yourself into the only thing you knew was that you will not be able to walk for days.

[nativeofsumeru]

Pantalone x fem!reader x Dottore

A/N: a blurb inspired/related to this fic I made a while ago here:

“All you’ve been doing is paying attention to that stupid Liyuen spy! And what do I get? Ever since she’s been on your tail you’ve done nothing but push me to the side!” The Regrator didn’t flinch at these shouts and instead listened keenly, one leg propped up on the other, hands clasped, as he sat on his fine leather chair. He listened intently to every complaint (Y/N) gave him, even taking a couple of minor insults with an unwavering eye. (Y/N) panted. Trying to get more oxygen in her lungs at her sudden outburst. She put her hand over her heart as she used a nearby table as a support subconsciously. She was never used to exploding emotions like this, so it took a lot of energy out of her. “Are you done now?” Pantalone asked calmly as the air finally settled. His jewel looked up at him again in a bit of surprise. Was he not the slightest bit upset or frustrated or concerned about this at all? She’d never blown up at him like that before, not that she could recall.  “I…” She looked away in shame. Hair strands fell, covering her face as she closed her eyes, facing the floor to the side of her. She heard the chair creak, signaling he had risen from his seat. She heard the floor boards creak and the light clack of his shoes as he strode towards her. It wasn’t until she felt a gentle hand on her face that she opened her eyes and finally looked up at him.  “Oh (Y/N),” he began caressing her face. “Being with that doctor has tainted you.”  She stifled back a sob, staring into his gorgeous eyes.

They held no love for her anymore. He leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“I know the baby is not mine.”

[tokimihyachi]

Achilles Heel [Pantalone X GN Reader] Chapter 3

❝I cannot kill you, for your end will become my eternal damnation.❞

Pairing/s: GN! Reader X Pantalone, Various Harbingers X Reader SYNOPSIS: Pantalone does not do well with love. He never thought, wanted, much less had experience in that field. He viewed it as a weakness, a bad omen hanging above his head. But he was prepared to make an exception for you. He'd let you become his only Achilles Heel if it meant keeping you. -> ACHILLES HEEL CHAPTER NAVIGATION

CHAPTER THREE: between the lines (3/21)

⸻ "DID YOU BRING ME HERE TO MAKE ME ENVIOUS?"

Pantalone was a considerate host, much to your surprise.You were given too much of a spacious and elaborate room for a guest, bathed in a warm bath, clothed with silken night wear paired with an equally comfortable winter coat. Nothing of the attention given to you was mediocre— if it hadn't been for the maidservants who kept sneering at your presence.

     In fact, you believe they loathed you.

     If only they had simply scowled at the sight of you then maybe you'd believe they found you repulsive to look at. No. They articulated their dislike for you through actions such as brushing your hair too harshly and accidentally tripping the tray that carried your coffee, burning your skin with the hot liquid.

     You decide to hide the burn scar and avoid the plight it may stir.

     At half past seven, the devil invited you to his office. For what reason? To annoy you as if you don't already hold a grudge against him for needlessly choking you out of spite.

     Thank Celestia for your patience.

     "Of what are you envious, [Name]?" the Harbinger asked, his hands moving in a slow manner as he ate another spoonful of his scrumptious breakfast while you sat there arms-crossed with a plate of nothing.

     "You know what I'm talking about." you glowered, "Did you bring me here because we have something to talk about or to make me hungry?"

     Pantalone's lips curled into a smile, "Perhaps both." 

     The man sips from his coffee, one which Frederick came to personally blend in his small cabin office earlier and the aroma capered the room in a medley with the maple syrup and french toast. 

     "How old are you?" you asked, an obvious attempt to obscure thoughts of the food from re-entering the surface of your mind.

      "I don't particularly see the importance of your question."

      You harrumph, "A little privy on the age, hm? Well then, Lord Regrator, what do you do for a living?"

      "We should skip the formalities [Name]. After all, we've already shared quite an intimate moment with each other yesterday." he sliced a piece of mouthwatering pancakes and brought it to his delectable lips before continuing, "To answer your question, you could say that I am a banker of sorts."

     "A banker? Like, with money? Your niche is numbers?"

     "I was not aware there were other kinds of bankers." 

     "Uhm, those who gamble? Like, they give cards and anoint the game."

     "The conductor of a gambling table is called a croupier, not a banker."

     You ignored his input, persisting with your original question, "So, are you good at it? The numbers?"

     Pantalone shakes his head. You were like a child staring at him with so much veneration despite knowing he was a Harbinger. As such, he is unable to stop the tugging of his lips. 

     How detestable it is to feel satisfaction from the likes of you.

     "I am Northland Bank's head director. That much should suffice your curiosity." Pantalone dabbed his lip with a handkerchief, swerving his eye from the plate to your face. You suppress the urge to shiver.

     "How admirable," you complimented, reaching for his coffee but he swats your hand before the cup touched your lithe fingertips. You frowned, "Is it out of inclination that you chose banking as a profession?" 

     The smile on his face disappears, and you begin to panic that you've let an offensive remark slip your brazen mouth.

     "Do you think of me so little that the probability of monetary principles being my natural talent was out of the prospect?" Pantalone spat, annoyed.

     You attempt to reach the coffee again. He moves it away from you. "Why is it that you always assume I'm disparaging your character?"

     He eyed your countenance, examining it for any indication of falsity but find nothing. "So I take it that you're not?"

     "No, of course not. I asked you that because sometimes, innate talent isn't enough of a motivation. You could be born with the most potent brain for something but want another thing that's entirely different from what you're gifted with."

     Clarity is often difficult to grasp when a person's mind is in a constant battle with the heart's desire. You've seen how it conflicted people until it ultimately ravaged their minds leaving nothing but a shell of what used to be a bright flame.

      Pantalone cleared his throat, "[Name], why is it that you ask so many questions?"

     "Well, you can say that it's my nature. I come across something or someone I don't understand and I become curious of them." You explained, shifting in your seat.

      "Curious?" He raised a brow.

      "Yes," you smiled, leaning a little to one side just enough for the light of the morning sun to kiss your figure in a soft glow.

      "I mean, what kind of person strangles you on the first meet after you've done them the favor of getting your own hands bloodied? Clearly, I should be enraged but  that doesn't prevent me from thinking you're uncanny... but not in a bad way, I guess." 

     An unmistakable flicker of delight rippled through Pantalone when his lips turn into a coy smile; the drumming of his fingers on the table coming to a halt. 

     "Do correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you confessing, dear [Name], that you find me remarkable enough to be the subject of your interest?" his tone remained the same as before but there was a hint of mirth; teasing, even, if one listened close enough.

     "Don't put words into my mouth." you avoided his gaze feeling the rush of blood to your cheeks, the realization of your words only dawning now like a broken cash register.

     The Harbinger watched as you fumbled with the cuffs of your sleeved coat, gratification seeping through his veins at the sight of your unease.

     He decides then that he would stop at that for today. "I have a business to take care of today." he pushed himself up and trudged near the wooden coat rack, the metal embellishments of his fur coat clanking together in resonant as he wore it around himself.

     You tilt your head, "You trust me enough to leave me here, alone, in your office? I might find secrets here you would want to remain hidden, who knows."

     A chuckle erupts unexpectedly from his lips, "Trust is quite the big word, no? Try as you may to flee this place, I can simply have my men search for you and bring you back." the undertone in his statement did not go amiss by your clever ear.

     "I'll be honest, I don't know why I'm still held captive. But for the free food and settlement, I really have no plans of leaving." you grinned.

     Pantalone makes no other comment as he draws near you and you realize through his thick glasses that whatever it was he was thinking is the penultimate reason he called you here.

     He stalls beside you in brevity, an inquisitive gaze studying your neck. "I believe you'll find what's in this box suitable. If you do not like it, simply throw it away." he hands you a package exorbitantly bundled in shrouded wrapping, offering no other explanation of the box's content.

     Confused, you take it from his hold, fingers touching his in the briefest of seconds, and yet your pulse spikes all the same. Whether or not Pantalone noticed he did not say, but the satisfied smile on his face as he left convinced you he did.

     When you open the neatly tied box after the man's exit, you find a new scarf within it that was beyond 'suitable.'

     You huff an air of disbelief upon realizing that the cravat he gave you was the exact color of his own.

CHAPTER THREE, END.

<- chapter two

chapter four ->

tip this broke law student here! thank you, travellers! i hope you enjoy the rest of the fic! <33

[dottores]

ALIEN BLUES | PANTALONE

summary: a stressful day of dealing with the snezhnayan aristocracy leads to the challenge of you trying to convince your lover to come to bed and rest.

genre: not rlly sure how to categorize this, light angst, it’s mostly hurt/comfort i suppose

warnings: none, mentions of chronic illness, unedited (not run thru grammarly and partially written on my phone)

wordcount: 2.4k

notes: in honor of pantalone losing my poll i wrote a little thing for him. jk that's not rlly why i just wanted to. @saintdainsleif @mxnjiros @dxlucs @manjiroscum @suyacho @no3tis @dynalite @tokyometronetwork

When it comes down to it, the Regrator will always be a beggar boy playing dress-up--draped in the finest of silks, donning the most expensive gems, drowning in wealth, and yet still the court jester in the eyes of the old-blooded nobles of Snezhnaya. 

You watched him carefully from where you were curled up in your shared bed, eyes heavy and lips tugging downward. He was tired. You could tell from the way his eyes drooped and his shoulders were slumped. His skin was paler than usual, a sickly sort of pale that had your throat tight with worry. 

“Do not look at me like that,” Pantalone’s voice was hoarse and exhausted, taut with stress. He didn’t even have to look away from his parchment to know you were staring. “I don’t need your pity.”

“I’m not giving you my pity,” you said quietly, resting your chin on your knees, tucked beneath the thick blankets. Outside, the harsh wind rattled against the glass of the window of Pantalone’s room, you could see the ice spreading across the bottom of the window.

“I do not need your lies either,” his voice was sharper this time. His gaze drew up from the desk, finally, violet eyes trained on you in a way that you knew was meant to be a warning, but it found itself rather ineffective considering the dark bags beneath them weighed his gaze down to the point he could barely hold them open, glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose.

“Join me in bed,” you said softly, hand slipping from beneath the cover so you could hold it out toward him. He shook his head, ready to look back at his letter, but you spoke again before he could pry his gaze from you. “I’m cold.”

Pantalone did not seem convinced, eyes dragging from your form to the fireplace blazing on the wall opposite the bed. 

“Please,” you tried again. “I really am cold, come feel my hands.”

“You’re never cold,” Pantalone murmured, but you couldn’t help the giddiness that built in your stomach as he pushed the chair back, wood dragging against wood as he rose to his feet and slowly made his way toward you. “You’re like your own personal furnace.”

His fingers were freezing, you realized, as the tips brushed your palm, but you didn’t let the shock of the sudden cold show, instead you wrapped your fingers around his, tugging gently to pull him on the bed with you. 

He followed too easily, knees hitting the mattress next to your hips as you laid back against the soft pillows, hovering over you. He was always docile after days like this--where he spent the morning, afternoon, and night dealing with the elite of Snezhnayan society, the nobles that the Fatui were forced to deal with in order to retain peace amongst the people. He had never gotten along well with any of the Snezhnayan nobles, an orphan born on the streets of Naveretrov on the Fontaine border, something that the blue bloods loved to make a mockery of, knowing there was little the Harbinger could do in retaliation lest he start a civil war or find himself being made an example of at the hands of the Tsaritsa. 

They called him the Begger King when he was within earshot, and they called him worse when he was out of earshot, spreading nasty rumors about how he had managed to pull himself from the troughs of poverty that ranged from selling his body to selling his soul. You didn’t know how much truth there was to any of the rumors, and you never cared enough to ask, whatever Pantalone had to do to survive was his business and his alone--the scars that littered his body were reminder enough. He didn’t need you, of all people, reopening old wounds. The nobles did enough of that. 

And there was nothing that could be done about it until the Fatui was in a stronger position, one that could solidify their position in Snezhnaya. Internal politics were complicated—they had the support of the Tsaritsa, but the Tsaritsa did not have the support of her people, and they could not risk an internal revolt when planning rebellion against the heavens. The people looked to the nobles for guidance and leadership, and the nobles were livid at the idea of the Fatui trying to usurp their influence. It was a game of politics, for now, and the nobles took advantage of their secured position, trying to flaunt their superiority to the Harbingers.

They would regret it before long. 

You brought your hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks gently and running your thumb over his chapped lips. Pantalone’s eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing his cheek as he kissed your right palm, and then your left.

“Rest with me,” you said, swallowing thickly as Pantalone leaned his face into your touch. You could feel him start to shake his head. “Please. Just for a bit.”

“I’m busy,” Pantalone said, and your own eyes slid shut as he dipped down, pressing his lips against yours softly, but only for a moment--just enough for you to catch the faint taste of iron on his lips. “I’ll join you in bed soon.”

‘Soon’ would be dawn, you had played this game with him numerous times before. The Harbinger would rather spend the hours he should be sleeping slaving away at his work than be late on an invoice or a letter for the Snezhnayan nobles, giving them more ammunition to use against him. 

But you couldn’t let him do that--not this time. The thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, the iron on his lips, the sickly pallor and cold skin, and the way he was trying to hide the way his breath was labored. 

His illness was acting up again, badly this time. 

Pantalone would never be like the Snezhnayan elite: his cursive was pretty, but not the antique sort of pretty that most of the old blood Snezhnayan nobles wrote in, it was sloppy in some areas, and too jagged in others; his way of speaking, too, was not something that was commonly found in wealthy Snezhnayans--he was careful to mask it when he was around others but whenever he was too exhausted from work, too tired to keep up the mask, you could hear the strange way his voice dipped, the more informal speech patterns.

Pantalone would never be like the Snezhnayan elite just as the Regrator would never be like the rest of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. Years of barely surviving on the streets, unable to get the correct medications when he fell ill, left his body vulnerable and prone to illnesses, his lungs weak and his heart at risk. It came in waves: some days he was perfectly fine, able to keep up with Tartaglia easily when he trained; other days, he could barely push himself out of bed without his lungs giving out. The Regrator’s station came from his ability to keep the coffers full, not from his combat prowess, something that Arlecchino enjoyed pointing out. 

“One more mistake and you lose your place,” she mocked. “Perhaps your head too. Good luck preventing the coffers from drying during the winter again. Her Majesty will not be so gracious a second time.”

“I love you,” you said, and you hated how your voice cracked, and you hated even more how Pantalone looked away. He had always known you better than you knew yourself. He knew what you were thinking.

“I don’t want your pity,” he said again, but there was no heat behind his words as he stared at the fireplace, you watched the flames flicker against his glasses, reflecting in the violet of his eyes.

“You will be of no use to anyone tomorrow if you let this get worse,” you said, sitting up to brush a stray curl from out of his eyes. “Another day with the elites. You have to be on-“

“I know,” Pantalone interrupted, voice harsh. He shut his eyes for a second before repeating himself, softer this time. “I know. I’m not tired yet.”

You studied him for a moment, eyes tracing the dark bags beneath his eyes, but when your gaze met his, you knew he was telling the truth. You could see the way his mind was racing, the furthest place from sleep he could get. It didn’t matter how much his body tired physically, he would never sleep when he couldn’t shut off his mind.

“Lay with me then,” you offered. “At least allow your body to rest, even if your mind can’t.”

“I do not like being idle,” Pantalone refused, shaking his head. 

You leaned up, kissing the corner of his lips. “Tell me about what’s happening tomorrow,” you said quietly. “We won’t sleep until we’ve shut that pretty head of yours off.”

Pantalone let out a noise akin to a scoff but for a second, his eyes brightened in amusement. 

He had always been weak to praise.

Your arms tightened around his shoulders and Pantalone didn’t try to fight it when you pulled him to lay flush against you, the feathered pillows fluffed around your head. You slid his glasses off of his face as he rested his head against your chest, raising your hand to his hair to card your fingers through the dark locks, pulling the comforter over the two of you.

“It’s just another day of meetings,” Pantalone said. “You know how they go. I offer plans that will strengthen the economy so we can survive the winter, they shoot them down for being too radical all the while belittling me.”

You sighed softly, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. His eyes fluttered shut on instinct as he relaxed into you.

“I can talk to my father-“ you tried to offer, but Pantalone’s eyes were back open in an instant, cold and hard and trained on you. You sighed, already knowing what he was going to say but trying anyway, “He can help.”

“I don’t want help,” Pantalone said tightly, voice harsh. “Much less from blue blooded scum like him.” 

You went quiet, not sure how to respond. You understood his resentment against the nobles but… sometimes he was harsh, and you didn’t particularly care for your father but sometimes it was hard to remember that his words weren’t directed toward you, the venom behind them blinding. Pantalone seemed to have realized the implications of what he had said right away.

“I’m sorry,” Pantalone said after a moment. “I didn’t mean-“

“I know,” you sighed.

“Well, I meant it about him,” Pantalone corrected. “I just didn’t mean it about-“

“I know,” you stressed. “We’re supposed to be lulling you to sleep, not getting you riled up.”

“And whose fault is that?” Pantalone murmured but he was already letting his eyes slide shut again, so you decided to just drop it.

… Kind of.

“You should at least let Dottore-“

“Do not involve Dottore.”

Pantalone was now stiff in your arms, eyes sharp and alerts like a cornered deer. 

“They won’t say anything when he’s around,” you tried to convince him—anything to not have him torn down all day when he was already dealing with his illness. 

It was to no avail.

“I don’t care. I can handle this myself,” Pantalone said. “Do you understand?”

“… Yeah,” you finally agreed. “Yeah, I understand.”

He studied you for a moment, desperate to ensure you weren’t just talking to get him to shut up, even though he knew very well you would never do something that would make him uncomfortable. Once he got what he was looking for, he settled down again, melting in your touch. 

It was a comfortable silence that the two of you rested in, the flames crackling in fire place and the wind rattling the glass. The near argument had exhausted him, you could tell from the way his breath was a bit too heavy and a bit too shaky.

You would try to wake up before him in the morning, which would be a feat in itself considering he was usually up at the crack of dawn. You wanted to run down to the kitchens and have them cook up the herbal remedy that would ease the aches of his sickness… if only long enough to survive the meetings with the nobles.

Lost in thought, you were caught off guard as thin fingers wrapped around your own, giving a gentle squeeze to your hand.

“Thank you,” Pantalone murmured. 

You watched him, studying him for a moment, the way his expression was lax and his body was free of any tenseness as he looked up at you with lidded eyes, finally on the verge of sleep. He could only ever look so at ease when he was wrapped up in your arms.

Thank you for bearing with me when I’m difficult. Thank you for dealing with the bouts of hostility. Thank you for looking out for me because I can’t do it myself. Thank you for loving me, you’re the first person who ever has.

All of the things that he would never be able to tell you out loud swam behind the violets of his eyes as he looked up at you—for as much as Pantalone was the silver tongue of the Fatui, it became twisted and tangled whenever it came to expression any emotion besides anger and resentment… especially around you. You could only give him a small, pained smile.

“Your stubbornness will be the death of you,” you said softly, running your fingers through the thick, black hair. And it was not a figurative saying or exaggeration—it would kill him, he’d push himself until he was on death’s door and then he would keep pushing, trying to prove his worth to people who would never accept him. You were watching him kill himself and you couldn’t do anything about it.

Pantalone didn’t respond, but his eyes didn’t meet yours this time, the closest thing to acknowledging that you might be right. Your throat felt swollen as you kissed the top of his head again, holding him just a bit tighter as he finally began to doze off in your arms. 

[veeaxx]

so cute omfg!!

borrowing their hoodie !

pairings/characters: fatui harbingers x gn!reader

warnings⚠️: not much but skin to skin contact for pierro's, scaramouche's, signora's and arlecchino's

synopsis: their reaction when you ask to borrow their hoodie

wc: 0.88k++

note: completely self indulgent and not completely accurate compared to the teaser :> (except for pulcinella bc idk how to write for him so he didn't get a part in this) also a different way of writing my hcs soo enjoy likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated:)

☁︎︎ Pierro (皮耶罗)

I know he looks like he could literally obliterate everything in his way (he can yes) but when it comes to you and his hoodies he grows all soft and his heart melts. It's just so much bigger than you and you always look so comfy and cozy in it he just wants to hug you and have you with him at all times when you're asleep in his lap:(( Also imagining the looks on the fatui's faces when they see you in their superior's lap.

☁︎︎ Capitano (卡皮塔诺)

Seems neutral about it but is secretly happy. He thinks that as a good boyfriend it's only right that he lets you have his hoodie if you want it. His reaction is cute. He's a blushing mess under the mask after seeing you in his hoodie. The dark blue hoodie was way too big for you, the bottom reaching your knees and the sleeves too long for you as you cuddle into yourself, content with the residual warmth from capitano wearing it before you.

☁︎︎ Il Dottore (多托雷)

Scolds you (not in a serious way) but will still willingly give you his hoodie or get his clones to bring one for you. Though, he secretly enjoys being able to be of help to you and sometimes, sometimes, hopes that you don't bring your hoodie so he can see you smothered by his hoodie instead. You found this out from his clones and didn't have the heart to tell him so now you just 'forget' to bring it.

☁︎︎ Columbina (哥伦比娅)

Doesn't give you her hoodie but rather give you an exact copy of the one she has. She would so much rather match hoodies together than give you hers because it serves as a constant reminder to her that even apart you two can have something exclusive to share. Though, she is willing to let you have her hoodie if it's in exchange for one of yours so she can have a you-scented hoodie.

☁︎︎ Scaramouche (斯卡拉姆齐)

Similar to Dottore, he's a little shit about it but will still give it to you in the end. The first time you asked if you could borrow it he grumbled on and on about you not bringing your own hoodie and that you should be more responsible in the future, even though he's literally pulling off his hoodie for you and putting it on you himself before he takes both of your hands in his, warming your icy hands in his own.

☁︎︎ Sandrone (桑多涅)

I think she would be similar to Columbina in a sense that she would rather match hoodies with you but instead of buying/getting a new hoodie for you, she'll hand make it for you and ask you what designs you want. That way it'll be unique to you and you only and she also prefers it this way as she can make something for you. With her being a harbinger she doesn't get much alone time with you so this would be her way of expressing her love for you.

☁︎︎ La Signora (女士)

There are some similarities between her, Dottore and Scaramouche but she's definitely a lot softer than them. The most she'll do before giving you her hoodie is maybe a little tsk and a don't forget your own next time, even though she also hopes that you forget and need to ask her for help. When she lends you her hoodie, you can expect to have her hands in the pockets of the hoodie so that she can stay warm (be close to you).

☁︎︎ Pantalone (潘塔罗涅)

Simp. A simp. Pantalone.exe backup and reboot needed. He might not have a hoodie with him but he always wears this long designer coat and he decided to let you borrow it because you were cold. The coat is hanging dangerously close to the ground but he can't even be mad at that fact because you look so cute in his long coat he couldn't stand it and needed to look away and calm down for a minute to regain his composure:))

☁︎︎ Arlecchino (阿蕾奇诺)

A gentleman is this sense. Will take it off without question before handing it to you, hugging your figure once you've put it on yourself. Cute she thinks, your figure wrapped in the slightly oversized hoodie with the sleeves too long for your arms. Takes this as an opportunity to wrap her icy hands around your torso, making you let out a squeal at the contact between your skin and her hands.

☁︎︎ Childe (達達利亞)

Like Arlecchino, he'll give up his hoodie in a heartbeat. Couldn't bear seeing you shiver and rub your arms so he takes his own off before you saying anything and puts it over you. Now, once you're in it, you can expect one of two things to happen. Either, he'll coo at you and talk about how adorable you are adorned in his hoodie or two, turn away a blushing mess and not say anything because you're too cute. The first one however happens more often.

[satinroses]

Oh, I wouldn't say freed... More like, under new management!

Spoilers for 5.3 Natlan Archon Quest!

Yan!Pantalone x GN! Reader (x Yan!Capitano)

Summary: Having clawed his ways from the slums of Liyue Harbour to being seated at the table of a God, seizing opportunities has become Pantalone's second nature and now that the first harbinger is... indefinitely indisposed, what kind of banker would he be if he didn't capitalise on such a unique situation by finally stealing away Capitano's precious consort, the same one that has plaguing his every waking moment since the very moment he first laid eyes upon them?

Warnings: Sensitive themes, Yandere Behaviours, do you have stockholm syndrome or are you going mad from social isolation? your choice!, manipulation, social isolation, anxiety, you're all around not having a good time, mild nsfw implications, fearing for your life (not from Pantalone), losing the will to go on, you literally can't catch a break

3.5K Words

A/N: did i intend for the title to be a Megamind reference...? perchance... also please forgive any inconsistencies or grammatical errors. I have not yet finished the Natlan archon quest but I've seen the spoilers and i hope that fine ass man rests in peace. I'm still high on copium and am praying that because his body is still alive then Dottore can work his magic and fix him somehow someway (if that happens i may even write a part 2 in celebration! Or even if it doesn't!)

Anyone who knew anything about the first harbinger would be well aware of the reverence and tenderness he lavished onto you. Your safety and protection would forever be at the forefront of the harbingers mind, before retrieving the gnosis, or bringing glory to the Tsaritsa or even striking down the heavenly principles. As such it’s not unusual for the harbinger to keep you sequestered away in the dark, lonesome manor you have learnt to call home ever since your marriage. After several years it was now commonplace for Capitano to be gone for days and weeks at a time, hardly breathing a goodbye, just pressing one adoring and gentle kiss to the back of your hand and a second hot, gruff kiss to your lips before storming out of the door, blade sheathed on his belt. 

This time he had strayed from the established routine, Capitano had warned you that he might be gone for a bit longer than usual but he would return to your arms within a month. You remembered the silent voice in your head bitterly wishing that he would never return, how the heavenly principles love to play their cosmic jokes. 

After a month had passed and the letters from your husband (since you were wed he had made a point of writing you a detailed letter every single day, describing his journey and detailing how dearly he missed you and how everyday away from your side was utter agony) had stopped arriving. You had spent hours pouring over every letter he had sent since his departure but not once did he mention anything that could explain his sudden silence. That was the second thing that unnerved you, if there was one thing you had learnt through your several years of marriage to the first harbinger, it was that his loyalty and devotion was second to none. The idea that your ever loyal hound would stray from his routine was peculiar enough. Once another week had passed without any word from or about Capitano you began to pester the servants and guards for any information from the outside world but they refused to breathe a word to you. 

Although you publicly admitted you held much contempt for Capitano for prying you from your home, you couldn’t help the unease that seeped into your bones. You had spent countless mornings watching him train, the brute force and unrestrained power he used to slam his blade down into the frozen ground, the innumerable agents he dispatched with one measured swing of his sword and on rare occasion when you were close enough to danger to personally witness (a scarce occurrence as even leaving the estate was uncommon) how his onyx blade was stained with a viscous crimson inch or that seemed to seep everywhere, even sticking to the fur of his cloak. When he pulled you into his chest after the fighting was done you’ll never forget how sickening the coppery scent was, clinging to the inside of your nose until you felt like you were suffocating on it. That combined with the utter love-sick devotion he had proven himself a slave to, you found the idea that anything could prevent Capitano from writing other than death to be utterly humorous. Somehow despite the hatred you harboured in your heart for the man, the idea of a man of Capitano’s impossibly imposing stature somehow being struck down felt impossible, even if it was the pyro archon herself to do so. You simply refused to entertain such an idea. That night you had come to a conclusion: There has been a mix up! or the messenger was attacked on the road! or maybe Capitano's letters slipped right out of the messengers pack and he simply hasn't realised. You repeated these mantras to yourself compulsively.

But as the weeks continued to amble on by with no word from your husband you couldn’t help but find that a more extreme reason to be the only excuse for his sudden silence.

As you spent days pondering on the possibility of your captor’s passing, the idea that any day now a Fatui official would wander in and give you an official declaration of Capitano’s passing and would send you on your way with perhaps a pouch of Mora for your troubles. The more you fantasised about your freedom being returned to you, the more you realised how unlikely such an occurrence was. That morning you had been nothing short if giddy, any day now you would be free to return to your family and you could pretend these past years were nothing short of a bad dream - by evening your joy had turned to ash in your throat. If your husband (even after several years of calling him that, it still caused your throat to constrict painfully as though the very word was poison) had truly been defeated then you had become nothing to the Fatui but another loose end to tie up. There was no way they could know for sure just how much information regarding the sensitive inner workings of the Fatui that Capitano had shared with you. There was no way they would let you wander free when you were a living, breathing compromise to all their plans. Even in the event of his death, you shall be returned to his arms soon enough. You couldn’t stop an overwhelming feeling of defeat swallow you like a wave as the realisation hit you that nothing would bring Capitano greater joy.

After several weeks of agonising suspense you had debased yourself to pleading with the servants and guards for even just a rumour of what was to become of you. Again, they showed you nothing but cold indifference as they continued their tasks, completely unaffected by your desperate pleas.

Your feet bled from the constant pacing as your mind was utterly consumed with anxiety. The unknown and the terror of what was to come had driven you half mad with unease. All day you wept for how unfairly your life would end, never truly getting to live before your life was stripped from you. All night you didn’t dare get even a wink of sleep for fear one of the guards would slip into your chambers and finally put an end to you. Your mind had endlessly ran through every possibility of escape but it seemed just as impossible as it had before, if not more so. You weren’t sure if the isolation and fear was finally taking complete control but you were almost certain there were more guards surrounding the estate now then there had been prior to Capitano’s departure.

That night you sat on the floor of your chambers, hunched over your bed as you wept into the thick duvet for even a brief illusion of comfort. Your hands were clasped tightly together in prayer, crimson crescents marring your hands with the frantic devotion you called out to your Goddess. Sobbing into the bedsheets you called aloud for the Tsaritsa, beseeching her to take some mercy on her devoted follower and either return Capitano to you safely or offer you a quick and clean death and put an end to this torment for you couldn't bare another day of it.

For the first time in days and after hours of desperate cries for your goddess to extend you some of her benevolence, you slipped into an uneasy slumber, half expecting to wake up to a blade to your throat yet you had lost the will to endure. As the sun rose you were awoken by the distinct noise of the main doors slamming shut as heavy footsteps strode into the Grand Foyer. Breathlessly you rose to your feet, certain that the Tsaritsa had heard your prayed and returned your husband to you. You scrambled as fast as you could down the winding corridors, paying no mind to how your limbs were trembling with adrenaline or the rumpled nightclothes you were still dressed in. As you burst through the door you skidded to a halt on the polished marble floors. Instead of being greeted by Capitano’s open embrace, ready to sweep you into his arms now that you were finally reunited, your eyes instead landed upon the ninth harbinger who now stood just a few feet in front of you, his gloved hands clasped tightly behind his back as he gave you what appeared to be an attempt at a genuine smile. 

You froze. In your relief at the possibility of Capitano’s return you hadn’t even registered this as an outcome. You had only met Pantalone perhaps once before, at your wedding a few years prior. That had been the only day Capitano had permitted you to be around any of colleagues. What was already no doubt an uncomfortable event for all involved but the groom had only been exacerbated by the eccentric personalities seated in the audience. You had sobbed the entire way through the ceremony with two Fatui soldiers having to grip onto your arms and practically force you down the aisle. At the very least the 11th harbinger had the decency to look genuinely concerned as you were dragged down the aisle. You had half thought the man might attempt to put a stop to it but when the time came to ask for objections not one person came forward. After the ceremony you could also recall an interaction with the knave. Although the whole day had been a blur, you remembered that she briefly took you aside and sternly forced her handkerchief into your hand, refusing to take no for an answer. You wouldn’t exactly call the woman doting but whatever small sympathy the woman was capable of, it’s clear she had attempted to extend them to you. You had spent many nights after the ceremony thinking back on your interactions with all the harbingers, Pierro and Pulcinella’s cold indifference at the ceremony, Sandrone and Dottore’s impatience to leave as quickly as socially acceptable to return to whatever invention or experiment had currently caught their attention, the varying looks of pity you received from Tartaglia, Arlecchino and La Signora, the quiet smile on Columbina’s face and… the one harbinger you just couldn’t get a read on. Pantalone had turned to watch as you were forced down the aisle and his eyes had not left you once since. Even as the festivities had begun and Capitano had whirled your reluctant form across the crystalline ballroom of Zapolyarny Palace, his eyes didn’t once move from you. Now you were feet away from him and his eyes enclosed around you once more, fixated so wholly on you as though nothing else in the world could or would ever matter even remotely as much as you did in this moment.

Your breath hitched as he sauntered closer, removing his finely crafted leather gloves from his hands. You shut your eyes at once, although you could no longer see him, you could hear the clicks of his shoes echoing through the foyer and getting closer. Once he was but a few inches away from you, you tensed your shoulders to brace for impact but it never came. You couldn’t help but flinch as you felt both his hands clasp firmly down on your shoulders, holding you in place. After several seconds you finally allowed your eyes to flutter open. Pantalone’s eyes bored into yours as he tutted with what was likely an attempt to display sympathy but instead came off as patronising.

”Now now” he breathed out, his hands now began to rub up and down your shoulders in soothing motions “There’s no need to look so frightened” he exhaled, almost sounding amused.

”Where is Capitano?” you asked. You hardly recognised your own voice with how hoarse it had become from the past weeks of weeping.

”Shh shh shh” he muttered, his hands moving from your shoulders, up to your cheeks. He cupped your face affectionately as he spoke in a gentle tone as though afraid the slightest upset might frighten you off. With a deep sigh he began “I’m afraid Capitano is occupied… indefinitely. No matter how dearly I’m sure he would wish to see you, I’m afraid you won’t be reunited for a long time yet.”  He paused for a moment, his gaze darting across your face for any idea of your internal workings. His stare was bright and brilliant, even when hidden behind the glasses that sat firmly on the bridge of his nose. He made you feel exposed, as though every second under his stare he stripped away a little more of your walls. He left you feeling bare and cold, you wanted to shrink away from the ninth harbinger. He had told you what you needed to hear and now you wanted to sink back into the depths of the manor and await whatever fate had in store for you, as long as it was far away from him. After another moment of his assessment he seemed satisfied and continued

”It’s with a heavy heart that I bring the news that the mission to acquire the Pyro Archon’s gnosis was not successful” his tone was one of deep sorrow however you could see the tiniest ghost of a smirk dancing across his face as his attempted to maintain composure. “Of course I am delegating as much funding as financially possible to restore your husband however I’m afraid the damage was quite extensive, It’s unlikely that even with the unparalleled scientific minds in the Fatui that we will ever be able to return him to you.”

Once again your heart began to patter against your ribcage. If what Pantalone said was true then you truly were a liability. You cleared your throat and took a deep breath before you spoke, desperate to at least maintain a façade of dignity in the face of such dire circumstances

”Have you come here to kill me then?” You asked him. In response the harbingers eyebrows shot up almost comically, for the first time this morning he looked completely astounded.

”Kill you? Now why ever would I do that?” His hands were still planted firmly on your cheeks, his cool skin soothing on the heat on your cheeks as his thumb tenderly traced the tear tracks that were still emblazoned on your cheeks from your night of sorrowful prayer. He hummed contentedly before continuing, “admittedly there were a few of my colleagues that had suggested to wash our hands of you entirely and slip some arsenic in your food or simply have one of the soldiers stick a blade through your heart” He paused again, assessing you. He could almost feel your breath hitch as he inched slightly closer, his thumb now tracing idle patterns on your cheeks “don’t worry my dear, I shut down such discussions swiftly. I would never wish to have the blood of someone so lovely on my hands. No, that wouldn’t do at all” Now he let a full grin fall across his face. You believe he was attempting to make it comforting but instead it felt predatory, like a lion grinning down at a lamb. “My colleagues and I have thankfully come to a compromise. Although I’m certain you would never run and spill any secrets you may have learnt from your time in such close proximity to Capitano… unfortunately several of my fellow harbingers didn’t feel quite so confident in your loyalty.” One of his hands now reached to brush through your hair gently, his grin grew until he was baring all his teeth at you. Now he didn’t just feel like a lion, he looked like one too “For the foreseeable future you will be taking up residence at my estate. Please don’t fret my lady, I’ll ensure you are well looked after.” His watched you expectantly, as though he believed this to be wonderful news for you. You stared at him blankly. Last night you had prayed to the Tsaritsa for your husband returned home or death but it would appear she had managed to present you with a 3rd, much more terrifying option. Although he may not be quite as physically imposing as Capitano, he somehow made you feel much smaller. Every shared touch and exchanged glance with Pantalone felt intimate and expectant, every brief glance at your lips was a promise of something more to come, every tender caress a precursor for a carnal embrace. Even now he seemed half shocked you hadn’t jumped into his arms in glee at the news you would now be staying with him. Of course you were thankful that he had intervened on your behalf and given you another chance at life but a more animalistic and instinctual part of you as you stood here alone with Pantalone you almost would have preferred being left in this dark, reclusive manor to rot. Capitano took so much from you but he left you your dignity, your sense of personhood, despite his desire to take and take until there was nothing left, he had always strove to be selfless for your sake. With a man like Pantalone, even now with his grip on your face, deceptively light but the muscles in his fingers were tense, ready to clamp down the moment he deemed in necessary. From what little you knew of Pantalone from Capitano’s descriptions, he was the head of the Northland bank and had built himself an immeasurable amount of wealth. Did Pantalone know when you've taken too much from someone? Did he care?

Part of you wished to pry his hands off your cheeks and flat out refuse him, scream out that you want nothing to do with him and flee back to you bed chambers like a child but unfortunately the rational part of you took over, the part of you that was screaming at you to seize this last chance at life he was offering you and so when he extended his hand to you and whispered into your ear in a saccharine tone “Shall we?” You couldn’t help but accept.

Pantalone's POV:

The carriage ride back to his estate wasn't long but he had given his driver instructions to extend it for as long as possible. You seemed bewildered when he sat right by your side, thigh to thigh, instead of sitting across from you. His arms wrapped tightly around your shoulder, constricting you to his side like a serpent. You were sat close enough to his side that he could smell the saccharine smell that emanated from you.

Since the moment he first saw you he had known that there was no one else in the world for him but you. Every single night since he saw you, he couldn't sleep with the extremity of his yearning. It was indescribable agony to know that you were laying in the bed of the First harbinger. Innumerable priceless artefacts and artworks had been destroyed in his rage at the thought of you being by that undeserving wretches' side. Now having you so close after yearning and longing for countless years, it was a high unlike anything else. Feeling your skin against his, you were so close that he could almost feel your warm breath on his skin, it took every scrap of restraint in his body to not begin to ravage you the moment the carriage door shut.

He knew he could never challenge his fellow harbinger publicly, especially not one so revered as Capitano and he knew where his strengths lied. If it came down to a duel then there was a slim chance he would succeed.

However as he matured from a street urchin to the wealthiest man in Snezhnaya, he had learnt that if you cannot beat them at their own game then simply don't play it. It had taken several years of calling in favours, pulling countless strings and funding dozens of failed experiments and dead-end expeditions in order to convince his fellow harbingers that it would be best if Capitano faced the pyro archon alone.

Of course he didn't receive the news of Capitano's supposed immortality well but it doesn't matter that he is still breathing. He may as well be a corpse at this point. He's sure that by passing the funding for a few more of Dottore's experiments then he can convince him to put the matter of restoring Capitano's soul on the back burner.

He had come to terms with how risky this plan was the moment he first set it into place several years ago but he has formed his entire career on a succession of flawlessly executed gambles. His entire life he has been beating the odds and he's not going to stop now that the recently widowed object of his adoration and obsession sits a mere inch away, still draped in nothing but their thin night clothes.

He will admit that perhaps it was cruel to keep you waiting all those weeks, he should have come to collect you the moment the news reached him of Capitano's failure but when he saw the frantic, desperate look in your eyes as you burst into the room, he knew that he had made the right call. You weren't in the position to deny him anything now. He could finally rest easy knowing you were seated right in the palm of his hand, exactly where you belonged.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ Honey and Violetgrass

Pantalone with an innocent reader, who is an adventurer but strong in their own regard. Still gets spoiled by him. 

Tw: none, pure silly fluff. 

The richest man of Teyvat requires no introduction. He is a man of affluent taste, be it the most exquisite fashion to most daily commodities - his gaze sojourns only on the highest of qualities. He is the 9th of the Fatui Harbingers, after all, hence being the face of business and the Snezhnayan economy itself. Therefore, it is natural for the public to assume that his inclination in people is as wealthy as his spacious manor, correct? He is young, he is powerful and his looks are as influential as his status. If The Regrator has a significant other, surely they must be a dream partner, basked in expensive perfumes and working as a high-class model? 

So imagine the people’s bewilderment when Pantalone’s darling, who casually bursts into his office, is some adventurer…? A person of common status, with bruises adorning their knuckles from climbing and fighting the wildlife. And yet the moment you waltz into his office, whatever important business matter was at hand is now completely forgotten by the Harbinger. In fact, Pantalone’s whole exhibition of demeanor switches in an instant. 

“Oh, honey bunny! My little gem, you're finally back!” - Pantalone stood up from his desk, completely disregarding his Fatui subordinates who remained seated. With a concerned expression, he rushed to you and cupped your cheeks. “How was your expedition? You’re back later than usual… I was worried about you.” 

“Sorry! Just had a little mishap, but I am back.” - you replied with the brightest of smiles, your face beaming despite the scratches and messy hair locks. “Ah, I’m sorry, Pantalone. Did I interrupt a business meeting?” 

The Regrator froze and ceased his check-up. He remembered that some of his business associates were still in the office. He glanced at them, then glanced back at you. 

“Oh, sweetie, nonsense!” - The Harbinger let out a haughty laugh and clasped his hands together. All it took was a single stern look towards his subordinates to convey: ‘This meeting is over. Leave.’ 

The poor associates were left to their confusion, as they were silently dismissed. Now all alone in his office, your dear Harbinger helped you brush the dust of your clothes, gently sliding your coat out of your smaller form. “Where were you anyway, dear?”   

“So I was on my way to find something… But I stumbled upon a Pyro Abyss mage!” 

“Oh!” - Pantalone’s face contorted into concern behind his glasses.

“But don’t worry, because the abyss mage was stuck on a rock in the middle of a lake. They couldn’t attack me, so instead I helped the abyss mage cross the lake without drowning.” 

“Oh,” - Now the man smiled, relieved at your kind gesture towards the most boorish creatures. 

“But the abyss mage got so scared when I carried him out of the lake that a massive Lawachurl heard us and came to attack!” 

“Oh!” - that look of panic was back. 

“Turns out there was a small camp of hilichurls nearby… So I tried to convince them I meant no harm. I guess they saw what I did, and didn’t attack me.” 

“Oh…” 

“Instead I asked them to take me to the top of a cliff and help me gather some local herbs! And they surprisingly understood because that’s what we did!” 

Silence. In the past few minutes that you conveyed your story, the 9th’s face changed into an array of emotional rollercoasters. The man adjusted his glasses, and wrapped his arms around you: 

“Dear, my honey, my little heart. You know I love you but please don’t make me have a heart attack…! You must exercise caution when you’re out there exploring the wild. And on high terrain cliffs?! Just what was so important that you had to ask some… brutish hilichurls to help you?” 

You smiled at him - that bright and sunny little smile that erased any of his trouble and melted the Harbinger’s heart. You pulled out of his warm embrace, reaching somewhere in your bag to bring something carefully wrapped in cloth. You held it close and unwrapped it before Pantalone. 

“Fresh Violetgrass, Pantalone. I know they are your favorite, but you hate store-bought ones. They’re hard to acquire since they only grow on high-rise cliffs in Jueyun Karst… So it took me a while to hike and find them. Sorry to make you wait.” 

You clarified delicately, standing there with your vibrant batch of Violentgrass, as if afraid that Pantalone might scold you for such a reckless expedition. But how could he be mad at you? How could he do anything but melt and be flustered at your adorable disposition? His little dear, so bravely hiking all the way to Liyue just to get his favorite flora as a gift? 

“O-oh, dear my. All this, just to bring it to me?” - The Regrator gasped, his arms instantly reaching to embrace you as if you were his favorite plush, smothering you with tight squeezes. “My honey bunny, you shouldn’t! These flowers look precious in full bloom; as precious as you.” 

“Ah! Pantalone, you’ll squish me… And the flowers.”  

Thus, the lovely Violetgrass flowers were now rightfully placed in a vase back home. Their purple petals emit a fragrant aroma throughout the bedroom where you and Pantalone now rest. That’s how your relationship with The Regrator was; the richest man of Teyvat who could easily buy the entire world with a single glance, was actually the one swooning over your innocent yet loving gestures. Maybe it was your sincerity, or perhaps your adventurous nature. Nonetheless, that didn’t stop the Harbinger from sitting all day and daydreaming of your experienced arms carrying him bridal style. Even if he was technically taller than you, you possessed some lovely muscles from your years of adventuring. And they certainly enticed him further. 

Most amusingly, you’d know he’s having those silly little thoughts whenever he sat silently with an endearing grin on his face. You stepped out of the bathroom, refreshed and dressed in comfortable loungewear. So you decided to ask him: “Hm? What’re you thinking about?”

“Nothing important, my dear.” - he chuckled, beckoning you to hop into bed with him for some well-earned cuddles. “Just thinking about how your arms would look gorgeous while carrying me. And I’ll instead spoil you with anything you want in the world as a reward.” 

You bury yourself against his lean chest and mumble with a smile “You want me to carry you like a princess?” 

“Anyway you deem fit - and you’ll have me at your feet, my sweet. Say, how should I reward you for your gift today? Should we go on a shopping spree? I’ll commission the best tailors of Snezhnaya to sew all the garments you dream of. Oh, or perhaps I should spoil you with newly bought cosmetics?” 

Pantalone mused to himself, all while caressing your hair. You shook your head: “No, no. You know I don’t like when you spoil me too much. I feel guilty when you spend money on me. Besides, I’ve got everything I want.”

“Don’t be too humble, my dear. If you asked me to bathe you in a honeyed milk bath and drape you with silk, you know I’d drop every Mora to do so in an instance.” - he kissed the top of your head and whispered in your ear. “Unless you wish me to bathe with you in such sweet waters, instead.” 

Pantalone expected a reaction, but instead, you quickly asked him: “Put your glasses away for a moment, please.” 

He obliged, “...Yes? -Ah!” 

Your response was slapping him with a pillow across his face. At least you were considerate with his glasses. 

“Preposterous. Can't a man feel proud at the prospect of spoiling his beloved with luxuries?”

“Pantaloons, I warn you.” - you said threateningly, though your act of bravery looked more endearing as you clutched the pillows for another attack. 

Pantalone furrowed his eyebrow “Don't start me with those nicknames, honey.”

You grinned “... Pantyhose.”

“Dear.”

“Mr… Panties.”

“That's it, you come here!” 

Not heeding his warning, the man enveloped you in ticklish embraces so you wouldn't escape. Your giggles of help and mercy were left unheard as you were pinned to the soft batch of pillows. His lips sought your own to silence those ridiculous nicknames that kept testing his patience. And undoubtedly, your kisses tasted sweeter than honey and violetgrass. 

A small illustration for this fic is here! I don't know how else to portray 'reader' without it looking awkward, so instead I drew the Traveler in it. Hope no one minds!

[madamemachikonew]

Chapter 46 of my Pants x Fem Reader SLOW BURN long fic, The Serpent.

Pantalone visits the House of the Hearth

(A/N contains spoilers of Arlecchino's Story Quest)

Overall rating 'Mature' for now (because no smut yet but there will be eventually)

[m1d-45]

a temple to the seas

summary: as dottore's assistant, you run into a variety of creatures. however, this one seems a little too human for your taste...

word count: ~3.4k

-> warnings: major dehumanizing language and behavior (towards character, temporarily by reader), minor mention of a (presumed to be) dead body, mentions + minor depiction of blood, titles of two harbingers not shown in game (written pre-natlan), some sort of weird power dynamic going on but neither of them are winning

-> gn reader (you/yours)

tag list: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

dottore worked with a myriad of strange and wondrous creatures, both with and without natural origin. on the tamer side of things, you’ve been called in to inspect slimes with weak or nonexistent elemental charge, a crystalfly with six wings, and a strangely docile lawachurl. on the other end, you had to tear apart ancient ruin machinery, pistons firing to grind moss-covered gears against each other. you’ve even fixed up your fair share of segments, one of the few entrusted with their delicate circuitry. hubristically, you thought you’d seen it all, because what could surprise you more than the blue heart of an abyss lector placed in your hands?

you flash your keycard in front of the reader beside a thick steel door, the hallway light creeping along the floor as it slides open. the room is dark, with a large cloth covering the back half. it’s roughly taped up, with dark… mystery liquid bleeding out from the bottom. it’s surprisingly empty, with neither person nor furniture to keep you company. you’re left with a covered cart, the tools strapped to your sides, and the paper in your hands. your target is behind the curtain, it seems.

you don’t think too hard about it, instead pulling the cloth off the cart and messily pushing it through the handle on one side to keep it off the floor. the door shuts and plunges the room into darkness, so you take a small penlight from your pocket and tuck it behind your ear, reading the paper on the board.

you’re to study a specimen from the sea, strangely. the doctor usually kept his study to terrestrial creatures, an observation already noted on the page. a fishing party had reported something strange in the water, which had only turned into a concern once it had attacked one of the fatui’s ships. commoners were able to sail through the area fine, even in small fishing dinghies, but it chose to specifically attack the ship sent for negotiations with mondstadt. il capitano had expended several dozen squads retrieving both the mora lost and the beast itself, which was wounded by the ship’s anchor and made for a fierce capture, blah blah blah. you couldn’t care less about the details. instead, you skip to your short list of duties at the bottom: repair the enclosure, determine the intelligence of whatever you’ve caught, and establish a line of communication if sufficiently advanced.

you’re not sure why they think you’ll be able to talk with whatever’s in there, but that’s a problem for later. you take stock of what you were left, searching in the thin beam of your penlight and squinting through the light reflected off the steel cart. the lights haven’t turned on yet, so they must have either been manually set to off or damaged when the subject was brought in. not including your pen, the only light is from the card reader behind you and what slips through between the cloth and the walls, both a pale blue that do little to illuminate the room at large. you give up on the cart and scan the walls for the light switch, finding it closer to the door than normal. thankfully, it was just set to off, but the lights flicker when you turn them on. you click off your penlight, looking up at them oddly. why would they be flickering?

having apparently given its answer to your unspoken question, the cloth trembles with a dull thud. the liquid at the bottom spreads out a bit further, looking clear now that the lights are on. your instinct says it’s water, but it could just as easily be alcohol or gasoline. the cloth itself is already dark, so it’s hard to tell how much of it is soaked.

then again, it is a supposed sea monster, right? it makes sense that it would be held in a tank, but the water spilling doesn’t reflect the loudness of the thud. if it had rammed the glass, then the water splashing over would have been visible as it hit the cloth. on the other hand, you were told to repair the enclosure, so-

another thud, louder, the water spreading out in another surge. you quickly discard your train of thought, tucking away your pen and checking over the cart with much more ease. there’s a first-aid kit, silicone sealant, and a roll of thick, clear tape that you grab. it’s a temporary fix, but you need to get a grasp on the situation before you can decide on a proper course of action. you push the tape into the large pocket of your lab coat, freeing both of your hands to grab the cloth over the mystery tank. you pull, quickly yanking it off and letting it drop. it doesn’t feel soaked yet, so it can hopefully absorb some of the water on the floor.

the tank itself is… boring. the water is murky, a tumultuous mess of air bubbles and thick black strings of something. chains? no, then it wouldn’t have been able to hit the glass. you wouldn’t be surprised if it had broken the chains, however, as the cracks spiderwebbed through the glass are alarmingly thick. you unspool some of the tape, sticking strips over the sections where the cracks intersect. water still drips through, but at a far slower pace. it’ll do for now.

as you patch up the glass, the water slowly begins to settle. sediment falls to the bottom, and you can’t tell if the shine is natural or because it’s reflecting the light streaming through from the ceiling. the tank is still dark, though, a deep fog covering the back half. there should be lights all the way to the far wall, so they’re likely damaged.

as if it heard your thoughts—were you superstitious, you’d be worried by now—one of the lights on the near side breaks with a shatter, glass and sparks falling into the tank below. you step away, moving well out of range of the puddle on the floor despite the minuscule charge. the other light breaks in a similar fashion, though this time you catch something small and dark being flung at it. you bring out your penlight again, crouching beside the glass to catch a glimpse of whatever it is. you’re expecting a link of the chain-like structure you saw before, maybe a rock or shell, so of course it’s none of those things. there, at the bottom of the tank, is a single coin of mora. it shines as innocently as the glass slowly sinking around it, oblivious to the gears turning in your mind.

you can’t believe that a sea creature would have want for terrestrial money, but you can believe that it’s attracted to the glimmer. it’s smart enough to use one of the smaller coins, though you’re not sure if that’s to make it harder to see as it flies or if it knows its value. you don’t hold your breath about it. if squid can open jars and slimes can plan ambushes for their prey, you don’t expect anything impressive from whatever this thing is.

the glass and mora are still there, so it didn’t care about either enough to actually grab it. it’s either waiting for you to back off, dislikes the light, or both. you stand, making your way back to the cart. you trade your tape for the proper sealant, scribbling a small note about your findings on the second, blank page on the clipboard. you reread the original file, this time catching that a non-insignificant amount of mora was missing from the wreckage. it was packed in sealed bags, so it wasn’t as if it was carried away by the tide. your mystery friend was in possession of ten thousand mora, give or take, a fact you tuck away for later. there’s plenty of scrap metal to be found around the lab, which can potentially be used as bribes if your theory proves correct.

the tank thuds again, and you turn quickly. you’re only able to catch a glimpse of black retreating into the fog, though, the flash of scales a microscopic indication of what you’re dealing with. plenty of sea creatures have scales, though this eliminates most of the ones with tentacles. scales, with enough force to crack the glass of its tank. what are the chances it’s just a particularly aggressive shark?

none, of course—capitano’s squadron’s could likely take down a shark one-handed and half-blind—but it’s fun to play pretend.

you approach the tank, pulling the tape from the bigger leaks and put it over the thinner cracks instead. silicone is scraped over the main breaks, the excess smeared to the edge of the tape. you peer into the tank as best as you can, but it’s too dark to see anything. even with the broken lighting, what does get through isn’t diffusing naturally. the darkness seems to swirl, collecting the dirt off the floor-…

the mora’s gone. so is the glass. you stare at the place they used to be, briefly lost in the sight of the concrete flooring. you hadn’t noticed any movement, so it was either masked by fog or a sufficiently slow creep. both? the ‘mist’ inside seems to ripple and flutter with invisible currents, never parting to let anything through.

another coin of mora shoots through the veil, hitting a weak spot dead-on and pushing the cracks higher through the glass. you’re starting to suspect the thing can read your thoughts… or it can just use whatever brain is left to know that you’re watching. what’s gotten into you?

you shake it off, pushing sealant into the new fracture. some of them spread too high for you to reach without a stool, though they’re fairly thin. you’ve been pretty lucky, not having to put yourself in a vulnerable position yet—unless, if you step back, it was intentional? you’re only halfway across the tank, but you take a break to do just that, actually taking in the patterns of the rifts instead of logging them as another problem to be solved.

the room is fairly tall, though the tank doesn’t stretch all the way to the top. you can only reach about three quarters of the way to the top of the glass, and there’s a sizable space of air above the tank. instead of focusing at the top and trying to widen that opening, the damage is nearly entirely in the bottom third. everything that reaches higher are hairline, not intended to spread that high. whatever it is, it wants to flood the room, enough that it’s prioritizing that over escape.

definitely smarter than a squid.

you approach your cart to make note of your realization, using your penlight to write. you angle yourself so you can barely see the tank out of the corner of your eye, sketching a rough diagram of the room and marking where the major breaks are. like last time, the water begins to twist, the mist receding from the glass. you draw random shapes on the side of your paper to stall, interspersed with writing-like loops in case it’s somehow able to understand the difference. the sides of the mist curl in, forming a bubble in the middle. it swells, rushing forward, and you quickly flick on your light and point it toward the tank.

your light is weak, obviously. it’s a pen, a focused beam meant to fit in tight spaces and illuminate them efficiently. it’s dispersed somewhat by the distance, glass, and water, but you know what you see no matter how unclear. a large, glittering tail lashes forward, wrapped in heavy gray chain and dense fog. it’s yanked back as quick as it came, but you’re no fool. the weight of the ship’s anchor hitting the glass makes another low thud, barely-there crackles heralding new fissures. it was softer this time, likely thrown off from your light.

smart enough to use tools. scaled. deep-dwelling, or otherwise nocturnal. you don’t know much about the sea, but that doesn’t seem to add up into anything remotely normal. sea lions don’t have scales, neither do dolphins, whales, or squid, and none of fontaine’s aberrants could survive either the cold or the salt. snowstriders are large, but they’re naturally a bright white. whatever you have, it’s an anomaly.

you shouldn’t be so surprised. since when did the doctor deal in the mundane?

you leave the rest of the tank’s cracks as is, instead picking through the lower level of the cart. there’s a small slate and marker, a larger light, some gloves, and a bunch of other stuff you don’t bother with. you tuck the slate under your arm and put the marker with your pen, pulling off the large light and a battery pack. it’s heavy, but you manage. the water agitates when you set it by the tank, as close as you can without risking water damage. it should be water resistant, but you’re not about to test that theory and get yourself in trouble.

the thing must have an idea of what you’re doing. it also must not be native to too deep waters, or else it’d be blind. but if it was in the shallows, how did it manage to grow so large without ever being seen?

you insert the battery, hovering your hand over the knob. there’s no telling if it’ll get aggressive in the light, so you prime yourself to run just in case. you look up into the dark fog of the tank, twisting the light to full power.

your first, horrific thought is that it’s somehow brought a corpse into the lab. sure, the fatui aren’t exactly known for their top care of fallen soldiers, but surely it would have been separated from one before being put in its tank. the body is half-hidden behind a mass of scales, a deep violet that shines despite the fog—which itself isn’t fog. you’re not sure how or why, but it’s shifted from black to brown, clearly just dirt constantly kept in motion. your light cuts through it easily as it begins to settle, the tail shifting to hide the body. you can’t see a head yet, is it an eel of some kind?

and then you understand. the body’s shoulder moves, led by a black hand. dark ink stretches up their forearm like an infection, leaving behind claws instead of nails. it reaches down, behind the wrap of scales, and flicks another coin at the glass with far too much strength to be puppetted.

that’s its body*.* you physically recoil from the realization, hand tightening on the light and dimming it a little more in the process. black scales shine purple as it approaches, ripped and jagged fins twitching and sweeping the dirt away from impossibly far off. still likely an elemental, you think dully, watching as it approaches. another coin of mora flashes between two long claws and flicks towards you quick enough to leave a small trail of vacuum bubbles behind it. it hits the glass with a sharp click, right over the light.

you know what it wants. you’re still reeling from the idea that something can look so human when deep beneath the sea, struggling to fit its silhouette together in your mind, but you can still think properly. the dirt continues to sink, revealing more paper-thin fins shredded by the anchor’s chain. the floor is marred from thousands of claw marks, though you can’t see the full extent of the damage. its curled up over the well, wrapped tightly in its tail. all you can see are purple scales and lavender fins, waving gently in the water. if you’d seen a picture of it like this, you’d only assume it was a strangely large eel that had been unlucky enough to wander into the wrong side of a harbor.

but you knew better. the scales shift and a dark claw sticks out, another mora flung towards you. it hits with more force than last time.

you don’t know what to do. it’s hurt, obviously; dark blood seeps from between every scale, whether because of the anchor or the torn fins or something else you can’t see. you’re surprised it was able to whip the anchor as fast as it did. with how dark and blurry everything is, you can’t help but wonder if blood was a substantial part of the mist you saw before. not many morals last long under the doctor’s instruction, but you don’t like seeing it recoil from the light. maybe it’s another hallucination, maybe it’s pulling on your neurons to make you do what it wants, but the end result is the same.

against your better judgement, you lower the light just slightly, keeping your hand on it in case things turn south. the monster’s tail slowly unwinds, revealing more of the body within. their skin is bluish, with dark streaks across the ribs. you watch in a daze as it crawls forward, finally coming face to face with the monster in the tank.

it looks painfully human. bright yellow eyes, the same color as the mora it not-so-discreetly swipes off the floor, surrounded by a cloud of black hair. you could almost fool yourself into thinking its a free diver, a particularly foolish one who left his wetsuit on the shore and was slowly succumbing to hypothermia. blackish gills flutter along his neck and ribs, your hand unthinkingly turning off the light when its scales press against the glass. he seems perfectly human from the waist up.

and then it hisses at you. his lips pull back over layers of shark-like fangs, your hand alarmingly twisting forward instead of back with the rest of your body. the knob clicks under your fingers, the light entirely turning off, and the thing has the gall to look proud.

right. dangerous sea-thing that risked its life to try and flood the lab. you’re usually better under pressure than this, but to be fair you usually don’t deal with subjects that can maybe-probably read your mind.

you pull yourself together, pulling the cap off your marker and writing a simple question across the slate in your neatest handwriting. your hand is strangely shaky. when you’re done, you turn it towards the glass.

‘can you read common?’

his eyes flick first to the slate, and then to yours, his hair shifting in an invisible current. it parts enough that you can see his ears have elongated into spiny ruffs, each flared out wide. you don’t know what that means. you go to write as such on the board, and a sharp click draws your attention. he waves at the slate, then nods.

what was his previous reaction, then? if he understood that nodding was an agreement, then why not do that to begin with? if you mapped the movement of his ears onto another animal, would it be a stretch to interpret it as annoyance? could he be offended you thought he couldn’t read?

another coin shoots toward your face, the click startling you out of your thoughts. you blink, and he waves to your board again, with more emphasis. was he used to this style of questioning, then? you’ll have to ask the segment who was in charge of him prior about what they did.

‘what’s 2 + 2?’

how many times have you been shot at since you’ve come in here? you should start a tally.

you continue with basic questions, slowly increasing their difficulty. he looks almost bored through all of them, laying over his tail. you can never see further than his waist, irritatingly, and he keeps summoning more mist when you aren’t looking to further fog the transition. you’re tempted to go get your clipboard, but figure that’ll break whatever rapport you’ve built up. he’s not aggressive anymore, so you’ll settle for sneaking glances at the patterns of his fins.

‘do you know the name snezhnaya?’

he’s rather fond of giving you looks you’d dare to call condescending, your only answer coming in irritated ruffles of his spines until he gets tired of waiting and nods again. you somewhat wish you could give him a slate to write on himself, but he could easily break it into dangerous shards. not that it would matter much, considering his claws…

he clicks two fingers together in an unmistakable snap, and though the snap is lost in the water you know you’ve been caught. you quickly write down some random question about the capital to distract him, but it doesn’t work. his teeth flash in the light, though it seems to be more of a smile than a jeer. his shoulders bob, unnatural fangs gleam beneath a sharp cupid’s bow, and you’re not sure when he stopped being an eel and started becoming a person.