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autumnywinter · 3 days

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Under His Thumb - Yandere!Pantalone x Reader

The urge to write this bastard man overtook me. Kinda modern au? It's hard for me to write in Genshin's universe. Reader is gender neutral, but does wear skirts/dresses.

This is NSFW. MDNI!

Tags: NSFW, dehumanization, pet kink, yandere, gender neutral reader, AFAB reader, abusive power dynamics

Working for Pantalone was the worst. It was one thing to be another Fatui member or an accountant at Northland Bank, but you were much more intimate on the daily with your boss, all because you were his personal assistant. The role meant you were always around, and often, Pantalone would take you along on his meetings, business trips and trips overseas.

As creepy as your boss was, you did feel a little lucky. There were always worse options after all, like being Dottore's personal assistant. Just the thought made you shudder. At least Pantalone, in some regards, could be kind... somewhat.

Pantalone liked to be in charge, and so he kept you on a very tight leash. He wouldn't even let you walk more than a few feet away from him at any given time when out in public, and was usually glued to your side, his hand holding your waist, or guiding you with a hand on the small of your back. You supposed it was mostly to keep others away, and as possessive as it was, at least it meant Pantalone didn't try anything funny with you.

The man was unbearably wealthy, and looked the part. He had his own tailor and stylists, so you were often shopping with him when he needed new clothing. He'd always get you outfits that ranged from sophisticated to revealing.

"My dear, come out and let me see you," Pantalone said.

You were in a private room of the store, getting changed into new clothes. You took a deep breath, and walked out. It was long and doused in jewels, accentuating your curves. A long slit ran up one leg, giving a nice view of your thigh.

"Perfect. Come here."

You walked over to where your boss was sitting. He didn't hesitate to put his hands on you, feeling up your body. You closed your eyes and grit your teeth. Pantalone was your boss, and although he didn't force you, it wasn't as if you could refuse him either. You couldn't complain.

"You're so beautiful, my dear. This color really compliments you," Pantalone said. Despite his words constantly switching from nonchalant, to threatening, to flirtatious, he always had his same calm expression and tone. Now was no exception. Pantalone dragged his fingers down the slit on the dress, watching his hand slowly reach up your thigh.

You tried your best to not react to his touch, but Pantalone's hand soon reached the apex of your thighs, and he felt you through the dress.

"Oh?" He sounded surprised. "Were you excited by dressing up for me? That's very unprofessional, Y/n." His tone bordered on teasing. It had to be, since he'd be the biggest hypocrite to scold you on professionalism.

"Sorry, sir," was all you could mumble. Pantalone removed his hand, and you took a step back.

"That's enough, we'll be taking this one. Have it wrapped for me," Pantalone told the shop assistant.

You breathed a sigh of relief as the shop assistant helped you change back into your clothes. When you left the room, Pantalone had already paid for the dress, and was waiting for you at the entrance. You trailed behind him as you always did, trying to keep your distance, but not too far where he'd need to reel you back in.

Pantalone walked you both to the limo, and a Fatui guard helped pack up the few other items he purchased today. When you got into the car, Pantalone's hand was immediately on your thigh, and you tensed.

"Sir, not in the car, please," you whispered.

"Then keep quiet."

And you did just that. Pantalone slipped his hand up your skirt, feeling his way to your panties. He pushed them aside, and his fingers started exploring your folds, prodding around for your clit. He didn't have much room to work with, and yet you felt him run circles around your clit. You closed your eyes, trying to find comfort in the leather seat beneath you.

"Spread your legs a little for me," Pantalone whispered. You complied, and you felt him slowly insert a finger inside of you. The position was uncomfortable, but Pantalone's fingers were long and boney, and were able to hit your sensitive spots like nothing else.

Pantalone did not try to be gentle either, and was thrusting his fingers inside of you, curling them and fucking you with them. His other hand was still on your thigh, occasionally gripping it whenever you'd accidentally buck your hips from pleasure. You felt shameful as you continued to allow him to touch you.

You came embarrassingly fast. Your boss tutted. "That didn't take very long, Y/n." He pulled his fingers out of you, and looked at the juices dripping from them. He held his fingers up to your lips. "Open." You took his fingers into your mouth, closing your lips around them and sucking. You tasted yourself, and Pantalone hummed in approval. "Good job." He removed his fingers from your mouth, and put them in his own, cleaning off any traces of your fluids.

The limo finally arrived back at his office in Snezhnaya. Pantalone stepped out first, and you followed. You couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious. Although it was discreet, there was still a wet spot on your skirt.

When you both entered his office, he closed the door behind you.

"On the desk," Pantalone said.

You shivered at his tone. You made your way to his desk, and hopped up on top of it, spreading your legs and hiking up your skirt to give him full access. Pantalone walked towards you, his demeanor cold as ice, yet the lust in his eyes was unmistakable. He rubbed his clothed crotch against you. You felt his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants.

"Undress me."

Of course you were quick to oblige, reaching down and undoing his belt, then his pants. You pulled out his cock, and gave it a few pumps. Pantalone grabbed your wrist.

"Patience, dear, we have plenty of time." He bent you over his desk, pushing some paperwork out of the way, and spreading your legs further apart. You heard him fumbling around in his drawer, then the familiar pop of a bottle of lube opening. Soon his cock was lining up with your hole, and he rubbed it up and down, teasing you. Then he pushed inside you.

Pantalone started with a slow rhythm, but before long he was fucking into you relentlessly. His grip on your waist was bruising, and every few thrusts he would slam inside of you.

"Archons, you're always so tight, Y/n."

His cock brushed your cervix with every thrust, and you were reduced to a moaning mess. You gripped the edge of the desk for support, and he leaned over you, his chest pressed against your back. Pantalone was breathing heavily, and was mumbling things under his breath. You could make out the words 'perfect' and 'mine'. It was his usual spiel, something you never questioned.

Pantalone moved a hand to your breast, and groped it through the fabric of your shirt. You moaned, and he started nipping at the back of your neck, leaving a trail of bite marks that would definitely show tomorrow. His thrusts were starting to grow sloppy, and you knew he was close. You were too.

You came first, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips. Pantalone cursed, and shortly after you felt his hot cum fill you up. He stopped thrusting, but didn't pull out. You felt him still pulsing inside of you, and he was breathing heavily. You allowed yourself to relax underneath him, and you could feel his heart beating through his chest, pressed against your back.

"My darling Y/n," he mumbled. "So good for me." Pantalone was rubbing his hands all over you, almost as if he was trying to calm himself. You were nearly drifting off, but suddenly he was pulling out of you, and you could feel his seed dripping from your hole and down your thighs.

Pantalone quickly fumbled with his pants, zipping them up, then turned you around and laid you on your back on his desk. You looked up at him, dazed.

"So pretty," he muttered. He pursed his lips together. "Every day it gets a little harder to resist." Pantalone was running his fingers up and down your sides. You watched him curiously as he seemed to be deliberating something. Then he dipped down, and caught your lips in a kiss.

It wasn't the first time Pantalone had kissed you, but it wasn't as possessive as it usually was. It was gentle, and almost loving. Your lips moved against his slowly, and you could feel him running a hand through your hair. When he pulled away, you stared at him in shock. Pantalone tilted his head, staring back at you with the same gaze as always.

"I think it's time."

You blinked. "Time for what?"

He smiled softly, and pushed a strand of hair away from your face. "Do you know how frustrating it is to have you so close yet so far from me? To have you be mine in all but name?"

You frowned, your mind slowly piecing things together. "Are you referring to... marriage?"

Pantalone's smile widened. "I want that, yes, but that wasn't exactly what I meant. I want you to simply be more than my personal assistant. I want you to live with me, I want to wake up to you by my side. I wouldn't rush you into marriage right away. You still need to adapt to my lifestyle before anything of that sort is necessary."

The way he brought up the conversation sounded like he was miraculously asking for your consent, but you were quick to realize his kindness was just a show. You heard a click around your neck. It was hard to look down and see what it was, but it felt padded and too large to be one of the many necklaces he had bought you before.

It was a collar.

Your breath hitched in your throat and you were suddenly filled with panic. "Sir... Pantalone..." you stammered. "This is--"

"Dottore helped me make this, although I designed it myself." Pantalone dragged his thumb over the elegant engravings of the collar. "You look quite lovely in it. There's a tracker in here at all times, and if you try to take it off, or step out of range of the tracker, it will send a high voltage electric shock. I'm not cruel, so the shock won't seriously hurt you. But it's enough to incapacitate you. I'd be willing to give you freedom if you wore this at all times."

"Why?" you choked out.

Pantalone raised a brow. "Why? Don't ask such silly questions. I want you to stay safe, and with me." He stepped in closer to you, his eyes wide and the edge of his lips twitching. "It's already taking all my self-control not to drag you to my bedroom and lock you in there. And you'd be able to live out the rest of your days in comfort, surrounded by luxury. But I doubt that's what you want, is it?"

"No," you rasped. You didn't notice how your whole body was shaking.

"As expected. So this is the next best option," Pantalone responded. "But if you'd prefer a third option, I have a lovely cage I can put in my office. It has plenty of room for you to stretch your legs." You looked horrified. "What's with that expression, hm? You're already my pet. You've been my pet for a while now."

His words made your skin crawl. You had overheard a few people referring to you as "Regrator's prized pet". You always dismissed the comments, since they were untrue in your mind. You were Pantalone's personal assistant, and if he got his kicks from using you in an intimate way, that was part of the job too. But this was different. This was dehumanzing in the worst way.

"Of course," Pantalone said, interrupting your thoughts, "it doesn't need to be this way forever. I just need to ensure your loyalty to me."

"How can I be loyal if you're forcing me to?" you snapped.

"Forcing?" Pantalone feigned offense. "Am I not giving you a choice? I believe I've given you multiple. Would you prefer if I passed you down to Dottore? I'm sure he'd love a new experiment. He could make you much more willing, I'm sure."

You tried your best not to grimace. Dottore had the reputation of being the most sadistic Harbinger, and the thought of having to work for him was mortifying.

Pantalone watched as your expression twisted. He smiled again, a ghost of one, and his eyes crinkled slightly. "My dear Y/n, it doesn't need to be so negative. You are mine, yes, but I take care of what is mine. I only want to keep you safe. Nothing will hurt you if you're by my side." He gently rubbed your cheek with his gloved fingers, and you closed your eyes. You tried not to let yourself be fooled by his gentle demeanor.

There was no escaping a man with his power and wealth. It didn't matter what you chose. Pantalone was always going to find a way to get you under his thumb, one way or another. But at least you had some say in this.

"I'll wear the collar."

"I'm glad that's been settled. I'd be more than happy to house you in my room, but I'm patient." He bent down to kiss you again. "I love you, Y/n." I own you.

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bloodblanks · 2 days

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the cadence within [il dottore x reader] — chapter i.

As the daughter of a moderately wealthy businessman, you lived a comfortable but solitary life. You never thought to leave your peaceful refuge, not until one of your father’s associates—who was also your only friend—made an unexpectedly tempting offer.

co-written with noodsies, however, they’re shy and wish to stay anonymous! ♡

author's note: this fanfiction will contain mature content, including explicit sexual acts, violence, dottore himself, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

Power presents itself in many different forms. Most often, those with power are thought to possess strength, intelligence, wealth, or status. However, you were not exceptionally talented in any of the above. Instead, you found yourself gifted with something much less conventional—charisma.

—

“Pantalone!” You opened the door, beaming at the raven haired man who stood before you. “Lovely seeing you here today.” You stepped back and held the door for him.

“Y/N,” Pantalone returned the smile, thick eyelashes fluttering as his eyes crinkled with joy. “The pleasure is all mine.”

He walked inside before pausing, waiting for you to push the dense mahogany door into place, making sure it locked shut. Your home was in a rather secluded location where few people passed by—much less dare intrude. Secrecy was invaluable to all of your father’s guests.

“Unfortunately,” you began, “my father is running late today, which I apologize for. But please do come in and make yourself comfortable in the meantime.”

Your father was a busy man with a full schedule, one he went out of his way to readjust for the impromptu meeting request. It would have been unreasonable to expect perfect punctuality, and the apology wasn’t necessary.

Still, you had one job, and it was to be nice.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Pantalone replied. “Your generous hospitality more than compensates for it.”

While being cordial was more of a chore with the often unpleasant and impatient businessmen your father associated with, you found Pantalone’s company an effortless task.

You weren’t sure of the exact reasons behind it, but your home was often used as a place for meetings and negotiations relating to your father’s work. You weren’t present for the discussions themselves, but you did greet and welcome every guest—something your dad was not fond of doing himself.

For someone who worked a job where conversation was important, talking was not one of your father’s strengths. Though he managed just fine when it came to business, small talk and pleasantries were burdensome activities for him, which is why you handled them instead.

It wasn’t like you particularly enjoyed talking about the weather which never deviated from cold, or listening to middle aged men complain about joint pain, but you disliked it significantly less than your dad did. If anything, you had a tendency to avoid matters of actual significance, preferring your meaningless exchanges over accountability.

Pantalone was just another one of your father’s many associates, but he visibly stood out from the rest. You didn’t know much about them, but you were confident that everyone you’ve greeted was in some way or another, a powerful dignitary.

But they were no Harbinger.

That fact alone was enough to separate Pantalone from every other person you’ve ever interacted with throughout your approximately two decades of lifespan. You didn’t know for sure, but you knew well enough that his wealth and power surpassed that of all your father’s clientele combined.

But that wasn’t what truly made him different.

Pantalone was a striking contrast to your father’s other associate; not just because he was a Harbinger, but rather he was the sole person you could consider a friend.

You hadn’t bothered making new friends after moving to Snezhnaya. There wasn’t any particular reason for it. Although confidentiality could qualify, you found yourself either occupied with your own hobbies or keeping your father company when he was actually home and not busy with work. Anything you desired was delivered directly to your residence, so you had no need to venture into the city and make small talk with the shopkeepers.

This meant your interactions were limited to your father and his associates, all of whom were as pruned and grey as him. The only exception was Pantalone, and though you didn’t know exactly how old he was—it would be rude to ask—he didn’t seem significantly older than you, both in appearance and mannerisms. At the very least, he didn’t possess the wrinkles and bitterness the others did.

At some point, you began looking forward to your interactions, which both preceded and succeeded Pantalone’s business meetings with your dad. While you still maintained an air of professionalism with you, your amity went beyond mere pleasantries.

As you led him down the wide hallways and cavernous rooms, you couldn’t help but ask the question that had been nagging at you since yesterday.

“Pantalone,” you broke the silence, “may I ask a question?”

“Of course, dear,” he replied.

“Today’s a Monday,” you stated, “and you were just here last Tuesday.” For as long as you remembered, Pantalone had a very specific schedule. Once every other week, every Tuesday, he’d visit. As far as you knew, never had he strayed from that schedule—not until now.

“Ah, as observant as ever, Y/N,” Pantalone remarked.

“And on such short notice too...” you continued, letting your words trail off before asking him directly, “Is something the matter?”

You stopped in front of your father’s study, turning the doorknob and allowing Pantalone in, before you let the door leisurely shut on its own behind you both.

“Oh, no, not at all. It’s just that business can be unpredictable at times—I’m sure you understand.” His tone was as carefree and relaxed as ever, but you were certain this was no trivial matter. However, it wasn’t your business, so you set aside your curiosity and didn’t push any further.

“You’re right,” you agreed. “I was just a bit worried that something was up. I’m glad to hear that everything’s fine.”

‘Worried’ was an exaggeration. While you did care about Pantalone, you had no reason to fret over his well being. It was unlikely that anyone or anything could pose a serious threat to him, ever—he was a Harbinger. Perhaps it was disingenuous for you to feign concern, but you thought it was a polite sentiment regardless.

All of your dad’s meetings, with all of his associates, were held in this room. It was furnished with this intent in mind; a well-lit room with a coffee table flanked by two sofas near the centre, encircled by a desk, a few china cabinets, and most importantly, a kitchenette.

“I didn’t know you cared so much, Y/N.” A teasing remark, as you should have expected. You watched as Pantalone sat down on the sofa with a smirk.

“Do I seem that heartless to you?” you prodded back.

“Quite the opposite. If anything, you have too much heart.” Your eyes widened ever so slightly, Pantalone’s reply catching you off guard—you didn’t expect him to answer so sincerely.

Despite your familiarity with conversation and flattery, you were usually the one to give compliments, not receive them.

“You’re flattering me. I’m not doing anything special,” you brushed it off awkwardly. You quickly turned towards the kitchenette to escape the topic. “Earl grey tea with cream and two sugar cubes?”

“Why, I’m flattered that you remember how I take my tea,” Pantalone said. You filled the kettle, waiting for the water to boil as you took out a teacup and saucer from the cabinet above you, along with tea leaves and an infuser. You opened the refrigerator beside you, retrieving a glass bottle of cream.

You weren’t sure how or when exactly it started, but you always had a fondness for tea. The shrubs themselves, the processing of the leaves, the plethora of varieties and tastes, the simple act of brewing tea—you adored it all. When you still lived in Fontaine, where the weather was warmer and vegetation was abundant, you would often tend to your imported Chenyu shrubs and curate the leaves yourself; something Snezhnaya’s harsh, frigid climate didn’t allow for.

Though you missed the extensiveness of your tea hobby in Fontaine, you found other ways to keep yourself occupied. The time you would have otherwise spent on picking leaves was now dedicated to baking. It was something your mother taught you from an early age, a craft you now spent time perfecting. After all, freshly baked goods were a perfect accompaniment to tea, and your father’s clients appreciated the assortment of delicacies.

It was an excuse to bake batches of pastries that you otherwise wouldn’t be able to finish if anything, but it was something everyone was happy with. The guests enjoyed your confectioneries, your father evaded vapid chit chat, and you baked to your heart’s content.

“I’ve made you tea every other week, ever since we’ve moved here,” you pointed out. “So about two and a half years. It’d be awfully rude if I didn’t remember your preferences by now.”

You earned a soft chuckle from Pantalone.

“Well, now I’m curious. What else do you remember about me?” he asked, the question making you gulp.

You did not have a good memory, and you were especially uncomfortable with being put on the spot, your brain oftentimes turning blank, forcing you to blurt out any nonsense to try and salvage whatever situation you were being put in. You tried to think of something to say so it wouldn’t be obvious that you couldn’t recall; that would be rude.

“Only your darkest secrets.” You fumbled with placing the dried leaves in the infuser.

“So you know her name then?” he interrogated, and of course you didn’t.

“Of course,” you declared with utmost confidence. “Full name, date of birth, medical records, everything.” You knew you were just digging yourself a deeper pit, but you had just poured the water and the tea wasn’t done steeping yet.

“And what about her death certificate?” he continued. You stirred the tea rapidly, pouring in just the right amount of cream alongside two sugar cubes, before picking it up and serving it with the plate of madeleines you had baked earlier.

“That’s included in the medical records.” You placed the tea down on the coffee table a bit too hard. You made sure to place the plate down more gently, as if to absolve yourself of embarrassment. “Here’s your tea. And of course, some madeleines I baked this morning.”

You sat down on the sofa across from him, awaiting his expression as he brought the teacup to his lips, sipping the beverage with elegance.

“It appears you really are as observant as ever,” he smiled with visible satisfaction.

“I’m observant when people are interesting,” you noted, relieved that the conversation had finally shifted.

“Is that so?” Pantalone put down the teacup. “Y/N, what about me do you find interesting?”

There were a plethora of things you found interesting about him, and you wondered if some of them would be too intrusive or direct to point out given his status, but promptly discarded the consideration.

“Well, for starters,” you said, “you’re a Harbinger.”

“Oh my,” Pantalone spoke with feigned surprise. “I nearly forgot!” He reached towards the plate, picking up one of your madeleines and taking a bite. You watched his face hungrily for validation, awaiting his judgement of your madeleines. Even though your confectioneries were never worse than satisfactory, you often liked to try new variations or entirely different recipes, taking note of any feedback from guests to further improve your skills.

“Wonderful baking as always, Y/N.” Pantalone’s words seemed to align with the pleased expression on his face, and you couldn’t help but grin, feeling proud of yourself.

“You know,” Pantalone started, bringing your attention back to the conversation, “such status can be quite cumbersome. People behave rather differently around you. It becomes hard to tell when such pleasantries and favours are coming from a place of genuine kindness, or somewhere else.”

The atmosphere suddenly dropped to a more solemn tone, startling you.

“Be that as it may, I’ve always felt at ease in your company. Contrary to popular opinion... us Harbingers aren’t all that different from everyone else, and I feel refreshingly ordinary in your presence.”

You listened to him attentively, musing over his sentences in your head to carefully formulate a response.

“Refreshingly ordinary...” you muttered. “I didn’t expect to hear that. If anything, you’re quite special to me. Regardless, I’m happy to hear that I’ve been pleasant company for you. The feeling is mutual.”

You finished speaking, a wistful smile on your face as you glanced downwards, the focus slipping from your gaze. While you and Pantalone had many conversations over the years, they primarily consisted of playful banter and idle chatter. Rarely would you be as pensive as you were now, and while sentimentality usually made you uncomfortable, you found yourself not minding it right now. Perhaps you were more lonely than you had originally considered, but you realized your words held more truth than expected.

Pantalone was someone special to you. There used to be others, too. When you still lived in Fontaine, you had close friends; people you deeply valued and cared for. But distance does not make the heart grow fonder. Distance simply meant the space between, and the space from Snezhnaya to Fontaine would parallel the growing disconnect between you and the ones you used to hold dear.

Everything in Teyvat had a limit to its elasticity, tangible or not. Things can only be stretched so far before the tension eventually causes it to sever. Emotional connection was no exception to that. Despite your agreements to continue writing one another and keep in contact, eventually the letters became fewer and longer between. The last time you had received a letter was about seven months ago.

People separate. People move on. It was only natural, and you had come to accept it. You had no idea what your former friends were doing now, but you were probably nothing more than a passing thought in their heads every once in a blue moon.

You didn’t often reminisce about them, either. But when you did, you would naturally ponder the idea of making new friends. Even though it would be wise to make an effort, you didn’t want to. Meeting new people, getting to know them, becoming as close to them as you were with your former friends—it was exhausting just to think about. You didn’t want to bother yourself with something so tedious.

But since Pantalone had been routinely visiting for the past few years, your attachment to him inevitably grew without you even realizing it.

Your rumination was interrupted by the sound of heavy, pounding footsteps rapidly approaching.

“Oh,” you said, “it seems like my father’s—”

“—Oh, Lord Pantalone, please forgive the delay!” The door flung wide open, your father rushing into the room. “Such tardiness in the face of a Harbinger is unacceptable and—”

“—Please, it’s all right, F/N,” Pantalone tried to calm your very much frantic father. “I was enjoying a lovely conversation over tea with your daughter just now and—”

“—No, no, no! This will not do!” your father declared. “You must be impossibly busy with work! We should discuss business as soon as possible—Y/N, you may take your leave now while we discuss urgent matters!”

You were halfway through getting up when Pantalone spoke.

“Well, actually, F/N, the reason I requested this meeting was because I wanted to speak with you regarding your daughter.”

What?

Your head snapped towards Pantalone, the rest of your body still frozen in an awkward motion between standing and sitting, your eyes wide with shock and mild horror.

You weren’t sure if you had heard him right or not. But judging by the similarly surprised look on your dad’s face, you likely heard him correctly.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t ever thought of Pantalone as attractive. His elegantly styled black hair was smooth and silky—or at least it appeared so, you never ran your fingers through it—and his skin was radiant, fair as porcelain, his amethyst irises embellished with full sets of ebony lashes, sitting behind intricate silver glasses that framed his gracefully poised face just right.

However, you had never thought of anything beyond that. Not only were you unsure about how old he was—he could be twice your age, for Archons’s sakes—he was also your dad’s business associate, and you weren’t sure how your dad would feel about that, though you supposed you’d find out soon.

“Uh,” your dad stumbled over his own words, “Lord Pantalone... are you sure you want to, uh, discuss such matters with Y/N present?”

“Why, of course, F/N,” Pantalone replied, completely nonchalant. Your eyes darted between him and your father, the two of them wearing completely opposite expressions.

“Uhh,” your dad gibbered awkwardly, “are you sure you want to discuss such matters with me present?” You could see that he, too, was looking back and forth at the both of you in a futile attempt to grasp the situation. He was presumably contemplating the prospect of anything having happened between the two of you. The thought alone was enough to fluster you, and you were just thinking of how to explain that no, you were not and had not been sleeping with his business partner, when Pantalone spoke again.

“Oh, Archons, no, it’s nothing like that, please don’t misunderstand!” he exclaimed, his statement sending you into a brand new state of confusion. “I merely want your daughter to spy on Dottore.”

“I’m sorry, what?” you interjected, evident disbelief in your voice. You didn’t need to look at your dad to know he was even more disturbed than you, considering how he was at a loss for words.

“You see, it has recently come to my attention that Dottore is plotting something rather unfavourable to the Tsaritsa,” Pantalone elaborated, though you weren’t sure whether his explanation was helping or worsening the situation. “As a Harbinger, it is my duty to ensure her safety, and as Dottore’s closest associate, I’m in a most advantageous position to do so. Alas, I am but one man, so some assistance would be incredibly helpful.”

While the initial misconception was already difficult to process, the clarification was even more incomprehensible. You were stunned, unable to formulate any coherent thoughts until your dad managed to snap out of his stupor.

“You want my daughter to spy on Il Dottore? Forgive me, Lord Pantalone, but are you daft? How the hell is she supposed to do that? She is a child!” Despite its irrelevance to the situation, you couldn’t help a spark of irritation rising up at his words. You scowled, but put your annoyance aside for now, for there were more pressing matters at hand. Your father was becoming agitated, so you made an attempt to assuage the tension.

“...It’s fine,” you said, straightening up as you turned towards the Harbinger. “Pantalone, could you please elaborate?”

“Well, you see, I need someone whom I know and trust, that Dottore doesn’t know, but can come to trust,” he asserted. “I need someone new, unassuming, but not entirely unfamiliar. Someone who can keep a secret and find a secret. Who better than the daughter of the magnificent F/N?”

From an outside perspective, it was easy to make the assumption that you were knowingly assisting your father in keeping his clandestine activities concealed. Most people likely thought that, but it’d be incorrect.

Truthfully, your role in your father’s work was limited to greeting associates and serving them tea, along with any freshly baked goods you had made. Of course, you knew that your father wasn’t the most noble of men, considering his clientele—the Harbinger on your sofa being a perfect example—but that was the extent of your knowledge, and you preferred to keep it that way. You knew it made you apathetically recreant, but it was much easier to stay unaware and turn a blind eye to his questionable doings. You would keep yourself uninvolved in his business, hiding under your security blanket of willful ignorance.

The exact shelter that Pantalone was trying to coax you out of.

“Well, okay, sure, but—” your dad tried to protest.

“—And as a token of my gratitude,” Pantalone furthered,

“I would bring M/N back to life.”

next chapter soon... any interactions are appreciated (´･ω･`) thank you very much for supporting my work! ♡