#pantalone x y/n

[sunnysamaa]

Let's get married

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Treasures of the Fraud

♡ featuring: pantalone x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been forever since you've seen your friend, and as the hero of liyue, a new interruption has arisen. you pursue it, only to find memories awaiting you. wc: 9.1k+ (D:)

♡ cw/tw: long lonnggg fic, obsession, mentions of murder, mention of suicide, mentions of blood, manipulation, toxic pantalone, mean pantalone, possessive, spanking, degradation, mild praise, fingering, thigh riding, missionary, overstim, begging, edging, comeshot, pet names (darling, slut)

notes: helloooo!! ive been slow to get stuff out college is kicking my ass rn so sorry. not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes. I can't wait to have more time :) art by yion_yi on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

12 years ago 

“Come get me!” 

The boy with inky curls spiraling down his back dips through trees, ducking under low hanging branches embellished with vibrant autumn foliage. Messy blends of pink and purple melt across the slowly bleeding sun carried into the night. His silhouette resembles that of a malevolent spirit peeking behind the boughs, leaping over tangled twigs and shallow ditches. His excited screeches signal you to chase after the leading direction. You’re both screaming and laughing down the undoubtedly dangerous shortcuts. If your mother knew about the adventurous risks you were taking at 13, you’d never leave the house again. Tag is a troubling game—despite the thousands of times you’ve played with him, you regularly end up being “it”. You don’t care about losing, though; having someone to call a friend is enough.  

You turn into a clearing with columns of trees overseeing your small presence, hundreds of them. The colder night is rising, not a celestial body to shield.  In this deep blue void, the leaves seem to be aggrieved at your interruption of some secret meeting, angry and smiling faces crumpling in the whispering wind. You spin around frantically, looking for signs or laughter, but neither reveal themself. It’s quiet besides the downy linger of grass. Your shoulders are snatched back and shaken to a rattling shock. You scream, and he laughs. 

“Rahhh! Did I get you?” he jests. Your eyebrows narrow, and you push him lightly to a stumble. 

“You scared me!” 

“Hah, that’s the point. C’mon, it’s late. Let’s go.” He's scared too, swiftly grabbing your hand as you both brave the darkness back to the village. 

“We should’ve been home a while ago” you say quietly. You feel the chill in your bones and press yourself closer to him. 

“Yea.” He holds your hand tighter at the sound of a small rock bouncing down a steep hill. 

“I had fun today. Let’s do this again tomorrow.” 

“I have something to tell you.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m moving in the morning” he states. It was nonchalant, but your stomach turns a churning sickness. One you can’t understand yet, it makes you uneasy. 

“Oh. Okay, then.” It isn't okay, not in the slightest. But it had to be. Your best friend of 8 years looks at you, aiming to register the gravity of the situation. You both say nothing, but tears start to brim in your eyes in the silence. You wipe them with your arm. 

“Will you miss me?” he asks. 

“A lot.” 

“I’ll miss you too. Lots and lots.” He sways your interlocking hands. You pass by vacant homes tattered and aged by abandonment, overgrown with invading ivy. Homeless reside, caring each other to warmth from the freezing draft. You were lucky to have a home in this little forgotten sector of Liyue. It's a small, unfortunate room, with holes in the roof that drips when it rains and bags over the windows to keep the heat in. The stove never works, and you share a bed with your mother, but every birthday she makes sure to save just enough for a slice of cake with one candle. There isn’t more you could ask for. Everyone in the village suffered from poverty but they made it work, sharing crops and dairy to persevere until the next year. That’s how you met him, sitting on a rock as your mother collected rations. You perform two pebbles in your hands, mumbling sea shanties while imagining voyage on a grueling journey—he sat next to you. 

“Those aren’t dolls. They’re rocks.” 

“You’re a rock” you retorted.  

“No, I’m not.” 

“Do you want to be a rock?” 

“...That’d be kinda cool.” You gave him a pile of pebbles, and he joined the trip. 

You’re getting closer to the village, still processing who you’ll play with once he’s gone. You glance at him, he’s spaced out in a faraway stare. You crave the power to read minds. 

“Can we talk about something? I’m getting sad” you sniffle. 

“What should be talk about?” 

“What are you going to do after you move?” 

“I’m gonna be super rich” he assures, looking up at the starless sky as if a meteor would shoot across and grant his wish. “What about you?” 

“I’m going to save the world” you proclaim.  

“Cool. I hope you do.” 

“Me too.” 

You arrive at your makeshift door drawn together with scraps of wood and twisted rope for hinges. A dim candle glimmers inside, most likely your vexed mother waiting for your tardily return. He makes space for your entry, and you undo your hands for the last time. Before you go, he snatches your wrist. His eyes are foggy, cheeks an anxious tinge of pink. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling, but the strings in his heart are tense. His mouth shapes to say something, but nothing returns. 

“Yeah?” 

“...I... I’ll really miss you a lot” he whispers with a lump in his throat.  

“Then don’t forget me, okay?” 

“I won’t.” 

“You promise?” you say and raise your pinky towards him. He curls around it. “I promise.” 

“Good. By the way, you’re it now.” 

“I’ll get you back when I see you again!” he chuckles. You bid your goodbyes, unaware that it would mark the unforeseen conclusion. 

Leaves crunch under your feet as you make your leisurely traverse to Liyue Harbor. It’s just before sunrise and you finished helping the elderly in Qingce Village carry copious amounts of heavy produce to their homes. The thankful candies from seniors' jingle in your pocket as you stretch your weary arms. Your mom offered to cook, but you're determined to locate the best commissions Katheryne had before afternoon. “Maybe I’ll pick up some rice buns” you think out loud at the rumble of your growing appetite. You still had a long way to go before you got to the harbor. 

This was your new normal. After your thundering battle with Ningguang and Keqing against Osial, you became an example of Liyue’s triumph. You also became more aware of Fatui tactics, wiping out their swarms with the raging fury of your pneuma and swinging vision. Days of grueling bloodshed resulted in your victory, cementing you as the lionheart of Liyue. Beat up and bruised, the only request you made after your fight was a hot meal and a place for your mom to retire. They delivered both, and you used your recent hero status to provide help to the villagers where needed, be it casual favors or ruthless assault on Fatui agents. You were neither rich nor poor, and lived off the land and kindness of the Liyue Qixing. They often suggested you focus on less mundane tasks, but to you, the most vulnerable age groups warranted priority. There was something about the lighthearted innocent squeals of children and mellow grandparents rocking in their wooden chairs that made you protective to an almost volatile extent. 

Bustling interactions of trade and commerce carry through the wind as you enter the harbor—a sound that’s brought you peace for years. The smell of food vendors has you drooling instantly. As you devour the complimentary rice bun, you feel the yank of a little hand on your skirt. You look down and a boy with brown hair searches for familiarity in your face. You recognize him, babysitting him numerous times. You kneel and pat his head, but he doesn’t react or move.  

“Hey, what’s up? Where are your parents?” you question, briefly scanning your immediate area for his family. He’s hesitant to speak, as if he can’t find the panicked words, and rushes into your arms. You hug him instinctively and let him sniffle into your shoulder. You pick him up in your grasp and raise his head with your other hand so that he’ll hopefully be open to your compassion.  

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” The boy wipes his chubby tomato-red face. “Grandma is on the floor, what do I do?” You quell your rising nerves to suppress his alarm and speak calmly.  

“Where is she?” 

Speed walking towards the destination, the commotion of a small crowd surrounds a kneeling woman in the distance. She’s on her sun-spotted hands and knees, wailing for some bygone Archon. “Grandma!” he yells and jumps out of your arms. You run after him, relieved that the worst case scenario hadn’t occurred. You push through the group and get eye level with her, forehead pressed to the ground spouting religious scripture. 

“Are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Wise sunken eyes wrinkled with age and torn by tragedy stick to your heart. Her feeble hands encapsulate yours, and tears stream down her cheeks. “They took my baby!” she rasps, rocking back and forth. “Who did?” you ask, and she weeps harder. “They took her memory...my baby, my daughter!” You support her weight and lift her hunched figure off the pavement. “What did they look like, ma’am?” 

“A black hood...red mask” she recalls shakily. Instantly miscellaneous chatter ensues. They whisper nervously in each other's ears, he who shall not be named steals their voices. “Fatui probably got ‘er” you hear the mumble of one. Fatui. Your blood boils at the word, and you direct your view to the shrinking man with hands in his pockets. “‘He’ got all of us” he scoffs. “Did they hurt you guys, too?” you ask, and they stare. They’re pained but accepting.  

“500,000 mora.”  

“194,000 for me.” 

They list off their debt one by one, and you’re horrified at the accumulating number. They seem to endure, however; no longer phased by the incurable tally haunting their lives. “H-how are you paying any of this?” 

“We can’t. It adds up. Interest, late payments, it always does. So, we give everything, and ‘he’ takes everything, until we have nothing left. We die poor without a possession to our name” a woman sighs. As a child, you heard of the loan sharks that purposely fed false promises to the poor, and once they were reeled in, charged insurmountable payments to blackmail—it was the origin story of most people in your birthplace. Your soul aches for them, but is there anything you can do? 

“...I’ll help you, all of you. I’m sure I can-” 

Ningguang arrives. She's a nurturing figure to you, the kind that asks if you’ve been eating well and politely scolds you.  “What happened?” You lead the tired elder to the Jade Chamber, and she tells her story through choked sobs. You didn’t expect Keqing to already be there, arms folded and turned away from the situation. Ningguang can barely glance at the woman. 

“They stormed my home and took my jewelry and belongings. They took the pendant my daughter gave me; it had her face in it. Archons give me strength, my baby! I can’t afford it; I have nothing!” she quakes. You rub her back and Ningguang nods, listening—you can’t help but notice the anxiety blooming on her abstracted face. They take her through the process and once she leaves, Ningguang and Keqing look at each other with a silent understanding. The room is eerily quiet, and Ningguang paces back and forth in front of the intel wall contemplating an uncertain danger. You fumble with your thumbs. 

“What are we going to do about this?” you wonder. Keqing clears her throat loudly, attracting the attention of Ningguang. She looks at you, and sighs deeply. “We already know about this issue.” 

Your ears perk up. “Great, so how can I help?” 

“By doing nothing, (Y/N)” Keqing says. 

“...What?” 

“I have eyes everywhere; I’ve known for a long time. The Fatui are not people to be taken lightly, especially the harbingers. A few of their skirmishers were caught trading exotic goods and taxing medicine at high prices, on top of extorting the impoverished regions.” Ningguang points to one of the many Fatui exclusive headquarters on the wall. “Pantalone is the richest man in Teyvat, he has more political influence than anyone can imagine, and they answer to him. We can’t risk getting involved with this. They’ve brought this upon themselves, and unfortunately, they must deal with the consequences.” 

You can’t accept this response. How can they just desert them? It doesn’t comprehend in your naïvity—you scold yourself for not spotting the signs sooner, furrowing your brows and looking at them with distaste. “I expected this. You shouldn’t have said anything” Keqing chides. “...Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped before-” 

“You’re the last person I wanted to know about this” Ningguang interrupts. Your anger feels misplaced, and you bite your lip in restraint. She sits next to you and offers fleeting comfort with a graceful hand on yours. “You’re quite the reactionary type. In due time, this will be sorted. But right now, I need you to calm down, and trust me.” It sounds desperate, you know you shouldn’t go looking for answers, but a snagging thread pulls at the back of your consciousness, all too convincing. You bounce your leg. “You should want revenge just as much as me. Where we came from, where they end up, it isn’t fair.”  

“You know I do, more than anything. But we must handle this with care, before too many people get hurt. I’m doing this for the betterment of Liyue as a whole. It’s not easy to make these decisions.” 

“We can’t just go around serving justice, there’s laws we have to act with” Keqing adds. You don’t reply and stand up abruptly to leave. The worried Tianquan grabs your wrist one last time. “Promise me you won’t make a mistake, (Y/N). I’m trying to protect you” she pleads. 

“I promise. Thank you.” You flash a half genuine smile, already planning to rebel against her wishes. 

Who exactly is ‘he’—Pantalone. You don’t even know where to start looking. Too many headquarters, infinite possibilities. The best way you have to find him is through Fatui agents.  

You start taking up odd jobs late in the evening, scouring for the possibility that a fatui agent might fall into your hands. Though you considered playing the part of an impoverished villager taking out a loan at Northland Bank, it didn’t guarantee that you’d meet Pantalone in the flesh—it’s more likely that would raise unnecessary suspicion in the process. It’s awkward at first, seeing the hero of Liyue fish on the dock for petty change throughout the night. As you do, the malicious fire in your eyes burns bright at the occasional voice in chill silence. Your vision glows as you toss the hunting knife between your nimble digits. Listening closely to conversations, hoping that one might be unguarded enough to slip up, but nothing of the sort appears—not even the boldness of Fatui skirmishers enables them to divulge secrets under the baleful existence of Celestia.  

The moon illuminates sweetly on the tranquil waters lulling you to drowse. You hadn’t heard much since the start of your escapade. A fishing pole is weak in your resistless hold, and you’ve evidently given up on the idea of portraying the hardworking fisherman tonight. You vowed to help the people of Liyue, but justice was seemingly unfeasible. Maybe a direct approach? Should I ambush their headquarters? More so a suicide mission, you’d have no luck achieving that. Just as you’re about to leave, the crunch of withering grass straightens your posture. You make yourself hidden with a burst of energy and slouch behind the bushes as a Fatui pyro agent charges along the route. Through the glutted leaves obstructing your vision, you can just make out the heavy bag on his shoulder and jagged blade waiting restlessly on the other. His stride points towards Qingce Village. You hold your breath disguising yourself with the scenery and allow him to take a few feet between you before you begin following him. He’s rather shifty, those veiled eyes darting back and forth at the lightest noise. You’re careful to glide behind trees, moving with the heartbeat of the wind and taking advantage of the various melody's nature offers. You suck in a breath and duck behind a boulder a few inches too close, and his head snaps in your direction. The feeling of being watched besets him, but with no way to prove it and time running out, he secures his knife for the hypothetical ambush, and makes haste towards the target. Turning a tree, you watch as the pyro wielder knocks on the house of a small worn cottage. A short stocky man appears, shading half his body behind the door. 

“H-hello...” you hear faintly. The Fatui keeps his hand firm on the door, one boot propped under the hinge. He presents the flaming knife loosely as he towers over the man. “We’ve given you time.” You were sure now that he's working for Pantalone.  

“I don’t have it. P-please, if you could just give me some more-” He slams his fist against the wood, a resounding thump shakes the home. The man cowers. “Give me everything you have. The Regrator won’t wait any long-” 

A small rock flies past his mask, skidding on the ground until it comes to a stop. He glares in the direction of the tree you’re hiding behind. You have no plan, nothing but the distracting impulse to stop the assailant from attacking. “Stay here” he commands, and stalks towards you. His slow footsteps get increasingly louder, playful stomps toying with your obvious whereabouts. He twirls the razor-sharp knife, and as he sharply peeks around the corner, you’re nowhere to be found. “Here, kitty kitty” he taunts, spinning towards the lake, then the village grounds for footprints. He severs the air aimlessly in mirth, believing some amateur fighter came to challenge him. As he monitors the tracks under you, you drop down from the wiry branches. Legs wrap tight around his neck, and you catch hold of his hood trying to pull his mask off. He gags but he’s too quick, throwing off your steadiness as he slams your spine on the grass. He whips around to take a stab at your chest, but you roll away guarding the vital arteries. You kick him in the crotch, and he recoils giving you ample time to stand.  

You can’t feel the wet laceration dripping down your abdomen as you take a slash at his throat with your weapon, infused with elemental energy. He leans back and meets your strike. You trade blows, the strength of your smite bursting sparks of light above the scratches and bruises. Your wrist burns with the unmoving knives stumbling you. He begins to manifest blazing knives circling his figure, and you jump back from the singing cut melting the cloth. You wipe the dried blood from your mouth, and in the blink of an eye, he disappears. Suddenly, red auras similar to the pyro agent surround you. One by one, the clones charge at you, and you parry their overhead onslaught. Something is different about the last clone, your vision revealing a brighter outline than the others. When the next clone attacks, as you counter you pretend to fall for his trick. With your eyes on the other, he immediately passes through the black fog to deal the killing blow. You’re quicker this time and heave a heavy tear into his chest. Crimson splatters the grass, it shatters his element and rips open the robe. You tackle him on the dirt and wrestle until you kick his weapon away. Your knee digs into his back, and he can barely breathe with his arm locked behind him and knife rigid against his neck. He ttempts to swing at you, but you wrench his arm tighter and slice into his skin just enough to draw blood. 

“Fuck. Okay!” he wheezes. “Where is Pantalone?”  

“I don’t know what you’re- shit!” You’ve lost patience long ago and twist his arm to dislocate the shoulder. He lets out a blood curdling scream thrashing in pain—you tug hard and focus him. “Shut up and answer my question. Where is Pantalone?” you demand. He hisses in pain and coughs up phlegm mixing with reddening soil. “Kill me.” 

“Just tell me and I’ll let you go.” 

“I’m a dead man, either way.” he rasps and hangs his head waiting for the execution. You grit your teeth; a drop of guilt leaves a bad taste as you thwack the pressure point on his neck that forces him unconscious. You glance at the bag he left and limp over to rummage through the contents. Useless papers crumple under stolen items, but one note catches your eye. Presumably a to-do list, you read to the bottom. A list of homes, goods on standby exchanges—at the bottom of those, a rendezvous point: 

Report back- Yilong Bank, Liyue 

You rest in a plot of prickly bushes and leave in the morning after patching yourself up. You couldn’t stop now, not when you were this close to facing him. You soothe your body from the twigs prodding you all night, and check the wound suppressed by gauze. It’s a light scar now, apparent after bathing in the warm water on the outskirts of Qingce. You contemplated telling Ningguang about what occurred, but imagining the look on her face once she knew kept you moving. 

Tucking your vision where it can’t be viewed, you take a waverider to Yilong Port into the afternoon. You concoct a half-baked scheme, one that relies on every scenario being perfect to a tee. Unreliable, but probably your only chance. The plan amounts to scaling the building and breaking in through the office window, snatching everything owned by the villagers and breaking out before anyone notices. Easy in your capabilities, but you have no idea what the building looks like, nor do you know where the office is. The man driving wears all black, an outfit that stands out from the rest of the region. He stares at you blankly, and once you’re aware, you meet eyes. His smile is uncanny, stretching across his face with an abnormal friendliness. 

“Is this your first time at the port?” he asks, finger tapping the wheel. Be it sleep deprivation or ignorance; you don’t recognize red flags in his behavior.  You smile at the courteous face. “Yeah, the weather’s beautiful out here.” 

“Mhm, hot weather up here. On vacation?” 

“Nah, I have business here.” The minuscule edge of your vision catches in the light. He homes in on the passing twinkle. You wonder why his eyes widen momentarily, and his finger starts to tap methodically, as if memorizing a coded pattern. 

“Business...what kind?” 

“Oh...I have some items to trade.” You close off your answers feeling that you’ve said too much. He subsides with a stale expression. “If you’re looking to trade, you might find luck at Yilong Bank” he utters monotonously.  

“And where is that?” You feign disinterest, but victory is too loud on your tongue. 

“Up the mountain.” The waverider halts at the harbor, and he turns his head away from you unusually cold, akin to a mechanical bot shutting down. “Welcome to Yilong Port.” 

You make yourself invisible in the crowd and wait for nightfall. People still roam the port along with Fatui monitoring the front of the bank, which gives you leeway to blend in as you find passage around the back of the mountain. It’s a steep, dark incline jutted with irregular jagged stones. The imposing size of the climb tangles knots in your stomach, and you wipe the persistent sweat on your top. In one huge leap, you latch onto a craggy indent, and begin your ascension. 

Your legs feel like jelly with each contact of the unforgiving breeze. You sway alongside the spirit of anemo and swallow your anxiety before leaping to the next rock. Shoes plant into rock and nails excavate fresh cobble on the next jump. By the time you’ve realized, you’re already up most of the mountain. You tug yourself even with the land as a barreling gust of wind goads your glance to the ground, kilometers beneath you. Your breath stills, and for a second dizziness overtakes your nerves at the thought of slipping. I could die, one mistake and I’m dead. You focus, and spring to the next piece. Without warning, rock gives way into pebbles at the weight of your foot. You nearly plunge, but anchor onto the small bump out with one hand. You’re dangling off the edge, playing with death while you fortify your body. Hyperventilation makes your heartbeat thrum incessantly and stress palpitates tired muscles; If you didn't have your vision, you would’ve fainted to your demise. You bite the bullet, push your heels in and persevere through the hurdles. The next thing you clutch is malleable in your palm. You vault over the cliff, the smell of dew is overwhelming. The back of the bank—the end goal—is visible.  

One Fatui member remains in the front. You scale up the building effortlessly, nothing compared to the hell you just went through. Shifting window to window, your eyes land on the pitch-black darkness of the room at the top of the building. An ideal glow casts on the fraction of precious gold resting on a coffee table. This has to be it. You slink through the window soundlessly, and land on the balls of your feet. Analyzing the dish, you don’t discern the pendant. You can faintly identify some bookshelves near the dish, and tiptoe further inside. You creep around luxury sofas, and squint at the embellished glass case next to the door, containing all manner of jewelry and valuable possessions. You won; this was it. You scurry to it, moving with abrupt carelessness. One more step. 

Click 

The fireplace you didn’t heed is set aflame. It flickers sneering shadows on the opposite wall and brightens the case. You pause and hope. There’s a confining silence stirring in the room, like someone is with you. The case is visible now, and so is the key to opening it. 

You fell into a trap. 

“Looks like I have a little thief on my hands.”  

A bittersweet voice in the sable, reminiscent of rich dark chocolate, rolls off the room. He steps out obscurity behind his desk and your eyes adjust, revealing the tight black turtleneck compressing his willowy torso and gloves adorned with silver rings. You can’t see the upper part of his face, but the chains of his glasses hang in front of that duping smile. You expected the Fatui harbinger to be on the stronger side, physically intimidating. It’s not physical, but you feel a certain fear boiling in your body. He’s not terrifying, but you tremble. His presence makes your hair stand and sends waves of goosebumps up your arms. You can’t find the will to move your wobbly legs. His charmed laugh rings in your ears and causes you to hold your breath. He has no vision; you shouldn’t be afraid. You could take him on easily, why can’t you fight? 

“Hello, honored hero of Liyue” the headless man taunts. It makes it worse that he knows who you are. How long had he known you were coming? Was your plan doomed from the beginning? Your feet are stuck in molasses as your fight or flight shuts down at the man before you.  

“Now, tell me. What is the little thief doing, barging into my office to take the possessions I worked so hard for? Not very heroic of you, If I may say.” There’s power in his stature—you forget how to speak. He holds his palm out to you. Tangled between his fingers, is the ornate golden pendant you’d been searching for, a woman’s face in the frame. Your eyes widen, and the sweet familiar curve of his lips stretches in amusement. 

“Is this what you’re looking for?” The plod of low-heeled boots accompanies unveiled darkness, and you can observe his entirety. Amethyst eyes drunk with an orchid hue pool into your being. Lazy curls brush against his glasses and kiss his porcelain skin. He’s beautiful, a calm enticing rip current that sweeps you with immeasurable pressure before you can pull yourself out. He leans on the desk, observing the chain halfheartedly. If you weren’t careful, you’d mistake the look on his face for genuine kindness; you’d drown, just like he craved. Nonetheless, you can’t shake the emotion his smile grants. 

“Yes. That’s all I need, and I won’t bother you again” you whisper meekly, hoping that he’d let you go with the pendant in a spur of forgiveness. The jest in his eyes says something different. 

“Come get it.”  

Come get it. Your mind begins to piece the man into a stage of your life you’d forgotten. It can’t be him. Memory tells intrusive truth in short flashes. Inky curls spiraling in front of you as you chase. He was consistently miles ahead of you. It was irrelevant how far apart you were; he’d always find you. That big, curving smile for every match he won. Purple eyes glancing back at yours; the same ones that withheld tears when you said goodbye. 

“Come get me!” 

Tears stream down your eyes for the friend you thought you’d never see again. Childhood laughter bleeds into his current cat-like conniving snicker, and you gaze at his face. 

“I... remember you” you choke. He looks up without a smile, perceiving an unexpected thought, and meets your eyes. There’s a hint of affection in the warm smile beaming on his face. “My my, (Y/N). You have quite the memory.” 

You’re motionless, full of something that catches in your lungs. This isn’t the triumph you wanted, and now that you’re face to face you feel powerless. He must’ve known the entire time. Watching you fight and work alone, sending Fatui to roam in Liyue, all done to toy with you. Your lip quivers, swelling in your already deafening heartbeat.  

“How long...” you utter. He inquires with the tilt of his head. 

“How long have you been messing with me?” Your eyes adhere to the floor, pride that won’t permit you to shed misery for Pantalone. He drinks in your resistant frame, the kind he desires to break; perhaps this game of cat and mouse isn’t done, after all. 

“This hurts me too, (Y/N). I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t so…persistent.” Your confusion spills over in shaky, weak huffs. You can’t maintain your composure, and make yourself first to oppose the authoritative man on his own territory. 

“How could you do this to anyone? We grew up poor!” You shout with balling fists. 

“It’s inefficient to dwell on the past” he replies with gentle cadence and languid grace unrepresentative of his cruel tactics. You nearly regret raising your voice. 

“These people are at their wits end and you’re taking advantage of them” you chide. He slowly paces towards you. Pantalone looks down on you from height disparity, but the royal glower pities you, judges worth you can’t see. 

“Driven by emotions, are you that simple? You presumed that if you stormed in here, and professed a touching story, that I would suddenly see the error in my methods?” You’re not sure what you’re here for anymore or why you haven’t left yet. Subconscious urges can't determine if they should slap or hug the man inching towards you. “I simply enforce contracts and exchanges. No one can be swindled by a debt accreted on their own.” 

“No one asks to be poor either” you interject. Pantalone’s a foot away from you now, analyzing your reactions to his personal entertainment. He recalls the blurry past—the pranks you pulled together that ultimately failed from your loud hurried sneakiness tripping to alert the farmers, helping out for loose change so that you’d split a snack between each other that wasn’t big enough to share, gazing at the twinkling night imagining a distant future—you changed and stayed the same, but he keeps wanting more.  

“Weigh the odds. They either die impoverished or live by passage of loans. I merely provide a service. Does that make me so cruel?” You can’t find an answer. 

“You’ll always be my friend, but I need it back. It can’t be much to forgive someone’s debt” you plead.  

“You still consider me a friend?” 

“I think…you’re hurt. And you’re trying to heal. We all are. I know I’ve dealt with a lot as I’ve gotten older and I think you have, too. Power corrupts even the best people in this world, so maybe you’re not a bad person. But you’re doing bad things, and this isn’t the right way to get better.” 

Pantalone is quiet for a few long moments. His hands web his face, but you can clearly see the pearly fangs in his open-mouthed smirk. Then he laughs—dulcet and mocking, it lingers for too long as he throws his head back and relishes the obtuse notion. He gazes with insulting compassion and stalks towards you. 

“Incredibly…. gullible. Mora is the pathway to all endeavors. Devoid of gnosis or divine knowledge, wealth has rendered me impervious to control. Suffering and destitution only manifest if I will it. I am the guise of a false god, an emblem of achievement.” It’s borderline delusional the way he regards himself, arms moving in theatric grandeur, the star of his own opera. 

“Does that make you feel good? Stepping on the backs of the community that raised you, and abandoning them because they chose not to be influenced by greed?” Pantalone towers over you. His fingers brush light against your sensitive ears, trail to your clenched jaw, and finally cup your frustrated cheeks with the cradle of a long-lost lover. 

“It does, in fact. I’m not easily swayed by ridiculous optimism, that’s why I’m at the top. You’ve devoted your blood and tears to a region that will succumb to adversity in your absence. Is that not a pointless feat?” 

“So what? That doesn’t mean we just don’t help people. You have nothing without the Fatui, you’re a pawn just like the others” you retort. He brings his lips close to the shell of your ear, and his breath hot on the untouched skin drags a tingle up your spine. 

“And what do you know about the Fatui?” he whispers. 

“I know enough. You’re all disgusting.” He huffs out his nose. 

“Disgusting isn’t the right word. I’d say...opportunists.” Pantalone backs up, sliding his hand up your chin and tilting your attention to the intense glint. “But you’re clever, I’ll give you that. If only you were clever enough to know your place.” You'd forgotten you were acting out of line. You refocus your mindset to negotiation. 

“I’ll do anything you ask for the debt. Please, just give it back.” The word “anything” evokes a malicious yearning—so forthcoming without understanding the implications of “anything”, of eternity. He caresses your cheek. 

“Anything, hm? Even if I said to give up being a hero for good? Would you still call yourself a heroic traveler if you weren’t allowed to travel or adventure as you please?” he teases. Your mouth opens to refute, but you bite your bottom lip instead. Pantalone walks back to his desk and leans while dangling the golden chain. Now that he’s far, the invading space between you two shows how insignificant you are in this luxury palace. 

“Your resolve moves me. Consider this; make an exchange with me, and I’ll guarantee not only her debt, but the debt of all residents in Liyue forgiven” Your face instantly lights up, ready to accept it without thinking. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“In exchange for regional loan forgiveness, I want you.” 

“...What?” 

“I want everything you have. It’s the fairest exchange I can make. Your obedience, your loyalty, and your body.”  

The choice turns in your frontal lobe. You can’t fathom giving yourself to a man, let alone a Fatui harbinger. It’s unbecoming of a hero to lie with the enemy. 

“Absolutely not” you assure. 

“Alright. Then allow their village to be reduced to nothing.” No, wait. “You may leave. However, if you do, you’ll cause great misfortune to that woman and her struggling family” You play into his covet so smoothly as you stand in the center of the room, reluctant to leave.  

“I’m not a complete monster, so I’ll give you 5 seconds to make a choice.” He sways the pendant in his hand like the transient time of an hourglass. 5 seconds, all you have to sign your life away. 

“4.”  

What if no one ever sees you again? What’s the point of sacrificing your happiness and freedom, are the people of Liyue truly worth it? 

“3.” 

You could threaten him, take him hostage so that a harbinger might bow to your demands. That, or they kill you, and the village suffers anyway. 

“2.” 

You think of your graying mom, the sweet boy with his chubby red face who cries over the smallest things, the grateful elders that give you candy after every good deed, Ningguang and Keqing stressing over the next financial impact. 

“1.” 

“I’ll do it.”  

Pantalone swings the chain into his palm, an undefeated smug overbearing as he sets it on the desk. There was never a point in resisting; he always got what he wanted, no matter how long it took to achieve it. He waited months—no, years—to get you in this exact moment. There’s a daunting beguiling charm in the way he closes the gap between you two. You glare at him; a temper common people would dread shooting. He assesses the pending punishment and lowers himself eye-level. He grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I can see the defiance in your eyes. Do you want to talk back? Go ahead, challenge me.” You don’t test this scenario and turn your head. “Don’t patronize me. Get it over with, ‘Pantalone’.” 

He quirks an eyebrow, and pliable flesh strains your teeth as your face is gripped rough by satiny leather. You’re twisted sharply to the calm expression—it humbles you. 

“That’s not how you address your superior. What should you call me?” You don’t answer promptly to his liking, and he tightens his grip. “Answer me properly, darling.” 

“...Sir.” Pantalone plants a sickly sugary kiss on your forehead, the kind that makes you forget how petrifying he can be, and lets you go.  

“Good.” He walks back to the desk and sits in the onyx chair embellished with silver jewels fit for a king. His chin rests on bridging hands. “Strip.” 

You don’t move, your heart hammers in your chest at the request and you stir uncomfortably. You have no experience with sexual gratification, let alone exposing yourself to an old friend.  

“(Y/N). Don’t make me say it again.” Keen agitation in his voice serves as a final warning. He eats you with his eyes, homed in on your hands clumsily snaking the top over your head. A glimpse of the scar you received during your fight with the Fatui captures him. He takes a mental entry, for an explanation that might justify why the agent suddenly goes missing. You were generally too busy to look in the mirror or analyze your assets, and pleasure was a removed afterthought—so the hungry fervor warming your skin and permeating the room clamped your thighs shut. You’re visibly flustered and nervous fumbling with the clasps on your bra while stabilizing your anxiety, and he delights in every second of the accidental strip tease. It feels like fresh meat introduced to a savage animal, and the instant your bra omes off, a new vulnerability coils in your gut. You move to your bottoms; the sheen of sweat polishes your plush thighs to wiggle out of them. You’re left in nothing but tantalizing panties hugging you in the right places. His eyes undress and redress you, tracing up and down the perk of your nipples, tempting fullness of your thighs, each unseen curve and perfect imperfect mark on your glistening body. He lets out a deep breath to stop himself from jumping over the table and taking you right there. 

“The underwear. Take it off” he says, an undertone of lust. You shimmy the fabric off and fully expose yourself. You impulsively cover your intimate parts and avert your eyes, but you can still feel Pantalone on you, ravaging you. He doesn’t bother telling you to put your arms at your sides, your bashfulness combined with an attempt at stoicism is comical. 

“Ah, the little thief is trying to act tough. That's cute” Pantalone teases and leans back in the chair. Manspreading, he pats his thigh. “Crawl.”  

He’s hellbent on shaming the defiance out of you. It’s a vile command, but you begrudgingly drop to your hands and knees. You drag your chaffed knees on wood, balancing like a newborn fawn adjusting to its legs. It’s humiliating and downright degrading; the cold floor fails at cooling your burning fever. You’re on the verge of tears, but Pantalone can’t help but smile. You get around the desk and look up at him, waiting for the next horrible thing he’ll have you do. “Unfortunately, the stunt you pulled impeded my paperwork. Be a good thing and sit on my lap until I’m done.” A “thing”—that’s all you were now, a shiny trophy meant to be ogled at but never taken seriously, used and thrown away. You stand off your scraped raw knees and straddle his thigh, hands balancing the leg so you don’t fall. 

And Pantalone starts to work. Working as if you’re not there, filling in the spaces on his documents. For some reason, it’s more demeaning this way, you truly are just a prize. One hand dances beautiful penmanship in masterful motions on embossed paper, the other fondles and explores your being. The gloves brush down your delicate spine, nonsensical shapes drawn on your lower back that make you shiver and pool heat in places you’ve never thought of. You’ve never been touched like this, it’s needles light on your skin. They move to your stomach, pleasant circles above the pelvis that threaten to go lower. He’s careful to trail his hand up your cleavage and behind your neck, neglect your hardening nipples and repeat the process over and over. He’s painstakingly slow, savoring the dazed arch of your back, massaging your inner thighs and dragging the sleek material over your rear.

Middle and index sweep across your lips, pulling your bottom lip to reveal teeth, and prods your mouth. Pantalone’s fingers are invasive, they exploit your gums and twirl around the squishy tongue molding to his appetite. He plays with the pink mass, and it fills you like a kiss. He’s everywhere and he hasn’t looked at you once. You hate it, the kind elegance and refinement of his technique that makes every calculated word and action reek of opulence. Yet, arousal pools on the surface, sticking to your labia and clouding your drowsy mind. It’s an extreme ache that doesn’t go away from cold showers or shrugging off like you usually would. You can’t remember what you did today, yesterday, or the day before that. The sensation of him consumes you and persists in spots he left. He smells of expensive cologne, hints of heady wood and sage. You’re lucky his fingers are in your mouth, or piteous moans would spill out of you. Flat on his thigh, the subtle jolts of his leg rub against your hypersensitive clit and set your nerves on fire. Throbbing swells in your core, and you struggle to stay stiff as your hips stutter.  

Pantalone knows exactly what he’s doing. Your labored pants sound like saintly melody while you writhe on his lap. The fabric goads your pulsing pussy, and you hang your head in embarrassment of the juices soaking your thighs and his. He’s surprised you have strength left to withstand the itch. You do your best to hover above it, trailing thick strings of slick. “There’s no need to pretend you don’t like this. Just give yourself to me” he whispers. And it’s so enticing, an invitation that might let you come if you ask. However, remnants of pride cling to your melting resolve, you can’t give in yet. He takes the fingers out and presses on your nipple, flicking the bud. You can’t hold the mewl, and he snickers.  

“So indignant for the hero of Liyue, to be on a harbingers lap, reduced to a pretty pet.” Your ears tune out the insults. The damp gloves pull and pinch your puffy nipples, then knead to soothe the pain. He does the same to the other, switching between both as he feels you squirm.  

He works on the last few pages. Piles upon piles of reports and records—they detail the deaths, or “suicides”, of clients who’d disappeared mysteriously after extended absence of payments for millions of mora, people who dared go against the Regrator. Unruly, uncooperative clients that take advantage of fair exchange, and pay the price for it. 

Your arms get tired, and you settle on him again. Pantalone starts to softly bounce his leg, enough for you to notice the friction on your clit. It’s too much, you can’t take it anymore, and start to rut your hips on his thigh. You look messy, smearing your essence on those overpriced slacks and biting back your moans. Pleasure flows in your veins, and you give up. His cock throbs nonstop, print stealing space in his pants. “Did you believe I wouldn’t catch you? You’re not sneaky enough. You’re not good enough," he taunts from the corner of his eye. You hump his leg like a desperate bunny, chasing the addictive high.  

“Nasty slut, fucking your hips on a man you barely remember.” He moves his hands to your clit and replaces the slacks with slippery leather. You grind on it harder and hold your moans. More, more, more. He coats it in the mess and finally diverts his attention to you. He teases your entrance gliding vertically on your vulva before pushing one finger in. It hurts at first, but your walls hug him eagerly, pulling it deeper. He coaxes it to take another and starts scissoring your gushy walls.  

“I’ll devour you. I’ll inscribe my name upon every surface of your physique until it adorns your lips, and I’m the only thing that remains.” Pantalone starts pumping rhythmically, tormenting, poking everywhere but your g-spot. Gloss drips down his knuckles and glazes his rings. 

“S-sir please, s’too much” you whimper, mustering up an ineffective stable voice. “Hmm? Can you hear the lewd sounds you’re making?” Loud squelches sing from him fucking your insides. Each time you try to speak, he elicits another moan. 

“M-my sto-mach hurtss” you whine. He holds your waist in place with the other hand and continues the assault. “I know, it hurts? Would you like me to alleviate the pain?” he coos. You nod fast. 

“Hold it in. You ask for permission every time you’re close, do you understand?” You don’t reply and try to angle your body to get more contact. You make the mistake of guiding yourself to your clit and earn a harsh stinging slap on your hand. “Don’t touch what’s mine” he orders. You’re frustrated and he’s doing it on purpose, it’s entirely too hot where pleasure and pain blur. “N-not yours” you stammer, and he stops. He pulls out your warmth and you whine from loss of pressure. Looking at him, there's no smile, and the irritation on his face makes your heart drop. You're really in for it. 

Without delay, your stomach flies over one of the chair arms, and you hold onto it for dear life. It presses firm on your ribs, and he slants your ass to the air. “You have courage, speaking back to me” he says. He pulls his gloves off and hurls them. They’re lovely, the silken soft hands of a man who hadn't lifted a finger through combat a day in his life. They sink into your sex, and you moan out for him. The other winds back, and you feel the palm hit brutally on your unsuspecting backside. Crack. It echoes in the room, and you almost fly forward. 

“Disrespectful.” Crack. He keeps pumping through it, and tears collect in your lashes. 

“Disobedient.” Crack. There’s blood rushing to your head, and violent smacks make your pussy flutter and ass ripple; his control won’t give you adequate touch.  

“Little.” Crack. Every time he feels you getting there, he pauses. A masochistic pleasure whirls innermost. 

“Brat.” Crack. Both cheeks are a sore fiery color and beginning to welt, but he resumes. You’re drenching his palm, sobbing from prolonged edging and Pantalone laughs. “Pfft, you’re crying? Too embarrassed to beg? Perhaps I’ll give you what you want, if you grovel hard enough, darling.” An incoherent orchestra of please’s mesh with broken moans. “Sir m’sorry. Wan’ it so bad, p-please!” you mumble. There’s no dignity on your lips, no residue of the hero you once were. Drunken ardor floods your short-circuiting brain. 

“Oh, what do you say? You want it? Is that it? I'll let you have it... but only if you say it loud and clear for me” he croons. He winds his fingers in a come-hither gesture that licks your core. 

“Please...I won’t misbehave again!” He spreads your ass apart and watches your hole pucker from lining the brink. 

“I’m not sure I want to give it to you now. It's a lot more enjoyable watching you squirm and beg.” 

“’M yours, sir. Please give it to me. I’ll be s’good, promise!” you mewl. You’re so pathetic, it’s endearing. He simpers and maneuvers impossibly fast while gyrating your clit. “How humiliating. You’ve satisfied me.” Your eyes roll back, and you dissolve in pure euphoria. There’s black dots in your vision, and it doesn’t stop as he starts torturing your overstimulated clit with the pad of his thumb. Your tears only encourage him. You jerk and spasm, but he moves where you move with insistent skill. “T-too m-” 

“Aww, what’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted, where are your manners?” Pantalone pulls out and delivers staggering mean swats to your pussy, and you recoil. “Say thank you” he demands. 

“Thank you, sir.” He hums and picks you up in his arms. Before color can return to your numb cells, he lays you on the desk. You watch him pull his shirt up to his pecs with haste and uncover the lean skinny midsection. Unzipping his pants, he unsheathes his leaking thumping erection. Even his dick is pretty, it curves upwards and shades a starving dusty pink past the thin strip of tissue on the underside of his bulbous tip. Composure thinning, a bead of pre come runs down his tip at the sight of provocation sluicing your ass and thighs. His glasses plunge down his neck, body blushed wildly, but he doesn’t care. Pantalone slides between your labia and groans at the sound. Engulfing the tip in awaiting velvet warmth, “You’re so good for me, hm?” he sighs. You embrace him, delicious searing stretch of your walls forming to his cock. Your orgasm builds just from your body accommodating the size. He places your hands on your calves and holds them at your sides. He slips out, and in one swoop, drives into you. His heavy balls smack against your ass as he thrusts frenetically in the gooey grip he’d been waiting for, stalking and spying for. He digs crescent shapes in your waist and uses you to his abundance. The desk base creaks and grinds on abrading wood and obituaries float to the floor with overturned calligraphy ink from the unrelenting momentum. You throw your head back and indulge the carnal lust washing over you both. 

“You’ll never see anyone ever again. Fuck- you’re mine, and mine alone. You’re nothing but a come dump, your purpose is to please me, hah, until I say it’s over” his voice is unexpectedly deprived and weighty with vulgar whimpers. Pantalone eyes your neck and encapsulates it in his slender hand. He clenches tight and releases in sporadic bursts that have you seizing around him. For a split second there’s the image of you—exorbitant pearled collar wrapped around your throat, with “Pantalone” inscribed in bedazzled letters—and he loses it. He swipes your clit rapidly and feeds you deep strokes; you’ll definitely die. You speak, but it’s unintelligible rambling. 

“Use your words” he lilts, squeezing your airflow taut. “C-can I, sir, please?” 

“You’ll do it on my command.” Pantalone thrusts frenetically, you can feel him bucking, twitching and quickly approaching his climax. His hips sputter, chanting some mixture of your name and curses under his breath. “You’re so obedient for me, aren’t you? F-fuck, darling, go ahead. Come on my cock.” You permit yourself to surrender, white noise streams in and time slows as you come down his shaft. A creamy ring forms at the hilt of his slaps. You recite “thank you” through wails with the semblance of a follower at the altar of their savior. Then he grabs your face and goes in for a kiss.  

It’s sloppy and misses half your lip, but its doughy attachment mellows your blissed out head. His lips taste like the bitter excess of green tea, and you crane for a better sample. His tongue does things his fingers couldn’t, and swirls around yours in a passionate bruising waltz. Pantalone breaks away, a string of saliva when he frees himself. “Mm, coming. Gonna claim you everywhere” he whimpers. Sweat on his lustered abdomen, he pumps his tender cock before spurting thick hot ropes across your tits and stomach. He paints your vulva with the rest and plunges the tip in your entry so as to not waste the endless globs of white. He tremors inside you until soft, and when some dribbles out he fingers it back inside.  

Afterwards, Pantalone opens one of the drawers on the desk and takes out an embossed loan dismissal form. You can’t read the finer details through hazy eyesight. “It’s already signed, so don’t worry. I won’t deceive you.” He caresses your face in his normal sing-song attitude. “We depart in the morning.” You don’t have a clue where you’re going or how you’ll get there as you drift unconscious. Once you’re asleep, Pantalone shuffles in a different locked drawer. He twiddles the stunning purple geode in his hand, a crystal lined mineral you gave to him years prior. He looks at you, then the druse, and cackles. 

“Mine. Always.” 

[dvhuwr]

Genshin Impact - NSFW Pantalone Alphabet Head Canons !!

Pairing: AMAB Pantalone + AFAB Reader

Synopsis + Information: NSFW Pantalone Head Canons for every letter of the Alphabet. 

Tags: Mentions of Sex, Cream pie, BDSM, Uneven Power Dynamic, Rough Sex, Anal, CNC, Mentions of innocence and vulnerability, Overstimulation, Fingering, Fellatio, Cunnilingus, Edging, Quickies, Dirty Talk, Lap Dance, Face Fucking, Free Use, Pet Name “Princess”

Minors do not interact with my account or this post! Enjoy!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after the act). As one of the wealthiest individuals in Teyvat, Pantalone never fails to spoil you. He takes great pleasure in rewarding you with expensive and lavish gifts including jewellery and designer clothing. This is his way of showing appreciating and love for you after having sex. Due to the nature of your sex, he also checks up on you, to see if you’re okay and if there’s anything you may need.

B = Body part (Their favourite Body part). He absolutely adores your face. Whilst he, of course, likes your body, there’s nothing better than seeing the lewd faces you make whilst he shoves his cock deep into your pussy.

C = Cum (Anything cum related). Pantalone enjoys finishing inside of you, he likes watching his seed drip down your cunt, he finds it very erotic. He also enjoys finishing inside of you to reduce the mess, plus, he believes finishing ‘on’ you is tacky.

D = Dirty Secret (A dirty secret of theirs). He is very turned on by BDSM. He has a vast collection of bondage, ropes, whips and other various ‘toys’ that could be used in the BDSM department. He loves seeing your moans of pain, it makes him feel like he has power over you, and that you’re his own personal toy.

E = Experience (How experienced are they?). Very. He knows exactly what he’s doing. As a wealthy and influential figure in Teyvat, there is no surprise that he has had his fair share of encounters with women.

F = Favourite Position (Favourite sex position). Pantalone is a very busy man, dealing with Snezhnaya’s economy and so forth. Therefore, a commonly used position is doggy on his work desk. Whenever he feels the urge to, he will pull you to the side and bend you over his desk, and without warning, he will thrust into your pussy whilst tightly gripping the back of your hair. It’s quick and get’s the job done, as most days he doesn’t have time for drawn out intercourse. It also makes him feel powerful; being able to pull you to the side and force you to take his cock from behind.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment or are they humorous). No. Pantalone is not someone who jokes around, especially during sex. If you ever try to joke around with him, he will make sure to punish you accordingly.

H = Hair (How groomed are they down there). He believes self-care is of utmost importance, especially down there. He is completely shaved and keeps up with this daily.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, the romantic aspect). He can be romantic when he feels it is appropriate; in fact, Pantalone can be very romantic, taking you out to fancy dinners and buying you expensive and beautiful bouquets of flowers. But don’t be fooled, as soon as he gets you into bed, he’ll be rough, demanding and dominant.

J= Jack off (Masturbation). He doesn’t masturbate, he believes masturbation is ‘tacky’. He knows he can pull you to the side any time he wants and fuck you senseless; therefore, masturbation is of no use to him.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks). He has many. He mostly indulges in CNC and BDSM. He loves the feeling of forcing himself onto you, and being as rough as he pleases. Panting heavily whilst he’s hunched over you, thrusting into your ass whilst you moan his name and tell him to stop.

L = Location (Favourite places to have sex). Pantalone believes having sex in public is tacky and stays away from such, especially since his reputation is of value to him. Therefore, the bedroom tends to do the job, especially since that’s where he keeps his collection of sexual ‘toys’. However, he is a busy man who is constantly working at his desk, and he won’t be afraid to bend you over his desk and rail you from behind when he feels like it.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going). Whenever he sees you looking vulnerable and innocent, it turns him on greatly. He also just plays off of instinct as well; he has a high sex drive so, whenever he has the urge to have sex, he’ll drag you toward him and slam you onto his desk before fucking you like there’s no tomorrow.

N = No (Turn offs, things you shouldn’t do). He is not open to you not taking him seriously, and if he can sense you joking around this will frustrate him. Additionally, any sort of public sex or threesomes are completely off the table for Pantalone; he feels as if these activities are for ‘low lives’ and are ‘tacky’.

O = Oral (Preferences, skill). He enjoys face fucking you, watching the beautiful mess he creates all over your face. But he can’t help but eat out your cunt. Eating pussy is something he is extremely skilled at; he’ll suck on your clit while sliding his fingers in and out of your cunt until your dripping wet and begging him to keep going. And, when he feels like it, he’ll edge you and stop as your about to cum, leaving your pussy twitching and pulsing for more. What a tease!

P = Pace (Are they fast, slow, rough or gentle?). His pacing can depend on the scenario. He can be slow or fast or rough or gentle. However, he almost always prefers starting off slightly slowly to tease you and leave you begging; then suddenly fucking you hard, rough and fast to overstimulate you.

Q = Quickies (Opinion on Quickies). He takes pleasure in having quickies with you, especially during his work hours. There’s something so perverted about swiping the contents of his desk to the floor and roughly slamming into your tight ass while he’s meant to be reading through tedious documents.

R= Risk (Are they game to experiment). Pantalone cares too much about his reputation to take risks during sex, especially if it’s public sex. Being caught in such a degenerate act is the last thing he wants and needs.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they last for, how long do they last?). Long. Not only can he go for a while without finishing, but he also has the stamina and endurance to go for plenty of rounds. He can really go for hours if you let him, though you probably wouldn’t be able to walk afterwards.

T = Toy (Do they own toys or use them?). He loves using toys on you. As mentioned before, Pantalone has a vast collection of whips, toys, ropes, paddles and so forth that he takes pleasure in using. His favourite are the ropes; he likes tying your wrists and ankles together so there’s no chance you can escape him, even if you beg him to stop. The whines of pain and over stimulation are sounds that can make him cum in a matter of seconds.

U = Unfair (How much do they tease?). Pantalone takes great enjoyment from teasing you, it makes him feel dominant and powerful. He’ll swirl his tongue around your clit whilst thrusting his fingers into you, gradually increasing the speed till’ you’re about to cum. But then, he stops. He’ll leave your pussy pulsing and you begging for more, and he won’t continue until he feels like you’ve done an adequate amount of begging. Watching how desperate you get for him is a massive turn on.

V = Volume (How loud are they, what sounds do they make?). He isn’t very loud. He’ll breathe heavily and lightly moan whilst thrusting into you, but he definitely isn’t loud. However, if he’s dirty talking you, he may raise his voice slightly, to make sure you can understand every single word he’s saying to you. “Look at me brat, look at me while I shove my cock into your little cunt,” he’ll demand of you.

W = Wild Card (A random NSFW Head canon of choice). Pantalone loves lap dances. Quite frequently he’ll ask you to dress up for him and show him some dance moves. He’ll even throw money at you to treat you as if you were a stripper; then once his cock starts leaking in his pants, he’ll push you to your knees and face fuck you relentlessly.

X = X-Ray (What’s inside his pants?). Pantalone may have a cute and innocent smile, but don’t let this deceive you, he really is packing down there. Measuring out at 7 inches, his cock can really do some damage if he isn’t careful. But sometimes the pain feels too good.

Y = Yearning (Sex Drive). He may be a busy man, but this doesn’t affect his extremely high sex drive. He just can’t help but thinking about fucking your tight asshole, he loves it. Furthermore, the fact that you’re pretty much always available for him to ‘use’ makes it easier for him to act on his thoughts, rather than suppress them.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly do they fall asleep after sex?). No; he’s too busy for that. Once he’s done with you, he’ll usually leave to continue his work. He’ll check up on you after sex and make sure you’re okay and he’ll remind you, “If there’s anything you want, tell the maids. Oh, and also, I’ve left some Mora on the bedside table, go treat yourself if needs be Princess.”

[catscidr]

I heard you need brainrot?

Mine is that Pantalone loses his glasses. He has them on a chain but still loses them like crazy. Therefore his partner just kisses him on the nose and puts them back on his face.

Dottore bites you like a shark. Y'know, the thing they do where they bite their partner? That thingy. Also acts like a dog to get attention. Once he wants attention, you better give it to him or he will scoop you up and whisk you away to his office to do whatever he wishes with you.

YESSS WAHH pantalone spends so much money getting replacement glasses only for you to find them again a couple of days later (good thing he can buy as many as he want without making a dent in his bank account, otherwise he would be broke already. glasses aren't cheap !!)

one time he lost a pair right after buying new ones and you scolded him, saying that he had to be doing it on purpose because.... how? but after seeing the way his face contorted in genuine distress you relented, giving him extra kisses to make up for the false accusation (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

i also like to think that he subtly asks for your input when getting a new pair done!! he can't decide what kind of gemstone he wants engraved in the chain that keeps his glasses on his face? pantalone'll randomly ask you to choose between three colors and will get the matching gemstone without a second thought. the ones you helped him choose always end up being the pairs that take him the longest to lose <3

oh and clingy dottore my beloved..... it's to the point where you swear you can see a tail swishing back n forth behind him when he's in one of those moods. at this point you might as well get him a collar (but you're sure that the weirdo is going to end up liking it anyways /affectionate)

it's a good thing you live in snezhnaya with him because you can get away with wearing thick clothing that reveal only a sliver of skin. turtlenecks and dense pants make up about 80% of your wardrobe; if they didn't, you'd be rocking bite marks on your neck, hands and even legs somehow, out in the open.

but it's not like you completely hate it when he bites you, it's endearing when it isn't painful. sometimes you'll ignore him on purpose just for the attention. uno reverse card. you even bite him occasionally; the first time you did you were blessed with the sight of a befuddled, completely dumbfounded dottore. you bring it up to tease him sometimes ( ｡•̀ ᵕ •́｡ )૭ mwehehe

[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!

[aluraveil]

Attempting to Break Up w/ Yandere Harbingers

Pairings: Yandere Pierro, Pantalone, and Dottore x Reader

PIERRO

When your words register in his head he would be fuming. He already lost his homeland and now he’s gonna lose you? That will not happen.

Pierro was a cold ruthless man who showed no mercy to his opponents. Everyone was fearful to get on his badside of and most importantly, nobody wanted to fuck around with him.

With the amount of bloodshed from war on his arms and the heavy weight he carries being the leader of the harbingers, he thought he could never love. That was until he met you. You gave him a reason to return home. He always looked forward to seeing you and you made him happy. But without you? That’s a whole nother story that won’t happen.

The day you agreed to marry him was the day you agreed to become his until the end of time. Nothing could change that. Nothing could ever take you away from him. The diamond ring on your finger was already proof of his ownership on you. You had belonged to him and only him. If you seriously thought that anything else could change his mind, then you would be a complete idiot. You would be a fool trying to deny that.

Good luck trying to leave him though, because he'll make sure that you'll be trapped in his manor with the exits and windows locked shut.

PANTALONE

If you seriously thought that you could ever escape his clutches then you needed serious help. Something that needs to be drilled into your brain is that you could never get away from the Regrator and that you will always be his.

So when you wanted to break up with him, it didn't go as planned. He was supposed to listen to what you wanted to say and your feelings about your relationship. You were then gonna drop the bomb on him saying that you wanted to end things with him and move on with your life. Then the both of you would leave and head your seperate ways.

But oh no. Things didn't go as planned. All hell broke loose and you experienced it first hand.

When you were walking to your boyfriend's office you only had one thing in mind- that was to tell him that you wanted to break up. When you finally arrived, you sat down onto a chair as you mentally prepared yourself. You looked up at Pantalone and you started talking. Your

At first, Pantalone just chuckled at your serious expression as he thought it was quite adorable. You however just sat there confused, something about the way he laughed at you made you feel quite unsettled.

But when it finally registered in Pantalone's head that this wasn't some funny joke, that's when his smile dropped and his eyes stared through your soul.

He was furious. You wanted to leave him? You should have known that you would never get away from him. Not even in your dreams.

It shouldn't have been a surprise when the next thing happened. Pantalone grabbed the back of your head and slammed it down onto the desk.

You immediately blacked out.

When you woke up, you were laying in Pantalone's bed and there were chains on your arms.

Welp, you only got yourself into this situation. The only thing you could do next was pray.

DOTTORE

If your pretty little head thought that leaving him would make you forget all your memories with Dottore then you were certainly mistaken. You could never escape from him. He loved you too much to ever leave you, infact he would never let you go. He was deeply obsessed with you.

The Doctor was too madly in love with you. So when you agreed to be with him, you basically had sealed your own fate.

When you arrive to Dottore's lab, you find that he's busy performing an experiment. You see that he looks very immersed in his research and how he seems very focused while holding and examining some test tubes filled with liquid.

You're quite nervous. He seemed busy. Maybe now was a bad time? Actually no. You figured that since you were leaving him you might as well tell him now instead of delaying the inevitable.

When you finally said what you needed to say, it felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. What you didn't expect was for Dottore to throw the test tube in his hand at you.

It felt like time had stopped when the test tube hit you and the glass shards pricked at your skin. You dropped onto the ground screaming in pain asthe liquid inside it was burning your skin.

Dottore quickly rushed over to you and held you in his arms as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a needle. The needle was pricked inside your neck and you quickly fell asleep.

Dottore placed you onto his examination table and he quickly patched up your cuts.

Afterward, he placed you into your shared room without forgetting to place ropes around your arms and locking the door.

[my-cherie]

𝗗𝗢𝗘𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗠𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗪♡

pairing ꒱modern! step-dad! pantalone x male reader warnings ꒱ step relationships (though reader doesn't know it), cheating on pantalone's part, a few pet names (darling, sweetness, pet), grinding, dirty talk, praise. wc ꒱ 600+ thoughts ꒱ small genshin drabble bc pantalone doesn't get nearly as much appreciation as he deserves, this man is HOT, y'all. inspired by the abba song with the same name. NOT BETA READ.

You hadn’t seen your mom in a long time. Ever since you moved away for college she barely contacted you, so to say you were baffled when her wedding invite came in would be the century’s understatement. Putting on your best suit, you messed with your hair a little more and tried your best to straighten your tie, before giving up and just deciding to go like this. Not like you were trying to impress anyone.

While you were on the way to the ceremony, you checked the invite again. This was maybe your mom’s third husband ever since your dad left? You weren’t sure, but maybe this “Pantalone” (as you came to know his name from the invite) would be nicer than your other step-fathers.

… The place was fancy. You almost wish you hadn’t come, because the venue in itself already seemed straight out of an expensive magazine, with the full-on white decorations, roses and tulips and baby’s breath everywhere and a ton of seats in the middle of a cute, meadow-like wedding venue and now you were sure that this Pantalone guy was at least filthy rich, because your family sure as hell didn’t have the money for this place, even with the money your mom managed to get from her past failed relationships.

You stumble amidst all the guests, making small talk with some cousins, aunts and uncles, before finally settling into the back of the garden, nursing a glass of white wine that you were sure cost more than your apartment. Trying to look for anyone else you knew besides the few relatives you had talked to, you were disappointed to see only strangers. 

Fuck, was your mom gonna take too long to come out? 

“Hello,” you startled, who— “do you mind if I wait here as well?

Oh, that’s a very pretty man.

He’s wearing probably the most expensive suit you’ve ever seen, with a beautiful blue tie, silver glasses and— Is that a fucking Armani suit?

“Sure dude, uh,” you shift under his attention, distractedly biting the inside of your mouth, scrambling for a common topic you could talk to this stranger about, “do you know the groom?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” He chuckles in amusement and you realize suddenly that he seemed a bit... bored. He was just observing everyone and not moving to greet any of the people in the venue, even though you can see that quite a few people seemed to wave and smile at him.

The unknown man seemed to not want to socialize with anyone else, besides you, that is.

You mess with your tie again, trying to distract yourself from the beautiful, beautiful man besides you. Your tie just never seems to sit correctly on your suits, no matter how many times you've watched those tutorials on Youtube about how to do the perfect tie.

“Do you need some help there?” The man — fuck you forgot to ask his name — asks, clearly seeing you struggle.

“Please, if you could.” You smile at him, embarrassed.

He comes closer, slowly redoing your tie for you, and you stare at his face meanwhile. 

Without meaning to, your eyes are attracted to his lips and you bite your own again, thinking about how they look very much kissable. When you look up, he’s already looking directly at you, a smirk playing at his lips and his eyes muddled with arousal.

So you weren’t the only one to feel the pull of attraction between you two then, good. You weren’t even enjoying the wedding anyway.

(The man kisses hard, you dimly register, your body hidden away from view by the way he’s holding you, kissing you breathless.

His knees are slowly grinding your dick and fuck if it doesn’t feel good, making you moan each time he does it, holding his hair tighter.

“Do you like it like that, darling? Does it feel good?” He talks dirty like he’s made for it and when you don’t answer, he pulls away the tiniest bit. “Answer me.” 

And you have to gasp for breath, he has already made you into such a mess in a few seconds, it’s humiliating, but not enough for you to not beg him.

“Yes! Yes, it feels amazing! Please, please—“ You don’t know his name, god damn it all. He seems to notice your predicament, because he snickers a bit.

“The name’s Pantalone, sweetness.”

You give him your name as well, completely forgetting that your mom’s soon-to-be-husband has the same name as the stranger ravaging you. Even though it’s a very clearly unique name, your brain has been completely taken by his ministrations, hazy and distracted.

“Cute,” he says, before going back to kissing you to oblivion and starting to grind against your cock with his own, clearly hard and wanting to continue just as much. 

“I’m going to enjoy ruining you, pet.”)

[explicitred]

Pantalone Headcanons - (Male Reader)

June 10, Post 6 of the "30 Days Fanfic Event"

Pantalone, a man who is obsessed with mora, is more possessive of you.

One who tries to sneakily grab one of his mora, is in for a rough time. Meanwhile, you could grab handfuls of his mora in front of him, and only earn a pleasant and genuine smile from Pantalone.

He was greedy for Teyvat’s currency, but was greedier for you, savoring each last touch you give him.

Pantalone took care of everything and anything he could for you, eyes averting with blush lightly coating his cheeks whenever you praised him in response.

By now, your room was full of untouched presents, stacking all up to the ceiling from him buying more and more presents for you every day. So many presents… and yet Pantalone’s still buying more gifts at this very moment?

…Ah, perhaps asking Pantalone to get a separate room for presents will do?

And meanwhile he starts working on your request, let's start spending a couple of hours opening a small percentage of his presents.

There was a time you could recall when Pantalone had stopped for a bit to stare at a ring, before smiling at you.

Hmm… Is he thinking of marriage already?

Oh, dear mighty god, won’t you give him a vision of your love for him? (lol, get it? You kinda need to know a small fact about his lore to understand)

Money man is very cash money for us :D ❤️

[sunnysamaa]

" Like father like son "

pantalone x you

I told you WE CAN FIX HIM!!!! let's goooo

[byizoyas]

genshin impact ; random socmed texts

sfw. ✩ sending a random trend to your crush (neutral gender) featuring: dottore, pantalone, alhaitham, kaveh, childe, xiao.

a/n. ✩ you can find the part 1 here!! i wanna say i legit gasped out loud at the childe one (that is RLLY RLLY slightly suggestive) cuz i didn’t choose the time stamps nor the songs (it was shuffling) so i found it genuinely funny how it just had to be THESE lyrics 💀 ANYWAY hope you’ll like it <3

[str4wkinzi]

Pantalone had always been a busy man. And, like everyone, he sometimes came home angry. He knew you were always there to deal with his anger for him.

Pantalone always made it a habit to come home angry. (Sometimes he was just faking.)

He’d come in, take his jacket off in your shared room, and come meet you back on the couch.

He’d start kissing your neck, putting one of his knees right in between your legs.

When this was new to you, you’d always yelp in surprise when his lips attached to your neck.

He’d mumble about how his day was in your neck while playing with your clothed chest.

He bites your neck while using one of his hands to fondle your chest, the other rubbing up and down your slit.

He always suddenly stops, leaving you needy and whiney.

He lays back on the couch and beckons you over to him.

Once you do come over, he grabs the back of your head and puts it next to his clothed cock.

He tells you to take his cock out. Not using your hands, though.He makes you unzip his pants with your teeth, laughing at your struggles.

Once you do take it out he wastes no time in shoving your head on his cock.

He fucks your face as he makes you look up at him with glossy eyes.

He loves when you audibly gag when he cums deep inside your mouth.

He demands you on your back, most of the time he just pushes you back because you’re “too slow.”

He lifts both your legs up over his shoulders and plunges his cock into your cunt.

He never starts out slow. He never goes slow.

He fucks you like a rag doll. He fucks you like he hates your guts. Or, he just wants to rearrange them.

He’ll go round after round using you like some inanimate object.

He whispers in your ear that you were made for him.

Made for him to ruin, to use, to break.

He laughs at your screams and whines to slow down.

Even when he is done, he never really is.

He takes you to a bath he ran, sits you on his lap, and acts as if he isn’t about to fuck you again.

STR4WZ STICKY NOTE < im a professional milk go getter guys!! Professional leaver then comer backer thats me gang!! Anyways stuff will be out today cuz i have a toji one i wanna do so mad but my mind is like bitch you have 10 other things to do stfu so BYEBYE :3

[deathbysnakes]

Fatui Harbingers voice lines about you

Fatui x Reader(Romantic/ Platonic)

Warnings:we don't really know anything about how some of the fatui harbingers act so this might be ooc/Pulcinella and Peirro are platonic (sorry Pierro simps)/Scaramouche being mean af

Pronouns:[preferred pronouns] (Reader)

Fluff

Explanation:Just Arlecchino voice lines about you

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Tartaglia

About [name]:You want to know about [name]? [name]'s the most wonderful and beautiful/handsome person in all of tayvat! You'd go weak at the knees if you where to ever see [preferred pronouns]!

Pantalone

About [name]:Hm...Oh! Sorry just daydreaming, [preferred pronouns] is my partner, yes romantically. Money or [name]? Are you doubting my love for [name]? Of course [name]! Only a madman would choose money over [preferred pronouns]!

La Signora

About [name]:[name]? I'm surprised [preferred pronouns] would even talk to a low life like you, [name] is way out of your league, but don't fell offended, everyone, except me of course is way out of [name]'s league.

Sandrone

About [name]:Why do you want to know? Are you planning to assassinate [preferred pronouns] or steal [preferred pronouns] away from me? You're not? I find that hard to believe, I'll be keeping an eye on you...

Scaramouche

About [name]:[preferred pronouns] mean nothing to me. Then why am I always around [name]? Stop sticking your nose where it's not supposed to be and leave me alone, also if I hear that you asked [name] about me, you're dead meat.

Pulcinella

About [name]:[preferred pronouns] is a good child! We need more youngsters like [name], [preferred pronouns] is a light in these dark times! Don't you try anything on them though...

Arlecchino

About [name]:[name] is my significant other, [preferred pronouns] help me with taking care of the children, [preferred pronouns] is a big help, but while I do like it when [name] helps me I enjoy our time alone more.

Columbia

About [name]:Truly they are a angel, my angel, I love [preferred pronouns] dearly, I'd gladly choose them over tayvat, there stuck with me forever, but if you touch a single inch of there body...You won't live to see the light of day anymore, do you understand...?

Il Dottore

About [name]:How do know about [name]...? Oh you've met [preferred pronouns]? Well, [name]'s my lover, why do you looked so shocked? Never mind, I know what you're going to say.

Il Capitano

About [name]:I hope you don't plan on doing anything to [preferred pronouns], you don't? I don't trust you...I'll be keeping a extra eye on you and [name]...what eye? Ha ha very clever...

Pierro

About [name]:[name] is my adopted child and I would do anything to see [preferred pronouns] happy, that is what a father is supposed to do and what he desires to do, and if a father's child is ever hurt, he will take revenge no matter what, so watch yourself around [preferred pronouns].

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ The princess deserves to be spoiled too!

(his ass is not listening rn) A silly illustration for the fic I wrote here, if you want to check it out.

[saetoru]

BEHAVE — PANTALONE.

「 SYNOPSIS 」 ⋮ pantalone + brat taming - pantalone decides to take a break so he can teach you how to behave

♱ kinktober ⋮ find the masterlist here !!

♱ length ⋮ 1.6k words

♱ contents ⋮ nsfw and 18+ content, fem! reader, slight choking, teasing, bratty reader, mean pantalone (and then he’s kinda sweet), glove kink ;), fingering, orgasm denial, dacryphilia (he licks your tears LMAO), begging, unprotected sex, creampie, use of pet names (love, angel, good girl)

♱ notes ⋮ he makes me so sick. need his gloved fingers

“my, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” pantalone grins, gloved hand wrapped around your throat as you let out a choked moan. his tip teases your entrance, the blunt head of his swollen cock tapping briefly against your aching clit before he pulls away, making you whine and tug him closer. “still persistent, i see,” he raises a brow, “i thought it was clear i was busy.”

“but you’re always busy,” you huff, turning your head away from him indignantly. brat—it almost glides off his tongue as his eyes darken, glowering at you as you insist on being so difficult.

“i thought i’ve taught you that patience is virtue, my love,” he warns, but you don’t seem to care—all your mind can focus on is chasing the familiar stretch of his cock, splitting you open like he always does. it’s dangerous disappointing pantalone, but that doesn’t stop your hand from defiantly reaching for his thick girth, squeezing around the base of his length and pulling a strangle groan from him.

“i’ve been patient,” you huff, “so patient. i’ll take care of myself if you can’t do it,” you challenge.

now that—that’s a line you shouldn’t overstep with pantalone. it’s a zone you don’t often test. brats get punished—and you’re good, always so good and pliant. always so sweet and delicate and perfect for him to pluck the petals off one by one before building you anew to his liking. but now you’re being plain difficult, and from the look in his face, he doesn’t intend to let you get away with it.

“is that so?” he growls, “and you think i’ll allow that?” his fingers collect the slick dripping from your pussy, brushing over your folds so achingly soft, you whimper at the ghost of the feeling. “how naive,” he chuckles, “to think that i’d let you touch what’s mine.”

it’s almost too harsh how he slams his gloved fingers into your cunt, trusting his digits in and out of you as you gasp and flutter your eyes shut. his thumb rubs over your clit harshly, making your thighs tremble as you latch onto him with arms around his neck. you can feel the slam of his fingertips against your spot, making you cry out with a pitiful whine.

“silence,” he spits, making your eyes open as you stare at him helplessly, “not a sound from you,” he says lowly. it’s cruel—you know one wrong move will rip away what he’s giving you after so long, and you start to think perhaps you should’ve been patient.

good girls get to be spoiled, get to feel more than just his fingers bullying into you while you fight off the noises bubbling up your throat.

but by now it hurts—the ache of your throbbing pussy is enough to make you clasp a hand over your mouth as you sniffle, making his eyes gleam in amusement.

“you’ll be quiet,” he coos, “if you show me you can behave, i’ll let you cum. how does that sound, love?”

if you hadn’t known pantalone for a long as you have, you’d have never known it was a trap. one word of affirmation to his question would have cost you your orgasm, and who knows when the next time he can spare a moment would be? but you know him, and you know his game, and you know he’s testing just how good you can be.

with practiced perfection, you slowly nod with wide, innocent eyes, making him grin in satisfaction.

“that’s a good girl,” he murmurs, angling his fingers to brush against your sweet spot once more, making your eyes squeeze shut and your nails dig into his uniform as your grip on his shoulder tightens. the soft sob begs to tear from your throat as he builds the pleasure up between your legs, scissoring his fingers and abusing your clit with careful eyes trained on you.

he watches your eyes roll back, watches the way tears slip down your cheeks as your pleasure build slowly, slowly, then all at once, you feel yourself approach the peak. you can almost feel the coil in your belly snap, just moments from the blinding pleasure spreading across your body until—

“i said not a sound,” he growls, eyes narrowing when a helpless squeal escapes you when his thumb rubs harsh circles over your clit. just as quickly as his fingers worked you to your high, they stop, making you gasp through choked cries and devastated pleas.

“no, no—so close,” you sob, writhing as your orgasm dies down, a painful ache settling between your legs as your walls flutter around nothing. “please, please—need to cum,” you beg, making him chuckle softly.

he’s mean—cruel and unrelenting and just the slightest bit twisted as he kisses your cheeks and licks the salty tears of his lips with a laugh.

“now, love,” he says—and you can hear the faux pity in his voice like it’s bolded words. “do you think you deserve that, hmm? you’ve not behaved at all—”

“but ‘m good,” you insist, “jus’ miss you, ‘s all,” you sniffle, pouting up at him with quivering lips and crestfallen eyes. and pantalone is greedy—he’s always wanted and wanted and taken what he can get his hands on. nothing changes the slightest bit when he looks at you, finding the same unbearable desire settle in his chest as he stares into your eyes.

“is that so?” he hums, planting a soft peck to your jaw. he nibbles in the skin, making your fingers curl into the dark locks of hair falling to his shoulder. “did you miss me, angel? have i not shown you enough of my affections?”

“uh uh,” you huff petulantly as you shake your head, making him laugh quietly. you’re still ever so slightly a brat—but he supposes there are better ways to get you to behave.

“i guess i’ll have to fix that then,” he grins, “and fuck the brat out of you in the process. but good girls say please, don’t they?”

“please,” you gasp, “please i wanna feel you,” your hips brush against his, grinding against his erection in an attempt to chase the tiniest bit of friction.

it’s enough, it must be—because he doesn’t hesitate to slowly inch his aching cock past your wet folds, groaning as his head falls to your neck. your walls hug around him so tightly���so perfect like you’re made just for him to fit. perhaps, he thinks, you have a point—he has been rather busy, and he starts to question how he’s gone this long without feeling you flutter around him so tightly.

“so tight,” he grunts, moaning into your skin as he pushes his hips forward and sinks into your fully, bottoming out and curving his length into your pussy to nudge against the sensitive spot of your walls. “good girl,” he praises, “take my cock so well, love. s-so good,” his voice lilts with a shaky moan at the end.

“please, please—more, need more,” you beg, sobbing as the veins on the underside of his length drag along your sensitive walls, the fat tip hitting all the right parts as he rocks his hips and slams into you roughly.

skin slaps against skin, the sound of your mewls and his labored pants filling the room as you slick and his pre cum gathers in a mess along your inner thighs. it’s messy and so filthy—the squelching noise of his cock fucking into you, slipping out of your pussy before burying into your harshly.

his fingers—still covered in those gloves of his—push past your lips and explore your mouth, making your choke on gasps as you suck on the digits expertly. you’re good—you deserve his attention, to be the center of his attention, to cum on his cock without being second to his work.

and you intent to show him that, so you look up at him with wide eyes and innocent bats of your lashes. your tongue swirls around his fingers, letting him thrust them to brush against the back of your throat. you don’t even struggle—letting the drool drip past your lips and down your chin in a cock-drunk haze as he slams against york spit so perfectly.

“taking me so perfect, my love,” he groans, voice breathy and quivering as he approaches his own high. you can tell from the way his pace is sloppy and his cock twitches in your cunt as he drills himself into you over and over.

you try to mumble an incoherent me too—but his fingers push on your tongue and pull choked sounds that only make his orgasm approach faster.

with a few more thrusts of his hips, and the harsh circles of his thumb on your clit, you cum around his cock, gushing around him as your eyes squeeze shut with a high pitched mewl ripping from your throat. the spasm of your walls around his cock and the obscenity of your face twisting with pleasure pulls him to his own high, making him curse as he empties his load into you.

he cums into your walls with thick, hot ropes that almost seem never ending. you whimper at the sensitivity as he fucks your through his high, panting erratically into your neck and rasping your name quietly. your fingers tangle in his hair, trying to soothe him as he falls apart in your arms, voice cracking in the middle as he moans.

“f-fuck—feel so good, angel. always so perfect for me,” he stutters before his hips slow to a stop as the last rope of cum paints your walls. it’s obscene—the way globs of cum drip down your thigh, sticky as they dry onto your skin like proof you’re his.

and you are, you think—his.

“have i offered you enough of my attention,” he chuckles once he catches his breath, nose bumping against your as he places a sweet peck to your lips.

“nope,” you giggle, “not enough,” you insist.

you can feel his cock twitch as his eyes darken once more, low hum in his throat as he nods slowly, “so i see,” he murmurs, “perhaps i haven’t taught you to be thankful either.”

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

[scara-hater]

love your cuddles n plushies 😭😭 could I request one with zhongli, dottore, pantalone, and scara? (Fatui era) love your writing ❤️❤️

YESYESYES, these are all different lengths, and I feel these are rushed, apologies for the inconsistency!

Not proofread!

Pt.1 - pt.2

Cuddles and plushies pt.3

--

Zhongli

You like him, he’s cool, so you make a keychain companion to take on your travels. Working in trade gets really lonesome, and missing your friend is the worst feeling because there’s no vibrancy in colour when apart from him.

It’s likely been about a month since you left Liyue, and you are buzzing with excitement when the city comes to view.

Rushing to your house to rid of any dirt during days of venture, and changing into your normal attire, you grab a bag of trinkets and make your way to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Zhongli seems to enjoy hearing you talk about each item, so it’s expected you visit upon arrival.

Barging through the door to greet the seated man, you smile while plopping your bag unto the table to begin your stories.

But being so lost in your memories, you miss him pick something from the pile. “How peculiar.” “now just where did you find this?”

Looking up, you see his gloved hand holding the keychain. “WAAH-“ forcefully standing, you smack it from his grasp, and shove it away. Poor man hadn’t had the time to process what just happened before you begin to scramble for an explanation, “Ha! I mean- I didn’t! It was- you- umm..”

then he understood, “y/n, darling.” You freeze, “yes…?” Leaning forward with his chin resting on folded hands, he looks you straight in the eyes, “did you make it. Is it yours?”

Your face is burned pink, and how intently he’s staring at you certainly isn’t helping. frantically you shove everything back into your bag, spinning to look at him one last time before lying right in his face, “ I have absolutely no idea what that is or how it got there! It is a mystery only the archons have an answer to I suppose!”

He watches as you speed walk out of the building. But he can’t help but wonder, If you don’t know where it came from, why did you take it when you left?

A smiled graced Zhongli’s face, why he must tell you that he feels the same.

Pantalone

This mf would leave you on purpose if he could. The way you scramble to greet him when he arrives from an all day event, your smaller body hugging his torso his as if it’ll be the last. He thrives on your touch, he is whole heartedly enthralled with you.

So imagine his feelings when you make a plush dedicated fit his image. Both positive and negative.

It was adorable seeing you for the first time with it. You didn’t meet him at the door and when searching for you, and he found you melting over how small the plush was. It certainly inflated the harbingers ego.

But what started as a harmless way to entertain your loneliness, soon turned into Pantalone’s loathing. You held it close, snuggling into it as you rested in the living space, then into when you slept, cuddling it instead of him. Why is a mere foolish toy winning you over and straying you away from him? A creation made in his honour, only to lose the privilege of your attention.

“I swear I had left it here.” Bending down, you look under the bed to see if it had fallen, Your prized possession is lost. you could have sworn you had it on the side of your shared bed, but it is no where to be seen. Rummaging and throwing everything in sight, you turn the room into a mess as you try to find the plush. “I swear I feel like I’m going insane haaaah.” Groaning you flop face first onto the mattress and sprawl your body into a starfish position. You give up.

“Y/n, perhaps you left it during an outing, there’s no need to fret over something so futile.” Leaning on the door frame, he opens his eyes to see your un-moving figure, “Come, let us walk and rid ourselves of unwanted stress.” Smiling, he steps to your figure and sits at the end of the bed, rubbing circles on your back.

“‘Kay, but give me a few minutes to mourn my loss.” Raising your arm, you give him a thumbs up.

Yeah, he threw it out and burned the bin.

Dottore

He doesn’t understand how others minds work, and really only thinks about himself, but respects you. and tries to give you a time frame of how long he’ll be gone when pursuing his experiments. Nice enough, but with a doctor as crazed as he is, staying in his lab can last for weeks back to back. And you are supposed to stay and wait for him?

No way.

You instead, have an experiment of your own! The goal? Creating a cuddle buddy for when Dottore is gone.

And experiment is what you do. Trial and error, you want to gouge your eyes out, but within due time, it all pays off. Though, you are quite tired now. Spending all day focusing one thing is exhausting, you don’t know how he does it.

Cleaning your mess and shuffling into the bed, your hands hold the peculiar thing as you trace it’s silhouette. With heavy eyes slowly closing, you can’t truly see the appeal of the plush you had made, it isn’t human and can’t fulfil your need for human contact. Yet as you fall into a slumbered state, you don’t seem like you’re letting it go anytime soon.

The night was quiet, and the room only sound of soft breathing.

Routine never breaking, you slept alone once again, or you though.

And instead of waking to the rise of the sun, you felt the bed dip and something yanking you into their grip, “wha- oomf!”

“It’s only me, go back to sleep I’ll be here in the morning.”

Scaramouche

Little shit just goes missing. You’ll start your day, make breakfast, and go to work. Then…. wait a minute.

He straight up left, cursing him out only for it to land onto the walls of your home. so out of spite you stomp to your box of odds and ends, muttering less than pleasant words as you angrily lay out a foundation to create your own even smaller doll. If this idiot doesn’t love me, I’ll just made one that does.

And it takes hours of vengeful sewing and stuffing, until finally, it’s complete.

Matching his indigo hair and the permanent frown that ruins his beautiful face, you close the the last stitch giving it a testing squish. Perfect.

Holding it in your palms you groan, “I don’t understand why you can’t give me so much as a note.” A pout on your face you squeeze it’s body, “ I actually miss you, even though you suck, so stop keeping me at an arms distance when I care so deeply about you.” Sighing, you draw the plush closer to your chest, laying on your back you stare at the ceiling., “Perhaps when you come back we’ll talk.” But until then you’ll figure out how to show him that leaving without saying, makes you upset. And that doesn’t take long.

Now all there is to do is wait.

Another several days passed before your scara came home, and once he did, boy was he livid.

“Y/n you imbecile, show yourself! Just what in your simple minded brain made you think this is funny?” Coming down the hall, he sees you, “well? Just what the hell is this?” Pointing to the lamp outside the front door, you poke your head out pretending to not know that hanging from the light fixture is a caged plush, of him.

Not only that, but a note stating, ‘do not free the naughty boy who has no respect.’ And he is not taking it lightly, “in your next lifetime, do not speak to me.”

Ever so calmly you stand outside with him, reaching to take his hat off, “but that’s impossible my love, I’d miss you too great to forget you.”

“welcome home my love.”

His face bursting into hues of red, and he marches out of the room.

He didn’t talk to you for three days.

I promise I’m better at writing, i think I’m losing my mind right now