the cadence within [il dottore x reader] — prologue.
The quickest way to a man’s heart is through their fourth and fifth ribs.
But few men would allow you to just skewer them like that, and Dottore was no exception. So you took the classic route. No, it wasn’t through his stomach; it was through sheer force of charisma alone.
However, charisma is shaped like a double edged blade. Pantalone sent you to Dottore’s lab like a flying dagger, and not until it was too late did either of you realize you’d been lodged in his chest.
co-written with noodsies, however, they’re shy and wish to stay anonymous! ♡
author's note: this fanfiction will contain mature content, including explicit sexual acts, violence, dottore himself, and similar themes.
please read at your own discretion.
“Check,” you whispered.
Queen to C6 check, in response to white’s bishop checking on F3. Your D7 pawn guarded your queen, but your bishop was stuck in B8 while his king was vulnerable on A6. His only other piece was a knight on A4.
Did he blunder?
After placing down the chess piece, you glanced back towards him, your eyes searching his face for any readable signs or expressions. There were none, save for the hint of amusement that remained eternally etched into both his features and demeanour.
You mentally sighed. Dottore was as indecipherable as ever, leaving you confused about what to do with the nagging itch that tugged at your heart. You tried to push it aside, to dig a hole and bury the feeling six feet underground where it was never to resurface again, but you found yourself unable to. Instead, you found yourself caving into that emotion, the tension thickening the very air that now felt suffocating to breathe in, each of Dottore’s answers only leaving you with more questions to ask—none of which you should’ve paid any mind to, yet you still couldn't resist, barely holding yourself back from asking the one thing you really wanted to know.
You coughed softly, clearing your throat before speaking again.
“My turn,” you tried to steady your voice and sound as confident as possible, pushing past the dryness in your mouth. “Question nineteen, are you going to continue with your plan?”
It shouldn’t even matter. If you were being rational, you wouldn’t have bothered to ask that; whether or not he planned to continue should not affect your judgement in any way. He had done enough wrong as it is, committed far more crimes than could be excused or remotely justified.
Still, you couldn’t help but succumb to your own weakness, the question leaving your lips alongside a silent prayer that you hadn’t exposed your intentions—be it the one to put an end to him, or the far worse one, the one to give up on your original task. The task you should adhere to, despite your traitorous feelings wanting to get in the way. But you were not strong enough.
Dottore’s silence permitted you to keep ruminating over the same thoughts that had ceaselessly plagued you each time you faced him, the same thoughts that had insidiously grown in intensity throughout your interactions, leaving you to realize far too late that at some point, your actions towards him became genuine.
“Perhaps,” Dottore responded at last. You fought to keep your face neutral, trying your best to mask your disappointment at his answer. As much as you had wanted to, you were unable to deny that you had indeed wanted him to say ‘no.’
As shameful as it was, you pushed for a different answer.
“You’re supposed to answer yes or no,” you stated, keeping your tone light and indifferent.
How ludicrous, you thought. Your job was to pretend to be interested in him, yet here you were, desperately trying to act like you weren’t.
“Unfortunately, Y/N, I can’t do that,” Dottore replied. “The answer is dependent on certain variables.”
“Like what?”
“That’s not a yes or no question.” His face did not betray anything, yet you could hear the smirk in his voice, evident in the satisfaction he spoke with.
“But—”
“—My turn,” Dottore interrupted, and though you wanted to protest, you had to maintain an air of calmness, leaning back in your seat as you waited for him to speak.
“Question nineteen,” Dottore drew out each syllable with emphasis, “you are planning to kill me, aren’t you?”
His sentence caused you to freeze, a chill running down each ridge of your spine as you shivered, goosebumps breaking out over the surface of your skin, your hair standing on end as you stared at him, motionless, eyes wide.
That wasn’t a yes or no question. He knew. Dottore knew.
You didn’t need to see yourself to know that blood had drained from your face. There was no need for you to say anything; even if he hadn’t already known, your expression alone would be enough to confirm that everything he just said was true.
“Go on. Why don’t you answer me?” His voice was sharp enough to cut through the pounding of your heart, the pulsating of the organ reverberating in your eardrums being the only sound to muffle the deafening silence of the room.
“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Dottore continued. Though the syllables reached you, your mind struggled to process the meaning behind them. “Did you think I wouldn’t know?”
Dottore scoffed, indignant.
“I find it rather insulting that you think so lowly of me.”
“N-no,” you scrambled to find the right words. “I don’t—”
“—Is that so?” he said, cutting you off while clicking his tongue in mock disapproval. “Do you have a more plausible explanation for that gun strapped to your thigh, then?”
Your heart sank, his words the anchor that plunged it into the bottomless pit in your stomach. It felt like the life was drained from your body, rendering it an immobile marionette whose strings dangled from the tips of Dottore’s slender fingers. As if his words were coated in a paralyzing agent, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak further or move an inch. The only reminder that you were still alive was the harrowing thump of your pulse, each beat accelerating faster than the last.
How did he know?
For a split second you wondered if you’d been betrayed, but that was impossible. You had premeditated the perfect plan, meticulously memorized every step, and followed through with flawless execution.
With clandestine sleight, you acquired the perfect trump card—a gun loaded with bullets meant to destroy both visions and delusions. It was exactly what you needed to put an end to him, to put an end to this madness and absurdity. You’d be done with this once and for all. You’d have your old life back; exactly as it was before.
So how?
And what was more pressing than how, was the question of just what Dottore was planning to do with this knowledge. The urgency that question posed was unmatched by anything else, the answer pertaining to whether you would live or die.
You couldn’t help but wince, unable to conceal your expressions any longer. Dottore had seen through it all, seen through all your plans. You were dead, and you could only hope that your death would not be as unpleasant as some of the others by his hand. You knew what he was capable of, and you knew he was capable of far worse.
“I didn’t think so.” Dottore’s words were firm. Unwavering. And in those very seconds you were forced to accept the reality that you were going to die. This was the end.
“Go ahead,” Dottore said, slowly holding out his hands with both palms facing you. “Shoot me.”
What?
“I won’t stop you,” he finished his sentence. You were still gaping at him, but he was gazing back straight into your eyes, unflinching.
“Is this a joke?” you breathed, unable to comprehend what was just said to you.
“Is that your final question?” Dottore returned, his words somehow snapping you out of your daze and paralysis for a split second. You instinctively reacted by reaching to your thigh, pulling out the gun that you had prepared for this very moment and aiming it directly at him.
You tried to still the tremble of your hands as your index finger hooked onto the trigger, tensing it frozen so it wouldn’t pull.
A moment went by.
“Is that all?” Maybe you were imagining things. You had to be, but you couldn’t help but feel his eyes scan your face, searching for something.
Just what was he looking for? Could it be the same thing you sought?
“Allow me my final question, then.”
You couldn’t help but anticipate, that minuscule flame of hope, that lingering spark that refused to be snuffed out, flaring back to life.
“Sure.” Your voice was low, but you knew that he had heard you, nonetheless.
“Question...” Each second felt like it had been split up into millions, leaving you to experience time a microsecond at once. You were breathing heavily, your blood pulsating in your ears and adrenaline rushing through your veins. “...Twenty.”
“There is something stopping you, isn’t there?”
next chapter ->
any interactions are appreciated (´･ω･`)
thank you very much for supporting my work! ♡
Just some nonsense transition hcs about the various "medical professionals" of Genshin because I am tired but wanna write a little bit.
Cw: medical malpractice( dottore is here so of course :) )
Dottore
Would do HRT for free...same with top and or bottom surgery heck if you wanted to be built like a doll no parts no nothing period man would do that shit for free he don't give a fuck about nothing he'd do it because he could he'd turn you into a robot if you wanted. Man is not a certified doctor soooo what do you expect?
To be honest he'd also do so even if you didn't want to if you were just one of his many test subjects but if you were a legitimate patient of his he'd do what you wanted no questions asked.
Dude could probably find a way to make irminsol change your freakin name and such so that all records would show your chosen name was always your name idk he'd be more than capable I think.
Baizhu
Would charge of course he's got a shop and bills to pay but he'd be pretty open about the whole process. He'd ask you questions what you'd like to do and tell you flat out what changes could or could not occur if you did HRT and what to expect and what to do.
Not sure how good he is at surgery I barely hear anything about surgery in Liyue so he may be good at it but he may not be good at it cosmetically.
Would advise you to take your time and be sure about every decision you make and perhaps even double check you are aware of certain changes that you may not be able to control such as weight distribution, hair loss, and etc.
Tighnari
He's more of a field medic than an actual doctor but he'd probably know a thing or two about the best surgeons and doctors to see in Sumeru if you wanted to do anything.
Would definitely help you figure out what exactly your goals are and what you can and cannot achieve with hormones and or surgery.
A pretty great listener who will let you know if your goals are realistic or too idealistic and help you figure out what is best for you in the end.
Man absolutely will scold you if you don't follow your doctor's instructions to the letter especially if surgery is involved.
Barbara
More of a nurse than an actual doctor but more of a nun than either so the most she could do is help you figure out what you want to do and how to get it done and watch over you after surgery and or after you start HRT.
She's a bit confused but supportive and though she doesn't know much she's always willing to learn more and help out her friends.
She studies quite a bit about it so that when you do make a decision she knows what to do to help out like if you're the type to get nervous with needles but need to do injections she can help you do them or teach you better how to do them yourself.
Kokomi
Not a doctor, not a nurse, but a secret third thing...just kidding but she's not a medical professional by any means even if she can heal. I'd put her closer to a field medic like Tighnari.
Watatsumi is very isolated and they don't exactly have access to resources like the main island does so while they may be able to perform surgeries it could be dangerous and may not be cosmetically appealing.
She's still more than willing to listen to your troubles if she has enough energy to spare and see what she can do to get you what you need.
Any HRT stuff might be illegally acquired at least before the new trade laws existed.
Sigewinne
Is a nurse and pretty close to a doctor considering her skills. She's a great option to discuss this kind of stuff with especially since she isn't human and isn't bound by human conventions of what makes someone this or that.
She's listen very carefully and with her extensive knowledge can help you come up with a good plan to start your journey however you wish. Enjoys listening to how you want to change and why and all the little things too.
Will also scold you if you don't take care of yourself and do as your doctor and or surgeon asks.
Because of your changes she'll make you something that'll definitely help you heal and adjust to your newer self though there are no promises that it'll taste good.
I want to have a threesome with panty and dotty plz
# BANK NOTICE INCOMING ! ;
p͟a͟n͟t͟a͟t͟o͟r͟r͟e͟ ͟t͟h͟r͟e͟e͟s͟o͟m͟e͟ (featuring gender neutral reader x sub and dom pantalone and dottore)
P.S come talk to me in my asks 🫶🫶 i will love u 4ever and ever
♡︎ ﹔warning : brief hair pulling
# VAULTS
# RECEIPT !
pantalone dottore plz one chance i’ll do anything tumblr crashed on me when i was trying to write this too!! rude af!!!
# DEBT !
smut content — i am 17, please keep this in mind when reading. if that makes you uncomfortable just scroll 🫶
omg omg anon no way me too bc 😭🫶 UGH!!!
both of them would be so superior and teasing i would cry in a good way if they were topping. no i have this image in my head of pantalone scolding dottore bc he keeps “studying you” and muttering shit in your ear about how interesting your body is and slowly slipping his hands under your clothes. pantalone says he thinks he’s being a little too mean…. but he’s enjoying watching it just as much as dottore is. they’d ensure you fall apart and take their time with you. i wanna be between them too 😩 pantalone taking a turn teasing you verbally while dottore takes you from behind- dude probably pulls on your hair and makes you look at pantalone. pantalone gives me the vibes of condescending praise while dottore is just plain amused at all of your reactions.
but also. also!!!! dottore laughs, completely amused and intrigued, whether he’s topping or not. he does get impatient when bottoming and snappy but will get all satisfied when you finally touch him and will shut his mouth. pantalone when bottoming isn’t as condescending or teasing or even praising as he is when he’s topping. he gets drunk on pleasure and lets go of his thoughts bc yk how he is! uptight but so desperate to be taken over.
if u want to talk ab this more anon plz send in another ask bc i could talk ab them 4ever!!
okay but. holding dottore sounds nice but. would he hold me please im s touched starved its not even funny 💀
anyways, request,,, whens dottores favorite times to hold the reader. like, when he's working, before bed, etc? gkdndn idk what im doing sorry if thats worded weirdly 🧍♂️
Boo I think about this every night
You and me both ,,, ☹️
BUT BUT ANYWAYS ON TO YOUR QUESTION,
Dottore's favorite time to hold you.
Everytime. Every second of the day if he can, he is desperately touch starved 🧍.
Of course, maybe not every second of the day- if he's working in his lab or tinkering with something, he'd be too occupied (most of the time you aren't even allowed to be in the room with him during these times– too many risks yk? He can't subject you to that)
But during slower moments like when he's filing out paperwork for the Fatui, he'd have you on his lap like I said in my affection hcs just to calm his nerves. Out of every other time, this could be close to being his favorite. Trust me, bath cuddles and holding each other while you sleep is comfy and all but nothing can beat the immediate wave of comfort that washes over him when he buries his head in the crook of your neck, his grip on his pen loosening just slightly if you decide to take it up a notch and run your fingers through your hair. It's just so euphoric to him. If his human battery needs a quick charge in the middle of work, this. This is his go to.
a/n: come watch me maybe commit character assassination in real-time. (meaning the doc might be a bit ooc lol rip)
also x2, this post may also go to show i don't understand the word 'mild', so uh- sorry about that-
summary: what if y/n was (mildly?) a yandere for il dottore?
word count: 1.1K
what an absolute twist, it's actually you that's the nutcase! oh how the turn tables. he has far more of a disposition to being a yandere, yet look that. it's you instead.
you, a nigh-nameless fatui subordinate that he barely recognizes, stood before him with a determined look on your face. your proposition to him was absolutely baffling to him.
it's incredibly rare that he ever has people that are willing to be experimented on. in fact, you might just be the first person that went to him on the subject.
he had no idea what to make of you, thinking you somewhat disturbed for willing to be a subject of human experimentation. you're so desperate to get stronger that you'll practically walk straight into your own death sentence? do you even know his track record of human subjects?
yet your answer to all that was a yes. you knew exactly what you wanted, and you were willing to do anything to see your goal through, even this. the way he scratched the back of his head and uncharacteristically tried to reason against you was adorable in your strange mind.
what you conveniently left out was your true goal behind all this: dottore himself. really, all you wanted was to get closer to dottore. even though you were in his commanding legion, you were just a low-ranking bottom feeder, left to watch him from the sidelines as you were left to your own fantasies. but now that could finally change. assuming you don't die, that is.
✤ gratitude
(tw blood + needles for this one; skip to piety if you don't want to read)
you took any chance you could to show your 'thanks' to dottore. not wanting to put your weirdness on full blast just yet, you started with small gestures to warm him into it. small notes of gratitude left on his desk, maybe a preserved flower, or perhaps a vial of your own blood.
you had grown accustomed to sharps through all the experimental serums that dottore injected into you. it was simple now, like night and day, like breathing. not a trace of hesitance was to be found when that sharp needle pierced your flesh and drew your blood. would you have hesitated before? maybe, maybe not. what does it matter?
when he first saw it, he was baffled. 'for testing. - (y/n)'
the purpose was as clear as day, but the intention was shrouded in the dark.
is that... blood? did you take it yourself? he huffs annoyedly to himself. don't you know that only he should be the one doing that? it's far too unsafe if you don't know what you're doing, as you could potentially cause more harm than needed. besides, he has plenty of access to your blood since you seem to spend all of your time in his laboratory...
dottore sighs. perhaps you are just trying to be useful, but there's really no need for it. you're the pinnacle of his work; there's no need to go to this length when you have already surpassed his expectations. perhaps he won't quite reprimand you for it next time he sees you.
was it really just for testing or was it because you wanted to give him part of you so incredibly important to your very existence? only you'll ever know.
✤ piety
at the astounding results of your gruelling test, dottore was amazed. it seemed he managed to get his experiments right for once! not to mention your resilience was extraordinary. most of his subjects barely even made it past the first phase, yet you've made it so incredibly far.
"tell me, what is it about you that makes you so different from everyone else in the past? how have you been able to withstand everything?" he asked while resting his head in his hand, leaning into you. you could feel his piercing eyes looking you over from behind his mask.
“because of you, my dear,” you finally uttered it aloud, leaning in closer to him as well. perhaps it was something in the look in your eyes, but he felt rather strange under your gaze. with an awkward clearing of his throat, he pulls at his collar. you can feel his eyes move off you awkwardly.
“i—um, admittedly haven’t been called 'dear' by a test subject before.” to even his own surprise, his face feels warm, the faint dusting poking out from beneath his eye-covering mask. don't mind you, you’re currently trying to cement this mental image into your mind for eternity.
but you still want more, so you decide to dig further.
✤ green-eyed limerence
time went on, and you were somehow still alive and kicking, to both dottore's and your own surprise. in fact, you had actually seen improvements in your strength—something you pretended to care about. this payoff was simply an added benefit to getting to spend as much time as you wanted with him.
because of your new-found incredible capabilities, you managed to climb through the ranks and became part of dottore's own elite squadron of underlings. your dream position.
the lucky thing for you is that dottore doesn’t exactly have many other romantic suitors, but this doesn’t stop you from becoming jealous of anyone he was giving too much attention to; attention that rightfully belonged to you, the magnum opus of his work.
any time any of his other soldiers lingered their gaze on him too long, they'd be met with your stare of daggers. your standard-issue fatui mask managed to hide your cover somewhat, but that dark, oppressive aura you radiated could not be obscured.
if someone was staring too close to the doctor, you'd sidle up right by his side, subtly demonstrating only you belong there. dottore would barely pay you any mind if you got that close, these days. you're like his right hand now. both he and you knew it, and if someone else didn't, you would absolutely let them know.
dottore wasn't oblivious to any of this, of course, but he had it wrong. you weren't as protective of him as you were simply out of obligation of duty; it was far more than that, and it always has been. it's not just because he's given you this strength and you want to pay him back somehow.
it's because you love him, and he will love you back one day, one way or another.
I like to think that dottore cannot handle the unknown/unpredictable things, this is exactly he can’t handle the banker because he breaks his expectations everytime, his predictions fails him when it’s about pantalone. He doesn’t immerse himself with the doctor’s madness and refuses to listen waste his time and energy on bickering with him.
He’s built well and collected.
And this isn’t what the doctor like. So the plan is break the banker. Shatter him and show him how a pawn like him could never fail the doctor’s expectations. Low ones as well. And he’s nothing but a lowly human who’s broken and unable to fix.
the cadence within [il dottore x reader] — chapter i.
As the daughter of a moderately wealthy businessman, you lived a comfortable but solitary life. You never thought to leave your peaceful refuge, not until one of your father’s associates—who was also your only friend—made an unexpectedly tempting offer.
co-written with noodsies, however, they’re shy and wish to stay anonymous! ♡
author's note: this fanfiction will contain mature content, including explicit sexual acts, violence, dottore himself, and similar themes.
please read at your own discretion.
<- previous chapter
Power presents itself in many different forms. Most often, those with power are thought to possess strength, intelligence, wealth, or status. However, you were not exceptionally talented in any of the above. Instead, you found yourself gifted with something much less conventional—charisma.
—
“Pantalone!” You opened the door, beaming at the raven haired man who stood before you. “Lovely seeing you here today.” You stepped back and held the door for him.
“Y/N,” Pantalone returned the smile, thick eyelashes fluttering as his eyes crinkled with joy. “The pleasure is all mine.”
He walked inside before pausing, waiting for you to push the dense mahogany door into place, making sure it locked shut. Your home was in a rather secluded location where few people passed by—much less dare intrude. Secrecy was invaluable to all of your father’s guests.
“Unfortunately,” you began, “my father is running late today, which I apologize for. But please do come in and make yourself comfortable in the meantime.”
Your father was a busy man with a full schedule, one he went out of his way to readjust for the impromptu meeting request. It would have been unreasonable to expect perfect punctuality, and the apology wasn’t necessary.
Still, you had one job, and it was to be nice.
“Nothing to apologize for,” Pantalone replied. “Your generous hospitality more than compensates for it.”
While being cordial was more of a chore with the often unpleasant and impatient businessmen your father associated with, you found Pantalone’s company an effortless task.
You weren’t sure of the exact reasons behind it, but your home was often used as a place for meetings and negotiations relating to your father’s work. You weren’t present for the discussions themselves, but you did greet and welcome every guest—something your dad was not fond of doing himself.
For someone who worked a job where conversation was important, talking was not one of your father’s strengths. Though he managed just fine when it came to business, small talk and pleasantries were burdensome activities for him, which is why you handled them instead.
It wasn’t like you particularly enjoyed talking about the weather which never deviated from cold, or listening to middle aged men complain about joint pain, but you disliked it significantly less than your dad did. If anything, you had a tendency to avoid matters of actual significance, preferring your meaningless exchanges over accountability.
Pantalone was just another one of your father’s many associates, but he visibly stood out from the rest. You didn’t know much about them, but you were confident that everyone you’ve greeted was in some way or another, a powerful dignitary.
But they were no Harbinger.
That fact alone was enough to separate Pantalone from every other person you’ve ever interacted with throughout your approximately two decades of lifespan. You didn’t know for sure, but you knew well enough that his wealth and power surpassed that of all your father’s clientele combined.
But that wasn’t what truly made him different.
Pantalone was a striking contrast to your father’s other associate; not just because he was a Harbinger, but rather he was the sole person you could consider a friend.
You hadn’t bothered making new friends after moving to Snezhnaya. There wasn’t any particular reason for it. Although confidentiality could qualify, you found yourself either occupied with your own hobbies or keeping your father company when he was actually home and not busy with work. Anything you desired was delivered directly to your residence, so you had no need to venture into the city and make small talk with the shopkeepers.
This meant your interactions were limited to your father and his associates, all of whom were as pruned and grey as him. The only exception was Pantalone, and though you didn’t know exactly how old he was—it would be rude to ask—he didn’t seem significantly older than you, both in appearance and mannerisms. At the very least, he didn’t possess the wrinkles and bitterness the others did.
At some point, you began looking forward to your interactions, which both preceded and succeeded Pantalone’s business meetings with your dad. While you still maintained an air of professionalism with you, your amity went beyond mere pleasantries.
As you led him down the wide hallways and cavernous rooms, you couldn’t help but ask the question that had been nagging at you since yesterday.
“Pantalone,” you broke the silence, “may I ask a question?”
“Of course, dear,” he replied.
“Today’s a Monday,” you stated, “and you were just here last Tuesday.” For as long as you remembered, Pantalone had a very specific schedule. Once every other week, every Tuesday, he’d visit. As far as you knew, never had he strayed from that schedule—not until now.
“Ah, as observant as ever, Y/N,” Pantalone remarked.
“And on such short notice too...” you continued, letting your words trail off before asking him directly, “Is something the matter?”
You stopped in front of your father’s study, turning the doorknob and allowing Pantalone in, before you let the door leisurely shut on its own behind you both.
“Oh, no, not at all. It’s just that business can be unpredictable at times—I’m sure you understand.” His tone was as carefree and relaxed as ever, but you were certain this was no trivial matter. However, it wasn’t your business, so you set aside your curiosity and didn’t push any further.
“You’re right,” you agreed. “I was just a bit worried that something was up. I’m glad to hear that everything’s fine.”
‘Worried’ was an exaggeration. While you did care about Pantalone, you had no reason to fret over his well being. It was unlikely that anyone or anything could pose a serious threat to him, ever—he was a Harbinger. Perhaps it was disingenuous for you to feign concern, but you thought it was a polite sentiment regardless.
All of your dad’s meetings, with all of his associates, were held in this room. It was furnished with this intent in mind; a well-lit room with a coffee table flanked by two sofas near the centre, encircled by a desk, a few china cabinets, and most importantly, a kitchenette.
“I didn’t know you cared so much, Y/N.” A teasing remark, as you should have expected. You watched as Pantalone sat down on the sofa with a smirk.
“Do I seem that heartless to you?” you prodded back.
“Quite the opposite. If anything, you have too much heart.” Your eyes widened ever so slightly, Pantalone’s reply catching you off guard—you didn’t expect him to answer so sincerely.
Despite your familiarity with conversation and flattery, you were usually the one to give compliments, not receive them.
“You’re flattering me. I’m not doing anything special,” you brushed it off awkwardly. You quickly turned towards the kitchenette to escape the topic. “Earl grey tea with cream and two sugar cubes?”
“Why, I’m flattered that you remember how I take my tea,” Pantalone said. You filled the kettle, waiting for the water to boil as you took out a teacup and saucer from the cabinet above you, along with tea leaves and an infuser. You opened the refrigerator beside you, retrieving a glass bottle of cream.
You weren’t sure how or when exactly it started, but you always had a fondness for tea. The shrubs themselves, the processing of the leaves, the plethora of varieties and tastes, the simple act of brewing tea—you adored it all. When you still lived in Fontaine, where the weather was warmer and vegetation was abundant, you would often tend to your imported Chenyu shrubs and curate the leaves yourself; something Snezhnaya’s harsh, frigid climate didn’t allow for.
Though you missed the extensiveness of your tea hobby in Fontaine, you found other ways to keep yourself occupied. The time you would have otherwise spent on picking leaves was now dedicated to baking. It was something your mother taught you from an early age, a craft you now spent time perfecting. After all, freshly baked goods were a perfect accompaniment to tea, and your father’s clients appreciated the assortment of delicacies.
It was an excuse to bake batches of pastries that you otherwise wouldn’t be able to finish if anything, but it was something everyone was happy with. The guests enjoyed your confectioneries, your father evaded vapid chit chat, and you baked to your heart’s content.
“I’ve made you tea every other week, ever since we’ve moved here,” you pointed out. “So about two and a half years. It’d be awfully rude if I didn’t remember your preferences by now.”
You earned a soft chuckle from Pantalone.
“Well, now I’m curious. What else do you remember about me?” he asked, the question making you gulp.
You did not have a good memory, and you were especially uncomfortable with being put on the spot, your brain oftentimes turning blank, forcing you to blurt out any nonsense to try and salvage whatever situation you were being put in. You tried to think of something to say so it wouldn’t be obvious that you couldn’t recall; that would be rude.
“Only your darkest secrets.” You fumbled with placing the dried leaves in the infuser.
“So you know her name then?” he interrogated, and of course you didn’t.
“Of course,” you declared with utmost confidence. “Full name, date of birth, medical records, everything.” You knew you were just digging yourself a deeper pit, but you had just poured the water and the tea wasn’t done steeping yet.
“And what about her death certificate?” he continued. You stirred the tea rapidly, pouring in just the right amount of cream alongside two sugar cubes, before picking it up and serving it with the plate of madeleines you had baked earlier.
“That’s included in the medical records.” You placed the tea down on the coffee table a bit too hard. You made sure to place the plate down more gently, as if to absolve yourself of embarrassment. “Here’s your tea. And of course, some madeleines I baked this morning.”
You sat down on the sofa across from him, awaiting his expression as he brought the teacup to his lips, sipping the beverage with elegance.
“It appears you really are as observant as ever,” he smiled with visible satisfaction.
“I’m observant when people are interesting,” you noted, relieved that the conversation had finally shifted.
“Is that so?” Pantalone put down the teacup. “Y/N, what about me do you find interesting?”
There were a plethora of things you found interesting about him, and you wondered if some of them would be too intrusive or direct to point out given his status, but promptly discarded the consideration.
“Well, for starters,” you said, “you’re a Harbinger.”
“Oh my,” Pantalone spoke with feigned surprise. “I nearly forgot!” He reached towards the plate, picking up one of your madeleines and taking a bite. You watched his face hungrily for validation, awaiting his judgement of your madeleines. Even though your confectioneries were never worse than satisfactory, you often liked to try new variations or entirely different recipes, taking note of any feedback from guests to further improve your skills.
“Wonderful baking as always, Y/N.” Pantalone’s words seemed to align with the pleased expression on his face, and you couldn’t help but grin, feeling proud of yourself.
“You know,” Pantalone started, bringing your attention back to the conversation, “such status can be quite cumbersome. People behave rather differently around you. It becomes hard to tell when such pleasantries and favours are coming from a place of genuine kindness, or somewhere else.”
The atmosphere suddenly dropped to a more solemn tone, startling you.
“Be that as it may, I’ve always felt at ease in your company. Contrary to popular opinion... us Harbingers aren’t all that different from everyone else, and I feel refreshingly ordinary in your presence.”
You listened to him attentively, musing over his sentences in your head to carefully formulate a response.
“Refreshingly ordinary...” you muttered. “I didn’t expect to hear that. If anything, you’re quite special to me. Regardless, I’m happy to hear that I’ve been pleasant company for you. The feeling is mutual.”
You finished speaking, a wistful smile on your face as you glanced downwards, the focus slipping from your gaze. While you and Pantalone had many conversations over the years, they primarily consisted of playful banter and idle chatter. Rarely would you be as pensive as you were now, and while sentimentality usually made you uncomfortable, you found yourself not minding it right now. Perhaps you were more lonely than you had originally considered, but you realized your words held more truth than expected.
Pantalone was someone special to you. There used to be others, too. When you still lived in Fontaine, you had close friends; people you deeply valued and cared for. But distance does not make the heart grow fonder. Distance simply meant the space between, and the space from Snezhnaya to Fontaine would parallel the growing disconnect between you and the ones you used to hold dear.
Everything in Teyvat had a limit to its elasticity, tangible or not. Things can only be stretched so far before the tension eventually causes it to sever. Emotional connection was no exception to that. Despite your agreements to continue writing one another and keep in contact, eventually the letters became fewer and longer between. The last time you had received a letter was about seven months ago.
People separate. People move on. It was only natural, and you had come to accept it. You had no idea what your former friends were doing now, but you were probably nothing more than a passing thought in their heads every once in a blue moon.
You didn’t often reminisce about them, either. But when you did, you would naturally ponder the idea of making new friends. Even though it would be wise to make an effort, you didn’t want to. Meeting new people, getting to know them, becoming as close to them as you were with your former friends—it was exhausting just to think about. You didn’t want to bother yourself with something so tedious.
But since Pantalone had been routinely visiting for the past few years, your attachment to him inevitably grew without you even realizing it.
Your rumination was interrupted by the sound of heavy, pounding footsteps rapidly approaching.
“Oh,” you said, “it seems like my father’s—”
“—Oh, Lord Pantalone, please forgive the delay!” The door flung wide open, your father rushing into the room. “Such tardiness in the face of a Harbinger is unacceptable and—”
“—Please, it’s all right, F/N,” Pantalone tried to calm your very much frantic father. “I was enjoying a lovely conversation over tea with your daughter just now and—”
“—No, no, no! This will not do!” your father declared. “You must be impossibly busy with work! We should discuss business as soon as possible—Y/N, you may take your leave now while we discuss urgent matters!”
You were halfway through getting up when Pantalone spoke.
“Well, actually, F/N, the reason I requested this meeting was because I wanted to speak with you regarding your daughter.”
What?
Your head snapped towards Pantalone, the rest of your body still frozen in an awkward motion between standing and sitting, your eyes wide with shock and mild horror.
You weren’t sure if you had heard him right or not. But judging by the similarly surprised look on your dad’s face, you likely heard him correctly.
You would be lying if you said you hadn’t ever thought of Pantalone as attractive. His elegantly styled black hair was smooth and silky—or at least it appeared so, you never ran your fingers through it—and his skin was radiant, fair as porcelain, his amethyst irises embellished with full sets of ebony lashes, sitting behind intricate silver glasses that framed his gracefully poised face just right.
However, you had never thought of anything beyond that. Not only were you unsure about how old he was—he could be twice your age, for Archons’s sakes—he was also your dad’s business associate, and you weren’t sure how your dad would feel about that, though you supposed you’d find out soon.
“Uh,” your dad stumbled over his own words, “Lord Pantalone... are you sure you want to, uh, discuss such matters with Y/N present?”
“Why, of course, F/N,” Pantalone replied, completely nonchalant. Your eyes darted between him and your father, the two of them wearing completely opposite expressions.
“Uhh,” your dad gibbered awkwardly, “are you sure you want to discuss such matters with me present?” You could see that he, too, was looking back and forth at the both of you in a futile attempt to grasp the situation. He was presumably contemplating the prospect of anything having happened between the two of you. The thought alone was enough to fluster you, and you were just thinking of how to explain that no, you were not and had not been sleeping with his business partner, when Pantalone spoke again.
“Oh, Archons, no, it’s nothing like that, please don’t misunderstand!” he exclaimed, his statement sending you into a brand new state of confusion. “I merely want your daughter to spy on Dottore.”
“I’m sorry, what?” you interjected, evident disbelief in your voice. You didn’t need to look at your dad to know he was even more disturbed than you, considering how he was at a loss for words.
“You see, it has recently come to my attention that Dottore is plotting something rather unfavourable to the Tsaritsa,” Pantalone elaborated, though you weren’t sure whether his explanation was helping or worsening the situation. “As a Harbinger, it is my duty to ensure her safety, and as Dottore’s closest associate, I’m in a most advantageous position to do so. Alas, I am but one man, so some assistance would be incredibly helpful.”
While the initial misconception was already difficult to process, the clarification was even more incomprehensible. You were stunned, unable to formulate any coherent thoughts until your dad managed to snap out of his stupor.
“You want my daughter to spy on Il Dottore? Forgive me, Lord Pantalone, but are you daft? How the hell is she supposed to do that? She is a child!” Despite its irrelevance to the situation, you couldn’t help a spark of irritation rising up at his words. You scowled, but put your annoyance aside for now, for there were more pressing matters at hand. Your father was becoming agitated, so you made an attempt to assuage the tension.
“...It’s fine,” you said, straightening up as you turned towards the Harbinger. “Pantalone, could you please elaborate?”
“Well, you see, I need someone whom I know and trust, that Dottore doesn’t know, but can come to trust,” he asserted. “I need someone new, unassuming, but not entirely unfamiliar. Someone who can keep a secret and find a secret. Who better than the daughter of the magnificent F/N?”
From an outside perspective, it was easy to make the assumption that you were knowingly assisting your father in keeping his clandestine activities concealed. Most people likely thought that, but it’d be incorrect.
Truthfully, your role in your father’s work was limited to greeting associates and serving them tea, along with any freshly baked goods you had made. Of course, you knew that your father wasn’t the most noble of men, considering his clientele—the Harbinger on your sofa being a perfect example—but that was the extent of your knowledge, and you preferred to keep it that way. You knew it made you apathetically recreant, but it was much easier to stay unaware and turn a blind eye to his questionable doings. You would keep yourself uninvolved in his business, hiding under your security blanket of willful ignorance.
The exact shelter that Pantalone was trying to coax you out of.
“Well, okay, sure, but—” your dad tried to protest.
“—And as a token of my gratitude,” Pantalone furthered,
“I would bring M/N back to life.”
next chapter soon...
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I like to think that dottore was left with his mother and some robot/machine instead of his father.. yes his father left a machine to fill his rule. Yet I don’t think his mom was capable of keeping herself sane with that. I won’t say that I expect him to be purely innocent in fact he developed a love to mechanics at a very young age made him indulge in such strange behaviors.
“He left me with a robot and a child” he hears his mother say all the time, not to him just whispers yet he managed to catch. So when he replied to her saying that it’s not just a robot mom, but a complicated machine that could preform a human’s role perfectly! It just need little improvements. And it’s not just a child but hers. “Will you leave your wife and son with a guard?” “It’s not just a machine mother but an optimized man” he couldn’t understand the look on her face, but he didn’t expect it to be something nice, because his mother wouldn’t be proud of him no matter what. In fact she couldn’t even hug him nor she knew what to do with him. She was just here and he’s there. Night ended and days passed but yet her expression didn’t change since then. One day he couldn’t find her around, not that he was looking for her it was just a strange feeling that leaded him to sense her absence. He found her in his little garage with his little kit. She looked like she was reminiscing. He knew this broken look, not because he felt it but because he saw it so often and it made sense after all. When she noticed his presence her face didn’t lighten up, it never did anyway. “You won’t repeat his mistake. You won’t hurt other woman like he did. You won’t leave them hanging with a child. And no woman will be hurt like I was” he got what she meant. He knew she was referring to his father, but what was his relation to him? Why would he carry his mistakes? Before he got the chance to ask he found her carrying some acid with her right hand. And grabbing his jaw with her left hand. She unstained his father’s mistakes by punishing his son, her son, him. Young child kept screaming May her heart lean and stop yet it didn’t, but the machine his father left did. She crashed his mother like a bug. This useless machine his mother hated protected him. Just like a father would, just like what his mother was supposed to do. The machine protected him like no one else did.
The child didn’t even think back, he left with his machine, leaving his mother, his only family, leaving with his father’s sins cleaned and forgiven. He left carrying his father sins
“Yes mom, I will leave my family with a machine.” He said between the guards hands. He tucked himself deeper in its chest. It was cold and metal. Just like his mother. Yet he was sure he’s safe unlike his mother’s embrace, he knew this moment would come and knew he will be punished. Him and his machine
