Just imagine accidentally walking into the room at the wrong time, knowing Dottore will be in his rare leisure hour for the day that he already rarely gives himself. You can smell the tea he likes to brew to unwind after a long day through the door.
And when you open it, there they are. Zandik has Feofan’s legs braced in either hand as he pummels straight into him, over and over. The Regrator’s leaking, neglected dick bobs in the air with every thrust as his head falls back onto the table that’s contents have been scattered about the floor in a rush.
Their moans are so pretty together. Feofan whimpers and breathes hard as his ass gets filled by Zandik’s cock, while the latter grunts and groans and says all of the filthiest things to his colleague.
“You love being treated like a slut, don’t you, Feofan? Taking my cock like this after reinstating our contract. Is this my true payment to you?”
And Pantalone is just losing his mind, drying cum coating his lower stomach as his next load prepares to splatter in the same place. And he’s right there, his moans picking up in volume and his toes curling and the feeling settling deep in his stomach and-
Zandik stops.
Feofan whines in protest.
“When did you arrive?”
Uh oh.
The two men stare at you, look back at each other, look back at you again, and their dicks throb even harder.
And poor you, Dottore’s little infatuation, accidentally walked in on their noisy, improper fucking. Neither man scowled nor chastised, nor did they rush to cover themselves up. Instead, they regarded you almost quizzically, as if formulating plans in their heads left unspoken to your ears.
“Come” demanded Dottore in a soft but stern tone.
You walked to his side immediately, unsure of, really, what else to do. His hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His mask wasn’t on at this time.
As he looked down at you, you noticed that Pantalone’s moans begun to come back in soft, short bursts. Zandik was moving his hips again, slowly, tantalizingly.
“Now, what I’ll do with you,” The Doctor began,
Dottore grabbed the base of the other man’s cock, lowering you down to take him all in one go. Pantalone almost screamed.
He made short work of your clothes, planting his hands firmly at your waist as he continued to fuck into Feofan still, your feet lifting off the ground as you were placed atop him, hovering just above his needy, weeping cock.
“…is make you useful.”
“Do a good job and I’ll forget this little disturbance ever happened.”
The bastard was having far too much.
The feeling of Feofan’s cock having filled you completely almost felt too much, and you begun to ride him in hopes of relieving the pressure. The two of you cried and whined and whimpered all to the pleasure of Zandik’s ears as he plowed his ass, keeping one hand on your hip to guide you up and down on his cock at the same time.
Feofan came hard inside of you at the same time that Dottore came into him, sending you over the edge in a blissful crescendo.
Dottore pulled back, admiring the two of you still on one another.
“Right, then. Both of you, collect yourselves and see yourselves out.”
Note: I am still working on Dottore's cosmic joke but my mind keeps wandering lol and this is the result
Hear me out…
Pantalone with an Accountant! Readerwho works for Northland Bank
Accountant! Reader who has been keeping their head down at work. Making sure they do not get on anyone’s bad side as they want to be able to live a quiet life of luxury and know the risks of making mistakes as a member of the Fatui.
Accountant! Reader who’s done the math, and only needs to work for a few more years to be able to retire and have that quiet life they always dreamed of. They are a hard worker and have been working towards this goal for years.
Accountant! Reader who notices a discrepancy in the bank logs and brings it up to their superior.
Accountant! Reader who then finds themself in the Regrator’s office a week later to explain the discrepancy they noticed.
Accountant! Reader who then receives a massive raise as well as praise from the Regrator because it is “rare to find such loyalty in the realm of banking.”
Accountant! Reader who is confused, but accepts the raise and tries (key word, tries) to continue doing their job normally only to be suddenly promoted to work more closely with Pantalone.
Accountant! Reader who is very stiff for the first few months of working with him, going home and chanting to themself ‘its only for another year,’ only to become more comfortable as they work together longer.
Accountant! Reader who is surprised when during a late night at the bank while going through different logs and tables, Pantalone tells them to stop calling him “my lord,” claiming it was too formal for his tastes and insists that they instead just call him Pantalone.
Accountant! Reader who struggles the first few times the name feeling foreign on their tongue, but eventually adjusts to it, not noticing the way he begins slipping in small pet names into their conversations. A small ‘dear,’ ‘doll,’ or ‘my gem,’ said with such softness initially that they question if they misheard, and then with such normalcy that they don’t question it any longer.
Accountant! Reader who goes into Pantalone’s office upon finding a brand new coat on their desk asking why there was a coat there. Only for Pantalone to shrug off their questions, telling them their old coat is too worn and wouldn't be able to properly keep them warm; feigning how he wouldn't want them to catch a cold in the Snezhnayan winter, which begins the saga of him giving them gifts.
It started practical, things he could excuse as him looking out for his employees. A coat, a pair of gloves and a hat to match it. A new pair of boots finding its way to their desk when they almost slipped on the ice on the way back from a lunch.
Then it began to shift into gifts that they couldn't excuse as their boss just ‘being nice.’
Jewelry that he said complemented their eyes. Teas and desserts from across Teyvat from his travels because he “thought you might enjoy it.”
Accountant! Reader who tries to maintain professionalism with the first few gifts, trying to return them to him as they couldn’t accept such a thing from their boss. Only for Pantalone to claim faux hurt, he was just trying to be a good boss couldn't you see? Or when that explanation didn't work he’d claim that he couldn’t return these as the stores wouldn’t accept returns.
Accountant! Reader who stares at the gifts that adorn their kitchen table, (what else were they supposed to do with them?) mourning the fact that they would be resigning soon to their early retirement.
Accountant! Reader who paces in the hall outside of Pantalone’s office for 15 minutes before going in and handing him their letter of resignation. They rationalized their decision to themself, they couldn’t in good conscience continue to accept the gifts, and now they can finally go live the quiet life of luxury they’ve been working for and pushing off.
Accountant! Reader who is surprised at Pantalone’s professionalism in response to their resignation letter, making a joking comment about he will be envious of their newfound freedom from the confines of the bank asking only for them to call him by his name the next time they see one another.
Accountant! Reader who accepts his terms and leaves the bank, only to be surprised to see him a few days later at the open market by your home.
Pantalone! Feofan who tuts at you when you go to call him Pantalone, prompting you to bashfully call him by his true name Feofan.
Accountant! Reader who becomes accustomed to seeing Feofan on your outings to the market, and inviting him into your home to warm up from the Snezhnayan cold.
Feofan who smiles at you and agrees, carrying your groceries for you in one hand the other on the small of your back as you two walk to your house.
Feofan who mutters under his breath about how you deserve more than these simple luxuries, pulling you into an embrace in your house.
Bonus!
Pantalone who was upset to see you leave the bank but sees it as a blessing in disguise because now he can finally approach you romantically as he’s been dreaming of for months now.
Pantalone who stared at the small box on his desk every day at the bank, praying to archons he’d long since stopped believing in that you’d say yes.
A/n:
this man is so so corvid coded (he and Dottore tbh)
he would take a while to truly trust you, but once he does he is bringing you whatever 'shiny' things he finds (from literal diamonds and jewelry to the treats he finds in other nations).
Notes: requested by a follower ^^ 'Pantalone w his favourite brothel worker'
Tags: Pantalone x fem reader, power imbalance, sex worker reader, implied coercion, age gap technically, cockwarming
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Comments and reblogs much appreciated
Minors DNI
There was much in your life to be grateful for. No longer did you fear the cold nights where storms raged and left frozen bodies in their wake. You had a room, warm, comfortable, private most of the time. You were fed.
Even had a purpose of sorts.
The establishment provided lodging and a wage in exchange for your cooperation.
Many of the other rooms were already occupied by visitors who came to visit the lucky souls like you who'd traded their bodies to escape the streets of Snezhnograd.
As it did most nights, your room remained empty. Which was how you found the time to walk through the corridors, listening to bedframes creaking, whips cracking, moans passing through the walls with frightening clarity.
The bare floorboards were chilly against your skin, but the mistress who ran the establishment had explained that carpets would be a hassle to keep clean. And anything less but pristine conditions simply wouldn't do, not with the clientele being catered to.
A drunken man stumbles past, nearly toppling you with his weight. The scent of cheap spirits cling to his beard. He doesn't apologize, of course, but you do. It's a lucky night, he doesn't try to touch you, barely seems to register your presence as he fumbles along the corridor, squinting at the numbers and names on the doors. Your heart is in your throat regardless.
"You shouldn't be out and about, should you darling?"
The voice comes from just behind you and you whirl around, shawl flaring out despite how tightly you're clutching it.
There's no chance to respond before silk touches your cheek in a gentle caress and you're pulled forward by a hand on your lower back. The figure lifts the dark coat and tucks you beneath it like a fledgling bird.
"I vividly remember telling the matron to enforce a curfew so little strays like you wouldn't bother the customers."
Ah. You recognized that voice. And the scent of expensive perfume.
"Regrator.. I got a little restless is all.."
He steps forward, forcing you to back up a little, walking you down the hall with a hand firmly pressing you to his chest, not letting you turn around to watch where you were going. Blind faith.
"Restless? Aren't you satisfied with your room?" He purrs out the words, more accusation than question.
Your breath hitches when he leans over you to unlock the door. The third copy of your key, one belonging to you, one kept at the establishment, and one always with the owner. "Of course I am, I just wanted to see if there weren't any clients for me.."
"Ah, so you fear your prospective clients would get lost on their way up the stairs or down the hallway? How precious. Although that service isn't part of what they pay for."
You're shepherded back into your room before you can try to think up more excuses for breaking the simple rule. Even though you were only under his coat shortly, being without it makes your hairs stand on end. Or perhaps it had more to do with your rabbiting pulse and the anticipation of consequence. Maybe a cut in pay or a warning for repeated 'insubordination' as they sometimes called it.
That fear was quickly dispelled when you caught sight of The Regrator's expression; a rare smile that seemed to reach his eyes. He wasted no time, rarely did when he visited, shrugging off his coat before taking a seat in one of two armchairs and patting his lap expectantly.
When you obliged, straddling narrow hips covered by expensive fabrics, he brought a hand to cup your cheek.
"I'm almost offended you still scare so easily, haven't you learned that I couldn't possibly get angry with you?"
One careful smile from you, heat creeping up your neck at the thought that this luxury is afforded you alone, and he chuckles with something like fondness. A press of lips against yours signal the beginning of this dance that had become routine since you'd been taken in.
"Ridiculous isn't it? To accuse me, me of all people, of squandering funds on projects that will go nowhere? Does he not know the faintest thing about investment? There will always be risk, and it's the job of any good financer to recognize when the potential benefits outweigh-" The sharp hitch of your breath (finally) draws his attention back to the present and he releases the painful grip on your waist.
Had it not been for his gloves, you were certain there'd be crescent-shaped marks for days. Pantalone simply gives you an encouraging pat on the hip, the same as a farmer might do to make cattle move, and you begin slowly grinding back and forth in his lap once more.
"Where were I? Ah, yes." He takes a slow drag of his cigarette. "I swear working with The Mayor is the cause of at least half my headaches. But I suppose I can't expect someone like him to appreciate the thought that goes into managing our funds. If only he didn't stick that long nose into my business at every given chance."
Your lips carefully trail along the surgical scar across his chest and Pantalone shivers, blowing smoke past your head while carefully bringing his hand from your hip to instead pet the back of your head. His rings get your hair tangled around them with every stroke, but he doesn't seem to care, simply tugging a little every time he meets resistance.
His length still drags pleasantly against your walls with every tilt of your hips, the tip angled perfectly for your own needs. But this wasn't about you. This was about dragging out the last waves of his pleasure, release still dripping from your core and onto his messy thighs. Your toes curl as you allow yourself one last slow grind and Pantalone groans from overstimulation.
"Oh how much I miss your warmth in those stony palace halls and tedious meetings."
He always says something similar, and it's made you spend several sleepless nights (blasted thin walls) considering the dangerous proposition you now make. "Then take me with you, I wouldn't mind the change of scenery at all sir."
The Regrator pauses for a moment, if you were anyone else is should've made you cower, head angled off to the side as he blows a puff of smoke. Then he laughs, not the silken chuckle reserved for business partners but raspy and deep enough that you feel his abdomen clench.
Laughter has his head falling back and you kiss his Adam's apple with far too much affection piercing your heart. His free hand moves from your hip to cradle the back of your neck instead as he gives a little thrust up into you.
"Aren't you the most darling thing."
You'd had a hundred arguments lined up on your tongue, how you were hardly profitable to keep there when you spent almost every night by yourself anyway, how you could do so much more for him than just this.
Your suggestion wasn't acknowledged again. Once Pantalone had finished smoking, he kissed your forehead and thanked you while pulling you off of his soft cock. Mora and a wrapped box tied with silk were procured from his coat and placed on your nightstand.
But he left without you. Left you greedy for more than he'd already given.
ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐ Miscellaneous Pantalone head cannons
— ᨳଓ Pantalone who buys you both the most beautiful, crystalline rings to adorn your delicate fingers and buys himself a matching ring to wear.
— ᨳଓ Pantalone who has many elegant jewelry pieces that rotate depending on his whim but the pieces that match your own rings never leave the rotation.
— ᨳଓ Pantalone who always settles into a lush, steamy bath in your shared tub at the end of the day. He only insists on the best for his dearest and he’ll never let you bathe without the essentials. The essentials being candles, petals, bath salts, etc.
— ᨳଓ Pantalone who’s stupidly good at negotiating and every time you chide or plea with him to cut down on his rather unsavory habit of smoking he placates you with nothing but reassuring apologies and a gentle, velvet clad hand on the small of your back guiding you away.
— ᨳଓ Pantalone who’s work keeps his schedule very busy but to Pantalone his time is currency. His attention is a sacred, intense thing and it’s only delt out in increments but for you he gives unabashedly. There’s always ways to make time for what you love and Pantalone is quite deft in making sure you’re never neglected.
— ᨳଓ Pantalone who drags a rather reluctant you to balls or “diplomatic” events. His presence is usually required at such things and while he himself loathes the false pleasantries and pious creatures glancing to him with favor it’s so much tolerable with you at his side. Although Pantalone would much prefer you to stay in the comfort of your home. The people at these events are such ..troublesome creatures. He’d hate for you to feel uncomfortable or worse to be looked upon with contempt. Yet you always look so breath taking when you’re adorned in the dresses he gifts you.
— ᨳଓ Pantalone who lavishes you with as many gifts and everything your heart could desire but his heart truly lies in words. Pantalone is a smart man, he knows that words are as powerful extension as the user chooses. They can be soothing and saccharine or venomous and rallying depending on a well placed compliment, passive aggressive criticism, or biting inflection. Therefore Pantalone is always one to vocalize just how loved you are. He’ll shower you in the sweetest nicknames, compliments, etc.
— ᨳଓ Pantalone who adores seeing your face light up when you shop. When you’d first dated the renowned harbinger you politely, almost bordering meekly, declined his invitations to send you on a little shopping spree but Pantalone if anything is very persistent and convincing, he knows when to be a subtle force puppeteering from behind the scenes or when to take the reigns rather quickly. Now you’re a very pampered thing and you hardly have a protest about “wasting his mora” as you put it.
— ᨳଓ Pantalone who will wake you with breakfast in bed. The warm sun will stream through your velvet curtains and onto your sleep addled face in warm rays. You’re always pleasantly surprised when he graces you with a kiss to the forehead and gently places the tray into your hands. He’s surprisingly a good cook. As you rest beneath your fluffy duvets and silken sheets and happily nip at your meal you can’t help but feel so blessed to have him.
— ᨳଓ Pantalone who will wrap you up in his heavy, thick fur coat as you stand with him beneath the dotted starry sky on your grand balcony. The Snezhnayan air is biting and stark compared to the warm air of your home. In times such as these Pantalone may be entirely quiet or regal you with tales, complaints, or commentary on his coworkers, work, etc. You don’t exactly always follow but you’re always willing to listen and it’s something that he adores. Pantalone will wrap you up close to keep you warm. You’ll chide him as he pulls a cigarette out to have a quick smoke and he’ll just smile swiftly changing the topic to how beautiful you are or something else.
— ᨳଓ Pantalone who will guide you round and round the smooth, polished floors of your rosewood floor as the low, soothing notes of music fill the air. You’re not the best dancer but it’s always sweet to unwind via waltz. You like the silken feeling of his glove clad hands on your skin as he leads in step.
— ᨳଓ Pantalone who will trail warm, plush kisses down you back as you try on one of the many dresses he’s bought you. He’s quite distracting and it’ll lead to flushed cheeks and huffs about him stoping. He’ll gently hold your waist and coo about how utterly perfect you look and you’ll lightly hit his shoulder telling him to go work or something else but bother you. He’ll give a stupid charming chuckle of his and see himself out but not without a kiss.
— ᨳଓ Pantalone who will rest his head against your chest when he’s had a particularly stressful day. Too many talks, request, paperwork, meetings. You’ll guide him to your chest and card your fingers through his thick, soft locks. Simply providing your attention is so wonderful to him. He’ll huff and complain about his stress but your kisses always placate.
— ᨳଓ Pantalone who insist you take your rightful seat in his lap as he works. Paperwork upon paperwork is tiring after a while but having your weight and warmth nearby is perfect. He can scribble away with one hand while the other reverently trails up your side. He’ll rest his chin on your head and breathe in the smell of your sweet shampoo. The air is still and silent besides your shared breaths and the flicker of your fireplace.
paring: Feofan (Pantalone) x bookkeeper!reader.
words: 854
warnings: smoking, gn!reader
summary: reader is Feofan's book-keeper, watching over his transactions and earnings when he can't. After a meeting they both run into eachother on a balcony, for the same reason: A crisp ciggarette as the cold bites on their cheeks.
a/n: again with a very short one! i don't know what is up w me recently. I get these flash ideas for scenarios more than long fics. BUT i hope you enjoy it regardless.
Snow falls on the Zapolyarny Palace’s dome in small clutters as the evening rolls in. The dark clouds are being painted by the sunset as it struggles to shine behind them.
The echoing voices of the Harbinger’s in the grand-room below you subside as you rise from your desk. Your hands are stained with void-black ink and traces of red. You have been stamping, signing, sealing documents and shipments permits for all kinds of cargo.
Different cups were piled up at the edge of the desk, one was fancy. A couple were chipped and worn and the last one was plucked directly from your employer’s collection, with permission of course.
You stretch your arms over your head and crack your knuckles as you reach for your coat, throwing it on haphazardly. A well earned cigarette was what you needed at the moment.
You had been smoking while filing through the papers. The ashtray was overflowing with crooked buds and ash, but you wanted to feel the rush of the cold wash over you.
You grab your cigarette holder. A sleek silver box with your name engraved in an elegant coursive, it was a gift from Feofan’s of course, he had gifted it to you a year into working with him, after he discovered your shared vice.
A soft smile pulls from your lips as you step out into the balcony, opening the box to pluck a thick brow cigarette.
As you lean against the railing, the door open behind you. The ninth harbinger walks in, dressed in and elegant suit, topped with a pair of gloves. He delicately strides over to the balcony entrance.
“Sir.” The title leaves your lips with decision. “I have reviewed all the lesser shipments and records. I left the classified enveloped for you.”
He nods and takes out his own pack, but stops before grabbing one. It was empty. The plastic-like paper crinkle as he clenches his fist around it. “Ah, i believe i am out of sticks.” He says in a flat tone, closed eyes not openig yet.
You straighten up, and reach to urge one of your own cigarettes to him. “Here, Sir.”
He tilts his head towards you, smile pulling at his lips. “Right. Thank you, my dear.” He slides it between his lips and lights it. The flame reflects against his thin glasses. The cinnamon mixed with Sumerian tabacco hits his lungs as he exhales. “It's always this sweet scent with your cigarettes, Isn’t it?”
You light your own. “I suppose. They feel light but still give me the satisfaction, sir.”
He smiles and walks back inside, grazing his hand against the desk. He picks up an empty cup, the one from his collection. The stong, black coffee had dried around the bottom. He brings it up to his nose and takes a small wiff. “Excellent blend.” Feofan settles the mug back on the wooden desk.
You take a drag of your cigarette. “Only the best.” Your lips pull over your teeth in a sheepish grin.
He walks around, taking in your office. The scattered papers, the dog-eared books, the half-melted candles sitting on the shelves. “Do you enjoy your office?” He turns to you.
You flick the ash away. “It has a nice view.” You lean further on the railing, looking down at the snowy landscape. “And it’s big.”
Silence stretches between you two. The wind howls across the window’s frame. He brings a finger up and taps the frame of his glasses. “How would the idea of getting a new office make you feel?”
You tilt your head. “A new one? Where? Moving me up a floor?” You point up.
“And you are so amazingly good at it, dear.” He shakes your face a little bit, finger digging in your skin in an affectionate way.
He sways his hand in an indecisive motion. “Not exactly what i had in mind.” He finally takes another drag and walks back into the balcony. “I was thinking.” Feofan leans against the railing. “You are such a good assistan. Always keeping up with whatever work i assing you.” His fingers softly grip your chin, moving it closer to his face.
“Well, it is my job sir-”
Pink speads across your cheeks as he releases you. “Sir- I am in no need of a new office.”
“Oh i know.” He replies in a high-pitched tone. “But i want to treat you. Reward you.” He clasps his hands together. “And i want you close to me.”
You put out the cigarette on the ashtray sitting on the railing. “Have i made a mistake somewhere? Missed a stamp on a shipment order?” You straighten your back.
He clicks his tongue. “No, no, no my dear. Your have worked flawlessly. This is just me showing my appreciation. Do you not get compliments very often.” His eyes open just a fraction.
“Not really.” You grind your heel against the tiles.
“I will change that then. You will be moved in my office, at the top floor. You will get a desk across from mine, so i can stare at that pretty face you make when focused.”
Pantalone X reader, mentioned Dottore X reader. I wrote this from the pov of my oc so her lore is referenced but this can be read as an X reader because the people need more fics now than ever, to loosely describe it; you're an angel who is similar to Nicole and you're a singer.
Feofan knew she'd be mad with grief, his fingers tapped the wooden table in front of him anxiously. He selfishly hoped she had already heard the news, (of course she had- she serves the lady tsaritsa directly!) his sense of self preservation wished he wouldn't have to be the one to tell her that the remaining fragment of Zandik had died.
A door opened harshly and he winced inside for what was about to come.. you see.. what he feared about her wasn't violence, she would never lay a hand on another. However her melancholy and pain was too much to bear for a simple man like himself-
“is it true? Is it really true?”
He smiled, practiced and polite as he stood up- the poor thing was trying to stop her shaky hands, so he held them in his warm ones. Her eyes widened at the action but he paid it no mind when he spoke,
“I am afraid so, Dottore said his experiment has finally concluded.. I'm sure you've heard enough from the Rooster.”
She felt her break a little bit more at each word, she knew she would likely outlive Zandik- she had outlived the human man she adored, the segments she cared for, the... God who flew too close to the sun. But now it was all gone, no trace from the young scholar she loved- just erased from the world with only the consequences of his actions left to deal with.
“Why.. how.. wasn't it all planned properly? You..! You told me to trust you both! The safeguards, all of it!” she ripped her hands from his grip, grief maddening her in a way he had only seen many years ago- he tried to calm her down, but it seemed she wanted little to do with him at that instant.
“It was hardly our fault, it's simply how it ended. Do not drown yourself with grief over thi-” he had little time to react to the dry slap that rang across the room. Her hand quickly moved over his face so hard his head turned sharply. Both of them stood quietly for a second before she teared up, hands unsure of where to go- if to comfort Pantalone or reprimand herself- she opted to sit down on the couch and cry.
“What has he done to me? I'm mad. I've gone mad! I'm so sorry, Feofan..”
He found be hardly cared about the burn on his cheek or the tremble in his fingers whilst he brushed her hair away from her face, the sadness that suffocated her made her seem like the haunted statues he heard of many times- the weeping angels, that's right.
“my dearest.. I don't wish to give you false hope, but don't let this be the end of you... We almost lost you, remember back then? You will outlive us, all of us.. so you must learn to live on."
She shook her head, hugging his arm like a lifeline. The little squeeze tugged at his heart.
“stop, don't make me think about it! I despise you..! You.. and your frailty.. every single human and their mortality.. I abhor it..! Why can't you just stay by my side??” He shushed her sobs gently, running his fingers over her hair much like a lover would; her body a cold and imposing contrast to his mortal warmth.
“There you go again, denying our fate... Now I see why you studied in the akademiya before, I can't say I disagree.. if I could, I'd live for as long as I wished.” a weak sob made him clear his throat awkwardly. Hugging her closer to his side.
“ah, but let us not dwell on depressing things for now. How about we go for a walk when I'm finished with work? I trust your recitals for today have been done.”
“I cancelled all my activities for the week.”
(this woman...) he felt his eyebrow twitch, holding her a little bit tighter.
“You... What have I said just now?”
She almost seemed embarrassed, red eyes from crying meekly looked up at him- if she didn't look so pitiful he might've called her adorable.
“... I'll pick up where I left off next week, Pantalone.”
“atta girl, now help yourself to some food and coffee, I'd love for you to keep me company- care for a cigarette?”
modern au!dadlone and daughter reader drabble awww aegyo
A/N : I hope this isn't ooc, I wrote the end at night after big meal yawnnnn, Also in modern au all harbingers are alive and well doing their evil deeds
------------------------------------------
You opened the door, looking at Pantalone on the bed texting somebody, most likely some random business partner. You never paid too much attention. Anyway, you settled on the bed next to him - playing some random game on your iPad as he did whatever he was doing.
a comfortable silence passed the room. It lasted 30 minutes before Pantalone spoke, bursting your bubble of word bomb on roblox. “did you work on your homework?” A simple checkup, a simple question which you answered with a small nod (it was NOT done. It just wasn’t due yet). but alas still too focused on the stupid game.
Again, focused on your game for around 5 minutes until you finally remembered something (or more so realized you didn’t) . You didn’t remember whether your project was due tomorrow or if it was due a month later. A quiet dread settled in your gut, to which he was blissfully unaware.
You quickly hopped off the app, hoping and praying that it was due in a month and not tomorrow. Switching to the classwork tab and looking at your history class assignments, you held your breath as the page loaded, and there it was...
Due tomorrow, 2:42pm. Your face fell. You had no supplies at all, no cardboard, no pencils, no pens, nothing. An extra wave of dread washed over you as you realized you'd have to explain to him that he would have to drive you and get you your project supplies.
"Dad," you said, still not turning to face him. By this point, he knew something was up.
"What is it dear?" He responded back and looked up at you. You felt a shred of guilt at the worry evident in his tone.
"I have a project due tomorrow, and I have nothing to do it on.." you said, finally turning to look at him. He inhaled a sharp breath before speaking again.
"This is the nth time you have asked me to get supplies for your last-minute projects. How many times have I told you to be responsible about deadlines. How do you expect to succeed if you aren't responsible enough to keep track of when your assignments." He said. he rubbed his forehead exasperatedly. He could feel an oncoming headache coming up.
"I know, im sorry it's the last time, I promise!" You pleaded before you finally heard a sigh escape his lips.
