in my daughter's eyes - Pantalone/Reader (Part II)
Part I
Explicit mentions of childhood trauma, childbirth, and child abuse are mentioned in this fic. Please heed the tags in the fic!
It’s a girl.
That’s what 25 announces after withdrawing the writhing, screaming infant from between your legs, cutting the cord connecting it - her - to you, calling out numbers Pantalone could not have hoped to know the meaning of to the other Segments in attendance.
He barely gets a good look at the baby before she’s swaddled into a bundle, obscured from view.
Pantalone is a touch surprised to see 25’s bedside manner so proper; asking if you require more pain medicine, checking your oxygen levels and blood pressure, sending 18 to fetch you an electrolyte drink. But Pantalone was wise enough to realize it was probably only because 25 was treating the Regrator’s spouse, and not the Ninth himself. Pantalone had long since gotten used to the brusque and blunt manner of Dottore and his other selves, but for you, his beloved, he would procure only the very best.
Indeed, that is what Pantalone chooses to focus on, the numbness of the last twenty four hours wearing off: your water breaking in the middle of the night, the panic and pain twisting your face, Pantalone calling on Dottore and the others for the assistance he had paid them handsomely to provide. And then, of course, the impending reality that Pantalone had grappled with for nine months: after four centuries, he was about to enter a new stage in his existence.
may i askk how much of the fic will be centered around reader and how much of it dottolone. because i occassionaly read when its poly but i don't like the ship so if its gonna be like hmm something you can't skip or very important or idk you get it😭 smth like that i should just stop being invested in the fic now ajdkwkmsmsm
anon im not sure if its bcs its 4am, or because ive been solving problem sets for hours but i might be fried because im not sure how to interpret the actual question...? had me like the adele confused gif but anyway ill answer for "multiple"-ish possibilities
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remember that aphonia chapters can be read independently, meaning they can be read on their own without reading anything else other than the two prologues (so for readers who have read all of them, including the smut, you might notice that i repeat a few things with different wordings, this is to keep otherwise-missing context).
the POSTING timeline for each part is not linear to the series' CHRONOLOGICAL timeline (but the masterlist is listed in chronological order). meaning, lets say, i post the segment deletion part before the og zandik funeral part (yes)— its because its not a "story/fic" with each part being a continuation of the previous one and more of a "series" or a collection of "scenarios" with the same premise/prologues.
if its confusing im sorry, but i have too many "stories" with linear posting timelines rn and its kinda draining since a LOT more thought is needed for it lol
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"how much of the fic will be centered around reader"
reader will always be involved in each part, despite the narrative styles its whole premise is a x reader hahaha.
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"how much of it dottolone"
well, its as much dottolone as much as dottolone/reader? ill be dabbling in just dottolone without reader being active in the part, but if its under this series (aphonia), it means that reader is still involved in their relationship as just "dottolone." again, collection of scenarios under the same premise (which involves the siren fae reader). so even if its just zandik and feofan talking in the part, it is still set in the same universe as the one with the siren fae (aphonia), does that make sense?
but yes, its poly, so dottolone itself is important
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"if its gonna be like hmm something you can't skip or very important or idk you get it"
im not sure if im getting this but dottolone is both something you can skip but is also very important HAHAHA. there will be many parts that can be centered for JUST zandik or JUST feofan (which you can read independently no problem, but there will be occasional mentions of the other), but there will also be parts that are very obviously dottolone/reader (as in poly relationship)— and parts that dabble on dottolones very romanticized non-romantic relationship in canon.
^ meaning, obviously theyre not in a relationship in canon despite implications, so id like to explore the romantic angst in that (in the aphonia universe) HAHAH. even if its not a ship, nobody can deny the influence they had in each other's canon lives, so its a very important aspect of this series that will continuously be mentioned and is the main building block of the series itself (plus, the reader's existence will naturally influence that "canon")
hope that answers your question🙂↕️ had to expand my answer because i wasnt sure what i was supposed to answer🙂↕️
You had been running for three days. Three days of cheap motels with stained sheets. Three days of paying in cash.
The moment you found out the adoption papers were signed, the moment your "family" smiled like they had won something and told you that you were going to marry him, you didn't even stop to pack.
You just ran.
God knows why he chose you. Maybe it was a game to him. Some bored, filthy-rich bastard scrolling through country data lists like a shopping catalogue, picking a random name to be his latest toy. Maybe he closed his eyes and pointed. Maybe he threw a dart at a board. You didn't care.
You heard the news on a crackling gas station radio two days ago. "Local family reportedly taken hostage in connection to outstanding debts..." Your name wasn't mentioned, but you knew. Of course you knew. Your "parents" were probably on their knees right now, weeping and begging, offering up your name like a bargaining chip.
"Please, she's the one he wants... take her, just let us go..."
You couldn't care less.
They adopted you for one reason, and it wasn't love. It was labor. A free servant. A pair of hands to clean their house, cook their meals, and fetch their slippers. You were the live-in help they didn't have to pay. The only reason they bothered with the legal papers was so they could control you.
Well, the joke was on them now. They had sold you off to a predator far more dangerous than themselves, and they were reaping exactly what they sowed.
You pulled your worn hoodie tighter around your shoulders and kept walking.
The road stretched ahead, endless and grey, and you had no idea where you were going.
But anywhere was better than there.
----
Back at the estate, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and even more expensive fear.
Pantalone sat in a high-backed leather chair, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He looked utterly bored. The kind of bored that was far more dangerous than anger.
Anger was passionate.
Anger was something you could work with.
Boredom was when he started getting creative.
On the floor before him, two figures knelt. A man and a woman. Middle-aged. Tear-streaked faces. Their hands were bound behind their backs with silk ties, too good for them, really, but Pantalone believed in maintaining a certain aesthetic even during unpleasant business.
"Please," the woman sobbed, "Please, we don't have the money... we told you... but we gave you our daughter-"
"You gave me a daughter." Pantalone corrected smoothly, his voice like honey laced with arsenic. "Whether she's actually yours is... debatable. The adoption records were rather... convenient, weren't they? Almost like you needed someone to take the fall."
The man -her so-called father- opened his mouth to protest, but Pantalone held up a single finger.
"Ah, ah, ah. Let's not waste breath on lies. I despise liars. Almost as much as I despise debtors who think they can simply offer a person in place of currency." He tilted his head, a cold smile curling his lips. "This family owes me a significant sum. Did you think I would simply forget because you handed me a girl?"
"We... we thought..."
"You thought I would be satisfied." Pantalone laughed. It was a soft, melodic sound, utterly devoid of warmth. "My dear, I am never satisfied. Satisfaction is the enemy of ambition."
He rose from his chair, the movement fluid and unhurried, and walked toward the window. The glass reflected his face. He adjusted the cuff of his impeccably tailored sleeve, admiring the way the light caught the silver threading.
"You know," he continued, his back still turned to them, "there are many ways to settle a debt. Cash is the most convenient. Assets are acceptable. Property, jewelry, investments..." He paused, letting the silence stretch. "Organs are surprisingly lucrative on the black market. A healthy kidney, for instance, can fetch quite a price. And you both seem... moderately healthy."
The woman screamed.
The man started shaking, his voice cracking. "Please...no...we'll find her...we'll bring her back to you....just give us time."
"Time?" Pantalone turned, his smile never wavering. "My dear sir, if I wanted her back, do you think I would need your help?"
He walked back to his chair, settling into it with the grace of a king upon his throne. His eyes drifted, not to the weeping couple, but past them. Through them. Somewhere far away.
The memory came unbidden, slipping into his mind like a thief in the night.
The first time he had come to this house - what a shabby little place it was, filled with cheap furniture and cheaper people- he hadn't bothered to look at her. She was just a servant. He had dismissed her with the same casual indifference he showed all servants.
And then she had opened her mouth.
"Is that... fake?"
He had stopped mid-sentence. Turned slowly. His eyes had found her. She was staring at his suit jacket. Specifically, at the lapel pin.
"Excuse me?" He had asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
"The pin. Is it fake?" She hadn't even flinched. She had just stood there, tea tray still in her hands, looking at him with this... this disdain. Like she had seen a thousand men like him. Like his wealth meant nothing to her. "I saw the same one at a thrift store last week. Fifty dollars. The clerk said it was a knockoff."
His assistant had turned pale.
But Pantalone had just... stared.
No one spoke to him like that. And yet here was this girl, this nobody, this servant, looking at him like he was just another pretentious rich bastard trying to flex his money.
He had been... amused.
"It's genuine." he had said, his voice softer than he intended. "But I appreciate your... honesty."
She had shrugged and walked away.
And he had watched her go, a strange feeling curling in his chest.
Pantalone blinked, the memory fading. The couple was still kneeling, still begging, still utterly beneath his notice.
He waved a hand dismissively. "Take them to the basement. I'll decide what to do with them later."
As the guards dragged them away, their screams echoing down the hallway, Pantalone pulled out his phone.
A single message lit up the screen.
"Bus station. Eastern route."
His smile widened.
"You can run, my darling," he murmured, tracing a finger over the screen. "But you'll soon learn that I always collect what's mine."
He pocketed the phone and rose from his chair, straightening his jacket.
"Prepare the car," he called out to his assistant. "We're going on a little trip."
-----
The community center was tucked between a laundromat and a pawn shop, its fluorescent lights buzzing like trapped flies. The room smelled faintly of stale coffee and desperation - the kind of place where women came to piece themselves back together after men had shattered them.
You had found it by accident. A crumpled flyer stuck to a telephone pole, rained on and faded:
"Women's Support Group - Every Thursday - All Are Welcome - No Judgment - No Fees."
No fees.
That was the magic word.
You had been sleeping in a bus station for two nights, your money running thin, your legs still aching from running. The group met in a small circle of mismatched chairs, twelve women of varying ages, their faces etched with different shades of pain.
One had been beaten. Another had been cheated on. A third was hiding from a man who had threatened to kill her children. They spoke in low, trembling voices, and you listened, your hands wrapped around a styrofoam cup of lukewarm tea.
Then it was your turn.
"What about you, sweetheart?" the group leader asked gently. "Why are you here?"
You looked up. Twelve pairs of eyes stared back at you. Pitying eyes. The kind of eyes that had seen the worst of men and survived.
You opened your mouth.
"I ran away from my fiancé."
A murmur of understanding rippled through the group.
You shook your head to all of it. Their expressions grew confused. If not those things, then what?
You took a breath and said the words that had been eating at you for days.
"He's... rich."
Silence.
Then - laughter. Not cruel laughter, but the kind of confused, disbelieving laughter that came from thinking someone was joking. A few women chuckled, shaking their heads.
"Oh, honey, that's not a problem, that's a blessing," one woman said, wiping her eyes. "I'd kill for a rich man to chase after me."
"Seriously, is he single?" another joked.
"I'm not-" you started, your voice faltering. "You don't understand. He's not just rich. He's-"
You didn't get to finish.
A hand landed on your shoulder.
And a voice - that voice, the one you'd been running from- spoke directly into your ear, soft as silk and sharp as a blade.
"There you are, my darling."
Your blood turned to ice.
The women in the circle froze. Their laughter died in their throats. They stared at the man behind you: tall, impeccably dressed, with that chilling smile and those cold, beautiful eyes that saw everything and cared for nothing.
Pantalone.
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"I've been looking everywhere for you. You have no idea how worried I was."
Your heart slammed against your ribs like a caged bird, and your hands trembled so hard the tea sloshed over the rim of the cup.
"You.. you can't be here" you choked out.
"Of course I can." His voice was sweet, almost tender. "I'm your fiancé. It's my duty to take care of you."
He straightened up, addressing the group with that disarming smile of his. "Ladies, I apologize for the interruption. My little runaway seems to have given you the wrong impression." He chuckled, the sound warm and convincing. "We had a small disagreement. A misunderstanding. She gets these... ideas in her head. But I assure you, I only want what's best for her."
The women exchanged glances. Some looked skeptical. Others looked relieved, like they were glad the story had a simple explanation.
"Are you... are you okay with this?" the group leader asked you, her voice uncertain.
Pantalone's hand tightened on your shoulder. Just slightly.
"We'll be just fine." he said smoothly. "Isn't that right, darling?"
Every instinct screamed at you to fight, to run, to do something.
But you had run for three days. You had slept in bus stations and eaten gas station snacks and worn the same clothes until they smelled like fear and sweat.
You were so tired.
So you just nodded.
And let him lead you out of the room.
The car was sleek and black, the kind that cost more than most people's houses. The leather seats were buttery soft, the interior smelled of sandalwood and something expensive, and the windows were tinted so dark you could barely see outside.
You sat as far away from him as possible, pressed against the door, your arms wrapped around yourself.
Pantalone sat across from you, one leg crossed over the other, his fingers tapping lightly on his knee.
Silence.
Heavy, suffocating silence.
He didn't yell. He didn't do any of the things a normal person would do when their runaway fiancée was finally caught.
He just... watched you. Those eyes never leaving your face, studying you like you were a puzzle he was determined to solve.
"Don't you have anything to say?" you finally asked, your voice hoarse.
He tilted his head. "Should I?"
"You should be angry. I ran away from you. I embarrassed you. I made you look like a fool."
"Did you?" He smiled. "I don't recall feeling foolish. If anything, I was rather... impressed."
"Impressed?"
"You lasted three days. With no money, no connections, no plan." He chuckled softly. "I underestimated you. That doesn't happen often."
You stared at him, utterly baffled. "That's... that's insane. You're insane."
"Perhaps." He shrugged.
You turned away, staring out the tinted window. "This is a mistake. You don't want me. You want someone who fits into your world."
"On the contrary," he said. "I've had plenty of women who know which fork to use. They bored me."
You scoffed. "So you found me... entertaining?"
"More than that." His voice dropped, losing its playful edge. "You looked at me like I was nothing. Like my money meant nothing. Like I was just... a man."
You didn't answer.
The car pulled through an iron gate, you didn't even see it open, it just appeared, sliding open like something out of a spy movie, and then you were driving up a long, winding driveway lined with trees.
And then you saw it.
The house. No, not a house. An estate. A mansion. A sprawling architectural monstrosity of marble and glass, with more windows than a department store and a fountain in the front that looked like it belonged in a museum.
"This is your place?"
"This is one of my places," he corrected. "I have several. But this one is closest to the city. I thought you'd find it comfortable."
The servants descended on you the moment you stepped through the door.
You couldn't count them. There were too many. They took your bag (what little you had), they took your shoes, they took your hoodie and before you could protest, they were guiding you through marble hallways into a bathroom the size of your entire childhood home.
"Please undress" one servant said.
"I can do it myself-"
"We are here to serve you, miss."
You tried to resist. You really did. But they were relentless- polite but firm, like you were a child who didn't know what was good for you. Before you knew it, you were submerged in warm water, scrubbed clean, your hair washed with products that cost more than your entire wardrobe.
You felt like a doll being prepared for display.
---
Dinner was a nightmare.
The dining table was so long you could barely see the other end. Candles flickered in crystal holders. Silverware gleamed. Dishes you couldn't name were arranged in perfect rows, their aromas confusing and exotic.
You sat at one end. Pantalone sat at the other, his face half-hidden in shadow.
"You must be starving."
You stared at the food.
"Which one is... which?"
"You can begin with whatever you want."
"But I don't know what any of this is."
"Then try them all. Consider it an adventure."
You picked up a fork and stabbed at the nearest dish. Something that looked like meat, maybe, in a sauce you couldn't identify. You took a bite.
It was delicious.
"This is wrong," you said suddenly, setting the fork down. "You know this is wrong."
"Wrong?" He raised an eyebrow. "A man feeding his fiancée is wrong?"
"All of this!" You gestured wildly at the room, the table, the food, the servants. "I don't belong here! Look at me.. I'm a nobody, and you're... you're you. This was a mistake. You should cancel this. Annul it. Whatever rich people do."
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then he set down his own fork, folded his hands on the table, and looked at you with those unreadable eyes.
"Let me tell you something, my dear." His voice was soft. Deadly soft. "I have had many things in my life. Money. Power. Women who threw themselves at me. Men who feared me. I have had everything that money can buy."
He paused.
"But I have never had someone who looked at me the way you did."
"That's... that's not a reason to marry someone."
"It's the only reason I've ever needed."
"But I don't want this!"
"Then why did you get into the car?"
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
Because you were tired. Because you had nowhere else to go. Because the support group had already failed you, and the world was cold and lonely, and even this gilded cage was warmer than the bus station.
"I didn't have a choice."
"Ah." He smiled, and there was something almost sad in it. "But you did, my darling. You always have a choice." He leaned forward, his eyes boring into yours. "You chose to run. That was your choice. And now you can choose to stay. Or you can choose to run again."
"Would you even let me?"
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, simply: "No."
"I don't hit you," he continued calmly. "I don't cheat on you. I don't threaten you. I don't control you. I have given you everything you could possibly want- a safe place to sleep, food to eat, servants to care for you. And yet you ran." He tilted his head. "So tell me, my love. What exactly are you afraid of?"
You opened your mouth to say something cutting- something about how he was a spoiled rich bastard who didn't understand what it was like to be trapped by someone's wealth-
But the words died in your throat.
Because he was looking at you with those eyes, patient and calm, and underneath it all, you saw something flicker.
"You don't want this," he repeated, nodding slowly. "But what about me, hmm? If you truly want something to happen, it has to happen on both sides. I accepted you. But it seems you haven't accepted me."
You swallowed the lump in your throat.
"I don't even know you"
A slow smile spread across his face. "Then let's fix that."
He stood up, walked around the table, and held out his hand to you.
"Starting tomorrow, we'll do things properly. I'll tell you about myself. You can tell me about yourself." His smile softened. "And eventually, my dear, you'll realize that I'm not the monster you think I am."
You stared at his hand.
You didn't take it.
But you didn't run, either.
---
You woke before the sun.
It was instinct. Years of waking at dawn to start chores before your "family" stirred, years of being the first one up and the last one to sleep. Your body remembered the rhythm even if your mind was still catching up.
You sat up, disoriented for a moment. Where were you? The unfamiliar ceiling, the ornate furniture. Right. The mansion.
You slipped out of bed, your bare feet padding silently across the cold marble floor. The nightgown the servants had dressed you in was embarrassingly luxurious. It felt wrong on your skin, like wearing someone else's identity.
The hallway was empty. The mansion was enormous, a labyrinth of corridors and doors, and you had no idea where anything was. But you were curious. And curiosity had always been your weakness.
You crept down the grand staircase, your hand trailing along the polished banister.
And then you saw him.
He was on the first floor, standing near a massive window, his back half-turned to you. He was already dressed, immaculate suit, perfectly styled hair, not a single wrinkle in sight. In his hand was a stack of papers, and beside him stood his assistant, Charles, holding a tablet and taking notes.
"...and the quarterly reports from the eastern branch?"
"Ready for your review, sir," Charles replied. "Also, the acquisition in Liyue is proceeding as expected."
"Good. And the..."
You couldn't hear the rest. You were too busy staring.
He worked this early? You had assumed men like him slept in, lounged around, had servants bring them breakfast in bed while they counted their money. But here he was, fully dressed, already deep in business matters.
You hid behind the curved wall of the staircase, pressing yourself into the shadows.
This is your chance, you thought. He's distracted. Find out what you're dealing with.
You slipped away, moving as quietly as you could.
You wandered through the mansion, opening doors at random.
A library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A ballroom that could fit your entire hometown. A home theater with seats that looked more comfortable than any bed you'd ever slept in. A gym that rivaled a professional training facility.
And then you found it.
A door at the end of a long, dimly lit corridor. It was unremarkable- plain wood, no fancy carvings or gold trim. But something about it called to you.
Your hand hovered over the handle.
Don't be stupid. This is private. You shouldn't be here.
But you pushed the door open anyway.
The room was small, windowless, lined floor to ceiling with safety deposit boxes. Hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe. Gleaming metal rectangles, each with its own keyhole and number.
You stepped inside, your breath catching in your throat.
You reached out, your fingers brushing against one of the boxes.
"Fascinating, isn't it?"
You spun around.
Pantalone stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.
"I..I was just.."
"Exploring?" He finished for you, pushing off from the doorframe and walking toward you. His footsteps were silent on the polished floor. "I told you this place was large. I didn't expect you to find this particular room, though." He stopped a few feet away, tilting his head. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"I wasn't looking for anything," you said quickly. "I was just... curious."
"Curiosity," he repeated, a small smile playing on his lips. "A dangerous trait, my dear. But also an admirable one."
His eyes traveled down your body, not in a lecherous way, but appraising. Taking in the silk nightgown, your bare feet, your sleep-mussed hair.
"You haven't changed."
"I didn't have anything to change into."
"Ah. An oversight on my part." He turned to the doorway, raising his voice slightly. "Charles!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Have a wardrobe delivered to her room. Everything she might need. And I mean everything. Shoes, accessories, casual wear, formal wear. Whatever she wants."
Charles's pen scratched across the screen. "Of course, sir."
"And ensure the servants are aware that she is not to be disturbed unless she requests it."
"Understood."
Pantalone turned back to you. "Consider it a start. Now, shall we have breakfast?"
You sat across from Pantalone, poking at a plate of food you couldn't name. The servants hovered in the background, ready to refill your glass or clear your plate at a moment's notice.
It was suffocating.
"Can I make a rule?" you said abruptly.
Pantalone looked up from his newspaper. "A rule?"
"About... this." You gestured vaguely at the room, the servants, everything. "If I'm going to stay here.. and I'm not saying I am staying-but if I do, I want to do things my way."
He folded his newspaper, giving you his full attention. "I'm listening."
"First: I'll do things to my liking. I don't need servants hovering over me. I can dress myself, feed myself, clean up after myself. If I want something, I'll ask for it. You don't need to assign people to me like I'm a child."
"That's... unconventional."
"I'm unconventional." You met his gaze, refusing to look away. "If you wanted a proper society girl, you should have picked someone else. But you picked me. So this is what you get."
Pantalone then turned to Charles, who was standing nearby. "Make a note of that, Charles."
"Noted, sir."
"That's it? You're just... agreeing?"
"You made a reasonable request." He shrugged, returning to his newspaper. "I see no reason to deny it."
You stared at him, utterly confused.
This isn't how it works, you thought. He's supposed to argue. He's supposed to assert control. He's supposed to be a villain.
But he just sat there, calm and unbothered, like your defiance was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
It was deeply unsettling.
You made up your mind during breakfast.
If he wanted you to learn about him, then you would. You'd follow him around, see what his life was actually like. And then you'd decide if he was worth staying for.
"I want to come with you today." you announced.
He looked up from his newspaper again. "Excuse me?"
"To work. Wherever you're going. You said you wanted me to know you, right? Well, I can't do that sitting in this mansion all day."
He set down his newspaper. "You want to see my work?"
"I want to see you." You crossed your arms. "What you do. Who you are. All of it."
"Very well. But I must warn you.. it won't be what you expect."
"I didn't expect any of this." you muttered.
He laughed and turned to Charles. "Cancel my appointments for today. We're changing plans."
Charles's face flickered, just for a second, with an expression that screamed seriously?!
But he recovered quickly, bowing his head. "Of course, sir. I'll rearrange your schedule."
----
The car pulled into a neighborhood that made your childhood home look like a palace.
Buildings were crumbling. Windows were boarded up. Trash lined the streets, and the air smelled of rot and despair. People huddled in doorways, their eyes hollow, their clothes ragged.
You stared out the window, your stomach churning. "What is this place?"
"The Slum" Pantalone said casually, as if he were naming a tourist attraction. "It's where the city's forgotten live. The ones who owe debts they can't pay."
He opened the car door, stepping out into the grime like he owned it. His tailored suit, his polished shoes, his expensive cologne, none of it seemed out of place. He was a king walking through his kingdom, even if his kingdom was a slum.
You followed him.
"Normally, he doesn't do this himself," Charles whispered as you walked. He had appeared at your side. "He has people for... collections. This is beneath him."
"Then why are we here?"
Charles glanced at you, then at Pantalone's back. "Because you're here."
A group of children had gathered nearby, dirty faces, torn clothes. They were begging, their hands outstretched, their voices thin and reedy.
"Please, miss.. spare some change.."
Your heart twisted. Without thinking, you reached for your pocket, pulling out a few crumpled bills.
A hand grabbed your wrist.
"Not now. Not here."
"But they're children"
He dragged you away, his pace quick and purposeful. The children's cries faded behind you.
"You'll understand soon."
You wanted to fight, wanted to pull away and run back to those kids, but something in his voice stopped you.
The meeting was in a run-down building, the walls stained and peeling. A man knelt before Pantalone, a middle-aged man, his hands trembling, his face slick with sweat.
"I told you, I don't have it yet.." the man stammered.
"You've had three months." Pantalone's voice was calm. Almost bored. "Three months of extensions. Three months of promises. And yet, here we are."
"I'll get it! I swear! Just give me one more week.."
"One more week, and the interest compounds. Do you understand what that means?"
The man's face went white.
"It means you'll owe me more than your life is worth."
This wasn't the man from breakfast, the one who laughed at your defiance and gave you silk nightgowns. This was something else entirely.
He collected what he came for, papers signed, promises extracted, fear sown like seeds, and then he left.
You followed him back to the car.
The children were still there.
But now, adults had joined them. Brutish men with hard faces, their fists raised. A child was on the ground, sobbing, while another adult raised a whip.
"No!"
You threw yourself in front of the children, your arms spread wide, your eyes shut tight, waiting for the blow.
The whip snapped.
But it didn't hit you.
You opened your eyes. Pantalone stood before you, one arm raised. The whip was wrapped around his forearm, and there was a thin line of red, bleeding slowly onto his pristine white sleeve.
He didn't even flinch.
"That's enough," he said calmly. "Collect your debt elsewhere."
The adults hesitated. They looked at each other, then at him. Something in his eyes made them back down.
They fled.
You turned to him. "Your arm-"
"It's nothing."
"But why?.. "
"You were about to get hit," he said simply. "I don't allow anyone to hit you."
You stared at him, speechless.
He gestured to the children, who were scrambling away. "They pickpocketed you."
You checked your pocket. The bills were gone.
"They beg..They steal from the soft-hearted. Then they give their spoils to the adults who 'protect' them."
"I didn't know-"
"Of course you didn't. But I'll teach you."
He turned away, walking toward the car.
"Wait." You ran after him, grabbing his sleeve. "The children. Can't we—I don't know... help them?"
He stopped. Looked at you.
"They're not worth saving," he said flatly. "They're parasites. They'll take and take and never give back."
"But they're just kids-"
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "Come. We're going somewhere else."
"But-"
"If you want to save them, do it properly. Save them all or save none. Half measures will only make things worse."
He opened the car door, gesturing for you to get in.
You hesitated.
Then, reluctantly, you climbed inside.
He was right. The thought stung.
"Is that what you do?" you asked quietly. "Collect debts from people who can't pay?"
"Among other things." He was examining his wounded arm, dabbing at the blood with a handkerchief. "It's not my favorite task, but it's necessary."
"Necessary?"
"Money makes the world turn, my dear. And I make sure the money keeps turning." He looked at you, "You'll learn. In time."
You didn't answer.
Your mind was still on the children. On the feeling of his arm shielding you from a blow that had been meant for your back.
The car pulled into a cemetery.
It was beautiful, in a haunting sort of way. Rolling green hills dotted with headstones, ancient oak trees casting dappled shadows, flowers blooming in carefully tended plots.
You looked at Pantalone, confused. "Why are we here?"
He didn't answer. He simply opened the door and stepped out.
You followed him, your footsteps soft on the dew-damp grass. He walked with purpose, weaving between headstones until he reached a particular plot.
You hung back, watching.
He knelt down and laid a bouquet of white lilies on the grave.
And then you saw it.
His eyes. They were sad. Deeply, profoundly sad, in a way you hadn't seen before.
You looked at the headstone. A woman's name.
His mother? A sister? A lost love?
You didn't ask.
You just stood there, a respectful distance away, giving him his privacy.
Finally, he rose. His composure was back in place.
He walked back to you without a word.
The drive back was quiet.
You sat across from him, your eyes drifting to his arm. The blood had dried now, a dark stain on the pristine white fabric. You couldn't stop staring at it.
"Your arm. Does it hurt?"
He glanced down at the wound, then back at you, amused. "Just a scratch."
"That's not what I asked."
"No. It doesn't hurt."
Liar.
You bit your lip. "What are you going to do with the shirt?"
"I'll throw it away, obviously. It's ruined." He said it casually, like it was nothing.
"And just... buy a new one?"
"That's typically how it works, yes."
You were quiet for a moment, thinking about his words from earlier—about the people who threw themselves at him, who would do anything for a piece of him.
"Out of curiosity," you began carefully, "would someone actually pay for that shirt? You know. With your blood on it?"
He stared at you.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. His eyes crinkled at the corners.
"Are you implying I should sell it?" he asked, his voice warm with amusement. "You're starting to make money off me, my dear. Literally from my blood."
You felt your cheeks flush. "I'm not- that's not what I meant. I was just curious."
"Relax." He waved a hand, still smiling. "I'm not offended. In fact, I find it refreshing."
"Refreshing?"
"Most people would be fawning over me right now. Asking if I need a doctor, offering to tend to my wounds, trying to earn my gratitude." He tilted his head, studying you. "You're just wondering if my blood has monetary value."
You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it.
Because... yes. That was exactly what you were wondering.
"That was insensitive. I shouldn't have.."
"Don't apologize." His voice was soft. "I'd rather have your curiosity than someone else's false concern. At least yours is genuine."
You didn't know what to say to that.
So you just nodded, put the thoughts aside, and stared out the window as the city rushed by.
That night, you found yourself in his private study.
It wasn't planned. You had been wandering again, old habits die hard, and you'd stumbled upon him, sitting in an armchair by the fire, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
He looked up as you entered. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Couldn't stay in my room." You gestured vaguely.
"Then sit." He nodded at the chair across from him.
You hesitated. Then, against your better judgment, you sat down.
He poured you a glass. You coughed, and he laughed softly.
"Take it slow," he advised. "It's stronger than it looks."
You took another sip, smaller this time. The warmth spread through your chest, loosening something tight and anxious.
"You know," you said, staring into the amber liquid, "I feel like we could be really good friends. At some point."
He raised an eyebrow. "Friends?"
"Yeah. You know. The kind who have drinks together and talk about... stuff." You gestured vaguely. "Just not husband and wife."
He was quiet for a moment, swirling his glass.
"And why is that?"
"Because... what you're feeling right now.. this fascination, or whatever it is.. it's new, right?"
He didn't answer. But his silence was confirmation enough.
"It'll only last a while. The novelty will wear off, and then you'll realize I'm just... me. Not worth all this." You gestured at the room, the mansion, everything. "Marriage is supposed to last a lifetime. It takes more than a first impression to make it last. More than just... intrigue."
You set down your glass, meeting his gaze.
"I don't want to be someone's experiment. I don't want to be married and divorced in five years because you got bored. I want something that lasts." You took a breath. "So... I really think you should reconsider your other options. Find someone who fits your world. Someone who won't disappoint you."
He stared at you for a long moment.
"You think you'll disappoint me?"
"I think everyone disappoints everyone eventually."
He was quiet again.
"You're wrong about one thing."
"What's that?"
He opened his mouth to answer. But you never heard it.
Because the alcohol hit you all at once, your head dropping to the table with a soft thunk.
You woke briefly to the sensation of being carried.
You murmured something incoherent, your head lolling against his chest.
"Shh," he whispered. "Go back to sleep."
The sheets were cool and soft. A blanket was pulled up to your chin. A hand brushed the hair from your forehead.
Then footsteps faded away, and the door clicked shut.
You sank back into darkness.
---
You woke with a headache that felt like a thousand tiny hammers pounding against your skull.
"Ugh," you groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. "Never again."
You stumbled out of bed, still in last night's clothes. Your hair was a disaster, and you desperately needed water, coffee, and possibly a new head.
You made your way down the hallway, toward the grand staircase, and stopped.
A woman's voice echoed up from the first floor.
"—I don't care about your 'business' or your 'commitments'! When am I going to get a grandchild?!"
You crept to the edge of the staircase, peeking down.
A woman stood in the foyer, elegantly dressed, silver-haired, with the kind of imperious presence that could only come from a lifetime of being obeyed. She was pointing a finger at Pantalone, who stood calmly before her.
"Mother," he said, "We've discussed this."
"We've discussed nothing! You keep putting it off! First you were too young, then you were too busy, then you said you needed to 'find the right person' well, have you found her or not?!"
Pantalone opened his mouth to respond, and then he looked up. His eyes met yours.
Oh no, you thought. Oh no, no, no.
"Actually," he said smoothly, "I'd like you to meet someone."
You traitor.
You tried to retreat, but it was too late. His mother's head snapped up, her sharp eyes locking onto you like a hawk spotting prey.
"Who is that?" she demanded. "A servant? Why is she dressed like that? And why is she on the second floor?"
"She's my fiancée" Pantalone said calmly.
Your stomach dropped.
"Your what?!" The woman's voice reached a pitch that could shatter glass. "You never told me about a fiancée! Where did she come from?! What family? What name?"
"Her name is—"
"Don't you dare introduce me!" you hissed down at him. "I'm not part of this!"
But it was too late.
His mother was already marching up the stairs, her heels clicking against the marble. She stopped in front of you, her eyes raking over your disheveled appearance with obvious disdain.
"You're the one? Stand up straight! Look at me when I'm speaking to you! What's wrong with your hair? And why are you wearing that nightgown in the middle of the day? Are you ill? Are you lazy? Explain yourself!"
You looked desperately at Pantalone.
He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, a small, smug smile on his face, clearly enjoying your suffering.
I'm going to kill him, you thought. I'm going to kill him in his sleep.
"I'm not his fiancée," you said quickly. "I'm just.. I'm a guest."
"Guest?" The woman's eyes narrowed. "A guest who sleeps in a nightgown and sneaks around upstairs? Do you take me for a fool?"
"I—"
"She's being modest," Pantalone called up. "We're engaged. It's official. I was going to announce it at the family dinner next week."
"YOU WHAT!??"
"Let's discuss this over tea. She's still tired from last night. She needs her rest."
He was already climbing the stairs, his hand sliding into yours and pulling you away from the woman's wrath.
"We're not done talking!" she shouted after you.
The door to your room shut behind you, muffling her voice.
You rounded on him. "What was that?! Why did you tell her we're engaged?! We're not anything!"
He leaned against the door, rubbing his injured arm absently. "I had to tell her something. She's been pestering me for years."
"And you threw me under the bus?!"
"You were already on the bus, my dear." He smiled. "You just didn't know it yet."
You glared at him.
He smiled back, utterly unrepentant.
"Congratulations," he said. "You've just met the most terrifying woman in my life. And she already approves of you."
"How do you figure that?!"
"She didn't throw anything at you. That's high praise, coming from her."
You wanted to scream.
Instead, you grabbed a pillow and threw it at his face.
He caught it effortlessly, laughing as he left the room.
---
You waited until the mansion was quiet.
Midnight. The time when even the most vigilant servants retreated to their quarters, and the halls fell into darkness.
You had packed light, just the essentials. A change of clothes. Some cash you'd managed to find in a drawer. A small knife for protection. Nothing that would weigh you down.
You crept through the corridors, your footsteps silent on the marble floor. Your heart pounded in your chest, but your mind was clear.
This time, you thought, I'll make it.
The front door was just ahead. .
You reached for the handle.
And a hand clamped down on your wrist.
"Going somewhere?"
You spun around.
Pantalone stood behind you, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.
"How did you-"
"I have cameras everywhere, my dear. And motion sensors. And guards who report to me directly." He smiled, but there was something cold in it. "Did you really think I'd let you run again?"
You tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron.
"Let me go," you hissed. "I don't want to be here. I don't want to be married to you. I don't want any of this!"
"And yet, here you are." He pulled you toward him, his face inches from yours. "Running again. Like a frightened little bird."
"I'm not frightened. I'm sane."
"Sane people don't run from luxury, my dear. Sane people stay put and enjoy the comfort."
"Sane people don't trap other people in marriages they don't want!"
He was quiet for a moment.
Before you could react, he had scooped you up, one arm under your knees, the other around your back, and carried you up the stairs.
"Put me down!" You beat against his chest. "Put me down right now!"
"Shh." His voice was calm, almost soothing. "You'll wake the household."
"I don't care! Put me-"
He kicked open the door to your bedroom and dropped you onto the bed.
You scrambled backward, pressing yourself against the headboard. He loomed over you.
"Stop," you said, your voice trembling. "Just stop. We can talk about this."
"I've done nothing but talk," he said. "I've been patient. I've been kind. I've given you space, given you freedom, given you everything you asked for. And what do you do?" He leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of you. "You run. Again."
You opened your mouth to argue-
"Have you ever considered my thoughts?" he continued, his voice low and intense. "Have you ever considered that I might actually want this? That I'm not just playing a game?"
"I.."
"I've never disagreed about this. Not once. The only one who objects is you."
He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. You flinched, but he didn't pull away.
"If you insist on running," he said softly, "I'll find you. Wherever you go, I'll find you. And I'll bring you back. Every single time."
"Then I'll run again," you whispered. "I'll never stop."
"Then I'll never stop chasing." He leaned closer, his lips inches from yours. "We can do this forever, if you'd like. But eventually, you'll tire. And I'll still be here, waiting."
You tried to push him away, but he caught your wrists, pinning them above your head.
"Let go of me! "
His hand moved down your side. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing against your bare skin.
"Stop," you said, your voice cracking. "Pantalone, please-"
"Please what?" His thumb traced a slow circle on your hip. "Please stop? Or please continue?"
"I hate you," you spat. "I hate you so much."
He smiled. "Hate and love are closer than you think, dear."
And then he kissed you.
It wasn't gentle. It was consuming, claiming. Like he was branding you with his lips, marking you as his.
When he pulled back, you were breathless.
"Tell me," he murmured against your ear, "do you know what the rate of pregnancy before marriage is these days?"
You froze. "What?"
"Quite high, actually." His lips brushed against your jaw. "If you'd rather have a baby to keep this marriage together, I'm more than willing to oblige."
"No!"
"Are you sure? Because I think a child would suit you. A little girl with your eyes, my smile. She'd be beautiful. And she'd tie you to me forever."
He reached for his shirt, his fingers working at the buttons.
The door flew open.
"Oh! Oh my!"
You both froze.
His mother stood in the doorway, her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide, darting between you and her son.
"I didn't know you took my words so seriously," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "I apologize for the interruption."
Then she smiled and pulled the door shut.
The lock clicked.
"CARRY ON, YOU TWO!"
You stared at the door in disbelief.
Then you looked at Pantalone.
He was still above you, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his expression a mix of shock and embarrassment.
"Your mother," you said flatly, "just locked us in."
"She did."
"And she's probably going to announce the pregnancy at the next family dinner."
"Most likely." He rubbed the back of his neck. "She's... enthusiastic."
You pushed him off you, sitting up. "This is insane. This whole situation is insane."
He sat beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. "I don't disagree."
"And you just..you threatened to get me pregnant-"
"Threatened is a strong word. I offered a solution."
"A solution to a problem you created!"
"I meant what I said. I don't want you to run. I want you to stay. And if a child is what it takes to make you stay, then..."
You stared at him. This man, who could have anything, who could have anyone, was willing to go to such extremes.
It was terrifying.
You took a deep breath.
"Fine" you said.
He blinked. "Fine?"
"Fine. I'll marry you. But on one condition."
"Name it."
You turned to him, meeting his gaze. "I want a contract."
"A contract?"
"If you ever divorce me half of your wealth becomes mine. Every last penny. Every property. Every investment. I'll take you for everything you're worth."
He stared at you.
"Are you serious?" he asked.
"Completely. You want to marry me? Then you'd better be sure. Because if you change your mind, if you get bored, if you decide I'm not worth the trouble, I'll ruin you."
"You're more dangerous than I thought." he murmured.
"I learned from the best."
A slow smile spread across his face.
"Fine," he said. "I'll have Charles draw up the papers tomorrow. But I warn you, my dear.. I never lose. And I never back out of a deal."
"Neither do I."
He reached out, taking your hand. "Then we have an agreement."
You shook his hand, your grip firm.
"I should warn you," he added, "that this will only make me more determined. If you think you can escape me now..."
He stood up, walking toward the door. He unlocked it, his mother had left the key in the lock, the meddling woman, and paused at the threshold.
"One more thing" he said, looking back at you.
"What?"
"If you ever do manage to escape, I'll give you a head start. A day, maybe two. To make it interesting."
"You're insane."
"Probably." He smiled. "But I'm your insane fiancé. You agreed to that, remember?"
He left you alone, standing in the middle of the room, your heart pounding.
The wedding was held three weeks later.
It was a grand affair, flowers, music, hundreds of guests you didn't recognize. You wore a dress that cost more than your adoptive family's house. You walked down the aisle toward the man who had hunted you down like prey.
And you thought, This is it. I agreed to this. I made my choice.
But as you stood before the altar, exchanging vows, you couldn't shake the feeling that you'd been outmaneuvered.
The contract was signed. If he divorced you, you'd be rich. If he stayed married to you, you'd be trapped.
Either way, he won.
Was this all a setup? you wondered. Did he plan this from the beginning?
He had hunted you down twice. He had used his mother's interference to his advantage. He had threatened you with a child, and you had folded.
And now here you were, his wife, standing in front of hundreds of witnesses.
He got what he wanted, you realized. He got exactly what he wanted.
The ring slid onto your finger.
And as he leaned in to kiss you, you heard his mother clapping enthusiastically from the front row.
"FINALLY!" she shouted. "NOW GIVE ME GRANDCHILDREN!"
The guests laughed. You didn't.
Pantalone pulled back, his lips brushing against your ear.
"Don't worry," he whispered. "I'll give you time. We have the rest of our lives to figure this out."
Nothing could go wrong from this point, you told yourself. I have the contract. I'm safe.
But as you walked back down the aisle, your new husband's hand on yours, you couldn't shake the feeling that you had just walked into a trap.
Throwback to that one time I wanted to send a Dottolone x reader drable to an author's asks and I ended up writing nearly 500k words and the author encouraged me to write my own fic and post it.
Oh, wait! That's literally right now!
Edit: it's not 500k, I'm just stupid and don't know how to count. Still, I'm sure it'll turn out good and I hope y'all will enjoy it once it's complete. I'm sorry for anyone that got disappointed by these news.
Part two! Of the fighting fic. Should i give it a name? Idk. This took so long, sorry!
Tw: they are still assholes but they love you ig, cum eating, spanking, hair pulling. Dottore is a SWITCH. Overall, it's nothing extreme but could be still gross to some.
Here is the link to part 1. Could be a stand alone too tbh except for the end.
NSFW under the cut.
"Let us take care of you, angel." Pantalone said as he leaned down to kiss your neck.
"You've missed us, haven't you?" Dottore chimed in and placed himself closer to your side, almost behind you, his warm breath grazing your skin as he spoke. His hand moved up to your shoulder, gently pushing the fabric aside to reveal the delicate curve of your collarbone.
"And we've missed you, immensely," he murmured, his lips following close behind, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and up to your jawline. His hand slipped underneath your top, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the exposed skin of your stomach.
"It seems our dear doctor can't keep his hands to himself," Pantalone said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "But then again, neither can I." his grip tightened on your hip.
As you granted him permission, Dottore eagerly moved downwards, his hands skimming over your bare thighs. His lips met your skin in a trail of soft, reverent kisses, his touch both tender and possessive.
With each brush of his lips against your skin, he left a trail of heat in his wake. He took his time, savoring every moment as he worshiped your body with his touch.
While Dottore knelt between your legs, his lips exploring your thighs, Pantalone watched the scene unfold with a hungry gaze, his hand still gently gripping your hip.
It took no time before Dottore became lost between your legs, absolutely in haze. It seems like he enjoyed the act more than you. With his nose flicking your clit and his tongue licking your labia, his hands continue to grip your thighs.
Pantalone, still standing close by, watched the scene before him. He leaned down, his breath warm against your neck as he murmured, "You're enjoying yourself, aren't you, darling?" Before starting to undress himself while watching the two of you. Dottore moans and groans while frantically eating you out. Your moans match his, and Pantalone, who is now fully naked, starts joined the scene and grope your upper body, he took a moment to admire the way you and Dottore's bodies responded to each other and said "You look absolutely ravishing like this, love," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. He leaned in to press a kiss to your shoulder, his grip on you tight and firm.
Dottore showed no signs of stopping even when you started to squirm and arch your back, your high clearly building up. Your hands gripping Dottore's head, trying to pull him off but Dottore's stubbornness kicks in, his grip on your thighs tightens, refusing to let you go and prolonging the pleasure until you can't take it anymore.
Pantalone, seeing your desperate attempts, chuckles softly. "Looks like he has you right where he wants you, my dear, better give him what he wants." He whispered the last part, his breath caressing the hair behind your ear. He continues to watch Dottore and you while prepping himself and stroking his own cock and crouching closer to Dottore. Just before you reach your high, he pulls away abruptly and starts to suck on pantalones cock instead, who lets out a low growl.
As your release is denied, leaving you trembling and unsatisfied, Dottore's attention clearly shifts. He moves even more away from you and toward Pantalone, even when the regtor's eyes never leave you. Dottore, still kneeling between Pantalone's legs, looked up at the said man with a sly smirk, his chin glistening. "Look at the poor thing. She's so worked up, so needy... it's almost a shame to keep her waiting, isn't it?" Dottore said while his tongue slides down Pantalone's member, his tone is teasing. He pulls his mouth away, a string of saliva and pre-cum visible before it breaks.
Both men start to kiss, Dottore reaches for pantalone's member, stroking it a bit before he guides pantalone into your entrance. You let out a whimper, and Pantalone growls into Dottores' mouth, who smirks into the kiss.
"So impatient, aren't we?" Dottore teased, his hand still stroking Pantalone's member, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he felt his partner growing. As Pantalone was buried to the hilt, Dottore removed his hand but not before giving your clit a mean little pinch. You squirmed, the heat between you was heady.
Pantalone was kind enough to let you adjust to his length. Instead, he kept himself busy by licking into Dottores mouth. Dottore welcomed him more than happy and let out a content moan. Their kisses are loud and wet, while Pantalone's grip on your hips was strong and unyielding enough that they could bruise. He is clearly holding himself back as he struggles to contain his breath, its ragged and uneven. But Dottore couldn't resist a comment, his voice a low growl. "Look at how he's holding back... so desperate to take what he wants, yet forcing himself to be patient." He leaned forward, his chin resting on Pantalone's shoulder, his gaze fixing on you with dark, heated eyes. "He's just as needy as you are, isn't he?"
You couldn't take it any more. You frustratingly reached for pantalone, trying to scratch his stomach, squirming and wiggling to earn more friction from his member inside of you. The sight of you whining beneath him, trying to seek pleasure, was both delightful and tormenting to Pantalone. He felt a surge of pleasure at your attempts, his grip on your hips tightening reflexively. But he still held himself back.
Dottore observed every move you made, his eyes locked onto your desperate attempts to find relief. He chuckled softly, "Look at her. So desperate to be touched, it's almost adorable."
"Be quiet now, Dottore," pantalone clicked his tongue. "You teased my darling enough." He lets out a final breath before finally starting to thrust, steady and hard with no restraint.
He chuckled. "I was just having a bit of fun. But I'll behave, I promise." Dottore leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over Pantalone's ear. "Besides, I can't help but enjoy the sight of you losing control."
He began to kiss and bite at Pantalone's neck, his fingers now roaming over his nacked waist and chest with caresses, his eyes still fixed on you. Pantalone, unable to focus on anything but the sensations coursing through his body, tried his best to respond to Dottore's teasing, but his words came out as gruff grunts.
"You... are insufferable," he managed to gasp out, his hand letting go of your hip to swat at Dottore, who let out a low laugh, enjoying the effect he had on Pantalone. He nipped playfully at his neck once more, his hands continuing to roam over his chest.
"Insufferable, perhaps. But you like it, don't you?" he purred, his gaze flickering between Pantalone's flushed face and your trembling shape. "And look at her, she's just begging for attention. What a pretty sight, the two of you completely undone."
Dottore starts to squeeze your chest hard with one hand, rolls your bud between his fingers with the other. You let out a loud gasp after he slapped them at last, before removing himself enough to finally get undressed as well. He looks breathtaking when he removes his mask. Pantalone, who never wants to miss a show, watches him the whole time. He laughs loudly at the sight of Dottore’s cock. Long, hard, red, and absolutely throbbing. Dottore couldn't help but roll his eyes at Pantalone's laughter, knowing all too well what he was laughing about. "Laugh all you want, but at least I'm not the one struggling to hold back." He quickly discarded his last piece of clothing, revealing his toned and scarred physique. The sight of him so bare and exposed sent a thrill through the room, heightening the atmosphere.
He moved closer to you and Pantalone, his gaze hungrily roaming over both of your bodies. "Now, shall we continue?" Pantalone's laughter quickly died down as he felt Dottore's presence closing in on them, his gaze roaming over their bodies with a hungry look in his eyes. He nodded, the anticipation clear in his voice, his own desire flaring up. "Yes... continue." He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.
Dottore is smirking, his hand reaching out to run his thumb lightly over your cheek. His voice was low and rough. "I couldn't agree more. Let the real fun begin."
Pantalones thrusts never slowed down, you both are getting lost in the feeling. You could feel your high building up again fast. It appears that pantalone is not far from it either. His movements grew more urgent, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He was close to his own release, his expression filled with need. Dottore was both amused and aroused. He leaned in, his voice a low, rough whisper against Pantalone's ear. "Are you close? Can't hold on for longer, can you?"
Pantalone clenched his jaw, his grip on you tightening as he tried to hold back. "I... I can handle... ngh..."
Dottore lets out a cruel laugh when he reaches for pantalones public hair, giving it a pull and grabbing his hips to hold him back. It works, just before you could reach your high, Pantalone completely out of breath, held still. You let out a sob as Pantalone completely pulled out of you, tears left your eyes for being denied a second time. "Why," you let out a gasp, "did you stop?" But Dottore replied instead, "shh, it's alright, we are far from done, Angel. Take some rest, you will need it." He gives you a kiss on the cheek and places his arms around your head, putting his fingers into your hair and dragging you into a heated kiss.
Pantalone, meanwhile, placed his head behind Dottores' rear, starting eating him out. A low, guttural moan escaped Dottore as Pantalone's tongue pressed against him, the sudden sensation causing him to stumble and grip your hair tighter. His eyes fluttered shut as he was assaulted with pleasure from both ends, his breath hitching in his throat.
Your arousal grew, but you remained denied and desperate. Your frustration only got worse as you watched the two of them, and your body still trembled from the unfulfilled need.
"You're both such bastards," you managed to gasp out, a mix of irritation and lust in your voice.
Dottore shuts you up with more kisses that leave you breathless. It took no time before you could taste the iron on your lips. If it was your blood or his, you couldn't tell. Pantalone, meanwhile, was getting more frantic, plucking his tongue into Dottores hole, grabbing his cheeks, pulling him apart, and finally, even inserting his thumb. Dottore moaned into your mouth as he felt Pantalone's tongue and fingers on him, his mind completely clouded by the pleasure coursing through his body. He held your head tightly with both hands, his fingers tangled in your hair.
Eventually, he had to break away from the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Pantalone..." he gasped, his voice rough. "...not fair." Pantalone ignored him and inserted his other thumb, which made Dottore arch his back. "FUCK.. hng ..i'm close" cursed Dottore. Pantalone only laughed, especially after noticing you have been grinding yourself on Dottore's thigh. He wouldn't last long like this, so Pantalone showed some mercy. He got up and slapped Dottores ass hard, which made him almost fall over. "This isn't about you, doctor. Get to work and pleasure our lady. We got her waiting long enough." Dottore wasted no time, groaned as he pushed into you. Pathetically he buried his member into you, instantly thrusted in a fast pace.
Pantalone leaned over Dottore's shoulder, watching him with a dark glint in his eyes. "Don't get sloppy," he warned, his voice a low growl in Dottore's ear. "We've teased her enough. It's time to give her what she wants."
Dottore nodded obediently, his eyes darkened with lust as he looked at you.
"Yes, that's it," Pantalone murmured, his voice a sultry purr. "Give her what she needs, what we all need." He ran a hand through Dottore's hair, pulling his head back to expose his neck. "Make her feel good, Dottore, just concentrate on her. Show her how much we want her, how much we crave her."
Dottore's eyes widened, a shiver running down his spine at Pantalone's words. "I'll give her everything," he groaned. "I'll make her forget everything." Dottore groans, enjoying the praises that fall from your lips. Pantalone kisses and bites into his neck.
The sight of your two lovers, in combination with your climax approaching fast, got you all dazed. Pantalone's grip on Dottore's hair tightens as he feels the tension in the room building to an apex. He can see the look on Dottore's face, the strain in his body, and he knows exactly what is about to happen.
"Let go, Dottore," he whispers in his ear, his own breath ragged. "Just let go."
All the overstimulation finally snaps as you come hard, your tightness gushing around Dottore, clutching him hard. His body goes rigid, his hands gripping onto your hip tightly as he follows, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Dottore's body tenses for a moment, his breaths growing even more labored. "I..I can't.." he manages to gasp out, his voice hoarse.
"Well done, doctor. Look at you both. It's absolutely stunning. I could never get enough of this sight, " said pantalone. "Now it's only fair i get my share, no?" He saw the state of you and gave a small smile. "dont worry, Angel. I was thinking of a reward for Dottore as well. What do you think, dearest?" He was looking at Dottore now, who was still catching his breath. Said man only nodded and complied by laying down down on his back, his cloudy eyes follow pantalone. Dottore's breath hitches as he feels Pantalone placing himself between his legs. His body is still sensitive and drained from his previous release, but he can't help but shiver at the thought of what is about to come.
"Pantalone..." he whispers, lifting his head to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes, his voice rough with arousal. "Please." The sound of Dottore's voice, hoarse and begging, is like music to Pantalone's ears.
"You're begging now, doctor?" he murmurs, his hands running up Dottore's thighs. "I never thought I'd see you this desperate."
"But i can not blame you. The blame is all but our lady's fault." Dottore's eyes flutter shut as he feels Pantalone's cock enter him, a low groan escaping his lips. The touch is enough to send a shiver down his spine, and his body responds eagerly to Pantalone's moves.
He manages to gather enough speech to reply, his voice still ragged with arousal. "You're right," he gasps out, his body arching into Pantalone's touch. "It's all her fault... for being so damn beautiful." His words are nothing but the truth. He continues to touch Dottore, his hands slowly moving up towards his member.
"Yes," he murmurs, his fingers tracing small circles against Dottore's skin. "It's all her fault for being so enticing, so irresistible. For making both of us desire her." He punctuates his words with a gentle squeeze of Dottore's cock. Dottore's breath hitches again at the gesture, his body responding instantly. He can feel his arousal growing once more, the heat building and dripping between his legs. He tries to respond, to say something, anything, but all that comes out are soft, needy moans. It's all he can do to keep from bucking his hips up into Pantalone's thrusts. "I... I need..." he manages to gasp out, his voice pleading and desperate.
Your legs still are wobbly, but you managed it to crawl towards them. The sight of Dottore pushed into the mattress by pantalone was beautiful. Seeing him bounce from each thrust made your heart flutter. You reached for him, and your intention was to caress his hair. But Dottore swats your hand away and grabs your thighs, pulling you even closer to him. "Open up for me," he said. "Please, darling." How could you deny him when he asks so sweetly? He lets out a hiss at the sight of you still leaking his cum. He twisted himself over, still bouncing to pantalones thrusts. But he paid it no mind and started to lick your folds once again, groaning at the mixed taste of himself and you on his tongue. Dottore's eyes are now more cloudy with desire and lust as they lock onto you. Seeing you crawling closer, he's unable to resist the urge to pull you closer and burry his head into your cunt. He can't seem to get enough of you, and all sense of composure seemed to have left Dottore at this moment.
He looks up to you like a predator, his voice a low growl as he speaks. "Give me more. Let me taste you again. I need it. I need you, darling."
Pantalone watching the scene in front of him. Grabbing Dottore’s hips harder and roughens his thrusts. The sudden change in intensity sets off every nerve in Dottore, and a loud moan escaped him, which sends vibration through your body. And as his mouth continues its ministrations, he looks up at you,"You two," growls pantalone. "will be the death of me." Despite his current state of ecstasy, Dottore can't help but manage a huff of amusement at Pantalone's comment. His voice is still ragged, but the corners of his lips quirk up in a smirk.
"You're one to talk," he replies, a teasing lilt to his voice. "You're enjoying this as much as we are, ah, aren't you?"
"I am just trying to keep you both satisfied," replies pantalone, rolling his eyes. "Just be good." He then turned his attention towards you, his voice dropping an octave. "Now, be a good girl and be a little louder for me."
You grab Dottores hair once again, very overstimulated and already sore. But the lust is bigger than the discomfort. The sound of your moans fills the room, driving both Dottore and Pantalone wild. The feeling of your hands in his hair only adds to his pleasure, and he can barely hold back his own moans.
Pantalone, watching you both, his hips driving harder into Dottore in response. His voice is hoarse and desperate. "That's it... louder. I want to hear you."
"I can't -" You sob and thrash, trying to get Dottore off you again, but he won't bulge. Dottore, hearing your cries, looks up at you. There's something sinister in his eyes, something almost sadistic.
"Oh no, my dear sweetheart. You're not going anywhere," he growls, his grip on your thighs tightening to almost painful levels. "Not until I've had my fill."
Pantalone leans down, his lips hovering by Dottore's ear. "Don't listen to her," he whispers. "Don't stop. Not yet. I'm close,' Pantalone said with a groan.
And only as Dottores member twitched and sprouted all over his chest, did Pantalone come with a moan, the growl and whimper Dottore made finished you as well. The room was filled with a chorus of moans and heavy breathing as the three of you finally found your release. Pantalone collapsed onto the mattress next to Dottore, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath.
Dottore laid next to him, his eyes still half-lidded and his body trembling from exhaust. The aftermath of their passion was clear in the air, the scent of their desire and satisfaction hanging over them like perfume.
Pantalone looked over to you and pulled you onto his chest that was still heaving. "How do you feel, Angel?" He murmured into your hair. You let out a broken and hoarse "fine" as he hummed and spread your legs once again. He cupped me down there and said, "All clean, huh?" He looked over to Dottore. "Good job, dearest. But i hope you are aware that next time, i'll be the one that comes inside." Dottore, still trying to catch his breath, looked over at the two of you from where he lies. He watched as you were perched on Pantalone's lap, his hand resting intimately between your legs. His eyes darkened at Pantalone's words.
"Don't be greedy, Pantalone," he grumbled, a hint of possessiveness in his voice. "She's ours to share, remember? We don't need to keep score." Pantalone chuckled, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he looked over at Dottore. "Oh, I'm well aware," he replied, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh. "But I can't help but be envious, can I? Especially when I hear how beautifully she cries out when she comes."
He then looked down at you, his gaze soft. "Besides, it's not about keeping score. It's about indulging in all the pleasure we can."
Dottore just huffed, a small pout on his lips as he watched you two. "Now," Pantalone changed the topic. "It's only obvious that the festivities have ended by now. It's time to rest for tonight." Dottore grumbled once again, but he knew that Pantalone was right. They had all expended a great deal of energy, and it was late.
"Fine," he huffed, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position. "I suppose you're right. Sleep is probably a necessity at this point."
Pantalone chuckled softly at Dottore's reluctance. "Don't be so grumpy," he said, his hand still stroking your thigh slowly. "We'll have all the time in the world to indulge ourselves again tomorrow, but for now," Pantalone said, gently shifting you off his lap, "let's get some sleep, shall we? You, darling, look like you'll collapse any moment now."
The exhaustion seemed to catch up with you, the adrenaline of the events earlier subsiding. You looked exhausted, your tired eyes barely staying open. You let out a small moan of protest as you were moved, your body longing for warmth and comfortable rest.
There was no point in fighting, though. You fell asleep quickly when Pantalone placed your head onto the soft pillows, as you drifted off to sleep, you heard the soft sounds of the men's voices in the background and you could only hear the distinctive chatting of them. Dottore's deep tone and Pantalone's smooth drawl were easy to recognize, even in your half-asleep state. Something about Dottore berating Pantalone for lighting up a cigarette and you thought you heard Pantalone's amused response, followed by the sound of a door closing. It seemed like he locked a bare Pantalone out on the balcony before he went to the bathroom, but you were too tired to give it much thought.
Am now imagining Pantalone with his little girl, brushing her hair and struggling with the fact that she got her father’s genes and finding peace by learning to style her hair and watch her grow and buy her little hair accessories oh my god—
When she gets old enough he buys her all the fancy expensive hair products and accessories she wants. It's healing for him in a way he doesn't expect for his daughter's hair to look nice when at her age his didn’t.
